Movie challenge: RCMPark
Okay, I apologize for this one :-) Ages and ages ago there was a 'Due South at the Movies' challenge on Serge, and I started writing a DS version of Jurassic Park, where instead of cloning dinosaurs, they clone... Mounties... Yeah. And some day, I even intend to finish it (heaven forbid), but until then, here is a bit of it:
(The Yukon, Canada)
Benton Fraser watched the herd of caribou sleeping in the valley. Interspersed among them were patches of red, where the other Mounties in his detachment made their way carefully among the beasts, checking their newly-outfitted radio transmitters.
He shook his head, saddened as always by the thought of having to deploy Mounties to deface nature in such a way, but even he had to admit that in this day and age it made scientists' and Inuit's lives much easier to be able to track the animals by computer than by old-fashioned skills, or simple luck.
"We're ready to try it," called a voice from the nearby cabin, and he made his way back into the building, approaching the computer that had been hastily set up in the corner farthest from the drafty door. Fraser watched, bemused, as a young constable punched in some numbers on the keyboard, and a map littered with scattered dots filled the screen. "These are the major herd movement patterns," the tech explained proudly. "From here we can check on their migration, birth and death rates, anything. And all without physical tracking."
Fraser frowned. "Where's the challenge in that?" he asked. The others shot him strange looks, which he ignored with practised ease.
A voice from the window caught his attention, and he turned to see one of the newer recruits standing there, watching the slowly-wakening herd with a look of disdain. "They don't look very majestic to me," she said with a grimace.
Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Once," he began, "I tracked a caribou up the side of a mountain..." He continued the story until he was satisfied with the level of glaze in her eyes. He felt a tug on his arm, and excused himself to speak with Maggie MacKenzie.
"You know, Fraser, I think she got the point; you didn't have to bore her to death."
He snorted softly. "You really expect me to work with someone like her? She has absolutely no respect for.."
Maggie interrupted the familiar tirade. "You don't have to work with that one, but as part of the RCMP sensitivity and equal opportunity programs, you will have to work with someone whose intellect and abilities might not be up to par with yours..."
Suddenly the whirr of helicopter rotors filled the air, and several Mounties raced out of the cabin in alarm, watching in dismay as the herd of groggy caribou panicked and fled the valley, ruining several days' work.
Fraser noticed someone entering the officers' barracks and his gaze hardened; with a quick glance at Maggie, who nodded, the two made their way to the large building, intent on giving whoever was in there a piece of their mind.
"Alright, what idiot...?" demanded Maggie as she strode into the small kitchen, surprised to see a gruff-looking older man rooting through their small refrigerator. Finally the man pulled out their container of pemmican, popping the lid and pulling out several pieces.
"We were saving that!" exclaimed Fraser, to which the big man just smiled.
"For me," he said smugly. "I'm Harding Welsh."
The two Mounties stared at him. "Harding Welsh of the North American Police Task Force?" asked Maggie, dismayed at her earlier 'idiot' comment. This was the man who had helped increase the RCMP's popularity - and funding - among the other N.A. police forces.
It didn't take long for Welsh to come to the point. "I'm in charge of a special program for the NAP, all top secret, of course. It's all been cleared with the higher-ups, but they'd like some final opinion from people with special qualifications. We've already got a member of the CPD on the team, but we'd like your opinions and expertise in the matter; we were told you were the best."
"Our expertise in what, specifically?" asked Fraser, curious.
"Mounties," Welsh said simply. "Now, there's a plane waiting for us in Whitehorse to take us to Chicago."
Fraser cast a warning glance at Maggie. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't leave right now. Our caribou project is in its final stages, and..."
Welsh's eyes glittered. "I could arrange for any Royal tours of Canada to come through the Yukon..."
Fraser ignored his increased heartbeat on hearing those words. "... and now that the caribou have scattered..."
Welsh continued, undaunted, raising the stakes. "For the next five years."
Fraser traded a disbelieving glance with Maggie, then turned back to smile at Welsh. "When shall we leave?"
(The Yukon, Canada)
Benton Fraser watched the herd of caribou sleeping in the valley. Interspersed among them were patches of red, where the other Mounties in his detachment made their way carefully among the beasts, checking their newly-outfitted radio transmitters.
He shook his head, saddened as always by the thought of having to deploy Mounties to deface nature in such a way, but even he had to admit that in this day and age it made scientists' and Inuit's lives much easier to be able to track the animals by computer than by old-fashioned skills, or simple luck.
"We're ready to try it," called a voice from the nearby cabin, and he made his way back into the building, approaching the computer that had been hastily set up in the corner farthest from the drafty door. Fraser watched, bemused, as a young constable punched in some numbers on the keyboard, and a map littered with scattered dots filled the screen. "These are the major herd movement patterns," the tech explained proudly. "From here we can check on their migration, birth and death rates, anything. And all without physical tracking."
Fraser frowned. "Where's the challenge in that?" he asked. The others shot him strange looks, which he ignored with practised ease.
A voice from the window caught his attention, and he turned to see one of the newer recruits standing there, watching the slowly-wakening herd with a look of disdain. "They don't look very majestic to me," she said with a grimace.
Fraser raised an eyebrow. "Once," he began, "I tracked a caribou up the side of a mountain..." He continued the story until he was satisfied with the level of glaze in her eyes. He felt a tug on his arm, and excused himself to speak with Maggie MacKenzie.
"You know, Fraser, I think she got the point; you didn't have to bore her to death."
He snorted softly. "You really expect me to work with someone like her? She has absolutely no respect for.."
Maggie interrupted the familiar tirade. "You don't have to work with that one, but as part of the RCMP sensitivity and equal opportunity programs, you will have to work with someone whose intellect and abilities might not be up to par with yours..."
Suddenly the whirr of helicopter rotors filled the air, and several Mounties raced out of the cabin in alarm, watching in dismay as the herd of groggy caribou panicked and fled the valley, ruining several days' work.
Fraser noticed someone entering the officers' barracks and his gaze hardened; with a quick glance at Maggie, who nodded, the two made their way to the large building, intent on giving whoever was in there a piece of their mind.
"Alright, what idiot...?" demanded Maggie as she strode into the small kitchen, surprised to see a gruff-looking older man rooting through their small refrigerator. Finally the man pulled out their container of pemmican, popping the lid and pulling out several pieces.
"We were saving that!" exclaimed Fraser, to which the big man just smiled.
"For me," he said smugly. "I'm Harding Welsh."
The two Mounties stared at him. "Harding Welsh of the North American Police Task Force?" asked Maggie, dismayed at her earlier 'idiot' comment. This was the man who had helped increase the RCMP's popularity - and funding - among the other N.A. police forces.
It didn't take long for Welsh to come to the point. "I'm in charge of a special program for the NAP, all top secret, of course. It's all been cleared with the higher-ups, but they'd like some final opinion from people with special qualifications. We've already got a member of the CPD on the team, but we'd like your opinions and expertise in the matter; we were told you were the best."
"Our expertise in what, specifically?" asked Fraser, curious.
"Mounties," Welsh said simply. "Now, there's a plane waiting for us in Whitehorse to take us to Chicago."
Fraser cast a warning glance at Maggie. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't leave right now. Our caribou project is in its final stages, and..."
Welsh's eyes glittered. "I could arrange for any Royal tours of Canada to come through the Yukon..."
Fraser ignored his increased heartbeat on hearing those words. "... and now that the caribou have scattered..."
Welsh continued, undaunted, raising the stakes. "For the next five years."
Fraser traded a disbelieving glance with Maggie, then turned back to smile at Welsh. "When shall we leave?"