Hymer’s fingers were numb from clacking away at the keyboard for hours on end. He reached for his mug of coffee, only to find out for the third time in a row that it hadn’t magically filled itself back up from the last time he’d checked.
Sighing, he looked at the computer’s digital clock. 14:03 AM. One hour till mid day. Or 57 minutes. Technically, he should have waited for the lunch break, but technically he also shouldn’t be stuck at a desk typing up other people’s paperwork either.
Not bothering to finish his latest sentence, Hymer locked the computer, picked up his mug and enjoyed the short trek to the kitchen to refill it.
METF teams got breaks from being on call every month or so, during which they were given other duties and other teams filled in. This was ostensibly to allow officers to recuperate while still being useful. Hymer didn’t know what genius came up with this idea, because going through a novel and a half’s worth of reports every day was more exhausting than clearing out an entire abandoned apartment block full of gangers.
Upon arriving at the kitchen, he placed the mug in the machine.
“Don’t drink that swill,” Patrone said behind him. “I brought coffee from home. Imported from the Old Country.” The silver-maned lion ripped open a packet of coffee and poured two teaspoons into the coffee maker, then a third and a fourth for good measure.
The older feline seemed to be in a surprisingly good mood given his equally dreary paperwork, humming and beating his fingers against the stained countertop as the machine dripped thick black heaven into the pot.
“You’re awfully happy about doing desk jockey work.” Hymer mumbled.
Patrone chuckled as he readied two chipped mugs. He put one half teaspoon of sugar in his and a sprinkle of cinnamon in Hymer’s, then poured in the coffee.
Hymer sipped his, sighing in pleasure. This was real coffee. Hot, bitter, aromatic and strong just shy of a heart attack.
“Oh, it’s just some news I received,” Patrone sipped at his own mug. “Three months ago my uncle went to the Light. He had a dragon called Kha’dir. When I was a wee lad, he was my best friend. He’s a little… different than most dragons, but you couldn’t ask for a more stalwart companion.” Patrone sipped at his mug dreamily.
Hymer smiled sadly. He felt the same way about Ghe’ta. The old girl had seen him through thick and thin during his all too short military service. She was a bit serious, she wasn’t the type of dragon to cuddle her rider for warmth or play catch with an airgun-launched ball, but when it counted, she was as loyal and protective as any mount.
It’s what kept him alive. It’s what got her killed.
“Sounds lovely. I envy you. My family never benefited from having one of the Fire’s Paladins around the household. But I had an uncle who ran with a Stateless Pack, so I had my share of time around dragons.”
“That’s why I’m talking to you, Eight. When you were in the Service, you specialized in Light Air Cavalry and Heavy Weapons. And poor old Kha’dir needed a place to stay. My family back home can’t afford to house and feed a dragon, and I would never forgive myself if I sold him to some nomadic stranger. So, I pulled some strings and got him shipped here in the Isles of Opportunity! He’s been trained to be an Air Patrol mount by our boys since. And tomorrow will be his first ride-along on the streets. Well… rooftops, mostly. And I can’t think of anyone better to show the old boy the city.” The old lion grinned.
Hymer took another sip of the coffee, savoring it.
“I’d be honored, Boss. And to be honest, I’ll welcome any opportunity to get away from half this damn department’s paperwork. But shouldn’t it be you? I mean, he’s already bonded with you. It’ll take him days, maybe even weeks to get used to me.”
“Several reasons:” Patrone stuck out a thumb. Rigurians seemed incapable of speaking without gesticulating. Hymer had come to believe he was the only one to not be afflicted by the curse.
“One, I’m trying to convince the Chief to spare us three dragons. And if we prove that we can handle one, not to mention spare them the expense of acquiring one for us, it’ll ease the process for the other two. Two,” He stuck out a second finger. “You’re the best trained rider I know. And three:” He stuck out a third finger. “I trust you. I think you’ll like each other.” He patted the taller feline on the shoulder.
“Now you’re just buttering me up.” Hymer said flatly, but couldn’t suppress a smirk. Patrone snorted.
“Do you wanna step out of this hellhole for a few days or not?”
And with that, Patrone had his volunteer.
----------------------------------------
The MKPD Air Cavalry stables were located at the top floor of the station. They were roomy and sterile, the entire floor void of interior walls, allowing the large beasts relatively free movement. The sun’s rays shone through the thick glass domed roof, giving Hymer a welcome break from the artificial radiators and air conditioning of the station. This was quite a necessity: dragons got nervous if they couldn’t see the sky for prolonged periods of time.
The north-facing wall was entirely a large shutter, the only practical way for an animal as large as a dragon to enter or leave.
At least two attendants were on duty at all times, looking after the dragons’ immediate needs such as food and hygiene, as well as taking them on a daily hour-long flight if they weren’t on duty that day.
The smell of pine needles and grass filled the air, which was known to have a calming effect on dragons.
Artificial freedom to keep them happy. Stay here, in an area masquerading as your homeland, be taken on patrol down a predetermined route if you’re lucky, or just an hour flight if not. It was perhaps a mercy that even the smartest dragons had the estimated intelligence of a gifted seven year old Sapiens. They couldn’t quite comprehend how limited their existence was and how much they’d lost by being tamed.
Then again, they were allowed a fully free flight one day a week. And they did get free food, care, shelter and a guaranteed loving companion in the form of a rider…
Now that Hymer thought about it, the dragons were a lot smarter than the Sapiens.
Two opposite rows of roomy stalls contained dragons sleeping or eating. They were all medium sized like Venfalx, Pilum or Treebolts; small enough to be useful in police operations, large enough to have one or more riders and carry sufficient equipment.
In the center of the wide chamber, two of the large winged beasts were wrestling. A giant grey-scaled Stonechest was pinning down his smaller green Venfalx adversary. Just when it seemed over, the comparatively diminutive dragon butted him in the snout and twisted around until he was on the giant’s back. A rhino attendant watched closely to ensure no lasting injuries. As soon as Hymer and Patrone exited the elevator, the burly attendant stood at attention.
“Officer on floor!” He rasped, snapping his heels together and saluting. The dragons in their stalls all stood straight in an instant. The two who were wrestling instantly got off each other and did the same, eyeing the newcomers.
“At ease.” Patrone casually saluted. The rhino let his hand fall by his side, and the towering reptiles all eased off as they saw their caretaker lose his military posture.
Hymer glanced around at the great flying reptiles standing as disciplined as any soldier.
The pride of any Fakonan military, dragons were more than just a war mount. There were other flying beasts that could match them such as perytons or griffins, but none that could form the holy bond they shared with Sapiens. Their role may have been altered and shrunken throughout the Eras, with powerful manmade machines surpassing them in terms of flight speed or sheer destructive power, yet they never truly left the battlefield. And now, many of them found other, more peaceful niches in the world’s police forces. They were useful in everything from patrol, to aerial pursuit, to disaster rescue, to riot control;
Even muzzled and with blunted claws, the mere sight of a one ton armored mass of muscle, scales and wings was normally more than enough to dissuade even the most malcontent of rioters.
“Kha’dir is over there.” Patrone gestured to a superb gold-scaled Stonechest. She stood nearly 40 feet tall on her hindlegs, her lean muscled torso the girth of a riot van, each blunted claw the size of a machete.
Hymer whistled lowly.
“A fine specimen. A bit too big for most police duties, but with a wingspan like that, I’m sure she’ll more than make up for it in the speed department.”
“It’s a ‘him’, not ‘her’. And that’s not him…” Patrone smirked sheepishly. Hymer cocked an eyebrow.
“But there isn’t any other dragon near-”
The lion walked up to one of the stalls near the superb dragoness and held his badge up to the scanner.
As the heavy metallic gate lowered, Hymer saw that the stall was not empty. Laying prostrate on all fours was a little lithe candy apple-red Venfalx. Rather than standing at attention like his brethren, Kha’dir was busy chewing on his own barbed tail. His short horns were curved, like half a question mark.
It was difficult to say with him sitting in the approximate shape of a pretzel, but Hymer appreciated his body length and weight to be about 25 feet and 700 kilos respectively. Enough to carry him, some light armor and equipment, but not much else. A meaner person would have called him a runt.
The dragon ripped off a dead tail-barb which seemed to irritate him then spat it out and began rolling it playfully around the pen with his claw. It took a solid five seconds of the pair staring at him for Kha’dir to finally look up. His wide, forest-green eyes looked at the familiar lion blankly, then shifted to Hymer, head cocked inquisitively.
Hymer looked at Patrone, who now suddenly seemed to be very interested in his watchband.
“Like I said. He’s… different.”
----------------------------------------
“I’m an ex Light Air Cavalryman, not a fucking miracle worker.” Hymer grumbled, making sure for the fifth time that minute that his flight jacket was secured.The basic design for the gear of both rider and mount hadn’t changed in over a century.
The black leather jacket was fitted with six different large hoops with which the rider secured themselves to the saddle. Square goggles and a round white helmet adorned Hymer’s head. The dragon was likewise equipped, a two piece helmet-mask combo covering his head. Thick goggles went over his eyes; not to protect against the wind, thousands of years of evolution had taken care of that, but to stop small arms fire from being able to kill the dragon with a lucky eye shot.
The dragon’s harness combined the saddle and armor of the dragon. It was of a similar design to dragon armor used all the way back in the First Burning Steel War, except that it was kevlar with ceramic inserts rather than steel plating, making it both lighter and stronger. The webbing at the front of the armor was nearly identical to regular combat webbing, containing pouches for first aid kits, flares, extra ammo and other equipment, easily within the reach of the rider once on ground level.
In a holster to Hymer’s right, easily reachable while riding, was a rifle scabbard containing an NP5 submachine gun with a folding stock. The tiger usually preferred rifles for their greater stopping power and range, but an SMG was more conducive to riding, being lighter and even able to be fired one handed in an emergency.
The mounts Hymer had trained on and flew with in the Riguri Legion were all carefully selected for various roles. Be they skirmishing, troop transport, scouting or direct aerial fire bombings.
Kha’dir would have perhaps been the regimental mascot.
Nevertheless, Hymer was glad to finally see Mamalokat from dragonback. Day was turning to night, and that was when the formless grey spires turned into a vibrant kaleidoscope of blinding pastel.
It fainly reminded Hymer of a time from his childhood when he and a friend of his wandered the ashen remains of trees after a brush fire had destroyed much of their neighboring forest. In an attempt to make the forest happy again, they “borrowed” all the confetti they could find in their school’s supply closet and spread the bright colored paper all across the ash of dead nature. It hadn’t worked back then either.
They were in Central Solkat, more or less the heart of the city-state. It had once had a large stretch of artificial desert filled with traditional 2-4 storey buildings, parks built around oases and palm groves. However, the constant need for more housing caused the majority of it to be destroyed in favor of more residential megablocks.
All that was left was the Volkoh Memorial Park, a literal and figurative oasis amongst the all-encompassing concrete desert. It was at least commendable that unlike most other big cities, each district of Mamalokat had mostly kept its architectural identity, not compromising aesthetics for cost saving. Solkat had been characterized for more than a century by its Art Deco style. Virtu-billboards and neon ads spanning dozens of storeys adorned the bold curves and symmetrical patterns of the towers like glowing leaves of purpurkrumb trees.
Like a blood diamond. Its beauty was only exceeded by the pain it belied.
It seemed that the dragon hadn’t been in a big city before, as every city block, he would land on a rooftop or other, gawking at something. Everything was fascinating to him. He either flew slowly to admire the thousands of lights strobing far below, or shot out at something that captured his attention. Another police dragon, a far larger black-scaled Stonechest, flew past him in a straight, disciplined flight right above a busy freeway, the wolf rider giving Hymer a questioning eyebrow.
Hymer was briefly reminded of the time as a child when he rode a bike with training wheels while an older neighboring kid had already learned to ride properly and pedaled past him, laughing and teasing.
The tiger had no idea what kind of strings Patrone had to pull to get this lizard muppet to pass selection.
A virtu-billboard showcased a grilling burger, causing Kha’dir to veer off course and shoot towards it like a bullet, narrowly dodging a corporate skyboat.
The look of sheer cold disappointment on the dragon’s face when he realized that the hundred foot long searing patty was nothing but a holographic display could have frozen the sun.
Hymer grit his teeth, wanting to be angry with the dim-witted mount, but found he couldn’t bring himself to form words of admonishment. There was something innocent and pure about the puerile fire-breather.
Sighing, he rubbed his neck, at which Kha’dir cooed pleasantly.
“Hey, I get it; this is way different than the training camps out in the boonies. First time in the big city and all. I’m sure it’s all very overwhelming.” The dragon looked back with a confused look. Hymer groaned.
“Overwhelming… a lot.”
The dragon didn’t seem to fully comprehend this explanation either, yet seemed to accept it. Most dragons couldn’t understand all Sapiens speech either, but were great at understanding their meaning via tone of voice, the speaker’s emotions and context. But as Patrone had said, Kha’dir was special…
“Tell you what; that virtu-billboard got me hungry too. Let’s go eat, there’s a place I haven’t been to yet that has special arrangements for the likes of us.” That, Kha’dir seemed to understand perfectly fine.
He chirped happily and finally obeyed Hymer’s commands to a T. He gets a lot more cooperative when food is involved… guess we may get along just fine after all.
The ‘Cherry Blossoms’, ‘Skytower #58’ and ‘President Richtophen’ megabuildings were linked via a plaza that measured about a hundred acres centered around the 50th floors. To the thousands of residents of the three megastructures, it provided an unexpected break of nature and leisure amongst the endless scape of concrete and glass, complete with a jogging course, water fountain and several small shops and cafes. To the people far below, it provided the best shade in town. Everyone was a winner, then.
Hymer guided his dragon down to the landing bay of the “Skyhouse Steak” diner. The smell of cooked meat coming off the chimney already made Kha’dir murr expectantly and Hymer’s stomach to growl.
The cacophony of chatter, laughter and the unsynchronized march of a thousand feet was much the same as it was two hundred meters below. Only a few skyboats were present on the landing bay.
Skyboats, like their older and larger cousin, the airship, ran off Ethrum burned in bladders at the side of the vessel to allow flight and steering. However, unlike the massive airships, the new skyboats were made to be small and sleek for personal use. They were said to be the future of transportation. What they ignored, however, was that Ethrum really didn’t like being burned in anything less than massive quantities, which had left airships its sole use until very recently.
Skyboats had a pitifully short range, none could go faster than 80mph on a good day, and keeping one topped off with Ehtrum for a daily drive cost more than maintaining a hungry dragon during bulking season.
Thus, no one other than rich kids and a few corporations had invested in them. For those with the means to invest in personal short range air travel, helicopters and dragons remained the only practical choice.
Hymer landed and sought a table with sufficient room next to it for his dragon. A lithe cheetah in a stained apron all but materialized next to them, braking hard on roller blades.
“Order, officer? Today’s special is Flamin’ Cheese! Five bucks! Drinks are two!” He said so fast that the tiger first thought he’d sneezed.
“Um…” He stammered awkwardly. “Sure. Flaming Cheese and a coke for me. And get this boy a Slab.” He stretched out seven bills and a card. The card identified Kha’dir as a first responder dragon, which guaranteed him meals at the city’s expense at various specially equipped restaurants and stores. The cheetah kid scanned the card, grabbed the money like a purse-snatcher and rolled away out of sight.
“O… kay.” Hymer said to no one in particular. A young antelope boy approached the officer, looking in awe at the dragon.
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“Mister Officer, is that a real dragon?” He asked in awe. Hymer looked back at his mount. He was currently in the process of trying to chew his own tail again, spinning around himself to catch it.
“I dunno, kid, you tell me.” Hymer said dryly. The boy cocked an eyebrow and left.
Hymer occupied himself by checking out the skyboats around the landing bay. Most were the sleek, corporate design, about the size of a van and bullet shaped. The burnt Ethrum was propelled in rubber bladders on the side of the vehicle, much like their larger airship counterparts. The pilot controlled the amount of Ethrum that was sent to the bladders, which controlled the vehicle’s flight.
One skyboat stood out. It was built out of what looked like a small airship engine and the frame of several ground cars welded together. The Ethrum bladders were patched rubber. They weren’t an uncommon sight, and more often than not they ended up crashing and hurting someone down below. Since Skyboats were barely a year old, there was next to no legislature restricting them. So, backyard engineers got to work. He sighed. He hoped that hunk of junk wouldn’t give up the ghost in the air. Perhaps he should hang around here some more to keep an eye on it.
“Here you go!” The lithe cheetah kid rolled back. He held out a tray for Hymer, and more impressively, a slab of meat over his bony shoulder that looked heavier than he was.
Kha’dir began sticking his tongue out and sniffing at the slab, green eyes alight with impatience.
In order to streamline logistics during the First Burning Steel War, the Imperium of Osnya had decided to simplify dragon rations for easier storage and transportation much like they did for soldiers.
The result was a meaty, semi-gelatinous amalgamation of meat, vegetables, vitamins and sometimes stimulants to give the dragon more endurance during long flights. A single slab provided a dragon with enough calories and vitamins for an entire day.
It could also be eaten by regular soldiers in a pinch, and it wasn’t too bad, tasting faintly like cheap ham, but it was not recommended, as it was known to cause stomach trouble.
During peacetime, it became popular with anyone who owned dragons for the same reason why it was popular in wartime. And the dragons loved it.
The waiter dropped a heatproof mat over the ground and unceremoniously dumped the slab over it. Kha’dir growled delightfully, looking gratefully at the cheetah, yet he’d already rolled away to another customer.
“Fast service.” Hymer grumbled, taking a bite of the cheeseburger. The heat hit him before the actual taste did. It had been awhile since a spicy meal actually made him feel anything. Just as he felt his own mouth catching fire, Kha’dir began gently blowing a timid little blowtorch-like flame over the slab, turning it crispy brown within seconds. He then began slicing it with his claws in manageable chunks and began slowly eating with his forepaws. The dragon probably looked more civilized than he did eating his burger, Hymer pondered with a chuckle.
He took another bite of fiery goodness, when a sound caught his attention. It had been faint, yet it was a decided standout from the uniform cacophony of chatter, laughter, walking and music around the skyplaza.
He looked up from his meal. His vision was blocked by the endless deluge of Sapiens of all size classes. Some had their eyes glued to their CERA devices, some chatting yet all were equally oblivious to the world around them.
His ears perked up, his keen hearing filtering out all irrelevant sounds. Meat sizzled on the restaurant’s grills. A man and a woman laughed. Someone coughed loudly. Blaring rock music from an electronic shop’s boombox reverberated throughout the plaza. The tinkle of glass shattering-
Hymer’s eyes instinctively set upon the jewelry shop, the most likely place to be hit. Four masked lions smashed through the glass door, their manes flowing beneath their balaclavas, loaded duffel bags on their backs. They were armed with rifles and SMGs.
For a moment, nothing happened. Hymer stared at the robbers and they stared back. The world around them, the hundreds of passer-bys, the hustle and bustle, had all ceased to be. It was as if they’d both been whisked away to an empty battleground devoid of all distractions.
Once on that battleground, both sides realized two things at the same time: namely that Hymer was outnumbered four to one, and that the robbers were standing and armed, while he was sitting and unarmed.
Hymer dropped the burger. He felt his mouth moving and his throat vibrating, but wasn’t sure what he was shouting. He saw the lead man raise his weapon. It was some type of AK, meaning his light armor vest, or the table before him, would do little to stop its rounds.
He saw a jogging gazelle with a walkman over her head suddenly turn towards the criminals in horror. He couldn’t hear her scream, he couldn’t hear anything except the staccato beating of his heart, yet she must have, for all the other civilians around her turned in shock and then began to flee.
Hymer felt his paw close around the grip of his sidearm. The scraping of metal against leather felt painfully slow, like he was ripping it out of molasses.
The lead man took aim, and Hymer knew he was too late.
A massive shape of red and black fell before him, shattering a table and it roared. Its roar felt louder than the deathly rattle of automatic gunfire or the screams of terrified civilians. The roar vibrated his insides and seemed to shake the very building he was upon, like a thunderstrike.
Kha’dir was no longer a runt. He stood at his full massive eight meter height, his wings spreading wider than the restaurant he was standing before.
Hymer rushed to his dragon’s side, taking cover behind him. He saw the four criminals scatter, intimidated by the massive beast’s terrifying display of power. AK-man was repositioning, aiming for Kha’dir’s throat. Hymer put two slugs in his chest and one in his head. He crumpled upon the steps in a trail of blood.
“YOU DIDN’T SAY THERE WOULD BE A FUCKING DRAGON COP HERE!” one of the robbers screamed as they retreated towards the hunk of junk skyboat.
Hymer gave chase, but another burst of automatic fire forced him to take cover behind a pillar, chunks of ceramic and concrete stinging his cheek.
When he peeked out again, the skyboat was off, floating jerkily and trailing oily lavender trails of purpurkrumb fuel.
Cursing, he turned around to Kha’dir. The dragon’s thick protective vest had several holes in it that weren’t there before. More alarmingly, his unarmored shoulder had been hit and it was bleeding. The timid little flyer had taken a bullet for him.
“Police! Is anyone hurt?” He asked loudly. No one answered. Most civilians had fled into one of the three main buildings the plaza connected, others were hiding behind anything that looked solid enough or just prone on the ground, hands over their heads. There were no bodies save for the criminal he’d popped, which was quite a miracle.
Hymer turned towards Kha’dir. His wound needed attention. However, when he reached for the first aid kit on the dragon’s webbing, his mount growled and nodded towards the saddle. The getaway ride was still in view, bathed in dying sunset and birthing neon.
Hymer nodded. “Let’s get those fuckers.”
The tiger barely had time to strap his flying jacket in before Kha’dir took off like a rocket, two tables knocked over by the sheer downforce of his wings. Hymer pressed a button on the control panel above the saddle. Dozens of LEDs lit up around Kha’dir’s harness, illuminating the dragon in blue and red visibility lights, like a fiery phoenix pluming up amongst the miles of pastel-colored neon glow.
He braced himself as Kha’dir shot forward like an arrow, narrowly avoiding a news chopper attracted to the commotion like a fly to honey. He saw the skyboat weaving between the massive stalagmites of concrete, glass and neon, being deceivingly fast despite its improvised nature.
Hymer picked up the radio. “Dispatch, this is George-2-3! Responding to a 10-65 on Richtophen Skyplaza. Shots fired, one suspect down, send EMS and patrol. Three suspects fleeing in an unmarked black skyboat, currently above Grainger Boulevard, requesting air support. Be advised, suspects have automatic weapons.”
He heard Dispatch buzz back a reply, but he wasn’t listening, holding tight to the reins as Kha’dir closed the distance. He laid flat against the dragon to decrease air drag. Utilizing his superior mobility, Kha’dir flew through the warm glow of a holographic billboard advertising the latest CERA model to cut the skyboat off. The robbers took a sharp right, narrowly avoiding Kha’dir. One of the masked lions leaned out, cocking his SMG.
Hymer reached for the NP5 strapped to Kha’dir, yet the dragon growled. The cop was initially confused, but he understood: a firefight while surrounded by residential buildings on all sides was a very, very bad idea.
He guided Kha’dir on a rooftop covered by a billboard, giving the criminal no more cause to fire.
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Alexis kept aiming behind them, ready to fire a burst into the dragon should it rear its ugly head again.
“I think they gave up, brothers!” He grinned. As expected, the cops gave up as soon as the possibility of danger showed up. Fucking tigers… those maneless pussies were good at boasting and not much else. There was a reason why most monarchs in world history had been lions… and one day, they would remind the world of that fact.
“I wish we wouldn’t have lost Georg…” the pilot, Andros, muttered. Alexis nodded solemnly.
“He gave his life for the Cause, brother. His sacrifice has not been in vain. And we’ll make that striped bastard pay.” Gebal, their last surviving teammate, promised.
The pilot was about to say something, but instead, he screamed. Right in front of them was the dragon again. It must have circled around the building to cut them off. It hovered, its tail cocked, and the tiger was hanging off by the straps, weapon trained on them.
Alexis and Gebal grabbed their guns again, but at the same time, the dragon flicked its tail, sending the spiked barbs flying, and the cop fired a short, accurate burst.
There were two pops, then hisses. Looking out the window, he saw both bladders of Ethrum leaking thick white-gold smoke.
“Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck!” Andros yelled, wrestling with the control to reach a safe landing spot as their altitude slowly but surely dipped.
Alexis tried to keep an eye on the dragon, but their skyboat had dipped so much that he’d lost sight of him. Amidst the endless wall of lead-colored blocks adorned with eye-straining lights and ads was Volkoh Park, its golden artificial sand dunes like the corner of a parallel universe peeking into their world.
“I’ll try to land there! We’ll grab a ride and disappear before the ground cops get wind of us!” Andros said. They dipped faster than they’d have liked. Ethrum bladders were designed to deflate slowly in case of rupture, allowing smooth emergency landing. That fucking Stateless scum had done a half assed job. Served them right for trusting a wolf of all mammals.
The people who’d gone to the park for a relaxing evening walk began to notice the rapidly approaching, smoking aircraft and began to scatter in a panic.
“Hold o-” The skyboat did almost a complete nosedive. Alexis’s head was slammed painfully into the ceiling as their vehicle crashed into the ground. The skyboat scraped viciously against the paved road, shards of metal and sparks flying every which way. They shattered a water fountain, causing the boat to spin out onto bare sand. They slid down into a slight ravine, sand beginning to leak through the poorly welded doors.
The sudden lurching stop was more sickening than the tumbling dive that came before. Alexis tried to grab his AK, yet it was wedged tightly between a seat and a newly formed lump of twisted metal. With a curse, he shouldered the door open and fell upon the sand. He reached in for the duffel bag of loot as well, glittering jewelry littering the sand from a tear in the fabric.
The lion took out his sidearm. It was a long barreled Magnum revolver. Up close, it could wound a dragon or go through a light kevlar vest no problem.
His two comrades got out of the skyboat themselves, bruised and battered, yet otherwise fine.
He listened for any signs that the cops were onto them. No sirens, no screeching of tires, no demands for surrender. They were at the lip of a palm grove, thick brush growing around an oasis like the spokes of a wheel. He looked up for the dragon-mounted cop. No sign of them. Yet he doubted they would just give up the chase. Perhaps they were waiting for backup?
Then he realized that he’d thought of the dragon like another skyboat; an aircraft that needed to deliberately and carefully choose a landing spot. A dragon was like a bird; it was not restrained by the necessity of an airstrip, or even an even patch of land. He turned around to the palm grove just in time to see a wall of kevlar-clad red scales glide towards them.
The dragon landed with an earth-shaking crash, spreading pounds of sand which blinded the criminals in an orange haze. The beast pounced upon Andros and Gebal, pinning them down with one claw each. Spitting out sand and rubbing his eyes, Alexis half-blindly aimed the Magnum for the dragon’s neck.
A powerful paw grabbed his wrist, forcing his shot to fire uselessly upwards. The powerful report made his ears ring. The tiger’s other paw grabbed the long barrel, twisting it away with such force that Alexis’s wrist snapped with a meaty crack of bone and tendons.
Alexis screamed in white hot pain and furiously lashed out with his other fist, feeling with satisfaction as his knuckles met flesh. Then he realized he’d hit his opponent’s shoulder rather than his jaw.
As his vision finally cleared, he saw the tiger cop, standing a full head taller than him, eyes glittering with green fire. An uppercut slammed into his gut, lifting the lion off the sand. He tried to cough, yet a crushing grip around his neck prevented any breath. Just as he tried to claw at the tiger, his opponent’s other paw found the lion’s groin and he was lifted off the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“What the Gehl do tigers feed their young?” was all he had time to think before he was slammed full into the scrap aircraft, knocking him out cold.
Hymer breathed heavily, paws on his knees. He’d counted four suspects. One was lying dead on the skyplaza, one he’d knocked out, the other two were beneath Kha’dir’s mighty grip. Taking out his handcuffs, he restrained the unconscious lion.
The wail of sirens broke through the chaos that their impromptu landing had caused and before long, two squad cars and an ambulance screeched to a stop alongside the wreckage. Kha’dir obediently got off his two captives to allow the officers to restrain them.
Hymer looked at the lithe red dragon. “You did good. You took a bullet for me. And that’s not something I will forget.” He patted Kha’dir snout, the reptile cooing happily. He looked again at the dragon’s bullet wound. It had only taken flesh, but it would still need treating, and the paramedics were currently more concerned with the suspects. Hymer removed the first aid kit and began treating his new friend’s wound.
As he did so, Kha’dir began poking and sniffing at the many jewels scattered on the ground. He picked up a ring with a gaudily huge diamond between his claws and stared at it in fascination.
Hymer laughed and shook his head. No one knew exactly why, but dragons had a fascination with jewelry, despite having no use for them.
----------------------------------------
“. . . As such, I believe that Light Air Patrol Unit George-2-3 (Alias “Kha’dir”) is ready to enter regular duty within the MKPD Aerial Patrol and Intervention squads. He has proven to more than posses the resilience, coolness under fire, quick thinking and agility necessary to-”
“Hey, Jehud. You got a minute?” Louise Clawson said, knocking on Hymer’s cubicle. The tigress had recovered quite nicely after her injury, not even needing a leg cast after only weeks of healing.
Hymer glanced at the cursor blinking at the end of the unfinished sentence upon the green-hued computer terminal. He hadn’t yet finished penning up the recommendation for Kha’dir, and he still needed to write the after-action report for the shooting, chase and arrest.
“Only a minute. What’s up?” He spun on his office chair.
Louise dropped four rap sheets upon the only spot on Hymer’s desk not piled up with paperwork awaiting attention. He didn’t have to look at the mugshots to realize they were the four suspects he’d had a run in with.
“I’ll spare you the trouble; they’re all affiliated with the Burning Manes gang and are members of the Leo Resistance Movement.”
Hymer cocked an eyebrow. “The lion supremacists? They’re dangerous, but small-time. The Burning Manes deal bathtub Twinkle and rob liquor stores. I don’t see them robbing Megablock stores. And they’re bikers, they do hit and runs on ground targets.”
Louise nodded. “You got that right. That was a high risk heist that only the bigger gangs would dabble into. So, I looked into the jewelry store, Lorette Fine Stones.”
“And?”
“It’s a suspected front… for the Cartel.”
That got Hymer’s attention.
“Where did those two-time losers get the balls to attack The Cartel?”
Louise shrugged. “Beats me for now. But not even they are stupid enough to take on the Cartel without some serious backing. Someone’s using them as deniable footsoldiers.”
Hymer opened his drawer and retrieved one of his cigars. He figured he’d earned his weekly cigar and now was as good a time as any to enjoy it.
“So… the Cartel’s got a civil war going on and now someone is also leading a proxy war against them.” The tiger pondered as he lit his cigar. He took a slow, deliberate puff, savoring the moment as much as he could, knowing that it was all the tobacco he would get that week.
“No such thing as a coincidence.”