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FOX Academy VI - Unnatural Selection

Chapter 7 - Slaughterhouse Five

Zac's head snapped around as a blood curdling scream ripped through the forest. It was followed by an anguished cry: "Get 'em off me! Get 'em off me!" and a wail of pain. Then the woods were silent again. Even the birds had stopped singing.

The voice crying out had been so distorted by pain and distance that Zac could not tell if it was male or female or where it had come from. Thinking that Thomas may have set himself, or someone else, on fire again, Zac hurried back to the quarry to see if he could help.

He emerged from the woods to the east just as Anabel ran out of the trees west of the clearing. The two canines slid to a halt a few paces apart and each quickly checked out the other for signs of trauma.

Other than some grey dust on his jeans from the slag heap and a little sweat from running through the humid forest Zac was okay. Anabel, however, looked like she had had a rough time. Her fur and clothes were damp and dirty. She had several bloody scratches and her shirt and shorts were torn in several places. She looked like she had been attacked by several small carnivores.

"Are you okay?" Zac asked her. "Was that you screaming?"

"No. I'm fine, or, at least okay." Anabel gasped, almost out of breath. "I got separated from Ansin and fell down an old mine shaft. Fortunately it was not too deep and the bottom was thick with pine needles. I had just managed to climb out when I head that scream. I though that the mosquitoes had got to ansin so I came running to help before he had a stroke or something. But I didn't find him. With his poor eyesight and all those trees to confuse his sonar he's probably lost in the woods. Where's Sanmer?"

"I left him sitting on a slag heap." Zac couldn't help but notice how the torn shirt was exposing most of Anabel's breasts. He squeezed his eyes shut so he could concentrate on the immediate problem. "I don't think it was him screaming, he was so close to me that I would have been able to tell if it was him. I think." Suddenly he had some doubts about whether leaving the injured husky behind was the right thing to do. "Let's go check the quarry then we can go get Sanmer and search for the others if they aren't there already." He suggested.

"Sure." Anabel turned and lead them back to the nearby quarry, Zac wondered if he should tell her that one half of her denim shorts was hanging free, completely exposing one cheek of her small, firm ass. He decided to wait until they got back to the quarry before embarrassing her.

At the quarry they found Saira sitting alone by the fire. The little hybrid was glumly tossing pebbles at the face of the old gravel works. Other than still being rather sooty he looked okay to Zac.

"Where's Thomas?" Anabel asked Saira, obviously coming to the same conclusion.

"Hanging out by the pond." Saira answered shortly. The cat-bat seemed a bit out of sorts to Zac. Perhaps Thomas had been teasing him, he thought. The tall wolf had been a bit rough around the edges after chugging those beers so quickly.

"We should stick together." Zac said, trying to decide which of the missing three to go after first. He thought that maybe they would be able to see more from the ridge above the pond, so he suggested that they go there first and get Thomas. "Then the four of us can help Sanmer and look for Ansin."

Saira did not reply, but he stood up morosely and dropped the pebbles he had collected to indicate that he would follow, if reluctantly. Zac lead them up the gravel path toward the pond.

"You have a cheek exposed." Saira, who was bringing up the rear informed Anabel, and not kindly. Anabel slapped a paw to her butt to feel out the extent of the damage. She turned red under her black and tan fur as she attempted to tuck the loose flap of denim in between her cheeks.

"Thanks for telling me Zac." She hissed.

"Huh? What? Sorry, I didn't notice." The wolf lied, badly.

Halfway to the pond they were startled by a crashing in the trees to the east.

"Ouch." A voice cried from that direction.

"To the left I said." That sounded like Sanmer, Zac realized.

"I went left, you have to tell me when to go straight again." And that was definitely Ansin, he recognized the bat's plaintive whine.

"Hey! Over here guys!" He called.

The husky and the skinny bat emerged from the trees nearby. Sanmer was propped up on Ansin's shoulder, his injured leg held off the ground. The two were having a difficult time even on the open trail. Zac hurried to assist.

"How did you two end up here?" He asked them.

"I got lost looking for Anabel. Ansin said, squeaking and cocking his ears in her direction to see if she was okay. Anabel clutched her ripped shirt and kept her exposed backside out of sonar view. I must have crossed the path without noticing it." Ansin continued. "The next thing I knew I was at the foot of this big pile of rock and gravel with Sanmer calling down to me. So I went up to see if I could help."

"Ansin was able to use his wings to provide some lift." Sanmer took up the story. "So we were able to get down okay. But once we got under the trees again it was tough going. Hey, did you guys hear that scream?"

"Yeah. It wasn't you yelling by any chance was it?" Zac asked Ansin. The bat shook his head no. "We were on our way to get Thomas and then come look for you two. You think it could have been him screaming?"

"It was hard to imagine anything bad enough to scare that big timber wolf into shrieking like that." Ansin mused. "Maybe there were piranhas in the pond?"

"Maybe there were water spiders." Sanmer shuddered. Anabel gave him a dubious look. Ansin almost dropped Sanmer.

They rounded the last bend in the trail and passed the wheelbarrow. It stood empty, the shovel still leaning against it. They came to a halt and stood by the edge of the pond. Sanmer was supported by Ansin and Zac, while Anabel and Saira flanked them. Everything was quiet and still. Too still, Zac realized.

"Thomas?" He called out tentatively. "Tommy Boy?" He looked around for signs of the big wolf. "I don't see him anywhere." He said, turning to Anabel, who was standing beside him. She had her nose pointed toward the sky and was squinting into the sun.

"Look up." She said. Zac did.

There was Thomas, five metres above the surface of the water. He was naked, and he was swinging from the end of a rope that was tied to a branch of the giant willow tree that overhung the pond. Zac recognized the rope as the one that had been in the wheelbarrow. Zac stood open-mawed in shock, as did Sanmer and Ansin. Saira just frowned and shook his head sadly.

"Why am I always the one finding these damn bodies?" Anabel cursed under her breath.

* * * * * * * *

With four dead students and one KGB infiltrator in less than a week the Foreign Operations eXecutive went into lock down for the first time since the world-class assassin known as The Perfect Stalker had infiltrated the premises. Non-essential workers were told to stay home. Live-in personnel, including the students, were monitored closely. Extra security was called in from the RCMP. A sweep of every inch of the facilities was begun.

The Academy executive was gathered in the briefing room, along with a representative from the Minister's office, an English sheepdog, and a stranger that the Director had escorted in. Everyone knew that the meeting was to be formal when the Minister's representative took the seat at the head of the table and addressed Tancred Williams by his code name.

"Gold, report." The shaggy canine ordered. Silver cringed, anticipating an adverse reaction from the big golden-toned fox, but Tanner complied meekly. That was a measure of how much trouble we are in with the Ministry, Silver realized.

"You are all aware of the previous deaths and the possibility that they were deliberate and connected." He began. "The latest fatality was one Thomas Roark; another one of the candidates selected by the Diversity Board." Tanner managed to inject a little blame-shifting jibe. The sheepdog just frowned and made a 'get on with it' gesture. Gold continued. "There were signs of struggle on the wolf's body, scratches like from a bat's claws and traces of cat fur. That is consistent with Rasielle's rape story. But there is no video coverage in the forest, so we can't verify what happened."

"Is it possible that this Roark felt guilty about abusing a fellow student and committed suicide in a fit of remorse?" The bureaucrat interrupted hopefully. He would prefer nothing better than to be able to declare the whole mess a series of coincidences.

"It is not indicated in his psychological profile." The rat, Doctor Gordon offered.

"According to Saira's statement he left Roark happily bathing in the pond." Silver added. "Then there was the scream all the others heard. And how would he get all the way up that tree on his own? He has no climbing skills as far as we know."

"That is inconclusive." The dog growled. "How could anyone get such a large victim up that high?"

Silver shrugged. He had looked at the physical profiles of everyone present again. Saira was too poor a flyer and too weak to lift Roark. The wolf was even too big for Ansin, as bats could only lift objects not exceeding their own body weight in flight. Ember or Soon would have strong enough to winch him up with the rope, maybe even Balfor could have managed it, but there were no rope burns on the branch to indicate that he was hoisted that way.

"What about this Perfect Stalker chap? He was the one responsible the last time you had so many deaths. And I hear that he got away from you?" The sheepdog added critically. He had obviously read the version of the file written for outsider's consumption. The true version of events was locked away in the previous Director's secret archives, available only by Ministerial order. The functionary had no way of knowing that Silver had killed the original Stalker and replaced him with the Cloud Leopard Ophelia Cassidy Sommer. And he could not be told, because Sommer was officially dead. The fact that they were controlling a high-level assassin was restricted to only four people in the nation, two of which were in the room at the moment.

Tanner glanced at Silver and raised his brows while the dog wasn't looking. Silver pursed his lips and gave a tiny shake of his head to indicate that he had eliminated Sommer as a possibility. He had his ways of tracking the elusive cloud leopard, and happened to know that she was in Tahiti preparing for a rendezvous with her forbidden lover, Kain Algorath. It was death for her to associate with the FOX analyst and part-time agent, but neither of the two knew that Silver was on to their game. He preferred to keep it that way.

"We would know if the Stalker was in the area," he assured the Ministry rep, "even if we are too slow to catch him."

"Perhaps I can shed some light on the situation." The stranger, forgotten in the corner behind Gold, spoke up. Tanner motioned him forward.

The newcomer was a small rodent, a Norway lemming if Silver was not mistaken. He was dressed neatly in a three-piece suit and had a very serious look on his face. He stood beside Tanner, barely as tall standing as the big fox was seated, and surveyed the room. Silver felt a strange sensation for a moment, like something was tugging on his brain, but it went away after a few seconds.

"So, none of you are psychic." The rodent began with that strange statement and waited for possible rebuttal. None was offered. "I am, or rather, I am telepathic. Most lemmings are. I am just better at it than the rest." The lemming paused and smiled at Silver. "Yes I do come off as an arrogant bastard, don't I? But it is true." Silver's jaw fell.

"Mister Olsen is the head of one of our most secret intelligence collection agencies." Gold explained. "The Psychic Espionage and Telekinetic Agency, or PETA."

"I thought PETA stood for Persons for the Ethical Treatment of Actresses?" Joel interrupted. "The group against actresses being forced to work without clothes. They have that campaign 'I'd rather be furry than naked' where they pose, uhm, naked ... actually."

"It does, that is our cover." Olsen informed him. "And no, we do not need another photographer."

"Until today only I and the heads of the other intelligence agencies knew of its real role," Tanner continued, "but now that FOX is under attack we felt it best to let the rest of you in on the secret. PETA collects thoughts just like the signals intelligence agencies collect radio transmissions; they pull them from the air. They linger near embassies, attend diplomatic functions, hang out in places that terrorists are said to frequent, and they listen, and probe. They can also transmit to a degree, but that does not concern us at the moment. This is where the original intelligence about an infiltrator came from. You will of course never reveal any of this outside this group on pain of death." He stared hard at the bureaucrat as he said the last.

"And I am here," the rodent addressed Silver, "Mister Au .... Oh! Sorry, Silver. I am here because we have detected a group conscious in this area. They are fixated on this Academy because they are trying to infiltrate it. Before they detected our agents listening in to their thoughts and blocked them it was revealed that they have one of their own on the inside; a student. They believe that by eliminating the competition the survivor, their cohort, will automatically become an agent and have access to all of FOX's secrets. It is one of those secrets that they are after."

"Did they say which one?" Silver managed to verbalize before the lemming could jump in and answer the question. He found that visualizing past sexual encounters helped deflect the mental probe. It had also given the lemming an erection, but Silver pretended not to notice.

"No. They blocked their thoughts before we could determine that." The lemming was sweating even though the room was cool. Silver brought out memories of Scarlet while she was working that strip club in Poland and smiled when he saw Olsen shudder.

The lemming had to concentrate to block the erotic images and he switched to reading the mind of the little lemur in the lab coat. It was a mistake. Olsen looked at the muscular yellow fox that he knew only as Gold, the Director of FOX, with real horror. "Oh my God, with a cricket bat?" He looked back to the lemur, who was blushing. "Who are you people?"

"Focus, Olsen." Tanner advised him. "What else can you tell us about this ... Collective."

"Bursts of mental activity coincided with the deaths of your four students." The lemming managed to tear his thoughts away from the twisted corridors of Joel's mind. "They are very dedicated to their cause, and very determined. They were also very angry with the last victim, and their anger made them powerful."

"What sort of species have telepathic abilities?" Bill 'The Professor' Hanlan asked.

"Bats to a high degree, and other rodents that move in large groups, like lemmings." Olsen added proudly. "Species that hunt in packs also exhibit these traits; most canines, certain felines."

"What do you think Silver?" Tanner asked his old friend, who was biting one of his knuckles, deep in thought.

"Could Grey Muzzle be involved? Didn't the KGB experiment with telepathy?" Silver asked.

"We scanned him when your Director mentioned his background." Olsen commented. "Other than some very peculiar tastes he is normal, somewhat." While he spoke the lemming pulled a pen and paper out of his pocket and made a note to look up a certain party poodle.

"So we have to assume that we still have an infiltrator with outside help." Tanner concluded. "What else can we add to the profile?"

"There is a definite aerial angle to these attacks." Hanlan pointed out. "Maybe we should be looking more closely at the bat, Faraday."

"It could be that his claim of vertigo is just a ruse." Silver conceded. "And he believes in that weird religion."

"It's not a weird religion," Tanner chided him, "it's an old religion. But he could have been lured into one of the more, uhm, fundamentalist factions. The symbols we have seen could be Asatru. But he only has one sibling as far as we know, unless he has met up with some cousins from his illegitimate father's side."

"He was Hindi, wasn't he?" Hanlan recalled. "Maybe he converted. Do any of those symbols match that religion?"

"Sure," Joel spoke up, "but they could match a number of religions. Circles, triangles, crescents and stars can also be found in a box of Lucky Charms cereal."

"Then there's the Muslim husky, Soon. He is adept at power gliding, as is his family." Silver pointed out. "They could have landed in the trees and on the rooftops above our surveillance coverage and swooped down on their victims. And Balfor is a gymnast from a large litter. She could have lured Matty up the ladder and pushed him off. She ran to O'Leary to meet him under that tree where the collective could have been waiting. She just had to pace herself so that he reached the right spot first. And we only have her word as to what happened to Aglaia because the camera that was supposed to be covering that area was pointing into the dorm for some reason." Silver delivered a withering look towards Joel, who shrank into his lab coat, before continuing. "She is strong for her size. She could have vaulted into the tree and hauled Roark up if she could rig the rope properly."

"There were no rope marks on the bark." Tanner noted. "What about Ember and Rasielle?"

"Ember is certainly strong and agile enough to pull some of these off. He has close family ties, there could be some telepathic link there, but they are all machinists and welders, not acrobats or aerial artists. Rasielle is not strong and doesn't fly very well, certainly not well enough to lift another creature. But if there were five others like him, or her. I keep thinking of the ending of 'Seven Samurai', when the villagers rise up and overwhelm the bandits. There's strength in numbers."

"Hey!" Joel sat up, his transgression with the cameras forgotten for the moment. "That movie 'A Bug's Life' ends the same way."

"This is getting nowhere." The sheepdog interrupted. "We are under attack. What do you intend to do about it?"

Tanner frowned at the dog's use of 'We', but he ignored it for now. "Who is available?" He asked Hanlan, the senior planner.

"No one, really." The Professor shrugged. "There has been a big stink over the death of Buttmange and the shutdown of his website. The Polish authorities have closed the borders down. Marcel, Geno and Vikki are still trapped in Poznan. Dongo Fett is on loan to the CIA in Afghanistan, or thereabouts, tracking down the rest of the Al Qa'ida leadership. All of the station agents are in their respective countries, handling local contacts. It's a shame we are losing so many students actually, we really could have used a couple more agents." He concluded.

"We'll have to use whoever is available then, Algorath, Rusty, you Professor, Huston, anyone who can defend themselves."

While he was speaking the door to the conference room had opened and Kain Algorath, the senior Duty Officer had slipped in. He looked concerned.

"What is it?" Silver asked apprehensively. He knew that the Arctic fox would not have interrupted the highly classified meeting if it wasn't important.

"We've just discovered another body."

* * * * * * * *

Once again the key players in the Academy's emergency management team were gathered around a body illuminated by portable lights and imperfectly covered with a plastic tarpaulin to preserve the evidence. This time in the gully behind the gymnasium, one of the few areas left deliberately uncovered by the video surveillance. Doctor Jones was closest, having just finished his preliminary exam. As an afterthought he tucked the thick tawny tail of the cougar under the tarp. Then he turned to where Silver and Gold were waiting impatiently.

"What happened to her?" Gold asked quietly.

"Huston was brutally raped and murdered." Jones began and opened his mouth to draw a deep breath in preparation for a more detailed report. Before he could speak Silver interrupted.

"No shit, Sherlock. How and by whom is what we want to know, if you are able to figure that out."

"Cut it Silver." Tanner advised. He was well aware of the running feud between his Chief of Staff and the Chief Surgeon. "Go on Doctor."

"How she was raped is often, and by a gang. The marks on her arms and legs are consistent with a victim that was held down by four or more creatures while another raped her. Marks around her vagina indicate that the sex was forced. The amount of bruising there and volume of semen is indicative of several assailants. I would say at least five, maybe more."

Gold shook his head sadly. Huston had been one their best seducers. If she was being assaulted she should have played like she liked it, led them on until she could kill them or escape. If she had been fighting back them she really must have been terrified.

"How did she die?"

"Asphyxiation, she was strangled. About an hour ago I would say. The mutilation was post-mortem." The albino wallaby was referring to several symbols gouged into Huston's flesh where the fur was sparse, that of her belly and breasts.

"Any clue as to what type of creature did this?" Silver asked.

"Nothing conclusive at this point." Jones shook his head. "Once I get her in the surgery I'll take digital images of the bruises and scratches on her wrists and ankles and have Joel make a model of their paws from the data. Algorath can run that though the database he created of species features he created. Maybe we'll find a match." Jones concluded.

"We're going to need DNA analysis as soon as possible." Gold instructed him before turning away. He guided Silver to one side with a paw on his shoulder before speaking again, almost in a whisper.

"You saw the symbols?"

"Yes. A pentagram in a circle. Three interconnected triangles. A circle with a cross in it and a dot in each of the resulting quadrants. And the big one on her belly, three lines spreading out as they go."

"They mean anything to you?"

"I've been studying them since Joel told us about how they can have several meanings." Silver admitted. "The first three are found in a number of religions, Muslim, Christian, some of the Asian faiths. The last one is new to me. It could just be from the attack itself I suppose."

"What creatures have only three digits, aside from the thumb?" Tanner wondered.

"None that we have around here." Silver said.

"They're around here now." Tanner added glumly.

"Then we need to get away from here." Silver said decisively. "I have to take the students away, all of them. Somewhere isolated so that whichever one is the infiltrator is cut off from their ... what did you call it? Their Collective. I can deal with the individual myself. It will also distance them from whatever secret they are after."

Yes, Tanner thought, the secret. He was familiar with every file in the archives, but nothing in them was important enough to justify a campaign of these murderous proportions. And that meant that there was only one other place where such a secret could be, in the former Directors personal secret archive.

Just as Presidents and Heads of States keep secrets locked away from their successors, accessible only in emergencies, the Chiefs of the world's spy agencies do the same. There is always some information that is just too dangerous to leave in the usual secret archives. If there was anything worth eliminating an entire class of recruits for that was where it would be. The problem was that Tanner did not actually know where the old Walrus had hidden his secret papers, nor did he have the authority to access them. But he knew who did. As soon as they were finished here he would have to seek an appointment with the Prime Minister.

It would be best, however, if the infiltrator was not around when he accessed W's secret archive, so Silver's idea of moving the class off campus had merit. But Tanner still felt bad about it. He did not want to have to sacrifice the rest of the students to eliminate the infiltrator.

"You would be risking the lives of the other students." Tanner pointed out to Silver. "They are innocent bystanders in this fight."

"Legally they are just as liable as any other employee of FOX. It's in the fine print when they signed on." Silver reminded him. "In theory we select agents that are already qualified from other security and intelligence organizations; all this training and graduation is a mere formality. None of our current field agents ever graduated."

Tanner had to concede that point. Marcel had been recruited off the street and only attended classes sporadically. Vikki Beausoleil had not finished her course due to losing her arm on a reconnaissance mission. Geno had forced her way in. Dongo Fett was a transfer from the CIA. Even Kain Algorath had missed finishing because of an exploding sixty-nine Firebird.

"You're still playing a dangerous game." Tanner advised. You could be sending them to the slaughterhouse.

"As cruel as it sounds, it was one thing when it was just the students being killed, but now they are attacking indiscriminately. How are you going to explain it to the Minister if they kill a civilian next time?"

Tanner frowned at that. Hiding the Academy in the middle of a tourist attraction had its disadvantages. He could see no alternatives.

"Where are you going to take them?" He asked.

"To the middle of nowhere."

* * * * * * * *

Silver returned to the FOX Operations Centre where he issued instructions to the duty staff. Frantic phone calls were made to other departments. Favours were called in or promised. Threats and pleas were made. The Minister responsible for FOX called one of his Cabinet cohorts and stressed the need for cooperation between agencies. It took several hours, but finally everything was in place.

"Do you want me to alert the students so they can pack and get ready?" Kain, still on duty from the night before, asked Silver.

"No. We'll pull the field packs we prepared for them from storage." The packs were designed specifically for each student and the equipment inside, including clothing, was fitted to each. Normally they were not issued until the second half of the course, but because the schedule was always unpredictable they were prepared and set aside from the start.

"I don't want any of them to know that we are leaving until the last second." Silver told Kain, thinking about the telepathy ability the Sheepdog had demonstrated and wondering if the Collective, as Tanner had dubbed them, could read minds from a distance or just communicate among themselves. He would have to guard his thoughts when he was around the students until they had caught the infiltrator.

"We'll pick them up after breakfast and tell them that we are going out to the Army's training area to run the obstacle course."Silver continued. "But we'll turn into the military airfield and put then straight on the plane and before they know what's going on we'll be in the air. Smooth as silk."

Kain looked at his watch. It was after midnight. "What do you think they are doing right now?" He wondered.

"Probably snoring." Silver relied. "It's been another stressful day and Doctor Gordon gave them each a pill to help them sleep."

* * * * * * * *

In her room in the dorm Anabel had taken out her big black rubber dildo and was ramming it mercilessly in and out of her twat as she lay back in her bed. She was trying desperately not to think about Zac Ember, and the way he had taken charge yesterday. She was not having much success.

Anabel had always been attracted to authority, or the semblance of it. That's why she almost gave up her virginity to series of professors, dojo masters, and gymnastics coaches. But there had always been something missing before, and now she realized what it was. It was the element of danger, the sense that you were in a life or death situation. An intimacy with death, that silver fox had called it when they were discussing the movies he had made them watch. After watching them he had called up images from the war museum archives; grainy black and white photos of World-War One pilots with more than fifty kills and infantry being relieved after months of trench warfare. Then World War Two marines after taking a Japanese island and concentration camp inmates being liberated by the British. Pilots, soldiers, marines, and survivors, all wore the same expression; an emotionless, yet haunted, look of determination.

She could see traces of it on several of the staff here at FOX, especially on the face of the Chief of Staff. They were intimate with death, and their familiarity with the hooded collector of souls permeated the grounds of the Academy, and that was making her incredibly horny.

Authority turned her on, and what higher authority was there than to take someone's life?

But while her libido was being charged by the electric atmosphere around her, Anabel still had a measure of control over her desires. She wasn't about to throw herself at the feet of the big silver fox, because she could sense that he would not be interested. Rusty was a possibility, but while he was all bark and bluster she could tell that he was not a servant of death like the agents were.

But she was going to be an agent, she could feel it in her bones. She thought that Zac and maybe Ansin would make the grade too, and that enhanced their desirability in her mind. But while Ansin was sweet, in a way, the scales had definitely tipped in Zac's favour yesterday, first when the others started deferring to him in the woods and later, after they found Thomas, when he kept his head and took charge. Zac had forced Ansin to fly to the branch and check Thomas for vital signs. Zac had sent Saira racing back to the Academy to call for assistance. Zac had made sure that they disturbed the scene as little as possible so any evidence would be preserved.

Now she was thinking about him again, she realized. While she had his image in her head the paw guiding the thick rubber dong had slowed down and angled the oversized prong so that it slid deliciously over her clit.

NO, she commanded herself, driving the artificial cock in to the hilt and pulling it out quickly to repeat the motion. You will not get involved with another student. You will not sleep with Zac, at least until graduation. You will not even think of sleeping with the big, grey, sleek wolf. You will not stare at his trousers and wonder if it is true what they say about the relationship between the length of a guys digits and his cock, because Zac does have big paws, doesn't he? And they were warm too, in that fleeting instant when he put them on her bare arms to shake her back to her senses at the pond. Warm and thick and slow, oh so slow ....

Dammit! She was doing it again, slowing the dildo's pace to match the fantasy playing in her head. But it felt soooo good. What could it hurt, she thought? Zac isn't really here and the release will take her mind off sex for a while. Yeah, for about an hour, a traitorous portion of her mind injected. Shut up, she told herself, and enjoy the show.

Anabel brought her knees up until the heels of her feet touched her ass and then spread her them until she could press the soles of her feet together. She made sure that the thick towel she had folded was still placed just so under her butt. No sense sleeping in a wet spot or leaving evidence of your nocturnal hobbies behind when you didn't have to. She got a firm grip on the dry end of the long rubber implement and started in again, deliberately thinking of Zac this time.

Would he be as hard as this? She wondered as she manoeuvred the specially made dildo into her gaping cunt. Yes he would, she concluded, but it would be warmer, and pulsing with life. Would he tease her clit with the tip like this? She rubbed the textured rubber knob across the hardened button quickly, and with just the right amount of pressure. Yes, he would, because he would be a considerate lover, she imagined. The type that read the signs a lover displayed and was guided by them.

Once her clit was about to explode he would switch to her insides, massaging that spot she could barely reach herself with long slow stokes, just ... like ... this. Her mouth opened so she could draw more air and she moaned in a low voice without noticing. She closed her eyes so that she could picture what he would look like looming over her, his arms extended to keep from smothering her with his weight, his hips held high so he could get the maximum length on each thrust. His eyes squeezed shut in his efforts to hold off his orgasm long enough to bring her to hers.

Her breath was coming fast and the moans had devolved into incoherent cries to her imaginary lover as the pace of the rubber prick increased in perfect time with her desires. Sweat was running off her brow by the time she grabbed the dildo with both paws and started driving it as hard as she could into her. If the knob were to pop out now she could hurt herself before getting it back under control, but she was practised at this, and Zac would never hurt her.

She came with a gush of hot fluid that greased the rubber pole and soaked the short fur covering her butt. Most of it was caught by the strategically placed towel, but a few spurts were expelled with such force that they arched over her feet and wet the linen at the bottom of the bed. Anabel kept the dildo pumping through it all, just like Zac's penis would not stop until she had finished, but she did slow it down as she regained control of her breathing.

When the last spasm had passed she pulled the slippery industrial-strength prick from her. Near exhaustion, she wiped it with an alcohol wipe which she tossed into the trash without getting up. Placing the dildo in the drawer of the bedside table, she reached for the wet facecloth that she had left in a bowl for after. It had been too hot to handle when she started but now it was merely warm, and comfortable, like the paw of a lover. She wiped herself off and returned the cloth to the bowl. The last thing she did before turning out the bedside lamp was to pull the now-sodden towel out from under her butt and drape it over the foot board. It could go in the laundry basket when it had dried out a bit.

As she drifted off she wondered what training was in store for them in the morning.

* * * * * * * *

Zac was still awake also. He had not taken the pill the rat had given him because he did not like to have to resort to drugs to sleep, feel happy, stay calm, or get an erection. Like Anabel, his thoughts were of a sexual nature, and like her, they involved a fellow student. She probably would have appreciated the fact that they were about her. But unlike Anabel, Zac was not using some artificial sex aid, or even pounding his puppy. He did have an impressive erection, that was true, but other than resting a paw on it and giving it the occasional squeeze he was doing nothing to further things along.

Various images of what Anabel would look like naked filled Zac's head. He had seen a fair portion of her recently and only had a few blank spaces to fill in, but he did so with a variety of accessories. In one she had a shaved pussy, standing out pale and smooth in contrast to the surrounding black and tan fur. In another she had a gold ring dangling from her clit. He imagined her with big round nipples, and small pointy nipples, and nipples like wine bottle corks. In some versions her nipples were brown, in others tan, and once they were pink, but he scrubbed that one because it looked unnatural. He considered them pierced, tattooed and erect, almost always erect.

Zac went on that way for a long time, his loins aching from the need for release. He savoured the feeling, refused to satisfy it, until unbidden images began to invade his waking dream. Thomas hanging from the branch. The look on Saira's face, one of sadness tinged with righteous retribution. The exposed cheek of Anabel's tight, smooth ass. The way Tommy Boy's tongue hung down from his partially opened maw.

He suddenly realized that his cock had gone soft in his paw. Try as he may, he could not retrieve the earlier images of Anabel. He dropped his cock, pulled the sheets up to his chin, and finally took the pill that the doctor had given him. As his weariness succumbed to the waves of artificial slumber he wondered what was in store for them in the morning.

* * * * * * * *

Saira held off taking his pill until well past midnight, hoping to fall asleep on his own, but sleep eluded him too.

He was happy when he was accepted at the Academy, and had wanted to do well here, both on the course and with the other students. That was partially the loneliness of being raised in a series of military installations, and partially due to the pride that any fairly unique individual feels. What thick-rimmed, chinless, buck-toothed weakling did not secretly feel that he or she was superior to the sleek, strong, good-looking creatures that did not have to work to get into college, get good jobs, or get laid?

At first things had gone well; the accidental encounter with Charlie had boded well for the rest of the course. But Charlie's death had marked the turning point all too soon. Sam, who Saira thought was very handsome, went before he could even talk to the white wolf, and that was quickly followed by the disappearance of the kindly old fox, Grey Muzzle.

He had even been too sad to see Aglaia go, even if she had liked to pick on him. Maybe if she had died in her sleep he would feel better about it. And he would have forgiven Thomas, if the big wolf had apologized nicely, and let him curl up on Thomas' lap, and petted him to sleep. He had been awfully ... big, and strong.

Saira did not like what was happening at the Academy. He wanted it to stop, but he was helpless to do anything about it. He considered quitting, just packing his bag and leaving, but he had set a goal for himself, and he was so focused on attaining it that he could not think of alternatives. Despite seeing what was going on around him and what it was doing to the students, including him, his manic determination held him to his course.

Saira sighed and took the pill. The effect on his small body was felt almost instantly.

Before he rolled onto his stomach to sleep the last thought he had was to wonder what the new day had in store for them.

* * * * * * * *

Ansin was not asleep either. He too had eschewed Doctor Gordon's pill. It was not that he had anything against drugs in particular; he had been on one form of medication or another for years to treat his mild schizophrenia, but he preferred meditation to drugs when he was preparing for battle, and he was certain that a battle was coming.

In the absence of his Zen garden Ansin meditated to the steady 'shick, shick' of a blade moving over a whetstone. He had brought several knives from his extensive collection with him, his favourites. Some he liked because of their balance, others because of the quality of the blade, but all of them had a history, and each had been used to kill before coming into his possession. He had bought them in the belief that an experienced weapon lends skill and determination to the warrior that wields it.

One by one he honed his knives until they were sharp enough to shave with. Then he put a light coat of oil on the blades and returned them to their sheaths which was all that he was wearing at the moment.

Tonight he would sleep with them on. And tomorrow he would cover them with his clothes and go about his business as if nothing was wrong. He had no idea what was in store for them come dawn, but he had an intuition that he would be finding out if his theory of experienced weapons guiding the warrior's paw was true or not all too soon.

* * * * * * * *

In the bowels of the Academy support building, Sanmer was not only awake, he was aroused and excited. He had found a note from the lemur Joel stuck in the corner of his window when he returned to his room, and he had immediately dropped the pill that Doctor Gordon wanted him to take and gone to the proposed rendezvous.

That had been a couple of hours ago. It had taken a little while to get ready, and then he had to proceed carefully because of the unusual number of guards patrolling the grounds tonight. But he had finally come to the unmarked door that Joel had indicated and knocked in the pattern described. The door had opened and Joel had pulled him inside.

There had been some preliminary flirting, and then some teasing, but eventually Joel had suggested another ride on the Dominator 3000. Sanmer had agreed, providing he got to try out the dominant side this time. And so, wearing a set of crotch-less leather chaps that were a couple of sizes too big for him and a harness that looked like it was last worn by Conan the Barbarian, Sanmer found himself spanking the lemur's butt while he reamed the tender hole below the long fuzzy tail.

It was a series of new sensations for the inexperienced husky. First there had been the resistance as he pressed the head of cock against the tight ring of muscle. Then the firm grip of that ring as it slid down his cock. Finally there was the unexpected heat and the pulsing, lively, feeling when he was buried balls deep in lemur. Every twitch, twist and shimmy of Joel's changed it subtly. Pulling it out was almost as wonderful. And to think that he got to do again, and again, and again; until he came!

Being in the dominant position left him free to set the pace, either by moving on his own or having the machine do it for him. Sanmer decided to trust the Dominator to do its work, and had set it for maximum delay of orgasm. The articulated arms of the machine dutifully pushed his hips forward or pulled them back while holding the squirming lemur in place. A flashing red light told him when to spank, and deep computer-generated voice told him whether to strike harder or softer next time based on the readings from Joel's sensors. Sanmer had got it just about right now.

His well lubed cock slid in and out of Joel's butt-hole at a slow steady pace. Sometimes the machine whined softly as servos spun and gears turned to change the angle of penetration. Other than keeping Joel in a certain place it left the more experienced lemur free to twist and turn to his own content, but it monitored the effect that was having on the novice husky so as not to rush his orgasm. When the squirming threatened to make him come and his hips began to jerk on their own accord the machine held him back. After a minute with his erection exposed to the cool basement air the level on the sensors was low enough to start again.

The machine was even programmed to consider the visual and audio input. Sensors attached to Sanmer's temples and behind his ears measured the brain waves produced by what he heard and saw and calculated the effect they were having on him. When Joel's gasps of pleasure excited him too much a soft rubber ball was stuffed into the lemur's mouth. When the sight of his cock being swallowed and regurgitated by the glistening pink ring became to much the machine wrapped a blindfold around Sanmer's head.

It was a delicate balance, one that experienced lovers learn to maintain on their own. That thought set Sanmer's mind to wandering, as it was wont to in the most inappropriate times. With a machine like this, Sanmer contemplated as the pressure in his balls built steadily to a crescendo, anyone could train for maximum performance and pleasure. Joel should franchise this. His dad knew a few people in Malaysia with connections to the cheap labour markets of China. With a few hundred thousand of capitol and the right joint venture agreement this could make him rich. Like the Slap-chop guy, but with less emphasis on volume and more on a per-unit mark-up. Thinking of the Slap-Chop made Sanmer wonder how one would advertise such a device. On late night television? Through adult internet sites? Direct Mail? On the backs of Viagra bottles? Maybe they could partner with the company that made Viagra?

But thoughts of labour costs, advertisement and initial public offers were soon driven from the husky's head as the machine sensed his distraction and speed up the action. Now his cock was sliding full-length at a rapid pace, and the red light was flashing insistently as Joel too neared orgasm. The device had lowered Joel's shoulders almost to the floor and tilted Sanmer so that he was riding the little lemur's ass like a pony. At that point the machine released him to take over the driving, and the slapping, on his own.

"Oh yeah." Sanmer moaned, slapping first the left cheek and then the right with open paws. "Oh yeah, baby. We're coming home. We're almost there. We're coming ...we're coming ..." His hips flew at an incredible pace as he drilled for cum.

"Do it to me daddy. Drive it right through me. Drill me with that big cock." Joel groaned as the stimulation to his glands made his prick twitch in anticipation. "Touch me Sanmer!" He cried at the last instant. "Touch me."

Although the lemur had not specified where or how to touch him Sanmer knew instinctively what to do. Leaning down so that his torso was against Joel's back He continued slapping with one paw while he reached around with the other. Up on his toes now, using his legs and abdomen to provide thrusting power, he wrapped a paw around Joel's throbbing cock and fapped it like he was getting ready to roll the dice in a crap game.

The touch of his paw did the trick for Joel, and the lemur came in a series of spurts and jerks, spattering the dusty floor. Sanmer managed to hold on, both to Joel's cock and his own orgasm, until Joel was finished. Then he released what felt like a litre of cum into the hot confines of the lemur's butt.

Programmed to prolong orgasm, the machine gently took hold of his hips and paced him as waves of pleasure washed over him. His cock, still hard but dripping cum was pulled right out, and then pushed slowly back in. The sensation on the super-sensitive head of his cock was so intense that Sanmer would not have dared do it again, but the Dominator knew that it would not kill him and it repeated the motion. Then it made a series of shallow probes while carefully monitoring the husky's heart rate. At the first sign of fibrillation it paused and let the beat return to normal before switching to long easy strokes. At the same time a new indicator began flashing on the control panel

"What's this green light that's flashing mean?" Sanmer asked the limp lemur

"Depends." Joel answered languidly, still enjoying the feel of hard husky cock inside him. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like a cucumber that's smiling."

"That's the Erecto-meter. It means that your hard on is good for another orgasm without pausing .... If you're up for it, pun intended."

"Sure. What do I do?" Sanmer asked as he examined the panel.

"Press the yellow button twice. That will put it in random mode. The machine will pick something it thinks you can handle and take over from there."

Sanmer extended a paw and tentatively pressed the yellow button once ... then again.

Motors whined into life and Joel was pulled off his cock with a 'pop' before being flipped around and laid horizontal below Sanmer. Then the machine picked him up and positioned him over the smaller primate. When it was done their cocks, both still hard and glistening with lube and bodily fluids, were lying side by side, trapped between them.

"Oh! Mutual masturbation! You'll love this Sanmer." Joel said as the two began to move back and forth against each other with the machine's assistance.

Still a bit numb down there from the previous session, Sanmer's mind began to wander again. The last thought to pass through his head before becoming lost in the action was to wonder how much a rig like this would sell for retail.

* * * * * * * *

Doctor Gordon had intended that his drug be taken earlier in the evening, so it was a lethargic, bleary-eyed bunch that gathered for physical training early the next morning. They were still so tired that they hardly registered surprise when the Chief of Staff met them with a bus.

"We're going to a nearby Army Training Centre to use their obstacle course." Silver told them.

The students groaned in unison, and not just because running the course would be challenging while in a drug-induced hangover. On a regular run if someone in front puked you could avoid it by stepping around it. But you had to follow your lane in the obstacle course, and if someone puked in the tunnels or under the low wire entanglement you had to go through it. One was more likely to add to the mess in those circumstances. They all hoped that they would be the one chosen to run the course first.

But the bus ride would afford them a little time for a nap before that, so they climbed aboard gratefully. The Academy could not keep an obstacle course on site, it would be too suspicious in the middle of a public facility like the Central Experimental Farm, and the nearest Army facilities were almost an hour's drive away. The one used by the Army Cadets and Reserves was to the northwest, but there was a Special Forces base to the southwest. Zac wondered which they were going to.

On leaving the Academy the bus turned south. Zac swore under his breath. The Special Forces obstacle course was bound to be more the difficult of the two. He closed his eyes and dozed as the bus, under loaded with only six passengers, swayed on its springs.

He was jolted awake when the bus came to a sudden halt and the engine died. Looking out the window at first confused him. All he could see was open ground and asphalt. Then he saw an Air Canada jet drive by and he realized that they were at the airport. Looking across the aisle and out the opposite window he saw why they were there. They were parked beside a green and grey Canadian Air Force C-130 Hercules that was surrounded by Academy security guards. Between them and the plane was a line of six backpacks. Just as he and the rest of the students turned to each other with lips parted to ask what was going on Silver stood up at the front of the bus.

"We are going on a little trip. Off the bus and straight onto the plane. Grab the backpack with your name on it as you go by." His tone was commanding, compelling even, and he turned and led them off before anyone could think to argue with him.

They were off the buss and on the plane in less than a minute. The ramp began closing even before they could take their mesh seats in the cargo space; the students on one side, the Chief of Staff on the other. The plane began moving as soon as the ramp was latched shut. It left the guard force behind, swung perilously close to an old hanger and quickly went into its takeoff.

"Where are we going?" Anabel shouted over the sound of the roaring engines.

"I'll tell you when we get there." Was the only reply she received. After that the big silver fox crossed his arms, closed his eyes and settled back in his seat as if he intended to sleep the whole way. But Zac could see the slightest trace of pale blue-grey under the lashes. He also noted how the old fox's right paw was tucked inside his jacket, right where the butt of a pistol in a shoulder holster would be. Why, he wondered, was the fox so alert and ready for action on a plane load of students?

Zac looked at Anabel, who was seated to his right, and saw the same puzzled look on her face. He shrugged when she turned to him in silent query. He looked past her to the others. Sanmer had his mouth hanging open like he was about to say something, but had thought better of it at the last second. Ansin was staring hard at the fox and biting his lip. Saira had adopted the same position as the fox but with his eyes fully closed and his mouth open, as if he really would rather sleep than worry about where they were going. At least he would arrive rested that way, Zac supposed.

Seeing few options, Zac leaned back and decided to join him.

* * * * * * * *

Up in the cockpit the pilot put the aircraft on autopilot now that they were at cruising altitude and resumed complaining about the last-minute assignment.

"I was supposed to be at a family barbecue." She said for the fifth time since joining the rest of the crew in their home base of Trenton. "Us muskrats have very close-knit family ties."

"That's the fifth time you've said that." Her co-pilot, a gopher who was still resentful about washing out of Fighter pilot training told her.

"Yeah, well I'll probably mention it a few more times before we get back home." She said sourly. "That's IF we get back home. The craft is flying a little chunky. We don't have any external cargo do we?"

"You did the walk-around." The gopher reminded her. "They didn't need any extra cargo pods and with this light load we can do the round-trip with the fuel in the main tanks alone, and still have a safety margin of an hour's flight time."

"Funny." She said, craning her neck to look through the window back toward the wings. "It's like there's something causing extra drag back there."

"Did you prang the hanger or one of those trees as you went by?" The co-pilot was critical of her hot-dog taxiing methods. Mostly because he couldn't get away with doing the same thing until he became a full pilot.

"Naw, we would have heard that." She responded, oblivious of the implied criticism. "Maybe we have a loose panel. Have to get that checked when we get to Trenton. In the meanwhile keep an eye on the fuel in case we have to top up somewhere. What's the nearest base to where we're going anyway?

"Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan." The co-pilot checked his flight plan. The map showed a big empty space where they were headed. "Where the hell is this place that we are going called anyway?"

"Grasslands National Park." The muskrat replied absently as she checked the dials once again. "It takes up most of the province along the southern border with Montana. I have some relatives that live near there, on a ranch in the badlands. It's about as far as you can get from civilization without leaving the continent."

"What's close to it?" The co-pilot asked, always interested in the local nightlife in case they broke down and were forced to stay until a repair crew could be flown in.

"Nothing." She replied regretfully. "Nothing whatsoever. You've heard of 'the middle of nowhere'?" She glanced at the co-pilot. "Well, that's it."

"Great." The gopher mumbled. "Just friggin' great."

* * * * * * * *

During the Second World War thousands of allied pilots were trained in Canada as part of the Commonwealth Air Training Plan. Many of the airfields used were in the relatively secure and out-of-the-way western provinces. Moose Jaw was one of the main training fields. Because aircraft with student pilots on the stick tend to return to earth at unexpected times, a number of emergency strips were built between the main airfields. Essentially they were wide straight sections of road, with no fences or power lines close to them. At an average of two thousand metres they were twice as long as the required landing distance of the Harvard Trainers used in the program.

One such strip was right in the middle of what was now Grasslands National Park.

The C-130 Hercules, still used by the Canadian Air Force, and many other counties, was much larger than a Harvard, but it could take off or land in half the distance in a pinch. Five hundred meters was all it required to take off with minimal fuel and no cargo, and it could land in less than that. The pilot of the Hercules circled the emergency strip once for visual confirmation of the condition. Seeing no new power lines, no obvious potholes, and no vehicles parked on the strip she began her landing pattern.

It was to be a quick touch and go, a rolling halt with the ramp down and then back in the air again. If done properly there was plenty of room. If she landed too late or did not get back up to speed quickly enough she would have to throttle back and turn around at the end of the strip. Making it the first time was a matter of pride.

"Hit the light." She told the loadmaster as the wheels touched down just where the gravel road widened. The corresponding red light came on in the cockpit. She throttled back and applied the brakes evenly to bring the speed down while the loadmaster dropped the ramp until it was almost touching the ground. She watched the ground speed indicator closely.

"Forty klicks." She read out into the intercom. Forty kilometres per hour was slow enough to dump cargo, but too fast for even trained soldiers to exit on foot. "Thirty klicks." Special Forces troopers would have jumped out by now. "Twenty klicks." Infantry trained in Air Mobile Operations would be leaving at this point. "Fifteen klicks." She was getting anxious as the strip disappeared behind her aircraft, but the yellow light was illuminated. They must be on the ramp.

"Ten klicks." The light turned green. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, ignoring the urge to look out the window and back to where the six passengers would be tumbling in the dust. The light turned red again to indicate that the ramp was closing. When it went green she pushed the throttle to the stoppers gripped the wheel. If she could get it back up to two hundred kilometres an hour before she ran out of road she could get it in the air, and hopefully keep it there.

They reached take off speed well before the end of the straight section, but when she pulled back on the yoke the plane tilted to the left rather than lifting off.

"Roll right, Roll right!" The co-pilot screamed, assuming that she had engaged the ailerons instead of the flaps.

"That's not the problem, damn it! The left flap's not responding. Something must be stuck in it." Images of the investigative team finding her with the yolk through her chest and a tumbleweed jammed in the wing filled her head as she struggled with the controls.

All of a sudden the controls were free and the plane rolled right until the wingtip was almost touching the ground. The muskrat, with the co-pilot's assistance, managed to straighten it up and point the nose up just as the last few metres of gravel disappeared under them. The pilot looked back but could only see the cloud of dust they had left behind on the dry road. She tested the controls and checked the instruments.

"Whatever was causing the drag problem has disappeared." She informed the co-pilot before turning to the intercom. "Hey Chuckie." She called the loadmaster. "You see anything fall off back there?"

"Are you kidding? I was hanging from the rigging trying not to become part of the starboard bulkhead."

"Think we should put in at Moose Jaw for an inspection?" The gopher asked.

"Shit no. These babies can fly with one engine through a hurricane. We'll be fine." The pilot said with false cheeriness. An emergency inspection would cost her squadron the use of one aircraft for at least a day, incur extra costs, and require a detailed report. None of that would look good on her record. But seeing as this was a hush-hush mission in support of an agency that could not be named any damage could be shrugged off as 'battle damage', providing she made it back to her home base that is. She crossed her digits as she levelled off for the long cruise home.

But she left the autopilot off and kept her paws on the stick the whole way back, just in case.

* * * * * * * *

Ansin picked himself up from the dry grass at the verge of the wide gravel road. He could not believe that the big silver fox had made them jump out a moving plane. Actually, he corrected himself; the Chief of Staff had pushed him out of a moving plane, after the others had jumped.

He was surrounded by a grey cloud of dust, which was not much different from his normal view of the world. He had managed to keep his glasses on by wrapping his wings around his head as he tumbled, but they were not much help. Some quality in the dust was also interfering with his sonar, tiny quartz crystals like the kind they once used to make radios perhaps. He was disoriented after tumbling so, and could not even tell which direction to look in. But at one point as the dust settled he was sure that he could make out five figures picking themselves up from the dust.

He moved in that direction but a gust of wind raised the dust again and he lost sight of them. He stopped rather than wander about in the cloud and called the names of his fellow students one after the other. A reply came almost immediately, and from not far away. Surprisingly though, it came from directly behind him, the opposite direction from where he expected them to be. How had he managed to get turned around so quickly? He supposed it was a good thing that he had decided to stop when he did.

He turned around slowly and with a combination of sonar and eyeball 'saw' the figures of his four fellow students approaching through the haze. They looked like ghosts, but were easy to identify from their silhouettes and relative sizes. Zac was the tallest, was broad shouldered, and had his bushy tail swinging back and forth. Sanmer was next in height, and slightly slimmer, with his tail curled out of sight behind him. Anabel and Saira were both short and slim, but her curves were as evident as his partial wings.

As they drew nearer Ansin saw why they looked so ghostly. They were covered in fine grey dust, kicked up by the aircraft's passage over the gravel surface. Looking down he saw that he was just as pale. He began to slap the dust off his clothes as they formed a semi-circle around him.

"Where's that Silver guy?" Ansin asked, thinking that the he had seen him with them earlier.

"Right behind you."

Ansin turned with a jump, squeezing hard on his pelvic muscles to keep from staining his Academy issued shorts. The big fox, now more grey than silver, was standing close enough to touch. He was cleaning his gold-rimmed glasses with a soft cloth, ignoring the dust covering the rest of him. He was going about it so calmly that the five students could only watch in silent fascination until he was done. Finally he squinted through the lenses, placed the glasses on his muzzle, folded the cloth neatly and slipped it into his packet.

"How did you get behind me?" Ansin sputtered.

"I've been here the whole time. I jumped out right after I pushed you and we landed only a few meters apart." The fox studied them and then looked around. A light breeze was clearing the dust from the road and visibility had improved greatly. But there was nothing to see but two thousand metres of straight gravel road and a whole lot of grass. "Why did you start to go that way at first?" He asked Ansin, pointing toward where Ansin had been heading before the others had appeared.

"Just got turned around I guess." The skinny bat shrugged. "The dust was so thick, like a fog, that I couldn't tell up from down."

"Disorientation can do funny things to your senses." Silver commented. Then he pointed to where their packs were strewn out along the verge. The loadmaster had chucked them out as Silver pushed the reluctant Faraday. The fox walked over to them, and indicated that they should put them on. Ansin was pleased to note that the one with his name on it had a harness that would not bind his wings. Even though he did not use them for what they were intended for, they made good shields in a fight or umbrellas in the rain.

One by one the rest donned their packs. Each was built to fit the creature it was designed for and packed with that person's limitations in mind. Of the student's packs, Anabel's and Saira's were the smallest. Ansin's and Sanmer's were mid-sized, and Zac's was the largest. But the one the Chief of Staff hefted was twice as big, and looked twice as heavy as Zac's. The silver fox wiggled his shoulders to get the straps in the right place before cinching the waist band. As he did Ansin squeaked and caught a reflection of a large pistol inside his jacket, under his left arm. The old fox looked up just then and locked his eyes on Ansin.

"Shall we go make camp?" He said. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and headed off into the grassland at a swift pace.

Ansin was having trouble keeping up. He kept his head down so he could breathe easier but before he did he swept the horizon with his sonar and discovered that horizon was about all there was around here. He had never seen a place so devoid of features. The ground was flat. The grass was unmarred by artificial artifacts, and there was not a single tree or bush between them and ... and anything.

"What is this place?" Anabel asked from behind Ansin.

"Grasslands National Park in Saskatchewan." Silver replied from up ahead. "There are two blocks of land that make up the park, with an equally large empty space between them. Altogether there is about twenty thousand square kilometres of nothing but grass, bugs and sky. We are roughly in the centre of it. You won't even find an artificial light for seventy-five kilometres in any direction, they are not allowed. Parks Canada was kind enough to close it to the public for us so we could have a little privacy. Something about an Anthrax outbreak."

"Nobody at all lives here?" Sanmer asked incredulously. Coming from crowded Asia he found the relative emptiness of eastern Canada difficult to handle at times. But this was like being on the moon.

"There are the last native colonies of black- tailed prairie dogs and black-footed ferrets living on reservations between the east and west blocks." Silver admitted. "Sitting Bull took refuge here with the remnants of the Sioux tribes after the battle of the Little Bighorn and those two groups settled here permanently. But we evacuated them when we had the park closed. The whole lot of them are on a bus tour to Las Vegas, courtesy of the Government of Canada until the area is declared clear of Anthrax."

They fell silent as the old fox lead them across the prairie at such a brutal pace that Ansin began to look back on Rusty's morning runs with nostalgia. For nearly an hour no one spoke, and he estimated that they must have covered more than six kilometres when suddenly the ground opened up.

It was already open, of course, it was just that the gorge blended into the terrain so well that they could not see it until they were almost on the edge. The Chief of Staff halted there and they gathered around him, looking down into a raging river of muddy water forty metres below.

"Frenchman River." He informed them. "Still flooded this late in the year because of all the rain they have been getting out here. But not as bad as the Souris River east of here. We'll be okay if we camp up here on the bluff." He dropped his pack, opened the flap, and started to pull things out. He assembled the first of these items into a satellite communications set, complete with a collapsible dish, a receiver and a transmitter on a short mast so he could use his cellular phone with it. In this flat terrain it would have a range of almost forty kilometres Ansin realized.

"This river." Zac spoke up for the first time since they left the air strip. "I understand the French part, they were the first to explore this part of the new world, but what is a 'man' if I may ask?"

"Man is the mythical missing link between wild animals and sentient creatures like us." Anabel informed him before the fox could answer.

"Man is the perfect being. The Master Race." Saira intoned, almost hypnotically, from where he stood looking down on the raging water.

"Yes, that's what the legends say. They were supposed to have lived in the pre-historic period before the rise of the species." Anabel went on, demonstrating her knowledge of all things, no matter how trivial. "They are credited with building the pyramids, the lines in Peru, the giant heads on Easter Island and the cave art in Europe."

"I thought that was all alien visitors?" Ansin interrupted.

"I heard it was Angels of Allah." Sanmer opined.

"It was the guiding hand of the Master." Saira said, looking at his own paw with its two digits and thumb regretfully.

"Whatever." Anabel dismissed all their theories. "The badlands, the arid area near here, is the best site in the world for digging up bones. Ninety percent of all the dinosaur bones on display were found there. Then, about a hundred and fifty years ago there was a fad in Europe, a craze really, to attribute everything that science could not explain to 'Man'. Each species claimed a direct link with them and wars were fought over who was the superior species. Expeditions were launched to find evidence of Man's existence and to determine which species had the best claim. Many of them came here because of the abundance of ancient bones."

"I remember hearing about them now." Zac said. "But our school was run by the church and things like evolution were taboo. We were taught that everything was created just as it is now, all at once."

"How did they explain dinosaur bones?" Ansin asked

"The Angels put them there." Sanmer answered.

"Yeah, something like that." Zac agreed, surprised at the similarities in belief between the Christians and Muslims.

"So which species won? I mean, did they ever find this missing link?" Ansin asked Anabel. She shrugged, for once she had no answer.

"No." Silver spoke from where he had been following the conversation. "There were a number of fakes. One group in China presented a find they dubbed 'Peking Man', but it proved to be a common panda skeleton that had been dyed with betel nut juice. This river is named after another such hoax: 'French Man'. There are a number of old gold and silver mines along this river." He explained. "The river gorge exposes the underlying rock and makes it easy to dig a horizontal mine shaft, but none of the veins went very far. Most of them found more bones than anything else. In one mine, not too far from here, an entire buried village was discovered. A nearby Man-hunting expedition identified the remains as being quite similar to the French polecat and said that there were artifacts resembling the French Fleur-de-lys. One specimen, a male found buried with several females, was nicknamed 'Pepe' and many scholarly works were written about him."

"They declared them to be ancient, over a hundred thousand years old, and evidence of 'man'. But suspicions began to be raised when it was learned that the team that had identified the remains as the missing link was from France, and consisted mainly of polecats. Closer examination showed the skeletons to be fairly recent Native American remains, less than a hundred years old at the time of finding."

"So the debate over which species is descended of Man continues." Anabel concluded for him.

"I heard that they were primates." Zac said.

"No, they were canines." Sanmer injected. "Why else would we be called 'Man's best friend'?"

"I'm not best friends with any of my relatives." Anabel muttered.

"You are all wrong." Saira spoke forcefully for a change. "Man was the perfect creature, but when he fought the forces of chaos he was fractured, becoming many. We are all descended of him. One day, however, we will rejoin and become as man again."

"Right." Anabel sneered. "And we will all dance happily into the land of Oz across a rainbow bridge and live happily ever after."

Ansin turned to her. "Uh, I would appreciate it if you didn't make fun of rainbow bridges." He had mentioned that he believed in the Norse Gods, but perhaps had failed to mention the finer points of his religion to her.

"Let's make camp. Silver interrupted before the religious argument could get carried away. "And stay away from the edge of the bluff. Even if you survived the fall you wouldn't last long in that water."

Ansin took one last look at the brown torrent and shuddered. He had experienced occasional flashes of presentience and he was having one now; one of them would end up in that river and he would never see them again alive.

The thin bat turned away from the ominous water, composing himself as he did, so that by the time he rejoined the group he wore his typical neutral expression. But he did not dare make eye contact with any of his fellow students for quite a while.

* * * * * * * *

The pilot of the Air Force Hercules had rehearsed what she wanted to say in her post-flight report during the trip back, so writing it went quickly. But she had to wait for the Air Frame technician's report on the damage. She would have to make sure the excuse she made up adequately explained whatever damage he found. She did not have to wait long.

"What the hell did you do to my airplane?" A gangly coyote in coveralls yelled as he entered the flight room.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. There had been no obvious damage visible on the post-flight walk-around and all the controls had worked fine up until and including the landing in Trenton.

"Holes." He cried, holding out a digital camera that he used to record before and after shots of his repair work for the file. "Little holes all over the port wing."

She scanned the images on the screen on the back of the camera. Close ups revealed a series of tiny holes through the metal skin. They reminded her of the damage caused by the Taliban weapons when she was flying in and out of Kandahar. They were not quite the same, but close enough for government work.

"Jesus! Somebody must have been shooting at us." This was great, she thought, just the kind of damage one would expect on a mission for FOX. She just had to use the euphemism 'Mission Related Damage' and no questions would be asked.

"Bullet holes? Looks more like someone tried to eat the airplane." The coyote observed. "Besides, they're on the top side of the wing. Who fired on you, the Red Baron?"

"Just patch them, Frankie." She told her maintenance chief. "I'll take care of the paperwork."

* * * * * * * *

Camp was set up under Silver's direction. Those with outdoor experience were put in charge of minor tasks, like digging the latrine. The rest helped assemble the tents and gadgets that they found in their backpacks. Saira turned out to be quite adept at that, being able to figure out the maze of fibreglass poles and ropes without referring to the instructions. Soon he had his up and was helping the others.

Sanmer, who had seen some videos about camping on YouTube once, was assigned to general labour. He dug where he was told and moved heavy objects with Zac's help. By the time everything was arranged all he wanted to do was wash up and go to sleep. He was distressed to discover that none of the gear they had assembled included a shower, or even a bath. Anabel passed him a bowl and pointed to where Saira, shirtless, was squatting in the grass and rubbing a wet cloth over himself.

"Two cups of water each." She nodded toward the Coleman stove where a large pot of water was steaming. "I'd suggest keeping a bit aside to brush your teeth later. You'll find a cloth and soap in your pack."

While he washed Anabel turned her back to the group and pulled off her shirt. She went over her chest with a damp cloth and quickly dried herself before putting a clean shirt on. When she was done she rinsed the old shirt in the soapy water and wrung it as dry as she could get it. Then she hung it on the ropes of her tent to dry. She indicated to Sanmer that he should do the same when he was finished.

Sanmer did the best he could, thankful that the thick husky fur tended to repel dirt, but he hesitated after washing his chest. He was obsessed about keeping clean, among other things, and it was taking all of will power to accept that a few swipes with a damp cloth could take the place of a fifteen minute shower and scrub, and there were some things he could not tolerate leaving undone. Yet he was afraid to ask about how certain things were done out here in the field. Still, he had to ask someone or go crazy and Anabel seemed the friendliest, or at least the least likely to laugh.

"Uh, Anabel? How do we, I mean, how do males ... wash their ... you know?"

"Their balls." The toy terrier said bluntly. "The same way you washed the rest of yourself."

"Oh. Of course. I'll just go in my tent and ..." He began to rise, picking up his wash basin at the same time.

"Honestly," she sighed, "it's not like I haven't seen balls before." A couple of pairs anyway, she added to herself. "But don't wash inside your tent." Anabel advised him. "It's too small and if you spill some water it will be damp in there for days. Just go join the rest of the guys and I'll gaze off into the horizon in the opposite direction for a while."

"Thanks Anabel." Sanmer blushed. "I'll just sit by Saira and talk with him while I ... finish up."

"Actually 'he' is a 'she', despite the lack of secondary feminine features on her torso." Anabel whispered. "Thomas told me that Charlie slept with her the night he died."

That explains the feminine body language and the way Saira dressed sometimes, Sanmer thought. He was kind of hoping that Saira would be gay, seeing as he was stuck out here with no lemur or a portable version of the Dominator 3000. But they did call this roughing it.

"I'll join Zac and Ansin then. Are they ...?" He lifted his brows inquisitively.

"I can vouch for Ansin." She told him with a grin. "And I'm pretty sure about Zac." She continued, looking at the wolf longingly. Sanmer looked to see that Zac was also watching Anabel out of the corner of his eye. Looks like we may have an empty tent tonight, he speculated. He stood up and turned toward where the wolf and bat were just starting their evening ablutions.

"Everyone gather around." The command was clear and compelling. He turned to see the silver fox standing beside the fire pit he had helped build. Putting his basin down beside his pack he walked over, as did the others. When they were all there the big fox indicated that they should sit, but he remained standing.

Sanmer found the Chief of Staff fascinating, as did most of the rest if he could tell by the expressions on their faces. Saira in particular seemed taken by the tall, broad shouldered silver fox with the big bushy tail. The one that insisted they address him as Silver stood with his fur being blown back by the evening breeze. He wore tight denim pants with cargo pockets and a khaki shirt that was undone to the navel. He stood with his paws on his hips, one leg slightly turned out and bent, like a fencing master, totally oblivious to the image the pose portrayed. Probably because the large black revolver hanging in a holster under his left arm served to moderate the effect.

The scars didn't help though. Silver had removed his glasses so Sanmer could clearly see the scar that bisected his left brow, and the angry red puckered skin on the back of his left paw was almost painful to look at. But the ones visible in the open vee of his shirt were the worst. He tried not to stare at them, but he supposed that senior agents like this one wore such things as battle honours.

"I want to tell you why we are here before we settle in for the night." The fox began. Sanmer and the rest grew attentive. They had been whispering about this all day, proposing different theories, and were eager to find out the truth.

"As you know there have been a number of deaths among the student population." Silver began. "We thought originally that they were accidents, but now we know that not only were your fellow students murdered, they were all killed by the same person or persons, and for a specific reason." He paused while the surviving students caught their breath.

Murdered, Sanmer thought, and we could have been next. We've been brought here for our own safety. But what the fox said next shattered that perception.

"Furthermore," the Chief of Staff continued, "we know that one of you five remaining students is responsible, at least partially, for the deaths of the others."

There was a collective gasp. Sanmer noted that the sly old fox's eyes jumped quickly from one to another as he gauged their reaction to the shocking announcement.

"Then why the hell did you bring us here?" Zac asked angrily. Sanmer could not recall hearing him swear or even raise his voice before. The fox's cold blue-grey eyes swivelled like the gun barrels on a battle ship and locked onto the wolf.

"You all came here to become agents of FOX. You all wanted to live on the edge, in a constant life-or-death struggle. Well, in a situation like that more people are going to die before retirement than live to collect a pension. In a job like this you have to be prepared to die at any time."

"But we don't know who it is, and you don't know either, otherwise you would not have brought us here to act as live bait." Zac continued, ignoring the intense stare. "How do we know who can be trusted? How do we defend ourselves? What are you going to do? Wait until we are all dead and kill the last one standing?"

"You also have to be prepared to kill at any time." The silver fox looked away from Zac and fixed his gaze on each of the others in turn. "You have to have the skills to survive fight without weapons, to improvise on the fly. You have to be able to figure out who you friends are, how to get out of a trap, and who you can use along the way. Your regular training is cancelled." He announced. "Your acceptance at the Academy now rests on whether you can expose the infiltrator and survive to return home. I'm only along to keep things fair." He patted the gun at his side.

"Are you trying to tell me that this is some bizarre challenge exam?" Zac jumped up, still angry. Sanmer saw that the fox was not affected by the wolf's rage in the slightest, except maybe to show a bit of disappointment with such lack of control. When he answered his voice was cool and even.

"More like a trial by fire."

* * * * * * * *

"Peel me a grape, Mon Cher."

Those words were spoken by a buxom party poodle wearing a leather outfit that was significantly sparse where most clothing is considered essential. The leather corset started below the large, round breasts and ended above a shaved pubic area. The tops of skin tight leather boots started at mid thigh and went all the way down the long shapely legs to end in six-inch spiked heels. A black leather cap, tilted jauntily to one side, topped the ensemble. The only decoration she wore was a tiny silver key on a silver chain around her neck.

The peeler of grapes was also dressed in black leather: collar, cuffs and groin restraints to be exact. The remainder of his greying fur was exposed to the elements, and the small whip his mistress wielded.

"Yes Mademoiselle." Grey Muzzle hurried to obey. Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche could get quite snippy if kept waiting, but the rewards for attentive service were great. Despite wrists held slightly apart by a chrome bar between the tick leather cuffs he managed to peel the skin from a succulent grape and he waddled over to her on his knees to present it. He had to waddle because the ankle restraints were chained to the waist band of the leather shorts and he could not stand up.

"Your grape, my love."

Miss CC, not that he would ever dare call her that, reached for the shiny, wet flesh of the fruit and took it between two manicured and painted claws. She rubbed it on Grey's lips teasingly before popping it into her own mouth.

"Merci, mon p'tit." She crooned, putting aside her whip, for now. "My foxie 'as been such a good boy. Soon 'ee will 'ave his reward, un p'tit cadeaux." She stood up before him, her glistening vulva a mere centimetre away from the tip of his pointed snout. "But first 'ee must do one more thing for 'is mistress."

"Oh yes." Grey licked his chops appreciatively and stuck out his tongue.

"Not that!' She playfully slapped his head away, hard enough to spray spit across the room. "Not yet. Fist you must answer the skill testing questions. Ready?"

Slightly confused, but game for anything, and aching to have the heavy leather pants removed, Grey nodded yes.

"What do you call a female fox?" She asked, leaning down so that her heavy breasts brushed the sides of his snout.

"Um ... ah ... a vixen?" Grey hoped that it wasn't a trick question.

"Trés bien. Very good." Grey was so relieved he actually wagged his tail. "And what do you call a male fox?"

"A ... uhm ... fox?"

"Wrong!" The whip came around like lightning striking, with similar effect. Where did that come from, he tried to think, hadn't he seen her put it away?

"Oh! A todd." Grey amended hastily. "A todd!" To his dismay the whip came around again. He wracked his brains trying to remember any other terms he had heard.

"A dog!" He cried as the whip was raised impatiently. "They call him them dogs in the States." He cringed, but the whip disappeared without stinging this time.

"Excellent." She stood close to him again. He could smell the scent of her rising excitement. "And what does a dog say?"

Grey looked up confused, his head hunched between his shoulders in preparation for the whip again.

"W ... woof?"

"Oui. Hwoof." She breathed as she pressed her clit against the tip of his nose. "Say it again."

"Woof." Grey said it more forcefully this time. Pronouncing the word made his lips stretch out in a tiny 'O', right where her clitoris was straining out from the folds of her vagina. "Woof, woof-woof."

"Stop it."

Grey froze. It was a new voice, a commanding voice that had spoken. He looked slowly over his shoulder.

"Oh Gold you never let me 'ave any fun." Miss CC moaned as she stepped back from the trembling fox.

Grey watched the immense golden fox approach, and he did not like the look of interest he read on the Director's face.

"You're using the Hapsburg Harness I see." The fox directed his comments to his secretary. "How has he responded to it?"

"'Ee's new at this, but 'ee is learning." She informed him.

"Do you think that he would mind ... ?" the muscular fox began, looking down at the trussed older fox, but he stopped when Miss CC gave him an evil glare. "No, I guess not. But that is not why I am here. I need you back at the office Chienne-Caniche."

"Now? I am on my own time." The Poodle sulked.

"Sorry. But I have this." Gold passed her a thick sheet of paper. Grey could see that it was topped with the coat of arms of Canada. Something official, he thought. Not another MEOW for him, he hoped.

"An Executive Privilege Order." Miss CC read. Her Thick French accent disappearing suddenly. "Signed by the Prime Minister." She tilted the paper and held it up to the light to check for the required security features. "All is order. Give me a minute to dress and we'll go." She passed the paper back and stepped into the bathroom of the safe house where they had confined Grey for the time being.

"Uh. How do you do, Mister ...Gold?" Grey addressed the Director, who was ignoring the restrained fox now that he knew he wasn't welcome to join in. The long yellow muzzle swivelled around and down. God, but he's a big one, Grey thought. Good thing he isn't the type to take advantage of a situation.

"Hello." Gold said dryly before going back to stare at the walls. Friendly type too, Grey added to himself.

Miss CC was back fully dressed in less than the minute she had asked for.

"Let's go." She said to her boss as she grabbed her purse and the small revolver she wore when she was off duty. "We'll take my car." An instant later Grey heard the apartment door slam behind them. He turned, or tried to; the restraints prevented him from moving smoothly. He suddenly realized that the key to said restraints had just left the building around the neck of the voluptuous party poodle.

"Mistress?" He called tentatively. "Mademoiselle?"

* * * * * * * *

Back at Academy Headquarters Miss CC led Gold down the corridor that separated the executive suite from the senior agent's offices. Coming to a grey steel door that resembled a bank vault, she dialed the combination by heart. Her progress tracked by a pair of video cameras. Five paces inside there was another door with a sensor and keypad. She held her ID card and that of the Director against the sensor until it beeped acknowledgement, and then entered her personal code. Another five paces and she came to another solid door, this one with a small pad at waist level. Placing the pad of her left thumb on it activated a scanner. A hollow voice asked "Password" from somewhere above, and Miss CC replied with this month's codeword "Rutabaga". The door swung open. The two walked past the urinals to the sinks of the senior Agent's washroom. Miss CC slid her ID card into a slot hidden behind one of the mirrors and was rewarded by a load 'click'. Behind her, a panel slid open and a large black belt-fed machine gun centred its laser sight on a spot between her shoulder blades.

"Password?" The voice that spoke startled Gold. It was the voice of the former Director, the Walrus, Sir William Withersby, dead for two years now.

Miss CC licked her lips nervously and glanced at the gun behind her. This was not one of those systems that merely locked you out if you gave the wrong password.

"Walruses Rule, Poodles Drool." She said, pronouncing each word carefully. If the old walrus wasn't already dead she would have killed him for picking that phrase, but it could not be changed, ever. The gun retracted and the mirror above the sink they were facing swung open.

"Voilà monsieur. W's secret hark'ives." Her accent had returned now that the pressure was off.

"I always wondered why we had so much security on this washroom." Gold muttered, marvelling at the cleverness of the old walrus. Who would have thought to look here? He reached for the packets now visible in the recessed area behind the mirror.

"Ah-ah-ah." Miss CC grabbed his wrist before he could stick his paws in. She plucked one his long golden hairs, shook her head at the darker root, and blew on it to send it drifting through the air toward the opening. When it passed the threshold there was a loud 'crack' and a bolt of electricity sizzled along the hair, turning it into black dust instantly.

"Thirty thousand volts." She commented. "In case I am being forced to open 'ze safe for someone. It 'as to be discharged before 'ze safe 'ees safe."

Gold had seen Mademoiselle Chienne-Caniche snap a raging bull's neck with her thighs when it tried to attack the previous Director. He had also seen her reduce the most pig-headed bureaucratic Mandarins to jello by the strategic exposure of certain areas of her body. He shuddered to think what kind of creature could force her into doing anything she didn't want to.

He reached in tentatively, in case there were less fatal booby traps that she had sadistically forgotten to mention. He was able to pull the files out with no problem and he quickly surveyed the titles of the sealed folders.

"Artificial Fuel formulas." He read aloud. "The location of Atlantis. The identity of the Perfect Stalker. The Colonel's Secret Recipe." That one was not sealed. Gold peeked inside. "That's it? Damn!" Then he continued flipping through the folders until he came to one marked "Genetic Research". He broke the seal and pulled the papers out of the folder. Spreading them on the marble counter by the sinks he read quickly.

"It says here that back before World War Two the Third Reich was doing genetic experiments of a most atrocious nature. The participants were not volunteers, they were prisoners. Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, midgets and others deemed sub-human by the Reich. There was a team of scientists lead by a fox named Otto Fuchs. They were trying several theories at first, and then in combination, but each scientist was jealously guarding his or her contribution. Only Fuchs observed the whole process, but being an administrator he did not fully understand it." Gold flipped the pages and scanned a number of war office reports that were almost seventy years old.

"Near the end of the war, when victory was not yet certain, the allies were worried that the Reich may produce a super soldier. Something the size of a bear with the strength of an elephant, the armour of a turtle, the ferocity of a wolf and the cunning of a fox. Young Withersby led a sabotage mission against the facility. They destroyed the installation, freed what prisoners they could, and killed most of the scientists, but Fuchs escaped with the research papers. In the race to scoop up rocket scientists and technicians it was assumed that Fuchs was either killed or captured by the Soviets. But then he suddenly reappeared in Germany sixty years later."

Gold paused to recall events that he was privy to when he was the Chief of Staff. "W sent Silver to capture Fuchs, probably to see if he had managed to recreate and perfect the process the Germans were working on. He never told Silver, or me, why he was sent on that mission and Silver had to kill the German in self-defence. If Fuchs was alive all that time he must have been working for someone." He muttered. "But if it was the Soviets he would have been free to leave twenty years ago when the Soviet Union broke up. Why would he only reappear fifteen years after that?"

"Because 'ee was still working." Miss CC speculated. "These Germans, they like to finish what they start."

She had a point there, but who would have paid for such research? He read the last of the notes, written with W's own paw shortly before his death it appeared. They were a series of personal observations, his recollections of the genetic facility that did not make it into the official report. W had gone into the labs and seen the creatures currently being experimented on. Inter-stepped with the text were drawings depicting the horribly mutilated prisoners that W had found there. There was no way they could save them, or bring them back for medical attention. W had put them out of their misery. The last image in these notes showed a series of creatures connected by lines like a genealogy chart of someone's family tree, except that all the creatures were different species, and should not have been able to interbreed. Gold stared at the creature at the base of the chart and growled. He was gripping the sheath of papers so tightly that Miss CC was afraid they would rip in two.

"I need to call some friends in America." Gold said.

Miss CC started to return the other folders to their hiding place, thinking that Gold did not sound very friendly at the moment, not very friendly at all.

* * * * * * * *

Despite the age of communication that we live in one cannot tweet the Director of the CIA or the General in charge of the NSA, and most National Security Directors do not have a Facebook account. So it took some time for Williams to get in contact with the people that could answer the questions he had to ask. While he worked the secret phones, he had others go over the evidence they had gathered so far with some specific objectives in mind.

It was almost midnight by the time he had his answers and the rest were ready to present their findings. They gathered in the Headquarters briefing room once again. Gold began the meeting by distributing copies of W's notes and explaining his suspicious. He then asked each of the others if their analysis of the situation supported or contradicted his conclusions.

"I took the raw, unprocessed video files like you asked." Joel pressed a button on a remote control and the screen behind him came to life. The screen was split, showing the raw images on one side and the processed video on the other. Scenes they had all seen recently, the area around where Matty's body was found, the death of O'Leary, and others, played in a loop. "The problem is that the cameras and their microphones have a greater range than most of our eyes or ears. The program tries to compensate by translating the out-of-range input into something familiar. But ultrasonic interference combined with unexpected movement can overwhelm it, in which case it just replaces the un-interpretable material with black graphics."

He slowed the display. On the left they could see the moving black triangles that the computer had placed in the areas of interference. On the right there was similar movement, but the image was too shadowy to make out. Joel adjusted the screen controls, turning up the brightness. The image on the left disappeared into a bright white haze. The one on the right grew more distinct, like a new dawning day, but faster. When the brightness was all the way up the nature of the movement could be seen clearly.

"I checked back through the archives." Joel informed them. "They have been around here for at least a week before the course started."

"About the same time as the candidates arrived for pre-screening." Williams noted. "Hanlan?" He turned to the grey fox in charge of planning and analysis.

"I checked the video taken without authorization inside the dormitory showers." Everyone looked at Joel, who gazed at the ceiling as if he had found something fascinating up there. "It shows that Matty did shower after his liaison with a fellow student, and did not have contact with anyone until arriving at the student lounge. Therefore the physical evidence found on his clothes and body is from after that. It's not conclusive, but it does not contradict your theory either. It's the same with Roark. According to the statements, when Rasielle left him he was washing in the pond, but he was found with fresh physical evidence on him." He turned to Doctor Jones to continue the explanation.

"Yes. In both cases we had difficulty with the DNA analysis." The albino wallaby began. "Agent work tends to get quite ... physical ... and one is bound to pick up bits and pieces of one's friends and foes in the course of the day. I thought that the material recovered from Miss Huston would provide immediate results, however it proved to be just as difficult."

"You are referring to the semen taken from her?" Williams asked. "I thought that semen was the easiest substance to analyze?"

"Normally it is, being so full of genetic material." Jones continued. "But I kept getting mixed readings. It matched markers for some species in one position and that of others in another. At first I thought that she had been raped by a mixed group and the semen had been combined and corrupted. So I took several individual sperm cells and tested them separately. To my amazement the results were exactly the same in all cases; with some slight variances. The kind you would find between siblings of the same parents. This," he said, tapping the papers before him, "would explain that."

"We need to get a message to Silver." Williams concluded. "Get him on the phone." He directed Kain Algorath, present as the current Duty Officer. Kain turned to the computer console and called up the application that gave them world-wide access to communications through the weather satellite constellation. He dialed the number for the satellite phone that Silver had taken to Saskatchewan with him and put on the headset while he waited for the Chief of Staff to answer. After a minute of silence he checked the signal and sent a ping to the remote terminal. He frowned at the results and turned back to the group with a worried expression.

"Sir, the satellite communications seem to be down."

* * * * * * * *

A couple of thousand kilometres to the west the sun had set at nine-eighteen local time, two hours and twenty-three minutes later than Ottawa. But because the terrain was so flat full dark did not come until ten-thirty. The sun was due to rise again at four-fifty-one, but the first traces of light would be visible over an hour before that. All in all, there would be only about five and a half hours of total darkness on what, according to astronomers, was the shortest night of the year.

For some present, however, it would be the longest.

As the sun had gone down the bugs that were too delicate to survive its direct rays came out; biting flies and pricking mosquitoes. Each student found a can of insect repellent suitable for their species in their pack. Saira found two: one for cats, one for bats, and used both. Silver had applied his early and stood silhouetted on the bluff by the rising moon as the rest scrambled to apply theirs.

He directed them to light the fire, which consisted of dried grass and large discs of ancient dried manure. It was not really necessary, as there was a stove for boiling water and cooking on, but it was a comfort when it was lit all the same.

So far, other than field craft, the only practical thing the old fox had taught them was how to rig alarms and booby traps around their campsite. Normally situated around the perimeter of a campsite, they had each placed their own devices around their individual tents. This was possible because the campsite was spread out more than normal. Like gas molecules in a closed space, the students had spread out as evenly as possible on top of the bluff, and now sat around the fire eyeing each other suspiciously.

"This is ridiculous." Anabel said with disgust. "None of us is an infiltrator. He is just using the opportunity to see if he can stress us out." She indicated where Silver still stood overlooking the river gorge. "I heard about his tactics from some of the staff at the party the first night. They say that he will go to any length and use anything to increase the pressure until the students either harden into cold-blooded killers or break apart."

"That is just what an infiltrator would say to divert suspicion." Sanmer pointed out, shifting a little further away from her.

"No. It's true." Saira defended her. "I heard it too. They say that he let one candidate think that they were shooting him in the head. The gun was loaded with blanks, but only after the first round. He gambled that they would miss with the first shot because they would be so nervous."

"But what if what he says is true?" Ansin whined. He wanted things to go back to normal between them, but he could not get the sight of Thomas hanging over the pond out of his head. No matter how hard he tried he could not come to believe that the tall timber wolf had committed suicide.

Sanmer and Zac seemed to agree with him, at least to the extent that they thought that they should proceed cautiously. Anabel and Saira's belief that it was all a ruse represented a minority opinion. But despite their arguments they were not sitting together, or letting any of the others get too close to them, Ansin noticed.

"This is stupid." Anabel said with exasperation after the argument had gone around the campfire several times without anyone changing their minds. "I'm going to bed. And I'm going to sleep soundly while you three fidget, because I know that nothing is going to happen." Her tone grew in volume as she spoke, attracting the attention of the Chief of Staff. He turned his back to the river and watched her as she stomped off toward her tent. The other four stared back at him, resentment and suspicion evident on their faces.

"The rest of you might as well settle down too." He spoke from where he stood on the edge of the bluff. "Nothing is likely to happen tonight."

Three of the others started to stand. Anabel paused and turned at the entrance to her tent. Only Ansin, whose ears swivelled suddenly toward the river, had any warning of the attack. The silver fox's own ears went up when he caught the movement and he whirled about, pulling his gun and scanning the sky for the threat.

But he was looking in the wrong direction. Five figures came up and out of the darkened gorge and struck Silver at waist level before he could bring his gun to bear on them. The black Glock was visible by the firelight as it spun through the air and struck the ground several meters away. Before Ansin or any of the others could react, the Chief of Staff was lifted bodily off the ground and carried high into the air. They saw him once again silhouetted by the moon, dangling from the claws of the creatures that had snatched him, and then he was gone, tumbling down toward the raging river somewhere below.

The five rushed to the edge. Looking down they could see the surface of the river well enough by the light of the full moon. The splash made by the fox's impact was just settling down. They watched anxiously for the Chief of Staff to surface. Zac checked his watch. One minute passed, and then two, then three. Time continued to pass as they watched in silence.

"It's been six minutes." Zac said as he stood and backed away from the ridge.

"No one could have survived that fall." Anabel said, joining him.

"What were those things that attacked him?" Sanmer asked as he too abandoned his watch over the river.

"Rats on gliders." Saira cried.

"Some kind of bird of prey." Ansin offered as he walked toward them. "Eagles maybe."

"They looked more like bats to me." Zac said guardedly as he backed away from Ansin's approach.

"Bats aren't the only creatures with wings you know." Ansin responded angrily, but he stopped where he was and did not attempt to come closer.

"Where did they go?" Anabel asked, looking around frantically. "They wouldn't just kill one of us and leave ... would they?"

"That's all that they ever killed before." Zac pointed out. "One a day."

"On average." Sanmer added. The question of whether they were really in danger seemed to have been settled. Then they suddenly realized that if the Chief of Staff's story was true, then the infiltrator must still be among them.

"Where is .... "Anabel began to speak but she was cut off by a crash as the satellite antenna was thrown to the ground. The dish was smashed and the satellite phone was shattered. An instant later the fire was extinguished as something heavy was dropped on it. She recognized the remains of the fox's backpack before the flames died completely. Noises came from all around them. The shadows seemed to be full of creatures lurking just out of sight. Only Ansin, his high-pitched squeaks barely audible to her, seemed to be able to locate the intruders. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was picking up just as a flash and a bang lit up the night.

"They found his gun. Run!" Someone screamed. Anabel ran. They all ran. But they all ran in different directions.

* * * * * * * *

The five students scattered, but the group that had attacked them did not. Guided by their collective conscious, they gathered together and made their plans.

Killing the big Silver fox had been necessary. He was far too dangerous to their quest to leave alive, and they had discovered that he had no value as a breeder. He had been injured several years ago and while still functional was now sterile. But some of the students might be useful for their breeding program, and the one who had infiltrated had asked for a couple of them to be spared.

So be it, they arrived at their decision by silent consensus. They would try to recruit those two to their cause, but refusal would mean instant death. There was no need to rush, but they should track the others just the same. And if they caught one of the two that they had no need for, well then they could have a little fun. Just like they had with the cougar behind the barn.

Without further ado they set out to find the scattered students.

One trail lead along the bluff until it dipped down into a shallow area where the run off kept the ground moist. The grass there had grown almost two metres high, and the path of the fleeing student was easy to discern. Rising up to get a bird's eye view, one of the group saw the grass being flattened up ahead as the trail steadily lengthened. The student causing it was still going strong. Looks like all those morning runs with the big canine were paying off, the watcher thought wryly. Returning to earth, the watcher informed the others.

"What do we do about it?" One sent out mentally.

"It is one of the unnecessary ones. Let's kill it." Responded another.

"How?" The questioner sent an image of dropping wings to indicate that they were tired of flying. The one who favoured killing the student sent an image in reply. An image of a similar grassy veldt, seen from above, with several lines in the grass converging on a lone runner.

"Remember that scene in the movie, Jurassic Park Two?" He smiled.

* * * * * * * *

The student ran through the tall grass, flattening it and leaving a trail that was easy to follow but unable to think of what else to do. For the first few minutes the only sound had been the rustle of the grass, but recently there had been other noises. Clicks and whistles and suspicious thumps. When the student slowed the noises increased. If the path wandered too far to the right or left the noises would increase on that side, forcing the would-be agent back onto the straight path.

The student was being herded, and knew it, but there was no sign of refuge, to hope of rescue, and no others to rally into a coherent defence. So the lone student ran on.

There were new noises ahead. Someone thrashing about. The route the student was being kept to would pass near the source of that sound. Suddenly a voice rang out. It was one of the other students!

"Help me! My leg is stuck! Over here!" The voice called.

The running student veered toward the voice, partially from a natural tendency to be helpful, partially because two would stand a better chance together than apart. And partially because the group might go for the other one instead.

Hoping that the trapped classmate had at least managed to improvise a weapon the fleeing student increased the pace in one last burst of energy. Moving fast, the transition from the surrounding grass to a rocky clearing was sudden, and disorienting. Skidding to a stop the prey in the group's stalking game quickly surveyed the scene and saw the preparations that the one who had called had made for the arrival of the group. The student was compelled to comment.

"Clever girl."

* * * * * * * *

To be continued ....

The FOX Academy series:

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

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

New Characters Appearing in this Book:

Saira Rasielle © SilentRampancy

Sanmer Soon © Sanmer

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Thomas Roark © That Creepy Guy Hanging with a new crowd

Charles Matty © Lonewolf17 R.I.P.

Anabel Balfor © Devil Kitty

Aglaia © Aggy Came to a shocking conclusion

Ansin Faraday © Ulrik the Fell Handed

Sam O'Leary © Commander Eagle Sam, we hardly knew ye

Grey Muzzle © Grey Muzzle Currently a guest of the State