Secret part 5

Limburger sighed. Finding the spy was going to be difficult. He wasn't going to assume how many there were in his building, but the access they would have would be pretty good considering how quickly the repulsive rodents dealt with his plans. He paused he'd have to think quickly. Limburger was actually quite good at that, and had a certain understated flair for improvisation. What did he know? Then it clicked.

"How the hell could a human repair the teleporter? Her bike was fine but the teleporter? That's stupid."

Karbunkle looked downcast. "If it pleases your velvety smoothness, I have to use humans to maintain stuff when I'm busy researching. Once they know what to do, they can follow instructions."

"The repair department. This enables them to subvert both my security and hand scientific secrets to the enemy forces. We'd also better give the goons a thorough going over as well. Start playing Polka music on the PA system, and see who attempts to cut it off. If something's urgent enough to make Davidson break cover, let's see if it can't make the spy do the same."

"Done, your overripeness."

Meanwhile as the bikes came closer to Limburger's office they started misbehaving. Modo grimaced. Now this was new - Limburger had combined successful elements from his old schemes. He always tended to come up with new schemes before now. While the mice were having difficulty, Charley was happily humming along to the music. This was one of her odd habits that reminded the mice, that she was a different species to them. She actually liked polka as well as rock.

"Charley, I appreciate you like polka, but our bikes don't." Vinnie grumbled. "We're having enough difficulty with the polka without you humming it in our ears."

Charley looks abashed. "Sorry. Fire now!"

The biker mice blast their way in. The defences in the building activated, and the bikes were finding dodging the defences much harder than usual. Limburger had finally got his superior's blessing to remove his gloves. This was nowhere near as easy as expected. The bikes swerved as the laser's cut off areas with heavy fire. This was not good, they were obviously being herded, but who was in charge of the security grid at the moment was it the spy or Karbunkle? Still they didn’t have much choice except to follow the herding course unless...

The guys blasted the wall out of sheer desperation. They grinned happily this was definitely more their usual method. And it was for once more effective than Charley's subtle wiles. They soon arrived at the correct department. Unfortunately the spy was not the only person there. Greasepit was their. As Greasepit was dealt with the biker mice picked up the woman and rode out, ironically not demolishing Limburger's building for once.

"No names as yet." Charley reminded the mice. "Let's wait until we're safe."

Karbunkle's teleporter activated. He looked at Limburger. "I'm sorry your putrescence, but the teleport seems to be malfunctioning, and I can't shut it off."

The teleporter finished flashing, and when Limburger turns to tell Karbunkle off for taking so long, four strangely shaped Plutarkians stepped out. They were wiry instead of fat, except in their guts, and unlike most Plutarkians they wore a uniform. Limburger recognised them. As all Plutarkians they were slippery but unlike most they had a certain loyalty. They were Plutarkian Special Forces.

"Planet Plunderers so soon?" Limburger asked rhetorically.

"We think Gouda's been pulling a fast one. Does this town exist?"

Limburger sighed as he chuckled. "I should have known. Gouda's in charge of the town of Ecnatsixenon. He's always been an edge feeder. An incredibly clever plan acting as an environmental saviour and hoovering, sorry vacuuming up the stuff Earth technology and other's foiled schemes waste and handing it to Plutark. Obviously what inspired his weird beliefs."

"Still you now have the Planet Plunderers as help. By Strength and Guile."

"Through Strength and Guile." Limburger replied. Like the Martian Mice Plutark had also taken the idea from Earth for Special Services. Not immediately, but only after the mice had demonstrated how good they were. Only when they had found the Motto of the British SBS did the Plutarkians finally adopt it. "I have a Mice Infestation."

"Yes we know. That's part of why we've been sent. Camembert finally read your uncensored reports. And an Invasion Fleet is on the way."

"I pray your presence is a portent of prescient planning and produces profit," Limburger states.

"Pardon?" Everyone asks

"I hope it gets here in time."