"Mum, I've got Alice on an audio line!" Jarvis announced, floating into the bathroom.

  "Ok, thank you Jarvis, Damn these tiny human shower units."

  "She's on the line NOW, Mum." Tiff paused for a moment, remembering she was on a hot mic. She continued scrubbing the coagulated blood from her furry face and ears, grumbling under her breath. Shutting the water off, she squeezed out of the one-person shower stall.

  "Guess you'd think this would be a Procyon-sized stall instead of a human one," she muttered as she finally emerged. Jarvis stood on the other side, holding a towel. She sat on the narrow bathroom floor, her hips wedged between the wall and the toilet bowl, as she dried off her head and upper body. Once finished, she backed out, wiping the wet floor and her body hair with the towel before tossing it back into the shower stall.

  "Hey, Tiff, everything okay?"

  "Oh, everything is just fudruckling supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

  "My....that sounds utterly atrocious." There was a brief pause before Alice snorted with laughter, Tiffany joining in on the contagious laughter in an odd mix of a snort and a growl. The sound made Alice laugh even harder, her voice crackling through the line. "Oh, Tiff, that laugh of yours ALWAYS gets me!" she said between breaths, struggling to regain her composure. "Seriously though, we haven’t done girls night in ages—we need to fix that soon!"

  “Well, I’d love to… if I could get some time off. Work’s been… hectic,” Tiffany replied, a hint of pout curling her voice. “I guess everything’s okay… more or less…”

  She paused, then mumbled out loud, “On the plus side, the mission was *somewhat* of a success.”

  "Well, that's good, but you usually don't call me for good news—unless it's for girls' night out. Which, I might add, we haven't done in a while, and we definitely need to plan one soon."

  "I need a pickup and a medic team. If you can make it all one stop, that'd be great," she said, rummaging through some of the largest clothes she could find. She slipped on a stretchy nightgown that barely reached her midriff and paired it with overly tight exercise shorts.

  "I thought you said the mission was successful," Alice said, quickly switching to business mode to match Tiffany's sudden change of topic.

  "It was... kinda. The human detective is alive and back home safe."

  "Kinda? Wanna talk about it?"

  Tiff let out a deep sigh before plopping down on her bed, bowing the steel bed frame with a long, groaning *creeeeeaaaaak*. Burying her face in the mattress, she mumbled, "Besides, I don’t wanna bore you with the unnecessary details..."

  "Girl, I’m sitting here in the control room, by myself on night shift, playing Minesweeper and eating Crunchy-Rockies. What happened—and stop pouting," Alice said in her flat, no-nonsense tone.

  "I'm not pouting..." she whined, with her face buried in the pillows. "Well, maybe a little... The short version is, I succeeded in keeping the protectee safe, which was the heart of the mission, so in a way, it was a success."

  "Well, that sounds good so far, soooo—what’s the bad news?" Alice asked, popping a Rocky into her mouth. *Crunch, crack, crunch, munch*. (The snack was well-named because it sounded like she was chewing gravel between words.)

  "Please stop crunching so loud, you’re giving me a headache," Tiffany whimpered, stuffing a pillow against each ear.

  "Geez, so sensitive. Fine, I’ll stop snacking till you hang up. Sheesh." Tiff cringed at the crinkling of the bag, her ears flattening tight against her skull as Alice rolled it closed.

  "Okay, spill the deets. What’s the bad news?"

  "Well, for starters, I lost my partner. Then that damned rat broke one of my kunai that Grandfather made for my birthday—and, lastly, my chip is broken."

  Tiff stopped pouting, her face buried in the mattress, then shifted upright. She stretched her arms with a long—*Ugh-yaaaaaaawwnnn*.

  "Damn, girl! You've been busy. But I thought Franzé was recovering in the infirmary?"

  "Last I checked, he was. But the incident shouldn’t have happened to get him injured in the first place. Matter of fact, after this call ends, could you please patch me through to his room on a holo call?"

  "Could I? Tiff, you forget who you're talking to? Just, next time we hit the town, you buy the first round, okay?"

  "You're on. Just do me a solid—no blind dates. That Crockdusk was kinda... off. Maybe a good gym buddy, but that's about it."

  "Geez, I make one bad recommendation, and you just won’t let it go." Alice couldn’t help but snicker at this.

  "Are you kidding me? I thought he was trying to bite my head off—literally! I’ve heard they’re rough to get along with, but he had my head in his mouth."

  "Aww, he liked you!"

  "I had to punch him in the gut to make him let me go! If that’s what they do when they like someone, I don’t wanna know the alternative."

  "I think the alternative would be something like disemboweling and embalming your internal organs... But moving on, I thought the chip was only a day or so old. Wouldn’t that be a warranty issue?"

  "It would be, if it wasn’t purposefully destroyed..."

  "Wait, what!? How!? Girl, those things cost a fortune! You’re practically going to be working for free for the next five cycles—even with hazard pay included!"

  "Ordinarily, you’d be correct. It was a double-edged sword situation."

  "What do you mean by that?" Alice asked, her tone slightly less frantic.

  "What I mean is, it was a fake—that’s why it was able to be hacked. Best I can say, on the plus side, it was a counterfeit that was destroyed instead of an authentic Kitsun chip. Also, by a stroke of luck, the arrogant prick who caused all this mess had the real chip on him, which I retrieved—with what’s left of him," Tiffany said, a little more chipper, shrugging as she tried to look on the brighter side.

  "Girl?!? What?!? How’d you get a fake installed?" Alice asked, deeply troubled that someone had circumvented security protocols to pull off this stunt.

  "Best way I can put it is we were compromised. The rat I took care of was given a device to shut my chip down. To top it off, they nabbed the delivery drone, swapped the chip with a fake, and had it shut down at a bad time for me—I couldn't shift back, I had to puncture the chip so I could beat him."

  "Girl... that’s crazy. How did they even find out about the drone—much less take it and swap the contents?"

  "I’d love to know that myself, especially since I was under the impression they had standard stealth camo. The simplest thing I can think of is, after the warehouse raid, they were being overly cautious about airspace and scanning for non-Earther devices," Tiffany said with a shrug.

  "Well, I definitely like that idea better than us having a rat on the inside..." Alice admitted, feeling more at ease than she would with the idea of a spy in their ranks.

  Which brings me to my call—and another favor. I need a chip replacement. I have a spare, but I’ll need a specialist to confirm it and handle the installation. Plus, the rat I had issues with had some strange tech injected into him that I’d like examined—hence the pickup."

  "Okay, I’m on it. I’ll have a specialist sent right away. Also, I’ll send a pickup person to accompany them. Just hang tight—I’ll call when they’re headed out."

  "Thanks, Alice. You’re a lifesaver."

  "Aww, shucks. Think nothing of it, sweetie. Hold tight—I’ll patch Franzé through to you."

  "Incoming transmission, mum," Jarvis announced in his stadium referee voice.

  “Huh, who dat dere? Oooh, das you, Tiff?! Been too long, Cher! Lawd have mercy, I han't seen ya in ages!” Franzé exclaimed, squinting real hard, pressing his face into the monitor.

  Tiffany burst out laughing—snorting in her usual way, a sound somewhere between a growl and a sneeze. Her close friends knew that laugh well; it was how they could always tell she was genuinely happy and in good spirits.

  *Some things never change,* she thought. "It’s only been two days, you old swamp panda! Where do you get off saying 'ages'?" she replied with a toothy grin.

  "Hey dere, ya big Rougarou! Whatcha done did to dat short lil' stumpy redheaded partner o' mine, huh? You didn’t eat her, did ya? ‘Cause if ya did—lawd, dat was supposed to be my job, Cher!" Tiff nearly rolled off the bed, laughing so hard her ribs ached.

  "No, you dirty old man," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "I didn’t eat her—she temporarily left."

  "Well, bring 'er back, gosh dern it!" he said with a mischievous grin, continuing his usual playful banter.

  "I can't, not at the moment anyway," she said, rubbing her arm. This made Franzé drop his playful tone, sitting up in his hospital bed with a serious expression.

  "Bae, everything alright? Ya didn’t go pullin’ one o’ dem usual airheaded stunts, did ya?"

  She simply nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor.

  "I had to puncture my chip 'cause I was hacked." He looked at her, his demeanor shifting back to his usual, less serious self.

  "See! I done told ya, don’t go messin’ round an’ gettin’ dat cheepon, Cher!"

  She froze slightly before relaxing a bit, *as long as I've known this old-timer, why am I surprised he'd make jokes about this*? she thought, placing her palm over her face.

  "*Sigh*... you would be the one to make light of this situation. Look, I’m not going to get into the details. Are they treating you okay? Any idea how long they're planning to keep you here for recovery?"

  "Nah, Bae, I t’ink I done overheard ‘em say maybe a day or so. But, Tiffany—"

  Her ears perked up at the sadness in his tone, her eyes beginning to mist over as she guessed what he was about to say.

  "Ah'm thinkin' it might be best tuh toss in da towel, Cher. Gettin’ too old tuh keep up wit’ all dis, ya know? Command done offered me a good retirement bonus—so I think I’ll take it. Prob’ly go back home, do a lil fishin’ off da back porch again."

  He spoke softly, his hands folded on his lap atop the blankets. His gaze stayed fixed on his hands, tears sliding down his greying, brown-and-black-furred cheek.

  "Come on, Franzé, keep it together," she said, her voice trembling as she wiped her face with the back of her furry red hand. "You’re gonna turn me into a blubbery mess if you keep this up."

  "Sorry, Bai, dat wudn’t mah intention," he said, wiping his sleeve across his face to dry up the waterworks. "A’ight, I’ll be a big boy now. It not de end, doe. You can still come visit—if work will allow it. I know how dey slave drive ya wit’ de hours. Still, doe, I’ll save ya a spot on de porch."

  "It’s a fishing date then, old timer. So now what? Are they going to have you train a replacement, or do they already have someone picked out?"

  "Cher, I’d be lyin' if I told ya I knew—'cause from what I heard, dey ain’t got no one, an’ dey don’t seem tuh be in no hurry. Bein’ doe you a tough boluka ta work wit’, well, I reckon dat might have somethin’ tuh do wit’ it."

  Tiffany looked like an oversized child sulking after being scolded. Her large hind paws rested heavily on the floor, her shoulders drooping low. She traced slow circles in the carpet with a claw, her eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze.

  "I’m sorry, I know I can be a pain to work with. Like you say, I’m thick-headed," she muttered, her ears drooping slightly as her gaze stayed fixed on the floor.

  "Hey, knock dat off!" he said, clicking his fingers to get her attention. Instinctively, her ears shot straight up; her arms stiff at her sides on the bed, back ramrod straight, as she let out a sharp *Arrooo?,* as she was slightly surprised by Franzé's firm tone.

  "Bae, it’s been an absolute pleasure workin’ wit’ ya, an’ I mean every bitta dat," he said earnestly, his tone firm but warm. "Ya ain’t done nothin’ wrong, Cher. Now stop dat sulkin’. You keep doin’ wat ya doin’. Ida been dead—no question—if you hadn’t been dere when I went an’ screwed da pig somethin’ fierce. Hey!—Lookit me!"

  His voice sharpened as he leaned forward, tryin’ to hit home, his gaze locking with hers, demanding her full attention.

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  "Nah, stop it. You are da best in da business—green, yeah—but damn good, Cher. Not tuh mention, you got a heart o’ gold. You always do what’s right, even when it ain’t easy. So stop it, be proud, and keep doin’ what ya doin’. I love ya like da daughter I neva had, so do me proud, eh?" She wiped at her eyes again, sniffling softly as she tried to pull herself together.

  "Ok, ok," she managed with a shaky breath, "I’ll try to make you proud of me. Eat plenty of mud munchers for me while you’re home."

  "Ah, come an’ get ’em ya self," he shot back with a teasing grin and a wink, the warmth in his voice nudging her toward a smile.

  She finally broke into a toothy grin, her cheeks flushing a whitish-pink as the sadness melted away. "Fine, you dirty old bastard," she said with a playful huff. "As soon as I get some time off, we’ll go fishin’ and catch mud munchers."

  "So now what?" she asked Franzé with a shrug, somewhat lost on where to go from here. "Nobody ever bothered to tell me about your retirement."

  "I guess ya gotta call Dorris. Ah already turned in mah papa work, so she should have it. Dey still got da Fratelli family on Earth, so dat’s a mess dat still needs cleanin’ up. See if she can’t help wit’ a replacement, even if it’s just temporary, so ya got some backup."

  "Ok, I’ll go ahead and do that. Once again, it was an honor and a pleasure to serve with you."

  "Shoot yea, Bai, same on dis side. I’ll save ya a seat—don’t be a stranger, Cher," he said, waving to her on the monitor before the feed cut off. After that, Jarvis pulled a clean, dry dishrag from his compartment, offering it to her. She nodded her thanks, taking it to finish wiping her eyes and blowing her nose with it.

  "I hate parting like this, Jarvis."

  "I know, Mum, but look at it this way—he’ll be safe and happy. And unlike you, he’ll finally be able to rest," he said, nudging her shoulder with a knowing smile glowing across his faceplate.

  "Ha, ha. You're so funny," Tiff mocked her friend sarcastically.

  "I know, Mum," his display lit up with a big grin, now sporting a distinguished mustache. "Do you want to call Dorris now or wait until after the med team arrives?"

  "Yeah, I guess we can call her and get—" She paused, squinting at Jarvis’s face display. "What in the world is on your face?"

  He smiled and pretended to curl the mustache with his clamp.

  "It's what they call a mustache. I saw it in my recent updates and wanted to try it. Do I look fancy, Madame?" he asked, spinning slowly as though modeling an outfit. Jarvis always had a way of pulling her out of a funk whenever she was down.

  She just smiled, shaking her head in agreement as she tried—and utterly failed—to hold back a laugh, her straight face quickly dissolving into giggles, which sounded more like a mix of funny short snorts and growls.

  "Okay, okay, I surrender. Thanks, Jarvis. I'm feeling better now," she said, wiping a tear from her eye and blowing her nose again on the dishrag he had handed her earlier, then handing it back to him. He took it, holding it at arm's length as he floated over to toss it into the dirty laundry. Grabbing a fresh one off the rack, he tucked it neatly into his compartment.

  He floated over, landing on the dresser across from where Tiff was sitting on the bed. His face display went blank for a moment before the words appeared: *Conference in process. Please be patient. Loading...*

  As this was happening, Tiffany's apartment began transforming into a lavish office. The dresser morphed into an ornate mahogany desk, now positioned in front of large open windows that revealed the vast darkness of space, with occasional pieces of debris drifting by. The polished ceramic walls were adorned with holo-pictures and framed degrees of accomplishments. The floor transitioned like a giant rug of tile rolling over the floor, replacing the shaggy white carpet with gray imitation stone tiles, while the bed beneath her shifted into an overstuffed light-brown Grindshawd leather couch.

  Tiff glanced around in amazement. No matter how many times she attended a conference call like this, the transition never failed to fascinate her.

  *Woosh, Thunk.* A sliding door behind her opened and closed. She stood as straight as she could, snapping to attention and offering a salute, ready for the person briskly walking in with a cup of coffee in hand. The individual proceeded to the other side of the desk, setting the mug down while simultaneously pulling out a hovering chair that floated gracefully on its antigravity field between the floor and the seat.

  "At ease, Agent Rafuros. This isn’t the military," the individual said with a gesture, motioning for her to sit on the overstuffed couch. Tiffany happily obliged, sinking into its comfort.

  "Do you have any idea what time it is here?" the individual asked, her tone carrying a mix of authority and mild irritation at having to report before her shift.

  "I'm very sorry, ma’am," Tiff said, doing her best to appear serious and professional.

  "*Sigh* Look, I know you’re being polite, and I appreciate it, but in private, Dorris is fine," she replied, her tone calm and motherly. "So, I’m assuming you have an updated report?"

  Dorris plopped into her chair, which sank a few inches before the gravity field hummed and self-leveled. The gray-skinned woman sipped her coffee, gesturing subtly for Tiff to hand over the report.

  Tiff nodded, her eyes closing for a brief moment. When they reopened, they glowed like jade embers. Blue-on-blue holographic documents shimmered into existence above her cupped hands. With a fluid *push* motion, she guided the glowing files toward Dorris’s desk, where they dissolved and reconstructed on the polished crystal-inlaid screen embedded in its mahogany surface.

  Dorris’s irises glimmered like halos of molten gold against shifting onyx as she skimmed the report. With a slight bit of groggyness , she flicked her fingers across the screen, mumbling to her self as she read over the report. "So, they have nanotech now. This isn’t good," she muttered, taking another sip of her coffee. Her gaze returned to the screen. "Well, that explains where our stolen tech ended up. Am I correct to assume you have someone coming to repair your chip, and you kept the sample of nanotech?"

  "Yes, ma— I mean, Ms. Dorris. It's included in the report. The sample is bagged up in the kitchen of my residence, and a technician was called," Tiffany replied.

  Dorris flicked a finger across the screen, saving the file. She reclined back in her chair, holding her mug with both hands. "Good job, Rafuros. It looked like a screwed-up situation, but you completed it anyway and managed to flip things around. Good work, especially good job at seeing the protectee home and double-checking the area. Very thorough."

  Tiffany's tail started to brush back and forth against the furniture at hearing this, putting her mind at ease and giving her a slight confidence boost.

  "*Sigh*.... Just next time, be more mindful of where you drop a dead body, though," Dorris chuckled. Tiffany's ears and face drooped for a moment at this playful reprimand, making Dorris laugh even harder, the quills on her head dancing back and forth.

  "You did good, all things considered. Mission complete. I wish I had more competent and resourceful people like you." She grumbled under her breath, muttering about how she could use more competent field agents like Tiffany.

  Tiffany smiled, her tail swishing slightly again. "Ms. Dorris, what about Franzé?"

  Dorris's expression softened. "He should be out in a couple of days. I'm dreadfully sorry about the communication gap on our end. He turned in his retirement documents, and we offered him compensation for the on-the-job accident. It should’ve never happened, so I did what I could to make amends."

  She kicked back in her chair, staring out at the endless backdrop of space, her boots propped up on the chrome window ledge. "I'm still not sure what to do about you, though. We're shorthanded, and I want to find you someone who can physically assist you in the field, not just watch you on a screen in a van. But finding a suitable partner opens up another issue entirely."

  "Ms. Dorris, I might have a plausible solution. It may be a little unorthodox, but may I request to have someone tested for the position?" The rhinestone-shaped scales above her eyes furrowed in a quizzical manner. She spun around in her chair slowly, still wearing that cocked expression.

  "Oh?... You've never made a suggestion like this before." She looked at the dregs in the bottom of her mug, swirling it around thoughtfully. "I suppose..." She leaned far back, staring up at the polished stone ceiling tiles. "You do have an exemplary track record—extremely trustworthy, and pretty good instincts—not to mention your grandfather was the one who first approached me about having you tried and trained."

  Tiffany perked up at the mention of her grandfather. She raised her hand to interject, trying not to appear rude. "Um, Ms. Dorris, ma’am? Have you heard from my grandfather recently?"

  Dorris shifted professionally, pausing her train of thought to address Tiffany's question. She glanced briefly at her mug, then back at Tiffany. "No, Ms. Raforus, but you know how reclusive he can be. He usually can't be found unless he wants to be. However, if I do hear from or see him, I’ll message you." Tiffany beamed at this.

  "Now, back to the topic at hand. If you think you've found someone who can keep up and pass the usual exams, then I don’t see the harm."

  Tiffany sat straight up in surprise and excitement at the news, her tail briskly swishing on the leather couch, prompting a hearty chuckle from Dorris. "One question, though—it wouldn’t happen to be that protectee you were watching, would it?" Tiffany blushed at this but tried to keep a poker face.

  "I’m assuming you read his file, Ms. Dorris? He has an impressive background by Earth standards." Dorris smirked at this, leaning forward, her elbow resting on her desk, the side of her face propped on her palm.

  "Who do you think put the details together and sent you the files?" Tiffany mentally facepalmed as Dorris’s words reminded her of the sender address she had already seen but forgotten.

  "It makes me curious, though—why this one? What makes him so competent and special?" Dorris asked, her tone shifting to one of thoughtful curiosity.

  "Well, besides his background, he seemed like he could handle himself. Plus, he didn't panic out of reason when seeing me. It's weird, but I have a hunch about this one. Plus, we're investigating the same people—even if the Earthers don't know it yet."

  Dorris paused, her golden irises flickering faintly as she mulled over Tiffany's reasoning. The options weighed heavily in her mind.

  "Okay, I'll give both of you a shot." Dorris’s words lit a small fire of pride and excitement in Tiffany, sparking her determination to keep striving and improve.

  "Test him however you feel is necessary. Just...don't hurt him, or gods forbid, kill him. I don't need a galactic incident or the rigorous paperwork that comes with getting involved in interplanetary relations. I shouldn't have to remind you that our mission is to save and rescue lives, not put them in jeopardy." She finished the last of her coffee, setting the mug down as she leaned forward, scrolling through more of the report on the polished crystal display.

  "I want a detailed report on how it goes, then we'll go from there. First, get that chip repaired, then test him. Time isn't a luxury right now, especially if we want to find as many residents as possible before they slip through the cracks and get shipped off. If orbit was the only way out, it wouldn’t be a concern, but I suspect they may have a gate set up somewhere. So, do what you’re best at—work on the fly."

  "Ms. Raforus, it's a pleasure to work with you. Let me know how the new recruit works out. Send the details in my mailbox, and we’ll go from there. As always, happy hunting. Dorris Cringinder signing off."