IOC Raitche

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IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

High summer and it was snowing in the capital, a growing drift of fleecy white overlaid onto the reality of the world due to a malfunctioning satellite. It wouldn’t stay on the ground too long before the heated streets melted it underfoot and underwheel and that was even before the effect of the anti gravity motors on the latest automotives sold in the higher end showrooms. They had internal generators designed by Fawren Spaceways on Mica that replaced the need for generators inlaid into the road surfaces themselves. The combined effect of the cold and heat combined was that the few inches above the surface of the pavement Hayley Rogan was walking down, with her great coat wrapped tight against the snow, was uncommonly humid and ruining her shoes. She kept her gloved hand on the closest handrail so she didn’t wander too far into the road and wondered why anyone would be out and about in this as the wind picked up to a blizzard. The answer, of course, was money. The people needed it to survive. They needed to earn it and spend it, make it and steal it. So people had to be out. She heard a car vivv past on the road and hoped they had collision detection systems installed so they didn’t hit any passing pedestrians or, indeed, other cars. She was only parked about ten minutes from the office and knew her way there innately but she had a stop to make first. Something of an essential.

She pushed open the door to the cafe and pulled it shut against the wind and snow before pulling her coat open and dumping a quarter tonne of snow onto the tiled floor.
The server glared at her from the hatch, knowing who she was despite the woollen coverall she was wearing on her head, covering her entire face and head with a clear panel for her eyes and intake flaps over her ears, which she flicked open now. “You realise I have to clean that now, Hayley,” he asked, gesturing with a spatula at the mess.
“I figure you’ll have time between customers, Martin,” she replied, stepping towards the counter.
“Aye, that’s true enough. Not really sure why I’m open today.” He put a towel onto the counter. “They’re not going to have that control back up until this afternoon by all accounts. What can I get you today?”
“There’s also the fact you live out back,” Hayley added, “which, I might add, I don’t care about so I don’t tell the local trading lot. And it’s going to be two straight black, one muddy brown – rather like myself in some ways, one with Cinnamon and Pegin seed and one Chochamochachinno with a peppermint twist, three pastries – one nut free – and a pack of Boliar flavour crisps.”
“Chips,” Martin corrected.
Hayley mock cursed herself. She’d spent one year on Earth as part of a university exchange program in one of their smaller islands and she’d picked up the local terms after being mocked by the locals for not using the right words. Now she was back and still using the new wrong words. “Of course, of course.” She noted he was grinning as he turned around and got to work on his Coffee machine. He got out an all weather carry case for the sale and put the items into the box before closing it up and taking Hayley’s credits.
“Speaking of work, you anticipating much going on today?”
“Ah, you know I can’t say too much, even to a sexy barista like you,” she added with mock coyness, “but I doubt anything’ll start today.” She stopped for a second. “Touch wood,” she added, touching his counter.
“There’s no real wood in that, Hayley. And you’re wearing gloves anyhow.”
“Pulped, reconstituted, wood will have to do.” She took her chit back and picked the pack up, “See you tomorrow?”
“If you think I’m sexy, I’m not that sure you can see me now(!) Must have snow on your perspex or something.” She put her coat back on fully and he came around to help her back out of the door. She heard him force it shut after her and continued on her way to the office.

Five minutes. It took her five minutes to go three doors down and she gripped the railing to pull herself up the steps to the main entrance and beat on the window to get the attention of the guard on the desk as the card reader couldn’t possibly work in this sort of weather. Plus the fact that, if she dropped it or had it whipped from her hand by the wind, it’d be ten miles of chasing before she could catch it. Or it’d get flushed down a grating. Or something equally disastrous. These things had a way of happening to her. She’d got reprimanded once for losing several files. Into a small solid fuel reactor that someone else had left open. It really hadn’t been her fault. And the car keys that had fallen into the lake? OK, she thought, that probably was her. But she finally had Heston’s attention and he came over, hand ready on his weapon until she raised her woollen hood so he could make out her face and chipped front tooth that she really was meaning to file down. He nodded, gestured, and let her in. “Morning, Miss Rogan,” he said in greeting.
“Morning, Heston,” she queried, looking back at the whiteout. “How can you tell?”
He gestured to the antiquated digital thing on his black furred wrist. “Got a watch, haven’t I?”
One of these days, she thought, that joke’s going to get old. But not quite yet. “Got a Coffee in here for you,” she told him.
“Ah, much thanks, Miss Rogan,” he replied as he went back around his desk. “Stuff from the machine tastes worse than the stuff I used to have in the station. Did I tell you that I..?”
She nodded. “Once got a dealer to deliver himself to the police station by ordering delivery coffee from his shop? Once or twice.” She put the container down, opened the tab and got the first of the coffees out to put it on the counter.
“So,” Heston asked, “when you returning it today?”
Hayley looked innocent. “I don’t know what you mean,” she claimed.
He laughed, a smirk on his ageing muzzle. “Sure y’don’t. You’re the only one he always gives the carrying contraption to. Cause he knows you’ll return it.” He took a sip, put it back down and pointed. “So he gets to see you twice in the day. Figuring that’s why he does it. And you.”
Hayley preened. “I will neither confirm nor deny that supposition, Heston.” She shut the box up again and carried it to the lift.

She got out on a busy floor. A number of teams working together. As she stepped out, she walked past a legend on the wall.

IOC Raitche central Command.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Harry Johnathan »

The weather in the future is pretty wild.
Sarah was afraid, so she lied and said, “I did not laugh.” But [The LORD] said, “Yes, you did laugh.” - Genesis 18:15 (NIV).
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

When weather control systems attack!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

At least its just weather and not desserts attacking which could also be plausible. Oh wait, they only happens to Hawle. Nice chapter so far!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

TWO

Hayley proceeded through the office to the group of desks her team called ‘home’ and twirled around messengers and agents running between sections. Messengers. It still seemed odd to her but it was actually cheaper and more secure to keep non essential internal communications between the divisions based here off the comms as much as possible. There was little chance of the comms being tapped or monitored and it helped keep people employed, although she understood the security checks and patdowns at the end of the day could be rather determined. She jumped back a step as one of the youngest, a late teen on his first few months in the job, sped in front of her. “Watch it, Silmon,” she chided. “You almost got me that time!”
“Well, I’m never trying,” he replied before shooting off to the upper floors with the padd he was carrying.

She reached her area and set out the Coffees and pastries where she knew they’d probably be appreciated or taken for granted before taking her coat off. A small pile of shoulder mounted snow flumped from it to the carpet as she slid onto her own seat, swinging it around to face her computer. With the blizzard roaring outside, she wasn’t surprised she was the first one in and she’d just finished logging in before Dalmar Hayke wandered into the room. She reached over to her neighbouring desk and took the top off his Coffee, wafting it towards him slightly as he sniffed the air. “Ah,” he said as she returned to her own desk. “Cinnamon and… Pegin seed,” he asked as he closed in on the desk.
“One day,” Hayley remarked, “I’m gonna trick that nose of yours.”
He sloughed off his own coat, adding to the water stain that was going to infest the carpet once it melted. “Never going to happen.” He looked down at the Ratchians’ soaked footwear as it poked out from under her desk. “Want me to get the single bar, Hayley?”
“Hah.” she laughed. “Sounds a good idea. My feet are freezing!”
“Right.” The Canid took a single bar heater from the store cupboard and plugged it in to a floor socket to gently heat Hayley’s feet.
“Remove the shoes and I’ll have to report you,” Charlton Hass said as he swept into the office. He had the smell of hot water and gel so Hayley could guess that their team leader had just been down in the gym working his already formidable Norveggan physique out. “I got in early, so missed the worst of it,” he admitted, taking his seat. “Nolly and Solomon not made it in yet,” he asked.
“Haven’t seen them,” Hayley remarked. “Anything on the books for us today, sir?”
“Only the open cases,” Charlton replied, before giving a slight frown as he checked his appointments list. “Although that might change. I seem to have a long range call booked in an hour.” He bit into the unhealthy pastry Hayley had bought him, Hazelnut toffee spreading from the surface after breaking through. “I’ll have to wash my hands now,” he remarked, more to himself than anyone else.
Hayley thought that she obviously hadn’t touched the ‘wood’ at the Coffee shop hard enough. She had the feeling something was going to start today…
“Anyone going to tell me about the open cases,” Charlton asked.
“Oh,” Hayley started, being dragged back to reality. “Uh, the burglar targetting Council Officer’s homes was apprehended by the Sheriff in Hambleston late last night, following the information we provided they were able to narrow down possibilities enough that they were able to identify the next target and grab him. Sheriff Romboult sends his thanks.”
“Tag it and log it. It might come in useful at some point. That credit scam, Dalmar?”
“It’s being dealt with by financial but I’ve got links in to the local banks and credit houses. They’ll give us the heads up if anyone tries that tactic again.”
“Suppose that’ll suffice. Keep an ear on it.”

Ten minutes passed and coffees got cooler until the other two arrived, Solomon looking more like a snowmican than ever under the combined effect of snow, fur and clothing. The Raitchian/Mican crossbreed pulled off his coat and offered his rumpled Marsh Raitchian colleague a playing card. “I’m not falling for that again, Solly,” she protested.
“Ah, g’wan, Nolly,” Solomon protested. “I have to keep my skills up.”
She selected one and looked at it. She frowned, turned it over to look at the back of it and noted that it wasn’t anything like the other cards. “A ‘get out of jail free’ playing card,” she asked. “How did..? No, don’t tell me, you won’t tell me.”
He bowed, getting a dusting of snow onto the head of his female colleague. “Thank you for telling me that you know I don’t have to tell you that I won’t tell you, ma’am.”
“Say that five times fast.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Right. You fail the dare. Therefore I win.” She sauntered towards her desk as he reached out behind her.
“Wait, we were playing ‘dare’? You didn’t tell me. That’s hardly fair.”

“Are you two children,” Charlton remarked, resting one elbow on his desk and his head atop that hand. “Should I get a crèche installed?”
“Uh, sorry, sir,” Nolly remarked. “I had trouble getting in. Obviously.”
“You live three streets away, Nolly,” Charlton replied. “You should have been in before I was. Just blame your alarm clock and have done with it.”
“It, uh, was my alarm clock sir,” Nolly immediately offered.
“Throw it out tonight and buy a new one.”
“It’s integrated into my house,” Nolly replied.
“Get a better house,” the three of them answered in unison.
She laughed and sat down. “I never get the coffee hot,” she complained.
“Well, get here before me,” Hayley remarked.
“Dunno why we’re in today anyhow,” Solomon offered, making Hayley cheer inwardly. He was going to say nothing would happen and take the hex off her shoulders. “It’s not like Hayley thinks anything’s going to happen today, after all.”
Huh, Hayley thought.

Five minutes passed before the group was ‘invited’ up to the conference centre by the office manager. “Any idea what it’s about,” Charlton asked the Champagne furred local.
“Not a clue. But you’re being called from the new colonies so it’s costing them a packet.”
The screen flicked on and Charlton recognised the caller. Feldar Jones. A feline/Human cross who acted as Senior Agent for Pandera IOC. He’d done IOC training with the guy, way back when. <”Good morning, Solomon,”> Feldar said. <”Sorry to have to involve you in this,”> he continued, <”but there’s a situation at your end we need assistance with.”>
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I love the way this is going so far. Awesome!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

The team's not quite complete, even though they think they are...

THREE

Feldar twiddled his thumbs whilst he thought of the words to go with the revelations he was about to make. The room was warm without the heating on and, frankly, it might be about to get warmer… “For the last several months, we’ve been dealing with a Criminal organisation of substantial capabilities out here. We’ve recently become aware of someone who may be assisting them on Raitche and we need them dealt with. Of course, we can’t really do that from here. I’m a little reluctant to discuss too much of this, even over a secured channel like this…”
<”I get it,”> Charlton cut in, making Feldar think of the times the Raitchian had always taken control at the academy, being first into action through his enthusiasm, regardless of merit. But he’d learned. At least Feldar thought he had to have learned to be heading up a team. <”Loose lips and all that,”> Charlton finished.
“Exactly,” Feldar agreed, taking a draw from his mug of tea. “But I am about to send you some information on where to get started.” He tapped some keys on his keyboard and spared a glance to a photo of the Mican girl he was fostering. One of the good things about being area command, even in the patch, was he could often keep office hours so he’d be home with her by six. “Oh, this needs to be dealt with straight away,” he added.
Charlton looked at the screen Hayley held up for him as it ‘dinged’ to indicate the receipt of information. His eyes opened wide as he took the information in. <“You’re not serious,”> he asked.
“I am impressively serious,” Feldar responded.
<”You do realise we currently have a weather control malfunction? It’s a blizzard here at the moment!”>
Feldar tutted. “That is unfortunate but, none the less. The last time we tried to send information on this particular topic back to the core worlds, it was intercepted and destroyed. This time we’ve taken additional precautions but it’s essential that the information is secured quickly, Charlton. As immediately as possible, in fact.”
Charlton held up a hand. <”All right, all right, we’ll take it from here, Feldar. Close to your knocking off time up there, isn’t it?”>
“Well, Corp Davidstow’s taking the night shift so yeah, I’ll be heading home.”
<”Give my regards to… what’s her name again?”>
Feldar did his best not to look surprised. Charlton liked keeping updated on the people around him. Always had. “Molly,” he replied.
Charlton smirked. <”I meant the tea lady, Sonia.”> He cut the link as Feldar rolled his eyes.

“So,” Hayley said simply, “what did he want? Um, what’s the message?”
“Something very few people would understand,” Charlton replied, holding out the pad for her to read.
“Some things are just too terrifying to comprehend,” she read, “especially in the lounge of a Aestran T170 Cargo thruster…” She frowned. “It’s nonsense,” she proclaimed. “It’s like the first line of a bad… It IS the first line of a bad novel, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely. ‘Fire and Fury’ by Krice Pullton. A novel so bad I remember it after so many years. Bad and a pleasure to read on a long space voyage. As I told Feldar.”
“So we need to go to the space port,” Solomon put in casually, before shrugging. “Any idea how?”
Nolly looked at him. “C’mon, Solly,” she chided, “you’re the one with the mastery of slight of hand. Of appearing and vanishing at the turn of a card. Are you saying you can’t think of a way for us to get there and back,” she asked sweetly, raising her hand up as she said the word and down as she said ‘back’.
He groaned. “Well, of course. If you want to be boring about it.”
“You want me to contact the Iccaran, boss,” Hayley asked.
“No, I want you to get prepped, Hayley. You and Dalmar are going to be going over to get the information. Nolly, call the Iccaran and arrange teleport to the spaceport reception area for them. Solomon…”
“Identify the incoming shuttle from the new colonies?”
Charlton’s finger point turned to a ‘thumbs up’. “Modern day shuttles can land in pretty much anything so they’ll be coming in imminently. Go get a shift on. Hayley, Dalmar? Take weaponry and personal shields. We’re supposed to be trialling the damnable things so might as well run a field test.”

Hayley rolled her eyes. They’d been given the things by Raicarra but, as the only real way of testing them was actually wearing them, no-one was looking forward to being the first. Still, though… She headed to the desk and pulled the slap on ‘bracelet out to put it on. It would need her to press two buttons in order to activate and it would generate a bubble of about eight feet in height and four in width but you couldn’t actually shoot out of it at the moment. It was, apparently, something they were working on with the next generation of gun but it wasn’t ready now. Ah, well. Dalmar had his too and was looking with dismay at the last bits of his coffee that he’d forgotten about. Nothing, she noted, upset the Russelian more than wasting Coffee. She took her comm, put her weapon in a holster and realised she wasn’t standing in the office any more.

Hayley looked around at the bathrooms in the first class section of the spaceport as a female Lappinean looked at her with a half applied fur dye stick in her hand. “Uh, sanitary inspectors,” Hayley said with humility. “Sometimes… We do surprise inspections.” She looked around. “Hmm, Done quite a good job,” she noted. “Four out of five. And the Purple streak suits you, ma’am.” She excused herself and stepped into the corridor to see Dalmar walk out of the laundry room.
“That teleport operator has a sense of humour,” he groused, brushing fluff off his jacket. “I hate that.”
“If you weren’t always so well dressed,” Hayley told him, “he wouldn’t take such… Oop,” she said, noting the security heading towards them. “Warrant cards out.” She presented hers to the incoming. “Nothing to worry about,” she advised them, “just here to make a pick up.”
“Figured that,” one of the guards said. “This way.”

“So,” the Lappinean commented drily, “this is Raitche? She looked around and pulled her leg up to scritch at the implant insertion point. “A lot colder than I expected.”
“Stop scratching it, Minika,” her ‘colleague’ replied. “They’ll be here in a moment to get us the rest of the way. And don’t complain about the weather.” Agent Mikkel Rhew, Polar Celican and former 1st Officer aboard the Rodomont, bared his teeth happily. “It’s shorts weather!”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I like the way that this chapter has come out! Looking forward to more!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FOUR

Hayley figured she knew exactly who the guards were taking them to. There were a pair up ahead that definitely stood out. Part of it was the fact they weren’t Raitchian, being a Lopan Lappinean and a Polar Celican – who was looking longingly out at the blizzard through the window – but more of it was to do with the fact they were sat in a secure area. The cream wearing Lappinean tapped her compatriot on the back and indicated the arriving squad. “Looks like I’m about to stop using your surname,” she said.
“About time,” the Celican grumbled, before turning around to face them. Hayley noted his hand was conspicuously close to where a military Officer would commonly have their sidearm. But there wasn’t one there right now. “Identifications,” he asked.
“Hmm? Shouldn’t I ask you that,” Dalmar asked.
“I beat you to it.” He stared at them for a moment before deciding someone had to take the first step in trust. He’d seen their pictures on screen back on Pandera anyhow. “I’m Mikkel Rhew from Pandera. This,” he added with a little contempt in his tone, “is my lovely wife. We’re here for a holiday of sorts. I drive buses.”
“What,” Dalmar asked.
“So…” Hayley made an assumption based on personal knowledge, “you’re here for a busman’s holiday?”
“Only if you take us to the hotel,” Mikkel responded tightly.

“What,” Dalmar asked as the group headed through to the teleport room with the baggage the Rhews had brought, “is a busman’s holiday?”
“A term that means you do what you normally do in a different region,” Rhew advised as they entered the room.

It was a bare room with a distinct absence of anything inside. No tables or chairs or even a handle on the inside of the door… Rhew put his arm in the door before the guard could slam it shut and yelped with the pain as Dalmar grabbed the door and yanked at it. Hayley, reasoning something odd was going on, drew her weapon and challenged their escort to open the door. The guard pulled at it again, gashing Rhew’s arm slightly with the pressure as his compatriot tried to force the arm out. The Lappinean added her strength to Dalmars and pulled the door open enough for Hayley to get a stun shot off. It hit one of the guards full in the face as alarms started sounding and the other guard took the chance to run. Hayley tried to activate her comm but got no reply. “A shielded room,” she snapped as more armed guards arrived on the scene. She swallowed and moved to the front of the group, pressing the two buttons on her bracelet. “We’re IOC,” she announced, just about getting her other hand into one of her many pockets to get her card out. The world looked strange from the inside of the bubble. She showed the ident as a number of the guards readied their weapons. “We identified ourselves to this guard and another as being here to pick up passengers and they attempted to imprison us. To what effect, we don’t know. But it’s not going to happen, yeah? We’re looking to leave.” She stepped into the corridor but kept herself between the security and the others. “And we’ll pick him up later,” she added.
Dalmar took the hint, stepped out behind his compatriot, and dragged the stunned guard into the room as the Lappinean fussed over Rhews arm, despite his protests. She rifled the guards pockets in case he had anything useful on him and Rhew figured he’d have to ask the female agent to strip search her later.. “Nothing,” she told him.

A new Raitchian forced his way to the head of the guard throng. A large Norveggan type, he didn’t bother asking what was going on, which made Hayley think he might well be fully aware of things. “I’m sure you’ve misunderstood the situation,” he declared, before coughing. “I mean I’m sure HE misunderstood the situation and thought you wanted to use one of our secure rooms. Where we carry out customs interrogations.”
It was plausible, Hayley thought, but not likely. Chances are they would have been kept until someone – whoever ‘someone’ was – came to take them wherever they were supposed to be taken. OK, she thought, I’m overthinking this.”It’s possible,” she conceded, “but we’ll still need to speak to him later. Just to make sure.” She tried her best attempt at a steely gaze. It made Dalmar smirk. “Of course, if he’s NOT here when we call, we’ll want a word with yourself. Now, back away.” She waited until they’d backed off before inviting the others to assemble behind her, Dalmar shutting the door on the target. She heard the Lappinean ask Rhew if this would set off her implant and added that to the obvious list of questions for the female. She got in contact with the Iccaran teleport officer and requested teleport back to the base in ten seconds. On the count of eight, she dropped the shield by pressing the two buttons again.

Two minutes later, the group was sat in the squad room and Rhew handed something over to Charlton. The Raitchian chief put it on his wrist and detailed Nolly to search their guest, which she did whilst the others talked. “It’s an organisation called Calavix,” Rhew explained. “They’re making waves in the patch… er, the newer colonies but we know they’re being financed from the home worlds. Government or business, we’re not sure. And, as some governments have their sticky fingers in businesses… About a year ago, before I joined, IOC Pandera uncovered an attempt to steal an experimental clipper ship being tested in our waters.”
“You mean space,” Solomon asked, probing for information.
“No, I mean waters. This ship was being built as a co-production. Monta Weapontech from Celica, Fawren Spaceways from Mica and Raicarra industries from Raitche. Monta provided the baseline stuff, Fawren added their patented atmospherics and sub aqua capabilities and Raicarra added their stealth capabilities. Someone had leaked the details to an organised group of mercenaries. They were able to stop that group and capture the leader.”
“Sounds a close thing,” Hayley breathed. “If someone had got hold of an invisible ship we’d really be in trouble.”
Rhew nodded. “I understand the central Council has told them that they need safeguards put in before they’ll consider buying them and the individual governments have agreed. Recently, though, it became apparent that Calavix has a source on the stealth plating at least. They had at least enough to outfit a cruiser with Raicarra tech. Fortunately they didn’t get the entire ship clad. Events happened involving pirates who managed to fight the thing to a standstill until one of our clippers arrived.” He pointed to the Lappinean. “THAT,” he said, “is lucky the pirates took her prisoner during the fight as, when it became obvious the ship was going to have to surrender, the computer released cyanogen into the ship and purged itself. By the time the clipper could send a boarding party, there was nothing left alive and little information of value.

The previous time we tried shipping one of theirs back to the home worlds for interrogation, Calavix managed to kill them aboard a Council ship, doing severe damage along the way. Friends died,” he glowered. “So we thought we’d try a different way this time. She… one Minika Charles by the way, looks passably like my wife so we got on a liner headed here. We stayed in the room allocated.”
“Separate beds,” Minika added casually as Nolly put a gloved hand somewhere that made her jump. “Shouldn’t this be done in private,” she asked.
“Not now I’ve started, ma’am. You didn’t seem to object at the start.”
“Didn’t know you’d be so intimate, Marshy. Thing is,” Minika added, “all that was done to get me somewhere my valuable information could be put to uuuuse… ow! Use without endangering me so…”
Charlton cut in this time. “Why were they ready for you?”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

You are doing really great as usual! My compliments to your writing skills!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FIVE

“So, what’s your tale, ‘criminal’,” Solomon asked, looking to pass the time whilst Rhew and Hayley got coffee. Apparently the Celican had insisted on helping her as it was, frankly, the best weather he’d seen since entering the patch. Solomon had wondered what the patch was until he’d recalled it was the nickname of the spacial region encompassing the newest colonies and he supposed the Polar might have a point. For a Polar, anyhow. Sometimes summer on the Celican poles got to a balmy four degrees C for a whole week. Personally he was looking forward to weather control getting Summer back on track this afternoon. 1542 according to the latest update. But, for now, it was just him and her in here. Well, and the other teams.
“Are you really interested, Minika asked, regarding the...Raitchian? Mican? Whatever, he was white furred.
“Well,” he smirked, “it passes the time and you can’t leave.”
“Oh, ta for reminding me. Well, potted history.” the Lop advised, removing the stents that had kept her ears up like Rhew’s doe, “the name’s Minika Charles. I’m from Lavinas, the third colony of Lapas. I’m, uh, 29. I joined my, uh, prior employers because I was slightly good at extracting information for financial gain and wanted to get better at it…”
“Should I infer that that means ‘slept with people for blackmail material,” Solomon queried, tapping his front incisors with a claw.
“Well,” she admitted with a sly smile, “I suppose that’s not entirely inaccurate. Solomon… I might call you Solomon, yes,” she asked, crossing her legs in the seat.
“S’pose so,” he replied, non-committally. “Or Agent Frank.”
“That,” she motioned, pointing a finger, “would go badly when you’re under the covers…” She laughed politely. “Undercover, I mean.”
“I hope your chat up lines are better than that,” he remarked, shuffling three pods on his desk absently.
“The best chat up lines are ones you apologise for immediately,” Minika told him. “Nothing works worse than a lie that lies. Anyhow,” she continued, “they approached, I hopped on and ended up being used as a trooper for whatever reason. I’m trained in hand to hand and a bit in shooting.”
She looked over at Rhew as he and Hayley returned with drinks. “Now that guy’s former military and devoted to his wife.” She tilted her head and looked ‘innocently’ at Solomon. “I know this because he’s been in a suite with me all week – a small one too – and never slept with me once.”
“I have standards,” Rhew cut in. “You’re here because you might be able to get us in with certain people you have information on, yes?”
“Oh,” she replied sweetly, “of course. I’ve still got some information to spill. Gained from the friend of a friend, of course.”

Charlton closed the door behind him as Nolly sat watching the captured guard in the spaceport interrogation room. The City police, assisted by Dalmar, had gone to find the guard who’d escaped their attentions and he was expecting an update sometime soon. As for now, they had questions for this one, although the senior agent had a feeling he’d blame his colleague for everything. Standard procedure, he thought as he noticed Nolly’s recorder was on.
“So,” he asked, sitting opposite the grey clad officer, “when you came to work this morning, were you planning to try and kidnap a group of federal Officers or was it done on a whim?”
Nolly hid her smirk behind her hand.
“It was purely business,” the guard replied. “And, as you’ll see, I’m bad with business. So I don’t do it. It was McIvertie’s fault.”
“And, when we talk to McIvertie, he’ll blame you, I take it,” Nolly asked lightly.
“He’s such a liar, that one.”
“So, what would the terms have been,” Solomon asked. “I mean, McIvernie couldn’t guarantee he’d be on duty all the time so he must have told you things.”
“Only what was needed for the op,” the guard replied. “Keep an eye out for someone travelling from the new colonies who attracts the attention of IOC for whatever reason. Then make sure they don’t leave the port.” He shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. “The security holding room seemed appropriate. McIvertie said that he’d call a number after that and they’d be picked up. No muss and no fuss.”
“And probably no relation to the truth,” Nolly put in, earning herself a look from the accused that could curdle custard. “What you’re saying is that, if we look at all the secret bank accounts you’ve got, we’ll notice they’re empty?” She sighed. “When’s our station getting a duty telepath again, boss?”
“Three weeks,” Solomon complained. He brightened up. “Of course, as chummy here tried to kidnap a group of IOC officers, we can hang on to him for that long, if we need. I mean, he might not be the one behind it all but he’s certainly the one we’ve got and, as he’s complicit in part of it, he can be held responsible for all of it. Unless, of course, he tells us things to help his case.”

Dalmar wondered what the local force did when they were trying to be stealthy. The flashing lights as the detective car flung its way through the decrepit suburb just outside the blizzard zone definitely wasn’t it, he decided, watching the local ne'er-do-wells quickly finish whatever suspicious thing they were doing and melt into the shadows. The detective next to him noted his expression. “We don’t have the numbers on the force to prevent every street level crime,” he admitted, “so we do the next best thing. Make a lot of noise and fury and scare the bejeebus out of them before or during. They all think we’re after them, y’see?”
“But doesn’t it warn the people you’re after?”
The detective, one Montezuma Parcifal, shrugged and Dalmar had to stop himself from diving over to grab the wheel. “Nothing I’d like more than a good conviction,” he agreed, “but a fair few of these are paid up with the wrong people, you get me? If we catch them, we need to have TIGHT cases or they walk and the investigating Officer loses rank or relations. The system’s changing but not quickly.”
“So why are you helping now?”
Parcifal looked at him with surprise. “You kidding? This is an IOC case! You guys have a lot of protection in these things. For, um, obvious reasons?”
Dalmar chuckled drily. “Oh, yeah. ‘Reasons’.” He looked like he really had no clue what Parcifal was on about.
“That still freaks me out,” Parcifal added, having had to turn the car towards the blizzard dominating the skyline, despite this area being completely clear of snow and about thirty degrees warmer. He killed the sirens and lights as he made his way around the streets of an estate. Dalmar saw children playing in the swing park and playing craps on the floor for credits. A teenaged youth had, apparently, stolen a youngsters’ bike and Parcifal stopped to deal with the situation for thirty seconds, sending the teen on his way with a clipped ear and giving the bike back. “Little sod ran over my foot,” he complained.
“Was that necessary,” Dalmar asked.
“Sure. Make them fear and respect the law when they’re young and they’re less likely to cross it. He thinks I was being lenient by not writing him up.” They turned into a cul-de-sac. “Not that I didn’t have the time.” He parked up as the other car arrived behind them. “Shall we go see if he’s home?”
Dalmar led the way after donning a Raitchian police protective vest that was rather snug around his slightly bigger frame. He went in tight beside the security door to the block and watched as Parcifal just tapped a six digit code into the system and the communal door opened. “All purpose over-ride code,” the Detective told him, leading the way up to the third floor apartment which, conveniently, had already had its door kicked in. “Never a good sign,” Parcifal admitted, checking out the lounge, weapon ready.
“Reckon I’ll have to call this in,” Dalmar said from the kitchen.
“Why?”
“Because,” Dalmar said, looking down at the corpse and debris on the linoleum, “it looks like someone beat his brains out with a sugar bowl.”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Never expected to see death by sugar bowl in a fan fiction. But you do really make it work!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

SIX

Dalmar and Parcifal moved quickly to secure the scene, directing the officers from the other car to start procedures as to who’d seen or heard what amongst the neighbours whilst they waited for the forensics team from the IOC to get there. They called back after a few minutes to tell Dalmar that, due to the blizzard, they wouldn’t get there for a while. After talking to Heston on the security desk, they’d called Doctor Olive, a local GP, to start the formalities and she’d arrived within ten minutes. Her protective suit wasn’t quite secured so Dalmar could identify her face from the photo supplied. “Get out so I can do my job,” she said, as politely as possible, as she entered the kitchen area.
“I’ll observe, thanks,” Dalmar remarked, crossing his arms.
“Then stand out of the way, don’t touch anything and don’t talk to me,” she ordered.
Dalmar thought about what he knew as the crochety old female crouched by the body to begin her visual inspection. The place was in a bit of a mess, true, but not as much as he’d expect if someone had really been searching for something so he was almost certain that they’d discovered what they’d come for quite quickly. And there was the fact that, of what was on the floor, little seemed to be actively broken. Did that, perhaps, mean that the search was faked? Or was McIvertie just a stereotypical bachelor? He watched as the Doctor put out a couple of those little markers for things that needed photographing. Number one went by the head, of course; something Dalmar wasn’t fond of looking at considering how much damage had been done by the solid metal condiment container that lay, battered and bloodied, to the left of his head. He wondered why McIvertie had bought something so heavy looking for such a job. But he’d noted that a lot in his time here. Raitchians went in for heavy things. Coffee pots, toasters… He resolved to ask Parcifal about it when he got the chance but, for now, he noted that Olive had paused in her actions and was looking up at him. She gestured towards the things she’d tagged and he got the hint. “Oh. I’m not the photographer,” he told her, getting his mini padd from his pocket and turning its’ camera on, “but I suppose I can start the work.”
“Better than just standing there looking like you’re hyperventilating in that tight vest,” the Doctor told him. “Dead about forty minutes. Yeah, the sugar bowl’s probably the murder weapon,” she allowed. “Certainly fits the wound anyhow. Blood type’s B14, in case that’s useful. I’ll have the dental records checked for you in an hour and my bill by the end of the day.”
“Your bill?”
She’d picked herself up and, carefully avoiding the pooling blood on the floor, stepped ove towards the electric kettle. She peered at its metallic sheen. “Yeah,” she replied, “I don’t consult for free, you know? Not even if Heston’s the one asking. Quite a swing this person had,” she admitted. “There’s a spot of blood on the base here, Mind you, it’s interesting.”
Dalmar glanced over at her. “It is? Oh, yeah.” He’d noticed it too late to stop himself asking but she was right. This side of the room was quite speckled with red but the side the kettle was on was quite clear. “Is there enough to test?”
“Yeah,” she replied, “but not by me. Your lot’ll need to do that. Snap it,” she added, putting another marker down. He complied.

“So they’ve struck already,” Mikkel asked, peering at the reports so far over Solomon’s shoulder. “That was fast. Which tells us a few things, doesn’t it?”
Solomon had to agree they were organised and prepared. They’d had less than an hour to act and, despite the fact that it appeared improvised, that led to a few lines of enquiry. How had they gotten there so fast? How, even, had McIvertie made it home to be murdered twenty minutes later? And, come to that..? “You know,” he offered, “I think we need to be concerned about this ‘malfunction’ at weather control?”
Mikkel Rhew turned and perched on Nolly’s desk. “It is quite a good way to paralyse initial response,” he granted. “I’d also look in to teleport records. For how the guard… whatever his name was…”
“McIvertie,” Solomon added. “Marcus McIvertie. Thirty-two and a guard at the spaceport these last three years. Warrants are in for his financials and comm records.”
“Where around here could he have gotten a teleport from?”
Solomon looked it up. “Uh, the Raitchian navy would be the chief suspect. They’ve got several ships in orbit around the planet, what with it being our homeworld and all that. We can make the request but the log of any such teleport will have been wiped by the professional who did it. The log might be intact at Navy command but they’ll kinda be offended if we outright state were investigating their officers without any actual evidence he was transported.”
“Chicken and egg,” Mikkel admitted before expanding on the meaning that it related to what comes first. “Human saying,” he continued.
“I got it,” Harley called over.
“S.A.C. Jones keeps using them. So, what do we do now?”

What they did now, Harley decided, was continue with the thread opened up by their Lappinean ‘colleague’ and she dragged the female away from one of the other team members she was chatting to and sat her in Dalmar’s chair. “So,” she demanded, “what exactly is this information you have to offer, Miss Charles?”
“Minika, please.”
“Maybe later. So,” Harley persisted, “spill the beans. What’s so important about you that people are trying to track you down over several systems and kill you?”
“Well,” Minika said, before scritching her left ear for a moment. “I can tell you I might have left some recordings floating around on a very secure Galnet server?” She swung herself around in the chair playfully, drawing it out for a few seconds. “I got them because I was able to manipulate the comms officer on the ship. One of the bigwigs of the operation for a spin and he … he’s the one the pirates have still got, by the way. At least, I assume they have. We were supposed to spring him or silence him and did neither… Anyhow. He called the backer a couple of times from the ship. Oh, all secured and the like, which means the records were wiped but, as I happened to be recording at the time he made the calls…”
“Handy, that,” Rhew put in.
“Yes, isn’t it? Dear Kally. We were going to split the proceeds, as far as he knew. Promotions for both of us, so to speak, and an increase in cash. All sorts of things I promised him. Anyhow, the bigwig - Kalitt was his name, I think – made the calls to Raitche. Where he spoke with someone called ‘The Minister’.” She smiled and blinked beguilingly at Solomon. “I can get you the number if you’d like?”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Lovely work on this chapter once more! Great job Welshy!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

SEVEN

“Right,” Charlton said, stepping out of the dead guards’ apartment and coming face to face with Parcifal smoking what looked like an old fashioned fake cigarette, “I’m about to ask you something you might think offensive.”
The Detective straightened himself up. “You do surprise me, Agent Hass,” he stated, in the kind of bored fashion that indicated he probably never got offended by the type of question he knew was coming up.
Charlton sized him up. He looked like an experienced officer. A long termer in many respects, which could be good or bad, depending on things… “Who in your office knew about the target and that you were on your way here?”
Parcifal flicked his fake cigarette onto the equally fake grass on the very real verge. “That’s hardly offensive,” he replied. “Typical and objectionable but not offensive. The only ones who knew where we were coming were the ones we came with. The Capital Police are no longer at the level where even a street pounder has to take money or be declared ‘unreliable’ by their squadmates but we tend to compartmentalise our efforts. Loose lips sink investigations.” He gave the merest hint of a smile as he crushed the fake cigarette under his shoe. “And how many of YOUR office staff knew you were sending people after him, hmm?”
“My people are all vetted.”
Parcifal lifted himself off of the railing he’d been leaning on. “So are mine. Best as I can get, anyhow. No, my guess is he made a call from somewhere. He told them he was having to run and they – whoever ‘they’ are – offered to help. They got here and decided the best way to help him stay quiet was to bash his brains in with the sugar bowl. What do you think to that as a weapon, by the way?”
Charlton gave serious consideration to not answering but, as Parcifal had travelled here with Dalmar, he supposed the local Officer could be trusted, at least to the extent of not being the killer. “These people seem to be professionals,” he alleged. “Improvisation isn’t first nature to them so there may be some reason they couldn’t use a gun…”
“Figure I know the reason,” Dalmar interrupted, feeling now was a good time. He indicated upwards, towards the apartments. “His neighbours’ got an audio-visual sensor system set up. It reacts to certain types of noise including energy weapons fire. Fire a shot, Barstock Common Station gets an immediate alert.”
Parcival nodded. “Yeah, those things have to warn you they’re about or they don’t work so well. Usually a wall plaque somewhere near the door. So, they wanted to be quiet, hmm?”
“Yeah but..,” Dalmar shrugged, “I can’t find any warning signs for that system. I wouldn’t have known about it but he told me. Pinhole size camera, y’see? It’s a recent install and the sign wouldn’t stay up. The replacement’s due in a day or so.”
Charlton interrupted this time. “So how did they know it was there? Who installed it?”
Dalmar consulted his notes. “Uh, it’s a Raican Fourteen system. Installed by Simkins Installation services.”
“Local firm,” Parsival told them. “Based about ten miles from here.” He tutted. “Boss is a poacher turned game-keeper. Did a few years for breaking and entering ten years back.”
“Right,” Charlton decided. “Dalmar, go with the Detective and have a word with Boss Simkins. I’ll watch over things here.”
“Uh,” Dalmar replied, initial confusion clearing on realising there was an element of ‘busy work for the Detective’ – or, as Hayley might put it, ‘keeping the dog off the lawn’ – about this.

In the office, Nolly stood watching as Minika pretended to ignore her. She’d shifted seats deliberately for this moment and needed to time it… “Oh,” she said sweetly. “Sorry. I hadn’t realised I was sitting in your chair.” She slid up to her feet and stepped aside for the Marsh Rat to get to her seat and the computer. She adjusted the seat up, back to her level and logged on to the system as Solomon read his screen.
“O.K.,” the cross said, “it looks like that number you gave us links to a comm registered to…” He breathed out. “Kastral Cheech.”
Minika put her hands on Solomon’s desk, leaning over and giving him a direct line of sight down her top. “Not… the millionaire businessrat Kastral Cheech,” she asked.
Solomon, turning to look at her and respond, coughed and forgot what he was going to say.
“Just like you to get excited at the mere mention of credits,” Rhew remarked tightly. “Put some meat on the bones, would you Agent Frank?”
“Uh… huh,” Solomon said, shaking his head free of cobwebs as he realised he was being talked to. Minika chuckled quietly, kept a line about ‘meat and bones’ to herself and straightened up. “Uh, yeah. He’s a business type, as we know. Connected to… uh… crime families in the usual way. A few contracts here and there. Friends in the wrong places at the mid level. That sort of thing.”
“So,” Minika asked casually, “how do we go about finding this very handsome fella?”
”What was it first attracted you to the millionaire Kastral Cheech,” Hayley commented from her station.
“Hah,” Minika replied. “I like that! Like you don’t get a thrill at the thought of a wad that can beat up an Equinna?”
“We’re just not normally so eloquent about it,” Hayley snipped.
“Still leaves us with the question though, doesn’t it,” Rhew asked rhetorically.
“If he’s linked to high level criminality,” Nolly advised, “he probably frequents one of the upper clubs on Soldan Street.” She swung her shoulder bag on as, outside, the blizzard finally stopped. “I’ll go ask around.”
“I’ll go with you,” Hayley stated. “Now it’s going to get warm out there, I’d rather like to go for a walk.”
Nolly looked at her. She’d rather do this by herself but she knew Charlton’s rules. Never on your own out in the field. Being reliant on yourself was one thing but a team never stood on two legs. She sighed. “Right ho. If you have to, Hayley.”
Hayley merely inclined her head and grimaced. “I know, I know…” She joined her fellow agent on the way to the elevator.
“What’s that about,” Rhew asked Solomon.
The whitefurred Raitchian looked like he didn’t want to reply, even when Minika put her face close enough to his that he couldn’t see his computer screen. “I’m going to stay here until you ‘fess up, y’know,” she stated.
Eventually, his face creased into laughter. “OK, OK! I’ll tell.” He composed himself as she pulled back. “Those clubs on Soldan Street?”
“Ye-es?”
“Well, we know a guy...”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

That is one way to get someone to tell you something. Put your face on top of theirs. Elena should try that to Hawle. :lol:
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Nolly has connections...

EIGHT

Having driven through the growing slush, Nolly parked up outside somewhere that clearly wasn’t a nightclub. It was far too run down for that, one week the wrong side of being boarded up if you took it by its décor. Wood panels boarded up the windows and doors and the stench of sentient derelicts filled the nose as the pair walked carefully down the alleyway. Nolly was wearing a nondescript long jacket and a hat that didn’t match and Hayley had on a bright yellow raincoat with its lapels turned up and gumboots that protected her feet against the elements. They passed by a large bin that was beginning to add ‘waterlog’ to its range of smells and put her arm across her nose.
“Should I be glad smells rise,” Nolly asked from beside her.
Harmony looked down at her colleague. “Aren’t you usually,” she asked. “Isn’t that why you live above a chippy?”
“I do not. I live above a take away restaurant.” Nolly preened slightly. “I happen to LIKE Canine food.”
Harley glanced around. “Beats me why we always have to do this, Nolly. Why don’t we just…” She raised her hands as she knew Nolly was going to interrupt.
Nolly didn’t interrupt for a few seconds as she didn’t know she was supposed to. “Oh,” she said eventually, “it’s just safer, is all.” She stepped up to the back door and gave it a push. Nothing happened. Another push in a different location and something clicked at a very low volume inside the door. She took the handle and turned it to the left, then right, and pulled.

The door opened to let them into a room that looked almost as dilapidated as the outside. Hayley stepped in first, watching out for the loose floorboards – and, indeed, the missing ones – that ran across the room. The Neotoman put her sharp eyes to use, peeking into the corners as she made her way across to the hallway opposite. Nolly closed the door behind her and the room cast itself back into darkness, lit only by a few incongruous strip lights along the skirting board that kept her going the right way and into the hall, where similar strip lights led the way downstairs to a room with a combination barrel lock set at shoulder height. Nolly’s shoulder height. The Marshan stepped forward, into the low light, and turned the barrels to the correct code. She pressed the single button beneath the combination and it reset the code, analysed her thumbshcan and DNA and opened the door to a small ‘cinema’ room with a mini teleport machine that already had her favourite drink - and, Hayley noted, hers – waiting for them. “Take it,” Nolly advised. “He’s showing off and it’s best not to insult him…” They took the drink and sat on the sofa, facing the screen. Hayley checked. Yup, her comm was offline. And the recording function wasn’t working. Same as always here. Maybe she’d bring Heston some time. His reliance on low tech might work in their favour. Never mind, though. Salatan Spice Coffee. Hard to get here, so far from Saltana. And it wasn’t replicated, it had just been teleported from wherever their – well, Nolly’s – mystery contact lived. He obviously had money. A lot of it.
<”You’re interrupting my lunch, Agents,”> the voice said from the speakers. Hayley jumped, eliciting the tiniest hint of a chuckle from the disguised voice. <”Nice to see I can still do that, Agent Rogan.”>
“Yeah, well, I’ll surprise you sometime.”
<”Possibly, Now, what are you disturbing me for, Agent Sun?”>
Nolly coughed conspicuously and held a picture of Kastral Cheech up so the camera could focus on it. “We need to know about who he’s dealing with these days.”
<”Cheech? Why is he suddenly on the IOC list? I don’t think he’s been there before?”>
“No,” Nolly admitted. “Internal corruption isn’t our business. But he’s been linked to some nasty people on the interstellar scale and we need to know who or find a way to rule him out. What information can you give us?”
<”Who said I can? What do I gain?”>
“Always the way with you,” Nolly replied. “Looking for your own interests. Put it this way. The investigation has come from associations he’s made in the New Colonies. Big trouble out there is being linked to Raitche through this Raitchian. If we don’t uncover the web he’s attached to quickly, it would involve a lot MORE federal interest in the city and all the local leads.”
The voice chuckled. <”So it’s in my own interest to make sure you don’t interfere in my business by helping you in yours? A fascinating tactic, Nolly. I have seen him, of course. At the legitimate tables. Some high end cash is won and lost there.”>
“No limits,” Nolly agreed.
<”As you say. I did wonder about some of his losses. I’ll make sure your office gets the video feed of it.”>
“I suppose I can thank you for that,” Nolly replied, taking a deep draw from her Coffee.”I’m sure you’re keeping a tally.”
<”Of course,”> the voice chuckled. <”It’d hardly be a deal otherwise, would it? But, when my enemy happens to be your enemy, sometimes it pays to have you deal with them, my girl. Now, can I go back to my lunch? It’s getting warm.”>

“You know,” Hayley commented as they made their way back through the house to the back door, “I’d love to just be able to call this informant of yours one of these days Nolly. Rather than do this rigmarole.”
Nolly snorted. “You just want to know where he got the Coffee from. We know you love it.”
Hayley sighed. “Tell my bank balance. Ah, well.” She opened the door and they exited into light rain and a stiff wind. “Weather Control still sorting out the bugs, then?”
“Yeah. Solomon…” She caught herself before she mentioned Mikkel and the Rabbit. They might be being overheard here. It might just be paranoia but, around here… “Solomon’s been on to them and checked things over. If there was deliberate sabotage, it wasn’t them.” She ran the scanner over their car, checking it for bugs and bombs. Finding none, she let Hayley get into the drivers’ seat so they didn’t need to adjust the seats in public.
Hayley shut the door and started the car. “I really hate the hoops we have to jump through when we – or, rather, you – need to ask him for help.”
“Well,” Nolly replied, strapping herself in as Hayley did likewise, “he’s in a very dangerous position. If anyone figured out he was helping us… He’s a respected business owner.”
“I know,” Hayley replied, moving out. “And he’s connected to half the organised crime of the recent past. Some day, though, I’m going to talk to your dad face to face.”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Here is hoping that the bugs get sorted out soon for them. Or not because its much more entertaining otherwise. ;)
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Not so much bugs but security(!)

NINE

Dalmar looked over at Parsival as the Raitchian indicated and turned left towards the Simkins depot on a small industrial estate south of the city. “What did you mean about us being protected,” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, there’s rumours, that’s all. Usually, when people get involved with high level crimes on Raitche, something happens to them. There’s a distinct lack of that with your lot.”

“We’ve lost a few agents,” Dalmar countered, wondering why he was feeling aggrieved about not having had any attempts on his life. “Other than that, it’s probable they don’t want too much interest on them from federal sources.” He held his hands up. “Don’t blame me. We don’t deal with internal troubles, we’re not allowed to, unless we become involved by direct means.”

“Direct means?”

“We investigate when people try to kill us.”

“Ah. Still. You’re probably safer. Oh, look, we’re here.”


He pulled up outside a small warehouse with hovervans outside, two of which were being unloaded by crew as they got out of the car. Dalmar sighed theatrically and looked around, taking in the summer sunshine and woodland around the complex, kept out only by the traditional chain fence and gate as a new Raitchian, thick set and seemingly missing a neck, strode from the office section to intercept them before they got inside. “Is this Mr Simkins,” Dalmar asked.

“Nope,” Parsival replied from the side of his mouth as the muscled Raitchian arrived, “it’s his lawyer.”


“Mister Simkins doesn’t wish to talk to you, Detective Parsival,” he thundered, almost making Dalmars’ fur shiver with each syllable. “It’s beginning to smack of persecution.”

“It’s not persecution if we’re not looking to prove anything against him, Mister Favin,” Parsifal replied evenly. “We’re here to look for information that’s related indirectly to a serious offence. Investigations have brought us here. I’m not at liberty to discuss what those events are right now. I need to discuss it with Simkins. This is Agent Hayke of the IOC. They’re working with us on this.”

Cheek, Dalmar thought.


The ‘lawyer’ took them in, through the shop floor, where Dalmar tried to note to faces of the multiple Raitchians who were trying to keep their faces away from him. They went upstairs to a bog standard canteen that offered something that looked a little like what Dalmar called lunch and tea that smelled more of hot water with shredded Rokain leaves in it. The cheapest form of tea. It didn’t speak to high wages. A voice cut across the small room and a light brown Raitchian entered and stepped across towards them. “Something I can help you with, Detective,” he asked straddling a seat to sit down. “I prefer to have it out in front of witnesses,” he added for Dalmar’s convenience. “This one’s not likely to make things up but you never know.”

“If you’re SURE you don’t want to do this in private,” Parsival asked. “It DOES relate to one of your installations, after all?”

He sighed and escorted the pair of them to an office. His lawyer followed.


Hayley and Charlton looked through the records sent over by Nolly’s ‘informant’ and wondered about it. They watched records of Kastral Cheech as the wealthy Raitchian played games in one of the main casinos in the city. The high Quality recording showed the table he was at clearly, although several faces had been digitally blurred before the footage was released. Charlton already had the request for an official warrant in to get the records properly but he knew the idea was to set them a direction and he was interested who that direction would be against. So he watched as Cheech took on opponents – blurred and unblurred – at the card tables. “He’s not a bad player,” Charlton admitted.

“So why,” Minika opined, perching on his desk, ”does he keep losing to the same few faces?”

“Good question. Get off my desk.” He waited until she reacted and complied, standing on her own two, large, feet. “It’s a pay off,” he opined. “He drops a hundred thousand credits without batting an eyelash. I know the guy’s worth several hundred mill thanks to his businesses…”

“Which are what,” Minika asked. “I mean, that’s some wad. Beyond most business types.”

“He puts cash into weapons manufacturing and energy control systems. Which is where his ancestors made most of their credits. He’s inherited a lot of luchre. As for why he’d do it in person? Note the unblurred faces he loses to?”

“Business types he has no legal contact with?”

“Business types with masses of lawyers. But they’re not who he loses to on a couple of occasions.” He scrolled through to where a Norveggan Raitchan Male sat opposite him. The angle of the camera couldn’t quite make out the cards each held but it could make out that Cheech wasn’t really playing the game. “His raises are too high,” Charlton explained. “He’s upping the ante when he doesn’t have anything.” He nodded to the picture. “That, according to our scans, is Yanik Brisson, a Chief Financial Officer. For Raicarra. And Cheech just lost a million to him.

Minika chuckled. “Where does a functionary get that kind of money to gamble with,” she asked. “His company cash? Tut.”

“It’s not gambling if you know you’re going to win,” Charlton told her as Hayley handed him a report. “OK, get this out to Dalmar,” he said. “Maybe it’ll help him make progress.”


“That would have been 475,” Simkins told the pair after checking out the information on his office computer.

He brought up the pictures of the pair operating van 475 as Dalmar took the incoming call on his comm. Hearing he was getting a few pictures coming through, the Russellian activated the small screen and looked between it and the pictures up on the main computer screen. “Parsival,” he said, getting the detective’s attention. “He’s one of them, isn’t he?”

Parsival checked. “I’d say yes. I’d say that’s Mr Krikk here.”

Dalmar scrolled down to move the picture and confirm the name on file. “Halbert Krikk. Forensics picked up traces of him at the scene…”

Parsival put out a hand to stop Simkins as he made to charge angrily out of the room. “Probably best not to yell his name, eh? We’ll go and grab him… quietly,” he finished as there was a crashing sound from downstairs.


Quickly they ran back out to the main area where a hover van had collided heavily with one of the doors and burst into flames. “No way that’s co-incidental,” Dalmar opined, noting the number 475 on the side as flames licked around the housing.

“Especially with their anti-fire systems needing disabling,” Parsival added. He pointed a finger at a figure that was running away, unlike the others running towards the scene to help or watch. “And there’s Krikk!”


Dalmar vaulted the railing and took off in pursuit.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Hope he can catch him then. Krikk already has a head start.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

That's Dalmar's job. He's the chaser downer.

TEN

Dalmar landed heavily on his feet and let the shock pass through his body before taking off in pursuit of the fleeing Raitchian. He was thankful the target hadn’t thought to run to their car and raced past the burning van as the fire crews started to react around him. He dodged one carrying a fire extinguisher and kept his gaze on the distant figure. He raced across the ground, faster than most Raitchians he’d met could do and started on the grassland some fifty paces behind his target. He pushed his muscles harder, eating up the ground even faster than before. “You can’t… get away, Krikk,” he called, managing to get the words out without slowing up. Which was probably why Krikk stopped and grabbed a fallen branch and wheeled to face him. Dalmar pulled up a little way clear. “A w..weapon, Krikk,” he gasped. “I’d hoped… hoped to do this the easy way but…” He pulled his sidearm and pointed it at the Raitchian. “Gun beats branch, don’t you think,” he asked. Krikk agreed and dropped the branch.


Parsifal glanced at the pair as professionals dealt with the fire, extinguishing the flames before they became too severe. “Have a nice run,” he asked as the handcuffed Raitchian came in, followed by the happy canid agent.

“Always good to have a walk,” Dalmar replied. “Picked up a thrown Krikk too.”

Parsifal rolled his eyes. “Get him in the car,” he advised. “I think you’re fired, Krikk. Oh, just in case you were unaware, I’m arresting you for the purpose of questioning in regards to the murder of Jonas McIvertie. You don’t need to say anything under questioning but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention something that you later come to rely on as evidence. Anything you do say can be taken down and used in evidence against you, Now get your tail in the car,” he finished, pushing Krikk into the back seat, behind the security grille and locked the handcuffs into place so he couldn’t move easily. Dalmar took up the passenger seat as a pair of uniform police arrived. “I called them when you were jogging, the Detective told Dalmar, before detailing them to secure the van so forensics could go over it in a little while. Then he got in and commenced the drive back to the station.


“So, are we booking a hotel or what,” Minika asked Rhew as they waited on Solomon and Hayley to enter the observation room.

“I am,” Rhew commented, “and I can probably eat the insects that’ll be running around it, price I’m allowed to pay for a room. YOU, being linked to either myself, Hass or this building by your shockcharge, are going to be visiting the very clean cells in the basement with hot running guards, a latrine, a bed without sheets and a decontamination shower in the morning.”

Minika frowned. “Decontamination?”

Mikkel grinned maliciously. “It’s the closest shower. I know you’d happily wander nude through the gymnasium but the IOC could do without the injury compensation claims.”

She adjusted her figure and hit him with a beaming look. “Oh, so you DO think I’m a distraction, eh?”


“You have your moments. Not as many as my Jasmine though.”

“Reckon they’d ever take me on here,” Minika asked. “Or somewhere else in the IOC organisation?”

“You have as much chance of that,” Mikkel replied as the door to the interrogation room next door opened,” as there is of Celica electing a Lappinean president.”

As the other guard from the Spaceport was brought in, Minika thought back to the room on the ship they’d been forced to share. “I recall you and her have been working on that,” she replied. “What’s her name, by the way? I know you mentioned it but I wasn’t really paying attention…”

“Snowdrop,” Mikkel said, thinking of his white furred, long eared, baby with incisors and canines already coming through. They still weren’t sure if she was going to go the vegetable or meat diet route but he’d support her, whichever way. And had noted Jasmine sneakily try to influence her towards vegetables. Then again, he’d done the same with baby meat treats…


In the interrogation room, Hayley sat opposite the guard as Solomon walked around, apparently trying to unsettle their target. “Well,” Hayley remarked, “it looks like it’s you for the high jump. Your friend McIvertie’s been and turned up dead. So it means you’re on the line for all of it on your tod.”

“What… what do Celicans have to do with this,” the guard asked.

“What? Oh, no. I mean you’re standing alone. Now, you see, we don’t really want you. If we did, you’d be needing your lawyer a lot more than you do now.” She shrugged. “Not that you’d be able to afford them on your salary anyhow.” She slid a padd around so he could see his financials were on the screen. “You’re quite broke. No investments paid off? Makes it quite easy to buy you.” She shrugged. “McIvertie was the same. Barely a credit to rub together.” She mentally noted that that last had made no sense but whatever. “Thing is, it’s not him with the connections, Mr Erskine. That would be yourself. Your cousin?”

Erskine deflated slightly. “Malkie fell in with bad company and made something of a success, I’ll admit. Before the local police picked him up…”

“...and you picked up his phone and, therefore, his contacts.” Hayley ‘swiped right’ so he could see the other account on the phone. “You’ve been making a fair few bob these last few weeks, on the sly.”

Huh?”

“You’ve been making credits,” Solomon said, slapping his hands on the table and pretty much growling the words into Erskine’s ear, “under the table.”

“Oh, yes. I, uh…” he fidgeted uncomfortably in the handcuffs.


Charlton swore into the comm as Dalmar looked apologetic on the screen from Parsival’s office. “You’re certain of this, Hayle?”

<”Absolutely, sir.”> He shrugged on the screen. <”We even had him tied up to a truth machine. He and his partner set up the machines and used them to scope out the nearby apartments. The system interacts with other security systems, y’see? At least it picks them up so these guys can tell who hasn’t got them. Then they, er, ‘visit’ the apartments when the occupants are out. Only this time…”>

“This time he came back,” Charlton finished, gripping the chair. “He came back whilst they were raiding the place and they improvised a weapon. Parsival’s going to take this further, I assume?”

<”Absolutely. He might ask for some back up at some point. It seems Simkin’s does have some pull...”>

“We’ll do what we can as I like the guy and we can co-operate but only to an extent. Internal troubles are out of our remit. Get yourself back here, Dalmar. We still have work to do.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Pretty interesting chapter that you have posted once again! Nice work!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

ELEVEN

Hayley sighed as she finished writing up the report of the interrogation and he other activities of the day and started the procedure of shutting down her computer. She glanced over at her Russellian colleague. “Got much more to write up,” she asked.

Dalmar hung his head. “A fair bit,” he confessed. “It’s been quite a busy day. Attacked in the morning, working with the locals in the afternoon – and the boss wants to know everything done with Parcifal in extreme detail, believe me – to the pursuit. Drawing my weapon, the interrogation…” He raised his hands in exasperation and Hayley almost laughed at how his floppy tipped ears flapped. “At least Parcifal’s sending over the computer they stole from McIverties’ place. Maybe that’ll be some help?”

“You trust Parcifal not to look through it first,” Hayley asked, putting her coat on. She remembered it was summer this evening and took it off again.

“Yeah, he seems to like us and hate corruption. He did seem to think we had ‘protection’ fro retribution though. “ Dalmar put on his best, ‘innocent - who, me?’ look. “I assured him that was solely because we stay out of local affairs.”

Hayley leaned over his desk. “This is why we like you dealing with the local cops,” she told him coyly. “If any of us lied to him like that, he’d assume we’re lying because we’ve been trained in it.” She tapped him on the nose. “With you it’s a skill to lie so badly that no-one thinks on it.”

He frowned and licked her finger before she could pull it back. “I think there’s a compliment in there…”

Hayley wiped the finger on Dalmar’s head. “Of course there is. Now, that’s for tomorrow. Where’s our visitor? I’m supposed to be taking him to dinner and his hotel.”


“Downstairs with Minika and Heston, getting her set up for the night.” He glanced up at her, a twinkle in his eye. “So, taking him out for dinner, eh? You move fast.”
She laughed and ‘missed’ his face with the sweep of a hand. “He’s married, Dalmar. He’s new here, the hotel chosen doesn’t have a restaurant, I know the better places to eat – and have most of the menus – and I can claim it back on expenses as hospitality.”


Heston plonked a couple of thin towels down on the bunk in the cell area as Rhew brought in a portable food replication machine and heaved it onto the small table he’d brought in a few minutes ago as Minika pondered, a hand on her chin. “No,” she told him, “I don’t think I like it there.” She turned around. “How about over by this wall?”

“How about up your..?” Rhew stopped himself as he saw the tiny upturn of her lip and the sparkle in her eye as she gave him side eye and realised she’d been joking. “You have any idea how heavy that thing is,” he asked, nodding towards the machine. “It’s cot a card in it authorising seven uses.”

She sat on the bed. “So no wasting it on single glasses of wine?”

“It’d filter out the alcohol anyhow,” Heston told her. “I can get a bottle from one of the local shops if you like?” Rhew shot him a look. “What,” Heston replied innocently. “If she’s a guest and can’t leave here and you need her watched, I’ll be here all night. I’ll have to pick up provisions anyhow. I don’t do replication food if I can help it.”

Rhew considered it. “CHEAP wine,” he ordered.

Heston smirked, the effect cracking his aged features as he raised his ancient watch to check the time. “I prefer cheap wine,” he told them. “Back in ten minutes.”

Minika perched on her bunk. “You’re not going to forget that bottle on the ship, are you?”

“The one they provided for the ‘loving couple’? As they still charged us two hundred credits for it because YOU claimed I’d won the Lottery, no, I’m not. I can’t claim that back, y’know?”

“Hmm,” she considered, “that would be an interesting expenses chit, I agree. It was pretty good though, wasn’t it?”

Rhew pulled a plastic chair around and sat. “I only got one glass. Right. Tomorrow you’re going to tell us the things you’re not telling us now, Charles. After all,” he added, “if we’ve already exhausted your information, we have little use for you, do we?”

She pushed her left ear up, away from her eye. “Aww, don’t be like that, Mikkel. A girl’s gotta keep a few secrets. Otherwise how do we get the good guys to be interested in us?”

Rhew snorted. “Like you need secrets to get males interested in you.”

“Thanks. I think. So, what are you going to be doing tomorrow?”

“The plans to continue picking up information on Kastral Cheech and working towards picking him up.” He shifted position in his seat. “I intend to deal a blow to Calavix’s financial backing.”

Minika shrugged and leaned back, listening to the creak of metal springs underneath her. “They’ll just choose someone else,” she told him. “There’s a number off routes to power. Now, if you know the people who can route that power… And I know a number of names in the business here. Several people have mentioned names and I have an eidetic memory for that sort of thing.”

“That requires you to have seen the names rather than heard people mention them.”

She stretched her legs, stood up and ordered a salad from the machine. “I wrote them down and looked at them, Mikkel.” She turned to give him half a look again. “I’m not a dummy, Mikkel.”


“You’re not a dummy,” Hayley ventured, stepping through the doorway, “and we’re not suckers.”

“I’d never mistake a packer for a lollipop, Hayley,” Minika observed cheekily.

“Ready to head on, Agent Rhew,” Hayley asked.

“I will be as soon as your fella gets back.” He nodded as, almost on cue, Heston returned with a cheap bottle, some sandwiches and a couple of small, plastic, glasses. “That better not have cost more than 10 credits,” he warned.

“Seven ninety-nine,” Heston returned. “I know the shop owner.”

“Of course…”


“Long trip,” Rhew observed as they sat in the fast food restaurant closest his hotel. He lifted the burger and took a bite.

“Well, you could have gotten lost,” Hayley replied, sipping her coffee.

“Want a refill, Hayley,” Martin asked, offering the pot.

“Only when I’ve finished, Martin,” she replied.

“A barista who flips burgers,” Rhew commented simply. “The Coffee’s pretty good and the burger’s fine.”

“Ooh,” Martin snipped, “a compliment – of a sort – on my cooking from a Celican! I might well faint.”

“I’d catch…” Hayley realised they were both looking at her. “...you,” she finished.


Outside, two figures watched from their parked car.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I can just tell the two figures are not gonna be good. But I do love how this chapter came out!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

TWELVE

Charlton opened the door to his apartment and rolled his eyes at the wallet on the sideboard as he reasoned what it meant. He slung his small bag down by the side of the piece of furniture and hung his jacket on a prong of the ornate coatrack and sauntered into the kitchen for something hot, sludge coloured and near enough instant as he tried to tune out the familiar sounds coming from his large living room. He’d go in there in a moment. He opened the fridge for the milk and noted a few items had moved shelf whilst he was out. It was a standard thing. He wasn’t annoyed as being annoyed wouldn’t stop the random intrusions into his life so what was the point? It tended to keep him social when out of office hors. The kettle whistled, some fifteen seconds after he’d turned it on, and he poured the water into his second favourite mug, the one emblazoned with ‘Raitche’s no.3 Uncle’ in blue, Raitchian, script and headed through to the main room.


“What,” Investigator Hagri Jarra asked, sitting cross legged in the chair of the three piece suite, “you didn’t make me one? Tsh.”

“It takes fifteen seconds, Hagri,” Charlton responded, “if you wanted one, I’m sure you’d have made yourself one. You’ve spent long enough in my kitchen, after all. What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s just the standard reminder,” the Investigator replied. “Keeping you ‘honest’ and all that.”

“If I’m dishonest,” Charlton remarked, swipping his tail out of the way before sitting down on the sofa, “you’d have found it long ago. Can’t you see there’s nothing to find?”

“And yet people keep asking senior Officers to find it, Charlton.” He raised his arms expressively. “You’ve got quite a place here, more than should be affordable to an agent, even an IOC one. And your excuse? You won a fortune on the horses.”

“I did not,” Charlton replied, sipping his sludge. “I won enough to cover the first three years mortgage. It made it affordable.”

“Oh, yes. I forgot that.” He pointed to the mug. “And then there’s that. I mean, I figure you’re not swayed by… influences but people keep asking.” he sat forward slightly, shifting his raised foot to the floor. “Want to know who it is this time?”

“Can’t wait to hear it, Hag.”

“Word came from the super. Who got told it by the local congressman who…” Charlton knew where it was going from here but decided to let Hagri, occasional pain in the posterior, have his moment. “...got it in the neck from the CFO of Raicarra Enterprises. What’s heading down your way, Charlton?”

Charlton told him. “And we’re going to be talking with Raicarra first thing,” he added, feeling his frenemy here would know about it soon enough anyhow. But it’s good to know who your enemies are. Right. Want to do the usual thing?”

Hagri smiled as the two of them stood up.


“Hagri came around again,” Hayley asked as her car pulled up next to Charltons’ in the Raicarra Holdings parking lot, on the outskirts of the city. The air was warm and windy and she opened up her coat to show her green tinted shirt. She gestured to the side of his face, where there were the residual marks of make up covering up the punch thrown by the Investigator last night. She knew he had to have some reason to invalidate any search he might make of Charlton’s place but wished the pair of them could find a different way to cover their meetings. She saw him quickly scuff off the remaining marks in the wing mirror and stride across to the main reception, her following.

The receptionist looked up as the pair arrived and wondered if they were together. The outfits didn’t match. He was totally businesslike. Her trousers seemed to have more pockets than fabric. He drove a powerful hover vehicle and she drove a bubble car. But they’d pulled up next to each other and were coming in together so… Oop, the handsome one was pulling out identification. “IOC Agent Hass,” he said, letting him see the badge and picture before flipping it shut. “This is Agent Rogan. We need to speak to someone senior in the financial department. Now. We don’t have an appointment.”

Finally getting a chance to talk, the receptionist told them to wait over by the chairs and made a call upstairs. A dozen or so minutes later, a Caramel furred Fancy Raitchian strode up to them. “Agents,” she said, putting her hands together to proclaim her innocence before she offered Charlton a hand. Hayley noted that as the bigger Raitchian did. In business, you made no assumptions as to who, in an unknown pairing, was the senior. So they already knew. Charlton took the hand and shook it carefully as she introduced herself as Kella Masgrove from Legal. “V.P. Milla is in the office today and is happy to meet with you.”

“And we’re happy to meet with him, aren’t we, Agent Rogan?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hayley replied, standing up and bouncing with fake enthusiasm. “Love to meet V.P.s. It’s like I’m coming up in the world.”

The lawyer looked blankly at Hayley before deciding no insult was intended. “Indeed.” She gestured to the elevators. “Shall we?”

Deciding that they should, the pair followed her to the top floor in the box, Hayley humming the lift muzak absently until Charlton nudged her to stop, somewhere around floor fourteen.


It was a full floor office, spread out with several tables in the open space. One of the central pillars had a replication machine built in and a small food teleporter. Hayley guessed that was in case of high up guests who wanted better provisions which could be made in the works kitchen and sent up. A thickset Raitchian sat at one of the tables with a carafe of water and glasses and it was here that Kella took them. V.P. Milla made a show of finishing up something on the computer terminal before standing up to greet them. This one offered shakes to both of them and Hayley felt the pad of power squeeze her own. They laid out the interest in Raicarra and the V.P. Hmmmed. The Lawyer hmmed. Hayley wondered if they’d nudge each other to stop themselves.

“We’ll need access to the plates to be sure, of course,” Milla told the agents, after conferring with Kella by padd.

Charlton nodded. “They’re being held by IOC Pandera in the new colonies. They stripped them off the ship involved. The ship that belonged to the criminal organisation. If you get us details of the specialist team you’re sending, we can notify Pandera. It’d be cheaper for your team to go to them than to bring the plates here.”

“Fair enough,” Kella replied. “We can have the names and Idents sent to you by the end of the day.”

“Better to deliver them in person,” Charlton asserted. “This organisation has people here who may be able to intercept electronic transmissions.”

“And you trust us?”

“I trust that, if you ever try to deceive me, it won’t be so obvious a move, Mr Milla.” Charlton fixed him with a level gaze. “And I do expect our financial teams to have access to the sales receipts of those particular panels.”

“That…”

Milla started but Kalla cut across him. “I assume Fawren Spaceways and Monta Weapontech are also undergoing similar investigations, officers? We did share our technologies with them, after all.”

“Teams on Mica and Celica are looking into them but, if Fawren were responsible, I’d assume their atmospheric technology would have been put into use. And it hasn’t. That and other leads led us to the belief that the supply leak is somewhere on Raitche.”

The meeting continued for several minutes before Charlton stated the need to get to the office and made their farewells.


After they were in their vehicles, Charlton called Hayley. <”We got something out of that,”> he mooted.

“We did?”

<”They didn’t ask,”> he informed her.

“…” Hayley thought. “They never asked what other leads led here!”

She could see him nod in his car. <”They already knew, Hayley.”>
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Harry Johnathan »

Bubble cars sound fun.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I wouldn't mind taking a ride in a bubble car provided it doesn't pop when you are several hundred feet in the air. Other than that it does seem like it would be pleasant!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

THIRTEEN

“Anything in from the tech teams,” Charlton asked as he walked into the team area and tossed a padd onto his table. The office was buzzing as usual as teams took in details from investigations on the home world and the local colonies. They had about twenty agents investigating off world at the moment and team leaders here delegated the office operations to support them, researching backgrounds and financial lines before consulting with either the agents or the USC ships involved. He could see Agent Coliston talking with Commander Revwick right now. He didn’t know what she was investigating but he doubted she’d fail in her mission. She had that reputation. Some people thought she made sure of it on occasions but Charlton never even gave that a thought. He turned towards Dalmar as the Russellian seemed about to respond.


“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking at his computer screen. “McIvertie was using near military grade encryption on his computer… so Djaka says it took him until early this morning to get in.” He offered a wry smile which Charlton didn’t respond to. “Apparently he’s found evidence of three other hidden accounts. One here on Raitche, one on Mica and one on Caldera, wherever that is…”

“It’s in the patch,” Mikkel said, entering as though on cue, with Minika following on behind, still rubbing her left ear dry with a towel. “The question is why would he have an account there?”

“Oh, it’s not his,” Dalmar continued. “It just seems to be one he’s interested in according to Cyber. There’s notes querying it and possible access to it.”

“Perhaps he learned of it and was trying to use it somehow,” Minika asked.

“Possible,” Charlton admitted. “Rhew, is there an IOC team there that can investigate?”

“No,” Rhew said quickly. “It’s too close to Pandera for a separate team. There’s a bizarre Private Detective sometimes does investigations for us but, if you want someone from IOC to do it, it’d either be Pandera or the two officer team on Vallonia.”

“Bizarre? How?”

“He’s quick witted, harmless looking, prone to succeed by doing something unexpected because it’s dumb and somehow manages to be notable whilst remaining unseen,” Minika said, earning a look from Mikkel. “What? Caldera’s not important enough for Calavix to make too many ripples there and between him and that Sheriff – but mainly the Sheriff – Start up’s would have trouble. Kill him, get her on your case. Kill her, get him on your case and…”

“Ok, Ok,” Charlton waved. He pulled up a map of the new colonies on his computer. “I’ll contact Vallonia. It’s nearer and this is a milk run thing. You contact the Private Eye, Rhew.” He looked up. “In case it isn’t.”

“Speaking of the patch,” Solomon added, “Raicarra are, apparently, sending someone out there to inspect the plates we’ve got – lor’ knows how they found out about them.”

Charlton sighed. “I know. I told them this morning. Notify Pandera they’re on their way and get the details on who they’re sending.”

“Right.”


Nolly was out with Hayley, watching from the back seat of the Packrat’s bubble car as Kastral Cheech’s hover car pulled from its parking bay and headed into traffic ahead of them. They’d been expecting this. The spydrone they’d affixed to his office window had told them he was coming. It’s directional microphone had told them he’d been speaking on the old fashioned wired hand phone on his desk. When she’d seen that, Hayley had opined that Heston would love it. “Why are we in your car, Hayley,” Nolly asked, having gotten in when her associate had pulled up ten minutes ago.

“Yours is too flash,” Hayley replied, opening the window and directing the warranted bug back in. “No-one looks at this thing twice,” she finished, powering the vehicle up to follow their target through the streets. “Are you going to sit up,” Hayley asked Nolly sweetly.

“Two points, Hayley,” the Marshan replied testily. “One, I AM sat up. Two. You think I want to be seen in this?” She lightened her tone as she noted the three pockets in the door. “I mean, it’s totally you and good for the city…”

“I get it, I get it.” Hayley pulled the vehicle into traffic and nosed after the target limousine as it passed by the city Cathedral, one of the oldest buildings in the thousand year city and still one of the most impressive. The markets it held were some of the best, too. Nolly had often shopped there when she was with her dads bodyguard squad before she’d decided on a career that didn’t involve taking over from him. But the Church was fine with that, it all helped pay for the upkeep. They passed the shopping district and the large, manillan style, Railway station that served five different lines from around the continent. Perhaps they were headed for the 33 Motorway? No, Nolly decided, it wasn’t right. Warehouses? Yeah, she thought, that was more like it. Cheech had sounded annoyed on the telephonic device and demanded a meeting. Didn’t all those meetings tend to happen in warehouses? They pulled up a few minutes later, a couple of hundred yards behind the larger car as the business owner got out and headed into one of the large stores.

“I knew it,” Nolly called happily. “Warehouses!”

“Makes me wonder how we’re getting in,” Hayley replied, before getting out, holding the door for Nolly, and closing it after her. They headed close to the wall as Nolly relayed their position to base with a press of her comm and perched against the wall. “If it’s deserted,” she said, “why’s the security camera working?”

“I can get in,” Nolly reported, nodding to a wall vent. “I’m small enough.”

“Why don’t we use the back door,” Hayley asked, heading around the back.


“Because there isn’t one,” Nolly observe as they got there. It was just corrugated steel as far as they could see. “There should be one, though. It’s not up to spec if… Ah. It’s invisible, look.” Hayley ran her claws along the wall and could feel the tiny bump of a join. When you knew what you were looking for, the hairline crack that went up about eight feet and then across was easy to see. “Openable only from the I… Nolly?” Hayley looked around. The smaller agent was gone. Where was..? Hayley tensed as the door opened, hand going for her gun.

Nolly poked her nose out. “Coming,” she asked?

Hayley headed inside.


“He’s just waiting in the middle of the floor,” Nolly observed quietly.

“Why didn’t the alarm go off when we opened the door?”

“Not turned on,” Nolly told her. “Place is abandoned, innit?” The pair headed quietly up the stairs. Nolly set her comm to the ‘eavesdrop & record’ mode she’d bought and popped the earpiece in to listen as they took up a place low on the left walkway overlooking the millionaire and his bodyguard.

<”...they’d be stupid enough to do something like this,”> the recording device heard. <”Putting all out ******* nuts in a sack and bashing them against a ******* wall before running them over with a steamroller! IOC got the **** computer! Who knows what’s on it? I know he was plotting something...? Where are they?”> He fretted back and forth as the Bodyguard tried to get him to calm down and someone else breathed. Nolly caught her breath.

“Hayley,” she whispered urgently, “there’s someone on the other walkway!”

“And I bet he’s armed,” Hayley hissed, looking to see if she could get over there. “It’s not a meeting, it’s a hit.”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Hope that they will be able to take care of that hit. I love the suspense here!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FOURTEEN

Hayley did her best to move quietly and quickly from the walkway and didn’t have much of a clue of the exact layout. It was going to take a few minutes and what if there was more than one person involved in the ambush? She had a feeling she knew why they hadn’t already acted. The person he was meeting, apart from being fashionably late, probably wanted to speak to them before deciding whether or not they were to take a bolt to the head. But IOC needed him more alive than dead though, so they’d better save him. Well, that and it being the right thing to do, of course. They were law enforcement, after all.


It took her a few moments, during which another car arrived and disgorged a Brownfur and his guard, for Hayley to find the stairs to the east walkway. It was right to the back of the warehouse, shrouded in the dark grey shadows and she made her way lightly up the stairs, making nary a sound.

Nolly wondered where she knew this newcomer from. Something about him reminded her of the news. Had she read something about him? Some sort of affair, perhaps? No, she decided, it wasn’t that. He wasn’t a celebrity, she felt as he strode across to meet Cheech, reaching out his hand as his associate didn’t. She was keeping her hands close to her weapon, Nolly assumed. The dark glasses were a bit of a surprise but Nolly assumed that was the style on Earth this year. Ah! She almost squeaked as she realised she was looking at Willar Dayley, the Minister for Interstellar development. He’d riled people by buying protection from off-worlders under his remit. He’d claimed that it helped raise trust with off-world interests if he had them on his protection staff. Nolly was sure the fact that the last five occupants of that post had either retired by weapon or revealed padded envelope had nothing to do with it. Raitchian guards did have a weakness for credits, after all. She readied her own weapon, just in case. She wasn’t particularly sure she could shoot with any accuracy from here but… She ducked down as she sensed the Human was about to look up at her location. She was covered, of course, but there was no sense being silly about it. She left her hand on the edge so she could hear what they were talking about.


Cheech had started off, telling Dayley that things were getting out of hand and he wanted out as it was all getting too much. Dayley was trying to placate him but Cheech was insisting that people were getting too close and he needed to sever relations with the organisation despite the attempt to assuage his fears from the Minister… The Minister, Nolly noted with excitement. Wasn’t that what Minika Charles had said had been talking with the Kallit person in the New Colonies? Perhaps..? Mind on the situation, Nolly, she told herself. Now the Minister was inferring, with all the skill of a politician, how any precipitate acts might lead to unfortunate repercussions…


He stopped as the Human whispered in his ear and he glanced around. She’d said something so quietly that Nolly wasn’t totally sure she’d made it out but it sounded like she’d talked of a loan. Nolly started slightly. Alone. She’d said ‘We’re not alone’. They were wrapping things up quickly. Dayley merely opined that he’d have to ‘think on what Cheech had said and relay it to the appropriate authority’. Wonderful political phraseology, Nolly thought, it confirmed nothing. Dayley would simply claim he was about to take the information to the Police, after all. Nothing about it said that he wasn’t, after all.


One of them, Hayley thought. A Norveggan giant hunkered down with a lasrifle. Easily affordable and made anywhere. Accurate at the range, of course. Problem was it was quite accurate at the range between her and the sniper too. And he’d see her before she got close enough to smack him one with her slightly illegal cosh. She’d have to go with the more legal gun but… Ah, nerts to it. The meeting was ending and one of the people walking to the car put their hand to their ear and the sniper was about to twist into firing position so…


As he moved, Hayley called out. “SNIPER! IOC! Stay where you are!” As heck broke loose downstairs, Hayley ducked behind a steel support to save herself from a rapidly reaimed lasgun shot that couldn’t quite get through all the metal. A fizz of energy sounded down the way as Nolly took a shot and missed. Downstairs, Cheech and his associate were headed for their vehicle at speed, the bodyguard covering him, which turned out to be an error as the sniper took a potshot and struck him dead centre before Hayley fired again, searing the weapon from his grasp. She came in closer as he waved his damaged hand before pulling a small handgun from its holster. Nolly fired again, putting a hole in the eartips of her target. Hayley called on him to surrender. He chose not to and vaulted the bannister, dropping down heavily to the ground. The impact shook him visibly but he managed to shake it off. Hayley chose to follow him but changed her mind when she was almost over the bannister. There wasn’t any real way she could take a drop like that without doing real damage. Besides… She fired off an aimed shot and hit him square in the lower back, throwing him forward into the dust and concrete. She activated her commlink and called it in, stating they needed ambulance and Forensics.


Nolly took herself down to the ground level as Hayley started securing the scene at the snipers nest, putting on forensic gloves… well, blue ones anyway before taking pictures and securing the weapon to make sure it didn’t blow up or anything. Nolly, for her part, headed for where the sniper was still trying to crawl away. In the distance, the limo seemed to be making up its mind how fast to drive at the sniper to smear him into the concrete. It had to compensate for the fact it was a hover vehicle but it could still do the final amount of damage required to kill. The presence of Nolly and her gun made the driver change his mind and he turned to head away at speed. Nolly didn’t need to follow the blood trail to the sniper as he was quite visible, along with the wounds Hayley had given him. She wasn’t sure he wasn’t already going to die but she chose to introduce herself to him by stamping on his upper back to stop his movement. He lay flat on the ground and said he gave up. Then Nolly noted the foaming from his mouth. She tried to stop him but he was dead before she could move.
“Well, within the automobile,” Nolly said.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Such a nice job on this chapter! Make sure you continue this soon!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

So, why didn't Hayley use the stun setting? I had an answer ready.

FIFTEEN

Charlton stood to one side as Doctor Olive worked on the dead hitter on the tarmac. “According to Doctor Pulassan, you did a good and efficient job, Doctor,” Charlton told her.

“Always good to be appreciated, Agent Hass,” she replied, touching the cheek with a silicone rod to test lividity. “It enables me to up my rates. I assume this is why I’m here, not him?” She put the rod away after dipping it in a sterilizing solution.

“He’s doing the last work on Mcivertie at the moment and I can only meet so many new Doctors per day.”

The Doctor stood up to her full height and looked him straight in the naval. She stepped back so she didn’t have to put her neck at thirty degrees to look into his face. “I say the same for federal agents,” she admitted. “Well, time of death is within the last hour as you know. Cause of death appears to be old fashioned Watinni toxin in capsule form, as you already know. With treatment he would have survived the mess your person made of his back. Two hundred yards?”

Charlton looked back to the warehouse and did the mental arithmetic. “More like about one fifty.”

Doctor Olive nodded “Out of effective stun range, as I recall. You know Hastings Weapons have designed a pulse pistol with three times the range on the stun setting?”

“Not in the budget.”

She waved a hand. “Ah, the budget,” she complained, “it’s always the budget.”

Charlton grinned and crossed his arms. “Well, we have to account for people raising their prices, you know?”

She snorted a laugh. “You pay for perfection, lad.”

“...Lad?”

“Yeah, you’re the sort I’d ask to lunch if you were fifteen years younger.”
Charlton cocked his head. “Don’t you mean if YOU were fifteen years younger?”

I know what I meant,” she replied, smacking his arm. “And don’t cheek your elders.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Your forensics can check out the grasses and mud on his shoes as it certainly didn’t come from around here,” she continued. “My little detector picked up metal in his muzzle, which probably means a jaw implant. Should be traceable. I’d say your morgue or mine but I don’t actually HAVE a morgue so, as your Doctor is working on my previous patient, I might as well get this guy there in your van.”

Charlton regarded her. “We haven’t brought one,” he ventured.

She looked around, the wind ruffling her fur. “I noted that,” she offered. “Before you ask, I’m qualified in pathology so you go and call up a meat wagon, lad.”

THAT, Charlton thought, could get irritating.


Solomon stood in Cheech’s office as the Chipmunk from I.T. made his way through the Millionaire’s computer systems, following delivery of the E-Warrants by a High Court Judge. The cross watched through the glass walls as Police from Parcifal’s station house kept watch on the glowering executives in the waiting rooms outside. “How’s it going, Djaka,” Solomon asked.

“Notwise toask,” the small agent gabbled. “It’s notlike a bookwhereeverything’s laid…” He glanced at Solomon, who was simulating stretching out taffy between his fingers. He swallowed and slowed down. “It’s not like readingabook, where yousimply follow a plot. It’s a ‘chooseyour own adventure’. He seems to have made rather a few mail contacts that were almost deletedremotely but I got the thing off network before the operation was finished.”

“What about that,” Solomon asked, nodding to the landline.

“For that youask the phone companies, Solly.”


“I hate this,” Hayley complained as she filled in yet another form on the datapadd Dalmar had handed her. She was sat on the stairs to the walkway, one foot resting on a step to provide a ‘table’ for the padd on her knee. “Who knew shooting a guy would take so much paperwork? Ugh, they don’t cover this on Vid-dramas.”

“You always say that,” Dalmar remarked. “Just like I tell you that Police and Agents are supposed to do dangerous things as a team, not try and take on dangerous criminals by themselves.”

“Hey,” Nolly called, from where she was filling in a similar form on hardcopy, “what am I, chopped chuck?”

“Nah, you’re far too refined for that, Nolly,” Dalmar called back.

“**** that for a game of Sparrows,” Nolly replied.

Hayley smirked at the exchange, her face instantly losing half of the dourness she’d put on over the events. She finished outlying the reasons for the non fatal discharge of a firearm and scrawled a digital signature to the bottom and handed it back to the Russellian. “Thanks, Hayles,” he said, offering her a hand to get up. She accepted and he pulled her to her feet before heading over to Nolly to take the form and pen off her.

“Why did you let her do it on the padd when I had to scrawl on paper,” she asked.

He glanced at the script, in perfect Raitchian, and translated it mentally, without recourse to the translation eye pieces. He’d been learning North Raitchian for years and was pretty much fluent in it, not that many Raitchians believed that. Solomon used to offer to read news sites out to him. Dalmar often let him, just because. “Oh,” he told Nolly, “it’s simple. I only have one padd. Add to that the fact your handwriting’s better…”

“Hey,” Hayley protested.

“...and the fact she steals my pen every time…”

“Hey!” Hayley picked up a loose piece of paper, crumpled it and threw it at his head.


Minika had her feet up on Solomon’s desk, pushing his keyboard aside for her comfort. She split her feet so she could see Mikkel at the temporary desk he’d been allotted. “I don’t get it,” she said.

“Don’t get what,” Rhew replied, still waiting for his call to go through. Typical Raitchian tech, he thought, was bugged and overheard more often than not on an unsecured line such as the one on the other end so he was having to have it routed through the Council ship network and that often took several minutes.

“Well,” Minika mooted, “if a warrant can be issued for a Millionaire, why not for this other guy? This…”

“That one’s a Minister,” Mikkel replied. “IOC aren’t, generally, allowed to get involved in local politics. We can’t vote for one thing. Investigating a Government Minister could easily be taken as interference. A court here answers to the Government. For this sort of thing a Federal Warrant has to be issued by a U.S.C. Judge Arbitrator. It gives the locals protection in the investigations. But it takes ti… Ah.” He stopped as the call connected.

“<Harvest Moon Investigations,”> a voice said.

“Mister Moon,” Mikkel replied, “this is Agent Mikkel Rhew of Pandera IOC. Number 756298Bravo. You can call them and confirm that. I have a job for you...”

((Guess who's 'writing' the next chapter))
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

That is a good reason for her not to use the stun gun at the beginning! Unfortunately it made things more difficult. :P
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

And now for something quite different.

SIXTEEN

From the files of Harvest Moon, P.I.


It’s annoying O’clock in the morning when I hear my comm beeping somewhere under the pile of clothes I generously deposited on the floor just a few hours before after I’d made the mistake of the month and accompanied Dakrin to a nightclub. I’m probably laying claim to getting old but the music was far too loud and the lights were dizzying, almost as dizzying as the silver and white jacket Dak had worn. We’d gotten in after he told the bouncer on the door that I was his step-uncle on his mothers side. Dakrin did manage to get down and dirty with half the Vixens in the club but the only thing I got dirty was my Martini. And possibly the glass. Admittedly, a nice Mican lady did pass me her number. And her bra size, which I found a bit intimidating. Anyhow, the evening passed and we caught the night bus back home. All three of us. Yup. The sounds from downstairs, where Dakrin lives, made me think about asking my evil landlady, Harriet Thurso, for soundproofing. That carried on for an hour, then I got to sleep. About an hour ago.


And now my comm’s going off. It’s probably a video call so I turn the ‘old’ computer on as the Caffeine percolates merrily. The record shows it’s a long range call from… Raitche? Who the heck knows I exist on Raitche? I seat myself in my computer chair and move to turn the thing on. In time I remember that it’s already on and stay my hand. The picture clears and I slap the monitor. White walls and a white Celican tend to blend together. He’s speaking but I’m not hearing anything. Oh. I turn the speakers on as my brain unfogs. I’ve seen this guy before. Commander Rhew, wasn’t it? From the Rodomont? He’d left, hadn’t he? He was… <”Pandera IOC. Number 756298Bravo…”> Yeah, that. He’s calling with a job, I expect and I don’t expect long as he tells me that straight away. It’s a kind of simple thing, apparently. Information on a bank account at the Caldera Central. Who accesses it, who set it up and all that sort of thing. They’re seeing about a warrant but it’s taking time they haven’t got so they thought they might ask someone unofficial to do something unofficial to get evidence they can’t get themselves but can act on if someone else unofficially provides it. It’s not an avenue I’m anxious to go down for no financial gain but he implied it’s connected with the last time we met so it’s probably something that’ll benefit the entire sector. Rhew apologises for obviously disturbing me and I wonder what he’s talking about as an arm wearing a dressing gown puts a mug of sludge by the side of the keyboard and I vow to only use instant when I wake up from now on. I also jump as I don’t know where that arm’s come from. It’s Harriet Thurso and she’s staying off… Oh, gods! He thinks I’m sleeping with Harriet Thurso! And, without naming her, I can’t deny it without insulting her and, considering the number of corpses who were alive until after they insulted her… I comment that I’d been planning to get up in a few hours anyhow and say I’ll do what I can. I yawn theatrically and turn the comm off.

Harriet tells me she’s been expecting this call, ever since she knew Agent Whitestar had been trying for the warrant, so she’d deigned to stay in the caretaker’s flat on the ground floor and waited. She blinked blearily and I took the chance. One word was all it took. “Soundproofing,” I said.

“I’m having it installed tomorrow,” she snapped. “And I’ll supply him with muzzles too!” She went on to tell me about things I didn’t know about to do with criminal enterprises I certainly knew about. She states she doesn’t know anything about who supplied the prisoner IOC smuggled to Raitche but I have a feeling that she’s lying. She usually is when it comes to things she ‘doesn’t know about’. Hang on, she knows when I’m getting calls? Has she got..? Well, of course she has. Reminds me to get that bug sweeper again. She’s asking something. “So, what’s your plan for getting them the information,” she asks me. Am I planning to don a disguise, sneak around their computer centre, install a hacking device, evade the guards, run like the wind, risk violating several traffic laws and fight the inevitable hired goon with a brain?

“Nah,” I tell her, “I’ll simply call a friend of mine who works there and get him to send me the information.” I shrug. “It’s just account details, how much trouble can it be?”


Wonderful. How much trouble can it be? Well, it’s taken up most of the day considering, When my friend set about accessing the account, he found someone else poking around in there? From one of the city creditpoints, even. That’s not usual. It’s an intrigue. And it has me looking through surveillance recordings from shops around the bank to see what they can see. A Raitchian keeps popping up in images at around that time. He’s wearing a coat against the wind, which is a bit off considering it’s summer. I’d say that can’t be a co-incidence but, y’know, there are a few billion of them strewn about space. On the feeling that it’d lead so something quite interesting I defy my own survival instinct and run them through identification systems to pull up precisely nothing. I’ll ask Thurso later. Or, more precisely, I’ll get Daken to do it. The benefits of having an underling who’s terrified of her is that he can actually get more out of her through pity. Although cold and calculating, she does feel pity for people she’s trying not to want to kill. I make a copy of the picture. It’s a good one from a shop ATM camera that I probably shouldn’t admit having access to so I’m not writing that down. Nuts. I’ll edit later.


I get back in the Brickmobile and punch it up to thirty within about three minutes as I decide to head home. My plans change a little when I see the Raitchian again, hailing a cab. Now, I know they tend to look the same to outsiders – well, Norveggan to Norveggan and Roof to Roof sort of thing – but the camera equipment I have has image recognition built in and, after a moment or two of me trying to remember exactly how the flamin’ setting works, it tells me it’s the same one. Well, down to about one in a thousand Raitchians anyway and that’s good enough odds for me. I put the brick in ‘forward’ and set about following him from the hotel he’s just checking out of and towards the spaceport. And, interestingly, he’s going there to meet someone. A Mican on an inbound flight from the core systems, it seems. I picture him, too, and confirm with the arrivals desk that there’s only been a few regional flights routed from Talvary Communal Space Station and one private shuttle from the core systems. Strangely it’s that shuttle I’m interested in. Private shuttles indicate filthy rich and filthy rich goes to Pandera without stopping at Calderon City. So they’re here for face to face talks before they go on somewhere. And, apparently, he’s going on somewhere. An invite to a dinner date – at a fancy restaurant, of course – gets me the information that the ship already has an imminent departure to Pandera booked and cleared.


By Raicarra industries.


I have no idea if that’s important. But I suppose I should be a confidential, ‘anonymous’ informant.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Glad to hear from Harvest again after all this time! This was a nice chapter all around!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

SEVENTEEN


“Can I go undercover,” Minika asked casually, sitting on the edge of Solomon’s desk and reading a padd detailing the opportunities available in the IOC for eager recruits.

“Every time you go to bed,” the Cross replied, not looking up at her as he finished filling in documents on his system. “Not bored, are you?”

“Effortlessly,” she replied, sighing and putting the padd on the desk. “I hadn’t realised you lot did so much… nothing.”

“Nothing?” Solomon sat back after sending. He looked her in the eye. “That’s information I’ve just been compiling for one of our other teams. I’ve also been compiling a deposition on a case we worked last week that’s been turned over to Raitchian Police, following up information on McIvertie’s activities and those of the guard we took and waiting on the banks to comply with the warrants to access their accounts.”

She half smirked at him. “OK, so it only SOUNDS like nothing. Nothing like the vids.”

“When is anything ever like the vids,” he asked, wondering how to discretely push her off his desk.

“Oh, some of the seduction scenes. Romance often gets it right, Solly…”

“Solomon,” he corrected with amusement, knowing full well what she was up to.

“Of course. It’s just not very entertaining to watch whilst I’m stuck in here, is all.”

Solomon indicated another team leader in a separate part of the office. “Kitara’s always looking to recruit trainers for operations,” he told her. “Perhaps you could put some of your training – which I know you’re not using right now as you’re being too obvious – into practice by offering advice to her trainers?”

Minika pondered that for a moment. “IOC could probably learn how to seduce,” she admitted pleasantly, “but I’d rather focus on helping you lot first,” she finished, sliding herself to a standing position. She stroked the side of Solomon’s cheek, letting him smell the generic shower gel she’d had to use this morning. “If I wanted to seduce you,” she told him softly, “I wouldn’t be playing it the way I have, Solomon. Seduction is easy.” She removed the hand. “I’m just trying to be a friend.”

“There’s a way to go.”

“There always is if you don’t want more than that. I don’t.” She closed in on him. “Not yet,” she whispered.


“Please don’t break my agent,” Charlton told her, striding in from his visit to the betting shop. He still liked to physically visit them from time to time. The old fashioned touch as Heston might put it. This time they’d actually had the race meetings from Raitche, rather than one of the other core worlds or Earth. It was, he thought, one of the better things they’d imported from Earth and it was beginning to get around the systems, despite the protests from killjoys and Celicans, who didn’t see the point of any animal they couldn’t stalk and didn’t like the taste of. “Anything, Solomon,” he asked.

“Rhews' little friend on Caldera’s not, officially, going to do anything, apparently…”

“So you should hear what he didn’t find sooner or later,” Minika put in.

“...and the federal warrant for that account has been declined by Council Judge… Akkikk.”

“Did he say why,” Charlton asked.

“Is that the Lappinean judge Akkikk,” Minika asked thoughtfully.

“That’s the… You know Judge Akkikk?”

“Well,” she replied, leaning across his desk, “if you were to call him directly and… re-request the warrant, you might drop in that I’m here and…” she demurred. “...ask him if he remembers that weekend on Paldera.”

Now Solomon coughed up what he’d just started to drink. “You… you know the Judge like THAT?”

Minika huffed. “I couldn’t possibly say that, or that there’s proof. All I can say is that I know he’s got secrets.” She pushed an ear up. “Everyone’s got secrets and they’re always a key. Someone’s probably blackmailed him to keep the warrant from being issued quickly. Isn’t it fair and levelling to have blackmail of your own?”

“It is not,” Charlton snapped. “It’s immoral and underhanded and useful in this case. Solomon, change your shirt and get on it!”

Solomon looked down at his shirt with the heavy metal logo across the middle and thought he might have a point.


Rhew finished his call home and came back out of the private room, only to be collided with by the Chipmunk from IT. “Excuseme,Agent,” the Chipmunk twittered. “I’vegot somethingand…”

Mikkel laughed softly after he got his breath back. He remembered someone similar to this guy from the Rodomont. She was also a Chipmunk and that, he felt, was no coincidence. He took the small figure by the shoulders. “Calm down and breathe… Djaka, isn’t it?”

Djaka blinked and cleared his thoughts. “S...Sorry, agent,” he said. “I’ve found somethingin the stuff I was lookinginto. Iwas looking for AgentFrank..?”

“Main office,” Mikkel remarked. “I’m headed there now. Want me to leash you,” he added. “Make sure you don’t charge into anyone else?”

“Heh,” Djaka said in embarrassment. “I think I can hold myself in. I found something that lookslike it’s being kept offbooks,” he continued.

“Tell me when we’re there so you don’t need to repeat yourself.”


“So,” he said, taking the extendable pointy stick so he could direct their attentions to the particular parts of the screen he needed, “asItold Agent...uh…”

“Rhew,”

“Right, uh, Rhew. I was goingthrough the books Cheech kept on his systems, lookingfor loopholes and omissions nad,er, where’s the restof the team?”

“Hunting Cheech down,” Charlton remarked. “Go on.”

“I found somethingin his personalrecords that’s not owned by anyof his companies,” Djaka reported, picking out the requisite details on the new slide. “He’s a majoritystakeholder in this transport company operating from the starport…”

Solomon got on to Hayley and Dalmar. They had to move quickly.
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

What a really wonderful job with this chapter Welsh! You really are a great literary writer!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

EIGHTEEN

Dalmar turned his car around and powered towards the location Djaka had found in his files binge. In the passenger seat of the hover vehicle, Hayley held on to her seatbelt with a touch of nerves. She was never exactly secure in these wheel free vehicles and the new ones made her feel even worse. If the power gave out, they’d drop like a rock and she’d heard rumours online about cars becoming erratic… Dalmar had noted her expression before and noted it never changed, no matter how many times he told her it was safe and his mother was a senior manager in the manufacturing plant so she’d know and would never let him drive one if they were unsafe. But it never changed her opinion so he chose to drop it. “One of these days we’re going to get these calls when we’re in a staff car, y’know?”

“We could have been in one but you decided your personal would be better,” Hayley chided, carefully checking her weapon.

“It IS better,” Dalmar protested. “It’s faster, lighter, mom got the armour upgrade for free…”

“There’s no weapons and no access to the armour in the boot through the back seat.”

“Why would anyone put armour in a shoe,” Dalmar asked, grinning to show he knew she’d just used the wrong word.

“What? No, I… oh, you!” She punched him playfully.

“Ow! Driver assault,” he complained as they passed a supermarket. “The other’s are about ten minutes behind us, by the way.”

“Oh, great.” Hayley put a hand on his head. “I’m sure nothing will happen in that time,” she remarked theatrically. “Touch wood.”

“Hah, hah.”


Dalmar turned the car off and allowed it to settle gently onto the floor near the warehouse used by Simka Shuttle Services. From where they were, they could see the launch facilities the company had. A shuttle capable of making it to several of Raitche’s closest colony worlds. Including Valskimma, where, Djaka had found, he had an intersystem transport ship. Too small for bulk transport – which is why that particular model had flopped badly on the market – but large enough for smuggling people if need be. And too small to be noticed by officials unless they were looking for it. And they seemed to be readying the shuttle. Doing pre-flight checks even. Hayley pulled herself out of the car, forgot to adjust for the fact she was essentially sitting right at floor level and tripped over her own feet. “Say nothing,” she told Dalmar as she picked herself up.

“Never would,” Dalmar fibbed as he got out effortlessly. “Want to do this the old fashioned way,” he asked.

“Well, we’ve suspicions a fleeing ‘person of interest’ is in there so no need for a warrant. Sure, ‘crash the party’ is viable.” She took her armour from the boo… uh, trunk and put it on before striding forward, taking the lead as she saw someone fussing over the outside of the vehicle. “Good afternoon,” she announced, holding up her warrant card, “IOC. We’re here to search these premises for a suspe…” She paused as the overall wearing fellow pointed to an official striding out to meet her. A thickset individual or, as she sometimes liked to put it, a muscle in a tie. “Fine, but stop what you’re doing for now,” she added as Dalmar trotted up to her side. “We’ll need to search that shortly.”

“For what,” the newcomer asked, clearly changing his mind on trying to intimidate Hayley after seeing Dalmar. “We’ve done nothing.”

“Good,” Hayley responded. “We have suspicions that a person of interest in fraud, murder and piracy may be attempting to either hide in this facility or exit it post haste in that shuttle. We mean to make sure he can’t.”

The manager crossed his arms. “What makes you think I’d allow such a thing? And I don’t need money.”

Hayley tapped her teeth. “But you do need your job and, as the individual we’re looking for owns this company…”

“I own this company.”

“Nah,” Dalmar breezed. “We know where the cash comes from.”

“So I let Simkins buy in. Nothing illegal about that.”

Hayley glanced to Dalmar at the mention of the name. “Well, that’s an alias we’ll have to check,” she mentioned. “The money came from Kastral Cheech.”

“The multi-millionaire?”

Hayley nodded. “That’s him. We have the cash trail and it’s led us straight here. Now, get your people to stop doing whatever it is they’re doing so we can search. Or we’ll arrest them so we can.”

Now he stepped closer. “You’ll need more than two of you to search this place,” he ‘advised’. “Best you go call for backup. Ma’am.”

“No need,” Dalmar said as a number of vehicles pulled up a handful of yards behind them. “I think they’re here.”


“Right,” Charlton stated, “Hayley, take Nolly, Mikkel and Dalmar and search the offices. Solomon and myself will take the shuttle. Can your people keep an eye on them, Sergeant,” he finished, talking to the Police Sergeant Parcifal had assigned, along with four uniform officers. It often helped to have locals assisting to do the more mundane tasks – as long as you trusted them. Charlton had decided he didn’t have reason to believe the Detective was lying yet, which was almost the same.

“Do we have access to the blueprints,” Hayley asked.

“On your padds,” Charlton told her. “Remember, though, that blueprints can lie.”

“Right-ho,” she replied as the Sergeant testily stated that, if the Feds did their job, his team would do theirs.

“It’s a bit of a moot point, I think,” Rhew remarked, looking back down the way, where another group of vehicles were pulling up.

“Yours,” Charlton asked the Sergeant.

“Nope,” he replied, hand heading towards his firearm. “I take it their not yours,” he added as the armed arrivals started getting out of their vehicles.

“Nope,” Charlton replied. “Time to take cover!”
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I think that last statement is an understatement. Better find that cover quickly!
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Re: IOC Raitche

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

NINETEEN

“Identify yourselves,” Charlton called from the doorway to the warehouse. There was no response as Nolly, keeping herself flat to the floor, poked her comm equipped arm out so they could see the half dozen or so armed individuals who weren’t replying. One of them was making hand signals to the others. “Leader confirmed,” Charlton muttered before ending Mikkel and Hayley to watch the rear entrance. “Nolly, you take one of the Sergeant’s people and get that lot to safety.” He wiggled his eye ridges at her. “If they should happen to show you any secure rooms they – ahem – don’t know about…”

“On it, boss.” She snatched the arm back before someone shot it and the Sergeant delegated a trooper to go with her as Solomon and Dalmar took up positions just inside the doorway, behind crates and barrels. “Wouldn’t hide behind that, Solly,” she advised as she headed past, “it’s flammable.” Solomon took the hint and found other cover.

“You’re surrounded,” the outside voice stated. “Send him out and there’ll be no violence.”

Solomon kept his weapon ready. “Forgive me if we don’t believe you,” he called. “Something about high powered weapons sets us on edge!”

“If you don’t send him out, I’m rather afraid we’ll have to come and take him!”

“Send who out,” Charlton replied, knowing full well this guy was playing for time. Then again, so was he. Rhew and Rogan would need time to set up and Nolly would need time to find a safe place for the suspects. “Just so’s we’re on the same page.”

“Cheech,” the voice replied. “We want Cheech.”

“So do we! Is he actually here?” No reply. Charlton knew what was coming next. The talk was done. Were they here to rescue Cheech or kill him? He noted his comm wasn’t working. It was probably being jammed. No back up coming.


The first shot scrammed through the wall, far too close to Charlton’s head and he ducked down as several more pocked the wall around him. Solomon fired from behind a steel pillar to cover his boss as he made for better cover further in. Up on a walkway, one of the Sergeant’s detachment opened fire before ducking away from the reply fire. Dalmar kept his head down, waiting for a target, as enemy fire punched through the walls. “I think they’ve got better weapons than us,” he said, low enough that only Solomon heard him.

“It’s probably in their budget,” Solomon replied


To the rear of the property, Hayley looked out over the rear door, a door that Mikkel had attached a small charge to. “Perhaps I should try the personal forcefield,” she enquired.

Mikkel looked at her. “Personal forcefield?”

“We’re testing it out for Raicarra. We can’t fire through them but…”

“Might be useful,” Mikkel advised. “But not yet. They’re using advanced weaponry and Raicarra is an active part of this situation. They may be able to neutralize those shields if they know you have them.”

“Keep it for a surprise,” Hayley remarked, making sure it was ready for use anyhow as firing sounded from the front again. They were just softening the place up, she knew as a Police Officer fell into the dirt. There wasn’t much point in going over to check on them and it certainly wasn’t safe right now. “Wait,” she mooted, looking around to her left. “That section of wall…”

“What about it,” Mikkel replied.

“They’re not shooting it.”

“Ah, krukk,” Mikkel commented as he guessed what she was talking about.


“So, you’re a college hopeful,” Minika asked Silmon, having grabbed the runner as he temporarily paused from flitting from group to group in the headquarters and took a breath.

“Studying languages, yeah,” he replied, almost fascinated by the fact a lady was taking an interest in him. “Gotta have some sort of back up in case translator microbes ever break down.”

Minika nodded sagely from Nolly’s desk, where she’d readjusted the chair for her own comfort again. “It’s why we used to have representatives of as many main races on staff at any one time. Even a few Humans so I picked up some of their language and other things…” She wrote something in Canine and pushed it across to the youngster.

He picked it up, read it and laughed. “What, so it’s true about Felines,” he asked.

Minika gestured to the padd. “Write it down,” she urged. He did so and passed the padd back. She looked at it. “Are you asking me if it’s true,” she chuckled. “I’m not totally up on feline, y’know? Just a few phrases…” She looked at the drawer as something sounded from inside. She pulled at the handle and it opened, revealing several items inside. She picked through a pack of mint chews, several dead pens, a pocket knife with corkscrew accessory and a hand held game padd before she found what was making the noise. She pulled the comm out and looked at it. “How do I..?”

Silmon stepped forward and, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t, pressed the button to turn the thing on as Minika felt the eyes of other agents begin to stare at her. “There,” he said, before realising others were staring and slinking back. “It’s, er, on speaker…”

“Hello,” Minika said cautiously.


The wall blew out halfway between Solomon and Hayley, letting three assailants into the area, spraying fire. Hayley automatically hit her shield in the hopes that it would help her and Mikkel stay alive and the Vulpine Officer fired back as a succession of shots struck the shimmering barrier His shot struck one in the chest and he cursed slightly as the energy ablative armour the guy was wearing dissipated most of the energy, leaving just the physical punch of impact. He moved aside and fired again, straight at the face this time, a lucky shot that ha the other two hunkering down slightly to minimise their exposure.

“Solomon,” Charlton called, “Shield!” He kept shooting from the front and hoped the cross could ‘cover’ his rear and that the Police stayed organized. It was designed to turn their flank, he knew. But it meant they were fighting in two directions now as…


A missile interrupted his thoughts. It streaked past his vision as Dalmar dove sideways to escape incoming fire that exploded against the pillar and cut a few holes in the canine’s leg with shrapnel. The missile continued on its’ way, impacting one of the vehicles of their assailants and turning the solid into an explosion of colour and energy, launching it into the air before it crashed down. Half of the other vehicles windows blew out and even the shuttle shuddered. The firing paused as a Starlancer fighter put in an appearance, hanging tight over the parking lot as U.S.C troops in armour put in an appearance.

“Who the…” Solomon asked.

“Oh,” Nolly replied, coming from the offices. “That was me.” She thumbed back to where she’d just come from. “They have a landline. I called my reserve comm… the one for,uh, ‘off books’ meetings... and told the guys we were under attack.” She turned around as the Police Officer she’d been with brought Cheech out in handcuffs. “Found him, by the way.”
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