Fanboy Fails to the Rescue

“Hide it.” Narkkid handed the cylinder to Tjon. “Uma, get up out of there and get back to work on that Shortle’s flit. He wants it before noon.

Narkkid was scooping coffee grounds when the police landed…

[describe the pair of cops here]
“Good morning, officer. I’m just making coffee. Would you care…”

“Citizen, please address me as Constable Ock or just Constable.” The marquee on Constable Ock’s chest plate scrolled an echo of his declaration in the three most common languages of [the name of the city] , [Tjon’s native badger language], and MILSpec. Narkkid read each hoping the not impolite delay would give the girl a few more seconds to gain distance or hide.

“Constable Ock, would you like some coffee?” she asked in the [first most common of the three most common]—the same language they’d both used initially.


I’m clearly out of practice writing these days. I’m going to punt with a FANBOY …

for, and, nor, but, or, yet, (so, plus)

Uma toed the foot-shield back and stepped on the button to elevate the Shortle’s another few inches, and Tjon split his attention between a screen and a notepad transcribing the information on one to the other.

Narkkid tried to assure Constable Ock that none of them had a chance to speak to the girl, but she sensed he didn’t believe her.

Neither Uma nor Tjon nor Narkkid had spoken to the girl, for there wasn’t enough time.
Narkkid volunteered many details, but she didn’t mention the cylinder.

Tjon hid the cylinder in their best stash, plus he loaded the gimme-stash with a suitable bribe amount.

Mrs. Crown seemed anxious to interrupt the constable in a number of places, yet she remained quiet till the end.

The constable completed his questioning of Uma, so she returned to her work on the Shortle’s.

Eesh, I’ve even blown that with a couple repeats.


331 words on day 922