In a future world where Man has uplifted a variety of species to two-legged sentience, the problems that have plagued the world have only gotten worse. Enter Inspector Henry Flaatphut of InterSpec; a former computer hacker now stuck at what amounts to a desk job, he has a 300-pound badger for a boss, a wise-cracking computer named ICy, and a pretty 5-foot feline named Miss Calico for a secretary that he never seems to have time for. A dreadful existence until that one person enters his office who sets him off on a wild search for conspiracies and mayhem on an international scale.
Author's Note:
The Atomic Horrors and Great Quakes of the late Twentieth Century combined with the Great Pollution Waves of the Early Twenty First produced a tired and dirty world badly in need of a new work-force. Thus were born the genetic up-lifts of the early Twenty-First Century, as species after species was uplifted into sentience to stand alongside Man in his quest for dominance and greed over an already ravaged world. It is in this setting that the following tale takes place...
***
It was one of those days that you read about; fog so thick you could cut it with a knife. I was practicing my hook-shot with the waist-can and in walked this doll. She sauntered in with that sophisticated air that's usually reserved for royalty. She was five-and-a-half feet of the best-
Slam!
I should probably give up these cheap detective novels but it can get so boring being a class two InterSpec inspector when there's nothing to investigate. Not when nobody cares about the Interspecies Council in the first place (for history buffs who have been under a rock for the past few decades, InterSpec replaced Interpol when the Council formed and it gained all the popularity of the old U.N.- and we all know what happened to that bunch).
Intercom buzz.
"Yes, Miss Calico?"
"A Mister Smith here to see you."
"You're kidding?!"
There's actually someone with a cliche name like that?
"He's waiting sir."
Sigh, "Send him in."
I chucked the book in the trashcan.
My secretary opened the door to let him in. She's a cat after her name- with the fur in all the right places (hey, I'm not prejudice; as long as it's a good looking female, with the right kind of hole between the- ).
"Mr. Smith, sir."
I daydream too much.
In walks this balding accountant-type in a beat-up pair of brown flared pants (didn't those go out of style last century) and a dirty-white shirt with a rather bleak-looking polka-dot tie done up more as a noose than anything else.
The noose-wearer furtively came in and sat down, looking around nervously. I began thinking that maybe I shouldn't have thrown the book away.
"Inspector Flatfoot?"
"That's Flaatphut."
With a name like mine, I was born for this occupation.
"Yes. Well, I... I may have something that needs investigation."
"That's what we're here for."
Yawn.
"Well, " hard swallow, "there's some odd happenings where I work."
Isn't there always?
"Such as?"
He paused, wiped his brow, and said, "I think that my co-worker has been murdered."
"Homicide's down the hall."
"He's been missing for three days..., " he went on quickly.
"We don't handle missing persons."
I began to get up to retrieve my book.
"He was investigating some misappropriations of grants and odd personnel reshuffling."
I sat back down; might as well hear this out (it's not like I'm busy or anything).
"What company do you work for?"
"I'm Senior Accountant for Multinational Unified Technologies."
That got my attention.
"Is this the same M.U.T. that grosses 80 billion or so a year- that MUT?"
"That's the admitted amount, but- yes."
"And you're the Senior accountant?"
"Yes."
My day just took an upward turn.
I sat back in my chair, "Go on."
He swallowed and began his soliloquy.
"Well, my name is Dave Kaver. My partner began finding discrepancies in some computer balance sheets, so he began to investigate. In the next few weeks I saw less and less of him until, finally, he came in looking scared. He said that he'd found out something big and had to leave. That was the last that I ever saw of him."
First obvious question, "And what convinces you of his death?"
He took something out of a shirt pocket and put it on my desk.
"I found this in my mail drop. It's his. I think it was meant as a threat."
It was a pacemaker; the implanted kind. I could tell that it had been used. There's only one way that you remove these things, and I don't think that anesthetics were used. Some threat.
I leaned forward, "Did he leave any notes or files?"
He looked around, got up, went halfway to the door, and said, "He found that all the discrepancies occurred in connection with Project Looking Glass."
He went to the door, opened it, and turned around again, "He also referred to an Operation Sunburn, " and then he practically ran out the door.
I knew better than to chase him; he'd probably just have a coronary anyhow, and I knew where to find him. So, I calmly sat back, opened up my top right hand drawer, pressed the release button, and watched as my computer, ICy, popped up from the center of my desk, the surface flipping up into a holo-screen and the senso-pad keyboard coming up from the center. ICy wasn't exactly government issue; I smuggle him with me to every new office. He's made of pieces of this and that, government left-overs, and such, and only about a couple terabytes of memory, but he's mine and I like him.
Did I mention my hardware hobby? Not just software, like everyone else and their grandmother, but actual hardware! You just can't-
Sorry; I talk too much sometimes when I get on this subject.
"You get all that ICy?"
His head materialized in front of the holo-screen. He had on a blue mohawk today.
"I think he's a paranoid Loon but I don't suppose that gets us anywhere."
"No, especially if the Federated Bird People hears what you said about Loons."
"Well, I do have some info if you're interested."
"Shoot."
Bang! sounded from the screen.
You get used to those kind of responses from Icy. Sort of.
"His partner is on record as being transferred out three days ago. Now ask me where."
"Okay, I'll bite."
"Nome Alaska, as a Janitorial Engineer."
"How much you want to bet that he's being swept up instead of doing the sweeping. Well, what about our friend with the poor taste in clothing."
"He's legit. But he's down for a transfer to Alaska tomorrow."
"Whoops! I better get to him." I grabbed for my coat. "See what you can get me on MUT and any connections with Project Looking Glass. I'll be back after lunch."
"Whoo-kay."
"And dump the mohawk."
The head on the screen gave me the raspberries as I left the room.
Project Looking Glass. After certain terrorist parts of the Middle East got turned into one vast glassy plain by certain super-powers (both sides were getting tired of them all), someone got an idea. A few measurements later it was determined that with some large scale polishing here and there that the focal point of Iran, et al, would be someplace up in orbit. So, a bit of work and a few satellites later, and the sunlight coming off of the plain is focused onto a large geo-stable set of orbiting reflectors that aim the light at some special set of thermionic solar panels or some such. During the night, stored energy is beamed back down and- Viola, that's how major parts of Africa and Europe get a sizable portion of their energy.
***
"I'm sorry, but we don't have a Mister Dave Kaver here at this office. He was transferred away about six months ago. Our records are quite clear on this matter."
The secretary was a rather stiff-lipped six-foot stork, with this way of looking down her beak at you that made you seem about the size of a muskrat. I was in the front office of the MUT building in the New York Metroplex area. It's on the top level of the 'Plex, exposed to the sunlight and everything (well, what there is of it). The front office was big and plush and a bit gaudy, done up with pictures of some of its various holdings and projects, mirrors, and other such. The place also had security cameras everywhere you looked, monitoring everything. I had come from my office to snoop, using my InterSpec ID to get in, and warn Mr. Kaver, but was a bit too late apparently.
"Mmm. Well, do you think I could see his old office. I lent something to him, you see, and need to see if he left it there."
"I'm sorry, but his office has been thoroughly cleaned out. Good day sir."
"Well, thank-you anyway, " I said as I casually slipped a tap-pad on the side of the desk.
I left through the large front double doors, doormen and guards on either side of it watching me, got into my car, set the elevation at 500 feet, and put it on hover. I then popped open the remote for ICy.
"Well pal, what're you getting on the tap?"
The voice came over the remote, "Well, they've reported you to internal security, are running a check on you, and there's radar impulses bouncing off of your car right now on a private use frequency."
"I suppose that I ought to move it then."
"Serves you right. You ought to see my new crew-cut."
"You got the address for Kaver?"
"Yup."
"Okay. Feed it into my autopilot and see about getting into the MUT cyberspace about Operation Sunburn."
"You're kidding! Their system could spit me out like a cuizinart."
"Whine, whine."
"Okay, okay. I hear and obey sa-heeb."
With that, I set the autopilot and got on my way. I also turned on my traffic radar screen and activated the anti-radar field.
About five minutes into my trip, I noticed a blip about five minutes behind me that had been there since I'd left.
"We appear to have grown a tail, " I muttered half to myself.
I began messing around with some dashboard controls. As I moved, the blip moved. So, I thought it was about time to get rough.
I flew Tango Two (my car) down low, looking for the right kind of access tunnel with Tango's scanners. I needed a specific type for what I had in mind. Concrete everywhere. Where are all those super-steel tunnels when you need them?
The blip began to close.
"They know I'm onto them. Okay."
I moved a bit faster in response; the blip closed to three miles; it must have something good under its hood.
Inspector Flaatphut is back, this time teaming up with Tiffany and a whole group of miscreants to track down a lethal drug, clones, and the world's most deadly assassin. And all because his mother came to visit.
Of all that Sabu and his companions discovered in the bowels of Th?r T?orca, a simple looking map was the most mysterious. An indestructible map in an unknown language that starts them on a quest to seek out answers from the fabled Great Sage at the Foot of the World. And yet, these answers are only the beginning, for it puts them on the road to the most incredible secret anywhere on or off Maldene. A terrifying awe-inspiring revelation that provides the first clue as to the real goal of the villainous Miro.
In her previous life, Kimberly endured the betrayal of her husband, the cruel machinations of an evil woman, and the endless tyranny of her in-laws. It culminated in the bankruptcy of her family, and ultimately, her death. After being reborn, she resolved to seek retribution against those who had wronged her, and ensure her family's prosperity. To her shock, the most unattainable man from her past suddenly set his sights on her. "You may have overlooked me before, but I shall capture your heart this time around."
"Never let anyone treat you like shit!" I learned that the hard way. For three years, I lived with my in-laws. They didn't treat me as their son-in-law but as a slave. I put up with everything because of my wife, Yolanda Lambert. She was the light of my life. Unfortunately, my whole world came crashing down the day I caught my wife cheating on me. I have never been so heartbroken. To have my revenge, I revealed my true identity. I was none other than Liam Hoffman—the heir of a family with trillions of dollars in assets! The Lamberts were utterly shocked after the big reveal. They realized what fools they had been for treating me like trash. My wife even knelt down and begged for my forgiveness. What do you think I did? Did I take her back or made her suffer? Find out!
"Miss Brown, I am the butler here at your service," the butler replied. "My master wants to buy the baby in your belly." "What?!" Does that mean the abortion didn't take place? Did they kidnap her from the operating table just to buy the baby? But why her? "You..." Alice was about to ask a question, but the man in front of her calmly continued, as if he had expected her question, "You're pregnant with his child, and he needs a child. That's all I can tell you." Alice was forced to sign a surrogacy contract and eight months later gave birth to two healthy babies. Fortunately, the man was unaware of her daughter's existence. It wasn't until five years later that fate brought them together again...
After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."
Darya spent three years loving Micah, worshipping the ground he walked on. Until his neglect and his family's abuse finally woke her up to the ugly truth-he doesn't love her. Never did, never will. To her, he is a hero, her knight in shining armour. To him, she is an opportunist, a gold digger who schemed her way into his life. Darya accepts the harsh reality, gathers the shattered pieces of her dignity, divorces him, takes back her real name, reclaims her title as the country's youngest billionaire heiress. Their paths cross again at a party. Micah watches his ex-wife sing like an angel, tear up the dance floor, then thwart a lecher with a roundhouse kick. He realises, belatedly, that she's exactly the kind of woman he'd want to marry, if only he had taken the trouble to get to know her. Micah acts promptly to win her back, but discovers she's now surrounded by eligible bachelors: high-powered CEO, genius biochemist, award-winning singer, reformed playboy. Worse, she makes it pretty clear that she's done with him. Micah gears up for an uphill battle. He must prove to her he's still worthy of her love before she falls for someone else. And time is running out.
In order to fulfill her grandfather's last wish, Stella entered into a hasty marriage with an ordinary man she had never met before. However, even after becoming husband and wife on paper, they each led separate lives, barely crossing paths. A year later, Stella returned to Seamarsh City, hoping to finally meet her mysterious husband. To her astonishment, he sent her a text message, unexpectedly pleading for a divorce without ever having met her in person. Gritting her teeth, Stella replied, "So be it. Let’s get a divorce!" Following that, Stella made a bold move and joined the Prosperity Group, where she became a public relations officer that worked directly for the company’s CEO, Matthew. The handsome and enigmatic CEO was already bound in matrimony, and was known to be unwaveringly devoted to his wife in private. Unbeknownst to Stella, her mysterious husband was actually her boss, in his alternate identity! Determined to focus on her career, Stella deliberately kept her distance from the CEO, although she couldn't help but notice his deliberate attempts to get close to her. As time went on, her elusive husband had a change of heart. He suddenly refused to proceed with the divorce. When would his alternate identity be uncovered? Amidst a tumultuous blend of deception and profound love, what destiny awaited them?