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Firestorm

Deterrence

The Tar sands, or the Oil Sands as the Canadian Government would prefer that you call them, stretch across northern Alberta in three main areas around Peace River, Fort McMurray and Cold Lake. Despite the falling price of oil it is still economical to mine the bitumen-laden sands in the established digs and extract oil from them, so many of the sites were still occupied. Even the sites that were closed until the prices came up again had a skeleton staff to guard the valuable equipment that was too costly to move. One did not want to come back in a year and discover that the Earth Liberation Front had torched a multi-million dollar extractor. So, although many of the companies present in the region had downsized, the area was by no means abandoned, and anyone lurking about the area was likely to attract the attention of corporate security, if not the police.

Sam Wilson and Eric Lawson, a local lynx and a red fox from the Maritimes, were two such corporate entities. On this sunny spring morning they had been called out to check out a group spotted doing something on the edge of their company's concession, on the far eastern edge of the Cold Lake zone. There were very few roads in the region but the property was ringed by a dirt track and since it had been a dry spring their pick-up truck would have no problem reaching the area the strangers were reported to be in. If the strangers took off across country it could get dicey, but their job was not to pursue trespassers but rather to see what they had been up to and report it to the head of security. If any further action was needed the head office would take it up with the local police.

"You know," Sam said to Eric as they bumped their way across the prairie, "If we weren't working for such a chicken shit outfit we would have drones to do this with."

"Suggest that to them the next time you're feeling like changing careers." Eric replied. "It just takes one operator to fly those drones so most of the guards would be let go. But on the bright side, they'll be getting rid of all the trucks too so maybe you can pick one up cheap with your severance pay, if they give you any."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Better keep my trap shut. Hey!" He pointed to a number of dark figures on the horizon. "There they are."

"Think they've spotted us?"

"Yeah. They've stopped doing whatever it was they were doing and are looking this way. Doesn't look like they're gonna run."

Eric bit his lip. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing? They look pretty big to me."

As they got closer they could see that the group consisted of three felines, tigers by the look of them. That was not unusual; a lot of foreigners came to work the Oil Sands, and since most of the available work was physical the larger species prevailed. Since guards were more of a deterrent than a means of exerting force they were selected for attributes other than size, like the willingness to work cheap. Sam and Eric were just average height, and Eric was little overweight from sitting around most of the day munching on doughnuts. He hoped that whatever these tigers were up to would not lead to trouble.

They pulled up on the track at the spot nearest to the group. Now they could see that the tigers had arrived in a black pick-up truck that was parked in a hollow a dozen metres away. The bed of the truck was filled with metal rods and electronic equipment. The tigers were standing around one of the rods, which, by the look of things, they had just finished pounding into the ground. A box with a solar collector sat at the base of the rod. Sam looked around as he stepped down from the cab and saw that there was another pole with a box mounted on it about a kilometre away.

"What's going on here then?" He asked as they approached the tranquil tigers.

Instead of answering the largest of the three felines reached into his shirt and pulled out a sheaf of papers wrapped in a plastic bag to protect them from his sweat. He held them out for Sam. Sam and Eric could see their parent company's logo on some of them.

"National Research Council of Canada." Sam read out load. "Permission is granted for a weather experiment to be conducted on the property holdings of the company's Cold Lake concession ... yadda yadda ... placement of electronic monitoring devices ... work to be conducted between the dates of ...." He let the arm holding the papers drop to his side. "You guys have some ID?"

"Sure." The Tiger spoke for the first time. He and his crew reached for their wallets and produced temporary government ID cards from the National Research Council. At least, that is what they said on them. Neither Sam nor Eric had ever seen one before, but Eric had heard of the NRC, and recently.

"Hey, these are the guys that memo that was sent around last week was talking about, remember?" He told Sam.

"Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Some experiment to see how climate change is affecting the extraction process or something like that." He looked back to the tigers, who were waiting patiently for their ID back. "You guys from Ottawa?"

"No. The one he took to be the leader, the biggest one, replied. "We are temporary foreign workers, technicians from South-East Asia. We are putting the sensors in and tuning them on only. The Canadian scientists will come later to collect the data and analyse it."

Eric could hear the Asian accent in the tiger's English. He was a little pissed to see foreigners working when so many of his friends had been sent back to the Maritimes. "They couldn't find some Canadians to do this work?" He almost spat out.

The big tiger shrugged, seemingly not offended. "There is a shortage of electronic technicians in this part of the world and a surplus in Asia. Most of the Canadians are working in comfortable offices and factories in the cities. This is, how do you say it? A low-paid shit job."

"Yeah I can believe that." Eric said, looking at the shovels and sledgehammers they had to work with and the sweat that working in the sun had produced. Now he felt sorry for them. He passed back their ID and Sam gave them back their papers. "You guys try to stay cool, eh?"

The tiger smiled. "We are used to the heat, and it will get hotter by the time our work is done. Much hotter."

"Yeah, ain't that a fact." Eric said, for summer was almost upon them. "Ain't that a fact."

They climbed into their truck and drove off, unaware that across the Oil Sands, or the Tar Sands if you prefer, many other guards were having similar conversations with groups of wolves, bears, jackals, a trio of coati, three Ibex and even a bevy of hard-bitten female French poodles.

* * * * * * * *

A half a world away in Indonesia it was already evening. Hu Lianmeng had landed on Sumatra two days earlier but had trouble locating the family of tigers he was looking for among the fifty million other residents of the island. But his leads and Kain's research had led him to a village outside of Jambi City which was supposedly the birthplace of the tigers in question. Hu spoke basic Indonesian, as did most of the citizens in this island country, which had over seven hundred living languages. With it he was able to find an elderly female who could be the mother of the two tigers by claiming to be a friend of the elder brother from China.

She lived in a well maintained hut with a steeply sloped and pointed roof, typical for this rainy region. On being invited in Hu was surprised at how nice the interior was, considering that she was a widow with no surviving children to take care of her. She welcomed him graciously and insisted on serving tea before discussing her sons. While she puttered about Hu studied the interior of her hut.

He had done some research on the tiger culture before starting his search. The tigers of Sumatra believed in cremation, so he was not surprised to see three urns on the mantel with images of her husband and sons on them. But something seemed off about one of them; it was adorned with fresh flowers. When she was out of the room he stepped over to the mantel and lifted each urn. That of the father and of the youngest son, the one with the flowers, were several pounds heavier than the one for the elder son. He peeked inside the last one. It was empty. He quickly sat down as he heard the tigress approach.

When she was settled in Hu introduced himself as a Chinese Security officer, here on vacation. He wove a tale of how her oldest don and he had attended a joint training session together back when Indonesia re-opened relations with mainland China in the nineties. He peppered it with facts that Kain had gleaned off the internet and by hacking into the State Security Service's personnel files. He was even able to elaborate on things that the elder brother had supposedly told him about his younger sibling. Through it all the elderly tigress smiled and nodded, only growing remorseful at the mention of her younger son.

"I came to Indonesia in hopes of looking up my old friend." Hu concluded. "But I was sad to hear that your eldest son had parted this world some five years ago. And now to discover that his brother, who I was looking forward to meeting, was taken from you in the same accident; it is certainly saddening." Again he noticed that she teared up only at the mention of the younger brother. "You must have really loved your younger son." He commented.

"Yes." She sniffled and produced a tissue to blow her large black nose with. "He was a good son, and idolized his older brother. I miss him terribly ... " She seemed to catch herself and added hastily: "Still miss him that is."

"That must be why you still mourn him."

"Heh?"

"The flowers on his urn." Hu turned to point at the wreath of white flowers that adorned only the urn of the younger tiger. "I read somewhere that it is traditional for the urns to be so adorned for thirty days after cremation, yet five years later you still adorn his urn, but not those of your husband or your eldest son."

She looked trapped, her eyes were darting left and right as her mouth worked silently. But Hu did not want to confront her, so he added: "That is how I knew he had a special place in your heart."

The tigress went along with the charade. "Yes. The youngest is always the dearest to a mother's heart."

Not in my family, Hu thought to himself ruefully, thinking of how his mother doted on his order brother, the doctor. He expressed his regrets again and took his leave.

Hu spent the next few hours hanging out in the local watering holes, eliciting information about the tigress and her sons from the locals. He learned that she had a monthly income coming in from somewhere, but had recently been very sad. A strange contrast to when her sons were reported killed five years ago, which hardly seemed to bother her.

"A shame that accident." One of the older citizens said. "Three bright young tigers cut down in the prime of life."

"Three?" Hu asked.

"Yes. The two brothers and one of their cousins, also with the security service. They were working together when their vehicle went off the road and caught fire. There was nothing left to send home to their grieving families. Maybe that is why she was so quiet, too shocked to grieve"

"No remains. So the urns she displays are empty?"

"Well, the one for her husband is full, I suspect, but the other two would be empty."

Hu thought for a bit about why the youngest son's urn would weigh as much as the father's. And why she would be mourning him as if he had recently passed.

"Her family suffered a lot back then." Hu commented.

"And continues to." The senior citizen replied as he stood to leave. "Just the other week another cousin with the Special Forces died on a training jump. He was blown off course and was lost out at sea. No body for his family to cremate either. Hmmm ..." the old tiger contemplated the moon for a moment before continuing on his way. "It is like her family is cursed. Maybe that is why she has been so sad lately."

The coincidences were too much for Hu to ignore. He believed that he may have identified the attackers from Brussels. He decided to return to his hotel in Jambi City and report his findings back to F.O.X. Headquarters right away. Maybe Kain could pull their photos from the files and use that facial recognition software of his to make a positive ID. And if so, maybe they could track them back to their lair.

And then, Hu thought with a malevolent grin, I will volunteer to go with Silver to pay them a little visit. After all, he'll need a translator for when they stop screaming and start telling him why they did it.

* * * * * * * *

It was Thursday afternoon in Ottawa by the time that Kain received Hu's report. As everything else had led to dead ends he had been bored stiff, working on the transition files in preparation for the move away from the Experimental Farm. The prospect of new leads put him back into overdrive and he dove into the problem.

Getting the photos of the three tigers in question was no problem, thanks to a hole in the Indonesian government's firewall. He aged the two that had supposedly died five years earlier a bit but the third tiger had a recent photo on file that would do nicely. Kain had already saved all the surveillance footage from all the cameras in Brussels for three days on each side of the attack so he ran the faces against that first.

_Bingo!_He smiled at the screen as the first positive matches came in. There were the three tigers coming off a flight from Paris two days before the hit and another of them boarding a train to Warsaw an hour after. Kain cracked his knuckles and began an automated search footage from Paris and every train station along the route to Warsaw. Each time the program got an ID it searched backwards or forwards, as the case may be, for the next match. Networks of possible links blossomed on the screen and collapsed into single lines as positive matches were made. Meanwhile Kain scoured the Brussels footage again for signs of anyone else that may be involved.

By midnight Kain had established three things: the Tigers had started their mission in Rome; several other trios of creatures had left Rome on the same day, only to show up in surveillance footage in Brussels hanging about the airport, lounging at bus stops near NATO Headquarters, or at the public transit stops around the European Parliament; and that the tigers had gotten off the train in Germany and flown by a roundabout route to Canada. They flew to Edmonton, Alberta, to be exact. But they had disappeared after that.

Kain sat back. The stolen report had dealt with the properties of Bitumen, the almost solid form of oil that was found in the Tar Sands ... Oil Sands, he corrected himself. Edmonton was the closest international airport to the Oil Sands. Was this some kind of scheme to corner the market? But the price of oil was already so low that anyone with funding could buy up as much of the concessions as they wanted. Why go to such lengths?

Kain shrugged. That was for the market analysts to figure out. His job was to track this gang down. He had a feeling that he looked hard enough he would find the other groups he had spotted in Rome and Brussels arriving in Edmonton. But first, he wanted to run those words Gray had mumbled again on databases that dealt specifically with the Italian underworld. No one could operate in the shadows of Rome without their knowledge, and if they were chatting about amongst themselves about it then Kain could find it.

Kain prepared himself to pull another all-nighter. Hopefully he would have something substantial to report to Silver before the weekend.

* * * * * * * *

Earlier in the day the auditor from the Agriculture Canada transition team had given Kain a thick plastic clipboard with a sheath of paperwork to be filled out, in triplicate, by paw, with an HB pencil. Embedded in the plastic was a device that could record electronic emissions. The device could send those recordings to a transmitter in another clipboard that the wolf had dropped behind a desk against the outside wall of the Headquarters. Receiving devices were mounted in cars that passed through the experimental farm at random intervals, collecting the data and sending it to a satellite link and then on to Bloedrye's facility on the outskirts of Rome.

Everything Kain did was sent back and analysed by Signals Intelligence analysts that the Russian bears had hired away from their former government. Within minutes they had translated the signals into keystrokes, video feeds and data. Everything was sent to Bloedrye's office, where he retained the only copies. The story that the data told was clear: F.O.X. was on to them, not by much at the moment, but the picture would be growing clearer the longer they worked at it until they had enough to act. And that would probably come before his preparations were done, if what he had heard about the Canadian Agency's resident hacker were even half true. Oh well, he sighed, there was always a good chance that they would catch on before Phase Three. But that is why one spends so much time planning.

The white Persian cat glanced at the clock on the wall. It was breakfast time here in Rome, but it would still be the middle of the night in Ottawa. Plenty of time to put the contingency plan into operation. He reached down to the console and hesitated, remembering the fire he had set off trying to order breakfast the other day. Then he spotted the button with the tape labelled 'intercom' stuck to it. He pressed it, cringed in anticipation but was rewarded by the tinny voice of the communications operator.

"Yes Sir?"

"Send out a message." Bloedrye purred. "Increase the pace of deployment and prepare for Phase Three. Implement the Lindbergh protocol."

"Yes sir."

Bloedrye went back to combing his tail with his claws as he imagined how frustrated his opponent was about to get. Then he thought of something.

"You still on the line Communications?"

"Yes Sir."

"Call the kitchen and have someone send me up a bagel with cream cheese."

"That's all Sir?"

"And a mochaccino, with sprinkles."

"Yes Sir. Anything else, Sir?

"No." Bloedrye stabbed at the button with one digit, missed and watched as a Great White Shark rose up from the floor and swallowed chair number seven whole.

"Damn."

* * * * * * * *

The days start early at the NATO hospital in central Europe, and that Friday was no exception. The nurses made their rounds at six in the morning, making sure that the patients and their and their charts were ready for the doctors' morning rounds. As most of the personnel and staff were military early rounds were the norm in most wards, with the only exception being the VIP wing.

The VIP wing, with its private rooms, was more luxurious than the open wards in the rest of the hospital. It was where senior officers and diplomatic patients were housed. It was also used on occasion to hold wounded terrorists and other special patients that one of the host countries did not want the presence of to be known. Access was by key card and personal code, and when quests of sufficient importance were present it was reinforced by armed guards.

There had been guards deployed the week before in case someone tried to eliminate the two Canadian secret agents that were the only patients at the moment, but they had been withdrawn. Apparently the assassins had gotten what they wanted during the attack. Now the only security was the presence of the ward Matron, a British bulldog from the Royal Army Medical Corps who was almost as fierce as she looked. She strode the halls of her ward at six each morning with military determination and vigour, even though the doctors would not be coming by until the early afternoon and woe betide the night shift nurse that had left an entry unmade or a sheet untucked.

The matron was shocked to discover the room assigned to the red fox was empty. The old fellow was supposed to be confined to bed for another week at least. But she had an idea where he might be. She strode off down the hall and stopped in the doorway of the ward's only other occupied room, Sure enough, there he was, sitting by the poodle's bed, holding her paw as he alternated looking at her face and watching the colored lines on the overhead monitor that traced her heart rate, breathing, blood pressure and brain activity. Of the four, the first three were active and regular, but the brain activity line was flat, and had been since they had hooked her up.

The matron had been called a heartless bitch by underlings, doctors and patients alike, but she was not without empathy. She could see both hope and the fear in the fox's eyes, and remembered how she had felt the same way when her lover, a member of the Parachute Regiment serving in Northern Ireland, had been sent to the same hospital she was serving in burned beyond recognition by an IRA Molotov cocktail. Her lover had died, and she had not had another since, but the feelings she once had for him could not be fully suppressed. Now they welled to the surface again, almost but not quite cracking her hard British Sergeants-major demeanor. But training won out, discipline had to be maintained. She pressed the button by the door to summon the duty nurse, who would get a royal dressing down and a reprimand for letting the fox wander, before entering the room.

"Oye! What's going on here then?" She called as she bustled over to Gray Muzzle. "Yer going to open those wounds and start bleeding all over me clean floors if yeh go gallivanting around the ward whenever the mood strikes yeh."

Before Gray could offer up an excuse she had turned him around in his chair and pulled his hospital gown off over his head. He made a feeble attempt to cover his groin but she pushed his paws away firmly. She made a quick examination of his bandages, secretly pleased to see that they had been changed already that morning. Maybe she would only scald the nurse with her tongue and leave the incident off her record. Satisfied, she grabbed the fox's arms and slipped the gown back over his nakedness. At the door a pretty young cocker spaniel in a nurse's uniform stopped dead with eyes wide and a paw to her open mouth at the sight of the Matron dressing the fox. The Matron gave her a stern glare before turning back to Gray.

"Well, it looks like yeh haven't popped anything vital. But nurse will have to take yeh back to yer room now." She waved the nurse over as she prepared to lift Gray out of his chair.

"Please Ma'am. Can't I stay here with Marie?" Gray pleaded. "Here I can talk to her, hold her paw and help the nurses exercise her limbs. Lying in bed isn't helping me any as long as I'm fretting about her. Being here will do us both good."

The matron looked down at the upturned face of the fox. She noted the fresh worry lines on his brow and had to admit to herself that an agitated patient was one that healed slower. "Alright." She said straightening up. "Yeh can stay here for a few hours in the morning and again after rounds. But yeh leave the exercising to the nurses. If I catch yeh lifting anything heavier than her wee paw I'll have both yer and the nurses' guts for garters."

"Yes Ma'am." Then, seeing her wreath and crown insignia with its purple highlights and recalling from his orientation to Commonwealth rank structure that it meant something important, he added: "Will do, uh, sir."

"Don't call me Sir, I work fer a living." And with that the Matron turned sharply on her heel and strode from the room, indicating that the nurse was to follow. The spaniel gulped and hurried after her.

As the sound of the bulldog's less than melodious voice was cut off by the closing door Gray took his place beside Miss CC and gripped her paw again. He leaned forward and stroked her brow with his other paw as he whispered into her ear. "Don't worry Marie. You'll be up and whipping me back into submission in no time. I promise."

On the monitor above her bed the steady line marking brain activity made a single, small jump that scrolled off the edge before he looked up again.

* * * * * * * *

Several hours later it was a sunny Friday morning in Ottawa too, and now that summer was approaching the days were dawning before most creatures began stirring. But not Silver, when it was above freezing he liked to sleep with the window and drapes open so the first rays of the sun and the morning bird song woke him.

As usual he came instantly and fully awake. Since there was no immediate threat he stayed perfectly still, using his senses to determine the situation, as he had when he was with army reconnaissance. The light fell through the partially opened curtains like it should, the birds sang as they fed on morning worms and grubs as usual and there was no sound from the hallway indicating that Leslie had gotten up was trying to get into the locked bedroom, which was also good. Good because Silver had been having an erotic dream and he had woken with a raging hard-on.

He had kicked the blankets off during the night, as he was wont to do when it was warm like this. He glanced over at Vikki's side of the bed and saw that she was half uncovered also. She was lying on her stomach with her head turned away from him, her back and buttocks uncovered. Her amputated arm rested on the mattress between them, she did not sleep with her prosthetic even though it was comfortable enough to do so, believing that the stump needed a certain amount of fresh air each day.

Silver rolled onto his side and reached out to caress the closest buttock. As he did he bent his neck so that he could plant a kiss on the end of her stunted arm, just as he had done that first night by the garden pond after she lost it, when she was ready to give up on life and crawl away into some hole and hide. The kiss and the caress made her moan in her sleep, perhaps invoking a dream similar to the one he had before waking.

Moving her arm up alongside her head Silver pulled himself closer, close enough to feel the heat coming off her long, lithe body. Then he pressed his torso against her side and continued to kiss her foreshortened arm as he ran the tips of his claws down the length of her spine, barely parting the short fur on her back and hardly touching the skin below. When he reached the base of her tail he continued across her butt and under, tracing the line at the top of her thigh. He reversed his route and, going against the grain, returned to the thick fur around her neck. Then he did it all over again.

The caress made Vikki wiggle at first, as if bothered by a fly, but by the third repetition her torso was writhing with something more akin to pleasure. As her legs thrashed in slow motion her feet snagged the covers, pulling them down to her knees. This allowed Silver to extend his reach down the inside of her thighs. On the sixth iteration he let the pad of his middle digit slide along the ridge of her vulva. Touching it brought a shudder and a gasp. He pressed down on it, parting the outer lips, and was pleased to feel her hips grind against his paw in response.

Vikki turned her head around on the pillow. Her emerald eyes shone out between half-open lids. "Oh, it's you." She said; sleep still heavy on her tongue.

"Yes." He smiled. "It's me. Who did you expect?"

"Whom did I expect." She corrected him automatically, as she did when Leslie was around. "I was dreaming of Tanner, all tall and muscley."

"Muscular." He counter corrected. "I'm afraid that you'll have to do with me." He continued to caress her as they spoke.

She put on a mock frown. "You don't think that Tanner would be interested in me?"

"Tanner is gayer than Paris in the eighteen-nineties. The only thing he would be interested in is your boyish butt." His paw was near that region so he ran his palm over the aforementioned feature, and one digit snuck between those cheeks to tickle her tailhole.

Her body shook as sparks flew up along her spine. "Stop that!" She chided. "I'm not that kind of a girl."

"Oh yes you are." Silver cut off any further argument by leaning close and sealing her mouth with his. His paw continued to stroke her legs and buttocks, delving between her thighs at regular intervals to rub her mons and the sensitive skin around her anus. Far from objecting, Vikki spread her legs farther to allow him better access. Her good arm came up and over them so that she could caress his head and press him harder against her. But it was an awkward position, and one that gave her no access to the part she really wanted to lay her paw on.

After letting him play between her legs until her vulva had parted and he damp inner lips had appeared, Vikki rolled against him until they were chest to chest. They continued to kiss and nuzzle each other while she worked her arm down between them. Slim digits found the hard rod of flesh that was trapped between them. They wrapped themselves around it and squeezed. It got harder, and Silver's breath came quicker. Vikki stroked it slowly as he forced a knee between her legs and used his leg to rub her.

Her head was resting on the bicep of the arm he was using to caress her back. His other paw was under her thick tail, holding her butt cheeks apart so his digits could continue to fondle her down there.

She grew wetter as he grew harder, and soon they were both ready for more. Vikki let herself be rolled onto her back as Silver got to his knees and moved between her legs. His paw stayed on her, his digits now penetrating her vagina and brushing her clit while making the occasional trip to anoint her tailhole with her sweet juices. He bent and sucked on the nipple of one breast and then the other while his paw kept busy below. Vikki's head thrashed back and forth as her clit grew hard and the pad of spongy flesh inside her swelled under his care.

When she could take no more she stuck her arms up and pulled him down on top of her. Her knees came up as she searched for the tip of his cock with her cunt. Finding it she wiggled her hips to line them both up before wrapping her long legs around him and pulling him into her. She sighed in pleasure as he slid inside and grunted as her clit was smashed between them. When she relaxed her grip with her legs he pulled back, and she swore that she could feel every bump and vein on his prick as it passed over that pad of super-sensitive flesh. Then, when only the tip of his cock was left between the sodden lips of her twat, she flexed her legs and drove him home again.

They continued like that, with long slow strokes that maximised contact and sensation. Silver kept his body rigid, his weight off of Vikki, so just his cock was in constant contact. But his lips were often on hers, and when they weren't his teeth were pulling gently on the flesh around her neck or nibbling on her hardened nipples. Up on his outstretched arms and toes, he varied the angle of penetration every few strokes, sometimes forcing the tip of his prick across the swollen flesh inside her on the down stroke, sometimes bumping it along her clit as he went deep, ending with a twist of his hips that ground that button of fiery flesh between their pelvic bones.

The technique was bringing Vikki quickly to a climax, but it was affecting him also. And since he had started this exercise already hard and aching he was likely to cum long before she was ready. If that happened, as it sometimes did, he would roll over on to his side and finish her with one of his talented paws. But he had other things in mind this morning.

Silver lowered his knees to the mattress and sat back on his heels, forcing Vikki to unlock her legs and release him. His cock popped out and bounced in mid-air above her twat. She reached for it but Silver pushed her paw aside. He needed the cool morning air on it to counter the urge to cum. Meanwhile, he put one thumb on her clit from above and reached under her leg with the other to rub her gaping hole. Vikki brought her knees to her chest to make it easier for him, rolling her hips so that her vagina was aimed straight up, which coincidently brought her tail hole up to point at Silver's quivering cock.

One thumb worked her clit, alternating between rapid circles and rubbing. The other probed her pink passage, thumping on the inflated pad as he rocked his paw in and out. The web of flesh between thumb and foredigit rubbed against the strip of flesh that separated cunt from tailhole. The calloused side of that first digit slit across the puckered hole, already slick from the juices he had spread there earlier. As her tissues produced even more lubricating juice the motion of his paw pumped it out and distributed it from her clit to the base of her tail. She was so wet now that his digits moved like well-oiled pistons and she could feel the steam building up inside her.

Sensing that she was getting close to cumming. Silver withdrew his thumb from her twat and pressed it against her tight tail hole. It resisted at first, but soon it began to open around the pad that pressed against it. Careful not to pinch her, he turned it so that the claw on its end slipped inside, soon to be followed by the pad and the widest part of his thumb. He pulled it back and forth in little jerks as he spread her cunt juice on the outer ring. He pulled it out and plunged it back into her dripping twat, swirling it around to gather as much of that nectar as he could. Then he put it back in her tail hole. This time it opened smoothly, and the bulge of his thumb passed easily inside as she gasped at the sensation. Silver pulled it out again, pushed it in a little deeper, and repeated the motion.

Each time his thumb entered or left her she gasped at the bolt of lightning that was created. That and the busy digit on her clit was speeding her to an orgasm, but she did not want to cum alone. She wiggled her hips, trying to tempt his cock back inside her, and she whined in desperation when he kept it just out of reach.

Then Silver relented. He pulled his thumb out of her anus and spread his knees as he shuffled in. He released her clit for a moment and rubbed it with the underside of his cock instead. Then he drew his prick down along the gaping hole of her vagina, past it, and paused with the tip touching her tailhole. Her hips betrayed her eagerness and the little puckered hole pulsed like a hungry starfish as he tickled it with his cock. Then he pressed forward, slowly.

Her breath caught as his cock stretched her tailhole wider than his thumb ever could. His slick prick slid into her anus like a cruise ship docking at a small wharf, steadily and surely, sending waves of pleasure lapping over her. When his hips came up against her buttocks he arched his back and pulled out in the same fashion. He returned his thumb to her clit and began to stroke and rub it again.

He managed to keep the slow steady pace for a dozen strokes before the pleasure of his thumb and the sensations from her tailhole began to make Vikki writhe and thrash as the pressure grew inside her. Her wild movements, twisting and turning on his shaft while her insides contorted and squeezed, brought him back to the edge of orgasm. Without conscious thought or control his thrusts grew faster and deeper, and his hips began to slam against her, making his balls slap her butt with each stroke.

Silver finished first, freezing in place and emitting a long, low groan as his cock jerked inside her ass. Hot spooge flooded her, trapped inside as his hips pressed against her buttocks. But his thumb never ceased its motion and she joined him a moment later, spraying sweet clear cum against his taught abdomen, soaking the already sweaty fur and dripping down to where his cock disappeared inside her.

The initial volley delivered, Silver pulled back a bit, gasped as her tight ring squeezed another few drops out of his shaft, and then drove it back in again. The next time he pulled back a little farther, and did not go as deep when he pushed back. His thumb kept up its assault as her clit tried to retreat back into the folds of flesh that normally protected it. His balls tightened and strained to contribute more as his still stiff prick worked its way out of her. It prolonged his orgasm and gave her a series of sharp, short climaxes as he withdrew.

When he finally pulled his cock out he collapsed on top of her. His head was on her shoulder and they were ear-to-ear, both gasping for breath. She took the brunt of his weight as their chests heaved against each other and their hearts struggled to return to a normal pace. Since they were both is such good shape that did not take more than a minute to achieve, but they stayed like that for several more, caressing flanks and backs and kissing the sides of each other's faces.

"I could see why Tanner would be attracted to that ass." Silver commented, nuzzling her neck. "I hope I was a suitable substitute."

"You'll do."

A noise came from the hallway, a muffled click, and brought Silver's head up quickly. He knew what that sound meant - Leslie was awake and would be heading to the bathroom for a pee before coming to wake them. He rolled off of Vikki and off of the bed, reaching for pajamas that he only wore when Leslie was around. Vikki had not heard the noise but she knew when Silver reached for his pajamas instead of a gun that Leslie was involved. Silver, she knew, had no issues with facing down a gang of assassins with nothing on him except his Glock and the fur he was born with, but he would not appear naked before his son. Neither would she. She was up and into her nightgown in an instant. The sound of the toilet flushing muffled the sound of her unlocking their bedroom door.

As usual, Leslie did not bother knocking or asking if he could come in. By the time he had turned the knob and swung the door open. Silver was standing by the dresser in his pajamas and Vikki was seated on the corner of the bed, making last minute adjustments to her nightgown.

"Morning Mommy. Morning Daddy." The kit greeted them as he climbed up on the bed for a hug from Vikki. "It's Friday today." Friday was Pizza Day at the school cafeteria, and parents of day students could reserve a slice for their child at the beginning of the semester if they wished. Since Leslie ate properly the rest of the week Vikki had consented to let him partake in Pizza Day, and he never failed to remind her of the day so that she would not accidentally make him a lunch that he would feel obliged to eat.

"Why yes, it is." Vikki agreed, hugging the little kit tight to her chest.

Normally after hugging his mother Leslie would march over to Silver for a more male bonding type of hug from his father, but today he seemed distracted. He tilted his muzzle up and sniffed the air of the bedroom.

"Smells funny." He commented.

Realizing that the air was still heavy with the scent of their lovemaking Silver improvised an answer. "Mommy and daddy were, uh, exercising." He mimed a few calisthenics. "We're all, ah, sweaty."

Unconvinced, Leslie sampled the air again. "I don't smell like that when we play sports at school."

"Well, big fox sweat smells different than little fox sweat."

"Madam Babcock never smells like that." Leslie observed, and Vikki had to suppress a chortle. Then he added "Miss. Ruth smells like that sometimes though."

"Oh, really?" Vikki was slightly shocked. She looked at Silver with one eyebrow cocked inquisitively. Silver just shrugged as is to say that it was none of their business who exercised with who. Her curiosity was peeked, but she did not dare question the kit any further, least he mention her interest to the bunny and cause her embarrassment.

She lifted Leslie from the bed and pointed him toward the door. "Why don't you head up to the kitchen and get your cereal started. Mommy will be right up to help."

"And I'll go shower this 'sweat' away." Silver added with a sly grin. "Then it'll be Mommy's turn in the shower."

"I want a shower too." Leslie called as he scampered down the hallway toward the stairs."

"After school."

"Awww. But I'm all sweaty from sleeping under the blankets."

"Tonight, when you're dirtier."

"How come you and daddy get to shower in the morning?" He called from downstairs.

"Because were dirty enough already." Silver whispered from behind her as he reached around and inside her nightgown to squeeze her breasts.

"Go take your shower, you perv."

The morning returned to its normal routine as Vikki and Silver prepared for work and got Leslie ready for school. During the drive Silver and Vikki stayed silent so they would not accidently touch a subject that might bring up the topic of showers, sweat or bunnies. When they arrived Vikki was relieved to see that Mrs. Pawstone was not on drop-off duty that day. She let Leslie out and made sure he had his bag while Silver waited behind the wheel. She kissed him goodbye and waited by the car until the EA on duty took charge of him.

As soon as the passenger door closed behind her, before Silver could even pull away from the curb, she turned to him and asked Silver what he thought of Leslie's comment regarding Ruth Pawstone.

"He's probably mistaken." Silver said. "And if he isn't it's none of our business. Maybe there is a Mister Pawstone at home to 'exercise' with."

"No, she told me she was widowed."

"Well, maybe the groundskeeper is acting as her personal trainer. He's a rabbit too, isn't he? Anyways, what she does in her free time is her business."

"But for Leslie to smell it on her ..."

"He has a sensitive nose. Remember last Christmas when Gray Muzzle was playing Santa and Leslie told him he smelled like poodle?"

Vikki smiled at the memory. "Yeah. I guess I just never expected anyone involved in our kit's care to have .... urges."

"And yet you used to let Marcel and Geno babysit him."

Vikki slumped in her seat, defeated. "Alright. You win." She glanced sideways at her mate. "You're not concerned at all?"

"No. As far as caring for Leslie is concerned I trust her completely."

* * * * * * * *

Runs With Stick was not on Drop-off duty, so she could afford to linger at the rented farm house and check for messages from GHOST. Using a satellite communications set that was virtually untraceable she signed onto the secure site where messages could be left for her and where she could post updates or request funds. She saw that there was a new message for her and she read it.

As per her instructions she deleted the message as soon as she was finished. It had been short and simple, "Invoke the Lindbergh Protocol" was all that it said. She knew what that meant - she was to kidnap the son of her nemesis, the F.O.X. Chief of Staff.

She signed off and shut down the satellite connection before putting the device away in a bag that held everything she would need if she had to relocate quickly. GHOST had rented two other residences that she could use if it looked like the authorities were onto this one. Bloedrye had promised to give her adequate warning if that was the case. He had someone on the inside at F.O.X. she suspected. But she never left matters related to her success or survival up to others, so she had scouted out a couple of hideouts of her own.

It was time to leave for the School, but she took the time to put another small bag in the backseat of her car before leaving the farmhouse. The second bag contained everything she would need to keep the little fox quiet - drug-laced candy, duct tape, a hood made of thick cloth, rope and an iPad mini with the latest educational and entertaining applications for kits on it.

She drove automatically, paying little attention to the traffic. It was well that the school was out of town and away from the morning commuter routes, because her mind was preoccupied. She had her orders, to kidnap the kit, thus giving Bloedrye a degree of control over F.O.X. through the boy's father. It was a contingency that she was fully cognizant of when she agreed to work for Bloedrye. But she had been so excited about having her revenge on the fox responsible for her father's disappearance that she had agreed without thinking much about the possible outcomes of this action. She did so now.

Bloedrye had told her that Silver would go along with whatever they told him in order to save his kit but Runs With Stick was not so sure of that, not after experiencing those cold blue-grey eyes and their unflinching stare. Silver struck her as killer of the first degree, as detached and heartless as she had once strived to be. She could well imagine him sacrificing his son to defeat whatever scheme the Persian feline was hatching. Then there was the mother, the impossibly tall and slim vixen with the artificial arm. Yes, Runs With Stick knew about that, even though the prosthetic was almost a perfect match for the real one. Leslie had told her about it and with that knowledge she had been able to see the subtle differences in its colour and movement. Runs With Stick and Silver Two trees had never had children, but she had seen the protective instincts of mothers both in the wild and within her tribe, traits that Ms. Beausoleil exhibited when she arrived to pick up her kit and he was not immediately in sight. Runs With Stick could imagine the blazing red fur and glaring green eyes of Vikki Beausoleil as the vixen came after her with a vengeance, the mechanical left paw replaced by a meat hook.

There was another factor giving her pause. Runs With Stick and her mate had always killed enemies of the tribe, or criminals that were an immediate threat to them or their livelihood. Neither of them had ever harmed a child, and she was quite taken with the one she was supposed to kidnap. While many of the kits, cubs and pups in the Senior Kindergarten class were cute and a few others were precocious, only Leslie with his intelligence, naive honesty and impeachable logic had moved her.

She remembered feeling the same way about the children of her cousins when she watched them play on what the invaders laughingly called their reservation. She had longed to have a child of her own, and like most offspring of single-child families she planned on having more than one, many more. But it was not to be. Despite the best efforts of the tribal healers and the invader's medicine she remained barren. She and Silver Two Trees never discovered if the problem was with her, or him, or both of them, and now that he was gone she did not want to know. Faithful to the memory of her deceased mate, she avoided sexual relationships with males of her own species least she get pregnant and discover that they could have had children through artificial insemination.

As the years passed without issue the feelings had gradually subsided, but every now and then they would come back strong, and today they were stronger than ever. What would happen to the kit, she wondered, if the parents do not cooperate? Would she have to hurt him, chop off a digit or an ear as a warning? Would she have to ... she swallowed unconsciously ... to kill him?

A month ago, with her brain overwhelmed by thoughts of vengeance, she had not have been bothered by thoughts such as these. But now she could feel a pain in her gut, a pain that she had never felt before when contemplating using the cleaver. And with it came a sense of shame.

She arrived at the school and parked in the most remote and isolated corner of the staff parking lot behind the administrative building. She sat in her car for a few moments composing herself, putting the Ruth Pawstone persona back on before going out to face the world of invasive species and their over privileged offspring. She thought of the deprivations her folk suffered and of the continual struggle against the Americans that thought they owned everything from seat to sea north of Mexico and south of Canada. Thinking of the problems back home helped, at least enough to get her out of the car and moving toward the school with a blank expression on her face.

There was a guest parking lot on the other side of the administrative building. Runs With Stick almost stopped dead when she saw that there was a police car parked in it, but she forced herself to continue walking calmly. As she passed the front doors they opened, and two uniformed officers came out, escorted by the School's administrator, a grey squirrel by the name of Hector McNabb. She heard him call her name from behind her and she put her paw inside her oversized bag, gripping the handle of the cleaver it concealed. She stopped and turned with a politely inquisitive smile on her face.

"Yes, Mister McNabb?"

"Mrs. Pawstone, could you wait a moment while I see these officers off?"

"Certainly." She held her ground, not daring to approach while the police were still on the sidewalk. The two canines gave her a tilt of their hats as they passed and then they got into their car and drove away. When they were out of sight Mr. McNabb waved her to follow him and they proceeded to his office, where he offered her a chair before moving around behind his desk.

"I wanted to ask you if you would consider a full-term contract with us next year." He began as he settled into his chair. "We've had nothing but good reports about you and the children like you too. Mrs. Babcock still misses Ms. Cohen but she is quite satisfied working with you. The prospect would be a comfort to her, I think, and the latest news is sure to upset her.

"Oh? Is that why the police were here?"

"Yes. As you know, although it was put out that poor Ms. Cohen was struck by a car the police have been treating this as a murder investigation. There were here asking whether Ms. Cohen had any enemies, or whether she had reported any prejudicial behavior from any of the staff or the parents."

"Prejudicial behavior?"

"Yes. She was Jewish, you see. And the manner of her death had certain ritualistic qualities that make the police suspect that this was a hate crime."

Runs With Stick felt her throat tighten. "What sort of, ah, ritualistic qualities?"

Mr. McNabb leaned across his desk and dropped his voice. "She was killed with some sort of large-bladed instrument, like a machete. But before she died her killer sprinkled blue powder on her face and ... excuse me, the details are just too gruesome."

Runs With Stick could hardly breathe now, and had to fight to keep her expression neutral. "It's alright, please continue."

"Well, before ... before slitting her throat ...," McNabb looked like he was going to throw up, "the killer chopped of her foot, her right foot. They ... they took it with them when they left her to bleed to death."

"Oh dear!" Runs With Stick allowed some of the alarm she was feeling show on her face, believing that McNabb would likely take it for shock, which he did.

"Mrs. Pawstone, forgive me." He said as he jumped to his feet and came around the desk to comfort her. "I should not have subjected you to that. You must think that Canada is overrun with murders now. Let me assure you that this is an isolated case."

"It's alright." She said, waving a paw in front of her face to dry the cold sweat that had erupted there. "As you said, the ritual indicates that she was targeted, possibly for her religious beliefs. I'm sure that the police will soon have the culprit behind bars. After all, one cannot carry a, uh, machete around without being noticed, can one?" Realizing that she was still holding her cleaver in a death grip she released it and pulled her paw out of her bag.

"I'm glad you feel that way, and I hope that this unfortunate incident does not unduly influence your decision to stay here with us."

"Oh, not at all. I'll give the offer my most serious consideration."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pawstone. That is all that I can ask for. Good day to you."

"Yes, good day." She left the office on legs that were slightly wobbly. No matter, she thought, it's what McNabb would expect of a female from a 'passive' species. But her mind was reeling more than her body. She realized that she had been trapped, set up by the nefarious Bloedrye.

Runs With Stick had not killed Ms. Cohen. She was not even aware of the details of how Bloedrye had created an opening at the school until after her arrival. She had immediately suspected GHOST when she heard about the death of the EA, even before the rumours started going around that it was not an accident. But now she could see that Bloedrye had engineered it to serve two purposes. The death itself got her into the school, and the method mirrored her own technique enough to frame her for the killing should she step out of line.

Had Bloedrye anticipated her reluctance to harm the kit, she wondered? Was he arranging things three moves ahead of her, like a chess master? And did that matter as long as she had her revenge on the silver fox? One half of her brain told her that it didn't, but the other half told her not to trust Bloedrye, to cut her losses and run. But by then she had arrived at the classroom and the clamour of two dozen little voices drowned out all her second thoughts.

She returned Ms. Babcock's welcoming smile and immersed herself in the sea of children, thinking only of how she would get Leslie to the farmhouse before they could raise an alarm.

Before the morning recess, just as Mrs. Babcock was returning from escorting a couple of pups who could not hold it in any longer to the washrooms, Runs With Stick used a disposable cell phone she had picked up at a mall kiosk to call the direct number of the classroom. She had set the number on the phone's speed dial and could activate it from inside her pocket. She had made sure that she was closer to the class phone than the badger and waved that she would get it. As she lifted the receiver she simultaneously struck the 'call end' button with one digit so that there would be no feedback whine as she pretended to listen.

She nodded along with a silent script running in her head and then said aloud: "I'll bring him right over. Yes, I can go with him in the taxi." Then she hung up, pulling the line from the phone and letting it drop behind the desk while she blocked the view with her body. Then she turned to Mrs. Babcock, who was standing nearby with a curious expression on her face.

"That was the Administrator." Runs With Stick said in a low voice, as if she was afraid that the children would overhear. "Something has happened to Leslie's parents. He wants me to bring the kit over to the Administration building where a taxi will pick Leslie up and take him to the hospital. He asked if I could stay there with the kit until the Child Welfare Services shows up for him. Will you be able to manage here by yourself?"

"Oh dear!" The badger leaned back against her desk and waved a paw in front of her face. "They're not ... I mean, they'll be okay, won't they?"

"Mr McNabb did not say."

"Oh dear. You'd better go. I can take care of things without you or the rest of the day. I'll just keep them in the classroom during lunch and recess."

Of course you will, Runs With Stick thought to herself, that is the standard procedure when there is only one supervisor. And that means that you should not be running into Mr. McNabb or anyone else who can tell you that there was no call for several hours. She patted Mrs. Babcock on the shoulder and walked over to where Leslie was playing blocks with two kittens and a wolf cub.

"Leslie," she said kneeling down beside the kit, "you have to get your things and come with me."

The kit, who had his father's blue-grey eyes but his mother's vibrant red fur, looked up at the clock and then turned to her with a look of concern. "It's not even lunch time yet." He said seriously. "Is something wrong with my mom and dad?" He waited, unblinking, for her to answer.

Although she had become used to his logical, perceptive ways his astuteness could still amaze her. "Yes." she lied as she held his steady gaze. "I'm to take you to them."

Leslie blinked then, but did not say another word. He brushed a single tear from his eye as he went to the pegs at the back of the room and took down his day bag. Meanwhile Runs With Stick got his overnight bag out of the closet and slung it over her shoulder.

"Am I going to be away for a while?" The little fox asked.

"Yes, a few days at least." She said as she took his paw and led him from the room. She turned and gave Mrs. Babcock a reassuring wave as they exited. Outside she choose the sidewalk that led toward the Administrative building, but once out of sight of the classroom building she turned onto a path that wound through the woods, avoiding the buildings and leading past the corner of the staff lot where she had parked.

"We are going to take my car." She explained once she was sure that they were alone. "And don't worry about your parents. They were in a very minor motor vehicle accident but the hospital wants to keep them a day or two for observation. They have a ward there where families can stay together. It will be like a little holiday."

The kit let out a lung full of air he must have been holding in since she told him to get his things.

"That's good." He said. "I'm glad that they're not hurt bad."

"No. They're fine. And you'll have a good time there with them. In fact, let's start celebrating now." She pulled a paper bag out of her purse and offered it to him with a broad smile. "Have a candy, but just one. We don't want you to get all hyper when your folks are indisposed."

Leslie selected a fire engine red gumball and chewed it happily as they followed the trail to the parking lot. By the time they got there his legs were faltering and she had to hold him up by the strap on the top of his backpack. She leaned him against the car as she fished out her keys and pressed the fob to unlock the doors. The loud beep the sedan emitted was enough to scare the songbirds in the trees into silence.

"No car seat." Leslie mumbled his snout up against the glass of the back door. "Not safe."

"That's okay Leslie." Runs With Stick said as she looked around to make sure no one was watching them. "You're riding in the trunk." She pushed another button and the trunk lid popped open.

"Ish tha saf ... suf ... safe?"

"As safe as houses." She assured him as she lifted the already snoring kit into a nest of blankets she had prepared in the cargo compartment. "Sleep tight."

The birds in the trees heard the thump of the trunk closing and the hum of the small engine as she started the car, but they waited another five minutes after that sound died off in the distance before recommencing their song.

The FOX Academy series:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Book IV - Wait for No One

Book V - Dawn of Vengeance

Book VI - Unnatural Selection

Book VII - Rogue Sword

Kain Algorath © Marcus X Light

Ophelia Cassidy Sommer © Devil Kitty

Joel Grigori © Joel the Lemur

Geno © Coyotek

Dongo Fett © Dongo Fett

Zachary Ember © EmberWolf

Gray Muzzle © Gray Muzzle

Ruth Pawstone/Runs with Stick © Bunners