Underbox: Eighteen
© 2021 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  capt_hairball


Shitshitshit . . .

Klaus was knocked off his feet as the feline hit the door and ran down the corridor, and the wolf was almost run over by Hamo as the cross-fox gave chase. They glanced left, right, and dashed off after the suspect after noting several partiers picking themselves up. A few helpfully pointed in the direction the feline was taking, and Hamo started running. <Joachim? You there?> they called via their jackglove.

<Where the hell are you?> the boar said. <I couldn’t . . . the door in time.>

<Corridor 17, headed for stairs to Level 5>, Hamo reported. The view of the fleeing suspect on the surveillance cameras was starting to break up. <Shit, the network’s getting hacked. Backup converging?>

There was no reply, and the cross-fox couldn’t waste their breath to curse.

As they pursued the suspect, Hamo could only hope that the other officers scattered around this part of the Underbox had heard something, and were coming to help them. While they’d been sort of keen on running when they were still a vixen, that had been a long time ago. Hamo was forty-three now, and the years were starting to tell on the vulpine.

Hooking a paw around the rail, Hamo took the steps two at a time, barely catching a glimpse of the feline’s tail as he ducked into the corridor leading to Level 5. It was proof that he wasn’t a local, because if he had been trying to go further Downstairs, he would have used the next stairwell, not this one. The fox shouldered the door open.

Trying to ignore the stitch developing in their side.

Level 5 was largely low-income housing, with corridors either built narrow or ending up narrow by families living partway into the halls. The number of people and items to jump over or evade slowed the fleeing suspect down, enabling Hamo to close the distance to a few meters.

Of course, the cat knew. Bins and furniture were being tipped over or thrown at the cross-fox, with tenants being shoved or knocked down. Hamo pulled their badge out and held it out.

Not that it helped.

A leg stuck out and smacked them in the upper right thigh, causing Hamo to stumble through a clumsy pirouette that almost had them falling onto a small child. They managed to regain their balance, brush thrashing wildly, and gasped, “Police. Stay here; I’ll arrest you later,” before breaking into a limping run.

Damn, that kick had hurt, and the thigh muscle was complaining loudly.

Despite that, they were gaining on the cat, and Hamo heard a few scattered words through their jackglove. Enough could be heard to allow the transgender vulpine to bare their teeth in a grin. Backup was coming, and more officers were moving into the area. Ears perked at the heavy sound of bodies colliding, and as Hamo rounded a corner they saw the suspect sprawled on the floor while a very obese canine was flat on her back.

Out cold, it seemed.

The feline suspect got to his feet, shaking his head. He looked at Hamo and started running again.

My life, the cross-fox wondered as they started running again, what the fuck is this guy on, that he can run like this?

Their lungs felt like they were on fire, but . . .

Wait a second.

The cat was headed for another stairwell that headed downward . . . and Hamo knew where they were now.

It’d been years ago, back when they were in the Butterflies . . . come on, come on, think . . . there! Hamo twisted sideways and slid into a narrow maintenance alley. A swift few steps down it, and their fur was ruffled by an updraft of warm air.

Hamo was wearing underwear, but there was no time to appreciate the breeze.

Abused leg muscles cried out, forcing Hamo to grind their teeth as the cross-fox chimneyed down the air duct to the next level, all the while hoping that their memory had been correct and that the cat hadn’t doubled back. Hamo reached with one foot and stepped onto the next level, this one more geared toward maintenance.

It was also frequented by furs who couldn’t afford even the low-income housing.

Hamo paused, paws on knees as they panted, ears swiveling to catch any sound of their quarry. Straightening up, the cross-fox started down one corridor, only to stop as their ears swiveled. They’d done too well.

They were now ahead of the suspect, but that was okay. It gave them a chance to catch their breath and thank God the suspect hadn’t thought to head up. Pounding down the stairs was bad enough.

Hamo turned and drew their pistol as the sound of running feet started growing louder, and a flick of their thumb took the weapon off safety and onto the laser sight’s ‘dazzle’ setting. That done, the cross-fox tried to settle their breathing to make sure they’d improve their aim.

The feline came pounding around a corner.

“Police! Stop!” Hamo shouted, and pressed the trigger.

The laser began strobing at a rate designed to disorient the target.

The feline ducked his head, pulled to a stop, and started running back the way he came.

“Shit,” and Hamo flicked the weapon to its EMD setting, and started running after him.

Again.

It was getting hard to hear. The ambient noise level was fairly high, with big ventilator fans and water pumps in operation, and the blood roaring in their ears was not helping. Still, Hamo’s ears perked as they detected the sound of other running feet.

“Stop! Police!”

They couldn’t recognize the voice, but Hamo could’ve kissed whoever it was.

The cross-fox’s ears went flat as a pistol shot rang out, briefly eclipsing the fan and pump noises.

Where the hell were they?

Hamo slowed down, weapon up and ready, and crept forward.

Another shot rang out, followed by a hoarse male voice bellowing, “Blaubeere!“

It was a code word, and the cross-fox ducked behind a series of pipe fittings.

There was a soft snap, followed by a body hitting the floor. The code word was used when any electro-muscular disruption device was used, so that other officers could get clear in case the shot went wild.

Early EMD devices were hampered by having their barbed probes connected to thin wires. The Greif’s EMD fired two independent probes that drew their power from the pistol’s battery and was stored in a gel suspended in a series of carbon nanotubules. The effective range was ten meters, and the probes could deliver a charge of electricity sufficient to momentarily stun an average-sized subject.

Everything went still, and Hamo stepped out from cover and went to investigate.

A few officers started to raise their weapons and Hamo showed their badge. “Suleymanoglu,” and the others relaxed slightly. Three more officers had dogpiled on the still twitching feline. Pawcuffs were being placed on the suspect, with a signal inhibitor slapped onto the feline’s cyberway.

More officers were crowding in, with Joachim among them. The boar glanced at the officers as they hauled the still-twitching feline to his feet before facing Hamo. “You all right?”

“Just winded.” The cross-fox bent slightly, paws on knees, and took a few more deep breaths. “I need to exercise – “

“You could lose some weight, too,” Joachim said with a grin.

Hamo glared at him before chuckling. “And where were you? I thought you were right behind me.”

“I was,” the boar said. “I got caught and tangled up with some really fat canine. Our boy collided with her, it seems, and she woke up fighting mad.” He chuckled ruefully. “Took me a few seconds longer than it should have, convincing her that I wasn’t the guy that hit her. How’d you get down here so fast?”

“I remembered there was an air duct – back there,” Hamo replied.

“An air duct?” Joachim whistled. “Good thing you’re not too fat; if your ass were any bigger you would’ve gotten caught in there.” Several officers had heard the exchange and laughed as Hamo’s ears went back and their brush flicked back and forth.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” the transgender vulpine said. “What’s with our boy here?”

“We’re taking him to a medical station,” a sergeant said. While the probes could be left in a body to degrade, it was standard protocol to have them removed and the subject examined to ensure that they had no health problems from the electricity that had coursed through them.

“Good,” Hamo said. “Once he’s cleared medically, get him to the station and we can start finding out who he is.” They started to follow the officers as they hustled the suspect away, but Joachim noted the cross-fox was limping.

“Problem?”

“Legs are cramping up,” the fox said through gritted teeth. “Getting a little old for this.”

“Good thing you’re retiring then.”






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