Stray Cat Strut

Chapter Fifty-Three - Egg Shells

Chapter Fifty-Three - Egg Shells

"Media literacy is only necessary when you can't trust the media you consume."

-Very True Social, Failed Slogan, 2038

***

I was just about done with breakfast when I decided to pop open the group chat for the Big Gun. Someone had added a new channel to the chat, which caught my eye right away. It was otherwise pretty calm, at least compared to the last couple of days where we were rushing to get everything ready.

Hedgehog had been updating the main chat all night long with a rather formal list. He'd spell out what kind of shell was loaded into the Big Gun and when, then a few minutes later the shell's impact on Phobos in terms of points he'd earned.

Hedgehog: 23:14 High Impact Explosive Shell

Hedgehog: 24:10 Points gained: 1045

Hedgehog: 24:15 PyroChemical MIRV

Hedgehog: 01:08 Points gained: 820

The list went all through the night, more or less once an hour. The time between the shots and their impact on Phobos was very slowly decreasing by about one or two minutes after every shot, which was interesting to note. The points earned were all over the place. It seemed, at a glance, like anything that was more penetrative was worth a bit more.

There was some additional commentary by Hedgehog about certain rounds. Mostly noting their effectiveness or lack thereof. One shell meant to blow up over the moon's surface had barely made any points and he'd taken a lot of notes about why it was ineffective. Another MIRV shell had tagged a flight of smaller models as they were flying out to intercept some of the Keiretsu's drones and Hedgehog noted that we'd earned a lot more points than we would have otherwise.

Anyway, that chat was interesting to look over. If I had more of an analytical mind, I might be able to come to some smart conclusion from looking at it, but I figured I'd leave that to the others.

I left a note mentioning how I bought a third-tier catalogue to give us access to more oomph, and Grasshopper immediately replied with a... gif of a chibi version of herself pressing a gold star onto a cartoon cat's forehead?

Did she have a 'silly gifs' catalogue or was her AI just as childish as she was?

Actually, I didn't want to know.

The new chat, once I clicked it open, had me sitting up straighter. "Fuck," I muttered.

Lucy's head whipped around. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Did I leave some eggshell in? I was sure I picked all the bits out."

"Wait... was that the crunchy bit? I thought it was pepper?"

"Oh... never you mind then," Lucy said. "What's the fuck about?"

I frowned, but decided not to pursue. Eggshell couldn't be all bad, right? Probably had protein or something. "There's a new group chat going on, for the samurai in the Big Gun project. Looks like the media has shown up."

"Weren't you guys being all subtle?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah, that's why I'm pissed," I said. I stood up, then sighed. "Gros Baton is taking care of them, apparently. They're not at the site, at least, so we have that much going for us."

"If they're not at the site, then where are they?" Lucy asked.

"Saint-Jérome," I said. "But they're asking pointed questions and Gros Baton said that he can only play the 'I don't speak English' card for so long. I don't think he's gotten used to being a samurai enough to tell the media to fuck off."

"Aww, he needs big sister Cat to save him!" Lucy said.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't going to save him. I was going to make sure he didn't make a mess of things. If that happened to keep him out of trouble, that was entirely a happy side-effect. "Whatever," I said before walked over to Lucy. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her smiling face closer. "Gimme a kiss for the road?"

I ended up with enough kisses for the road there and back.

Getting on my bike a few minutes later, I kicked off and flew out of our home and aimed northwards. I had to stifle a yawn. Something about a heavy breakfast made me feel sleepy, even though I'd definitely gotten enough sleep that it shouldn't have been an issue.

I kicked on the auto-pilot as soon as I was on the edge of New Montreal so that I could focus on texting. That was probably breaking some law, actually...

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Stray Cat: I'm on my way to SJ

Stray Cat: Keep your head on GB

Gros Baton: Hurry, tbrnk. These reporters are like dogs

Stray Cat: Where in SJ are you?

The kid gave me some vague directions. The media had mostly shown up near that big camp on the southern end of the city. They'd have been easy to ignore since they were keeping away from the military camp on the northern end of the city, but Gros Baton had discovered them asking a lot of questions and then he'd poked his nose into things.

Now they were on him like street dogs on an injured kitten. They smelled blood and were hungry for a bite.

I grumbled as I retook control of the bike and pushed the throttle down a little more. I didn't actually intend to save the kid when I left, but it looked like he might actually need it.

And to think that I was aiming for the hardest part of the day being the bit where I picked out what to shoot at the aliens next.

Saint-Jérome appeared out over the horizon and I zipped towards it then circled around the southern end of the city. There were a few balloons hovering over the walls with flak guns mounted to their sides to take out any flying models, and it looked like some of Major Tinwhistle's engineers were slowly working to refurbish the barriers that had fallen apart.

A lot more of the city was alive now than when we'd first arrived here. More lights were on, more people out on the streets. It looked like cars were still forbidden except for some buses moving around, so people were taking to walking and biking around. A few armoured cars and lighter tanks sat on the busier intersections with soldiers milling around them.

Probably rapid response teams, in case a civilian discovered some alien that needed killing.

All that was well and good, but it didn't mean that things were back to anything like normal. The massive camp on the south end of the city seemed to still be full. Maybe not to bursting, but it looked like half the city's population was there.

"Hey, Myalis, do you have a good idea of where the kid is?" I asked.

One moment... yes, his AI has confirmed his location after asking for his permission to disseminate the information. He is next to the hardware store. Marking the location now.

The hardware store? That turned out to be a larger building pretty much right under me. The front was opened up and it looked like some tents and such extended all the way inside. Judging by the number of brand-new barbecues being used outside, the place had been turned into more camp space.

Next to it was a parking lot that was currently occupied by a half dozen news vans, including a few that looked like they could fly on down to where they were parked. I even recognized some of the logos. The New Montreal Gazette, La/The Presse/Press, The Journal of New Montreal. Then there were the newer ones. NMN, CBC2, Shoot Star.

That was a pretty big chunk of the local media pie represented down there, and it looked like they'd deployed the attack journalists on Gros Baton.

The kid was... not quite pinned against the wall of the hardware store, but he certainly had it to his back and looked like he couldn't make an easy getaway.

I spun my bike around and brought it down. Journalists and camera dudes leapt away not to be squished beneath me. A few had their perfect hair mussed up by the wash of the bike's thrusters, but I did make sure that I wasn't actually going to land on anyone.

"Hey, what the hell?" one guy asked, which... was fair. He choked on his words as I unsaddled the bike, then tugged my coat on straight.

"Sorry," I said without feeling it. "Just need to squeeze on past..."

I blinked as the media types formed ranks and I suddenly found myself next to Gros Baton while they cut us both off from my bike.

I decided not to be too concerned. The worse they could do was make me look bad. "Hey," I said to the kid. "You good?"

"Ca va," he replied, but his smile was a little shaky. "Can we, ah, get the fuck out?"

I grinned. "Sure, but maybe you can let me answer a question or two?" Just because they could make me look bad didn't mean I wanted them too, and maybe tossing them a bone would keep these dogs calm for a bit.

***

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