Dear Drake,
First and foremost, thank you for the wealth of supplies and information you sent me last month. The Technical Machines have already helped me solve a problem for one of my partners, and the journals provide invaluable insight into how to improve our training (even if Juan’s requires liberal interpreting before coming into useability).
I don’t know if I ever really thanked you for taking the time to train me either. It may have just been a diversion for you, but for me, those short weeks fundamentally changed the way I see battling.
Realizing that there was a whole wide world of experiences beyond Ferrum battles, seeing firsthand the depth and complexity involved therein, the gift of those experiences easily eclipses the later physical things you sent. Even and especially that final day.
I know that when we parted, it wasn’t on the best of terms. Maybe it would sound ungrateful to say that I held it against you? I’ve since come around, but forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting. Don’t retire too soon Drake, because someday, I’ll be ready to challenge you for real. I’m excited to see how strong Cutter becomes in the meantime.
I wonder how frankly we might speak in these letters? To my understanding, Rhea should take this directly from my hands to yours, but I understand if a busy Elite Four member like yourself has a secretary. Please, let me know how much I need to mind my words.
Congratulations on your new position,
Fione Alvida.
Alyssa made fun of me for overly relying on her school thesaurus, but my letter to Drake was done.
One sheet of typing paper, stuffed in a Bluesky print envelope, and handed off to a tricksome spirit.
Rhea had foregone scaring me this time, perhaps remembering how poorly it had gone last month. He certainly gave my mom a surprise though, when she went to respond to the doorbell.
Her questions about why a Dragapult with a mailbag was at the front door aside, the rest of the week passed peacefully as we approached August. My partners were making enough progress that I felt comfortable returning to the underpasses, though I didn’t rush to make the third badge challenge.
So on Saturday, instead of departing with any intention of challenging the third underleader, we went instead to scope out just exactly who it was we’d be facing.
My upcoming opponent was a wiry man, who styled himself in aviator goggles and a bomber jacket. A full flight helmet obscured his identity, and of his Pokémon that I saw, both were unsurprisingly Flying-typed.
I got the chance to spectate a badge challenge, and the man’s style was quickly obvious. His Taillow and Staravia were both blisteringly fast combatants, twisting and darting throughout the limited bounds of the arena with the sort of easy freedom that made me nervous for my knight’s chances to hit them. Even worse, they were using some sort of move to keep the wind in their favor, the dust and rubbish contained in the arena’s barrier swirling and eddying behind them as they tore across the battlefield, speeding them even further.
The challenger put up a good fight, trying to barrage the flyers from afar with a variety of Rock-type moves, but she just couldn’t keep up with the pace of the battle, and she was quickly overwhelmed.
This was going to be a tough challenge, and we were going to need to do some special training to compensate.
My own record for the evening ended with two wins and a single loss, with my knights and Maushold both scoring victories and Mana unfortunately coming up short in her bout. We returned again the next day, where another challenger revealed the Underleader’s third partner, an Unfezant, slightly slower than his other Pokémon, but far stronger and tougher.
Maybe a better matchup for my knights, honestly, if I could just get past the other, more agile combatants.
That night, I reviewed what I knew, checked the TMs I’d been sent, and created a plan. We weren’t going to be ready next weekend, but the one after that? Well, I thought we might have a chance at least.
Now, it was Wednesday, and I was slowly losing my mind in the ranger station.
Mark, my teacher for the day, ended up getting called away to respond to an emergency, which left me alone with Liken the dispatcher, Bakiru the Hypno, and the outpost’s rescue population.
Not an unusual occurrence of late, and normally, it wouldn’t be so bad. I’d at least have a few Pokémon to look after (and play with), but we’d processed a slew of releases on Monday and Tuesday. Great for the Pokémon, since they could finally return home, but bad for my heart, what with the tragic goodbyes.
Also not great because it left me with nothing to do today. The only two wild Pokémon left in the station were the Spinda and Teddiursa I’d first met all those months ago when I’d first arrived (Bakiru was independent, and didn’t count). The tottering caretaker had grown rather protective of her charge of late, as he approached adolescence, which left very little space for me to come between them.
There was, of course, training we could do, except that we’d already spent the morning working through what I had scheduled for today. There was always tomorrow’s work, or just more conditioning, but I didn’t want to push my Pokémon further just to relieve my boredom, even if they wouldn’t have complained about it.
Setting limits was increasingly important to me, as I struggled to ensure that Mana didn’t push herself too hard and Maushold didn’t feel pressured to listen to me unduly. Hence, my determination to abide by the carefully structured plan we’d all agreed on.
My knights were– unhappy with the limitations I was putting on their training, but I thought it important that I didn’t allow for any double-standards. Maushold needed me to abide by my words, Mana needed to be assured that she’d done enough, and my knights were going to have to learn to deal with it.
I’d gotten them to return to their ball with promises of chess matches this evening, and Maushold and Mana had been tired enough that they’d asked to rest in their balls.
Which just left lonely old me, waiting for the day to end. With nothing else to do, I’d taken to reviewing ranger handbooks in the station’s lobby. Reading through the tomes of rules and regulations was painfully dull, but it was stuff that I needed to know. For a while, I’d made small talk with Liken, but the narcoleptic dispatcher had fallen asleep at the front desk, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. Bakiru, sitting next to him and typing away on one of the station’s computers, was even less of a conversationalist. I knew he could communicate telepathically, but I’d never experienced it personally. Apparently, he didn’t like to connect mind-to-mind unless it was strictly necessary. It seemed like a prohibitive tendency for a Pokémon that literally couldn't vocalize, but he did well enough for himself, so who was I to say?
I’d managed to burn enough time that I was only maybe a half-hour from heading out to catch the bus, when an insistent beeping came from the dispatcher board installed just below the lobby’s front desk.
Bakiru eyed the trilling indicator, before turning to Liken. His eyes glowed blue momentarily, and the dark-haired teenager awoke with a start. He blinked blearily for a few moments, before quickly coming to full awareness, unnaturally so.
That was Bakiru’s assistance, clearing the sleep from Liken’s eyes so he could respond to the ping from the dispatcher board.
It had struck me as problematic, that someone who needed to respond adroitly to emergencies was so prone to falling into deep sleep unprompted.
Hence the almost symbiotic relationship between Liken and Bakiru. The young dispatcher couldn’t stay awake. The Pokémon couldn’t speak through the station’s radio. Together, they covered rather nicely for one another’s shortcomings.
“This is Techne Ranger Outpost Seven, what’s the nature of your emergency,” Liken spoke into the landline’s receiver with more urgency than I’d ever heard from him before. “Ok. Alright. I understand sir.”
Listening in to only half of a conversation was always an exercise in frustration, but I just couldn’t tear my ears away. Mostly because the alternative was the ridiculously dry educational text laid out on the table in front of me.
“Understood. Let me connect with our sergeant and get back to you. I’ll be putting you on hold for just a couple of minutes sir. Please do not do anything rash,” the young dispatcher pressed a button on the board, presumably putting the caller on hold.
A few moments of fishing around, and he came up with a radio, the sort that we used when out in the field. The rugged device was painted ranger-red, and I knew from experience that the thing had impressive range and reliability, which almost made up for its terrible sound quality. “Sergeant? Sergeant Egao, this is base. Do you copy, over?”
A few moments passed, before Janine’s voice emerged from the handheld device’s tinny speakers. At this distance, the words were indistinct, but her raspy voice and Kantonian accent were immediately recognizable.
“We’ve got an emergency caller on the line. Commuter train between Techne and Tellur is blocked, it’s a herd of Slowpoke. Over.”
Another indecipherable reply, though this one carried distinct undertones of frustration.
“Mark’s still not back, and the last check-in from Donna and Wilson had them returning at eight at the earliest. Over.”
Another reply from Donna.
“Philip’s off today,” he put the radio up to his shoulder and held it there to free his hands, so he could pluck away at the keyboard in front of him for a few moments. “Yeah, his surgery is this evening, and he took the whole day off. I could call him in, but he’d have to reschedule it. You know how that could go. Uh, over.”
It seemed like my eavesdropping might be paying off, because I was sensing an opportunity. I closed the boring textbook with my finger stuck on a particular page, before making my way across the room to the front desk.
Liken was just about to say something into the receiver when I arrived at the desk, and I quickly spoke up, interjecting into the conversation, “I’m available.”
The narcoleptic dispatcher actually startled, losing his grip on the radio and making a desperate catch for it.
Bakiru, Liken, and I also shared an identical wince as the thing slammed into the ground with an audible crack, but there was no visible evidence of any damage after the lanky teenager had stooped to retrieve it.
“Sorry, go again, Sergeant, I missed your last. The newbie surprised me,” the dispatcher shot me a perturbed glare, to which I offered a shrug.
“I’ve been here for four months, Liken, I know you know my name,” I accused the teen, “and I could clear a herd of Slowpoke. It doesn’t really get much simpler than that.”
Liken rolled his eyes at me as he held the receiver up to his ear, but he did relay my message. “Yeah she’s right here,” he said in response to something from Janine. “She says she could handle the Slowpoke, over.”
More chatter from the radio. “She says that you should already know that you can’t go out on missions on your own,” Liken relayed to me.
“Actually, that’s not strictly true.” I refuted, as I tried to keep an eager grin off of my face. “After five-hundred hours of training, junior rangers are allowed to go on low-risk missions with, quote, ‘minimal supervision.’” I punctuated my statement with air quotes from my free hand.
Liken frowned, but gamely sent my words along to Janine. A few moments later, he just handed the device to me.
“That might be true, Private,” Janine’s voice came out of the tinny speakers, “but since you’ve been listening in, you’ve already heard Liken. There’s no one available who can oversee you, over.”
“Right, but the handbook specifically says, ‘minimal supervision,’ and the only other place where it uses that term, it specifies that the supervising can be done remotely, by radio or other means. It’s in the section on low-risk repatriations, over.” I oh-so-helpfully set the manual atop the front desk in front of Liken, open to the page in question.
With idle curiosity, the teenager leaned over, following my finger to the section indicated. I saw his eyes scanning the page, as Janine responded to my assertion. “Let’s say that is true, Private, no one likes a pedant. If something goes wrong, people aren’t going to be worried about the exact language in the handbook, over.”
“But if everything goes right, it gives us a good excu... reason. And someone needs to go and do this. It’s either me, calling in Philip and screwing him over, or waiting for somebody to finish their current assignment, over.”
“It— does say that, ma’am.” Liken chirped up from his seat, having finished reviewing the manual. “I wouldn’t call it airtight, but I’m pretty sure we could get away with sending her.”
There were a few moments of silence, and then the radio crackled to life. “Private, there’s a fine line between advocating for yourself, and demonstrating unsightly bravado. Personally, I’d say that you crossed this line today. Over.”
The displeasure in Janine’s voice made me wince, and evoked a sympathetic glance from Liken, but my boss wasn’t done. “That said, I’m well and truly up against a wall here.” The ire in her tone had faded, settling on something closer to bitterness. A few more moments of silence passed, and then the sergeant continued. “Fine Private, you win. If you can tell me how you plan to solve this problem to my satisfaction, I’ll let you ride out there. But your words better impress me, and if this goes wrong, you’re not leaving that station for the rest of the year. Over?”
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
I took a reflexive gulp at the pressure I felt from that question, but I was already in too deep to back off now. “I understand ma’am, thank you for the opportunity. Here’s my plan.”
-
The winter air was bracing from atop Clover’s back, and while the Skiddo herself was warm, my neck and ears were freezing. I’d been given a winter coat in ranger crimson a couple of weeks ago, and I resolved to further fortify my outfit with a scarf at the next opportunity.
At least the small coating of snow on the ground did nothing to impede Clover’s progress, as she tore across the countryside. The determined little Grass-type could move at a truly impressive clip, when she really felt like it, and if it weren’t for the biting cold, it would have been a pleasant ride, churning through the sunlit snowscape.
I heard before I saw my destination, a groaning chorus of "Slows," and "Pokes," resounding through the otherwise still air, punctuated by the occasional blaring call of a train horn.
Clover took us to the top of a small hill, and brought us into view of the tableau. A veritable sea of pink unfolded before me, a herd of a few dozen slowpoke, meandering around the steel tracks of Techne's commuter rail.
Maybe a half a kilometer away from them, a steel behemoth glared down at the Water-types. One-hundred straight meters of diesel-powered locomotive, halted in place by the plodding herd. The train's lights were flashing on and off, the bright markers flashing all varieties of colors in a vain attempt to displace the implacable obstacle blocking the tracks.
Most Pokémon species knew better than to approach the rail line. Trains were dangerous, and even a Tyranitar wouldn’t fare well in an encounter with a train weighing hundreds of tons. The simple truth was, syn could only do so much to protect you from physics.
Unfortunately, Slowpoke weren’t most Pokémon species. No, the pink Water-type rather famously lived up to its moniker as the Dopey Pokémon. It’s one thing if they have a Slowbro or a Slowking leading them, those evolutionary versions of their species can do a lot to instill some wisdom and forbearance in their herd-mates.
These Slowpoke did not have an example of their evolutionary lines in-tow.
That was the first thing I checked for. If there had been any evidence of one of the evolved Water-types, that would have rather dramatically changed the pitch and timbre of this mission. There might be malice involved somehow, rather than rank stupidity.
Instead, it seemed just another recurring example of Slowpoke behavior. Which was to say, an inability to adjust their behavior to external stimuli.
Just about any other Pokémon would have taken the blaring train horn and flashing marker lights as sufficient warning and motivation to vacate the tracks.
But, again, Slowpoke weren’t like other Pokémon. At least someone had reported the blockage to the rail authority, before anything tragic could happen.
My survey of the situation complete, I reported my analysis to Janine, before urging Clover forwards. The Skiddo took us down the slope, where we orbited around the herd, circumventing them on our way towards the stalled train.
With a bit of urging, Clover warped her vines around my waist, hoisting me off her back and up to the windows on the side of the train’s engine car. Inside, a couple of engineers were sitting, chatting amiably and occasionally blaring the vehicle’s horn, to little avail other than hurting my ears.
I rapped on the window, my knuckles snapping painfully against the frigid glass. I sucked in a breath, but composed myself as the engineers started, whirling to face me. I offered a wave, and had to hold back a snicker as the two men stared at me for a few moments, eyes wide and faces slack.
After some seconds passed, one of them had the wherewithal to lean up to the window and get a view of what was happening. I saw him bark a laugh, once he had a view of the vine holding me up, and then saw him press something on the engine’s console. With a hiss, the door on the locomotive side slid open, sending a rush of warm air blasting past my face. “Are you our rescue?” The engineer asked, their voice an odd mixture of doubting and hopeful. “Aren’t you a bit young to be a ranger?”
I did my best to keep my irritation from showing on my face. “A little bit, but I’m what you’ve got. Don’t worry though, I’ve got a plan for dealing with those Slowpoke, and I‘d bet good Poké Gold that you guys are going to like it.”
-
The engineers were, to my total lack of surprise, rather quickly onboard with my proposed strategy.
You see, the difficulty with Slowpoke wasn’t just that they were, well, difficult, but also that they were protected. Years of overhunting them before the practice was outlawed, followed by years of poaching that still continued on to this day, had reduced their population levels to the point where they were considered a threatened species in Ferrum.
The issue had been somewhat stymied by importing some Slowpoke from other regions, but the laws protecting them were still in place, and they were still strictly enforced. Both by us rangers, and by city and municipal securities.
Those laws meant that even interacting with a Slowpoke put most people on questionable legal ground. Honestly, I thought it was a bit draconian, but after witnessing their behavior firsthand, I was starting to wonder if the Pokémon actually did need that level of protection.
So unfortunately, while the engineers and passengers on the light rail were almost certainly capable of dealing with the Slowpoke herd, they couldn’t legally do anything about the problem.
And that’s where I came in.
As a ranger, I could legally handle and even capture Slowpoke. So I could, in theory, herd this, well, herd, off the tracks. Unfortunately, I only had four Pokémon with me, and them plus myself was hardly the requisite personnel for setting up a proper cordon. If one of the Slowpoke slipped past us back to the railway, we might have a tragedy on our hands.
No, my plan involved a little bit more work, for hopefully a lot more safety.
I finished checking each of the Poké Balls I’d brought, making sure they were keyed for return to outpost seven. I’d had to loot most of our station’s supply of unused balls for this mission, but I had Janine’s permission, after I’d outlined my plan, and why did we have them if not to use them? Even better, registering the Slowpoke to the balls would make them harder to poach in the future, after we relocated them, so it was a win-win all around.
And the final winners were the crew of the commuter rail who joined me, the two engineers from the front, one ticket-checker, and a security-agent. The other crew members didn’t have a partner that would be helpful, or didn’t want to be involved with the plan.
As it turns out, the Ranger handbook I’d been begrudgingly studying the last few weeks was, while painfully boring, also apparently rather useful. Contained within its bylaws was a process by which an on-site ranger could, temporarily, deputize municipal employees in an emergency. With oversight from said ranger, government workers could function as rangers for the duration of the emergency, until the situation was resolved.
So four quick calls to Liken to register my newest ‘coworkers’ and their partners, and we had our team.
Bethanie, a pleasant woman in her late forties, would be handling aerial reconnaissance. Her keen-eyed (and slightly creepy) Cramorant would keep watch from the skies, making sure that none of the ambling Slowpoke evaded our sweep.
Edmund and Rich, the two engineers, would be taking the frontline, coming at the herd from one side of the tracks, and pushing them to the other. They each had ten Poké Balls, minimized and stuffed in various pockets in their elaborate coats. Together with their Torkoal and Machoke, they’d be weakening and capturing as many members of the herd as they could, while encouraging the rest off the tracks.
Fulrich and I were the anvil to their hammer. The hard-eyed security officer clearly thought this was beneath him, which it probably was. He was on the train to keep real threats away from the iron behemoth, not dopey pink blobs. His disdain was, however, effort-so-slightly outweighed by his sense of duty and his desire to be finished with this nonsense.
He and his Lurantis could probably handle this entire problem all on her own, but I wasn’t sure I trusted their ability to do so without injuring any of the Slowpoke, which was the main reason he was partnered up with me.
The operation started well. The engineers made their first couple of captures without the herd even noticing. After the fifth Slowpoke vanished with a snap and a hiss, the remaining thirty-odd Pokémon finally deigned to take notice.
Most responded with yawns of unconcern. A few of them ambled awkwardly towards Fulrich and I, where we intercepted their lazy escape with some strategic attacks and then more Poké Balls.
To my relief, Fulrich and his Lurantis held their blows, the swift Grass-type using the flat of her wicked blades to gently knock the Slowpoke around.
My knights, Maushold, Clover, and Mana each made short work of any opponents they faced as well, long since trained past the ability of these wild Pokémon to deal with individually. If the herd had some sort of leader coordinating their efforts, things might have been different, but as it was, the dopey Pokémon put up only a token resistance, which hardly slowed us down. The occasional Water Gun or Confusion might have scared away most wild predators, but they were shrugged off or ignored by our group’s tougher partners.
It was a bit of a strain, keeping an eye on all of my Pokémon, as well as Fulrich’s and the engineer’s, but I only had to actually coordinate four of the ongoing battles. For the others, I just had to make sure they didn’t go too far. It wasn’t easy, but I was managing..
Fulrich did keep shooting me odd looks though, for some reason, that I did my best to ignore.
There was one moment where I got worried, when Rich got hit by an errant Water Gun. His Machoke let out a cry of concern, but the engineer stood back up with a laugh and self-deprecating smile. A weak Water Gun was hardly dangerous to a healthy adult’s syn, but there was always danger with Pokémon attacks, so I was glad to see that he was okay.
Everything was going great by the time we’d captured around half of the herd. This was, of course, when something went wrong. “Ranger, ranger!” Bethanie came jogging over, the plump woman’s partner perched on her shoulder, the similarly rotund waterfowl gorging himself on some unseen treat. “Warky says that there’s something coming from the city. A couple of cars, sounds like. I wasn’t able to get any other details out of him, though.”
That was strange, but not inherently alarming. It could be nothing, or just a coincidence, or something innocuous.
And yet, Janine’s words echoed in my mind. If something went wrong…
I resolved myself. I needed to figure out what was going on. Better too safe than the alternative. I turned to Fulrich. “Did you guys call in anyone else for help?”
The stoic security officer shook his head. “The engineers informed the rail authority of the blockage, exactly as protocol. The folks at headquarters are the ones who reached out to you, and then told us that you’d be arriving to resolve the issue.”
I did my best to hide a frown. “Bethanie, please go tell one of the engineers what you just told me. Ask them to reach out to the rail authority and find out if anyone else is supposed to be coming to help.”
The woman nodded, before turning and jogging back around the herd to the train engineers. Edmund took the message with a visible frown, and then broke off, making for the engine while Warky took off for the skies once again.
Something was happening, but we couldn’t stop catching the Slowpoke now, only halfway done. If some of the herd wandered too far, we might lose track of them, and that was unacceptable. A few scattered Slowpoke were as good as dead, out here in the wilderness.
We got a few more corralled and caught over the next couple of minutes, while I reported the development to Liken and Janine. They asked that I keep them apprised of the situation, but I ran out of time for updating them as the incoming interruption arrived.
They were, to some definition of the word, cars, so it wasn’t like Warkie the Cramorant had lied to us. I just wished he’d provided a few additional details. The heavily-armored jeeps cresting the hill and braking down towards us were hardly what I imagined when I heard the word ‘car.’
Most such vehicles in the city were small, electric affairs. Quiet, easy-to-park, and minimally disruptive to foot traffic and Pokémon alike.
These were a different breed entirely. Like a Yamper compared to a Lycanroc. The armored vehicles thundered, their diesel engines roaring with barely-contained power. Huge, cross-country tires tore through the snow and mulch without any difficulty, leaving massive furrows dug in the ground. Matte-black panels of armor covered their exteriors, and the cabs were obscured by shaded glass, no-doubt tempered for impacts.
The pair of vehicles ground to a halt a dozen meters away from us, as Richie and his Machoke closed ranks with Fulrich and I. Bethanie hung back, Warky still up in the air, watching over the Slowpoke, and Edmund had yet to return from the engine.
The black-armored jeeps disgorged double our number in armored personnel, and my already piqued alarm ratcheted up another notch.
Poachers seemed unlikely to me, considering the quality of equipment on display and the brazenness with which they were operating. But then again, what did I know? My idea of poachers came from Unovan action films and scattered news reports.
All-told, four men and women approached the three of us, the others holding back. Their apparent leader, a grizzled-looking man in his mid-thirties, had his helmet in his hands, which helped me tamp down a little bit on the spikes of worry running through me.
Fulrich stepped out of our line, his Lurantis bristling by his side. “Identify yourselves,” the security officer barked out to the approaching men and women.
The group’s leader held up a hand, causing the other three to stop. “No need for alarm. We’re city-security subcontractors, here to help deal with the Slowpoke problem. I’m Bolton Jones, of Velvet-Touch Security.”
Contrary to his appearance, the man spoke with a gentle tenor, his spiel smooth and well-practiced.
Except, what the hell was a city-security subcontractor? I’d never heard of any such organization existing.
Neither had Fulrich, apparently, because he snorted with disdain, and called back, “Never heard of you. What are you even doing here? The Techne ranger corps is already on-site, and handling the situation.”
I tried to stand up a bit straighter as he referenced me, even as I spoke quietly into my radio. “Liken, I’ve got two armored jeeps here. Ten people. Calling themselves Velvet-Touch Security, and claiming to be ‘city-security subcontractors.’ Can you inform Janine and look these people up? Over.”
“Will do Fe. Be careful out there, but remember, you’re representing the ranger corps, over,” came his reply from the tinny speaker.
Right. I was a ranger, and these people were city-security. Or at least, employed by city-security. If they weren’t lying.
We were in the wilds, outside of Techne’s bounds. That meant the corps had jurisdiction. Or at least, I’m pretty sure it did. If I had time to check the handbook, I could have made sure, but this was not the occasion for studying.
Just a few minutes ago, I’d been so proud of my understanding of what I’d read. This stinging reminder of how much I still didn’t know was a cold Water Gun to the face.
But recriminations could come later. Dealing with the present situation took precedence. “Ranger corps? I see one junior ranger, and a bunch of civilians in the midst of capturing a herd of Slowpoke. I think perhaps you're the ones who should be explaining yourselves.”
Even as some part of me had been responding to Liken, another had been listening in on the conversation. When Fulrich didn’t immediately retort, I took over. “These municipal employees have been deputized to assist me in resolving this emergency situation,” I shouted across the field towards the group of armored men and women. My voice sounded unbearably squeaky to my ears when compared to the two men, but I projected as much confidence as I could, walking forwards to stand with Fulrich.
“Deputized? This hardly seems like the sort of situation that would require that sort of measure,” Bolton chuckled. “Why, if I hardly knew any better, I might suspect that this is some sort of elaborate poaching operation.”
“We’re working with proper oversight and authority,” I shot back, trying to keep from bristling. “This is a registered ranger corps mission, and we have things well in hand.”
It was hard to tell from the distance we were standing, but I thought I saw the man’s eyes narrow. “Well I haven’t been informed about any rangers on the scene. We’re here on a sanctioned city-security investigation, and I think I’m going to have to ask you all to recall your Pokémon and stand down for questioning.”
Before I could respond, a voice came from the radio I was holding. “Fe, hold on, backup is on its way. Don’t let them make off with the Slowpoke, over.”
“How long, Liken, things are deteriorating, over,” I hissed into the microphone.
“Now,” was his reply.
I had only a moment to wonder what he meant. With an almighty crash, an enormous winged form slammed to the earth atop a nearby hill, followed seconds later by a whipping roar of noise that tore across the landscape, finally startling the remaining twelve Slowpoke into some sort of agitation.
The blustering snow cleared, revealing a heaving Pidgeot, the massive bird having arrived ahead of the sonic boom created by the speed of his travel. I recognized that bird, and sure enough, sliding off Hayate’s back was the thunderous face of Janine Egao, ranger outpost seven’s sergeant and commanding officer.
One glance at her expression told me that someone was in trouble. A second had every fiber of my being praying to Arceus that it wasn’t me.
