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FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love Who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Book IV - Wait For No One

Chapter 3 - Time and Tide

Dawn found Vikki and Dongo on the morning flight from Ottawa to Saskatoon, with stops in Winnipeg and Regina. At least it was several hours shorter than the rival airline's Ottawa-Toronto-Calgary-Saskatoon voyage, Vikki mused.

The Academy had used its influence to get them booked on the sold-out first leg. The airline announced that the flight was overbooked and offered several hundred dollars and an upgrade on the next plane to the first two passengers to voluntarily stay behind. Vikki grabbed Dongo's right arm as he started to raise it and reminded him that they had to make this flight. A couple in no rush to return home to Saskatoon took the offer. Vikki and Dongo ended up sitting beside each other in the couple's seats.

Vikki would have liked to have spent the time getting to know FOX's newest agent better, but Dongo had work to do. He had to study his 'legend', the background of truths, half-truths and outright lies that the Academy had created for him. It consisted of a thick wad of documents that he would have to commit to memory because they would be blank by the time the plane landed in Saskatoon. After that, the bundle could be dropped in any convenient trash container, where it would disintegrate in another few hours. The Academy had tried explosive recording devices, but according to former agent Chris "Stubby" Kane, they had their drawbacks.

Vikki had no such homework. She would be going in under her real name, although with RCMP identification. Only the head of the project, the platypus Bardo Gaya-Dari, was allowed to know that she was not really a police officer. In order to preserve the aura of secrecy around the Foreign Operations eXecutive she would not say which agency she was from. Gaya-Dari would probably assume that she was with CSIS, and she would do nothing to correct that assumption.

The plane had already started its descent into Saskatoon by the time Dongo Fett closed the folio with a sigh. He was a sniper and heavy weapons specialist, used to memorizing landscapes and target locations at a glance, but he was not used to taking in so much textual data in such a short period of time.

He rubbed his left eye. His right was covered by an eye patch because it had been damaged, along with his arm, on his first mission with FOX. His vision was still perfect, but that eye tended to tire easily, and the patch helped preserve it for when it was needed for shooting.

"Jesus. Do you guys have to go through this every mission?" He asked, turning to Vikki. Most of the passengers had debarked in Regina and they were alone near the rear of the plane.

"Usually we get a little more time to prepare." She admitted. "How's it going? Had enough time to absorb it all?"

"I hope so. It's too faded to read anymore." He tapped the stack of papers. "But I should be able to bullshit my way through."

"How so?" She asked sceptically. Vikki was a perfectionist that did not believe in 'winging it', 'playing it by ear', or 'bullshitting your way through' anything.

"They have me playing a wildcatter." He explained. "That's an independent oil and gas prospector. They go around drilling where the oil is less likely to be, looking for the deposits the big companies missed. My old man was in the oil business, servicing rigs. I used to help out before I joined the Army, so I know my way around one. We followed the oil exploration effort, going from one field to another, usually one step ahead of real civilization."

"The company workers are rough enough, but the wildcatters are something special. They are an independent bunch, and very self-reliant. They operate and repair their own rigs, so overhead is low, but accidents are common. That explains the arm." He gestured to the empty sleeve on his left. Not even a discount airline would let him fly with his metal appendage attached. Vikki, posing as an RCMP officer on duty, was able to bypass security and keep her own bionic paw on.

"If they hit it big they can afford to run their rig for years afterward. But if they have a string of failures they can go broke pretty fast." Dongo continued. "When that happens they hire themselves out to the big corporations, who usually send them to the shittiest places on earth. But one year drilling for Shell or BP and they can earn enough to drill for a year on their own. They can also pick up a lot of intel as to where the corporations either wouldn't or couldn't go in. Places a lone operator that is, uh, more personable or mobile can either get permission or get in unnoticed."

"These guys spend nine-tenths of their time alone at the rig, and the other tenth in the bars and whore houses, gathering info. That's what Gold," he referred to the Chief of Staff by his codename, "has me doing while I wait for you to call for backup. I'm to hang out in the rougher bars and gather info from the locals and the off-duty project workers."

After what may have been his longest conversation since joining the Academy, Dongo lapsed back into silence. The seatbelt lights came on and the captain announced that they were making their final approach into Saskatoon's John G. Diefenbaker International Airport. Vikki had confirmed that the 'International' status was solely due to a few daily flights to Minneapolis. Another city on her list of places she could die without seeing.

Inside the terminal she turned left to stay inside the security zone, while Dongo headed for the exit with the baggage sign above it. Vikki put a paw on his shoulder to stop him.

"You're not taking the charter flight to Prince Albert?"

"No." He answered. "Wildcatters don't fly charter. Gus has arranged more suitable transport for me." With that he flipped her mock salute and strode toward the exit.

Gus, who was in charge of the FOX motor pool, was famous for supplying glamorous cars equipped with enough gadgets to rival the space shuttle. Vikki wondered what exotic vehicle the old raccoon had come up with this time.

* * * * * * * *

Dongo went into the handicap stall in the male's washroom to re-attach his metal arm. Coming out he got dirty looks from an old badger with a cane that was waiting to use the stall. The badger tapped the handicap sign and huffed at him as Dongo picked up his duffle bag and left. He couldn't blame the old fellow. He now appeared to have two good arms. The metallic one on his left covered by a long-sleeved work shirt and a beat up leather gauntlet. Together with his faded jeans, a 'John Deere' cap, and scarred work boots, he looked like the typical western worker. He followed the signs to the short-term parking lot where Gus was supposed to meet him.

Dongo did not know of Gus' reputation, so he was expecting a practical ride. Maybe a slightly used Dodge Ram or GMC Sierra, he thought. He was stunned when he saw what the old raccoon was standing beside.

It was an old Ford F-150. Maybe a seventy-five or seventy-six, he guessed, when they still used chrome trim on the body panels and did two-tone factory paint jobs. This one had originally been bright red over white but it must have been parked in the sun for most of its thirty-plus years. The red had faded to burnt orange and the white had yellowed where it was not actually rusted. The tires were grey from age and the interior looked to be made of silver duct tape and a few scraps of cracked white vinyl. There was a camper mounted in the bed of the truck that looked just as old and worn. It also looked two sizes too large for the little pickup. Dongo imagined the shocks and springs giving out the first time he went over a speed bump.

He approached it cautiously, afraid it might roll over on him if a stiff breeze hit it sideways. Gus stood unspeaking beside the driver's door, a set of keys in his paw. Dongo did not know what to say. Sure, he thought, I'm the junior member, the new guy. I didn't expect an Austin-Martin right off the bat, but this? He saw a patch of metal so rusty that it looked like red lace. He poked it with one digit, and was surprised to meet resistance. The metal felt solid. He bent down for a closer look. It was a clever camouflage job. A thin decal that looked like a corroded spot, coated with a reddish powder applied to it so it even felt like rust. While he was down there he ran a paw over the tires. The tread was deep and sharp and the rubber was hard. The tire itself had been dyed a faded grey. When he straightened up Gus was smiling.

"The engine looks just as bad, should you care to pop the hood." The raccoon chuckled. "But it's been modified, bored, and stoked to double the horsepower. The suspension is state of the art, but covered with a layer of artificial rust to make it look old. The trailer and truck bead are made of ultra-light composite material, so even though it looks top heavy, the centre of gravity is below the axels. This pig will hold the road like a Porsche, accelerate like an Indy racer and sleeps four." Gus dangled the keys in front of Dongo's snout. "Want to take her for a spin before we go over the extras?"

* * * * * * * *

After dropping Leslie off at the Academy Day-Care centre, Marcel and Geno went to the cafeteria for some breakfast and a pot of strong coffee.

The cafeteria was inside the security zone, so Academy employees could be free to talk shop over coffee or a meal. But they had to be careful not to talk about information that was on a 'need-to-know' basis where others could overhear them. Since personal information was also protected discussions about personnel matters were also to be avoided. Senior managers were most likely to get into either type of discussion, so they had a separate area partitioned off for them. The food and the service were the same, but it afforded a little more separation. It allowed managers to discuss administrative problems freely and gave the employees a place to bitch about management.

As junior agents, Marcel and Geno sat in the larger section, along with the analysts, clerks, security guards and janitorial staff. Neither was in the mood to mingle, so they choose an isolated table at the back of the room, near the separator with the senior officer's section. They further isolated themselves by pushing the table up against the partition. There they sat across from each other, staring silently at the table, sipping coffee and waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

They could hear the clicking of utensils and the occasional bit of conversation from the other side of the partition, but nothing coherent. Then they heard chairs and a table scrape across the tile just on the other side. Someone had pulled a table up into the same isolated corner over there. Someone spoke, and they both recognized the voice of Tancred Williams.

"I don't want to be in this position." William's voice came through clearly. "I'm too close to him to be able to make this decision."

"Regardless of how close you two are, you are the Chief of Staff and it is your duty." Geno looked up at Marcel with a puzzled expression. She didn't recognize the other voice. Marcel mouthed the word "Doctor" and she nodded in understanding.

"I don't want to relieve him of his duty." They heard Williams tell Doctor Jones, the albino wallaby that served as the Academy's chief medical officer. "Maybe a temporary leave of absence is what he needs. This business is hard on a body, but many have bounced back after a good rest."

"He is dying. There is no denying it. He will continue to see specialists and seek treatment but they will only delay the inevitable. What I suggest ..."

Geno and Marcel locked eyes. Simultaneously, they gasped "Silver" under their breath. Geno reached out to take Marcel's paw in sympathy, sensing how the news would affect him. Her paw struck the sugar dispenser and knocked it over. It did not break, but it struck with a loud "clack" that was surely audible on the other side.

The doctor had stopped speaking in mid sentence. Geno and Marcel held their breath as the silence extended uncomfortably. Eventually, Williams spoke again.

"Let's finish this conversation in my office." He told the doctor. Doctor Jones must have replied with a nod, because the next thing the junior agents heard was the sounds of chairs sliding and feet shuffling. The footsteps quickly faded as the senior officers departed.

Geno had been staring at the partition, holding her breath since knocking over the sugar. When she turned back to Marcel she could see that his face had fallen. His ears were turned outward and level with the ground. Although she had not taken the training to read expressions yet, she did not need a body language dictionary to see that he was devastated.

"Dying." Marcel whispered sadly. Then a look of concern replaced the sorrow on his face. "What do we tell Vikki?"

* * * * * * * *

An hour later, the customized gulfstream jet that had picked Vikki up in Saskatoon touched down at Prince Albert's Glass Airfield. She stood at the top of the ramp, blinking as she emerged in the bright early morning prairie sunlight, wondering what would happen next.

"Victoria Beausoleil?" a deep voice called from somewhere near the foot of the stairs. Shielding her eyes with her artificial paw, she was able to make out a figure silhouetted by the rising sun. It was mid-sized and stocky, but that was all that she could tell from this angle. Careful not to trip, she descended to his level and moved around until the sun was behind her, and the stranger was illuminated.

Vikki had never met a platypus before. She had seen pictures, but they did not do the creature justice. He was a several centimetres shorter than her, but most people were, so he was still fairly tall. She had no idea whether that made him above-average or below for a platypus. His fur was golden-brown and glowed with health, like a young beaver's. As he turned to face her she spied his tail. It was the size and shape of a young beaver's also, but it was covered with fur. His eyes were deep set black beads. The rubbery black beak below them looked out of place, like a scuba attachment that he had forgotten to remove. When he looked up at her she could see that it was not really solid, like a duck's bill, but was soft and pliable. He was smiling, or so she thought, but he had no teeth, just ridges of hard material along his gums. The paw he was holding out was wide and webbed like an otter's. She shook it.

The total effect of his mismatched parts could have been comical, but the muscles outlined by his tight shirt and the strength of his grip demanded that he be taken seriously. The intensity of his steely gaze likewise prevented him from being grotesque.

"Victoria Beausoleil." She confirmed. "And you must be Mister Gaya-Dari."

"Please, call me Bardo." He swung his arm to indicate a GM Hummer parked nearby. "Shall we?"

The platypus grabbed her bags before she could and carried them over to the big Hummer. Vikki had only two mid-sized suitcases, but they were packed tight and were heavy. She was impressed when he was able to toss them into the back of the truck effortlessly. He stood by the passenger door and offered a paw to help her up into the over-sized vehicle. Having dressed in a business suit and skirt that was not designed for stepping up into off-road vehicles, she took advantage of his assistance gladly.

"I hope you brought some more comfortable clothes along." He said as she stepped up. She could feel his eyes on her backside as the skirt tightened across it. Tall, slim and elegant, she was used to drawing admiring glances and thought nothing of it. "We tend to dress down out here, saving the suits for meeting with the bankers back in the city."

He was dressed in wide, comfortable work boots and jeans, but both were new and suspiciously clean. The open-necked shirt he wore was a bit too stylish and tight for physical labour, and the Hummer looked like it spent most of its time in the car wash. Vikki suspected that Gaya-Dari had a bit of an ego. Not surprising, considering his accomplishments so far, she thought. He circled the vehicle and hopped easily into the driver's seat. Starting the engine, he placed the transmission in drive and aimed for the airport exit.

"I've been briefed about you by the Minister for Public Safety." He said as they pulled away. Vikki was suitably impressed by the fact that a senior cabinet official had personally passed on the information. "Although at first he had told me to expect an older silver fox. He had to call back in the middle of the night to amend that. However, he failed to mention which agency you really come from." He was watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Best not to ask." She told him.

"Ahh. In that case, let me tell you about the project." He said as they turned left on highway fifty-five, heading toward Prince Albert. Vikki expected him to cover much of the same ground that the Chief of Staff had in his briefing the night before, but he surprised her by taking a different approach.

"At one time or another," he began, "most of North America was under water. In the Cretaceous period, there was a sea where the prairies are. It connected the Arctic Ocean with what is now the Gulf of Mexico. Then, 65 million years ago, sea levels dropped and the continent drained through the Mississippi-Missouri river system. But the depression between the Rockies and the Canadian Shield is still there, and it floods. It floods every year. It's not a matter of if it will flood, but how much. And every year the cost of cleaning up afterwards grows."

"The Americans recognized this problem in the eighteen hundreds. They sent one of their brightest military engineers, one Robert E. Lee, to design a system of canals, dikes and dams to control the flooding. It worked well, for a time, but he had very little historical data to work with and no one could foresee the development that the twentieth century would bring. It got to the point where either an above average snowfall, too quick of a spring melt or a tropical storm was enough to overwhelm the system. By the time it became obvious that the controls were inadequate, the cost and inconvenience to the citizens to rebuild it were seen as prohibitive. A federal flood insurance program was introduced instead, and the system continued to deteriorate."

"In Canada, the damage was mainly to the crops. But average production stayed the same and no one in the east noticed, or cared. Then, the city of Winnipeg was almost destroyed by a massive flood in the fifties. They built a huge canal around the city to divert future floods, and began a series of interior dikes to keep the water out of the built-up areas. But even before the next flood came their resolve had wavered. Opponents to the plan called the floodway 'Duff's Ditch', after the Provincial Premier of the day, and claimed that the odds of another big flood were infinitesimally small."

He turned to face her while they were stopped at a red light. "Of course, as the good people of New Orleans discovered, small odds over a long period of time become certainties. In 1997 Winnipeg had a flood even greater than the one in the fifties and only then discovered that neither the outer nor the inner defences had been finished to capacity. Without the concerted effort of the citizens and the entire Canadian military the city would have been lost. It was a very near thing even then. But they were the lucky ones. In Fargo and Grand Forks North Dakota they had no defences at all, and the damage was in the billions." He drove on as the light changed.

"After the near disaster in Winnipeg, a series of floods across the mid-west USA, and the infamous hurricane Katrina, the Canadian and American governments decided to work together to revamp the entire system. The problem, as always, was the large number of special interest groups involved. Ecological groups, environmental groups, green energy groups, industrial conglomerates, developers, the list is endless. That's where we came in."

Gaya-Dari did not bother to explain how he had formed a loose association of developers, energy companies, First Nations groups and government agencies to take on the massive project. Instead, he revealed that the scope of the project had expanded beyond the original intent.

"One of the features of this project is the innovative solutions we have come up with." He bragged. "For example, what to do with all of that excess water? One of our construction experts, a Mohawk from the Saint Lawrence Valley, noted that the Great lakes system was suffering the opposite problem, not enough water. The system was formed when the glaciers melted and retreated twelve thousand years ago. First, they formed a giant inland sea, named the Champlain Sea by geologists. It covered Ontario, Quebec, upper New York State and Vermont. The weight of the glaciers pressed the rock itself down, and after they melted it rebounded, but that took 3,000 years. As the rock rose, the sea drained, forming the Ottawa and Saint Lawrence Valleys."

"But the draining process continues, slowly but surely. Each year the flow is a little bit less. The competing demands of hydroelectric power, industry and tourism, cannot all be met by what remains. There was a plan to divert water from Hudson's Bay into the Ottawa River and the great lakes, but environmentalists and ecologists killed that. No one in the sparsely populated north of Ontario wanted less water or more barriers to the movement of the feral herds they depend on. But people on the prairies, in the Red River Valley in particular, want all the excess water gone, and the land is already criss-crossed with canals and drainage ditches, so what's one more? Convincing the relevant agencies to issue the permits was much easier to do in an election year." He added with a smug grin.

Vikki was starting to get a sense of the platypus's personality. He was an overachiever who had had a setback, which he blamed on other's lack of vision as opposed to his own nearsighted determination. He had developed ways to get around the bureaucrats and opponents rather than try to compromise or see their point of view and adapt his plans. People like him were apt to say that they were focused on product, not driven by process. They were the 'go-to' guys, the ones who got things done. Historically, they were also the ones that claimed that they were just following orders, or working for the greater good, when they went on trial.

If she allowed him to continue his bragging would alienate her, and she wanted to maintain a good relationship with him. She needed to change the subject. They were passing a massive earthen dike, had been since they turned north on highway two. It seemed to go on to the horizon. She asked how they had built it, and what purpose it served.

"Oh, that's not one of ours." He replied, frowning. "There is no need for a dike in this area, according to our plans. See the signs every ten meters or so? Its private land, no trespassing allowed."

"Funny," she replied, "it looks fairly new so I assumed it was part of your system. I was told that you plan to go into operation in a few days?"

"Yes. And now that you mention it I should have that dike checked out. One of the ranchers may have built it without filing a permit, they do that here, 'our land, not the government's' and all that. But it may interfere with our system. Better safe than sorry."

They rode in silence for a time. Vikki supposed that Gaya-Dari was a bit embarrassed, having overlooked something so large right next door to his headquarters. Vikki wanted to tell him that it was a common trait, but his previous bragging and the way his lower bill was curled in at the moment warned her that he might not appreciate being grouped with common folk.

He turned left onto an unmarked gravel road, leaving the dike behind. A few minutes later she saw a modern steel and glass office complex standing alone in the middle of nowhere. He parked in front of it and hurried around to help her step down. He took the paw she offered in one of his, and put his other on her hip to steady her. Vikki though that she felt a slight squeeze there. Would he still come on to me if he knew that I had a year-old kit and a colleague with privileges back in Ottawa, she wondered? Probably.

"Let me introduce you to the senior members of our conglomerate." Gaya-Dari said as the automatic doors swhooshed open. She saw a mixed group of creatures standing at the rear of the lobby. Surreptitiously, she slipped her paw into her pocked and activated the video camera and audio recorder concealed in her broach. It would help her match names with faces and species later when she started going through the records.

The first thing she noticed from their body language was that they were not happy to see her. They slumped, crossed their arms and looked at her out of the corners of their eyes. One or two stared defiantly at her, like she was a threat. She felt like a tax auditor. They reluctantly turned and offered paws as Bardo Gaya-Dari introduced them.

"Come come now. No need to be shy." He chided them, and then turned to Vikki. "They are a little leery about bringing in a new team member so close to inauguration. We all worked well with Corporal O'Malley and admired his professionalism. Now let me introduce you. This is one of our engineering consultants, Charlie Kaneonuskatew."

A beaver with native features took her paw quickly. "Meet'cha." He said before retreating.

"Charlie is from the local Cree Nation. This pair of Bullfrogs are our liaison with the Ojibway nation; Joey Chowilawu and his cousin Johnny Bemidi."

Joey and Johnny's slick green features and markings looked almost identical. They mumbled hellos and moved back.

"Sammy Deganawidah Smith." A tall brown otter stepped forward and introduced himself with a smile. "From the Iroquois Nation. I deal with the media and bureaucrats for the Great Lakes portion of the project. Pleased to meet you." His paw was firm in hers, but his smile was as sincere as a politician's on the campaign trail.

Two alligators remained, or were they crocodiles? Vikki could never remember how to tell the difference. One was very tall and heavy, with massive leathery plates. The other was shorter and slim. The big one was glaring at her in open hostility. The smaller of the two was trying to hide behind the others.

"Micco Holata, my number two here on the project." Gaya-Dari introduced the larger alligator. "He's a chief from the Florida Seminole and a graduate of one of the American's best civil engineering schools." The alligator did not step forward to take the paw Vikki offered. "He's a little upset at the death of Corporal O'Malley still." Gaya-Dari explained. "Micco is in charge of project safety and security, so he feels responsible, don't you Micco?"

"We should be allowed to investigate this on our own." The heavyset reptile rumbled in a deep voice. "Sending in a stranger at this point will just delay matters, and may have a negative impact on the inauguration."

"Victoria is here to ensure that there is no threat to the inauguration, so that we can go ahead on schedule, not to investigate the death of John O'Malley." The platypus lectured them, reminding Vikki of the limitations on her authority at the same time. "If we all cooperate with her everything should go smoothly, and if a threat does emerge," he paused to scan the group, "we'll deal with it then. Have I made myself clear?"

Vikki could feel the intensity of his stare from behind him, and could see the effect that it was having on the group. Was that the secret to leadership, she wondered, the ability to intimidate?

"Let's all get back to work." Gaya-Dari commanded more than suggested. The group began to break up and go their separate ways.

"You missed one." Vikki indicated the small alligator before it could scurry away.

"Oh yes. Minko, come here."

The little gator turned reluctantly but scuttled closer, avoiding eye contact with Vikki.

"This is Minko Imastabi, a Choctaw from Louisiana. New Orleans to be precise." The platypus continued. "He lost most of his family to Hurricane Katrina. He does not have any particular qualifications but he is very dedicated to the project. He makes himself useful in any way that he can. Sort of our chief gofer, eh Minko?" Gaya-Dari's tone was condescending, but Vikki detected a note of affection there too. The alligator nodded, keeping his head lowered. When Gaya-Dari dismissed him he almost sprinted out of the lobby.

All in all, Vikki considered them a shifty, evasive and suspicious bunch. She had taken a close look at their claws, speculating as to whether the RCMP officer's murder had been an inside job. She wondered if Gaya-Dari would agree to have scrapings taken from each employee. She would have to have their background checks redone by the Academy and its sister agencies in the States and Briton. That would take some time. In the meanwhile she would start going through the former security officer's files. With the inauguration only days away she had better get started.

As if he could read her mind, Gaya-Dari turned to her just then and said "Come, I'll show you to your office."

* * * * * * * *

After breakfast Geno went to the operations centre where she worked as an analyst when she was not in the field. Marcel had a training routine to follow, and a lot of written material to absorb, but his schedule was more flexible. He went to the building that housed the support staff and buzzed the door to the Joel's office.

Joel, a ring-tailed lemur of Russian descent, was the Academy's forger. It was his job to supply the paperwork necessary for the agents to operate undercover and to fake evidence when they needed to resort to extortion. He could even print up some very passable foreign currencies to offset travel expenses. Before Kain Algorath had been hired, he also did double duty as the resident techno geek. But while Algorath was a hacker extraordinaire, Joel was still the go-to guy when you needed a little digital magic. Especially if it wasn't exactly for Academy business.

Joel was known around the Academy for one other thing. He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of bondage techniques. He claimed to know more than a thousand ways of binding a victim in order to administer a little discipline upon them. Moreover, he asserted that the knowledge came from having had all of them applied to him. 'If it can be tied, it's been tried', he liked to say of himself.

Normally the Academy did not interfere with the private lives of its employees, providing they did not try to hide their activities and leave themselves open for blackmail. But Joel had a habit of using Academy property to pursue his hobbies. The Chief of Staff, despite having a more than passing interest in the dominant side of bondage and discipline, was forced to have Joel's internet access restricted and a surveillance camera installed in his office. Now when people came to see Joel for things other than official business they had to talk in the hallway.

Joel was surprised when Marcel motioned him to come out to the corridor. Marcel was not into bondage. Joel knew that from watching the DVDs he had copied from the surveillance cameras in the safe houses where the little black fox and Geno used to meet, until Silver made him stop taping them. Nor could he imagine Marcel needing any of the sexual aids Joel provided for fellow employees in need of a little spice in their relationships. Maybe Geno was looking for some leather gear, he had a supplier for that too, and she did like to accessorize.

But Marcel looked frantic, exhausted and worried all at the same time, and that scared Joel. The last time he had seen someone with that combination of expressions was just before one of the agents suffered a stress-related incident. The guy had lost it, in other words, and had tried to vivisect a co-worker he accused of screwing his mate. Joel suddenly remembered the duplicate DVDs he had stashed away before Silver destroyed his originals and his blood ran cold. Had Marcel found out about them?

"Joel." Marcel began, staring intensely into the lemurs eyes. "I need your help."

Whatever it was, Joel had a feeling that he was going to regret helping. But how could you refuse a friend, especially one trained to kill in so many ways. Joel shrugged assent, afraid to talk, even in the supposedly unmonitored corridor.

"I need you to gather up some of your gear and head over to Vikki's apartment." Marcel said. "Not your forgery gear. Get me?"

"Uh, not quite." Marcel was leaning into him as he spoke, making Joel even more uncomfortable. And the desperate tone of his voice! "Maybe you better tell me exactly what it is that you want me to do."

Marcel did. Joel's black skin went pale under his fur.

"Jesus Marcel. If Vikki finds out she'll kill us both. And what about Silver? It's his kit too." Joel clutched his throat with his paws and shuddered. "Silver will do baaad things to me when he finds out."

"Leave Silver and Vikki to me." Marcel replied harshly. He held up a pair of brass keys. "The big one is for the lobby. The smaller one is for her apartment. Just get in and rig it up like I asked and leave the instructions on the dresser. And Joel ..."

"Yes?"

"Don't touch anything else. I don't to get through this only to find that some lingerie has gone missing."

"Hey! That's low." Joel retorted, insulted. "Just who is asking who for a favour here anyway?"

"Sorry Joel." Marcel stepped back, shocked at the tirade from the normally submissive lemur. "I have a lot on my mind and I didn't get much sleep last night."

"S'okay. Just remember that I have some integrity too."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Marcel hung his head.

"I may have some bad habits but when it comes to my co-works I draw the line." Joel stepped back into his office.

"What can I say, Joel? I'm a shit for even thinking it."

"Well, just remember that Joel the lemur does not violate the personal property of others." He closed the door hard in Marcel's face.

Safe inside his sound proofed office, Joel relaxed and the stern look disappeared from his face.

"Joel the Lemur does not violate the personal property of others." He repeated as he dialled the combination on the locker where he kept his more personal items. "Not when they are three sizes too big for me anyways." He added as he pushed a rack of teddies, corsets, and bustiers aside to get at the gear he wanted. He emerged with a coil of black material in one paw and a black box in the other.

"This should do nicely."

* * * * * * * *

Bardo Gaya-Dari detoured to his executive suite to get the key for the security office.

"I kept it here where no one else could get it." He explained as he turned the key in his door. "I keep it locked whenever I'm out, no matter how short my absence."

Vikki was impressed with the suite's elegant austerity. A stone floor with simple hardwood tables and chairs arranged on it. A matching desk, free of clutter. There was a single light shining through a sheet of glass that had water pouring constantly down it. The moving water refracted the light and created colourful patterns on the blank wall opposite. It was like a living curtain

The only other decoration was a wooden plaque with a quote carved into it, "Time and Tide Wait for No One", it said.

"You believe in being realistic." Vikki commented as he searched in his desk for the security office key.

"No." He looked up to see what she was referring to and saw her admiring the plaque. "Not particularly. Too many projects newer see the light of day because those with no vision tell others to 'be realistic'."

"I thought that this quote had something to do with a king that tried to command the tide to stop and the sun to stand still." She said, turning to him. "Isn't it supposed to mean that even the most powerful have their limits?"

"The limit of our imagination is the only limit that counts. I prefer to think of that saying as 'take the opportunity when it presents itself'. Better yet, create your own. Ah, here it is." He was holding up a complicated-looking key. "Unique milling, a recognition chip, depressions for side tumblers and magnets set to attract or repel them. Duplicates have to be made by the bonded security company and cost over two hundred dollars. Corporal O'Malley insisted on having the only copy."

"Was it recovered with his body?" Vikki enquired.

"It was. The RCMP returned it to me personally." He held the office door open. "Shall we go?"

The security office was only a short distance away. Gaya-Dari handed Vikki the key and indicated that she should do the honours. She squatted instead, and examined the lock and doorframe near the striker. There were no obvious scratches, but there were traces of black powder on the handle.

"The police have checked for prints already?" She asked without looking around.

"Yes. The RCMP sent a team over late last night."

It figures, she thought, that they couldn't stay out of the investigation. She wondered if they had anyone undercover keeping an eye on her too. Vikki made a mental note to contact Gold to request the results of the door examination from the RCMP, and to give them a blast for interfering with the case. There was probably no harm done though. "Did they go inside? Touch anything?" she asked.

"No. My instructions from the Minister were explicit on that point. Absolutely no one was allowed in until the representative from 'another agency' showed up. Not even I have been inside." The platypus added.

Picking the lock would be almost impossible, but an expert could do it if they had enough time. She was an expert, and it would take her at least an hour, she estimated. She looked around. The hallway was a dead end and its entrance was in view of the security station in the lobby. You could not count on being alone for the time required. For now, it was safe to assume that the door had not been forced. She straightened up and unlocked the door.

Inside the security office the light came on automatically. Vikki noted the sensors that controlled them were tied into the alarm system. It was beeping as the time to enter the pass code counted down. Gaya-Dari reached in and entered a code into the keypad beside the door before she could stop him.

"Shouldn't have done that, Mister Gaya-Dari. Now we won't be able to tell if anyone else has been in here since he disappeared." She chided him.

"Sorry. I assumed that no one has, since I have the only key." He explained.

"You'd be surprised how many Ambassadors felt the same way about their office safes." Vikki mumbled as she swept the room with her eyes.

There was a padded chair for one visitor by the door. The desk was facing the door, and had nothing but a telephone and a computer on it. Shelves behind it held rows of binders labelled by month and year. Probably the security reports, she supposed. A safe stood in one corner. It was closed and Vikki could tell from the position of the dial that it was locked. A picture of the RCMP officer and two young puppies sat in the exact centre of the safe's top, facing the visitor's chair. Corporal O'Malley was obviously the orderly type.

The only decoration in this office was a large map of North America that was pinned to the wall opposite the window. The widow faced east, and had a shade that could be pulled down to block observation from outside. The shade was up, allowing the morning sun to enter the room. Vikki thought that the shade was probably an unnecessary precaution, given that they were on the fourth floor and there were no buildings to observe from between here and the horizon. She left it up, even though the sun was making it uncomfortably warm inside the office. It would be easier to see traces of tampering in the strong natural light.

Someone had annotated the map with a series of lines using a thick black marker. Some of the lines were longer than others. Some were curved, others straight. Altogether they formed a crude dashed line that started in Texas, looped up into the Canadian prairies, and encircled the great lakes before following the Appalachians back to the Gulf of Mexico. Bardo Gaya-Dari saw her interest in it.

"Those are all of the individual dams, dikes, trenches and canals that make up the project as a whole." He informed her. "O'Malley must have marked them on the map as a reference. Something visual to relate the written reports to. It's against policy though. We did not want everything shown at once because it would become obvious that the various initiatives were related."

Vikki could see what he meant. It was easy to see that the system would capture spring melt and storm rainfall and redirect it around major population centres. Every major waterway draining into the Gulf was crossed by a black line and connected to its neighbours by others. The gaps between would allow the excess to be dispersed harmlessly, probably to the benefit of the agricultural industry. It was an impressive undertaking. She looked closely where the line came close to their present location. The earthen dike she had seen on the drive in did not correspond to any of the lines. If it was marked, however, it would plug the gap between two of the projects depicted. That would interfere with the design and make the water back up into Prince Albert. Gaya-Dari really did need to check that out, she thought.

Vikki examined the rest of the office carefully. She used powders and magnifying glasses she pulled from her oversized purse. Occasionally she would stop to take a photo with a small digital camera.

"Most of the surfaces have been wiped clean." She noted. "O'Malley may have been a neat freak but not that neat. How often was this office cleaned by the janitorial staff?"

"Never, not in the last few months anyways." Gaya-Dari replied. "O'Malley stopped letting them in. He said that he would take care of it himself. He was a bit paranoid, I thought."

"And yet he's in the morgue, dead from drowning in the dessert."

"Touché. His concerns were obviously justified."

"I'll say." She scrolled through the images she had taken. "I'm certain that someone has been in this office other than the corporal. There is one print from the side of the keypad, where someone unfamiliar with the setup might put their paw reaching for it in the dark. You did not touch the side, I saw that, and it does not match O'Malley's prints. He kept copies of the employee's prints on his computer. I'll check that out next. Then the safe."

"I'm afraid that I don't know his password or the combination to the safe." The platypus shrugged helplessly. "We'll have to call a technician in to open it and see if he kept his password written down inside."

"No need." Vikki assured him. "The safe was RCMP property and they had the combination on file. I memorized it before I left Ottawa. The computer is a bit more difficult, even though it is RCMP issue, because he changed his password recently."

"That is too bad."

"Difficult, but not impossible. One of our cyber operations experts managed to get in and reset it. I have the new password also."

"Very impressive." He said dryly. "My compliments to the people at ... CSIS was it?"

"I'll pass your compliments on." She said as she sat down and adjusted the chair for her height. The computer came out of sleep mode when she shook the mouse and the screen lit up a moment later. She entered the password Kain Algorath had supplied after he had hacked his way into the RCMP satellite computer. The sign-in screen changed to a desktop with the same image as the framed photo on top of the safe, Corporal O'Malley and his two pups. Vikki noted the date stamp on the scanned photo was from twenty years before, and recalled reading that the Rottweiler had been divorced for some years.

She ignored the document files and went straight for the logs. There were many ways to tell what someone had been up to on a computer, even if they tried to erase their tracks. If she did not find what she wanted she had a memory stick with a program Algorath had written that would reconstruct the hard drive chronologically, allowing her to see what had been erased when.

It turned out to be unnecessary. Whoever had been in this office and on this computer was an amateur. The logs also confirmed that the break in had occurred during the night. Probably just after the RCMP fingerprint squad had left.

While she was checking the recent activity, Vikki noticed that there was an active process running. A file was being written and it was growing steadily larger. She opened another window and discovered that it was a video file. After a quick search she had opened a live feed that showed a vixen and a platypus gazing intently at a desktop computer monitor. She looked up and around, and the vixen on the screen did the same. She spotted the lens in the corner, disguised as a burnt-out pot light. It had an excellent view of the door and the desktop.

Vikki stopped the recording with the on-screen controls and reversed the playback to the beginning. It started just as the door opened and the lights came on. The camera controls and the light sensors were linked, she supposed. She noted the file name, a combination of the start time, date, and year. Then she closed the file and searched the drive for that name. The folder she found it in contained a hundred other video files.

Most of the files were tiny, only a minute or two in length. She opened a few and confirmed that they all showed O'Malley entering the office, logging onto his computer and stopping the recording. There was one massive file in the folder however, and its name was a close match for the date and time of the intrusion. She clicked the icon and the image filled the screen.

The playback started automatically. The lights came on and the door swung open. A paw reached in for the alarm keypad and fumbled for a second before finding the numbers. The diminutive alligator Minko Imastabi entered the room and closed the door hastily. He sat down at the desk and consulted a paper before activating the computer. In the video image, the screen came to life with the picture of Corporal O'Malley and his two pups.

Vikki fast-forwarded through the rest of the video. The alligator had spent over an hour going through O'Malley's computer. None of the files seemed to be encrypted, or of much interest to the reptile. After deleting the recent history file, a totally inadequate cover up measure, Imastabi had turned to the safe. Consulting the paper again he had opened it and spent almost another hour going through the files inside.

Vikki could read the disappointment on his face as the alligator closed the safe and began wiping down everything he thought he had touched. He wiped the keypad on his way out, after entering the code to reset the alarm, but missed the sides in his haste to exit before the countdown finished. The video ended as the lights went out a minute later.

She looked up at the platypus, who had not said a word since she had found the video feed.

"I'll find the fingerprint files and confirm it, but you better get Mister Holata to isolate the other alligator before he finds out we're on to him."

"I can't believe that Minko could be involved with this." Gaya-Dari shook his head sadly. "There must be an explanation, he could never kill anyone."

"That's not my concern." Vikki told him. "My job is to identify threats to your project and remove them. I'll want to question him, but after the RCMP detachment in Prince Albert takes him into custody it'll be up to them to investigate the murder."

"I'll go find Micco Holata." He said glumly as he straightened up.

"I'll be right here." She said as he left. Trying to figure out what the Christ is going on here, she added to herself.

When she was alone she went through the logs again. The alligator had opened quite a few of the corporal's files, but he had not erased any of them. She started opening the same files in hopes of finding out what the alligator was looking for. They were mostly reports on project progress, with individual sites indicated by map references rather than by name. The RCMP officer had underlined a number of these, sometimes adding red question marks on each side. Is this where he got the information for the big map, she wondered?

She came upon another file, a graphics file. Opening it she discovered a map of North America, similar to the one on the wall. All of the sites the Rottweiler had marked seemed to be indicated to those on the digital map. Had he created it or was it his reference? Vikki checked the file's metadata as Algorath had showed her to do. It was a flat file, and almost two years old, so the markings had been there when it was created. Its original title had been "Licensed Sites" but it had been changed only a week ago. Someone, presumably Corporal O'Malley, had decided to rename it 'Morning Light'.

* * * * * * * *

Dongo Fett rolled into town at about the same time that Vikki had entered the project headquarters. The drive had given him the opportunity to check out the truck Gus had provided him with. True to his word, the modified F-150 flew down the highway and held the tightest curves with no sway or drifting. Dongo slowed down to a crawl that matched the truck's dilapidated appearance as he entered Prince Albert. Gus had added a device that would inject a small amount of oil into the exhaust system. Dongo turned it on and a cloud of black, evil-smelling smoke formed behind him. He adjusted the flow until just a trickle came out. It completed the camouflage job, and would double as a smoke screen generator in a pursuit.

His first objective was to find a local hangout and get a feel for the situation.

Prince Albert had a core of office buildings and a couple of big malls. There was a nice golf course right in town, and some picturesque older homes north of the railway tracks. If you stayed on the main roads you would get the impression that it was a one of the larger, more prosperous, prairie towns. But just a few blocks off the main route things were not so pretty. Storefronts were boarded up, manufacturing shops were closed down, and restaurants stood empty.

Of course there were some places that survived no matter how bad the times. The cafe with the two ninety-nine breakfast and the bottomless cup of coffee. Dongo drove around in ever-widening circles until he found such a place. It was the only eatery in town with more than four customers and two vehicles parked in front of it. Dongo parked between a pair of pickup trucks that looked as old and battered as his did and went inside.

The room went silent as he entered and every head was turned his way. A large female bison in a pink dress stood behind the Formica counter with a pot of steaming coffee in her grip. She peered at him through eyeglasses with frames shaped like little angel wings that Dongo thought only existed in Far Side cartoons. The customers had all paused in mid-sip or bite to watch the stranger in their midst. Dongo strode over to the counter and sat between a prairie dog in a plaid work shirt and a coyote in a denim jacket. He nodded to each and pulled his gloves off, slapping them on the table.

If his eye patch and craggy features under the slouch hat were not enough to keep their attention the shinny metallic paw surely was. Dongo decided to go for broke and peeled his jacket off. Because he was wearing only a tee-shirt underneath they could see that the metal appendage went all the way up.

"What'll it be?" The bison addressed him as if she served his type every day.

"Coffee, please. Black."

"Is there any other way?" She asked with a cynical grin and poured into a cup she had already placed in front of him. "Lose that in the oil patch?" She indicated his arm with a tilt of her chin.

"Yeah." Dongo answered after a sip of coffee. "Rig blew out when I hit a gas pocket and the retaining ring took her clean off. The fire coming up the hole sealed it though, so I didn't lose too much blood. Managed to get to town before I passed out." Everyone in the place was leaning in and listening intently.

"Wildcatter , eh? Get the eye in the same accident?" She asked.

"Naw. Smacked myself with the blunt end of a pry bar when a pipe I was wedging slipped. Hurt like hell."

She looked thought he window at his truck. "Where'd you park your rig?" She was referring to the portable drilling rig that he should have been towing.

"Impounded in Mexico for failing to pay the proper gratuities to the local authorities." He shrugged. "Came back this way to earn enough to get her out of hock. Came up through Texas and Oklahoma. Know of anyone hiring around here?"

"Uh uh." The coyote answered. "How about in Texas and Oklahoma?"

"Nada. Damn, I heard that there was a lot of work going on around here."

"Lots of work," the prairie dog spoke, "but not for riggers. Cat drivers, backhoe operators, general construction stuff. But even that is drying up. They're almost done."

"Who's done what?" He asked casually, holding up his cup for a refill.

"Some water control project." The bison answered. As she leaned forward to pour Dongo could see that her nametag said 'Flo'. "They are a damned clannish bunch too. Brought in most of their own crews and equipment. Kept to themselves. How's that coffee."

Dongo took a long sip and made a show of swirling around in his mouth like a wine connoisseur.

"It's pretty damn bad." He said with a straight face.

The bison threw her head back and barked out a laugh. The customers joined in.

"Yeah, but it's cheap." She laughed as she headed to the back to make more.

With the ice broken Dongo was able to chat freely with the locals. They filled him in on the local employment situation and advised him of where the oil companies were active. At the moment, with crude prices low and natural gas prices lower, that was nowhere. Dongo steered the conversation back to the platypus's project.

"We all thought that it would be a good thing." The prairie dog admitted. "But it became obvious real quick that they did not want to mingle with us. They built their own facilities and keep to themselves. The security force is like a power onto itself, and they don't treat trespassers kindly."

"Yeah, they're like the railroad bulls in the old days." An old wolf injected. "We used to hunt up north of here before they built that barrier along highway two. Some of my friends was beat up bad for trying to go back, others done disappeared altogether." He said ominously

"Now don't you go spreading wild stories Billy." A new voice boomed. The cafe's patrons froze at the sound. Dongo could smell the sudden fear on them.

He turned around on his stool. A large alligator was filling the doorway. It was dressed in jeans and cowboy boots, like many of the locals, but the style was subtly different, marking him as someone from away. He met Dongo's inquisitive stare with a steely glare meant to intimidate. Dongo supposed that it worked well enough on the typical citizen, but having spent days at a time staring down the barrel of his .50 calibre sniper rifle, waiting for his target to appear, had given him a steady stare of his own. He focused his one good eye between those of the alligator and waited for the big grey-green reptile to make the next move.

The gator frowned when his stare failed to intimidate the fox and he strode forward.

"My name is Micco Holata." He informed Dongo in a forceful voice. "I'm in charge of security up at the project. Don't let these locals mislead you with their hoodoo stories and bogeymen tales. But don't think that we're a soft touch either." He grinned, showing more ivory than a piano. "We don't like drifters and there is no work for casual labour. So you best finish your coffee and head for the Yellowhead Highway." It was a not-so-subtle request that Dongo head back to Saskatoon.

Dongo had taken a dislike to the big alligator already. He took a slow deliberate sip of coffee and regarded the reptile over the cup.

"Prince Albert seems like a nice place to rest for a spell. Maybe I'll settle down here. Who knows?"

The gator stepped close and leaned down to glare at him. "Don't you fuck with me boy. I've eaten your type whole for breakfast and shit out the bones."

Dongo kept eye contact and took another sip of coffee. After a minute the gator stepped back and laughed. "They got your arm and your eye but you kept your balls." Holata swept the hat from the coyote's head derisively. "Not like most of them around here. Flo's the only real male left around here, ain't you Flo?"

"I told you before that you aren't welcome here." The bison said from the doorway to the kitchen. "Now are you gonna leave or do I have to call the constable?"

"Like he'd come after me." The alligator scoffed. Dongo could tell by the way the corners of Flo's mouth turned down that Holata was speaking the truth. Nevertheless, the gator backed toward the doorway. "You want to hang out with these losers be my guest." He addressed Dongo. "But if you want to get anywhere in this town you need to play with the big boys. You up for a real drink?"

Dongo glanced at his watch just to confirm that the bars would not be open for another couple of hours; the legal ones anyways. He stood up, feeling the burning glares of betrayal from the locals as he walked over to the gator.

"I'd like one more than a poke in the good eye with sharp stick. Where to?"

"Just follow me." The alligator got into a black sedan that he had double parked in front of the cafe and pulled away without waiting for Dongo. The fox had to rush to catch up, but he was careful not to show off the true capabilities of his special Ford. Micco Holata led him north across the river, past a drive-in theatre to what looked like a large residence. A seniors home perhaps. The gator parked in front amongst a number of identical black sedans. Dongo noted that the license plate numbers were all sequential. He memorized them for his report later.

Holata walked right into the building without knocking. Inside the main doors, where one might expect a reception desk, was a large salon with a piano, several comfortable couches, and a small bar. There were half a dozen rough-looking characters inside. A couple of large gators, an otter that was picking his teeth with a switchblade, a bullfrog that looked like a sumo wrestler, and two muscular platypuses in tank tops. Or would that be platypi, Dongo wondered?

There were also a number of females also. Cottony young sheep, silky collies, a skunk, two otters and even a mink. Some wore corsets and stockings, some wore see-through slips and panties, and one of the otters was in leather. The mink was wearing nothing but a silk scarf. The females were serving the drinks, leaning on those males that were standing and sitting on the laps of those that were seated. Dongo felt right at home.

Holata introduced the other males as members of his security crew. He ordered the collie behind the bar to give Dongo a whiskey without consulting the fox. She hurried to fill the order, obviously leery of the alligator's anger. Dongo sniffed the drink when she handed it to him. Not likely that it was drugged, he thought, but it had to be the cheapest whiskey on the market. It would burn like hell going down. Dongo emptied the glass in one shot and banged it down on the bar.

"I thought that you said you had some real drinks?" He said to the gator, struggling successfully to keep from spewing the cheap whiskey all over the bar. Holata had been watching him intently, and he still had a frown on his face.

"So you can drink like a grown up." Holata indicated that the bartender should pour him another drink, from the regular stock. "You smoke?"

"The occasional cigar." Dongo admitted.

"Light him up Lassie." The collie prepared an expensive Cuban and lit it herself before passing it to Dongo. He took a few appreciative puffs and sipped the new drink. It was much smoother, a premium brand.

Dongo realized that he had an opportunity to integrate himself with the alligator and his security crew. If he could do it, he would have direct access to those on the inside instead of second-hand information from the locals. He had the feeling that being cautious would do no good. Not only was there very little time but this bunch didn't look like the types that appreciated caution. More likely the types that had testosterone shipped in by the tanker-truck full. It would take something macho to impress the gator, and this pissing contest was far from over.

"Nice bunch of ladies here." Dongo commented, smiling at the collie. She smiled back. "Who owns the place?"

"We do, now." The gator grinned. "The old goat that ran the place kindly sold us her share and moved to Florida to retire. Didn't she lassie? She don't write much though." He chuckled.

The collie had dropped her head and turned when Holata addressed her, but Dongo could see the hatred on her face reflected in the mirror behind the bar. He realized that Holata could too, and that he didn't care. What had really happened to the goat, he wondered, and how much influence could this bunch of gangsters possibly have?

"Convenient." Was all that he said.

"What's your name, stranger?" the alligator demanded.

"Fett, Dongo Fett."

The big reptile had one of his crew write it down and then gave him the license plate number from Dongo's truck. The platypus left the salon with the paper in his paw. Dongo continued to smoke and sip at his drink in the silence. Fifteen minutes later the platypus returned and gave Holata the thumbs-up sign.

"What kind of work are you looking for Fett?" The gator asked him.

"Anything that pays good." Dongo replied. "I have to get my rig out of impound in Juarez before they auction it off."

"You should look into off-shore drilling." The gator chuckled, and his crew joined in the laughter. Dongo didn't get the joke.

"Speaking of drilling," Holata swept an arm around the room, "we have some good drilling opportunities right here. Not exactly virgin turf, but someone who knows how to handle his rig can still get a gusher now and again."

Dongo could tell where this was going. "You asking whether my rig drills straight?" He eyed the gator as he spoke.

"Yeah. That and whether you can please the ladies with a portable rig." The group laughed again.

"When Dongo Fett drills, Dongo Fett gets results." He replied. "Sweet, slippery, spurting crude."

"Care to make a wager on that?" The alligator grinned.

"What's the bet?"

"First one to make one of these whores come. If you win I'll give you a job. If I win you leave town, today. You can have first pick of the whores 'cause you're a guest."

Dongo thought hard. Here was the opportunity that he was looking for, but he had to tilt the odds in his favour.

"How about doubling that bet." He asked casually, holding his glass up for a refill. "First one to make two whores come." The males gasped at the audacity. The girls sat up in sudden interest. It was a bold move.

Micco Holata squinted back at him, trying to figure out his angle. "You don't have a vibrating dildo attachment on that metal arm do you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nope. I won't even use my paws." Dongo declared. "Let's make it tongue and cocks only, okay?"

"You're on. Pick your whores." The gator stood up and began to disrobe with the help of his crew.

Dongo looked around the room. The best looking one was the mink, but that did not mean that she was going to be the most receptive. He wished that he had studied animal sexuality, he had no idea which species might be quicker to respond. As he sat there trying to decide, the collie leaned against him and handed him his drink.

"I don't know what you're up to but I'd like to see someone beat him for a change." She whispered. "You take me, and Wendy, the skunk. We work good together."

"I'll take this collie and that skunk over there." Dongo announced.

Holata choose the mink and one of the ewes. His scaly green cock was already hard and it stuck out almost eight inches from his groin. Dongo noted that the ridges formed where the scales overlapped would help stimulate the females. No wonder the gator made the bet. He directed the mink to lie down first. She looked bored as she lay down on the couch closest to the gator. The ewe looked a little sheepish as she waited her turn.

"Get your pants off." He told Dongo. "We start together when my boy calls go."

"Ladies, of you could do the honours?" Dongo held up his arms so the collie and the skunk could pull off his tee-shirt. Then the dog reached around from behind him and undid his belt and fly. She hocked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and shorts and pulled them down as one. Everyone in the room gasped this time, males as well as females.

"Holy jacked-off catfish!" Micco Holata exclaimed. "You've got two cocks! That ain't fair!"

Dongo did indeed have two cocks; had them from birth. They were both long and thick, one mounted over top of the other. They had identical curves and large heads. They were slowly rising as the blood inflated them. Dongo was not shy and he had no problem getting them up in front of a crowd. He had competed like this in bordellos around the world when he was in the army. The collie looked over his shoulder and whistled appreciatively. She reached under and between his legs to give his balls a squeeze, speeding the erections.

"I did say tongue and cocks, not cock. Plural." He pointed out.

The alligator grunted, caught in his own trap. He waved at one of his guards and the frog gave the word before Dongo could get the girls into position.

Holata spread the mink's legs like he was opening a cupboard and spit on her vagina. He rubbed the head of his bumpy cock in it and pressed it against her. It was still too dry. She produced a paw full of lubricant from some hidden place and used her digits to work it inside. As soon as she pulled her paw away the gator thrust his hips toward her, burying his prick to the hilt. The mink didn't change expressions, she just lay back and took it. Holata began a rhythmic rocking motion that would eventually bring her to orgasm.

Dongo quickly had the collie and the skunk lie down face to face, the skunk on top of the collie. He pulled them around until their twats were against each other, their legs entwined but spread to expose them. Dongo dropped to his knees and began licking.

On the other couch the alligator kept up his steady cadence of in and out. With each thrust he drove his ridged prick along the mink's clit. When he pulled back the lips of her cunt spread to expel each horny plate. Despite her disinterest, her body was reacting, sending fluids to lubricate and blood to inflate her tissues. It was protecting her from damage but making her more sensitive at the same time. She was grunting under her breath within five minutes.

Dongo ran his tongue up and down between the vaginal lips of the two girls. He worked up mouthfuls of saliva and injected it into them by pressing his lips hard against them. When they were slick he teased their clits with the tip of his tongue until they stood out from their fleshy beds. They ground their clits against each other, helping Dongo along while his head blocked the security guards' view.

When he could taste their juices mingling with his Dongo straightened up. With their asses hanging off the edge of the couch their open, glistening twats were on a level with his throbbing members. He took one in each paw, glad that he had remembered to turn the paw warmer on in the metal one, and guided them in. The skunk and collie were kissing passionately, losing themselves in their task, but they stopped when they felt the heads of his cocks pressing against them. A little wiggle, a little push, and the knobs were in. They signed as one and their mouths found each other again.

Dongo put one paw on the collie's hip and the other on the skunk's ass and held on. He pushed in just a little and then pulled out again, just to the point where his cocks had stretched their entrances and were about to pop out. He pushed again, a little further this time, and brought them almost out once more. Every push went deeper, until his cocks were sunk to the base in the steamy female caverns. Now his hips swung back and forth full tilt.

The skunk was sucking and nipping at the collie's nipples and the collie was howling in pleasure. She had her digits buried in the fur around the skunk's ears, urging her on. She had big, full breasts, and the line between the white chest fur and her golden coat bisected them perfectly. Her nipples stuck out, hard and pink. The skunks tongue was just as pink as it lapped at them in turn. Dongo had to look away. The sight of the two of them going at it was threatening to make him come. That would mean a short rest before starting all over again. He might have two cocks, but he had only one pair of balls, and it took him just as long to recover as the next guy.

The next guy in this case was having some success. The mink's body had taken over and her legs were now wrapped around the alligator's hips, slamming his ribbed cock into her faster and faster. Even her luxuriant tail was up between his legs, urging him deeper. Her head was lolling to one side, her mouth hung open and her breath was coming in gasps. Holata was not even breathing hard yet. He adjusted his stance so that his cock was going almost straight down her clit on the way in and bumping back along it on the way out.

The extra stimulation was too much for the mink. She screamed in a high-pitched voice and clamped the alligator's hips to hers as she shuddered in orgasm. Holata fought to pull out, he did not want her spasms to set him off, but her legs were locked around him. He raised one massive arm and slapped her, hard. She hissed and tried to bite him, but she let go. Holata stepped back to expose her dripping twat to Dongo and the crowd of excited males.

"That's one. Bring 'Old Faithful' over." The ewe tried to shy back but the two young platypuses grabbed her arms and dragged her over to another couch. They swung the couch around and forced her to lean over the back. One of them pulled her satin panties off, exposing an ass and crotch sheared down to the pebbly, pink skin. They held her there as Holata approached, stoking his cock back to fullness.

"Know why we call her 'Old Faithful' Fett?" He called over his shoulder as he lined his cock up with her tender twat. "It's 'cause she squirts just like that famous geyser when she comes, and she comes every time. Sometimes two or three times before the male can get his." As he finished speaking he forced his cock into her. With only the leftover fluids of the mink's climax for lubrication it went in reluctantly.

Dongo realized that his rhythm had faltered while he was distracted by the action next to him. He could feel his cocks getting softer too. He leaned down until he was pressing along the back of the skunk, bringing his head close to the collie."

"Why didn't you warn me about her?" He hissed.

"She's not as easy as he thinks." The collie whispered back. "It's mostly his boys' bragging he's heard. She fakes it better than most. Keeps a little squirt bottle of distilled water under her pillow to splash them with at the right moment." She must have been able to tell that his pricks were flagging too, because she gave him a concerned look and continued. "Now you be the big boy I know you can be and let's finish this off." She ended by clamping her lips to his mouth and driving her tongue deep down his throat.

Dongo felt a paw on his balls; he was not sure whose it was. It caressed them and gave them a gentle squeeze. A second paw joined it, tickling the sensitive skin between his tailhole and sack. He made a quick inventory. He could see both of his paws and one of each of theirs, so they were both helping to re-inflate him. That made him feel good, and that feeling made him strong, and hard.

He had not stopped moving his hips throughout the episode, but now he rolled them with newfound confidence. The girls responded by grinding in lazy circles that made their clits squeak as they rubbed against each other. Each time Dongo's cocks hit bottom their clits were being squeezed together between his throbbing meat. The three of them moved in harmony, steadily building up speed. His pair of penises pulsating pistons in their shafts

Dongo could hear the sheep crying out, but it sounded more like pain than ecstasy. The alligator was cursing and gasping for breath now too. Dongo tried to blank out the sounds and concentrate on holding back long enough to bring the two ladies to fulfillment. He was sliding in and out easily now that their bodies were providing plenty of lubricants, but their inner muscles were swollen and eager to massage his pricks as they travelled to and fro. It was going to be close, very close.

A smacking sound broke his concentration. Micco Holata had the sheep by then hips and was driving himself into her twat desperately, hard enough to redden her ass each time his scaly abdomen hit it. He could see the look of pain and distress on the ewe's face where she was bent over the couch. The sight made Dongo angry, and he forgot about the sensations assaulting his cocks for a moment. That moment was long enough.

The skunk was the first to go. With a drawn out gasp of "ah-ah-ah-h-h-h-ahhhh" she released a flood of hot liquid. When the inundation washed over her friend's vagina it set the collie off. She howled as her clit sizzled and added her own wave of warm wetness to the mix. Suddenly jerked back into the moment, Dongo drove his cocks as deep as they would go and held them there as the females writhed around them. His twin canons fired a few seconds later, bringing fresh moans of appreciation from the girls.

One of Holata's boys slid over and sniffed at the comingled crotches. "That's two for the fox." He announce reluctantly. Dongo began to pull out.

Over on the other couch the alligator's head whipped around. His ribbed rocket had just been starting to have some effect on the ewe, but he had been perilously close to coming himself. The sight of two dripping twats, still open and grasping for the retreating cocks was too much for him. His cock popped out of the sheep as he strained to watch the spectacle behind him, covering her ass in spooge as load after load of cum shot from it.

At first the alligator looked angry at being beaten, but then he grinned. "You're okay Fett." He said as he wiped the cum from his cock on the wool of the sheep's thigh. "I could use a guy like you on my crew."

"Doing Security work?" Dongo tried to sound sceptical, inwardly excited at the opportunity to get inside the organization. "I dunno."

"The inauguration of our little project has been moved up." The alligator explained as he pulled his clothes on. "Something to do with the storm down south and rain over Ontario. We have to close the dams and redirect the run off before it all gets away, or something like that. Like the boss says, 'time and tide wait for no one', and neither does the weather. A lot of environmental and anti-development groups that have been targeting individual sites are going to see the sudden activity as provocative. They may even connect the dots and realize how many of these sites are related. We need to scare them off, or beat them off, whichever's necessary. You up for that kind of action?"

"I've had my run-ins with the tree huggers." Dongo said with a mock frown. "They poured sugar in the motor of my rig once. When I caught them back for more mischief the next night I left tied them naked to the top of the boom."

"Pretty mild punishment." Holata observed.

"I was drilling in Alaska, in January." Dongo added.

The big gator laughed at that. "Anyways, I'm short of bodies because the schedule has been sped up. We could always use a guy with a big metal arm and eye patch, it'll help to intimidate the locals too ... and hey, two cocks!" His grin widened as he pointed at Dongo's dwindling members. "That's already impressed the boys on the security detail! What do you say?"

Dongo looked down, pretending to be deliberating. Wendy the skunk and the collie were still entwined, kissing languidly and running their paws over each other in the aftermath of their passion. White goo was still dripping from them, staining the cushion of the couch. He reached over and caressed the butt of the skunk idly before he spoke.

"Looks like I've come to the right place."