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FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Chapter 2 - Wheels Are Set in Motion

Marcel slammed the door of the apartment open as he entered; Geno slammed it closed again when she followed him in. Muffled shouts of protest came from the apartments on all sides. Marcel stomped down the short hallway and across the living room, his tread heavier than one would expect from such a diminutive fox. Geno did likewise, all feline grace abandoned in her anger. The tenant of the unit below them banged back on the ceiling with something hard, but neither of them noticed.

Marcel turned to face her. "You're a slut." He spat.

"You're a prick." She hissed.

"Whore."

"Bastard."

"Tramp."

"Tailhole."

"Trollop!"

"What?"

"How could you do it?" Marcel threw his arms up in mock wonder. "I'm gone, what? Three days?"

"What was I supposed to do, sit around here dusting while you were out gallivanting about?" Dressed in her standard short-shorts, peek-a-boo top and collar, Geno didn't look like the domestic type. "I just went down to the club once, fer Christ's sake." Geno looked more pissed than contrite.

"You got drunk and fucked some stud!" He yelled

"Okay, okay, so I got carried away. I'm not used to this moderation stuff yet. It's not like you've been 'Mister Faithful' either ya know." Now she was leaning forward with her fists on her hips, her green eyes blazing. "Yes, you know what I mean. I get all your field reports to analyse. I know what you've been up to, Casanova."

"It ... it's not the same." Marcel stammered defensively. "It's my job. I had to get the information out of her. It's not my fault that she thought 'Anthony Fox' was sexy." Marcel was referring to his cover identity, that of a professional skateboarder. Recently returned from an assignment under that cover, he was still dressed in the baggy, droopy street clothes and red ball cap that had become Anthony Fox's signature look. He pulled off his hoodie and T-shirt, kicked his skate shoes off into a corner.

"And the stop in Bern?" Or was that Berne, she wondered?

"I just had to drop the payment off for our contact in the bank there. I swear that I went nowhere near that otter's shower this time!"

"This time! One of these days, Marcel, you are going to come back from one of your little 'missions' and give me some incurable sexual disease before your cock turns black and drops off!" Geno's volume increased as she went on. The neighbours began pounding on the walls again.

"Me! What about you? You go to the club, you get liquored up, you pick up the first horse you see with a hard-on ..." Marcel yelled back, oblivious to the pounding.

Geno screamed back in his face. "Hey! I made 'em both wear condoms!"

The room went suddenly silent. Geno's lips puckered in an attempt to pull the last sentence back in.

"Both?" Marcel asked quietly.

"Ah ... well ... you see ..."

"Forget it." Marcel turned from her with a wave of his paw. He went to stand in front of the picture window, his bushy tail hanging slack behind him. "What the hell are we doing together anyways?" He added sadly.

Geno came up behind him, slipped her arms under his and put her paws on his chest, pulling him against her. She was a couple of inches taller than the black fox and she had to lean down to rest her head on his shoulder. Her smooth tail wrapped itself around his leg and she nuzzled his cheek.

"I'm sorry Marcel. I get lonely when you're away."

"Don't mind me, Geno. I have no right to be jealous."

"How do you think Silver and Vikki handle this?" She asked. "From what I hear he hasn't changed his ways when he's in the field. Hard to say if the same applies to her, she hasn't exactly been stepping out lately."

Marcel sighed; he still had a thing for Vikki, his fellow junior agent. He had not told Geno that he was in love with Vikki, had felt that way about her since he first saw her in class at the Academy. Nor did the tall elegant vixen have any idea how he felt, she just saw him as a friend. She was with Silver now, carrying his child, and Marcel's heart ached every time he recalled that night in autumn when he had spied on them in the gazebo by the pond.

Marcel put a paw on one of Geno's and squeezed it gently, more to reassure himself than her, but she didn't know that.

An observer passing on the street at that moment would have seen a handsome couple embracing romantically by the window; a small black fox, almost a teenager from his looks, and a spotted orange cat with white markings and a striking figure. They may have looked away with a little smile, embarrassed at intruding on an intimate moment; but if not, they would have seen Geno's free paw slide down Marcel's bare chest to come to rest over his crotch, where she gave him a squeeze.

Marcel's penis responded on its own accord, swelling quickly inside his shorts, becoming hard in Geno's paw. She rubbed it through the material of his jeans for a moment, and then she took the zipper between two digits and slid it down as far as it would go. She slipped her paw inside the loose jeans, rubbing again, but with only a thin layer of cotton between her and him. Finding the buttons on the opening of his boxers, she freed him, stoked him harder, their blurry image reflected back to them in the window.

Marcel rested his head back on Geno's shoulder and closed his eyes. Whatever it was he felt for the fickle feline, she could turn him on with a mere look, and this was much better than that. He forgot his anger and sadness of a moment ago, forgot about Vikki for now, and forgot that they were standing in front of an open window.

Geno bit his ear gently, for now, while she slid her smooth paw back and forth, around and under. One moment she was squeezing the tip, the next she was tickling the base. Pulling her other paw from under his, she reached between his legs to fondle his sack. Then, with the tip of one claw, she traced a line up from his balls to his tailhole. Marcel's tail was no longer drooping, and it twitched as she touched the sensitive skin near his anus.

She walked backwards with him, peeling off the rest of his clothes and all of hers as she went toward the couch. She eased him down along its length before kneeling beside him. She tossed her blond hair back and smiled at him while her paw continued to stroke his upright pole. Switching paws, she took it by the base and, licking her lips to moisten then, took him in her mouth.

She lowered her head down slowly, letting the cock displace the air so her cheeks swelled. When she pulled back she sucked all the air in, to have as much of him as possible in contact with the inside of her warm, moist, mouth. She repeated the move several times, then she alternated by running her lips up and down the outside, dragging her rough tongue along the most sensitive skin on the underside. Still holding the base with her right paw, she used the left to caress his balls, occasionally dipping down to tease his tailhole; enjoying the way his body trembled each time she tickled him there.

Marcel was not an idol participant; giving pleasure was as necessary to him as receiving it was. His left paw had found her tail early on and he caressed it the way he knew she liked, keeping close to the base where she was responsive. When she started to lick him he moved his paw down between her legs, found the damp slit and entered it with one digit, then two; the third outside, rubbing against her clit. When she teased his tailhole he dipped his thumb inside her cunt to moisten it then massaged her anus with it. He went back for more of her juice until the second hole was slick with it, and then he forced it open, inserting his thumb in little jerks to spread the wetness inside.

Geno moaned loudly as her tailhole expanded, and cried out loud when he started to rotate his paw back and forth; digits diving deep inside her as the thumb pulled almost all the way out. Then the thumb was sliding back in, widening her as it neared its base, the digits sliding back across the sweet spot inside her. She had stopped sucking him in order to breathe while she wailed.

Sensing that they were both close she jumped up and threw herself on top of him. Marcel shouted encouragement while she reached down and put the tip of his cock inside her vagina. With another cry, she drove herself down on it, slamming hard on the base. She grabbed Marcel's shoulders, he grabbed her ass, and together they pulled apart and smashed together at a frenzied pace, both screaming as they fought to hold back. Her g-spot was aflame as his cock rubbed against it, her clit a diamond when their pelvises crushed it. His cock ached with pleasure and his balls felt like they were being pulled up into his throat, and he couldn't take anymore.

He howled as he released, never slowing the pace. She yowled back in a strange harmony as she joined him an instant later. They continued, volume diminishing as their gyrations slowed, for at least an eternity.

Laying there on the couch, him still inside her, feeling each other's heartbeats slowing back to normal, the outside world began to intrude. Lights from passing cars swept by, the smell of diesel fumes drifted in, muffled shouts of "perverts" and "get a room - somewhere else" came through the walls. Geno sat up and pulled herself off his prick with a contented sigh. She walked naked to the window and pulled the curtains shut, blocking the light and the view of a half-dozen neighbourhood teens.

"God, what noisy neighbours we have." She said as she turned back to Marcel, who was getting up and heading for the fridge. "You ever notice that?"

"Yeah. Any mail?" He leaned down and pulled out a cold bottle of beer.

"Just a notice from the landlord."

"What's it say?"

"We're being evicted. Something about noise complaints and curtains."

"How can they do that, we just moved in here?" Marcel decided to think about it tomorrow as he twisted the cap off his drink.

"Anything good on the tube?" He asked.

"There's that 'COPS' type show on the satellite station from Boston. That's always good for a laugh."

"Sure, put it on." Marcel settled beside Geno on the couch and put his arm behind her neck so she could use it as a headrest. His paw found her breast and idly toyed with the nipple while the opening credits for the Boston-based reality show rolled. Marcel sipped at his beer while the emcee, a hyperactive Poodle named Marie, previewed the line up for the episode.

"Up tonight, 'Fire Down Below', a pair of Dobermans has a burning desire to rip off a local Thai restaurant." The image of two dogs surrounded by red chilli peppers, clutching their throats flashed by. "And 'Cat Burglar Got Your Tongue'." A butcher store with a broken window was shown, a feline in handcuffs beside it. "But first up, 'Demon Fox Turns Heaven into Hell' as world famous spa Eden's Oasis outlet in Ogunquit goes up in flames." Flames and rubble filled the screen in a jerky moving shot, probably from the police car video the show favoured. The scene changed as the car turned and a figure came into frame. The camera steadied then zoomed. The creature was a fox with silvery fur marred with black soot and red splotches that could only be fresh blood. It clutched a fireplace poker dripping gore. It was naked, although the crotch area was pixelated to protect the young, as was the face, to protect the station from lawsuits. The final gruesome touch was the shiny scars criss-crossing the Fox's chest, like someone had played tic-tac-toe on him with a rusty knife.

Marcel expelled his beer forcefully, spraying him, Geno and the carpet.

"Hey," she complained, skimming beer off her arms and lap, "what gives?"

But Marcel was already across the room and dialling the Foreign Operations eXecutive emergency number. He had seen those same scars on a moonlit night last autumn, as he spied on his mentor and the vixen he cherished while they made love in a gazebo by a pond.

* * * * * * * *

Within an hour, Marcel and Geno were washed up, if not quite dry, and sitting in the briefing room at FOX Academy headquarters. At the head of the table, with the screen to his back sat Tancred 'Tanner' Williams. Code-named 'Gold', the tall, muscular, golden-furred fox had been the Chief of Staff at FOX for twenty-seven years now. He had seen the organization grow through the cold war years, and shrink again in the false peace after the wall came down and the Soviet Union broke up. All that had changed after 9/11, but the Academy still had a lot of rebuilding to do.

Marcel was there as the sole remaining agent, junior or senior, left in Ottawa at the moment. Except for Silver, all the other senior agents were dead or retired. Marcel and Vikki had been the only two junior agents deemed suitable for his team; the remainder were scattered about the globe in various undercover or liaison positions.

Geno was representing the analytical section. She had just been hired by FOX recently, after a chance encounter with Marcel set off a chain of events that resulted in her killing an enemy agent and infiltrating FOX single-handedly. Silver had devised a final trial of her determination and analytical abilities that she had passed with flying colours. Now she the first field accredited analyst on the FOX team.

Also arranged around the table were Kain Algorath and Joel Grigori. Kain was another recent hire, an American arctic fox who had once aspired to be an agent himself, before the door handle of an exploding '69 Firebird convertible had punched through his abdomen and put his plans on hold. His skills as a hacker and Internet researcher were unparalleled however, and he had quickly become indispensable to their investigations.

Joel, a ring-tailed lemur, had literally grown up around the Academy, playing in the corridors when his adoptive parents worked there as translators and cultural experts. He took to hanging about the Ottawa Central Experimental Farm, the government agricultural compound that surrounded and hid the secretive agency, waiting for Silver to come out and play ball or hockey when he was in town. When his graphic skills and computer savvy got him into trouble with the treasury board, Silver arranged for him to study under the Academy forger; a position that Joel, only twenty-two, now occupied.

Gold called their attention to the large screen behind him. "WSBK in Boston Massachusetts, aired some interesting video tonight. Once Marcel gave us the heads-up we were able to acquire a copy of the raw footage from the Maine State Police."

On the screen behind them, they saw the same scene of destruction that Marcel and Geno had seen on television earlier. The view slewed around to show the gore-covered fox and zoomed in as before, but the station-added pixilation was absent. They could all see Silver's face clearly, as well as certain other parts of him. Marcel and Kain looked away in embarrassment, Joel and Geno whistled simultaneously. They saw Silver shake his head and press a paw against one ear. They watched as he glanced at the bloody poker in the other paw, dropped it, and sank to his knees, both paws behind his head. A moment later, a number of police officers came into frame, guns drawn, and they ordered Silver to lie on the ground. Gold cut the video off at that point.

"As you know, Silver and Vikki were on vacation together in southern Maine. It appears that they drove down to Ogunquit and visited a spa known as 'Eden's Oasis'. What happened afterwards is anybody's guess. The building has been totally destroyed by an explosion of unknown origin. Bodies have been found but it will be some time before they can be identified, they are too badly burnt to even tell the species. All we know at the moment is that Silver is being held in the State Police barracks in Gray, north of Portland, suspected of murder, and that Vikki is nowhere to be found."

"Do we know if she is alive?" Marcel asked anxiously.

"No, we do not. We have not had the opportunity to communicate with Silver yet."

"Spas don't just blow up like that for no reason." Kain put in.

"And that poker," Geno added, "the blood on his fur. He wasn't enjoying his forty-dollar 'full body' special, I'd say."

"For now, we are going to go under the assumption that they stumbled onto something a little nastier than a rub and tug parlour. Here's what I want." He pointed to Kain, "A full Open Source Internet search of the parent company and this particular franchise. I want to know everything about them; personalities, financials, locations, backgrounds, secrets. Hack into their servers if they have them and copy all their files for the analysts."

He turned to Geno. "You skim whatever he finds for whatever strikes you as relevant. If you start to pick up on anything let the analysts know and they can do the detail work. I want you to concentrate on trends, patterns and those little bits that don't fit the patterns. Oh, and Geno ..."

"Yes chief?"

"Wear something that covers your cleavage, from both above and below, when you report in here; and don't call me chief."

Geno glanced down at her breasts, which were barely covered by a bow-tie of white material held in place with leather cross-straps, and saw her own lap between them. "Sorry chief, I got dressed in kind of a rush."

Williams sighed. Why did the ones with the most irritating traits always have to be the most talented? Speaking of which ... "Joel?"

Joel looked up from a catalogue he had been studying under the edge of the table, visions of heavily zippered leather goods still fresh in his mind. "Yes Gold?"

"When Algorath cracks their membership and employee lists I want you to run a profile on each and everyone. Find the closest physical and facial match to Marcel and work up an identification kit for him in that persona."

"Gottcha."

"Marcel," Williams said, turning finally to the junior agent, "you are the last field agent we have left. Silver couldn't go within a mile of those spas even if he was free, so if anyone is going in undercover then it's going to be you. Study up on everything that Geno and the analysts produce and when Joel gives you the profile start working on your character."

Gold took one last look around the room, noting who was excited, who was worried, happy to see that none of them looked bored. "Any questions?"

"Just one." Marcel spoke up, and the rest looked to him. "When do we go down and bust Silver out of there?"

"We don't." The Chief of Staff answered. "There are protocols for senior agents to follow when they are travelling in friendly countries and those were initiated as soon as you called in." Gold paused. "Don't worry Marcel, somebody will be there to get him out of there soon. Hopefully before anybody gets hurt."

"You think that they'll harm Silver?" Joel asked with concern.

"That's not exactly what I meant."

* * * * * * * *

The State Police barracks in Gray had only two holding cells, the Tank, which could hold up to thirty at a time, and a small private cell that suspects requiring segregation were kept in. Child molesters, Mafia leaders, cops gone bad and informants were usually kept there. Silver should have been there, considering the seriousness of the crime he was suspected of, but they already had a female prisoner and a dozen male members of the Los Lobos outlaw motorcycle gang in cells when he came in.

The Los Lobos had a fearsome reputation. Made up of canines from the southern states, they relied on violence to take over the drug trade wherever they went. They were trying to spread their influence north, and this group had been dispatched to negotiate an affiliation with the local gangs. In typical Los Lobos fashion, they had negotiated with knives, guns and chains in a public roadhouse. They were being held while the police tried to get the local criminals to lodge a complaint.

Since they couldn't put the female in with Los Lobos, they would have raped her in an instant, Silver was stuck in with them instead. Unfortunately for him, Los Lobos was totally unbiased when it came to rape, and blowing up a spa wasn't good enough to earn their respect and his immunity. Perhaps the police were even compliant in what happened next; blowing up a spa in a state that relied on tourist dollars was good enough to condemn him in their eyes. Whatever the reason, they left the tank unsupervised for a long period of time, and the results were painful, demeaning and bloody.

Near midnight, the officer in charge had a series of strange telephone conversations. The first was from his Captain, who warned him of the second, which came from the Chief of the State Police. The third was from the State Attorney General, and she conveyed specific instructions regarding a certain prisoner and an expected visitor. The fourth call came immediately after she hung up, from a dark figure standing outside the barrack doors, locked to the public at this time of night. He rushed to let the visitor in and escorted him back to the holding area.

The officer could smell trouble halfway down the hall and quickened his pace, even though he knew that he was already too late. As the tank came into view, the chaos was evident; blood was smeared on the floor, the smell of urine expelled in fear filled the air, the only sound was a quiet whimpering.

The Attorney General was going to be very unhappy. The fox that the officer had just been told to deliver unharmed into the stranger's care was in one corner of the tank. The orange jumpsuit that he had been given after the CSI team had finished combing bits of blood and brains out of his fur had been fresh and clean when he had put it on. Now it was covered in blood and torn in several places. Strangely enough, the silver-haired fox was sitting on the tank's sole bunk, right ankle resting on his left knee, his left paw resting on the ankle. He was nonchalantly whistling some classical tune.

The bikers of Los Lobos were huddled in the opposite corner, staying as far away from the fox as they could. Some were holding shirts to bloody snouts, others cradled broken wrists and arms. Someone had tied a broken jaw shut with strips torn off an orange jumpsuit. Several were whining, quietly, as if afraid to cry out. The officer could see the pleading in their eyes and the message they conveyed; get us, or him, out of here!

"What the hell?" The officer exclaimed as he fumbled with the keys.

"Sounds like something from Tchaikovsky." The stranger observed.

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus." The officer was having hard time thinking. He pointed to the fox. "You, go with this fellow." He indicated the dark figure behind him then turned to the stranger. "Use the office behind my desk, but be quick about it." He would not be able to call for a doctor until they were out of here, and how was he supposed to explain these injuries? He couldn't blame a prisoner that he had just been informed by the Attorney General had never existed. At least the Los Lobos crew looked happy enough now that the fox was gone.

Silver followed the stranger back up the hallway and into the office. The way he had turned his back to lead the way told Silver that this fellow didn't fear an attack, but his walk was loose and his right paw never strayed far from the bulge of a pistol underneath his jacket. He had a bag in his left paw and he put it down on the desk in the office as he turned to face Silver. Time to see who this chap was.

"I don't recall calling a lawyer." Silver Offered.

"I don't recall passing the bar exam." The stranger returned.

"I thought that passing the bar was a necessity in order to practice law in this state?"

"I finished practicing years ago, now I do it for real."

The identification code completed, the stranger put out a paw. "Red Fox, at your service."

Silver took the paw and shook it. He had been expecting the CIA Liaison Officer to show up sooner or later, but this was not what he had anticipated. The last time that he had worked with the CIA the LO had been an old fox, and a red one at that. This fellow was young, a large black panther with African features unaltered by European genes.

The CIA liaison interpreted Silvers expression correctly. "Yeah, I know. I didn't choose the codename. Red, White and Blue for the colours of the American, British and Canadian flags; before you guys switched to the big Maple Leaf that was. We integrated a long time ago. You got a problem with that?"

"Nope. With a president named Barack, anything is possible. It's just that the LOs tend to be older agents unfit for the field; you don't strike me as unfit."

"I just got back from a few years in the Maghreb. This is my agency's idea of a headquarters posting to groom me for bigger things." He was referring to that region of northern Africa from Mauritania to Egypt. It wasn't the most important region in the world, but Silver knew that the senior agent in charge there would have to be talented to manage such a diverse area, and to survive while doing so.

"You're Silver, right?" Silver nodded. "Heard about you for some of the older guys."

Silver wasn't offended by the 'older guys' remark; he knew that at fifty-one he was long past the age that most agents came in from the cold. The panther opened the bag and handed Silver some clothes. Silver peeled off the soiled jump suit and began pulling them on. They were a good fit; Tanner must have sent his profile down when he informed the Americans of the situation. Just what was the situation, Silver wondered? He asked the LO for an update.

"Not much to tell." Red admitted. "Your Director called the Director of Central Intelligence, who called the US Attorney General to arrange your release. He also sent for me. I've arranged for the video, all copies, to be altered so that your face is blurred and unrecognizable. Fortunately, the original didn't get on YouTube before we could fix it. You should do something about getting rid of those scars though. As soon as we can get a replacement body up here, you are going to die from wounds received in the explosion."

"The spa is a total write-off." He continued. "The FBI has taken over the investigation at our request, and will keep a lid on it. Preliminary reports indicate an ANFO explosion. The fire took care of what was left, including the two bodies they found. You responsible for those bodies?" Silver acknowledged that he was.

Having finished changing, the panther put the jump suit in the empty bag and led the way out of the police barracks; nodding to the officer on duty as he passed. The officer was dialling the Portland Hospital by the time the doors swung shut behind them. The CIA agent indicated a nondescript sedan and they climbed in.

"There's a plane waiting for you at the Portland International Jetport. My instructions are to put you on it and get you out of here as soon as you are ready to go. As a courtesy, however, I was wondering if you would mind telling me what went down today on our sovereign territory?"

"You have a recorder?"

"Yeah, it's running."

"Of course." Silver told Red all that he knew. How they were let in, almost enticed in, then the attempt to kill him. How he had killed the assassin and at least one other employee before finding the control centre and discovering Vikki's kidnapping. He finished with finding the bomb and his narrow escape.

"Do you think that you two were targeted because of what you do?" Red asked.

"No. There was no way of predicting that we would be in the area or that we would attempt to get in, and why kidnap a relatively new junior agent and kill the one with that knows all the agency's secrets? No, this was an opportunistic attack; there's something about her that they wanted badly enough to kill for".

The agent reached up to visor, probably to turn off the recorder, Silver thought. He stopped the car and turned in his seat to face Silver.

"You say that she was eight months pregnant?"

"Yes."

"Yours?"

Silver nodded. "Yes."

The panther put a paw on Silver's shoulder. "We'll get them back for you. A boat that size, they couldn't have gone farther than Boston. If they are still in the US we'll find them."

"And then what?"

"Where I last worked, a guest was under your protection and you were obliged to punish anyone that harmed your guest. That's a belief I adhere to. When we find them, I'll take care of them.

"Correction, 'WE' will take care of them."

* * * * * * * *

Back in Ottawa, most of the employees of FOX were working through the night. In addition to the key personnel he had briefed earlier, Gold had called in a full shift of analysts and the head of his planning staff, Bill 'The Professor' Hanlan. Hanlan had taken over supervising the combined effort while Gold made arrangements for Silver's return.

"How's it going Kain?" Hanlan asked Algorath, who was frowning at his monitor in the operations centre.

Kain looked up. "Not good. For a chain of upscale spas, they have some really sophisticated security installed on their site. I'm afraid that I may have already alerted their Webmaster."

"Is it traceable?"

"No. The account I used is in the name of a fictitious family in Thornhill, Ontario and shows up as a general client of one of the national ISPs in Toronto. The surfing profile of the persona I used matches a teenage female with a passion for fashion and celebrities. I'll have to switch to do any serious hacking and cracking though. The main problem is that this system hasn't been upgraded like I recommended, so it's vulnerable to a counter-attack if they catch me in there."

"What does it need to make it safe?"

"Nothing that you can purchase at 'Best Buy'."

"But I'll bet that you just happen to have what we need in your bag?" Bill grinned.

"Back in my room actually, it would set off too many alarms if I carried it around." Kain said sheepishly.

"Go get it. I'll tell security to let you pass and clear it with Gold by the time you get back." Hanlan waved him out of the room.

Kain walked slowly to his suite, the fatigue of working over eighteen hours now taking its toll on his weakened constitution. The Academy doctor had estimated that it could be another six months before he would be as fit as he would ever be again. Kain would have to wait until then to see if he could attempt training as a field agent once more. For now, he studied the theory and followed his physiotherapy regime religiously.

Once he had been transferred from the school to a permanent position as an 'IT Security Consultant' he had had to move out of the student dorm. He had been given the option of taking one of the staff suites or living off site. Kain had gathered up his meagre possessions and taken one of the smaller suites. Although he could have moved into his family's second home in the suburb of Kanata, he preferred to stay on the Academy grounds; close to the action and near people he could talk with freely in the Academy's secure facilities. Even so, he often felt lonely.

Digging through a cupboard full of electronic gear, he came across a small curved, black item. After examining it for a minute he realized that it was a feline claw sheath, the outer layer of a cat's claw that comes off when they scratch to reveal a new, sharper, claw underneath. It must have come off Ophelia's paw during one of her two brief but intense visits to his room and got mixed up with the gear that was always spread across his desk in those days. Looking at it made his heart ache.

He had come back from a session at the hospital late last autumn to find that Ophelia Sommer, the cloud leopard he had fallen in love with, had left the Academy. Why, he was never told. Where she went, they would not say. As always, students leaving the Academy before graduation simply disappeared. It hurt though that she had not left him a note or tried to contact him since then.

The last time they had been together she had hinted a dark secret that she held. She had promised him an explanation for her mysterious behaviour when she returned from a mission to destroy the Werewolf's missile intercept base, but it never came. Kain was still baffled over that one. The mission had apparently been a success, so why did she have to leave? Was she fired for some mistake that occurred during it, or did she become disillusioned with the Academy while over there? Neither seemed to make much sense. Could the death of Nelson Knight, the obnoxious student leader who had harassed her continuously, have had something to do with it? Did she catch whatever Nelson had?

Kain carefully carried the bit of claw over to his desk and put it inside a small re-sealable plastic bag that had recently held some resistor or capacitor. He took the bag into his bedroom and pulled a shoe box down from the shelf of the closet. The lid had the word 'Cass' printed on it in shaky block letters, done when he was still in the early stages of recovery. Inside there was a few notes from their study sessions, a copy of Ophelia's Student ID photo that Joel had given him, and a dirty sock of hers that he had found under his bed the morning after their one and only uninterrupted intimate encounter.

He placed the baggie with the claw on top of the rest of his collection, closed the lid and replaced the box. Then he went to find the device he had come for.

* * * * * * * *

In another part of the world, in a digital existence known as Tilia Life, the cyber-pimp, gambler and underground banker Lao Huidan was relaxing in the office of one of his seedier brothels before disconnecting from his avatar and returning to the real world. On the screen of a simulated security monitor, he idly rotated through the various virtual rooms and companions that one could rent at this establishment. He was constantly amused by the variety of activities that clients would pay to watch 3-D renderings of their fantasy characters perform. All the better for him.

He was slightly surprised to see the big tiger enter his office unannounced, until he recognized the avatar as the one used by the Perfect Stalker. This was only the third time that he has seen it in the last six months, the Stalker no longer allowed Lao to whore it out when it was unoccupied like before. The Stalker had not been the same lately, literally not the same.

Lao Huidan didn't know who this person walking around in the Perfect Stalker's avatar was, but then again he had not known the previous occupant in the real world either. He suspected that someone had bested the Stalker about six months ago and then taken his place. The new Stalker used the old one's avatars, had access to the same bank accounts, and most irritatingly, made the same threats against Lao's real-world person as the previous Stalker had. After discovering that a life-sized mannequin, with his face painted on it, had been placed in his living room while he was occupied in the bedroom he had come to believe that the new Stalker was just as good, and as ruthless, as the old one. Maybe it had been his bodyguard's penis stuck up the mannequin's ass that had convinced him. He never did find the rest of his bodyguard.

It made no difference really, other than the potential income lost when the new Stalker had his avatar take a vow of chastity, life went on as before. The Stalker still took only the high-end assassination contracts and Lao Huidan was still his main go-between and money-launderer. It was like the old west, Lao assumed; someone was always trying to take out the top gun and assume their reputation. If this newcomer wanted everybody else to think that they were the Perfect Stalker, so be it ... as long as Lao Huidan got his cut.

"Good day Stalker." Lao actually had no idea whether it was night or day where he was, let alone wherever the Stalker was accessing his Avatar from. "What can I do for you today?"

"I just stopped by to check my mail." The tiger rumbled. Having seen so many fanciful renderings, Lao wondered what sort of creature the Stalker was in real life. Something nondescript, he suspected, but probably a carnivore. One needed to eat meat to develop that killer instinct, he suspected; you didn't see a lot of bunny rabbits in the mafia or hamsters in the Special Forces.

Lao stood, stepped back from his desk and waved the Stalker toward the seat. "Be my guest." The old Stalker had often accessed his mail through Lao's secure servers and the new one had continued the habit. He politely looked away while the tiger accessed his mailbox and entered his password. He could always find the account and the password by searching the logs on the server, but to get caught doing so would mean death, so he didn't bother.

The tiger fished reading what few emails there were quickly and closed the account. "Nothing worth my while." The Stalker said as the tiger stood to leave.

Lao had noticed that this one didn't take as many contracts as the old stalker, but if he could charge as much, he wouldn't take just any old job either. Still, Lao had to wonder what jobs the Stalker was turning down, and why. Maybe he could steer those that the Stalker was refusing to other clients of his, charge a finder's fee as well as his usual cut. He could have one of his associates do some quiet checking on the side. Someone suitably distant so that the Stalker would not connect the two if he caught wind of the enquiry; someone expendable.

"Drop by anytime Stalker." Lao Huidan called after the departing avatar. "Don't bother to call." Not that you would anyway, you arrogant prick, he added to himself.