Starlight Tris: Legacy

Part 3

"That damn parrot bites me again, he dies. I've never shot a bird with a 9 millimeter before." Reeve sat down next to Lynch, who was compiling more reports.
"You kill it, you clean up the mess."
"Arnessi can do it." Reeve leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. The door opened, and McCandles wandered in, looking exhausted.
"What the hell happened to you?"
McCandles glanced at Reeve, and walked past, not answering. He poured himself a cup of black coffee, and sat down. "Less sleep than usual, which is pathetic for me."
Lynch shook her head. "You're late. What were you doing, looking for Stills to pick a fight?"
"No."
"Well?"
"Forget it."
Townsend sat down, joining the conversation. "C'mon what were you up doing, have a hot date?"
"Kid, you've been hanging around this jerk entirely too much." He pointed to Reeve, who smiled proudly.
"Sorry..."
McCandles sipped his coffee in silence for a few minutes, then spoke. "I was up late dragging Tris to her room. And you know how far it is from the parking garage to in there." He pointed to Tris' door, which was closed, a crudely written sign taped to it reading "Don't disturb the cat."
Lynch shook her head, unimpressed. Reeve laughed and punched McCandles playfully. "Did you keep a watch over her like a good boy?"
"I made sure she was alright."
"Hey, yeah? What else?" Reeve leaned in, smiling broadly.
"Want to die?"
Reeve started to say something, but noticing McCandles was far from amused, he decided to sit back and examine his fingernails. Meanwhile, Arnessi was occupied trying to locate an old friend from his Berkeley days who he thought might have some input on Kirchoff's mystery schematic. Lynch, finishing her reports, left to deliver them and get the photographs and paper analysis from McCandles' trip. McCandles followed, heading to the materials sciences lab to inquire about the ceramic tile.

Tris awakened. She felt quite good, actually.
Until she sat up. Then the waves of pounding headache began washing over her.
Oh...crap...
She fell forward, cradling her head, hands massaging her cat-ears.
I should have taken my vitamins before doing that...my head is going to explode...
She downed a few painkillers and chugged down a large quantity of water, hoping it would quickly rehydrate her system.
Alright. On to see what our imperious leader is up to.

After dressing, she wandered out of her room, blinking a few times against the seemingly intense brightness of the office's fluorescent lights.
Reeve nudged Townsend as he caught sight of her. "Check this out."
Townsend looked. "Holy hell. She looks terrible."
"That there my boy is a hangover."
Tris sat down heavily, groaning as her stomach churned and her head pounded.
Reeve pushed a box of doughnuts over. "Tris. Sugar."
Her ears perked. She saw the pastries. Sugar. Calories.
SWEETS!
With reckless abadon, she began wolfing down the doughnuts, scarcely taking time to breathe. It was not long before her blood sugar began to rise to a safer level.
Tris smiled contentedly. Ahh, the simple pleasures in life...
Revelling in the sweets she was now consuming, her eyes wandered to a newspaper Reeve had thumbed through. The sports page had been of most interest to him; what caught her eye, however, was a general interest story not deemed important enough to merit front page coverage.

DRAMATIC INCREASE IN UFO SIGHTINGS, RESEARCHER SAYS

She read the article with interest. Though few details were given, the indication was that mystery aircraft, type unknown, were being reported by individuals worldwide.
The article's conclusion was that this was simply a latter-day version of the 1950's UFO craze.
Nothing to concern anyone, surely.

Some time later, Lynch returned with a manilla envelope and switched on the overhead projector.
"Before we begin, I am going to start off by thoroughly condemning the actions of our resident idiot."
Tris closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. Oh yay.
"You made a complete fool of yourself last night, and reflected badly on the professional reputation of this unit! Furthermore, your-- are you listening to me?!"
Tris wasn't exactly, which given ears such as she possesses, takes some doing. She walked past Lynch, lashing out with her tail to snatch up the bundle of photographs. The display was made rather comical given the bell Tris wore on a ribbon tied around her tail, jingling with every move she made.
She put the first photo on the projector, seemingly oblivious to the leader's rants.
"Kay... this tank is a liquid nitrogen dewar, stainless steel on the outside and with a vacuum separating the inner bottle from the steel walls, so that the thermal conduction is very very low. And this..."
Lynch continued to rant. "And another thing! You will dress properly in this workplace! Miniskirts are NOT PERMITTED!"
Tris turned her nearest ear away from Lynch, smirking. She then displayed a photograph showing the large steel sphere. "...is a Faraday cage used to shield whatever was inside from outside radio interference. The coaxial cables let any signals or power in and out without interference leaking in. Whatever was in there, they wanted it kept cold. And given that the mystery schematic shows a device surrounded by superconductors and has a circle drawn around it, I bet that it was what was in the sphere. Anyways, that's about all they show, the interesting stuff is no longer in place. But my speculation from what Kirchoff wrote is still that this is a detector of some kind for something that isn't normal radio waves. Now we need to like, ask ourselves what was the motivation to make this? Why would Kirchoff be killed over something like this? And the bullethole that Duncan found while I was downstairs is kinda telling. This thing cost someone their life even back then. Why?"
She looked back to Lynch, who had been silenced for the moment. "Kay, Lynch, maybe you can like, read us the forensics report?"
Tris set the photos back down, turned tail, literally, and sat back down.
Lynch cleared her throat. "Here... is what Forensics came up with on the piece of typing paper you two found."
She placed an image of the paper on the projector. The CRE logo was at the top of the page, along with the stamp. Beneath that was a standard introduction, and then a single paragraph of text, followed by a signature and a typed name, Gerald Limarck.
Tris' face brightened noticeably as McCandles walked in, report on the ceramic tile in hand. Tris motioned him over as Lynch began to read the paragraph from the paper:

"As per our recent discussion on the matter, it has been decided that Professor Kirchoff's services are no longer needed. Section 27 no longer feels it is prudent to keep personel involved who may not agree with our agenda. All operations at Site 1 are to be concluded in a timely manner, and equipment transferred by private charter to Site 2. Kirchoff is to be provided with the standard severance pay package, agreed upon in his contract. He is to be made aware that all work pertaining to this project is the property of Crawford Research Engineering, Incorporated, and should be instructed to refrain from continuing this work or discussing it with others, upon pain of dire compaint. Should Harris prove uncooperative, as you have reported he has been as of late, you are free to use whatever action is necessary to ensure the successful closure of this portion of our work. Kirchoff, however, being of higher public visibility, should be treated more carefully. We expect regular updates as to your progress."

Lynch shut the projector down. "No match for the blood sample, which is unsurprising. And no match for the name Gerald Limarck that makes any sense in the context of any of this."
Tris was thinking. "Bet the blood was from the Harris guy."
"There is no proof of that, but given the way he was mentioned in the letter, I'd say it's a definite possibility."
McCandles held the report up, motioning to Lynch. She nodded, and he spoke.
"The material in question is a sample of yttrium-barium-cupric-oxide type two superconductor, melt textured on the outside, to alter its field effects. Why is anyone's guess. And that's it. Nothing more than that. Matter of fact, this isn't even a difficult material to obtain, so I'm told."
Tris thought over her experiments with the material the night before. I wonder if this wasn't a superconducting shield at all. The steel sphere is like, totally thick enough to shield just fine on its own. Maybe this was a superconducting interference detector?
I remember some patents by like...Honeywell, I think? They used that to pick up like weird, sorta-but-sorta-not-radio. Maybe that's the same thing here...
"And incidentally," McCandles continued, "the report from the Materials Sciences lab agrees with what I just told you."
Lynch nodded, then looked a bit surprised as she realized the wording McCandles had used. "Agrees...? With what specifically?"
"With what I just told you."
"Who told you what the Mat Sci guys agree with?"
He glanced momentarily to Tris, who had her mouth covered to prevent laughter from emerging. Uh oh... Lynch is gonna get mad!
"Tris did. She wrote a document last night based on what was in the Kirchoff documents, and what we found. "
Lynch's mouth was agape. "You expect me to take a report seriously written by a drunk?"
Tris nodded happily. As far as she was concerned, a little ethanol was good for the creative thought process.

-----

All was reasonably quiet for two hours. Lynch and Townsend went over the latest intelligence reports from the various Units and Sections, Reeve drew up a requisition list to request updated equipment, and Arnessi worked on improving the sensitivity of a night vision scope. McCandles had gone back to the shooting range to practice, while Tris had done little but pace about the room, thinking and waiting for the phone to ring.
Lynch answered. "Unit 5. Lynch."
"Oh. It's you. Put Mac on the phone."
"Sierpinski, you are always so friendly. McCandles is not here."
"Then put Tris on the--"
Tris sprinted over and grabbed the handset, earning an angry look from Lynch.
"Hello?"
"Tris, its Nate. Where's Mac? I got something."
"Hi Nate!!! Um... Duncan's at the shooting range, but he should be back soon. So what did you find?"
McCandles had instructed Sierpinski that, besides himself, Tris was trustworthy with anything sensitive.
"I pulled a few strings, and we found a guy named James Riff in Daytona Beach, Florida. Apparently he worked as a hired gun for CRE some years back. After that, he made his way to New York, and made a living as a bounty hunter, unlicensed. Arrested for that, had enough money from somewhere to get a good defense, and got out in six months. About a year later, he went to Miami, then Daytona, where he has since established himself as a 'security service provider'. Given his reputation, take that as you will."
"Did he know anything about what went on at CRE?"
"I had a contact down there rough him and his guys up a bit, nice little threat of legal action. Gave him the choice to cough up what he knew, or get the smackdown. He chose to cooperate. But the powers that be over here aren't giving me permission to go down there and question him. Ball's in your court now, it seems."
"Might not be so bad. I could TOTALLY do with a trip to Florida! See a real beach for a change!"
Sierpinski laughed. "If you run into any single girls down there, send a few my way, will ya?"
"Totally! I'll tell 'em you're CIA, and a real James Bond."
"Why, thanks Tris! In any case, I'm emailing you the info now. You know the key."
By 'key', Sierpinski was referring to an encryption scheme only he, McCandles and Tris knew. When crossing organization lines without permission, it was sometimes necessary to keep prying eyes from finding out too much.
"I totally appreciate the help, Nate. I owe ya!"
"No problem. Be good."

Tris accessed her computer terminal and retrieved the email from Sierpinski, decrypting it. Making a printout, she walked to where Lynch and Townsend were, tossed it in front of them, and announced to everyone within earshot, "We're going to Florida!"
Lynch looked up annoyedly. "Why?"
"Read the report. Pays to have good people to get drunk with! We have a meeting with a former security man for CRE. So we are heading for the sunshine state. Pack your sunblock, guys!"
She opened phone, dialing McCandles' number. "Hey Duncan? Want to go to Florida? SUNSHINE, YEAH!"

The rest of the day was spent setting up the flight to Daytona, arranging what would be taken along and by whom, and with Lynch and McCandles presenting the operation request to the NSB superiors. The division director insisted that, since the CIA had decided to violate policy by becoming involved, that they provide a local agent to facilitate Unit 5's making contact with Riff. McCandles contacted Sierpinski, who arranged for the Unit to meet with CIA Special Agent Robert O'Dell, who had originally contacted Riff and 'convinced' him to cooperate. Most likely unlawfully. Such is the business.

-----

The lighting was subdued. Most of the illumination at this point came from two sources; the warm, orange glow of thermionic filaments within a dozen vacuum tubes, or flickering green oscilloscope screens.
The gentle hum of an inverter powered things; none of the apparatus was connected to mains power. The tubes themselves were powered with stacks of car batteries. It seemed the experimenter wished to keep things well isolated from the possibly noisy building ground.
Kirchoff's notebook lay spread open, one page in particular of great interest.
The transmitter, which was running, albeit at a low and inefficient power, produced a signal at the receiver across the lab. Cold vapor rose from a cooling vessel that the receiver was immersed in.
She stood, walking to the receivers, both connected to another oscilloscope.
It works.
No signal at all was registered by a sensitive RF detector; she had shielded the 'Kirchoff transmitter' in a well-designed Faraday cage. Nothing of a conventional electromagnetic nature could penetrate.
But there was a clear, if low amplitude signal received by the superconductor detector. Kirchoff had specified YBCO or even conventional metal superconductors chilled with liquid helium; she didn't have these, but substituted a different ceramic material based on bismuth. It seemed to work just as well.
She sat down, staring at the running experiment, thinking for a while.
It really works. The waves aren't detectable with conventional radio, they pass right through shields, and I'm having trouble measuring a propagation delay.
Was he right? Can they really go that fast?
She shut the experiment down after a while, deciding to go outside and get some fresh air.

Stars twinkled above, faint swatches of high-altitude cirrus clouds glowing with a serene ambience against the blackness.
Only the horizon was illuminated any longer; the Sun was gone for the day, and night had taken a firm grasp.
She looked from star to star, taking in the many colors of each one's unique spectrum.
For reasons she did not know, she felt a longing every time she looked up. As if a distant connection.
There were times she felt hints of remembrance, of something hidden behind the veil which years of untold horrors had lowered into her mind.
She tried not to think of the things that had been done to her. Tried instead to concentrate on the pinpoints above. It was far more serene that way, and it made her feel good.
The faintest of sounds reached one of her ears, causing it to immediately turn. Verifying that there was something else nearby, her head snapped around, staring directly at the approaching presence.
When she realized it was McCandles, she relaxed.
"Hi Duncan."
He stopped briefly. "No hiding from your ears."
She giggled at this. "Nope."
He stood beside her, gazing up as well. "Nice night."
"Mmm hmm. Very pretty. Makes me kinda want to get my telescope out, but I'm still not feeling too great from last night. Think I might go to bed soon."
It was understandable. Given how much she had consumed, a day of repayment for indulgence was not unexpected.
"What brings you out here, Duncan?"
"Oh, just figured I'd head out for a walk," he said. "Saw you out here stargazing, figured I'd say hello before I go home."
She smiled. "It's nice to have company sometimes."

They watched the sky for almost half an hour. Twice, shooting stars had been seen.
She knew calling them such was a misnomer; scientifically, she understood the meteor phenomena very well. Nevertheless, the older name seemed more romantic to her. Knowing what something was and how it worked was no reason, she believed, to make it any less magical. Perhaps it only made it moreso.

McCandles finally stretched his limbs, growing fatigued. "Guess I'll head on home now."
She nodded, a little regretfully. "Kay. Drive safe, alright?"
He smiled at her. "Always do. Night, stargazer. Sleep well."
"Night, Duncan."
She watched his form recede, as he walked towards the west end of the complex.
She sighed, feeling a little lonely.
He did as well.

-----

In the middle of the night, while the rest of the office was abandoned, Tris awoke, sitting bolt upright and screaming.
She clutched her pillow tightly to herself, ears perked straight up, tail wrapped tightly around her waist. It took her several long seconds to remember where she was.
She panted, trying to catch her breath. It was the same dream again, the one that, try as she might, she could not remember in its entirety. Only the slightest bits and pieces.
Falling.
Wind rushing in.
Falling.
Falling.
Everything spinning. Pain as she was tossed around.
Voices calling her name. Familiar voices.
Silence. Darkness.
New voices. Strange, cold, voices. An unfamiliar language.
Sorrow.

Tris slowly lay back down, still gripping her pillow. She looked at her homemade night-light...an old AR-1 argon gas indicator bulb, screwed into a socket atop a high frequency power supply. The lavender-blue light was strange to everyone else who saw it, but to Tris' different-than-human eyes, it was very soothing.
The color was something familiar. But each time her mind attempted to remember, the memory faded, hidden just beyong her grasp.
As with all of her nightmares, the same question remained, as always:
What am I, and why do I know I shouldn't feel alone?
She tried for a time to fall back asleep. She could not doze.
Maybe I need a drink...
It was not water she sought. Opening her bedside cabinet, she removed a glass bottle... only to find it was empty.
Oh no! Empty?!
She got out of her bed, climbing down gracefully, tail snaking out and retrieving a pink robe which she lazily wrapped herself in.
Reeve's prolly got a bottle or two in his desk. I'll just have to buy him something nice to make up for it.
She opened her door, entering the nearly darkened office. Two computer terminals were still on, which wasn't unusual; despite Lynch's ubiquitous lectures, power conservation wasn't always observed.
In her half-conscious state, she dragged herself over to Reeve's workstation, halting suddenly. She turned her gaze to one of the lit computer monitors, ears perking suddenly.
It was occupied.
"Who is that?"
Townsend turned around, seemingly startled. "It's... it's me. I thought you were asleep, how did you--"
Tris tilted her head to the side. "I move like a cat. Meow. Silent. So like... what are you doing here this late, it's..." she glanced at a clock. "A quarter till one."
He glanced briefly at the computer screen, then to the catgirl. "Lynch told me to review cases before we fly out to Florida tomorrow. And then McCandles said something about a couple weird ones."
She blinked a few times, seeming to observe him carefully. He found her not entirely human gaze somewhat disconcerting.
"Oh, that," she remarked. She opened Reeve's drawer, fumbing around a moment. Her tail rose behind her, curling into something like a question mark; a pleased expression. She withdrew a small bottle of whiskey, smiling.
Townsend looked at the computer again. "That one, what?"
She walked over to where he was, leaning over, and typed a few commands. Townsend was forced to duck to one side, otherwise her overexaggerated feminine assets would have pressed into him.
His eyes widened at what the the screen displayed.

NSB 4 L9-X, CASE #221-17782J
*** CLASSIFIED INFORMATION***
This file is NOT permitted to be accessed or read by personnel
lacking AT LEAST D8-R clearance.
This file is NOT permitted to be reproduced for any reason.
Accessing this document without proper authority
is a FEDERAL FELONY, punishable by a fine of $500,000
and up to 20 years imprisonment.

"Whoa, wait a minute, we're not supposed to access this thing, I don't want to go to prison, I'm--"
She took the bottle and turned to walk away, swatting him with her tail on accident.
"Nevermind that crap, I'm authorized to read it, my clearance level is like, totally above it. Just don't tell anyone you read it, kay? Our secret. Night night!"
She lazily walked back to her room, shutting and locking the door.
Townsend reached for the mouse, hovering the pointer over the 'close' button. If Lynch found out he was reading this...
He surprised even himself, by moving the pointer away. What could it hurt to have a look?

-----

Tris dragged herself up into her bed once more, tossing the robe away, and burrowing herself under the massive pile of fluffy pillows and overstuffed quilts. Her head finally emerged from the mass of fabric, followed by her tail, wrapped around the liquor bottle. She unscrewed the cap, putting the bottle to her lips, and relished in the taste of the aged fluid.
Simple pleasures in life.
It took only a few shots worth for the remembrances of her previous nightmare to go away, if only temporarily.
She curled up, ears laying softly to the sides, and purred as she drifted to sleep.

-----

Townsend's earlier hesitation at reading the case file had evaporated.
Only the light of the monitor provided illumination; not that he would have noticed anything else at the moment.
He had leaned in close, initially amused by the report's details, later transfixed at what he read, the story of the text seeming to come alive in his mind's eye. He loved a mystery, and this seemed to be an unsolved one.

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

She knew it must have been something important if the whole team had been sent.
But she didn't expect this. Local police milling about, seemingly off-put by the presence of the U.S. Army.
A gaggle of men towards the north were clearly Air Force.
Unmarked civilians wandered to and fro.
Guards with rifles were ubiquitous, though they had no idea what they were guarding.
"Wow! Hey, this is like, totally some party, huh?"
Lynch pushed past. "Just keep your mouth shut, you'll get us into trouble otherwise."
The others followed her. Tris grimaced, clenching her teeth and fists. She's so mean!
Keep my mouth shut, yeah, fine! I'll just go investigate on my own then.
The catgirl pranced off.

"Hold it right there."
Lynch and McCandles halted, both displaying their ID's. "Valerie Lynch, National Security Bureau. We have authorization to be here. We were to meet with a Colonel Lasky."
The guard lowered his weapon, saluting. "Yes ma'am. If you will follow me."
"Do not call me ma'am, understood?"
No stranger to disrespectful feds, the soldier made no outward response.
McCandles looked over the scene. "This is some party. Air Force crashes a UAV, someone screams terrorists shot it down."
Reeve nodded, lighting a cigarette. "Why are so damned many involved? Hell's the Army doing here?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. These guys don't look to be cooperating, so I'd say it's gonna be like pulling teeth to learn anything."
McCandles looked behind. "Tris, what are-- Tris?"
He stopped.
"Where'd she go?"

Two ears appeared above a parked truck's bed.
Now for some adventure!
Hmm.... what's all this stuff? Tyvek suits. Yellow ones, even. With radiation signs on them. I wonder if that means these are radiation suits? Must be.
She pried open a locked case, utilizing a tire iron.
What's this? Dosimeters, huh? A neutron detector! Nice! So something radioactive must be either involved or suspected, or else these guys are just carrying this stuff purely for the fun of it. But these guys totally don't look like the happy types like me, so I'm gonna go with the--- EEEK!
"You there, what do you think you're doing?"
Tris slowly turned her head, ears laying to the sides. "Meow...?"
Two suited men stared at her disapprovingly.
"Who are you, and what's with the costume?"
She blinked. "Costume?"
"The ears."
She giggled happily, standing up with a bounce in her step. "Oh, these are real! I'm a catgirl!"
"Alright, come with us, you aren't supposed to be here. These premises are secured."
He grabbed her by one of the "costume" ears. Tris shrieked in discomfort, flailing her arms wildly as she was 'escorted' along.
"MEOW! YaaaAAAaaaaAAAHHH!"

-----

McCandles watched Tris rubbing her sore ear, as the men apologized to Lynch for mistreating one of her agents.
"In our line of work, we don't expect... agents... to look or dress that way."
He indicated Tris, clad in a miniskirt and a crop top. "You hurt my ear, you meanies!"
One of the men cleared his throat. "We also don't expect them to talk like that. Our apologies. And please keep your... cat... from roaming free."
Tris leapt to her feet as they began walking away. "Hey wait a minute, who are you talking to like that!? This kitty does what she wants! Come back here and I'll--"
"AGENT TRIS!"
"Gah!" She cringed. "Y-yeah, Lynch?"
"Stop acting like an airhead and act like a professional! You have embarrassed us all!"
Tris tried to look as innocent as possible, poking her index fingers together. "But I did kinda stumble upon something in my excursion..."
"I don't want to hear it. You are ordered back to town! I am not having you screw up another assignment!"
"WHAAA? You can't do that! I want to have some adventure! I totally think there is more to this than you're aware of! Please don't be mad at me any more, I was just--"
Her words fell on deaf ears. "REEVE! PUT THE CIGARETTE OUT AND LET'S MOVE!"
She dejectedly stared as she was left behind. Arnessi had nothing to add, having apparently been in his own little world the entire time.
McCandles was the only one to look back.
"Don't take it too personal."
She looked down, nodding halfheartedly, then turned to walk back to the line of vehicles. Her long tail dragged the ground behind her.
McCandles sighed, turning to follow the Unit leader, with a larger group of men from the various parties present forming up to go into the field.
He heard an engine crank, and tires spin against the dusty ground.
"Hey! That's our vehicle! Stop that woman!"
"That cat just stole our truck!"
He chuckled quietly. When she gets mad, she gets mad.

As it happened, the penetration into the field turned into more of a turf war than anything else. The Air Force insisted that this was their jurisdiction, the Army argued their case, the civilians were producing document after document stating their position of authority, and so forth. Lynch was in the midst of this, arguing the NSB's authority.
It took a solid hour for Unit 5 to get to the crash site itself and begin investigating, and even then, they were carefully watched. No one seemed to trust anyone.

The object itself was in a shambles; remains of a small turbofan lay smoldering to one side, still cooling from the pre-midnight crash. A swatch of seared grass and scrub, immolated when the fuel tank ruptured and caught fire, spread down the gentle slope of the terrain.
The left wing was mostly intact; the right was torn into jagged shards, scattered along an impact track. One of the larger pieces bore a U.S. Air Force logo.
"This is our tax dollars at work, Mac. A UAV that's too stupid to get out of the way of whatever hit it."
McCandles knelt down before a section of wreckage, picking it up and inspecting it. "They said a witness saw something fly up from the ground and strike the thing."
"RPG or some other shoulder launched rocket."
McCandles tossed the piece to the ground, then stood. "Off the record, just you and me... I'd reckon you and me, we've seen a fair share of things blasted by rockets."
"Yeah, I used RPGs and Stingers in my day. Gave the bastards in the Congo hell back in my Africa days, heh."
"And I've seen choppers brought down by rockets in the Middle East. Hell, me and Nate were in one that got the tail rotor blown off. Were damned lucky to walk away."
He looked over the wrecked UAV, removing his sunglasses despite the bright sunlight. "So where's the impact point? Where'd the rocket hit?"
Reeve said nothing for several seconds, surveying the site, watching men in uniforms photograph and collect debris. "We're thinking the same thing."
McCandles stood up. "Nobody shot this down with a rocket."

-----

Several pedestrians dove for cover as a speeding truck careened down the street, cutting a sharp corner and finally coming to a stop with the passenger side tires both resting on the sidewalk in front of a diner.
The owner of another vehicle began yelling, its license plate close enough to the bumper of the truck that it would be unlikely a human hair could be fit between.
"Lady, are you crazy?! This is a sidewalk! You can't park there!"
Tris got out of the truck, tilting her head and attempting to look cute. Though it was extremely cute, it didn't have the expected response. "Hi!"
"What the hell are you supposed to be, dressed up like that freak from TV?"
She narrowed her eyes, growling. "I AM that freak from TV!"
She stomped away, slamming the truck's door with her tail. The man stared, for a moment not knowing what to say.
"Wh... well, you... you can't park your car there! I'll call for a tow!"
"Call for a freakin' tow then, it's not my truck!"
"What?!"
She didn't respond; food in the diner was of more interest.
Prancing inside, she crossed the space between the doors and the front in record time, scaring more than a few customers. Leaping atop a stool, snatching a menu with her tail, she began making selections.
"HI WAITRESS! I'll have the number three, the special, the extra order of home fries, then maybe an extra order of toast, make it rye, kay? And three cappucinos!"
The world-weary waitress looked at the catgirl annoyedly. "We got coffee."
"Bleah... make 'em orange juice, then."
"By the way, what's with the--"
Tris slammed her head on the counter. Everybody asks me that! Better nip this in the bud quickly!
She leapt onto the counter in a most catlike manner, standing proudly. "LISTEN EVERYONE! I AM THE ONE FROM TV! THESE ARE REAL! IT IS NOT A COSTUME! I AM--- YAAAH!"
She dove behind the counter as a roll came flying at her, arcing over the countertop in that perfect display of kinematics which only tossed baked goods can demonstrate.
"We don't care! Shut up!"
Getting back atop it, she glared angrily at the patrons. "Hey! You can't treat a cute girl that way! Especially one that's uncovered evidence of a conspiracy involving the crash of a UAV and a nuclear recovery operation! And to add insult to injury, you gave insufficient accelerative impetus to that roll, and I wasn't able to catch it! I could have eaten it, but your lack of understanding of basic projectile motion caused it to be wasted! You-- OHHHH! A cute little moth!!! Meow meow meow!!!"
She bounded across the counter, knocking plates and dishes as she destructively meowed her way to the end, after the now terrified insect.
One of the men at the counter put down the morning newspaper, watching the insane girl careen through the air after the moth. His expression was most serious.
The radar screen last night...
He approached her. "Miss. Maybe we'd better talk."

Lynch drove the rental back towards town. McCandles sat in the passenger seat, quietly thinking. Of the two in the back seat, Arnessi broke the silence.
"Lies, man."
Reeve flicked his cigarette out the window. "You said it, hippie."
The wreckage was in the process of being moved to an indoor location -a local hangar- for further investigation. Some components of the guidance system had been removed by Air Force personnel, said to be due to their classified nature.
Lynch and company had been shown a home video, taken by an unnamed local, which showed a bright object rising rapidly from the southwest to impact something in the air. There was a brilliant flash, and an indistinct second object fell to the earth trailing flames.
She turned a corner, attempting to conceal her own concern. "Under the circumstances, I agree that something is amiss. Arnessi, you will begin analyzing that video for signs of tampering."
McCandles looked at her. "Then you finally agree."
"Yes. The 'terrorist' angle is intended to divert us from whatever these unnamed suits are investigating."
"Question is, where're we gonna find a lead. They shooed our asses off in a hurry," Reeve said. "Nice opportunity for them to tamper with the stuff."
Lynch was unimpressed. "We will not diverge into the realm of the ridiculous. Our government may have good reasons for keeping certain details secret."
"Screw the government, Val! They're a bunch of commies!"
"We are the government, you idiot!"
"Settle down. Pull into that diner," McCandles said. "Our nerves are shot, we could do with something to eat."
Arnessi peered over the seat, catching sight of the stolen truck being towed away. "Someone already thought of that, man."

The posse of four entered the diner, finding the lunchtime crowd gathered around something.
McCandles frowned. "What's all this?"
Reeve grinned. "Lunch special killed someone?"
They moved through the crowd with little difficulty; suited federal agents generally have that effect. What with McCandles' shoulder holstered Magnum exposed, the effect was only enhanced.
The crowd parted to reveal a certain catgirl, curled atop a table and sleeping.
Lynch's eyelids lowered in disgust. "Oh. My. God."
Arnessi poked at Tris' sleeping form with a spoon. No response. "Hey man, she's fast asleep. Purring too, she isn't waking up any time soon, man."
McCandles looked up to the ceiling in hopelessness. "This is ridiculous."
Lynch kicked the table firmly. "Schultz is insane to stick our Unit with this mental reject genetic freak."
McCandles glared at her. "Knock it off."
The kick did, however, seem to have some effect. Tris stirred, stretching each of her limbs in a graceful manner, tail extending to gently sway behind her. She pulled herself up onto all fours, and raised one hand to wipe at her eyes as she let out a yawn. "Rrreow, I was taking a catnap after lunch... Oh, hi Duncan! Guess what, guys? You were being led on a wild goose chase! I found out something really interesting from an air traffic controller who had lunch with me, and coupling that with the radiation safety equipment I found and tried to tell you guys about before Lynch ordered me away, it makes things look a lot more interesting! Oh, and the air traffic controller also gave me some charts he managed to sneak out before some sorta agents decided to show up. Wanna have a look?"
Reeve turned to Lynch, smirking. "Now who's the airhead?"
Lynch balled her fist and swung.

Reeve held an ice pack to his eye. "You suck, Val."
The team took a table, and listened as Tris explained what had transpired in her absence.
"So this guy and his friends at the ATC see the UAV on radar, they were informed by the Air Force that testing was going on, blah blah blah, and so on! Anyways! They saw something approach the UAV from due east, descend, and match speed and course with it."
McCandles leaned closer. "What was it?"
She shrugged. "Totally no idea, he said. Like, a really small radar return, barely above clutter. Anyways, he said they saw the UAV turn toward it, and then some more clutter showed up, and the UAV made a spiral descent. That's this point on the map overlay here."
She indicated a printout. "This second point is where the other thing was lost on radar."
McCandles nodded slowly. "Northwest. Opposite the direction they're wanting us to go."
She locked eyes with him. "Couple that with the radiation handling equipment I found, and we've got a nice mystery on our tails. Er... um... hands, in your cases, haha!"
Lynch cradled her head. "You are truly the most unprofessional--"
"OH AWESOME! My order's up, be right back!!!"
She leapt from the seat and ran to fetch some food item.
Reeve looked at McCandles. "Didn't she already eat lunch?"
"Just go with it, you try to reason it, you're just wasting time."
She sat back down, spearing a piece of bacon with a fork. "So! I say we go investigate the other site, and hopefully before the other guys find it."
McCandles thought of the direction he saw the civilian 'suits' and Air Force proceeding in. Northeast.
They're looking in the wrong direction.
He tossed a handful of bills onto the table. "We're leaving."
Lynch and the others stood. Tris quickly looked back and forth between them. "But... but I haven't finished my--- YAAAAH!"
Lynch grabbed her by the ear and yanked her from the chair. "Move it, idiot!"

-----

The rental crashed down hard onto the grassy earth, throwing clods of soil skyward. The engine screamed, as did the driver.
"Off roading! Hell yeah!"
Lynch held on for dear life. "Reeve, stop screwing around, you're going to get us killed."
"Ah hell nah, this is easy! Hang on kids, here comes a big one!"

Moments later...
McCandles crawled out from under the truck. "Axle's sheared clean in half. We ain't moving."
Reeve kicked the truck. "Imported shitbox."
"It's American made, Reeve."
"Feh."
They all stood around the wreck as if at a funeral. Tris sighed. "May its soul rest in peace. Kay, let's get walking."
The agents grabbed their respective gear, and set out on a trek across the countryside. The late afternoon sun was already beginning to lower in the sky, casting longer shadows. A few hours of daylight remained, but the limited time was worrying. A few trees here and there dotted the landscape of gently rolling hills and waving grass, patches of sand where desertification was attempting to take place showing from time to time. The only sign of civilization at this point was a lonely radio tower some miles distant, and a row of powerlines to the south.
They ascended a low hill. Lynch checked the GPS. "Reeve, your recklessness may have been fortuitous. We are not terribly far from the estimated crash site. Assuming this random ATC man was to be trusted."
McCandles reached the top first, standing against the gentle, warm breeze. Tris watched as he stared solemnly into the next decline, trying to catch up. Her excessive intake of diner food had proved a slowing thing.
"What do you see?"
He turned, reaching down to give her a hand. She stood beside him, eyes widening and ears perking.
There it is...
The other three arrived soon after. The effect was similar.
Spread out before their eyes, not far from a section of gouged earth, twisted debris and torn fragments of glittering, silvery material lay where the object had come to grief. Some of the material, that which might once have formed a structural framework, lay partially embedded in the soil. Other material, seemingly light as paper, fluttered with gentle sounds in the wind.
Judging from the amount of material, whatever had impacted was small.

Reeve and Arnessi tried to unearth a twisted section of hull frame, both men laboring heavily against the unusually dense and heavy material.
Lynch and McCandles were surveying the site, she snapping photographs, he employing measuring apparatus to give a sense of scale.
Tris watched all of this from some distance, standing with scraps of shredded silver scattered about her booted feet.
What happened here?
She knelt down, tail swaying in curiosity as she examined various fragments. The material was all extraordinarily lightweight, unlike the internal section, and much of it seemed to be composed of some aluminum alloy. A few fragments were smoky gray in color, which she thought to be titanium.
A sparkly object caught her eye, glinting in the sunlight. Catlike senses aroused, she was drawn to it and found it to be a semicircular piece of perfectly reflective material, thinner than paper and perhaps seven inches across. Her reflection in the material was tinged a faint blue, otherwise it formed an almost perfect mirror. She reached down to take the object, expecting something so thin to be nonrigid. Mewing sharply in pain, she withdrew her hand, blood trickling from two small cuts on her fingertips. Droplets of her lavender blood fell onto the metal, beading into spherical droplets and running off onto the grass.
Interest in her wounds lost, she knelt closer, blinking in surprise. No trace of blood or residue was left on the surface.
What is this stuff? A frictionless surface?
She lifted the material, much more carefully this time, from underneath. She cooed in fascination; the fragment was almost weightless. She withdrew her hand suddenly, letting the substance fall; against simple air resistance, it took several seconds to flutter to the grass, only bending the green blades imperceptibly.

She very carefully wrapped the material in her leather jacket, loosely, and brought it along as she rejoined McCandles.
He stood surveying the debris field, Lynch now photographing more of the frame that Reeve had successfully unearthed.
"Duncan!"
She trotted up to him. "Duncan, what do you suppose all this is?"
He shook his head. "Don't know. We figure the debris field is about a hundred feet wide and three hundred feet long. Whatever it was, I doubt you could've fit a human body into it."
"Unmanned then. Another UAV... maybe..."
He crossed his arms, clearly unnerved by the surreality of the scene. The lack of civilization anywhere nearby, only the distant sound of rustling leaves made it seem all the more out of place.
"I don't know what it was, Tris. Whatever it was, someone didn't want us to know about it."
She nodded, wrapping her tail about her waist, a chill running up her spine. "Duncan, I haven't ever seen anything like some of this stuff."
She showed him the frictionless panel, demonstrating the roll-off effect with water.
"Have you ever seen anything like this?" she asked.
His brow furrowed. "No."
"Damn! Mac!"
Reeve stood over the frame, beckoning them. They jogged over to his location, Arnessi and Lynch as well.
"What is it?"
Reeve displayed a hacksaw. The blade was sheared in half. "Tried cutting off a sample of that frame. Busted the blade on the first stroke."
Tris dug through the tool bag, retrieving a spare blade. She attempted the same thing, resting the blade atop the frame and giving a sharp stroke.
PING.
She cowered as a fragment of hardened steel flew past. "It didn't even scratch it..."
McCandles looked over the field again. "This is no normal UAV."
Lynch opened her phone. "I'm calling Schultz."
Tris looked up. "Duncan, do you think this could have been something experimental? Like, maybe nuclear powered or something? I can't imagine why else they would need the neutron detector and suits..."
"I don't know. Maybe we'd better not stick around if there's anything--"
"Radioactive? Well, why don't we check the main section of this thing, and just see?"
She began digging through her purse.
"How are you going to do that without a--"
She removed a metal box, connected to which was a cylindrical metal wand with a mica window at one end.
"...Geiger counter," he said, disbelieving. "You had a Geiger counter in your purse."
She grinned broadly. "Totally! I always bring along stuff I think might be useful!"
He decided it was best not to think on it too far; who knew what else she might have brought along, and what her motivation behind it might have been.
In truth, she had brought the counter for a good reason; nuclear weapons were stored at a nearby base, and thus it made sense to have radiation detection gear. Nevertheless, it just seemed strange for a catgirl to have something like that.
And as for whatever else was in her purse on that fateful day, unfortunately, it is still currently an unknown quantity.
She wandered about the wreckage, waving the counter's wand around. A few faint clicks were heard here and there, but nothing beyond that of background cosmic radiation.
She pushed through different parts of the debris, probing here and there.
A badly charred component of some kind, composed of what was clearly steel, and criss-crossed with what may have once been coils of a brassy substance tinged faintly green, caught her eye.
She probed it, finding nothing until the counter wand was pointed at a small crack in the steel housing.
Clicks instantly became so rapid as to sound like rushing water. Everyone instinctively stepped back, except Tris.
"Are you nuts?" Reeve asked. "Get the hell away from it!"
She shook her head, ears perked in interest. Digging again through her purse, she found a receipt from some clothing purchase, and placed the thin paper between the counter wand's end and the source of radiation. The cacophany of clicks was reduced to a countable number immediately.
She smiled. "Alpha rays. It's okay, guys, it isn't dangerous. Whatever's in there is an alpha emitter, and pretty well contained, so don't worry, it's--"
Her head suddenly spun around, ears perked. "Uh oh."
Three helicopters soared over the nearest treeline, breaking formation to begin circling the field.
McCandles stared. "We ain't getting out with any of this stuff. Damn it all."
A line of military vehicles now approached from due east. They were speeding directly for the agents' position.
Tris tossed the bundled jacket to Reeve. "Hold onto this!"
She broke into a run, directly towards the approaching vehicles. Lynch screamed.
"You idiot! Get back here!"
The vehicles swerved, kicking up motes of dust as they encircled her. More sped past, stopping short of the agents.
Tris clenched her teeth as men leapt out, levelling assault rifles. I hope this works.
"HI GUYS! This is like a totally cool UAV you guys crashed here! Why didn't ya tell us there was a second one? Is this top secret or something? Huh? I bet it is!"
"Hands up! Do not move!"
She grinned brightly, putting her hands into the air. "Okay!!!"
The same order was given to the rest of the agents. Men, some Air Force, others wearing unmarked BDU's. Most held weapons.
"Hands up, spread your legs."
The agents annoyedly complied. "We are National Security, I am agent Valerie Lynch, Unit--"
"We know who you are, just cooperate. This is a secured area."
The men began tearing apart packs, seizing all samples of the debris. Cameras were confiscated.
The agents themselves were heavily frisked, every pocket and section of clothing carefully searched. Anything suspect was either destroyed or seized. The men did this in plain sight of the subdued agents.
McCandles shook his head. Showing us who's boss.
One of the suited civilians from the first crash site stepped out of an SUV, approaching the agents.
"Put your weapons down, men. We're all on the same side here."
The soldiers complied. Lynch angrily demanded an explanation.
"We have authorization to be here! This is a national security matter, who are you--"
"This is an Air Force matter, agent Lynch. You will be appropriately informed in due time. You are instructed not to reveal any of what you have seen here."
Reeve scoffed. "You don't order us around, jackass."
The man grimaced. "Hostility is not warranted. You must understand, weapons development is a... sensitive matter."
McCandles stared at him. "That what this thing was? Thing was dragging something radioactive, and you lost it. You don't want the residents to know."
"It is not your concern. Please, be cooperative."
They turned, hearing the approach of several pairs of soldiers, and one excitedly giggling girl.
"Hey guys! These soldiers want to play war games with us, isn't that fun?! HAHAHA!"
Lynch closed her eyes. "You are an embarrasment."
The civilian pointed at Tris. "What is that?"
"Our... special agent."
Tris laughed. "I'm special!!!"
One of the camouflaged men saluted. "We searched the girl, she had numerous debris fragments in her purse. She's clear now."
Tris again giggled, striking a cute pose. "I love shiny stuff! Mew!"
McCandles watched her. What are you up to?
The civilian nodded. "You will be taken back to town. You are instructed to depart immediately, and discuss none of this. Your agency will be contacted, and appropriate grievances filed."
He walked away, back towards the men scouring the field for the tiniest shard of debris. "Get them out of here."
They were herded towards an empty SUV. Tris skipped along, seemingly in her own little world.
Once inside, and being driven away from the crash site, McCandles leaned in towards her.
"Tris, what the hell is wrong with you?"
"I was faking all that, Duncan. It worked. I have a piece of debris."
"What? Where?"
"My bra!"
He leaned back, now understanding. When Lynch attempted to rant, he calmed her with a hand gesture. She seemed to get the message, and nothing was said in the presence of their drivers.

-----

TWO DAYS LATER

"That's crap! Can't we like, subpoena the funding records for this thing? They have to prove what this was! They tried to decieve us, they led us on that stupid goose chase, and then they stole all our stuff! They even took my cell phone! I had pictures of stuff on it!!!"
Schultz had reviewed their reports, and said little. He and the NSB executives had instructed that the case in question be filed under high classification, and indicated that it was not to be discussed. He was usually very open with his agents; this action was a marked change.
Reeve and Arnessi said nothing. Lynch had already 'gotten' to them.
McCandles was highly irritated, but had no authority to say anything in opposition.
"Agent Tris," Lynch attempted to explain calmly, "it can be construed as treason to interfere with defense projects. If we press this matter, it may jeopardize state secrets. Foreign powers may be alerted to the existence of whatever the project was they were concealing, and--"
Tris slammed the report on the tiny fragment --scarcely a square inch in size-- onto the table. "I acted like an airhead to get that thing!"
"You are an airhead!"
"Nevermind that fact! This report details that that... whatever that thing was... Lynch, they didn't build it. I don't know what it was, but there's like no way they could have! The alloy was impossible. You can't mix these elements! And that frictionless stuff. Have any of you ever heard of anything like it? Guys, really, there is something really really strange going on here! We have material proof of it!"
Lynch turned and walked away.
Tris' usual bubbly appearance was gone. She looked dejected.
"Aren't you the least bit curious?"
No one looked at her.
She departed in silence after a time.

-----

Townsend rubbed his eyes, mind still racing over the descriptions of what had happened, testimony given at debriefing by each of the agents. By far, Tris' had been the most colorfully worded, if sometimes very hard to follow.
I would have wanted to know what they found out there.
The whole thing sounded familiar to him, but he didn't know quite how.
He looked at the clock. It was past 2 AM. Better get sleep if we're leaving in the morning.
He reached over to close the file, then noticed a single footnote appended to the report.

"***The fact that the unknown alloy fragment's isotopic ratios were atypical by a large degree is puzzling. In particular silicon, displaying a ratio of 61% 28Si, 37.5% 29Si, 1.5% 30Si, as opposed to naturally occurring silicon, ratios 92.23% 28Si, 4.67% 29Si, 3.1% 20Si. This fact causes me to strongly question the official explanation."

The footnote was signed, "Agent Tris, NSB/UNIT 5." A co-signee, Dr. Andrei Fedorov, was listed as the person who had performed the isotopic analysis. His single note read, "I agree with this conclusion."

Townsend closed the file, gathered his belongings, and began the long walk to the parking garage. He had a lot to think about on the drive home.

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