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Ribofunk :: Филиппо Пол Ди
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"Shit! Thank Ishtar I work in the adminisphere! Anyway, he gets hooked on the Blankie, uses his skills to alter it
for sex. Then when Ixsys finds out and fires him, he goes suborbital, absconding with the product. Finally, he comes to resent anybody else who owns one."
Nodding agreement, I said, "I think we need to pay a little visit to Peej Mayr."
"Should I sign out the Viper again?"
"No. A Bulldog."
A cocktail of canine, wolverine, hyena, and-of course-smattering of human, the Bulldog was what we favored for a one-perp pickup with low to medium violence potential. (And Mayr's MO, with its kind of remote-control aggro, led me to suspect he wouldn't resist arrest.) Massing only three-quarters of a basal human, the Bulldog was capable of taking down half a dozen nonmoddies faster than you could say "Kreb's cycle."
In the car on the way to Mayr's last address, we got a bulletin.
Almost as if our psychic attention on Mayr had drawn him out, there had been another Blankie incident. This time the vector for the assault was a family splice, a Dumbunni. Returning from an errand, it had seemed disoriented. Sent to its manger, it had wandered instead to the human nursery, where it was found gnawing at the Blankie with its blunt, newly venomous teeth. Luckily, the prodge was rescued before the Blankie began fibrillating.
"We've got to put this guy away," K-mart said, "or our personal asses-not to mention the department's-will be so much feedstock. You've read the profile of the average Blankie owner. He or she is a hardnosed, string-pulling plute who's not going to sit quietly for this."
"Agreed. But I'm actually more interested in the details of the perp's kink."
"Great. You can write it up later for the UPCM Journal. But we've got to catch him first."
Mayr's last-known residence turned out to be one of those old asymmetrical rhizomatic structures out in Cambridge. The bawab was a doddering kibe whose split casing seams were patched with Radio Shack Silly Cement. The unit directed us to Mayr's flat, where our idents secured immediate entrance.
A stale smell and a layer of dust (the lowrent place didn't even have self cleaning capabilities) told us no one had occupied the rooms for at least a month.
"Shit! Cold trail," K-mart said.
"Patience, patience. No telling what a search will turn up."
So while the Bulldog stood guard at the door, we began to go through the rooms.
I found Mayr's porn stash in one of the more clever hideaways I had ever encountered. One portion of the bumpy, seemingly dead wall was in reality an embedded modified marine polyp With very good mimicry features.
"Shit! Thank Ishtar I work in the adminisphere! Anyway, he gets hooked on the Blankie, uses his skills to alter it
for sex. Then when Ixsys finds out and fires him, he goes suborbital, absconding with the product. Finally, he comes to resent anybody else who owns one."
Nodding agreement, I said, "I think we need to pay a little visit to Peej Mayr."
"Should I sign out the Viper again?"
"No. A Bulldog."
A cocktail of canine, wolverine, hyena, and-of course-smattering of human, the Bulldog was what we favored for a one-perp pickup with low to medium violence potential. (And Mayr's MO, with its kind of remote-control aggro, led me to suspect he wouldn't resist arrest.) Massing only three-quarters of a basal human, the Bulldog was capable of taking down half a dozen nonmoddies faster than you could say "Kreb's cycle."
In the car on the way to Mayr's last address, we got a bulletin.
Almost as if our psychic attention on Mayr had drawn him out, there had been another Blankie incident. This time the vector for the assault was a family splice, a Dumbunni. Returning from an errand, it had seemed disoriented. Sent to its manger, it had wandered instead to the human nursery, where it was found gnawing at the Blankie with its blunt, newly venomous teeth. Luckily, the prodge was rescued before the Blankie began fibrillating.
"We've got to put this guy away," K-mart said, "or our personal asses-not to mention the department's-will be so much feedstock. You've read the profile of the average Blankie owner. He or she is a hardnosed, string-pulling plute who's not going to sit quietly for this."
"Agreed. But I'm actually more interested in the details of the perp's kink."
"Great. You can write it up later for the UPCM Journal. But we've got to catch him first."
Mayr's last-known residence turned out to be one of those old asymmetrical rhizomatic structures out in Cambridge. The bawab was a doddering kibe whose split casing seams were patched with Radio Shack Silly Cement. The unit directed us to Mayr's flat, where our idents secured immediate entrance.
A stale smell and a layer of dust (the lowrent place didn't even have self cleaning capabilities) told us no one had occupied the rooms for at least a month.
"Shit! Cold trail," K-mart said.
"Patience, patience. No telling what a search will turn up."
So while the Bulldog stood guard at the door, we began to go through the rooms.
I found Mayr's porn stash in one of the more clever hideaways I had ever encountered. One portion of the bumpy, seemingly dead wall was in reality an embedded modified marine polyp With very good mimicry features.