Fic: Altered Trajectory (cont.)
Feb. 10th, 2010 09:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalStill blowing and snowing outside. I suspect I'm not going to work tomorrow...
After a few moments more argument, cut short by Hazel completing the unpacking of their bike, Mac did decide to follow them, leaving Flamer to guard the fighters. Rufus wove his bike through the streets of the crumbling port city, the hairs up on the back of his neck the whole way. There were a dozen perfectly good reasons, as Mac had said, why Drisden might not pick up the com immediately, and one perfectly awful one.
The worst was confirmed when they reached Drisden's safehouse. The concealed hatch leading down inside was wide open, the stairwell dark. Rufus took one look at it after he had gotten off his bike and unsnapped his pistol from its holster, Hazel and Mac doing the same, their faces grim.
“Machiavelli, mind the entrance,” he ordered. “Hazel and I are going to recce the interior.”
“That's a very stupid...” Mac began to reply, but then must have decided that arguing about it was pointless. “Just get in and out as quick as you can.” He took station in the hatch, keeping his body half-concealed for better cover.
Rufus pulled a thin torch from his pocket and clipped it to accessory rail underneath the barrel of his energy pistol, holding it out in front of him as they descended the stairs. At the bottom he called out, “Drisden, are you there?” After waiting a moment, he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, conscious of the fact that if an intruder had gotten ahead of them, they could easily have watched them arrive on the exterior monitors.
The lights were off in the room. Rufus scanned the room with his torch, finding what he had hoped he would not in one corner of the room. He let out brief grunt of dismay as he switched on the light. Beside him, Hazel let out a stunned gasp as she surveyed the scene.
It was hard to tell if the mess had occurred as Drisden had ought his attackers or afterward, during some hasty search of the place. The galapago's body was shoved into one corner, cauterized burn marks from at least three plasma pistol strikes marring the scales of his chest and stomach. The metal shelves had been pulled down, their contents, mostly book chips and sealed food containers scattered across the floor. Someone had even taken a knife to the cot's foam mattress and pillow, searching for concealed data packets or the like, Rufus supposed. It hardly mattered at this point. Shaking his head, he walked across to the room and kneeled down before the murdered Drisden, closing his blank, golden eyes.
“Why would they kill him?” Hazel asked, her voice shaking. “They could have stunned and questioned him.”
“Perhaps they did, and shot him afterward. Or perhaps he resisted more ably than they'd anticipated, and they didn't trust their stunners to do the job,” Rufus said grimly. “At any rate, we're back to square one. No, worse. We're behind. We just lost our main link to the galapagos and the Dominion. Plus the Terrans, assuming this was indeed their handiwork, now know that the Council of Farm Lords is searching for Dominion. Damn.” He stood up, cursing his own stupidity for not demanding that Drisden come back with them to the Falcon Claw, or let them stay with him when he contacted his allies, or think to set up a 24-hour monitor around the safehouse just in case.
He shook his head. No, going in a circle of self-recrimination would only lead to frustration and madness. He knew that one from hard experience. So instead, Rufus turned back towards the stairwell and called out, “Mac, you'd better get down here and see this!” He paused a moment, the hairs rising up on the nape of his neck again. “Mac?”
Hazel's eyes widened and at Rufus's silent gesture, she stepping forward silently, pistol out in front of her. Leaning her head out into the stairwell, she whispered “I can just see Mac's footpads. He's lying on the.... whulp! “ A gray hand reached up from the top of the hatch and grabbed her neck, suddenly yanking her up and out of Rufus' sight with a sharp jerk.
Rufus let out a curse and rushed forward, intent on rushing up the stairs, when someone swung down from the hatch, their footpads slamming into his chest and sending his him flying across the room. His pistol fell from his hand and he scrambled back to find it, his head ringing from striking the concrete floor.
“Bad idea,” a voice said from behind him. Rufus froze as he felt a pistol press into the back of his neck. “Belly on the ground, now!” He did as he was ordered, not daring to fight as he felt disposable plastic handcuffs pulled over his wrists and snugged painfully tight. Then he was rolled over onto his belly and he got a good look at his captor.
His first impression was a vulpine male, perhaps a centimeter or two taller than himself, with dark brown fur covering a heavily muscled body. Rufus could tell that because the fellow wasn't dressed in much more than a belt at his hips that supported flaps of red and gold cloth to cover what a bare minimum of decency required, accented by heavy golden cuffs at his wrists.
“All right then,” the near-naked vulpine growled. “You have got exactly thirty seconds to explain to me why you shot our client over there in the corner before I shoot you. Whether its a quick or lingering death depends on what you say.”
“I didn't kill him you bloody...” Rufus began to say. But then his voice trailed off as he recovered from the shock of the attack and he recognized his captor. “Lord Rolas?” he asked, stunned.
Rolas blinked, looking equally stunned. “Brushtail? What the frell are you... oh, fragg.” Rufus got a quick glimpse of an expression that said, Goddess, why do you do things like this? before the other vulpine pulled the trigger and shot him in the head.
TBC
After a few moments more argument, cut short by Hazel completing the unpacking of their bike, Mac did decide to follow them, leaving Flamer to guard the fighters. Rufus wove his bike through the streets of the crumbling port city, the hairs up on the back of his neck the whole way. There were a dozen perfectly good reasons, as Mac had said, why Drisden might not pick up the com immediately, and one perfectly awful one.
The worst was confirmed when they reached Drisden's safehouse. The concealed hatch leading down inside was wide open, the stairwell dark. Rufus took one look at it after he had gotten off his bike and unsnapped his pistol from its holster, Hazel and Mac doing the same, their faces grim.
“Machiavelli, mind the entrance,” he ordered. “Hazel and I are going to recce the interior.”
“That's a very stupid...” Mac began to reply, but then must have decided that arguing about it was pointless. “Just get in and out as quick as you can.” He took station in the hatch, keeping his body half-concealed for better cover.
Rufus pulled a thin torch from his pocket and clipped it to accessory rail underneath the barrel of his energy pistol, holding it out in front of him as they descended the stairs. At the bottom he called out, “Drisden, are you there?” After waiting a moment, he opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, conscious of the fact that if an intruder had gotten ahead of them, they could easily have watched them arrive on the exterior monitors.
The lights were off in the room. Rufus scanned the room with his torch, finding what he had hoped he would not in one corner of the room. He let out brief grunt of dismay as he switched on the light. Beside him, Hazel let out a stunned gasp as she surveyed the scene.
It was hard to tell if the mess had occurred as Drisden had ought his attackers or afterward, during some hasty search of the place. The galapago's body was shoved into one corner, cauterized burn marks from at least three plasma pistol strikes marring the scales of his chest and stomach. The metal shelves had been pulled down, their contents, mostly book chips and sealed food containers scattered across the floor. Someone had even taken a knife to the cot's foam mattress and pillow, searching for concealed data packets or the like, Rufus supposed. It hardly mattered at this point. Shaking his head, he walked across to the room and kneeled down before the murdered Drisden, closing his blank, golden eyes.
“Why would they kill him?” Hazel asked, her voice shaking. “They could have stunned and questioned him.”
“Perhaps they did, and shot him afterward. Or perhaps he resisted more ably than they'd anticipated, and they didn't trust their stunners to do the job,” Rufus said grimly. “At any rate, we're back to square one. No, worse. We're behind. We just lost our main link to the galapagos and the Dominion. Plus the Terrans, assuming this was indeed their handiwork, now know that the Council of Farm Lords is searching for Dominion. Damn.” He stood up, cursing his own stupidity for not demanding that Drisden come back with them to the Falcon Claw, or let them stay with him when he contacted his allies, or think to set up a 24-hour monitor around the safehouse just in case.
He shook his head. No, going in a circle of self-recrimination would only lead to frustration and madness. He knew that one from hard experience. So instead, Rufus turned back towards the stairwell and called out, “Mac, you'd better get down here and see this!” He paused a moment, the hairs rising up on the nape of his neck again. “Mac?”
Hazel's eyes widened and at Rufus's silent gesture, she stepping forward silently, pistol out in front of her. Leaning her head out into the stairwell, she whispered “I can just see Mac's footpads. He's lying on the.... whulp! “ A gray hand reached up from the top of the hatch and grabbed her neck, suddenly yanking her up and out of Rufus' sight with a sharp jerk.
Rufus let out a curse and rushed forward, intent on rushing up the stairs, when someone swung down from the hatch, their footpads slamming into his chest and sending his him flying across the room. His pistol fell from his hand and he scrambled back to find it, his head ringing from striking the concrete floor.
“Bad idea,” a voice said from behind him. Rufus froze as he felt a pistol press into the back of his neck. “Belly on the ground, now!” He did as he was ordered, not daring to fight as he felt disposable plastic handcuffs pulled over his wrists and snugged painfully tight. Then he was rolled over onto his belly and he got a good look at his captor.
His first impression was a vulpine male, perhaps a centimeter or two taller than himself, with dark brown fur covering a heavily muscled body. Rufus could tell that because the fellow wasn't dressed in much more than a belt at his hips that supported flaps of red and gold cloth to cover what a bare minimum of decency required, accented by heavy golden cuffs at his wrists.
“All right then,” the near-naked vulpine growled. “You have got exactly thirty seconds to explain to me why you shot our client over there in the corner before I shoot you. Whether its a quick or lingering death depends on what you say.”
“I didn't kill him you bloody...” Rufus began to say. But then his voice trailed off as he recovered from the shock of the attack and he recognized his captor. “Lord Rolas?” he asked, stunned.
Rolas blinked, looking equally stunned. “Brushtail? What the frell are you... oh, fragg.” Rufus got a quick glimpse of an expression that said, Goddess, why do you do things like this? before the other vulpine pulled the trigger and shot him in the head.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-11 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-11 11:22 am (UTC)...are we going to see Pirate-Melika (aka Red Vixen ... if I remember correctly (or was that an alternate alternate-universe?)) next?
Yeah, that looks like human (GS(H*)A) doing...
mjkj
* H for Human...