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Garden Tool
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
(Stanislaus Coon and Ivar Vargsson are courtesy of E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
tegerio
I can almost hear you, you know, Ivar notwithstanding.
“Wait, Stanislaus!” I can hear you saying. “You’re actually planning on getting drunk with someone who is a suspect, or at least is under investigation?”
Allow me to raise two points.
One, Moka Bustani already knows that I am with Directorate III (Counterintelligence), as I had interviewed him the day before. Also, the tiger was a Navy veteran, so he easily spotted both my rank and the sky-blue tabs on my collar.
Two, before I was an Intelligence fur, I was a police officer on my home planet. Deception, as I’m certain Ivar can tell you, is part of a police officer’s stock in trade.
I can hear Ivar grumbling in the back of my head for raising that point.
“Indeed,” the ghostly wolf growled, “it is said that every cop is a criminal.”
“I prefer to think of it as two sides to the same coin,” I said to him, as I clinked glasses with the tiger and took another sip.
Yes, a sip. I’m supposed to be an officer and a gentlefur, it says so on my commission, so I’m expected to live up to that. There are exceptions, of course; I heard that one member of Directorate III was liquidated (literally) by the previous Director for drinking so heavily that he made a pass at her. No one really knew what the minkess preferred for bedpartners or playmates, but apparently drunken loudmouths were not on the list.
So, I sipped my measure of rum. Bustani, however, had been a rating (at least supposedly), and so far was succeeding in living up to that by drinking his measure of rum, pouring another, and this time drinking it more slowly to savor the taste of the liquor.
Don’t get me wrong. The rum was truly excellent.
And I was watching the tiger carefully.
“You appear to be enjoying yourself,” Ivar remarked. The wolf sounded slightly irritated.
“He hasn’t put a foot wrong so far,” I pointed out. “But as you say,” I added to forestall him, “if he’s truly not who he says he is, a little social lubrication might cause him to slip.”
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, my friend,” Ivar said.
“I know,” and my ears perked as Bustani laughed and started to sing.
“But the furry whore was overgassed!
She hiked her tail and loosed a blast
That sent him flying, far and fast
Sailing o’er New Jerusalem!”
He subsided, chuckling, and gave me a lopsided grin. “That’s a good one,” he said, the amount of rum he’d had causing him to slur his speech only slightly. “What d’you think, Stan?”
Needless to say, we were on a first name basis by now. “I like it,” I said agreeably. “Where’s New Jerusalem, anyway?”
“Hmm, dunno,” Bustani said. “Karatan, I think . . . yeah, Karatan. They said it was named after a place on Old Terra.” He fixed me with a look. “You ever been to Terra?”
I nodded. “Once.”
“What’s it like?”
My ears went back. “Smelly, dirty, and nasty.”
I felt Ivar chuckle. “Succinct, yet accurate.”
Bustani grunted. “Pity. Would’ve liked to see it. You, me, everyone, came from there,” and I nodded, “but could you imagine Deus coming back and pulling an inspection?”
I chuckled. “I think we’d all get demerits.”
“From what you tell me about the place, yeah.” He studied the small amount of rum remaining in his glass, and the half-full bottle. “You’re tryin’ to liquor me up, get me to talk.”
“Maybe.”
“I talked to you yesterday.”
“That’s very true,” I conceded, “but part of my assignment is to know everything.”
“Oh?” He suddenly leaned forward in his chair and beckoned me closer. “I do have a secret,” he whispered.
“I sense a punch line approaching, Stanislaus,” Ivar said.
“Hold that thought,” I told my companion, and leaned closer. To Bustani I said, “I’m listening.”
“You know the Regent? I mean, Her Ladyship?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s sleeping with a guy on the House Guard,” the tiger said after glancing from side to side. “Ocelot, sergeant he is.” He freshened up his drink.
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that if you know, the rest of the Guard know, and that means my boss knows. We’re a knowledgeable bunch, you know.”
Bustani chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I don’t grudge her – or him; Deus knows she needs someone, being a widow and all. I’m just glad I can help her boy.” His ears dipped and he looked across the table at me. “You got any kids, Stan?”
“No, Moka.”
He huffed a sigh. “Look, I’ve told you everything I know,” he said, “and you Intel types know more than you ever let on.” He made an expansive sweeping gesture that almost hit the rum bottle. “So go ahead, look around.”
“It’s certainly nice of him,” Ivar said, “to give us permission.”
“Good,” I said as I got – slowly – to my feet. “You going to be all right, Moka?” The tiger nodded, looking a little peeved, and I left his house.
I swayed only a little, which I took as a good sign.
“You are headed for the greenhouse?” Ivar asked.
“Yes,” I said, “and after I poke around in there, we’ll have a look at that compost heap.”
“Just a look?” my lupine companion insinuated, which made me chuckle.
The greenhouse was humid and stiflingly hot compared to the air outside, with rank upon rank of potted plants in carefully-arranged racks. I went about my search methodically, going up and down each of the four aisles in the building before doing it a second time, slower, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
I then pulled my padd from my pocket, set one surface to a mirror, and walked around again, using the reflective function to peer under the racks. With that done, I then checked the light fixtures and other nooks and crannies in the ceiling.
“Very thorough,” Ivar commented as he leaned against the doorway. “Have you brought gloves for the search?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but I think I’ll try something first,” and I went to a rack of gardening implements and selected a long-handled rake with strong metal teeth. “This way I can put the pile back in order after we look.” My methods were rewarded by a nod from Ivar, and I walked out of the greenhouse.
The pile looked bigger than I’d thought, maybe two meters across and a little over a meter high, and it smelled ripe. Well, I’d worked a crime scene before, although much of my job on my home planet had entailed collaring burglars and thieves, so I selected a spot and began plying my rake.
It was hot work, and after a few minutes I shed my uniform jacket. I worked with method and took my time, getting down into the heart of the mound after a while.
And there was nothing, apart from weeds, cuttings, mown grass, food scraps, worms and insects. I put on my gloves and checked a few things, then leaned on my rake and glanced back at Ivar. “Well?”
The spectral wolf gave a soft growl. “I will – provisionally – accept your thesis that he is entirely innocent.”
“It’s a pity you’re noncorporeal,” I said as I started using the rake again, “because I’d have you do this bit.”
Raking the pile back together took less time than dismantling it, but after I was done I made sure to hang the rake up where I got and retrieved my jacket. It was quite warm, but I put the jacket back on and returned to the greenhouse.
“All done?” Bustani asked in a slightly sullen tone.
“I even made sure to leave everything as I found it.”
The tiger smiled. “Thank you, Captain. Very good of you.”
“I’ll be leaving now,” I said. “Fair day, Moka.”
“Fair day.” We shook paws, and I headed back to the mansion.
Despite washing my paws, I still smelled a little, so I loitered in the main hall until the rest of the various Ministry staffs were done. The security guards were rotten conversationalists, so I took my time looking at the various portraits of the Emperor’s parents and grandparents.
Ivar studied the expression of arrogant hauteur on the young ruler’s grandmother, the former Admiral-General Sarafina al-Sakai. “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,” Ivar murmured. “Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Just a little ancient poetry,” my lupine companion said. “In her case, it is certainly appropriate. If one listens to media reports, she essentially started the war with the Kashlani.”
I shuddered, and we moved on to the late Emperor, Felix al-Sakai, and I was still looking at it when the staff emerged from their various meetings and we all boarded the motorcade that would take us back to the spaceport.
A few furs sniffed at me, but I paid them no attention.
I had a report to write.
After a shower and a good meal, of course.
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
(Stanislaus Coon and Ivar Vargsson are courtesy of E.O. Costello. Thanks!)
Thumbnail art by
tegerioI can almost hear you, you know, Ivar notwithstanding.
“Wait, Stanislaus!” I can hear you saying. “You’re actually planning on getting drunk with someone who is a suspect, or at least is under investigation?”
Allow me to raise two points.
One, Moka Bustani already knows that I am with Directorate III (Counterintelligence), as I had interviewed him the day before. Also, the tiger was a Navy veteran, so he easily spotted both my rank and the sky-blue tabs on my collar.
Two, before I was an Intelligence fur, I was a police officer on my home planet. Deception, as I’m certain Ivar can tell you, is part of a police officer’s stock in trade.
I can hear Ivar grumbling in the back of my head for raising that point.
“Indeed,” the ghostly wolf growled, “it is said that every cop is a criminal.”
“I prefer to think of it as two sides to the same coin,” I said to him, as I clinked glasses with the tiger and took another sip.
Yes, a sip. I’m supposed to be an officer and a gentlefur, it says so on my commission, so I’m expected to live up to that. There are exceptions, of course; I heard that one member of Directorate III was liquidated (literally) by the previous Director for drinking so heavily that he made a pass at her. No one really knew what the minkess preferred for bedpartners or playmates, but apparently drunken loudmouths were not on the list.
So, I sipped my measure of rum. Bustani, however, had been a rating (at least supposedly), and so far was succeeding in living up to that by drinking his measure of rum, pouring another, and this time drinking it more slowly to savor the taste of the liquor.
Don’t get me wrong. The rum was truly excellent.
And I was watching the tiger carefully.
“You appear to be enjoying yourself,” Ivar remarked. The wolf sounded slightly irritated.
“He hasn’t put a foot wrong so far,” I pointed out. “But as you say,” I added to forestall him, “if he’s truly not who he says he is, a little social lubrication might cause him to slip.”
“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, my friend,” Ivar said.
“I know,” and my ears perked as Bustani laughed and started to sing.
“But the furry whore was overgassed!
She hiked her tail and loosed a blast
That sent him flying, far and fast
Sailing o’er New Jerusalem!”
He subsided, chuckling, and gave me a lopsided grin. “That’s a good one,” he said, the amount of rum he’d had causing him to slur his speech only slightly. “What d’you think, Stan?”
Needless to say, we were on a first name basis by now. “I like it,” I said agreeably. “Where’s New Jerusalem, anyway?”
“Hmm, dunno,” Bustani said. “Karatan, I think . . . yeah, Karatan. They said it was named after a place on Old Terra.” He fixed me with a look. “You ever been to Terra?”
I nodded. “Once.”
“What’s it like?”
My ears went back. “Smelly, dirty, and nasty.”
I felt Ivar chuckle. “Succinct, yet accurate.”
Bustani grunted. “Pity. Would’ve liked to see it. You, me, everyone, came from there,” and I nodded, “but could you imagine Deus coming back and pulling an inspection?”
I chuckled. “I think we’d all get demerits.”
“From what you tell me about the place, yeah.” He studied the small amount of rum remaining in his glass, and the half-full bottle. “You’re tryin’ to liquor me up, get me to talk.”
“Maybe.”
“I talked to you yesterday.”
“That’s very true,” I conceded, “but part of my assignment is to know everything.”
“Oh?” He suddenly leaned forward in his chair and beckoned me closer. “I do have a secret,” he whispered.
“I sense a punch line approaching, Stanislaus,” Ivar said.
“Hold that thought,” I told my companion, and leaned closer. To Bustani I said, “I’m listening.”
“You know the Regent? I mean, Her Ladyship?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s sleeping with a guy on the House Guard,” the tiger said after glancing from side to side. “Ocelot, sergeant he is.” He freshened up his drink.
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sure that if you know, the rest of the Guard know, and that means my boss knows. We’re a knowledgeable bunch, you know.”
Bustani chuckled. “Yeah, I know. I don’t grudge her – or him; Deus knows she needs someone, being a widow and all. I’m just glad I can help her boy.” His ears dipped and he looked across the table at me. “You got any kids, Stan?”
“No, Moka.”
He huffed a sigh. “Look, I’ve told you everything I know,” he said, “and you Intel types know more than you ever let on.” He made an expansive sweeping gesture that almost hit the rum bottle. “So go ahead, look around.”
“It’s certainly nice of him,” Ivar said, “to give us permission.”
“Good,” I said as I got – slowly – to my feet. “You going to be all right, Moka?” The tiger nodded, looking a little peeved, and I left his house.
I swayed only a little, which I took as a good sign.
“You are headed for the greenhouse?” Ivar asked.
“Yes,” I said, “and after I poke around in there, we’ll have a look at that compost heap.”
“Just a look?” my lupine companion insinuated, which made me chuckle.
The greenhouse was humid and stiflingly hot compared to the air outside, with rank upon rank of potted plants in carefully-arranged racks. I went about my search methodically, going up and down each of the four aisles in the building before doing it a second time, slower, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
I then pulled my padd from my pocket, set one surface to a mirror, and walked around again, using the reflective function to peer under the racks. With that done, I then checked the light fixtures and other nooks and crannies in the ceiling.
“Very thorough,” Ivar commented as he leaned against the doorway. “Have you brought gloves for the search?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but I think I’ll try something first,” and I went to a rack of gardening implements and selected a long-handled rake with strong metal teeth. “This way I can put the pile back in order after we look.” My methods were rewarded by a nod from Ivar, and I walked out of the greenhouse.
The pile looked bigger than I’d thought, maybe two meters across and a little over a meter high, and it smelled ripe. Well, I’d worked a crime scene before, although much of my job on my home planet had entailed collaring burglars and thieves, so I selected a spot and began plying my rake.
It was hot work, and after a few minutes I shed my uniform jacket. I worked with method and took my time, getting down into the heart of the mound after a while.
And there was nothing, apart from weeds, cuttings, mown grass, food scraps, worms and insects. I put on my gloves and checked a few things, then leaned on my rake and glanced back at Ivar. “Well?”
The spectral wolf gave a soft growl. “I will – provisionally – accept your thesis that he is entirely innocent.”
“It’s a pity you’re noncorporeal,” I said as I started using the rake again, “because I’d have you do this bit.”
Raking the pile back together took less time than dismantling it, but after I was done I made sure to hang the rake up where I got and retrieved my jacket. It was quite warm, but I put the jacket back on and returned to the greenhouse.
“All done?” Bustani asked in a slightly sullen tone.
“I even made sure to leave everything as I found it.”
The tiger smiled. “Thank you, Captain. Very good of you.”
“I’ll be leaving now,” I said. “Fair day, Moka.”
“Fair day.” We shook paws, and I headed back to the mansion.
Despite washing my paws, I still smelled a little, so I loitered in the main hall until the rest of the various Ministry staffs were done. The security guards were rotten conversationalists, so I took my time looking at the various portraits of the Emperor’s parents and grandparents.
Ivar studied the expression of arrogant hauteur on the young ruler’s grandmother, the former Admiral-General Sarafina al-Sakai. “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings,” Ivar murmured. “Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Just a little ancient poetry,” my lupine companion said. “In her case, it is certainly appropriate. If one listens to media reports, she essentially started the war with the Kashlani.”
I shuddered, and we moved on to the late Emperor, Felix al-Sakai, and I was still looking at it when the staff emerged from their various meetings and we all boarded the motorcade that would take us back to the spaceport.
A few furs sniffed at me, but I paid them no attention.
I had a report to write.
After a shower and a good meal, of course.
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Maine Coon
Size 120 x 104px
File Size 50.7 kB
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