Jet Jaguar and the Kentucky Cat - Day Three - Part Two
Day 3 - Part Two
October 19th 2013
Little Watch Inn
Near Frenchburg, Kentucky
The television spoke to itself in the corner as Jet worked.
“Is it time the Unites States Government intervened in this space war? Can we really risk the possibility of a failed state aligned with terrorists in orbit above us, capable of raining down death from above on our cities with impunity? These people are more than capable of moving asteroids many times larger than the one which annihilated the dinosaurs into Earth orbit, just above our heads, it’s only a short nudge from there to drop them on our planet and destroy life as we know it.
These armed robberies in the great State of Kentucky are only the beginning, a filtering down of terror from above that threatens an even greater security risk to this great nation of freedom and democracy. They are the trickle before a torrent of fear and violence that will overcome this country if the Government does not act now to curb this menace in orbit. Can we forget the Martian War Machine unleased on New Jersey?
Never mind the dangers of this handwavium, a biological weapon of terrifying potency. One need only look at the unholy results of biomodification performed freely and without censure. Can you imagine your son, who may be a high-school quarterback on the high school’s honor roll, becoming a cat girl, nothing more than a willing sex slave for all who would use him? Or your daughter dressing up like a fetish-sailor in a say-f(beep)k-you skirt based on Japanese tentacle porn ‘cartoons’, for the obscene pleasure and service of interplanetary perverts and paedophiles.
Consider that handwavium can turn an ordinary car’s engine into a space-drive capable of travelling faster than the speed of sound. Now imagine what would happen if this was applied to even the smallest amount of explosive. The city fathers of Hiroshima and Nagasaki don’t have to imagine. A bomb of such terrible power detonated at the base of the new World Trade Center, millions could die in an attack that would make 9/11 look like a flash in the pan. I don’t need to remind you of the images of that dreadful day in which thousands of decent, hardworking Americans were brutally murdered.
The immoral and unchristian acts of these people represent a clear and present danger to the security of this great nation and all right-thinking Americans. Those who would act to support the creation of a state in orbit are little more than traitors before this great nation and should be treated as such.
In order to ensure our future security, we must secure the high ground that is orbital space, and if that means intervening in this war in orbit, and bringing civilising American values to them, then so be it. If we don’t we risk being the innocent child caught in the crossfire of a brutal gang war.
I’m Tom Foutaise, and that’s my two cents.”
Jet felt her brain break. He was going to have fun when this came out, that was for sure. She changed the channel. NASCAR would have to do... even if it was just motorball without the rugby or UFC elements, the engines sounded good.
Jet was busy working with her pistol, a .357 Magnum Desert Eagle. Otherwise known as Mary-Sue’s handcannon, the usual standard advice being that if you needed something as powerful as an Eagle, you’d be better served by a proper rifle. The problem with that was, Jet couldn’t fire a rifle and fly... she could fire a pistol.
It was just a standard production model, with a vacuum modified barrel and gas chamber. Not one trace of handwavium in it, it came direct from the Magnum Research themselves. Finished in a corrosion resistant nickel, the barrel was lengthened to give time for the gases to operate the pistol’s action. The gas port, gas piston and chamber diameter had been refined for use in an airless environment and the springs had been softened a little. Otherwise it was the same as the ‘danelaw models and could be returned to standard with just a few minutes swap over of barrel, piston and spring.
Jet liked it. The sheer mass of metal meant it didn’t overheat as quickly in vacuum as an ordinary pistol, especially with the reflective nickel plating. It was a good trade off between a more common revolver, and some of the newer handwaved electromagnetic weaponry. It was accurate enough, the barrel being mounted solidly to the frame, though didn’t have the mechanical reliability of revolvers since the gas action had a tendency to get clogged. However, unlike a more powerful railgun, with no handwavium at all in it it was quirk free. Nine cartridges and a quickly loaded magazine were better than a more popular six-shooter revolver. Steel-core magnum rounds could generally be counted on to make a mess of someone when they hit, body armour or no body armour. The sheer mass and recoil of the thing was a non-issue for someone with their own onboard engines and power-assisted limbs.
That... and while people familiar with firearms might mock... there was something bloody intimidating about a cyborg armed with a shining nickle ten-inch barreled Desert Eagle, effortlessly firing it one handed that Jet appreciated. It meant she had to actually use it less often, than would otherwise be the case.
Well, pointing a gun at someone with your finger on the trigger is a declaration of intent to kill them unless they stop what they’re doing right frackin’ now. That declaration tended to be heard a little better when it was made with a shining handcannon with a barrel big enough to stick a finger in, than your average .45, 9mm or disco gun. The way Jet figured it, if it made them more likely to put their hands up, it made it less likely she’d actually have to follow through on that declaration.
She finished and checked and saw that it was good.
Then remembered she wouldn’t be able to carry it if she was going to be using some sort of stun gun on the Cat.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” she said to no-one in particular.
Ruth was still in the Governor’s office, while Jet was waiting for a response.
>>From: alitagally@grunthal.fen
>>To: Juliette2@grunthal.fen
>>Subject: RE: Kentucky Cat [Development]
>>Governor Frite has rejected an offer of assistance from the JLI. He wishes to treat these
>>people as criminals under State Law. Liaise with local forces and provide any assistance
>>requested. If they ask you to stay out, then stay out. However Frite has been advised that
>>you are capable of taking down the Cat, and indications are that he would prefer to have you
>>do it, rather than make a call to the National Guard.
>>He wants this to be handled as a criminal investigation, rather than drawing his State
>>politically into a ‘war’. While he understands the difference between Boskone and Fenspace,
>>deniability is still a priority. The fewer people who know you are there, the better. Discovery by
>> local media should especially be avoided. Cam Ranh remains possible if a Fenspace agent is
>> found to be involved.
>>The governor’s office will be contacted with regard to handling catgirl victims shortly. Be sure
>>that local forces understand that catgirls are likely to be victims, and should be treated as
>>such.
>> If a catgirl machine is discovered, destroy it. Do not allow it to fall into ‘danelaw hands.
>>Finally Black Rider has finished his stunner device. He should arrive at your location some
>>time around 2am local time. Expect to be contacted.
>>Good luck Jet.
>>-Alita
“Politics, why did it have to be politics,” murmured Jet, resting her head in her hands. It was a headache wrapped in a migraine wrapped in an aneurysm waiting to happen.Well, at least that was somebody elses problem. SMoF’s, BNF’s and whoever the hell normally handled that sort of crap... they could have it.Jet knew herself that if all these disappearances and catgirlings had been known about before her arrival, this would’ve been an OF-8 job for sure.
There was nothing that could be done about that now.
She thought about going for a quick spin to relax herself, but decided against it. This wasn’t the time, and she had to conserve her batteries. She ordered Pizza instead from a nearby place, and had them leave it at the door.
She added some handwavium to it before eating, then got back to work planning a high speed mid-air rendezvous... and a quick getaway weekend with Sierra on Venus. The last one back in January had been...well... ruined.
Jet switched channels on the TV, clicking past a few gameshows... one of which offered a martian cruise as a prize, and a Micheal Moore film blaming the fenspace exodus and the ongoing war on American corporate malfeasance. Exxon tankers attacked by Boskone. OGJ moves to defend by calling a ‘war on crime’, with the obvious links made to America’s successive War on X’s, and their success rate. There was plenty of shouting at an empty corridor somewhere in Stellvia’s hotel, demanding an interview with Noah Scott from a hotel door that he claimed was his office, intercut with footage of Crystal Osaka on fire before it fell, fading to the image of the WTC.
She clicked back to America’s got Talent. It was one of the few programs not pushing a political agenda... except for the occasional ad’s from ‘Air Cav veterans of Vietnam against Featherston,’. CBS news was informative, the story on the Cat robberies and the ongoing investigation being well enough researched. They understood the difference between Fenspace and the Boskonians... which was the main thing. It was worrying though, even before the truth came out it was making national news.
There were reports on the Boskone war, focusing mostly on American citizens in orbit. The correspondent was in Greenwood City park. Belisarius featured, as a strong symbol of the American Fen gaining control.
The overall tone of the report was that things were getting better.
“Then the GSS Belisarius roared in to the Foggy Dew,” Jet mumbled a line from some filk to herself. It stuck in her head because she knew the original tune.
That made Jet smile. The knock on her door, when it came, startled her badly.
“Jet, it’s Ruth,”
Jet answered the door looking oddly tired
“You alright Jet?”.
“Yeah, just a little tired. I’ll get some sleep when we’re done,” she said. “How’d it go with the guv’nor?”
“He turned down fen side help besides you. He wants you to handle the cat and any handwaved weapons, but while keeping a low profile.”
“Yeah... I just got told as much. Why don’t you come inside? I think there’s still some pizza left,” the gynoid smiled.
Ruth nodded and stepped inside. “I’ve eaten already.”
“Ah...” Jet sat at her desk, checking her pad. “That weapon I’m waiting on is being dropped off at 2am. When’s the Governor want to hit the place?”
“I don’t know yet.
“Grand,” nodded Jet, before her expression darkened. “We have another problem though. Do you know what a catgirl is?”
Jet assumed she didn’t... at least that she didn’t know what it meant in this context.
Ruth raised a eyebrow, “By your tone you don’t mean an accident do you.”
“No. Not an accident. One thing the Bosco’s do to prisoners is...” how to explain this.. “They have these devices we call catgirling machines,” and Jet was half disgusted to even say it. “What they do... basically...” a deep breath.. “Is they take any ordinary human being, and they use their body to create a catgirl-shaped sex slave, to be sold god-knows where to god-knows-what son of a fucking bitch. It’s automated... and some models completely erase the victims memory, though some prefer it when they aren’t blanked.” A pause. “It’s pretty fucked up. The thing is, I saw one at the yard with the zoid. This... might be what happened to the missing people. And if they have a catgirling machine down here, I’ve standing orders to destroy it.”
Ruth winced, “That’s nasty to do to someone. As for if they have a machine, don’t know what I can do, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Jet fixed her with a deadly cold stare, “I need you to make them understand, the catgirls are not enemies, they are victims. They’ll be panicky, and most likely if they haven’t been blanked, they’ll have been raped or worse.”
Ruth nodded, “I’ll tell them that, they are trained to handle panicked hostages.”
Jet smiled gratefully, “Thanks. I’d also like to advise you ask for help from Fenspace for dealing with them. We’ve... more experience with counselling them, and at least giving them the chance of a normal life. The best you would have here would be someone who has experience with counselling rape victims,”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Jet closed her eyes, sighing, “Grand, so,” A deep breath, “I’m told you’re handling this as a crime, rather than as terrorism. What does that mean for taking these people down, or getting a chance to question them?”
“We might need a warrant to search, depending on circumstance. Any raid will probably be handled by the Special Response Team, which means that if the ”
“That’s bad for us. We need to find where their second base is, and who they’re working for in space. And I don’t know how US law handles forced biomods. In Fenspace, catgirl-makers are treated as murderers by some factions.”
“Forced biomod’s going to be one for the Supreme Court. There’s no specific law against it... unfortunately.” She paused to think, “That’ll change alright, but it won’t apply to these folks. At the very least it’ll come under assault...probably aggravated since it’s a ‘mutilation’, with a very long sentence. Not to mention multiple counts of armed robbery and malicious property destruction. It’s also possible they could try it as aggravated kidnapping too, especially if they’ve been brainwashing them. The State’s all but guaranteed to seek the death penalty for that if they don’t plead guilty.”
Jet winced a little.
“Oh, and the handwavium violations. Importing or even using that stuff without a permit is a federal crime...” a pause. A painful realisation. “... which brings the FBI into it.”
“That’s a bloody mess,”
“It’s for the lawyers to sort out. And they’re going to do everything they can to stay away from Squirty Gertie.”
She spoke like lethal injection was their one true deserved reward that they were trying to weasel out of. Jet just nodded, not wanting to get into that sort of debate again.
“So what do we know about the guy who owned the yard?” She switched the subject.
“Uh,” Ruth’s mind blanked, before she checked the notes on the map. “Stae “Steve” Nor, a native of Mountain Valley. Male, Caucasian, about 29 years old. He owned...owns,” she corrected herself, “...the salvage yard for the last ten years or so. He disappeared shortly before the first sightings. We searched his home, found it abandoned with handwavium left behind, and assumed he’d launched into orbit, so dropped the case.”
“Either he’s behind all this,” Jet said, “Or he’s that catgirl I saw,”
“No criminal record, it’s unlikely he’s involved willingly.” A thought, She ran her hand through her hair. “Look, I’m going to head on out, try and talk to some of the people who knew him. He kept to himself, but who knows. The department’s already pouring over missing person’s files from the last year.”
“Right. I’ve got to organise a mid-air rendezvous,” Jet suppressed a yawn, “And maybe get a couple of hours sleep. What time are these guys looking at moving in on the camp at?”
“3am, or thereabouts,”
“Rendezvous is at 2. That won’t be a problem. I guess I’ll see you later tonight then,”
“Yup later Jet,”
Ruth locked the door behind her as she left.
>>
Ruth pulled the van up outside a small single wide trailer set on a plain, but what once used to be a well kept lawn. Now, the grass came near to reaching halfway to her knees. She eyed the mobile home from inside her van.
“Nobody’s been here for months.” Ruth sighed, before opening the door.
Stae’s friends and co-workers she’d managed to talk to had told her that he had been working on something for the last few years... they assumed some sort of hot-rod, but Stae’d never told them what.
In the months up to his disappearance, he’d spent more and more time at his yard working. With a bit of luck, there had be a clue to what he was doing there in that trailer. She waded through the grass up to the front door. She had the key from the earlier investigation, so she unlocked it, pulling it open.
The smell of rotting food hit her first, mixed with an aroma of dampness and mildew. It’d been abandoned since the original detective had opened the door and found the first few cans of handwavium... then dropped the case assuming a fen-launch. Since Stae’d been assumed to be alive... his property hadn’t been touched because of the Fourth Amendment. It was abandoned property, but it was still his abandoned property to sell to someone at a future date... the government had no legal right to poke around in it.
So it was left to rot and rust.
She pushed into the trailer, reminding herself of the revolver in the holster on her hip, just in case. It was clear though that whatever’d happened to Stae... hadn’t been planned. The dishes in the sink were coated in mold, not having been washed.
A hot-rod magazine was left on a table, beside a cup of what she guessed might once have been coffee. It had grown fur.
Should’ve brought a dustmask, she thought, swearing privately that she could physically see the bacteria in the air.
The fridge clicked on. She didn’t dare open it. Pushing towards the back of the trailer, she passed the bathroom... still with a towel on the floor, before reaching the bedroom at the end. Cautiously, she cracked open the door.
Inside, an unmade bed. The alarm clock on the table still glowed. Beside it on a nightstand was an empty glass, and a book face down that had been left open at a page. Everything here showed signs of someone intending to come back... not a Fen launch.
How goddamned stupid and lazy had the original detective been not to follow this up?
She turned around. On the shelves behind her were a bunch of small quadruped models... little plastic toys. One of which was yellow.. and tiger shaped. According to the stand it was on, a Zaber Fang.
“Well, I think we found our builder,” she said. “But where?”
The Junkyard? No, that was a place of business, nothing more. A customer would’ve seen it. Besides, it’d been chained up and closed before the original investigation. She took a few photographs of the models, before snapping on a pair of latex gloves. She bagged them carefully as potential evidence.
Moving back out of the room, something moving in the corner of her eye. Reaching for her gun, she snapped around to face it, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline shock her body. Nothing.. but a curtain flapping in front of an open window.
She moved the curtain out of the way to close it... and saw through the window, an old, overgrown track leading back through the forest.
“You fraggin’ idiots,” she sighed to herself, cooling off. Somebody was going to get fired for this screw up. Something like that just couldn’t be ignored.
She stored the toys in her Ford and fetched the shotgun from the trunk and loaded it with live shot-shells. She wasn’t going to trust her life to beanbags when facing folks with a mecha cat on their side. Carefully, she made her way around the back of the trailer.
Nothing but track and forest.
Her shoes crunched on the gravel path as she walked slowly along it, nervously scanning the treeline. She could hear gunshots cracking from the range nearby, echoing off the hillside like a distant war.
She came across a fallen tree across the path. It looked to have been snapped as easily as she’d snap a match between her fingers. Ruth could see that it was just at the head of a very long queue which cut through the forest.
She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. It was a path almost big enough to drive a semi through. On the road at her feet were the same tracks that had been found at the banks. The same square pads, the same three claws. Each had a small puddle of muddy water sitting in it from the storm last night.
At the end of the road, in a clearing she found a wooden barn, run down and dilapidated, the paint having long faded and peeled. It was surrounded by varying pieces of junk. A rusting crane hung it’s jib over a collapsed scaffold. it seemed as if whatever the scaffold had surrounded, had burst free.
She clutched her shotgun tightly as she crossed the yard to the barn. Edging towards the door, she listened for any signs of life inside.
She heard nothing but the creaking of the wood, and rustle of leaves in the breeze. She kicked the door open. It fell off it’s hinges instead, crashing to the ground with a hollow thump. Her finger tightened around the gun’s trigger for an instant, the cop expecting anything for an instant.
Again however... nothing.
Except for a god-awful smell, like sticking her face into a broken septic tank. It was the stink of decay, of death. Her stomach retched before she ducked outside into the fresh air. She zipped up her coat, using her collar to cover her mouth and nose. Shouldering her shotgun, Ruth unclipped her maglite from her belt.
She dived back into the smell, barely covered by her own body and deodorant.
Her torchlight glinted of tins of yellow paint, one of which had fallen over and spilled on the ground. On them, scribbled with a sharpie was the word “WAVIUM!!” Beside them, what appeared to be empty oxy-acetylene tanks. There was shelving, and an obvious place to store some tools.... but no tools stored there. In the back was the rusting hulk of an old tractor that’d been ripped apart, the torn apart remains of at least three electric motors, mixed with an assortment of copper cabling, and power equipment that she just couldn’t identify.
Her beam caught a flash of something moving quickly along a wall. A black rat. How disgusting. She tracked it with her torch.
And found the source of the smell.
Her missing person’s case had just become a murder case. In the corner, was clearly a human body, bloating and off colour as decay took hold.
With a very obvious gunshot wound to they head, delivered like a coup de grace.
She got out of there before she threw up. The conclusion was immediately obvious. He’d built something, handwaved it, and then somebody’d come along and killed him for it.
Resting against the barn wall, she took a few deep breaths to steady herself before picking up her pocket radio.
"Dispatch, this is Sergeant Gally Ruth, I've got a dead body in Mountain Valley. Just off of State route 378" she radioed in. “It’s the missing person’s case. Stae Nor.” a pause, “I need media silence on this,” she added. “it may jeopardise an ongoing investigation”
“Roger that. Ambulance and County Coroner will be arriving shortly.”
“Also, kick that lazy Detective Henderson in the ass for me, for not finding this weeks ago.”
We might never have even had these robberies if he hadn’t just seen a can of ‘wavium and shrugged his shoulders.
“Will do,”
She took a deep breath and stepped back inside the barn. There was one last thing to do. Putting fears of biomods to the back of her mind... remembering Jet’s words about needing a tank of this stuff to get a mod... she probed at the open can of handwavium paint. It was dry and solid.
She chipped a few small shards of it into a sample bag. Just to confirm Stae’d built the Cat using the taster back at the hotel.
That’d be a couple of hours at least. Homicide division took time to swing into gear. And when they got here in their trucks and cars, all flashing lights and commotion, they’d announce to the criminals that the police were on to them, the perpetrators would go to ground, and they might well lose any chance of catching them.
Screw it.
“Dispatch, this is Ruth out at Mountain Valley. Be advised that we need to keep this quiet until tomorrow morning.
“Say again,”
“I said no marked cars or emergency vehicles. The body will stay where it is until tomorrow. Cancel the coroner and the ambulance. We have to leave it overnight,”
“That’s against procedure!”
“I know,” Ruth shot him down, “But we have to wait until morning. It’ll be clear why tomorrow,”
“Alright,” the dispatcher relented, “But you owe me,”
Ruth sighed once more. Stae’d been waiting a couple of weeks to be found. He could wait another twelve hours or so.
>>
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