I got a really stupid idea and acted on it almost immediately.
SmiloDonna bucked and twisted and I—calculating my angle—finally let her send me flying away. I leapt, rolled neatly, and stopped just next to Stripe, who was still down on all fours. Flicker sizzle-flash-blinked in right above and behind me, every teleporter’s combat standby, and as she tried to ninja-swipe me, I ducked it, grabbed her wrist, and redirected. The smallest of the lot or not, her cat’s claws were still plenty sharp; a few tufts of fur from Stripe’s ruff went flying, but eventually one of Flicker’s claws snagged just right and caught a collar.
Caught a collar and parted it, as I let her yank her wrist out of my grasp.
Stripe reared up, renewed, a wave of furious adrenaline overcoming the kick I’d dealt her. She wasn’t interested in me, not in the slightest. She could’ve gutted me, easy-peasy-innards-squeezy, if she’d wanted to, ‘cause I was all wrasslin’-tangled up with Flicker, but I was lucky, I was right, or both. She leapt away instead, uncoiling, vaulting, straight at the L.E.G.I.O.N. spotter.
“My sisters and I are free beings,” she roared, her voice as loud, as proud, as Ligress’ voice had ever been, and coming on too quickly for his laser blast to hit.
“You are not our masters.” She backhanded the laser pistol up and out of the agent’s hands. “And we are not your slaves.” She swatted downwards, smashing the L.E.G.I.O.N. “phone” onto the sidewalk and into far too many pieces.
The local relay was down. The long-range control beams were snuffed out. Flicker immediately stopped fighting and, instead, sobbed her way into a hug against me. SmiloDonna tore her collar off and leapt to back up Stripe to keep her from eating the L.E.G.I.O.N. field agent, or probably, if I’m being honest, a little bit of both. Snarl and Gatorina kept wrestling, and I wasn’t even sure if those two had collars on.
Flicker was quick to sizzle-pop away, composing herself in private, removing her collar, and pretending to be terribly cool and self-reliant in that way only cats and cat-themed antihero sidekicks care about. Smiley and Stripe weren’t hugging it out, but they were doing that warrior-forearm-grip thing that I figured was a pretty good sign, because it meant they also weren’t literally at one another’s throats. Between them, the Womenagerie gals got Gatorina and Snarl broken up before the Protectors arrived or, thankfully, Campus Cop Part Two: The Sprayination, could happen.
More security did arrive, though, along with real police, along with, yes, the Protectors (with Titan leading the way, of course). The scattered remnants of the Teen Protectors, too, not far behind, looking worried, haggard, and roughed-up in equal measure, trickling in one at a time from wherever Titan had sent them. Each of them had also been attacked today, on this, the anniversary of our escape from L.E.G.I.O.N. control. Each of them was also the target of pure, wicked, revenge. Each of them was also shaken up by it, the criss-crossing of secret and superheroic lives.
Coordinated attacks. We’d be making headlines all across the nation. In our “secret” identities. It wasn’t what we wanted, but we would deal with it. A few of us exchanged hugs, handshakes, fistbumps, and then they drifted off to their mentors-slash-partners-slash-sponsors. Catseye wasn’t here. She’d gone solo again, so I just watched the pros in action and politely looked away from all the healthy hero-and-former-sidekick relationships.
Titan kept everyone calm, commanded the whole scene, and explained that everyone was safe now. Cops took notes, eying the Womenagerie members warily, who were eying them warily right back. The gals didn’t always have great luck with badges, any more than I did.
In fairness, badges didn’t always have great luck with us.
I sighed. I squared up. I waded in, talking to Titan on their behalf. Willingly. Volunteering myself to be lectured if it meant giving a full account of my side. More and more Protectors wandered over, listening in. Taking part. Arguing—in that very controlled, very measured, way they did—until a consensus was reached.
“Welp.” I headed back over to where the fuzzy, and one scaly, band of rebel mutates were waiting, my face grim. “There’s good news and bad news. Good news is, the Ghost knows some billionaire playboy who’s a major donor to the school—like, in a big way, the library’s named after this guy’s mom, turns out?—and they’re going to be able to smooth all of this over with faculty, students, and campus administrators. You threaten to pull funding and hurt their image, universities straighten up real quick. Also, to be clear, nobody’s going to cuff you or arrest you or anything.” I thumbed over my shoulder to the cops, listening raptly as Titan preached their way. “The big guy’s seeing to it the police don’t hold this against you or, given your history with government officials and cages, trying to arrest you until a district attorney makes this stuff official. District attorneys listen when the Protectors talk, and Ghost already has the guy on the line, says he knows him, too, so everything’s good there.”
“The bad news?” SmiloDonna asked. Stripe would never ask a non-mutate a polite question, Snarl and Gatorina weren’t big on knowing things or caring about them, and Flicker wouldn’t go looking for trouble by specifically asking for it.
“The bad news is, Smiley, you’re no longer officially a Protectors reservist after this…”
I’m awful. I paused there. I let her shoulders slump. I let Stripe’s chin lift a little, let the tigress take in a breath in order to start into an anti-human lecture, let Snarl and Gatorina get all excited for an I-told-you-so chorus. Interrupting it all after a dramatic pause, I tried to still sound stern and bad-news-y.
“…and you’ve already missed the first two weeks of class, missy, so you better be ready to play catch-up!”
“I…what?” Smiley’s ears perked up, eyes wide.
I couldn’t swallow my smile. I nodded. I beamed.
“I told him you were starting here, or I was dropping out. We need to keep an eye on you, right? This whole ‘down time’ thing since we got disbanded, you fell in with a really nefarious crowd, young lady.” I elbowed Flicker in the side like she was in on it. She rolled her eyes and teleported away. I started in on the air quotes and a Titan impersonation. “And it’s not fair you got stuck, alone, back at Teen Protectors Basecamp, while the rest of us got scattered back into ‘normal society’ for ‘our own good’ until Titan decides we’re ‘well-balanced’ and ‘ready for duty,’ after we ‘slave away’ working ‘customer service,’ and…and…and he’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
“You’re right, Tomcat.” Titan was right behind me, hovering up silently, casual with his powers because he had so many of them. “It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair of us to pull rank just because we’re the original Protectors and you’re younger, and it wasn’t fair of us to leave SmiloDonna there by herself just because she’s different. The rest of you aren’t all masks-off, no-capes, as punishment. It was meant as downtime to let you all recover from what L.E.G.I.O.N. did to you. But we weren’t kind to SmiloDonna with that decision.”
He crossed his arms, looking serious—more serious, somehow—whenever he talked about the ruthless criminal organization and what they’d done to us.
“But clearly this isn’t good for you all, either, or safe for the civilians around you. The Teen Protectors work better as a team, and the Teen Protectors deserve a chance at a normal life. So we’re going to try and give you both. One day a week, you all suit up and go on patrol. The rest of the time, you live as normally as you can. Including you.”
He, hovering to match her height, held out a hand for SmiloDonna to shake.
“I’ll have them type you up an admission letter. Mom and Pop still have my old one, framed, back at the farm. You deserve that, too.”
She shook, ears back and looking meek, proud, and happy all at once. Stripe cheered for her, Flicker leapt and kicked the air, Snarl and Gatorina followed their pack in being happy. Smiley dragged me up into one of her warm, fuzzy, hugs, and I let her. The Teen Protectors descended on us, all sharing the good news after
talking to their mentors and getting the same results.
Everything was gonna be okay.
Everything was gonna feel right.
Everything would get cleaned up, and go back to norma—
“Ohmygod,” she shrieked, the doe-eyed coed with a fresh cup of coffee and voice high enough it made the cat-girls’ ears flatten and whiskers twitch. She came running right at my shirtless self, with a shocked look on her face…
“Hey, I’m okay, I heal really fas—“
“What happened to my car?!”
…and she ran right past us, to the car SmiloDonna’d punched me into then torn into smaller pieces to hit me with. The environmentally-friendly hybrid, good for four grand, tops.
Oh well. I was here at Northwestern U for the long haul. There’d be other pretty girls, I hoped.
Russell Zimmerman has been a freelance game developer and fiction writer for just about a decade now. When he's not busy juggling freelance projects and telling stories about sci-fi heroes or cyberpunk protagonists, Russell can be found hanging out with his wife, playing with his dogs, or teaching History courses at Tarleton State University.
42
The Great Milk Heist
by Sally Clements
Abandoned on the icy streets of New York, Patrick doesn’t have a Snowball’s chance in hell - unless he helps Sphynx and her Meowfia with The Great Milk Heist!
Through winding back streets and narrow walkways, a little white cat made its way towards the basement den he called home. He stopped outside the deli nearby, his mouth watering as the delicious smells of meat and cheese wafted towards him. The shop was a typical New Yorker deli; a short fat Italian man with a bushy moustache stood behind the counter, idly dusting the surface. When he saw the cat, he grinned, running outside to stroke it.
The cat pushed its head against his hand, purring loudly, and the man smiled and got up again. “Ahh, gattino mio, I know what it is you are asking for. Wait here, my friend!”
“What is this Gattino business?” the cat thought to itself. “ I never met a cat called Gattino. My name is Patrick...”
The man went back into the shop and reached over the counter for some scrappy pieces of salami. “I save for you a little treat! Buon appetito!”
Patrick rubbed his face on the man’s leg in appreciation, then took the pieces of salami and slunk across to the alleyway, where he dropped the salami to the ground and began to gobble it down.
At the mouth of the alley, three large shapes loomed into view. Patrick growled and tried to eat faster, but it was a thick and chewy salami, and he could not choke it down before the dogs smelled it. He watched as their snouts came around, sniffing the air; and then they trotted towards him.
He froze, staring at the beasts. The three were mongrels. One was a tall, rangy mutt with sharp, pricked ears and a snarl that turned the cat’s spine to water. The second was medium sized, but it looked fast and cruel, and it moved out to one side so that if he tried to make a run for it, that side of the alleyway was covered. The third was a huge solid thing like a Labrador crossed with a grizzly bear. It didn’t look that intelligent, but it was pure bulk.
All of them had menacing expressions, and all of them were focussed tightly on Patrick. Losing his nerve, he grabbed the pieces of salami and made a run for it. The mutts snapped into action, their jaws gnashing at the cat’s tail, clacking shut just short of it. Their excited barking echoed in his ears as he dodged and jumped, but the dogs were still gaining on him.
“RUN, KITT!” A voice echoed from above.
Distracted, Patrick slipped, crashing into a dumpster, and rolled to his feet to find the three mutts towering over him. Drool dripped from big stained fangs onto his face, and he cowered in sheer terror.
“GIVE EM’ THE FOOD, DUMMY!” The voice yelled.
The cat flicked the salami towards the dogs, who growled and snapped at the food, fighting between themselves. Terrified, he leapt up at the dumpster and scrambled out of reach, fleeing onto the roof to fling himself down gasping on the parapet.
Another figure came into view, and he winced, preparing for more trouble.
“I thought ya were a goner, kitt.” A large tortoiseshell cat with a Brooklyn accent sat down next to him: the owner of the voice that had saved his life.
“Me too.” Patrick roused enough to sit up. “The streets are tough. I wasn’t ready for that.”
“Hey, it’s good exercise for an early mornin’ run.”
Both of them chuckled.
“You okay there?” The green-eyed cat asked. “You’ll be fine with some food in ya.”
“Got some on you?” Patrick was half-serious. “I donated my breakfast to a good cause.” He glanced over the parapet at the alleyway below.
The tortoiseshell shook his head.
“Ah well.”
The tortoiseshell peered down over the edge. “Seems ya buddies have gone.”
“They won’t be far.” Glumly, Patrick began cleaning himself, trying to settle his nerves after his brush with danger.
“You been on the streets long?”
“Three weeks. Barely survivin’.” Patrick stood up, shaking his body and stretching. “You?”
“All my life. The name’s Kibble.” The green-eyed cat smiled. “Let me guess…indoor cat…fur as white as snow…blue eyes… You’re a Snowball, ain’t ya?”
“My name is Patrick Bernard Louis the 3rd, formerly known as ‘Snowball’.” Patrick gave him a narrow stare.
“Could you pick a longer name, buddy? Jeez.” Kibble laughed.
“No.”
“I’m just joking with you. Lighten up!” Kibble laughed at Patrick, whose tail was flicking irritably back and forth. “Where you staying, anyway? You live near here?”
“In the basement down there.” Patrick nodded his head towards the small hole that led to the basement.
“Very funny, wiseguy.” Kibble snorted. “Where you really staying?”
“Down there?” Patrick shrugged. “Problem?”
“Jeez. I’ve been gone for two weeks and suddenly my territory has been taken over by another pussycat.” Kibble growled. “Typical New Yorker kitty. Can’t have anything, downtown.” He stood, the fur on his tail fluffing up angrily.
Patrick shrugged again. “I haven’t got nowhere else to go, buddy.”
“That isn’t my problem, buddy.” Kibble stepped forward, his whiskers nearly touching Patrick’s.
“You’re really gonna scrap with me right now, after a near-death experience down there?” Patrick got to his feet and stalked away from Kibble. “You strays really are like dogs. Fine. Whatever.”
“Hey! Hey! My kind aren’t strays, we prefer to say, ‘Commitment Free.’ And we aren’t dogs.” Kibble spat at the idea.
“Whatever.” Patrick snapped. “The basement is mine. Finders keepers.”
“I found it first. That isn’t fair!” Kibble growled. Patrick did not answer or pause, and after a moment Kibble trotted after him. “Listen here, Snowball. You’ve been on the streets for three weeks. You don’t know what they can be like.” Patrick turned, and Kibble continued. “You wouldn’t have survived that dog attack without me telling you what to do. You would have been Rex’s dinner. You aren’t cut out for the streets, Kitt. Go back home.”
Patrick looked out over the rooftops. “I’m not goin’ nowhere.”
“You haven’t lived through a winter yet. Do you know how awful New York winters are? A cat like you would freeze within two days.”
“You don’t know me,” Patrick growled.
“I know about your kind, though. House cats are just furry little humans. They need their mommies and daddies or else they freeze. Capeesh?” Kibble trotted to the edge of the roof and jumped down on the dumpster in the now-empty alley, then down onto the road.
“No, not capeesh. I have nowhere else to go!” Patrick followed, twitchy at being back at ground level.
“Go back home, I bet your human is looking for her
‘wittle Snowball!’” Kibble shouted.
“I’m not goin’ back to that madhouse. The human was crazy! I’m staying here whether I’m livin’ with you or not.” Patrick leapt in front of Kibble, blocking the entrance to the basement.
“You’re pushing your luck, kitt.” Kibble growled, the noise coming from deep inside him.
Patrick stepped aside reluctantly. “C’mon, man, there has to be some sort of compromise. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll freeze. But I don’t have anywhere to go back to.”
Kibbled halted, and after a moment he sighed, and turned back to face Patrick. “If I can get you another human, you’d leave me alone?”
“I don’t want another human.”
“You need one, I can tell. You’re all worked up.” He lowered his voice. “Listen. I know a gal that can help you out, she’s like a mother to me.”
Patrick frowned. “What’s in it for you?”
Kibble stared at him as if exasperated. “Are you slow? I want you off my territory, and if you find yourself a human, I’m free to bring as many queens here as possible, without you watchin’ over me.”
He was right. Although Patrick hated to admit it, he had been struggling without his old human, and had lived off the kindness of strangers for longer than he was really comfortable with. “What do I have to do?”
Kibble grinned.
Patrick followed Kibble through the city towards the rougher parts of town and eventually down to the sewers. The conversation between them was awkward, both just talking about their favourite food or toys.
Kibble told Patrick of his surrogate mother, a Sphynx cat who ran an underground clowder of cats, hundreds of them. "I owe Sphynx a lot. Because of her, I have a family and family is everything. 'Family makes the cat,’ I say." They ducked through the maze of pipes and openings that was the sewer until the dark tunnel began getting brighter and brighter.
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