by Chris Hechtl
Anna Gora smiled politely to the camera as she crossed her legs. She flicked her tail and then nodded to her guest. “Commander Feral, Mega City has been up now for four years. The anniversary of its re-founding is fast approaching, as is the ceremonies the mayor has planned for the event. Your thoughts?”
“We are getting there,” the commander said bluntly. “I have reviewed the plans for the ceremonies and parades. We'll have it covered.”
“It is a daily struggle, but getting easier, you have to admit that,” she said eying him. “We in this city have some of the best of all the other cities. And we're progressing at a much faster rate than any of the others, save Metropolis,” she said. Which was true, their buildings were high rises but many were faced in stone. Some had elaborate sculptures like in Gotham but without the dark brooding gothic quality of that city. Cleaned and suitably repaired, they shined.
“True,” the commander ground out.
“Your thoughts on expanding the airport into a full spaceport, Commander?”
“It isn't my call, Miss Gora.”
“I see. But the potential impact for crime? Such as smuggling?”
“It is a concern,” he reluctantly replied with a nod. “If the project does go forward, I'd like to put the proper people and facilities in place to nip such problems in the bud immediately—especially smuggling and the threat of another virus striking our beautiful world.”
“Definitely that,” Anna replied, shivering a little for her audience's viewing. “I believe we all wish that. Now, you said you have the ceremony and parade covered. I know you are planning to have a float in the parade, displays of what the police enforcers have contributed.”
“There would be no city without enforcement,” the commander interrupted with a growl.
“True. But there would be no enforcers without the city itself or the trade that is the lifeblood of the city,” Anna retorted. “You're going to have the police out in force for crowd control. Any concern of a friendly fire incident?”
“If there is one, it will be provoked and caused by some civilian not by my well-trained people,” the commander growled, eyes flashing. His hands clenched and unclenched. It was obvious that he was not happy about being in the interview, but he had taken the job on instead of fostering it on someone else.
Anna knew the reason. For a time, the commander had dumped the public affairs on Lieutenant Steele. The slick Neocat had handled the assignment well. Too well, he'd started to get a bit uppity and threaten the commander's job by being the public face of the department. He'd taken the credit for several busts, which had irked the commander. That had been the commander's prerogative.
The two things that had capped the lieutenant's performance and had started his fall from grace was his charges of nepotism of the commander after he'd hired his niece Felica Feral from the GDPD and promoted her to lieutenant and his last public interview where he'd put forth the idea that the commander's role should be elective and voted on by the public.
That had been the last straw. Feral could put up with a lot but public insubordination and attempting to steal his job had been too much.
“Are you concerned about terrorists striking while the city is celebrating? Or hitting a bank or other place while all focus is on the celebration?” the reporter asked.
“It is a concern. We will stop it cold if it happens,” the commander said, crossing his arms and looking stern.
“And are you going to bring in the so-called Swatcats? Are they going to make an appearance in the parade or are you going to have them on call as backup?” she asked sweetly.
“The so-called Swatcats are little more than vigilantes,” the commander snarled, baring his teeth as his ears flattened. “They have the backing of the current administration, and their help,” the last word seemed rather reluctant and distasteful Anna noted, “in apprehending or stopping some threats has been the only reason they continue to exist.”
“By definition a vigilante is someone who takes the law into their own hands. They do no such thing. They show up and make, ah, I believe Miss Briggs called it, a citizen's arrest?” Anna asked helpfully.
“I stand corrected,” the commander growled, gritting his teeth as he sat back in his chair and glowered at her.
“Thank you, Commander Feral, for your time,” Anna said, noting obstinacy in her subject. He nodded once but didn't reply. She turned to the camera and smiled a tight-lipped smile. “This is Anna Gora, Knox News. Back to you in the studio, Bert,” she said.
<(>^<)>
“Feral looks a bit put out,” Miss Briggs said, shaking her head as she shut the television off.
“He does need to lighten up,” the mayor said, tisk tisking as he practiced his putting. She looked over to him in his Scottish golf outfit complete with hat and rolled her eyes. The mayor took a swing, but he hit it harder than necessary. It went past the hole in the floor and rolled under his desk. “Darn it!” he said.
He seemed comical as his pudgy body bent double to try to fish the ball out. “Do come out of there,” he drawled. He resorted to trying to hook the ball with the putter. Finally, he got it to roll out.
“Ah, not quite the hole in one I'd wanted,” he said, standing and rubbing the small of his back.
“No, I doubt that, Mayor.”
“I need to practice a bit more it seems. I'll need to hold my own at the next game,” he said.
“Mayor, we do have a lot of work to do,” Callie said in despair. “We've got to get a handle on the budget for one. Feral has the parade security covered, but we need to work out how to handle that and how to work the repairs into the budget.”
“Pushaw,” the mayor scoffed, wiggling his hips as he set himself for another putting attempt.
“Mayor …,” Callie sighed when he shushed her. He took a swing and frowned, ears back as it rolled past the hole and then came back.
“Get in there you …”
“I'll be in my office going over the numbers with accounting. When you are ready to focus, let me know. We need to work on the emergency reserves again. Overhaul it since we've tapped it out several times after the last series of criminal attacks,” she warned.
“Yes, yes, you do that,” he said, sticking his tongue out as he went over to line up for another attempt. She shook her head as she walked out. She slammed the door hard enough to make the mayor and the ball bounce.
<(>^<)>
Commander Feral grimaced as he exited the building's rooftop elevator and stalked to his waiting chopper. He hated that Briggs and Manx had given the reporter an all-access pass and then extended it to the police. It had kept corruption at bay, kept Manx from getting too out of control, but he still didn't have to like it.
He snorted. Anna and the powers that be might think him clueless, but he wasn't born yesterday. He knew precisely who the Swatcats were. They'd been in his presence often enough for him to get a lock on their smell.
If that hadn't been enough, their size, voices, and skill sets had told him exactly what he'd needed to know. He had to admit, they had chutzpa to pull off what they were doing. Keeping them in check with the occasional reminder to stay within the law was a necessary evil, right up there with keeping them around and in his tool set.
After all, since they were no longer on the force he could officially deny any wrongdoing in the police for their unwarranted actions or investigations should the need arise.
“How'd it go, Uncle?” His niece asked as she started flipping switches and spooling the helicopter's rotors up to speed.
“Can it. You know we're on duty,” the commander growled, taking his headset as he climbed into the bird.
“Sorry, Commander,” the lieutenant replied.
The commander plugged the headset into the jack and then put his seat belt on. Then he closed the door, flicking his tail out of the way before he slammed the door on it in his haste to leave the area. “What did I miss?”
“No major activity, though we have som
e concerns of a bank heist about to go down.”
“Oh?”
“Word on the street plus some shady characters seen casing the place, ET Loans if you can believe it,” the lieutenant said as the chopper's rotors began to lift off. She pulled back on the collective gently until the wheels came off the ground, then kept pulling back as she moved her left hand on the stick and used the foot pedals to steer the craft up over the building's lip and safety railings and off into the sunset lit sky.
“ET Loans—they've got heavy security. But why …”
“I'm thinking because the other banks, check cashing places, and credit unions are small potatoes. They limit their draws to under a K in credits and have a lot of people. With the holiday coming up …”
“No one will be around at the bank. A bit brazen though if they do it during the parade.”
“Or wait until the ceremony commences afterward,” Felica offered.
“True. Alert ET Loans.”
“Do you want us to put the word out that we know?”
“No. They'll just back off and hit a secondary target. Speaking of which, keep an eye out for them as well. If they are this brazen, they might want to hit more than one target at a time. Most likely as far from the parade as possible.”
“Yes, Commander,” the lieutenant said.
“Steele is still on traffic duty?” the commander demanded.
“Yes sir,” the lieutenant said in a more neutral tone.
“Good,” the commander growled in a pleased tone as he sat back and relaxed. He turned to look at the lights of the city below.
<(>^<)>
Jake “Razor” Clawfull shook his head in wonder as he finished up his latest project. He still needed to pass it over to Chance to paint, but it worked. He'd tested it a few times just to be sure. He smiled, ears alert as he swished his tail happily, turning the wrist glove over and over in his hands: Taser punch, grapple, light, and minigun all in one. Not quite light but he was working on an exoframe to help balance the load.
In fact, that was an ongoing project he intended to tackle tomorrow he thought.
“Got another one, buddy?” Chance “T-Bone” Furlough asked, coming in and looking over his shoulder. The two of them had known each other since they'd grown up on the streets of Gotham. They'd even attended school and college together.
“You know it. Now that I've worked the bugs out of this baby I can make a few more. You know, for backup.”
“And don't forget a couple in my size,” Chance growled. He pounded one fist into his open hand over and over. He was bigger than his partner with some big cat genes in his ancestry.
“That too. I'm not sure the molecular filament line will handle your mass though,” Jake said thoughtfully. He'd worked on a similar design for the Mister Fox at Waynetech years ago. “I can't beef it up without sacrificing length and throwing power,” he said, eyes going up as he considered the problem from all angles.
“Hey, you calling me fat?” Chance demanded.
“No, just big boned,” Jake said, still absently staring upward.
“ET to Jake, come in Jake,” Chance said, waving a hand paw in front of his partner's face. When that didn't get anything, he looked over Jake's shoulder to the door. “Oh, hi Miss Briggs!” he said.
That certainly got Jake's attention. The other domestic Neocat practically jumped out of his fur as he scrambled around. “Um …” He turned a glower on his partner when he realized he'd been had. “That's not funny, Chance!” His ears were flat, eyes flashing with indignation.
Chance snickered. “I thought it was. You should have seen your face!”
“That's because I'm working on Swatcat gear here, in our lair and …” he shook himself and looked down at his filthy coverall.
“See, I told you that you need to work on your situational awareness, good buddy,” Chance teased, patting him on the shoulder soothingly. “What about my baby?”
“You mean our baby,” Jake retorted, correcting him. Chance nodded. “She's fine. I integrated the rockets like you asked. Grav drive, rockets, jets—she's got it all now. Not much room under the hood left, we've crammed so many goodies inside. Keeping her in tip top shape is going to be a pain in the ass. We'll have to tear her all apart to get at some of those systems.”
“Ouch. So, that means you're telling me we'll be making another?” Chance asked roguishly, grinning at his partner.
Jake's low voltage glower turned into a full glare as his eyes slitted and he placed his hands on his hips. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded, ears flat again. “Do you have any idea how long it took to get where we are now?”
“No, but apparently you the genius didn't think it all through. How are we supposed to do our jobs if we're down a jet?” He loved his baby. The jet was a marine attack craft, a Bell Ichim 333G heavily modified with parts from a Karakter class marine assault shuttle they'd also salvaged from the scrap yard. Jake had spent months redesigning the bird to handle all his toys and all of the stuff on Chance's wish list.
Well, most of them.
“So, she can go supersonic, hover, and can go into space? So …”
“Don't push it, Chance. There is only so much I can do. It's all tradeoffs. I added the rockets but that severely decreased our range.”
“But what's the point of having them if you can't get to orbit?” Chance demanded.
“Don't whine. The rockets are like the afterburner; they give us a boost when we're too high for the jets to grab the thin air effectively. Used wisely they won't tear the frame apart, and they'll let us move from point A to point B fast. But they still take juice and fuel.”
“Yeah,” Chance muttered. He'd wanted to extend their range and he'd gotten it, but at a price. Everything was at a tradeoff. Fuel was rough to come by. They had a small plant Jake had cobbled together, but it only put out a couple liters of fuel an hour. It converted sea water into hydrogen, then mixed it in a series of chemical works that they'd gotten from Doctor Zyme and Grenwich to turn out the fuel they needed to fly.
But all of those works like the lair had to be powered by a fusion reactor. Fortunately, they had four small ones, all of them also salvaged from the scrap yard, along with a tiny antimatter reactor Jake had found and two precious replicators, one a class II industrial model and the other a civilian model.
The robots Jake had built based on Professor Sackle's basic design were also a major help in keeping their lair and equipment functional.
If Manx, Feral, or anyone else knew what they were finding in the scrap yard, they'd be all over it like fleas, which meant they'd be all over the Swatcats.
“I wish we could rig the baby with antimatter,” Chance muttered, “or get rid of the nonlethal crap,” he growled, one hand resting on the jet's fuselage near the Gatling gun port.
Jake shook his head mournfully. They'd been over all that, many, many times. “And I wish you'd leave the old girl alone. We've put enough on her frame, Chance. And you know why we have to carry nonlethal,” he warned. Chance nodded once, but Jake knew the argument wasn't quite over just yet. They'd agreed on strictly nonlethal means as a way to understrike their role with Feral while also undercutting his ability to go after them. As long as the people they performed “citizen arrests” on survived to be taken into enforcer custody, the commander could officially look the other way.
But if just one of them died, it could be a major black eye for them. One they couldn't go back from. So, it paid to be careful.
“Which brings back my point! We need another bird. That way say, I can be in one place while you …”
“Don't try to wheedle me. We've got enough problems,” Jake said, shaking his head. He rubbed his brow. “Just keeping the submarine, the baby, the truck, and the skiff operational is a bit much, Chance,” he said. “It doesn't help that we've got day jobs, other jobs,” he mentioned.
“Speaking of which, Professor Sackle called, he wants you to cover for another engineering class again,” Chance sai
d, frowning as he rubbed the back of his head. “Almost forgot that was why I was coming in to talk to you about.”
“Damn it,” Jake muttered, already headed for the door. “Clean up the tools for me and get that painted without getting paint in the orifices this time?” he asked.
“Teach your grandmother to suck … ah never mind,” Chance called but then stopped when he picked up the glove. His ears pricked with interest as he turned it around in his hands. It was a bit small for him but he liked the compact design. He put it on and tried some of the features. The needles that projected meant Jake had worked out the taser punch.
“Nice,” he said, nodding.
“Don't get zapped!” Jake called as he slammed the door and climbed into their truck. Chance opened his mouth to stop him but the truck roared to life and took off. He sighed. “Guess I'm stuck here with you,” he muttered, looking at the glove.
<(>^<)>
Callie heard a familiar roar and turned to see Jake pulling up in the scrap yard's massive wrecker. The ground vehicle was a monster, powerful enough to tow just about anything in its class through the streets to the yard.
She also knew it had a few other abilities under its hood. Just like it's driver Jake. She waved to him, but he didn't see her. He was already climbing the steps two at a time to the college across the way.
“Yeah, hi, Jake, nice to see you,” she sighed under her breath, shaking her head as he lunged through the open door, practically on all fours. She made a note to chat him up if her current meeting went faster than expected. Maybe they could do lunch?
Most likely he was covering for Professor Sackle again. The absentminded, elderly professor probably had some project or another on his mind. She wondered if he realized just how intelligent his assistant was.
Or how much Jake “borrowed” from the engineering department for his own purposes from time to time—like crunch time on the new computers that he'd helped to set up.
Jake was her age, and she couldn't help but be attracted to him. She'd always had a thing for strong brave males, and he certainly fit the bill. He was also heroic, which also pleased her, though occasionally she had good reason to worry about the chances he took with his and others safety.