The cats on the keyboard. There’s a Wherewolf moving through the timezone, sporting temporal eddy redirect fins. An alert goes out to intermediary Owls to come and control the space.
Something buckles in the spatiotemporal anchors and a whole bunch of people going flying off through outspin motion towards alien time zones.
Some days a time incursion does nothing to the spatiotemporal architecture, and other days its as if it severs all of the chains of logic that make the world work.
Perren landed on the ground after a distinctly unnecessary action hero drama moment, jumping from a plane. High altitude, low opening, assisted-leg landings. He’s coming at his quarry with sliver bullets — they hit with a temporal decelerant.
Hopefully there wasn’t an orbital lock moon in geosynch with the howler, but that was what he was suspecting. The slivers barely slowed it down.
What to do? Boot up a clowder of cats. Boxes began to appear in the air next to the wolf; cubes that began to necker back and forth and finally got a crowbar in under the Wherewolf’s foothold. How-ls began to sound forth and he started to sense nascent ambient snowcrash building like a charge around them.
‘Stop, Wolf! We have you penned in. You’re about ten seconds away from a discharge and then a clockstop.’
‘Try it Puncher.’
So he did. And it didn’t go well. The wolf lit up like it was dipped in moonglow. And every single thing that he and the cats threw at it bounced back amplified. It was even enough to fritz the Owls.
‘What are you after, Wolf?’
‘None of your beeswax. I have it and I am leaving.’
And he did.
Some days it went like this. What were you going to do? Fighting people from the future sometimes made it really difficult to do your job. You’re cutting edge and then someone from fifty years past tomorrow comes and smacks you down.
He pressed a button and cat treats rained down in the cat’s offices.