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Silverfox 02

Silverfox stood, hands bound over her head, ankles on the floor and apart. She told herself she was shaking from the cold, although the room was actually warm enough for someone with fur.

The tiger walked around her, her step slow and relaxed, taunting, like the pace of a gunfighter in a movie. She was big, white-furred, with the body of a model from a workout video, beautiful and powerful. There was a whip coiled on her hip, and she was dressed in black leather and chrome.

Silverfox caught her eye and stared back defiantly. The tiger blinked once, and dropped her eyes to the fox's breasts and between her legs, appraising her with an interest too obvious to be ignored. For a moment, Silverfox was taken aback, even rattled: she was expecting a beating, she was braced for it, but she hadn't expected a sexual assault from another woman. She felt embarrassed; she wanted to cover up.

"You are the property of Blue Diamond," the tiger said. "You are a slave in a brothel and you are here to make money."

Silverfox kept her face steady. She hadn't expected anything like this.

"You're a dyke, right?" the tiger asked conversationally. "Never had a man up inside you?" She patted Silverfox between the legs and a smile flicked over her face as Silverfox jerked her hips back. "Get used to being touched. We don't need to stop just because you're not enjoying it."

Silverfox looked away, uncertainly. She and the other three had always been aware this might happen sometime. They had discussed it at length with Doctor Clayton. But she had always assumed rape would be something fast, brutal, with no time to think it over or see it coming. That it would be an isolated atrocity, indicating poor discipline on the part of the enemy; not a deliberate thing, not a business.

She could handle the violence of combat. She thought she could accept the violence of a sexual assault. She tried to think but wordless dread was pushing everything out of her mind.

"Normally, this is where Master breaks you in," the tiger said. "But you have time to get used to the idea." She grinned. "Six hours. Men like unexplored territory and we have a customer who will pay a premium for you."

Silverfox looked past her, stared at the wall. The wall was covered with canes, with riding crops, mixed in among sex toys she had seen in magazines and porn sites but never in real life. She felt a moment of resentment. She was a light combat model, the aristocracy among chimerae, not some piece - of - ass pleasure model.

"You and your friends have stuffed a lot of toys up here," the tiger patted Silverfox between the legs and smiled as she flinched away. "So we've tightened you up a bit. The client's not particularly big, but it's going to hurt and you'll bleed a little; it's what the client expects. It should be fun to watch." She smiled, relishing it. "Then you and I get to serious work."

Silverfox twitched violently and woke up with a gasp. She was shaking, and she wrapped herself in blankets; she told herself she was cold. She heard a flush, and running water; turned to face the sound. The door to the bedroom opened, and she felt her panic slowly slide away. She hated waking up alone, she told herself.

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose, and the air was heavy with a man's scent, a human man's, not a woman, not a tiger, not Tigre. She felt herself relax. What was his name? Clark. She got out of bed and draped herself around him, in relief. She told herself she just needed a hug.

"What's wrong?" Clark asked, fuzzily. He was half-asleep and thought something was wrong. Silverfox didn't want to think about that, so she didn't.

"Nothing," Silverfox lied. She kissed him, and reached down with one hand, ran a claw tip lightly up and down his shaft. She pulled him back to bed, lay him down and began to explore, felt him harden under her touch. He smiled and caressed her gently; she liked being touched that way.

She rolled her hips over on his, placed herself over him, warming the length of his body with hers. She opened her mouth and he opened his; he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she expertly positioned the tip of his shaft. They hadn't been asleep long; she was able to slide him in easily. She started to move her hips up, but his hands slid down her back and held her butt there. She opened her eyes, pulled her head back, and looked at him inquiringly.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I'm sure."

"Has anyone ever told you you're amazing?" he asked, with a smile.

She smiled back. "That would be the consensus, yes," she said complacently.

She moved her face closer to his, touched his nose with hers, and shifted her weight onto her forearms. She started moving her hips, breathing more deeply. She squeezed his shaft gently, gripping him more tightly, enjoying the growing ecstasy in his face. That was a chimera trick; the muscle involved was the same one used to move the tail, and it was a lot stronger when you actually had a tail. It drove men nuts.

"Wait," he gasped. "I'm close. I won't last."

"Good," she replied, and quickened her pace.

He came into her, and she drew him inside of her and squeezed again. She liked to come herself, but sometimes she liked this; to feel her partner lose control and spurt into her without the overwhelming pleasure to blind her from that little sensation within. She liked the feeling of power it gave her, to know she was hot enough and good enough to make him come that fast, even when he was trying to hold back. And with it came an overwhelming sense of bliss and contentment, of rightness, and all her problems and doubts and worries melted away in the conviction that she lived to feel a man's love warm inside her, and that everything was all right. He was pleased, and she had nothing to be afraid of. She nestled against him, feeling nothing but the glow of satisfaction.

He kissed her near her ear, his nose brushing the sensitive fur inside them. By reflex, her ear folded and twitched. "Want me to go down on you?" he asked softly. "I owe you one."

She kissed him back. "I don't keep score." She smiled halfway and squeezed his penis, making him gasp, just to show him she could.

"You feel incredible," he said softly. He ran a hand down her back, and she shivered with pleasure. "Is it okay if I --" he started, cutting himself off. In the darkness, he looked embarrassed, even appalled. This had happened to her before. People liked to touch her, stroke her fur, but they were afraid she'd resent it, afraid she'd think they were treating her like a pet. The funny thing was that they usually reacted that way after sex, when they'd been touching her all along. It was okay to suck at her nipples, but petting her fur was out. The politics of human / chimera screwing were very complicated.

"I like being stroked," she assured him, "and I like having my ears scratched." She put on a troubled expression. "I dream of a future age where I will even be allowed to play catch with a child without being accused of atavism."

She grinned to show she was joking and kissed him lightly, nestled against him and smiled. She liked her friends, and the fact they loved her too, but she also liked to hear she was good in bed from a near-stranger: an affirmation unclouded by affection. Clark would be a good Seattle Guy, she decided, drowsily.

"When are you leaving?" he asked. He ran a finger lightly around the base of her ear. She leaned into it to increase the pressure.

"We have tickets for next afternoon," she said. "I mean, this afternoon, at sixteen hundred. But it wouldn't surprise me if that was pushed out."

"Will you be back?" he asked.

"Your bed?" she asked. "Sure. You're fun." She kissed him again, partly to keep him quiet. She didn't feel like thinking, and she was drifting back to sleep.

She was on her back, still on the table, naked, arms strapped down, muzzled, legs forced open. His stink was still on her and in her, she smelled her own blood. There was a quarter on the table. Her breath heaved, she breathed through her mouth to make the smells weaker. The whip was on the table next to her, neatly coiled. Her shoulders ached from it, but her mind kept going back to what had happened after the beating, the man inside her as she squirmed and tried to fight. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want Tigre to know how hurt she was.

"That wasn't so bad," Tigre said, dismissively, taking the muzzle off her. A small amount of spittle drooled out and back onto Silverfox's face. "Simple little vanilla rape fantasy. He came fast. Clients usually do, when you give them exactly what they want."

What Tigre had just said was dumbfounding. "Fantasy?" Silverfox mumbled, incredulous.

Tigre nodded. "You are a slave. Master ordered you, through me, to pleasure a client." Tigre poked the fox's sensitive nose with a claw. "You chose to disobey," she said, "You weren't forced in any way."

She couldn't be serious.

"Let me up, bitch," Silverfox said slowly. "I'll show you what I choose to do."

But even as she said it, she couldn't meet Tigre's eyes. She knew she was sending all the wrong messages, talking tough but she couldn't meet the tiger's eyes.

Tigre sighed and shook her head, as though Silverfox were being dense. "You need to concentrate on the possible. There's nothing you can do about the sex. There's no need for you to suffer. But if you like the chains and the beating," she shrugged. "That's all right too."

"Shut up," Silverfox choked out, and looked away. What was happening to Firefox, Technofox, and Shadowfox at this moment? She had the terrible feeling that whatever it was, it was better than being in a room with this woman.

"How do you feel?" Tigre asked, her tones affable and casual.

"I feel sick," Silverfox replied, honest despite her resolution. She was, of course, familiar with the "good cop / bad cop" trick. Tigre seemed to pull it off by herself. Silverfox knew Tigre was an enemy, but at the same time, there had to be some part of her that ... could be reached, some part that was a woman first. Silverfox needed comfort and the tiger was there.

Tigre nodded, sympathetically, or faking it well. She sat down next to Silverfox, turned to talk to her. "We'll help you with that," she said.

"I don't want to be helped," Silverfox said, feeling nothing but revulsion and anger. "Like you said. I'm a dyke."

"You're a Blue Diamond Girl and that is a defect," the tiger said. She shrugged. "You don't choose. You do the work you are told to do."

"I am not a Blue Diamond Girl."

"The last hour should have proved that to you." She explained this in patient tones, slightly regretful, like a manager telling a worker they had to be in on Sunday. She was so calm about it that Silverfox wondered if she herself was being unreasonable.

Which, of course, was the whole point.

"Let me out," Silverfox said, panicked, pleading. Pointlessly.

"I can't do that," the tiger said gently. She looked down at Silverfox again, appraising her so obviously Silverfox turned her head away, ashamed, stared at the wall. "You have a fine body," she said. "Nothing to be embarrassed about. Athletic, and I love that shade of fur." She patted Silverfox's forehead. "All you need is ... a firmwear upgrade, and you'll fit in here fine." She smiled as Silverfox shuddered. "Set up the right associations, stimulus and feedback, and we'll get your juices flowing for both sides of the aisle. We've done this before." She smiled, as though she was talking about a haircut.

"No," Silverfox whispered. "I won't."

"You'll love it, I promise you."

"No," Silverfox repeated. Silverfox wasn't an expert in behavioral modifications on chimerae, but she suspected the tiger was telling her the simple truth. It was more than just hurting her; it was changing her.

"Don't wish that on yourself. Most women are straight, right? There's nothing unnatural about liking men."

"I'm not most women," Silverfox said. "And I'm not a whore."

The tiger grabbed Silverfox's muzzle and twisted her head around to face her. Silverfox looked away, tried to avert her eyes. The tiger was suddenly angry and frightening. "You're less than a whore right now," she told her. She slapped her. "I'm a Blue Diamond Girl," she said with unmistakable pride. "You're just a struggle cunt," she said contemptuously. She slapped her again, over the ear. "Good for erotic beating and rape fantasy and nothing else."

Silverfox actually felt embarrassed and afraid. She fought back an apology, ear ringing.

"Not with men," she begged, bargained, and she felt a tear flow out of her eye. "Please, no more men."

"There's worse things than men," Tigre said, warningly. "A man gets off fast, and then he loses interest. Maybe the client even gets sentimental about the girl. Especially if she's smart and lets him know that how good he was."

"That's disgusting."

Tigre's hands moved onto Silverfox's breasts. She squeezed, lightly, teased her nipples with claws on her thumbs. She let go, to Silverfox's relief. The relief didn't last long; Tigre undid her belt, a buckle came free, the tiger watched the fox's eyes as her leather came off. Silverfox wanted to whistle derisively but her mouth was dry, and she couldn't keep her eyes on Tigre's.

"Men don't have what it takes for a marathon," Tigre said.

A soft hum from the left; a camera swinging into position on a mechanical arm. "You've heard of Blue Diamond," Tigre said. "Did you ever see our videos?"

Yes, she had. She had found it somewhere on the net while Foxforce was still training. It had had two women, and it had fascinated her so much that she had shown it to the others. Technofox and Shadowfox hadn't been very interested. Firefox had been. And a few days later they had lost their virginities together.

Silverfox still had the video on her laptop.

"Would you believe some actual lesbians watch our lesbian bondage videos?" the tiger laughed lightly, and stood.

The white tiger was nude except for a black chrome-studded collar and similar bands on her wrists and ankles. She was beautiful, and she knew it. Silverfox could tell she was proud of how she looked, that there was some mirth in her eyes as Silverfox looked at her. "You're a magnificent animal," the tiger said. "You're going to have fans."

Without looking at Silverfox, she inserted one end of a J-shaped dildo between her legs. Her claws, long, curved, sharp and sharpened peeked out from her fingertips momentarily as she adjusted the sex toy, like five little erections.

"What kind of fans do you want?" she asked rhetorically. "The kind that want to see you having fun, or the kind that want to see you hurt?"

Satisfied, the tiger let go of the dildo. The prosthetic penis jutted out from her, smooth erect plastic. The tiger caught her eye. She smiled, knowing that words weren't needed.

"My turn, beautiful," the tiger said amiably. She put out her hand, started stroking one of Silverfox's breasts. Then she squeezed it, then her claws came out.

Silverfox flinched. She was afraid to say anything. The tiger climbed onto the table, and smiled. Her teeth were sharp. She rested her body against Silverfox's, eyes shining. The tip pressed against Silverfox, started to slip in. Silverfox shuddered. She was beautiful, and it felt good between her legs, but --

"This is for the fans who want to see you hurt," she said softly, into her ear. "And it's for me." She pushed hard, once, a thrust that seemed to tear Silverfox apart. She screamed, once.

She opened her eyes and she saw the tiger's eyes, amused.

And then it was all teeth and claws, and every thrust was a blow.

No. She was alone, in bed. And shaking. She smelled bacon, raw, not cooked yet. His side of the bed was cooling. She sniffed his pillow. She caught another scent there, a woman; not as fresh, but more persistent. Usually, he probably slept on the side Silverfox had used.

She got out of bed. Sitting on the chair were her clothes and her coat over her guns. She drew them, satisfied herself that they had not been tampered with. She hit the bathroom, and checked to see if her underwear had dried out. It had. She considered putting it on, but decided against it.

"Morning," she said, coming into the kitchen.

He was wearing a shirt and underwear and sat at a laptop. "Morning," he said. He looked up, smiled when he saw she was nude. She didn't pose, not obviously, but she stood so he'd get a good look. Men had paid to download pictures of her, had paid much more for what he was getting for breakfast and a little respect, and that was good for her ego.

"You're so beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," Silverfox replied. "What's her name?"

He looked up. "Whose name?" he said, guiltily.

Silverfox cocked an eyebrow and settled down on the chair next to him. "The other woman who uses your bed," she said. "I can smell her. I must be the first chimera you've slept with."

"Uhm, yes," he said. He seemed a bit startled, as though surprised she had noticed. No, he didn't know many chimerae, if any. "Oh. Her name is Sandra," he said. "We're ... not in a committed relationship." He smiled uncomfortably.

Silverfox nodded, pretending to believe him. She didn't buy it; his anxiety was too obvious. She didn't particularly care about his cheating -- that was between Sandra and Clark, but she still didn't much like that he was going to lie about her. So she couldn't resist teasing.

"Maybe the three of us can get together for lunch," she said. "That's a euphemism." She smiled in a way that usually made people laugh.

He didn't laugh; he looked as though she had just presented a problem to him and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. She nodded to herself. Definitely cheating on Sandra. Most men would donate a kidney to have two partners in bed at once -- if there was a shadow of a chance of doing it without jeopardizing either relationship. She wondered how he was going to change the subject. Would he admit that he was cheating on his other girl? Would he say that Sandra hated the idea of group sex? Or that Sandra was very, very straight?

"Let me finish this up, and then I'll start breakfast. How do you like your eggs?" he asked.

She gave that excuse a low score. "Scrambled dry. What are you writing?" She looked over his shoulder, deliberately pressed a breast into his back.

He smiled nervously. "Your interview."

"You better make me sound good." She narrowed her eyes. "I bite, you know."

He laughed. "Would you like to read it?"

"Sure. It looks pretty short," she complained.

"That's the hard part," he said.

She skimmed it. It wasn't bad; at least it emphasized that the smugglers were armed and resisted arrest. There was a mistake where he said they had fired first, but Silverfox decided not to point that out.

"Pretty good," she said.

"'Pretty good,' she says," he mock-grumbled. "I'll have you know that once that's posted, dozens -- nay, even scores -- of enthusiastic readers will understand why you did what you did."

She doubted it, but saw no reason to bring that up. Instead, she pointed at his lap. "Your tent pole slipped out," she said.

"Oh, sorry. Let me tuck that away--"

"Don't you dare," she said, going to her knees.

She took it in her hand and looked at him with mock severity. "It's rude to point, you know." Silverfox liked erections. She liked to hold them in her hand, close to her mouth, and feel them move as their owners wondered what she would do next. She liked their fragrance, the way they felt against her fur, their taste and the way they moved against her tongue. It didn't have much to do with the guy they were attached to, although that could help. She licked it daintily. He hadn't showered yet, but he had washed it; she could smell and taste a cheap hand soap, not enough to taste bad or mask his own scent and the flavor of what he had left inside her last night. She thought of feeling him come into her mouth, and she craved that. The thought excited her, and she touched herself absently with her free hand.

She had just turned him away from the laptop and had taken his tip into her mouth when her brain implant flashed an incoming message, Medium Priority. Although she had never had this happen before at this moment, she should have realized that it was just a matter of time.

How best to do this? She was a career girl and anyone who got bent out of shape over that was no friend of hers. Still, saying something like "Excuse me, I need to read my email before I suck your penis to completion" was probably just a bit too job-oriented. It was an awkward situation.

She compromised by taking him out of her mouth, and stroking it with her thumb in a friendly manner, as she read the summary: subject line "Read by 0830" from Technofox, arrived at 0803. It was just like the scrawny librarian to send her a message tagged as time critical with a header that said it didn't have to be read right away, as though Silverfox couldn't be trusted to look at her Low Priority messages in a timely manner. Which, now that she thought of it, she hadn't done yet this morning. Technofox knew her too well.

"Hold on there," he said, and she froze. For an instant, she expected him to grab her hair and force himself into her mouth, the ways men sometimes did. No, that was what men did sometimes in Blue Diamond. No, that was something she had to put up with in Blue Diamond.

Instead, he pulled her gently to her feet, lifted her up and sat her on the table. If he was surprised at her weight, he was too gallant to say it. He knelt down and blew at her clitoris gently, making her shiver. He kissed her labia, and then above; she gasped and bent forward, resting her weight on his shoulders. He licked on her center and around it, then kissed it gently before settling in and working on her. She loved this sort of attention, and it didn't take much of it before she climaxed.

She hopped off and embraced him thankfully. She liked cuddling after she came, and he was willing to squeeze her back. He was still holding her, stroking her fur, when she saw it was 0821 and reluctantly opened the mail from Technofox.

Silverfox, [it read] hope you're having fun, but not at this moment. [If only, Silverfox thought bitterly] We're splitting up to track down the owner of the dock the smugglers used last night. Nishinobu would like us to talk to him unofficially, to see if he'll talk to private security without having a lawyer present.

His name is Darren Baker, dossier, interview questions, and list of targets for you linked.

There is no warrant for his arrest. If you find him, let the rest of us know immediately. Inform him about what happened on his property last night, and interview him or make an appointment for an interview with him as soon as possible.

Oh, whoopee, Silverfox thought dourly. Well, it's not like she was on vacation. She kissed Clark lightly. "Clark, I've got to get out by nine."

"Oh, right," he said, unenthusiastically. "I have to go to work too -- want me to drop you off anywhere?"

Silverfox opened the map and looked at the target list. They were all tightly clustered; Baker's home was on the waterfront, along Fairview Avenue East, about four kilometers from her present position. She could hit his home first and then hoof it to the other places, working her way towards the hotel. "Can you?" she asked, getting up. "Drop me off at ... Eastlake and Delmar." She didn't want him to know exactly where she was going; and that was a few blocks away from the target. He was still press.

"Sure, no problem," he said. "It pains me to say this, but I'll make breakfast while you get dressed."

It was hard to screw up bacon and eggs, but Clark managed. She raved politely while she thought of what Shadowfox could have done with those ingredients, spoke with him about the weather and other trivialities with half her brain while looking over the dossier with the other half.

Baker rented boats to fishermen, with or without an operator. He had been dinged two years ago when one of his boats left dock without enough life jackets; he hadn't been working that day personally, and the judge had let him off with a stern lecture. That was pretty much the extent of his criminality, as far as the police were saying. She decided to start off light with him.

They got into Clark's car and arranged to check in with one another in the afternoon to see if their nights were free. She buckled up and devoted her attention to the briefing. Clark would probably think she wasn't much of a morning person; not that she was working.

The question list was fairly cookie cutter. Sometimes Tech would have theories she was shy about sharing and you could figure out what her suspicions were by the questions. Not this time. She wondered if Tech and Fire had something more specific in mind, or if they were just touching bases. Silver preferred to have a face - to - face with Tech before interviewing someone for her; she wished it had been --

"We're here," he said.

"Uhm?" Silverfox said, blinking. She blanked on his name. "Oh, thanks, hon." She kissed him, and hesitated. "By the way. Next time, would you wake me if you have to leave the bed? I really hate waking up alone."

He blinked, a little puzzled, but he nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks," she smiled and kissed him again before leaving the car. He probably felt good knowing there would be a next time, if her schedule worked out. She made some notes in her address book, adding points for the sex and subtracting them for the food and conversation. Clark. That was it.

She oriented herself, the solar compass program running on her implant working out geographical north from her location, the position of the sun and the time. Baker's home was closer to Lake Union, and after a few blocks of she realized that his address was in a marina. It was a cool morning, so she zipped her jacket as she faced the electronic gate. She passed her hand through the sensor.

Her identification chip cross referenced to her PI license got her past the electronic gate, and she walked past a line of barge homes. They were houseboats without engines that could be towed to different marinas. Not a cheap way to live, she guessed.

One or two people walked past, none looking at her with much surprise, probably assuming she was a housekeeper / mistress. This was the right sort of place for a chimera to look for work like that. There couldn't be more than a dozen chimerae in North America who could afford to live here. Rent for places like this had to run north of a couple of thousand a month. Either Baker was dirty, or she needed to start renting boats.

Well, no, now that she thought of it. Maybe Baker owned one of these -- someone who rented boats might be able to land a good deal on what was effectively a boat without an engine. Besides, she had the same feeling the first time Jerry Shayler had taken her to his penthouse, so much so that she had almost had Technofox do a profile on him.

She stepped out onto a pier, and read the unit placards: A, B, C ... here it was, D, about halfway along the dock. There was a little porch, or was it a deck, with a barbecue. The front door was wood set next to a large window, tinted for privacy, facing across the lake. She hesitated before stepping up to the door, wondering if she should ask permission to board.

She knocked on the door, and to her surprise, it opened almost immediately.

Baker was little on the short side for a human male, about her height, with hair he cut with himself with clippers and a battered face. Silverfox was reminded of Coleman Francis. Baker looked a bit older than his driver's license photo. He stared out at her, shocked and wide eyed.

There was a packed bag in his hand, carry-on size.

Silverfox smiled pleasantly. "Mister Baker?" she asked politely. "My name is Silverfox and I'm an operative with ICON, a private security firm --"

He slammed the door. Silverfox blinked. Well, this was bad manners -- she raised her hand to knock again.

A small hole appeared in the window and the bullet hit her high on the left shoulder, bouncing off her armor and spinning her halfway around. It would leave a bruise; she guessed it was a pistol, about a .38. She hadn't heard the shot. She went for her pistol, but her jacket was zipped over it. This was bad, she thought; he could see her, she couldn't see him. Shoulder hit, not center of mass. He was either a lousy shot, or the bullet had been deflected going through the glass, and she didn't want to find out. She had to break contact and re-engage.

She leapt away to turn and run, and caught the guard rail right on her hip. Her momentum carried her over. She heard a pump action rack a shell. Had he put the pistol down? Or were there two people in there? More breaking glass; the snap of a bullet missing her. No report. Landing would hurt, she thought, then shit, I'm on a boat. Was on a boat.

It was April, and the water was cold; so cold she jerked violently underwater, as her reflexes tried to pull her away from the cold thing. Her diaphragm spasmed and half the air in her lungs left her body in an explosion of bubbles. She was maybe a meter or so down, but she retained enough presence of mind to swim a few meters underwater before cautiously poking her head free. Her head barely floated above the water. She could feel the cold lake lapping at the corners of her mouth, as she was pulled down by her armored vest and her guns. She always hated swimming, and re-qualified each year with the greatest reluctance. She was too heavy to float well.

She shook her head to get the water out of her eyes. She froze when she heard the noise of fur slapping about. She was shaking too vigorously; instinct. She was exposed, out in the water -- that was no good. She took a breath, forced herself under the water, and came up under the dock. She was better off with the concealment. Better, she pulled herself partly out of the water on a piling, and took her first deep breath.

She checked her communication status. Her phone was still getting a signal; it was waterproof. Her earphone had fallen out. She needed both hands, so that left her implant to compose a message.

She didn't have time to slowly peck out an explanation. She had a set of form messages she could use, but oddly enough, "Jumped off a dock after being fired on through a tinted window by what seems to be a silenced pistol" wasn't one of them. "Engaging at %LOCATION%, converge immediately, tell the police" was. So she sent it, although it didn't contain anything that might be tactically useful, like the number of hostiles and what they were using. Which, actually, she didn't know either. She hated sending that message, because it showed she didn't know what was going on. She hated not knowing the situation.

She could see someone on shore: he was in a yellow rain slicker and looking out over the lake, about as casually as a person could. He looked like a civilian enjoying a new day, and he probably was. He heard some breaking glass, maybe a splash... no gunshots. She considered yelling at him. But that would reveal her position and odds were he'd stall out mentally.

Tacticals. Baker had packed luggage. He was thinking in terms of escape. Baker would probably move. He wouldn't just sit there and hope he had plugged her. He'd take his gun and look for her. He had a silenced pistol and a shotgun. Yes, he had the advantage now.

Should she go immediately for shore? No, he'd assume she'd do that. So she moved slowly and carefully to the edge of the dock, some distance from where she had gone over, using her hands to pull her along the soggy wood. Her fingers were beginning to feel numb. This water was too cold to stay in for very long. Cautiously, she looked out, along the dock.

Baker was leaning over, peering out. He was wearing a long coat, which he used to partially hide what he was carrying: a Mossberg 500 pump-action shotgun with a pistol grip on the slide. It was a thin barrel, and she guessed it was the Home Security .410, the HS410. It didn't have the thick barrel of a suppressed shotgun. A hit from even a .410 shotgun shell felt nothing like a pistol. Had he shot her through the window with a silenced pistol and switched to a shotgun? Keeping the silenced weapon would be a lot more discreet than waving a shotgun around. What the hell? Did he have QSPR rounds for that shotgun?

She considered drawing a Glock, but large capacity magazines didn't get along well with water. So instead, she reached a hand into her coat collar, feeling for "Eve" in the holster between her shoulder blades.

A chimera assassin named Lilith had a pistol custom-made for herself, a pistol designed for a chimera's stronger hands. Silverfox had been so taken by it that she had cajoled Firefox into letting her commission a duplicate, expensing it to ICON.

Eve was a two-barrel Derringer loaded with 7.62 rifle rounds. Silverfox had yet to meet a human with a grip strong enough to control it; Eve was essentially a cut-down two-shot battle rifle. And with no magazine, the mechanism was so simple it was almost impossible to foul.

She was about to draw the nasty little weapon, when Baker turned and stepped away from the edge of the dock. Son of a bitch! She had missed her chance.

There was a disturbance in the water; she looked over and saw the lower half of a floatplane sliding up to the far end of the dock. She blinked. Terrific timing. If only she had declined oral sex that morning...

Floatplanes didn't have underwater propellers: this pilot was good enough to tuck it in parallel to the deck using the plane's rudder and momentum. Silverfox went underwater again for silence, swimming as quickly as she could. Her fur and clothes dragged at her, her thin feet giving less propulsion than a human swimmer would have. She relied more on her arms, hating every second of it.

She surfaced and saw someone who might be Baker step into the plane, closing the door behind him.

She closed her eyes and swam fast and hard: when she surfaced she had overshot, ending up between the pontoons. She got an acknowledgment of her email from Technofox: it was a terse "Roger -- send details soonest."

The engine started to kick up, sending water flying in a spray.

What she did next was more instinct than reason. She reached up and grabbed the right pontoon strut as the plane began taxiing across the surface of the water. The electric engine hummed, and the plane began to pick up speed. She could tell that being dragged through the water would hurt, so she swung her feet up on the other pontoon and pushed her hips against the fuselage to lift her ass out of the water. Her tail was too wet to lift, but it was light enough to dance on the top of the water.

The prop wash blasted on her wet clothes and fur, chilling her past cold, making her shake uncontrollably instead of merely shivering. Grimly, she held on, her hands numb, afraid that the intense vibration of the pontoons would throw her off if she tried to move. They cleared the water and her tail flapped in the slipstream. Oddly, she felt relief that she was out of the lake.

All right, it was time to do something constructive. She wedged her feet more firmly against the pontoons, reached into her collar. She grabbed Eve, and her foot came free of the pontoon. Her body was slammed by the slipstream up against the other pontoon. The plane rolled slightly in her direction, her weight tossing off the trim. She almost fell off, but instead her boots found good footholds, and she rolled herself onto the top of the pontoon. She still had Eve in her hand. The plane corrected. She sighted right behind the propeller and fired, twice, quickly.

Two overlapping holes appeared in the thin aluminum cowling over the motor, and a piece flew out through the skin. Immediately, the motor's hum changed in pitch and the plane lurched violently, knocking Silverfox off the pontoon. As she fell to the lake, she stuffed Eve in a pocket of her jacket and held onto the butt grimly. There was no way she'd get to expense a replacement.

Using her tail as a counterweight, she quickly oriented herself to hit the water feet first. Bits from survival class flashed in her mind: "Enter the water like a tin soldier" and "make like a bottle, not like a battle." An instant after that, there was nothing in her personal universe except "Splash."

She would later claim that the impact had driven her to the bottom of the lake. Actually, she had gone down less than four meters, but she could be forgiven the exaggeration. It seemed much longer as she swam to the surface. When she broke into the air, she watched with some satisfaction as the plane wobbled and descended, propeller feathered. It hit the water, shot forward, and came to an abrupt stop on the beach. The doors popped open, and Silverfox's spirits fell as two figures staggered out. She hated to give up on a chase this easily, but what could she do?

She considered drawing a Glock. It would be a tough shot, but she thought she could do it. She rejected the idea reluctantly. Even if the gun fired, there was no way she could spin it as self-defense. That on top of last night would get her another assault charge, and one of those was bound to stick eventually.

A horn blared behind her, and she turned to see a white barge-like vessel the size of a small bus change course and head towards her. A life preserver attached to a line flew out at her; she was able to jump high enough to catch it, filled with relief that she wouldn't need to swim to shore. She pulled herself along the rope as the boat came to a stop, and a dozen hands reached down to her to help her aboard. She blinked: most were children.

She grabbed the beefiest arm and anxious others yanked her aboard by her hair, fur and tail; she was so glad to be out of the water she didn't feel any pain. She almost lost her balance and held tightly to the hand she had grabbed.

"Are you all right?" asked the captain.

He was crouching slightly to avoid hitting the low ceiling that brushed against her ear tips. He wore a naval dress uniform, and incongruously, a striped Egyptian headdress, complete except for one detail: instead of a cobra, his had the head of a rubber duck.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," she replied, at the same time wondering if she was drowning in the lake and having a hallucination. She looked over at the passengers: there were about thirty sitting in vinyl bench seats, like a school bus. Most of them were children, obviously excited over this adventure. Most of the children wore orange plastic bill-shaped duck calls on lanyards about their necks, which they used to make a loud quacking noise. Continually.

"What happened?" he asked, his serious, concerned expression contrasting strangely with the amiable smile on his duck. "We saw you fall out of the plane."

Fall off, she thought. Not that it really mattered. "I am a private security operative," Silverfox said, for some reason addressing the duck. She shook her head to get her brain working again. "And those men are killers," she said, pointing at the plane. "Can you get me --" She hesitated, and glanced back at the other passengers. She swallowed hard.

No, she was not going to chase after a pair of possibly armed men, not in a boat with thirty plus civilians, twenty or so children.

"Can you get me to shore?" she asked, finally, disappointed to the core of her hunter's soul.

He nodded, understanding her train of thought, and got back into his seat. "We were on our way back anyway," he said. The boat lurched forward. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "I can take you to a hospital."

She was, she realized, shivering pretty badly. "I'm sure, thank you. I'm just cold." She had to fight a canine impulse to shake water off. It would spray everyone else, but then again, the kids might think it was fun...

"Are you part of the ride?" a kid asked boldly.

She shook her head silently as its parent hushed it. "How much do I owe you?" she asked the captain.

He frowned. "Nothing, of course. By maritime law, I'm required to take you to my next port."

"Thanks."

The boat moved so slowly through the water she suspected she could make better time running along the shore. But not swimming, so it was a moot point. Silverfox looked at the list of canned emails, and none said anything about shooting down a floatplane and falling into a lake. Technofox had set up the email templates, and she had no imagination whatsoever.

Well, she could call. She wasn't looking forward to explaining how she had lost contact with the targets. She took her phone out of its hip case and flipped it open. She was about to touch Technofox's speed dial when she looked out the windshield and froze. The skipper had pointed the boat at a concrete ramp that ran into the water, and showed no sign of veering off. He was about to slam the bow into concrete.

Instead of a crash of metal against cement, the boat lurched up the ramp, and _On the Road Again_ started to play over the sound system. Silverfox blinked, baffled. Then the boat merged with traffic on the road.

"This is a DUKW amphibious truck from the Pacific War," the captain explained. "The British used 'em for raids in Europe, too. It's a better boat than any truck and it handles better on the highway than any other boat."

Obviously, he was proud of his vessel. "Any boat that's in the right place is a good boat," Silverfox agreed. She touched speed dial on her phone. There was an empty bench behind the driver. She collapsed into it. She doubted she was up to any more running, but the sooner she started the better. "Could you drop me off --"

The truck turned onto the road and started heading towards the airplane crash. A car was coming down the other way. The driver saw her, and his eyes popped open with shock and surprise. If he had kept a poker face, she might not have noticed it was Baker.

Silverfox had one of her very few genuinely religious moments. In that instant, she knew that God had seen her abandon the chase because of the risk to the passengers, and He was now rewarding her concern for the children with an opportunity -- provided she was bold and fast enough to take it.

Her cell phone dropped to the floor of the DUKW with a clatter as she hurled herself out the window. One of the children, a fan of the Fantomah TV series, would later make the curiously specific claim that she had "given the war cry of the jungle born." Silverfox landed on the roof of the car with a thump, and grabbed the luggage rack before she slid off. The passengers on the DUKW were yelling about something.

The car accelerated. Silverfox opened up her jacket, took out a Swiss Army knife, snapped out the window breaking tool, and held it in her fist. She swung it down on the windscreen with all her might, punching in a hole and sending a pattern of cracks through the safety glass. He hit the brakes to try to throw her off. She needed her hand so she dropped the tool. It shot onto the road ahead of them. She started to slide forward after it. She turned to face the rear of the car and grabbed the front bar of the luggage rack, tucking in to use her momentum to swing herself out and then down. Her feet slammed into the cracked windscreen. She broke through, feet going between and past the driver and passenger as they threw themselves to either side out of her way.

She went almost all the way into the car. The car stopped abruptly when it ran into the side of a building; the driver and passenger slammed forward against their safety belts as Silverfox dropped down, back of her head banging against the hood of the car, butt on the seat.

She drew her guns, poking each of them in the gut with a muzzle. She turned to Baker behind the wheel, her voice low and angry.

"Don't EVER slam your door in my face again," she growled.

"Are you out of your mind?" the passenger asked, appalled and angry. He had bitten his lip or something; there was blood on his chin. He was, she guessed, the pilot of the plane. "You could have killed somebody."

"Mister Baker," she said formally, "I was going to ask you some questions pertaining to a murder investigation. Mind telling me why you were leaving town?"

"Murder..?" the passenger asked, suddenly shaken.

"Shut up, Zocchi," Baker snapped.

"Murder? You said murder?" Zocchi asked Silverfox.

"Zocchi, shut up!" Baker yelled. Zocchi didn't seem impressed; he was more worried about the word "murder" and the gun in his gut.

Fine, push his buttons. "No, accessory-after-the-fact," Silverfox snarled at Zocchi. "I just jumped onto a moving car because of a fucking parking ticket. Of course it's a murder investigation." She could hear sirens in the background. She fought to keep her rage and her energy up.

"Fuck you, Baker!" Zocchi yelled. "You said nothing about a fucking murder!"

"Don't say anything without a lawyer," Baker said, perspiration beading on his face.

"It's just that he pulled me out of Lake Union and I'd really like to do something nice for him," Silverfox said, fiddling with her cell phone. The DUKW captain had dropped it off at the front desk. "Does he have a parking ticket or something we can fix?"

Silverfox was wearing a bathrobe. Her Glocks were disassembled, drying on a towel in front of her. Her armored vest was drying in front of a fan. A hot shower and chicken soup had done wonders for her, and even better, Shadowfox was rubbing her shoulders. Silverfox appreciated the fussing over. Silverfox's eyes were half closed with pleasure as the black vixen's fingers worked life back into abused muscles.

Technofox looked up from her monitor, blinked, and paused, replaying Silverfox's last comment; as though her brain was clearing a buffer.

"Tech, I'd like you to look into that," Firefox said, seriously.

Technofox nodded. "I'll put that on queue," she replied, delicately pointing out that she was setting up search agents, programs that would locate networked public information according to a complex query language Silverfox didn't pretend to understand.

"How is your ankle?" Shadowfox asked.

Silverfox lifted her foot and spread her toes wide before moving her ankle gingerly. She had wrenched it when she hit the water or gone through the windshield; adrenaline kept her from feeling it until it had given out on her in the shower. Shadowfox had taped it up.

"I think it would help if you licked me out," Silverfox answered thoughtfully.

"Well, of course you do," Shadowfox nodded, and patted her shoulder. "Do you want a trauma shot?" she asked.

Trauma drugs made it possible to heal almost overnight from practically anything; abusing them could really screw up your body's ability to repair itself. Victoria, a girl they had met in Blue Diamond, was now completely dependent on them. "I'd like to wait and see," Silverfox said. "Rest it until right before the flight, and decide then." She looked at a clock: it was a bit after ten in the morning. She wasn't looking forward to a cross-country flight in six hours.

"Good -- the flight will give it time to work," Shadowfox said. "I'll make sure we've got a hypo ready for you before the flight."

Firefox tapped her earplug; she had just received a phone call. "Firefox here," she said. She paused. "Yes, Inspector, she should stay off the ankle ..." Firefox glanced at Silverfox and Silverfox gave a thumbs up. "Yes, I'll be right over with Technofox. Thank you, sir."

Silverfox reached onto her shoulder, squeezed Shadowfox's hand and kissed her fingertips.

Technofox looked up. "Where to?"

"Baker's barge home," Firefox replied.

"Cool. I want to see that," Silverfox said, hopping out of bed.

"Ankle," Shadowfox replied.

"Screw the ankle," Silverfox replied immediately, shucking her bathrobe and dropping it to the floor. "I was on the scene." Firefox looked at her steadily for a moment, and then at Shadowfox.

"Did you bring your sword cane?" Firefox asked.

"I brought the sword staff," Shadowfox replied.

Firefox nodded. "Fine. Silver can use it." Shadowfox paused, and Silverfox felt a moment of genuine admiration. Leave it to Firefox to realize that Shadowfox's disguised weapon was still a usable cane.

Shadowfox looked at Silverfox dubiously. "Are you sure we can trust her with a sharp object in the city limits?" she asked.

"Ha, ha," Silverfox muttered, unable to think of a better comeback.

Firefox cracked a smile. "Hurry up and get dressed. Shadow, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to finish packing for us all."

"And be careful folding my shirts," Silverfox said.

There was a pause. "Oh, I will," Shadowfox said, with a smile.

Silverfox was fiddling with the cane in the back seat of the cab. It was black with a silver handle shaped like a fox's head: a wry touch that was unusual for Shadowfox. She ran her thumb idly along the chin of the handle when she felt it give slightly. Curious, she pushed harder and heard a soft click. She knew that was a mistake when a black blade, almost as long as the cane, dropped out of the bottom and sank its tip into the carpet. Silverfox blinked. Technofox screwed her eyes shut. Firefox sighed softly and looked at the back of the driver's head.

"This thing is so cool," Silverfox said, her voice awed.

"At least you missed our feet," Technofox muttered.

"Shh--hh," Firefox said softly, alertly watching the driver.

The three vixens crowded together in the back watched the driver, holding their breaths. He seemed unaware what was going on in back.

Silverfox pushed gently on the cane. The blade slipped back in easily; it wasn't spring-loaded. Technofox watched her suspiciously. The blade retracted all the way, but Silverfox didn't hear it lock into the closed position. She glanced at Technofox who frowned, and wordlessly reached out to the weapon. She slid a protrusion with a claw, and there was a soft click. Silverfox blew a kiss at Technofox, who looked away.

"Maybe she could just lean on your arm," Technofox said over Silverfox.

"Give me a break," Silverfox scoffed.

"Will the Inspector give you a break?" Technofox asked. "You've been in two gun battles in two days --"

The driver glanced up into his passenger mirror. Silverfox smiled placidly until he looked away.

"I was returning fire," Silverfox muttered.

"You shot down an airplane," Technofox hissed.

The driver swerved violently. A horn blared. He looked up into the mirror. "Sorry, ladies," he said apologetically.

"It wasn't my fault," Silverfox said.

"No, it wasn't," Firefox interrupted. "But these sort of things make people nervous." She pointed at the back of the driver's head.

"She means," Technofox said, "that she's trying to land us a job we all want and that in the last fifty hours you've killed four people, one Cessna and two windshields."

"Was I supposed to let them go?" Silverfox asked.

"Tech," Firefox said, "lay off. Silver's right, and what's done is done."

"And I took five prisoners," Silverfox said. "Once they all regain consciousness--"

"Fine, but what are the odds we'll be part of the investigation?" Technofox asked.

"Maybe I should just blow up a suspect in the parking lot of a strip club," Silverfox replied.

"That is so unfair. She blew herself up," Technofox replied testily.

"Tech," Firefox snapped. She looked over at the little vixen and suddenly grinned. "Honey, please. You're dumping our problems on Silverfox, and she didn't do anything wrong."

Technofox grimaced. "Sorry," she said, reluctantly, not looking very sorry.

"Sometimes stuff just happens," Silverfox said.

Technofox muttered something under her breath and looked away.

"Ladies, we're here," said the driver.

They got out of the taxi, and Firefox smiled amiably, handing over some bills. "Thank you," she said. Silverfox leaned on the cane. It helped a lot, as long as she avoided activating the blade.

"Thank you, ma'am," replied the driver. "That's very generous."

"We'll need a ride back," Firefox said. "Do you have a number we can call?"

The driver looked over at the police vehicles and the yellow crime scene tapes. He paused. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm fresh out of cards." He smiled politely.

"Someone fired twice," Silverfox said. "I assume it was Baker. One hit, no penetration." She opened her jacket to show the crease in her armor, and then used Shadow's sword cane to point dramatically at the two bullet holes in the window. She looked at the floor and smiled, recognizing the casings on the rug.

"Nobody in the marina heard any shooting," Nishinobu said. "But those do look like bullet holes to me."

"May I handle this?" Silverfox asked, pointing at the dusted shotgun against the wall.

The woman with the forensics case looked up. Silverfox held out her hands, showing the latex gloves she was wearing. The cop nodded.

"This shotgun hasn't been fired," she said. "Not since the last time it was cleaned. Take a sniff."

"You're telling a chimera to take a sniff?" Silverfox asked incredulously and grinned.

Silverfox lifted the shotgun, and braced the folding stock against her left shoulder, grabbing the slide with her left hand. She racked it once, ejecting the round in the chamber and loading the next. She caught the silver cylinder with her right hand, looked at the two green bands around the case and on the baseplate, and held it up where Firefox and Nishinobu could see it.

"Quiet, Special Purpose Round," she explained. "First developed in 1967, and refined since. It's designed to be used in any weapon firing .410 shotgun shells." Her eyes met Firefox's. Firefox didn't need the introduction, since Shadowfox used QSPR from time to time in a five-round Taurus Judge revolver.

Nishinobu looked fascinated.

"QSPRs use a charge to drive a piston which pushes out the bullet," Silverfox explained. "The piston is sealed, so there is no flash, no expanding gasses and so no gunpowder smell, and almost no sound. Most of them use a frangible bullet. This particular type is designed to mimic the ballistics and wound characteristics of a .38 pistol." She held it out to Nishinobu. "That way, you're left with a body who looks like he's been shot with a zip gun."

The forensic examiner's jaw dropped. Nishinobu took the shell and stared at it. "That's a new one on me," he admitted. He glanced at the other cop, who was looking a bit shaken. Silverfox guessed she had expressed some forceful opinions before the foxes had arrived, and that these were all now in the shitter. "I'm sure the FBI ballistics library will confirm all that," Silverfox said, facing her directly.

"They're pretty exotic," Firefox said, softening the blow. "This is the first time I've seen one in the wild, so to speak." Firefox looked around the room, at the expensive settings. Her eyes rested for a moment on a bear's head, stuffed and mounted on the wall. Her mouth tightened.

She turned and looked at Technofox enquiringly. "Aren't QSPRs covered under Title 2?"

"Yes," Technofox replied immediately. "They require a Class 3 license, like machine guns. Making this a Federal firearms violation."

"I wonder how much they'd cost," Firefox muttered.

"About fifty bucks a round with a license," Silverfox said. "Black market price is probably higher than that."

"Why would he own something like this?" Nishinobu asked.

Silverfox shrugged. "You can use it in any gun that uses .410 without modifying the weapon. Maybe he really likes the Mossberg."

"Can't you get an HS410 sound moderated?" Firefox asked. "Fifty dollars a pop is a really expensive way to silence a gun."

This was a replay of the conversation they had whenever Shadowfox asked to expense QSPR rounds. Shadowfox used QSPR because putting them in a Taurus Judge gave her an advanced silent kill weapon that looked like a cheap revolver. She didn't shoot much.

"Yeah," Silverfox agreed. "I don't get it either."

"Silverfox," Nishinobu said, "Did you threaten him before he fired on you?" Technofox fought to keep her expression placid. Silverfox hated to admit it, but the little vixen had been right. No matter how justified a shootout was, two in so many days made cops jumpy around you.

"No, sir," Silverfox said firmly. "I identified myself as a private security operative and stated I wanted to ask him questions."

He looked at her. "But you had a rifle, didn't you?"

"Rifle?" Silverfox replied, confused. "No."

"You had Eve, right?" Firefox asked.

"Oh, of course," Silverfox replied, understanding. "No, sir. I did not have a rifle."

"Eve?" Nishinobu asked.

"My backup pistol," Silverfox explained. "It uses 7.62 rifle bullets. Someone probably guessed I used a rifle at long range. Actually, I used Eve at short range. May I show you?" When he nodded, she took it out, shook out the bullets, and handed it to him.

"Do you name your guns?" Nishinobu asked, looking at Eve with the mingled amusement and disbelief most humans had when first confronted with it.

"Yes," Silverfox lied. She opened her coat and touched one of her gun butts. "This one is named 'Liberator.' The other is 'Toll House Cookie.'"

"Toll House Cookie," he repeated.

"I really like toll house cookies," she explained.

"I see," Nishinobu said.

"Inspector," Firefox interrupted, "it's obvious Baker knew what was coming in through his docks, and used lethal force on a private security operative."

"He claims he was threatened," Nishinobu said. "And I've got to tell you I find that credible."

Silverfox rolled her eyes.

"He's lying," Firefox replied. "Did he call the police?"

"No," Nishinobu admitted.

"Two bullet holes, through the window," Technofox said. "Shooting from the inside out. There's the weapon, with Baker's fingerprints, and two casings on the floor. It's his word against Silverfox's, and you've already got him on weapons charges. Federal at that."

"Yes..." Nishinobu agreed, reluctantly. He looked at the three foxes, and then at the cop with the forensics kit. "Corbell, could I ask you to step outside for a few minutes?"

She looked up, surprised, but she nodded. "Yes, sir. Give me a yell when you need me." She left, obviously upset.

He watched her until the door closed behind her, then licked his lips and turned to Firefox.

"Our case against Baker sucks," he said flatly.

"Yes," Firefox agreed. "There's nothing that proves Baker knew his dock was being used by smugglers. Maybe he was coincidentally going off on a fishing trip. Silverfox shows up, he claims she threatens him, he defends himself, and he's too rattled to call the cops. I'd guess you're holding Zocchi as a material witness at the moment."

"I think Zocchi is going to crack like an egg," he said. "I'm sure he knew Baker was a fugitive. But murder accessory after the fact is far more than he bargained for."

Firefox glanced over at Silverfox, who nodded once.

"I know Baker's shyster," Nishinobu said. Police didn't tend to like lawyers much, but Nishinobu's voice held a bit more than the traditional venom. "As you said, she's going to claim Baker was threatened, and try to get the ADW case against him dismissed. Unfortunately, she might even pull it off."

"Given the right judge, I could see that," Technofox agreed.

"So you need to buy some time," Firefox said.

"Got it in one," Nishinobu agreed. "Normally, I'd ask you to hang around to testify, but --"

"The more delays the better?" Firefox asked.

"Basically, yes," Nishinobu nodded.

"Fortunately," Technofox said, "we have a flight back to Boston this afternoon."

"Good," Nishinobu said placidly. He looked at Silverfox. "As far from Seattle as possible. That would be best." He handed Firefox a card. "Here's my private contact information. Stay in touch."

"He's just trying to get rid of us," Silverfox muttered.

She was sitting in the window seat, turned with her back to the bulkhead. Her leg was stretched out across Technofox, who had her laptop on her tray. Silverfox's bare foot was sitting in Firefox's lap. Across the aisle, Shadowfox was watching a Discovery Channel special about bees.

"I don't think so." Firefox said, "Heck, he doesn't even need to fire us. He could just say, 'thanks, bye,' and wave." She turned a page in her magazine. The article's title was "Moderated Shotguns: Neighbor-Friendly Shooting."

Shadowfox looked over at Firefox's lap. She reached across the aisle and delicately ran a claw across the stiff hairs between the pads on Silverfox's foot. Silverfox's toes curled and her leg squirmed.

"Knock it off," Technofox said, looking at Silverfox with a frown. "Immobilized means keep your leg still."

"Shadow's tickling me," Silverfox said, pointing an accusing finger at Shadowfox.

Technofox looked over at Shadowfox, who rewarded her first with a puzzled expression, and then a confused shrug. When Technofox looked dubiously back at Silverfox, the black vixen smiled evilly at Silverfox and blew a kiss. Silverfox set her jaw. Technofox was going to say something when Firefox interrupted.

"Decibels are logarithmic, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Technofox replied.

Firefox nodded, and furrowed her brow. "Unless I'm misreading these specs," she said, "Silver would have heard the report of a moderated shotgun at that range, even with subsonic ammunition."

"Ears forward, probably," Silverfox agreed. "Silenced weapons usually make some noise."

"But a human might have missed it," Firefox said.

Silverfox shrugged. "Could be," she agreed. "Especially if they don't recognize the sound."

"So why is he willing to pay so much for a gun that quiet?"

"To execute people, weigh down the bodies, and dump them into Lake Union through a secret hatch in the bottom of his house," Silverfox joked.

Actually, it seemed less funny after she said it. "Maybe we should tell The Nish," Silverfox said hesitantly. The other foxes looked at her seriously. Technofox toggled to another application and her fingers flurried across the keyboard.

"Tech --" Firefox started.

"Email to Nishinobu? On it," Technofox said.

Firefox nodded and turned back to her magazine. "Could be," she said. "But suppose he needed something too quiet for a chimera to hear?"

Silverfox rested her fur against silk. Silk sheets, silk pajamas. She squirmed under Jerry's arm and kissed him lightly on his lips. He stirred, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and returned the kiss, gently at first, and then adding just the tip of his tongue. She parted her lips.

His eyes opened wide in shock.

"Silverfox?" he asked, confused.

"Uh-huh," she replied, and closed her eyes. "Can we get physical in the morning? I've had a tiring day."

"Silver," Jerry said slowly, "Don't take this the wrong way. But I don't remember going to bed with you."

"You didn't," she said drowsily. "I let myself in through the sliding doors to the garden."

"Thank God," he said reverently. "I was afraid I had a blackout or something."

"Nuh-uh," she assured him. He nodded, and then opened his eyes, troubled.

"Wait. You came in through the garden?"

She yawned. "They're doing construction work on the adjacent building. It's only a six-meter drop from the crane, four meters if you dangle."

"Oh, okay," he said nodding. Jerry was fairly unflappable, and she liked that about him. "Didn't your pass code work in the elevator?"

"Dunno," she said. "I saw the crane and I couldn't resist trying it."

He nodded. "I see." He disentangled himself. "Excuse me one moment." He got out of bed, and Silverfox watched him curiously. Bathroom break?

Instead, he took off his pajamas and slid back under the sheets, nude. Silverfox looked at him wryly.

"I'm really not in the mood right now," she reminded him.

"Fine," he said. "I'd still rather be naked with you. Feels nicer."

She looked at him. She could feel him getting hard against her leg, but he didn't make a move to put it in. She could tell Jerry she didn't want to and he wouldn't insist. She found that sweet, touching even. She smiled, closed her eyes, and cuddled against him.

"I've changed my mind," she said suddenly, and pulled him over on top of her.

"How did I talk you into it?" he asked.

"Your penis did," she explained. "He's very persuasive."

"I should leverage that. Maybe get my penis to negotiate my contracts," Jerry said. He stroked her hair and kissed her. She felt the tip of his shaft and relaxed to let him slide in. He moved into her carefully, not sure if she was lubricated enough. She felt his weight on her and his shaft inside her and she was content.

"Silver?" he said.

"Mmph?" she replied, waking. He was sitting by the bed -- he knew better than to leave.

"Breakfast will be coming up in half an hour. Want me to add your usual?"

She was awake. "Yeah, please," she said.

He nodded and tapped two buttons on his handheld computer. She supposed he had 'steak and two eggs scrambled with coffee and buttered wheat toast' programmed in as a standard selection by now.

Jerry looked taller than he was. His hair was just starting to turn gray, and he wore a neatly trimmed Van Dyke. He wasn't an athlete but he was active and looked it. They had met in a sporting goods store, and she had taken him home. The next day she had found out about the penthouse. It was a good thing; the penthouse probably would have scared her off.

"Are you free this morning?" she asked. "I'm working this afternoon."

"Until this evening," he replied.

"Ah, nice," she said.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked, her voice guarded.

He blinked and looked at her. "Fall from a height into Lake Union."

"You're keeping tabs on me?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Afraid I'll hear something you don't want me to?"

"A little," she admitted.

In Blue Diamond, they had called her Smoke. As far as she knew, nobody had ever publically linked Silverfox, contractor for the Inter Corporate Operative Network, with Smoke, Blue Diamond Girl. But it was a matter of time.

"Ah," he said. "Sauce for the goose, I think."

Silverfox blinked. "What?"

"I mean that I know about the search agents you're running on me," he replied, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

"Search agents?" Silverfox asked, confused.

"Are you going to tell me you don't know?" he said.

"I'm telling you I didn't know," Silverfox replied calmly. He'd never believe her, of course.

He looked at her, and shrugged. "Okay, you didn't know. My bad."

"You believe me?" Silverfox asked, floored.

"Sure." He looked up. "Does my trusting innocence make you feel ashamed of lying to me?" He did the big eyes thing.

"Uhm, no," Silverfox said.

"Then you were telling the truth. Fine. Never doubted you for an instant." He took an e-book reader off his nightstand. "Did you see the Globe's story about the dock?"

"The one with the bit about the 'soul-dead eyes of a professional killer?'" Silverfox asked. "Do I have the soul-dead eyes of a professional killer?"

"Not that I've noticed. But you know -- journalists. Never let a fact get in the way of a story."

"I don't think he was even there," Silverfox said. "Did he fake that dateline?"

"He probably landed in Seattle, emailed the story from the airport, and then flew back. Reporters have been known to do that."

"Neat. Then the story was worth two airplane tickets."

"This other one is from NewsNet and the boilerplate about corporate mercenaries is refreshingly absent."

"Cool." She lifted her eyebrows.

"It's the only news story I've read about you that doesn't give me the creeps, and it's about how you shot four people."

She looked over. "I shot six. Killed four."

"My bad."

"I slept with the reporter." She wondered if Victoria had anything to do with it too, but she didn't see how that would be possible. She could imagine Victoria's father canting the news in favor of one of the women who had rescued his daughter from a slave brothel, but she doubted he read every story in NewsNet's daily feed. NewsNet's throughput on the text versions alone were around three or four megabytes on a good day; about one copy of _War and Peace_ every twenty hours.

He looked at her sternly. "You've had a bath since, right?"

"In Lake Union."

"Good enough," he said. He kissed her.

She put her arms around him and didn't let go.

"After breakfast," he said.

"Bored with me already?" she asked, feigning offense. "I knew you were kidding about my being your mistress."

He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression suddenly different. "Let me show you how serious I am about that offer."

He turned away and walked over to a chest of drawers. He spread his hand on a biometric sensor and entered a code; the was a "ker-chunk" noise as heavy bolts slid free. He opened the third drawer from the top and pulled out a walnut case. He turned and handed it to Silverfox with a flourish, oriented so she could see her name burned into it, right above the logo of Korth Australia.

She stared at the box. This had to be a joke: it would be just like Jerry to use a high-end pistol case like that for a condom or a dildo cast from his erection or something. She threw the catch, and opened it.

Korth Australia had split off from Korth GmBH during the Great War. The two companies had an intense rivalry, which had expressed itself in a long and bitter competition over who could build the ultimate production-line single-shot match pistol. Korth Australia had won that designer's battle ten years ago, with the weapon sitting in that case.

It was a slender weapon, that looked too exotic to be a pistol. The Korth Australia Shooting Star held a single round, with interchangeable barrels that allowed it to fire .22, 9mm, or 5.56 NATO rifle -- there was a wrist brace that helped with the rifle round. The butt was about halfway down the barrel, a bit closer to the receiver than the muzzle. On the side, slightly recessed, was an engraved silhouette of a fox's head, in silver. That had to be special order.

The .22 barrel was attached. It had a chrome plating that was designed to keep the heat of the sun from making the metal expand and throw off the aim. Also in the case was a set of specialized tools, and a coupon for match ammunition, and a gun camera sight not much smaller than a soft drink can, all made to the tolerance of jet engine turbines.

"I can't accept this," Silverfox said, her voice dry.

"What?" he asked, looking at the contents of the case with a frown. "Did they fuck it up?"

"I'm serious," she said. "This cost around twenty thousand dollars."

"I'm glad you know that," he said nodding. "It would be crass of me to point it out. But yeah, that was close ballpark."

She pushed it at him. He stepped back, and put his hands behind him. "I can't return it. Lost the receipt."

"That was careless," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"And it's customized. Monogram and everything."

"You're kidding," she said, looking more closely at the weapon. She didn't use custom grips professionally because such a weapon could be traced back to her. ICON policy strongly discouraged signature weapons or ammunition.

"Take it out," he said, grinning.

She couldn't resist. Her hand flowed around the butt, and the trigger seemed to beg for her finger. She opened the breech to make sure it was empty, pointed the pistol at the ceiling, and folded her finger lightly through the guard. She closed her eyes in pleasure. She half squeezed the trigger; the gun camera image popped onto her visual cortex. It was a keyhole view, of course, but the optics were much better than the pen-sized lenses on her Glocks.

"Does it fit?" he asked.

"It's like it was made for my hand," she said immediately.

"Duh. It was." He chuckled.

She shot a look at him. "How did you get the measurements?"

"We took a caliper to a bruise on my ass," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "I've never spanked you. Yet."

"Oh, right -- I must have you confused with -- no, I got your biometrics from your manufacturer. We can go to the range later."

"This is too much," she said, weakly, a last rote refusal she didn't mean.

He shook his head. "Not if it convinces you I'm serious. Quit your job, and move in."

"And sleep with you," she said.

"Well, yes," he nodded. "You've been doing that for free before you knew I was rich."

"Where did you get your money?" she asked.

He blinked. "Wow -- you really haven't been investigating me. I had a good idea twenty years ago."

Despite everything, she felt her hackles rise. "Good idea about what?" Was he avoiding the subject?

He sighed. "Heuristic correlation of similar types of data," he explained. "If you have two lists of books, one of which has an 'Author' and the other a 'Writer', my algorithm lets a computer understand that they're different words for the same thing. Look, we can call you my social secretary or my bodyguard if it'll sweeten the deal."

"Wouldn't prostitutes be cheaper?"

"Sure, but I'd rather upgrade to a mistress," he said amiably. "Amazingly enough, anonymous tits get boring. Just watch _Showgirls_ if you don't believe me."

Silverfox sort of liked that movie, but she didn't think that was worth bringing up. "If it's a mistress you're looking for, I have a friend --" she started.

"Cheshire? She's an escaped slave," he interrupted. "She can't travel freely." He paused. "Wait, you're saying she's up for casual, highly-proficient sex? Thanks; I'll see if she's available when you aren't."

"She can cook and do housekeeping," Silverfox said. "I can't."

"I like having you around," he said. There was an uncomfortable silence. "I'm not saying I'm in love or anything like that," he laughed.

"I like having you around too," she said.

"Good."

"I can't quit my job," she said. "My friends count on me."

The doorbell rang. Jerry pulled a face, and tossed Silverfox a nightgown out of her drawer.

"Maybe it would be best if you all found new employment," he said, donning his bathrobe. "I mean, is what you earn really worth the risk?"

Silverfox pulled her head through the nightgown and let it drop around her ankles. She thought of a pelt, folded and sitting in a trunk.

"Yes," she said.