Stray Cat Strut

 

Chapter Fifty-Eight - Hot Stuff

“You want the best? There’s nothing humanity can make that the Protector’s can’t make, but better. Cars? They’ve got, but they fly. Books? They have electronic books which are written on the spot by an AI. You want renewable energy? Spaceflight? Secure electronics?

It’s humbling. And it’s an opportunity.

I’m just happy that I’ll get to see some real life catgirls before I die.”

-- Melon Usk, 2028

***

Monroe’s driving was nothing like Speedy’s. For one thing, he didn’t wait until the last second to move out of the way of every obstacle in our path, for another, he wasn’t driving with the pedal stuck to the floor.

“Myalis, can you tell me anything about this next shelter?” I asked.

Certainly. There are public records available for this one. It was created by the Blue Shade and Tennison Foundation for Canada. The main shelter was funded by a Samurai, though it doesn’t seem to have any non-human components in its construction. It is technically a municipal shelter, though the foundation oversees supplying it.

I nodded. “Cool, what about its location and such?”

It’s built over two floors, one on ground level, the other beneath. There is a building above it, a tenement house also run by the foundation. The shelter has a standard capacity of one thousand, but can hold twice that many for a short duration. With standing room, it can hold four thousand average humans for no more than six hours.

“Six hours?” I asked.

Monroe glanced my way. To him the conversation had to sound entirely disjointed.

The shelter has limited supplies of breathable air and its recycling system can only do so much before the carbon dioxide levels in the shelter begin to reach dangerous levels. Some people would die from what is essentially asphyxiation. After a sufficient number have died, the system would most likely catch up.

“Well... that’s pretty fucking nightmarish,” I said. Better than turning into a zombie though.

The main entrance is the least fortified part of the shelter. It opens into a killbox with fixed gun emplacements designed to hold out against a decent number of antithesis of lower ranks. There are other passive systems in place, such as floor-to-ceiling bars that prevent large models from entering the shelter.

I nodded. “Got it.” That sounded simple enough. If the shelter was meant to be used properly, then it probably had an easy way to exit too. Access from the street to the shelter would probably be easy too.

“Ma’am?” Monroe asked.

“How many of your guys would you need to keep the truck and the two cars safe while also bringing a few other vans closer?”

“More men than I have,” he said.

I chewed on my lower lip. “How are you in terms of weaponry?”

“We only have what we’re equipped with and the roof guns. SOP when going with a Samurai is to leave all extra non-mission-critical equipment behind. Ammunition-wise... Squad, ammo check.”

I waited as the soldiers in the back seat and presumably in the other car checked over their gear.

“We’re down to about one extra magazine each, not counting what we’ve got loaded.”

I pinched my nose. “I presume that’s not a lot?”

“It’s... not, no.”

I nodded, then reached over and yoinked a magazine from its slot around his waist. I weighed the box by tossing it up and down. “Myalis, how much does one of these cost?”

About one point. They’re standard rounds in a tin box. Nothing overly complex. They’re sufficient for Models in the single digits.

I tapped the side of the gun a few times. “Yeah, that won’t do,” I muttered. “Monroe, what’re you supposed to do when with a Samurai?”

“The procedures are pretty simple, ma’am. Never lie. Never omit any crucial information. Do as the Samurai asks unless it puts you in immediate danger. Try to collect all discarded weaponry and equipment left by the Samurai. And, ah, the actual procedures are quite long, but that’s the gist of it.”

I rolled my eyes and placed the magazine in the centre console. “Myalis, how many points do I have?”

One thousand two hundred and ninety three. Do you want to buy something?

“These guys will need guns. Something, uh, Trench Maker-y in price. Rifles, I guess.”

Kinetic, Energy, Direct Projection, Projectile, Esoteric? How would you like them to deliver death?

I snorted. “Got anything that lights stuff on fire?”

There are plenty of fire-based weapons. Though they tend to be prone to friendly-fire accidents. Perhaps Class I Plasma Casting Weaponry. The catalogue would cost you one hundred points.

“Didn’t handguns cost fifty?”

Kinetic Handguns Class I is limited both in the kind of weaponry, and its form. The additional limitations drew the price down.

“Fair.” I turned over to Monroe. “Do you like the idea of firing big balls of plasma at aliens?”

“Uh.”

The soldiers in the back seat were nodding violently.

“Neat! I’ll take it, Big M.”

Please never call me that again.

Class I Plasma Casting Weaponry unlocked!
Points Reduced to... 1193!

“Okay, now guns! How do plasma guns even work? Do they need ammo or something?”

You should probably have asked before purchasing the catalogue. As to how they work, the plasma is created in a chamber by firing an aerosolized chemical that is turned into plasma with an electrical arc. The ball of plasma is then pushed through a thin metallic membrane that shapes the charge. The case and the ball of plasma exit a barrel that is designed to spin the bolt. On impact, the case bursts apart and the plasma impacts the target.

Its main advantages are the high temperatures around the area of impact and the explosive discharge. Class I Plasma weapons don’t generally have good penetration. You also have access to plasma ‘shot-guns’ which fire a spinning loop of superheated plasma that dissipates within a dozen meters. The only ammunition expenditure is from the hyper compressed gas containers and rolls of metal fabric. Each gun can fire three hundred times before requiring a reload.

“That sounds awesome,” I said. “I’ll take eight rifles. No, wait, I want one too. Nine.”

Certainly. Perhaps waiting until you’ve stopped would be best.

“Uh, yeah.” I turned to the guys in the back. “You guys ever play with explosive plasma guns before?” I asked.

They shook their heads.

“Then it’s your lucky day.”

The car shifted over to one side and slowed down before it turned into the opposite lane and came to a stop. The truck behind us squealed as it braked and the other car pulled out around it to park itself behind some cover provided by two normal cars that had smashed together.

Monroe didn’t have to tell me that we’d arrived.

I jumped out of the car and took in the area. We were in an area with two rows of tenement buildings. Porches sprouted out of the walls and grew to the top of the thirty-odd floors of the buildings. The area was so shit that the billboards were unanimated. There was even a ground-level parking garage for ground-bound cars across the street.

Spotting the shelter was easy. There were big signs above the entrance extolling the virtues of the corps that had shelled out for it. They were missing most of their letters, but the missing paint left it legible enough.

No aliens around. Not yet. We’d only moved a few kilometers from the last shelter, and at the speed Model Threes moved... I guesstimated five minutes.

“Myalis, the guns,” I said.

New Purchase: Mark I Shooting Star. Nine Units
Points Reduced to... 1013

A neat three-by-three stack appeared by my feet. The boxes were shorter than I thought.

Popping the topmost open revealed a boxy gun with a short stock, a square frame around its barrel filled with what looked like liquid cooling pipes, and a grip near the front. The top had a big square holographic scope on it.

I picked it up and spun it around to point at a car some hundred meters away. There was a safety right next to the handle that I flicked off.

The trigger was a bit stiff, but the moment I squeezed it the gun barked three times. A little counter next to the scope dipped down three times.

A trio of explosions kicked up dust around the car I’d aimed at. When it cleared, there was a fist-sized hole in its side.

One out of three. That gun barely has any recoil and you have a full targeting suite. Your lack of aim is impressive.

I turned to Monroe and kept my face stoic. “Careful, they have no recoil, so don’t compensate for it.”

“Yes ma’am!” he said.

I can’t decide whether to be disappointed or impressed.

“Always impressed Myalis,” I said as I finally allowed a grin to grace my features. “Now let’s go convince a thousand or so people that I have their best interests at heart.”

Joy.

***