Super Fembot Cheerleaders from Space! - An Unhappy Interlude

[Teknophile]

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Interlude: Regroup
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“How many did the cop see?”

“He said he only got a good look at the one driving, but the car was full; I’d say we’re looking at at least five ET’s, maybe more if there were others in the trunk.”

“Dammit! And he was just going to let them go?!?”

“Well, that was what we’d told them to do, Sir — keep civilians away from the containment area. We figured they’d stick close to their ship like the last bunch. Evidently, they were on their way back when they ran into our roadblock. If Agent Munro hadn’t been there with a Gadget, nobody would even have been suspicious, and they’d have just driven off.”

Agent Poulsen muttered a curse. “Well, that’s practically what happened anyhow! Only they managed to wreck two armored sedans and screw up most of our electronics. Didn’t anybody get a picture of that car?”

“Not a one,” Agent Thompson replied. “Looks like the minute they saw the roadblock, they activated some kind of electronic countermeasures system. No dashboard cameras, no satellite photos, not even a goddamn film camera. All we’ve got is the cop’s description and Agent Munro’s. They’re both pretty sure the car was a red Toyota Camry, maybe late nineties, but nobody got a good enough look at the plates.”

Poulsen gave a sigh. “If the ET’s stole it, the owner’s going to report it to the local cops. Besides, Munro put three bullets in the windshield; just tell the cops to look for a red Camry that looks like it’s been through a war.”

“You mean, unless they’ve ditched it already.”

“Yes, unless they’ve had the good sense to ditch the thing already.” Agent Poulsen let out another frustrated huff. “Jeezus, what a fuckup!”

“Well, Sir,” the younger agent said, “we did manage to capture their ship. They’re not going anywhere.”

“Right. Which means that we’ve got five or more armed ET’s running around an American college town. No way to quarantine the place without raising questions; if we tried, some techno-geek would just find a way to dial out and tell the whole fuckin’ universe about our dirty little secret. From there, word will get to the Russians, the Arabs, the Chinese — everyone’s gonna want a piece of the action, and five years from now, boom! China starts building ray guns.”

The two walked in tense silence, black Italian-leather shoes clicking softly on the diamond-plate steel floor.

“Sir … nothing like this has ever happened before, has it? I mean, the ET’s getting away?”

“Hell no, and thank God for it!” Poulsen declared. “Roswell may have been a fuckup, but with no physical evidence, the Russians just figured it was some kind of Capitalist hysteria. These ET’s get out in the open, though, and God only knows what’ll happen.”

The two FBI agents stopped in front of a pair of huge metal doors. Taking a keycard from his pocket, Poulsen slid it through a reader. With a confirming beep and a green light, the doors slid open.

The hangar into which they moved was one of the American military’s best-kept secrets. Its interior — walls, roof and floor — was covered with a thin layer of special polymer derived from captured alien technology. Dubbed the Shroud, it blocked any transmissions from captured vessels and devices, including those that used means beyond radio or other EM broadcasting.

Five ships sat idly on the hangar floor. Three were completely unique: a silver saucer roughly fifty feet in diameter; a streamlined green vessel with curved, forward-swept wings; and a curious vessel that resembled a five-foot-tall beehive.

The other two were practically identical. Both measured roughly ten feet from front to back. Both shared the same tapered, trilaterally symmetrical silver hull, with a heat-deflecting shield at the front. One was practically spotless, gleaming in the overhead light. Its hull panels lay open, vital components exposed for analysis. The other looked like its front end had been scorched, then hastily scrubbed to try and get some of the blackened atmospheric residue off.

Agent Poulsen ran his hand over the unnaturally smooth metal surface. Analysis of the first ship had determined that its hull metal was some kind of exotic alloy, hard enough to wear down diamond-tipped drills.

The only way to access its treasure trove of technology was if someone let you in.

The agents walked briskly past the otherworldly motorcade, and again Poulsen swiped his keycard, gaining access to a long hallway with dozens of locked, Shrouded doors. Stopping by one of them, the senior agent placed his thumb on a scanner. With a hydraulic hiss, the heavy steel door slid open.

Inside the sterile lab space, computers whirred and clicked, indicator lights blinking in various colors. Dozens of thick, black cables snaked across the floor, all connected to a limbless female head and torso.

She had been beautiful, once. Long, silky black hair hung nearly to her waist, contrasting with her pale skin and full, bright red lips. Her lovely face hung down dejectedly, eyes shut. Her body had been flawless, a real beauty, but now the entire right side of her chest was gone, exposing alien circuitry and a glowing blue sphere, its thought-lights swirling sluggishly within.

Poulsen couldn’t help but grin at the sight. “Wakey, wakey, little Meg.”

The partially dismantled gynoid raised her head. Clear blue eyes opened, fixing the human with an icy glare. If looks could kill, Meg’s would have left nothing but a smoking crater where he stood. “Fuck off, meatbag. Either that, or cut my power — I’d rather face deletion than another day here with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Here in a couple of days, we won’t need you anymore. Seems some friends of yours just jumped ship somewhere out in California.”

“’In a couple of days,’ right? That means they got away from you. And now, you slagheads want me to help you find them. Well, forget it!”

Poulsen just stared right back at her, matching her hate-filled gaze with a blank, empty stare. Without looking away, he called, “Thompson?”

The younger agent grabbed a heavy black stun gun from one of the lab tables, and then handed it to Poulsen. The senior Bureau man held it only inches from Meg’s face.

At the touch of a button, blue arcs danced between the contact points.

Meg’s gaze jerked away from Poulsen’s eyes to the electrical weapon in his hand. In an involuntary, all-too-human reaction she had learned from a long-ago television broadcast, the broken woman flinched, trying to shift what remained of her body away from the dangerous, crackling device.

“Oh, that’s right. You remember this big boy, don’t you? We had some real laughs with this when they first brought you in.”

Meg tried to glare at him, but her eyes held fear now. “Whatever it is you want, I’m not doing it. I’m not going to help you catch people just so they can end up like me.”

Poulsen’s grin only got wider. “You say that now, but we both know it’s not true. Anyone will crack under enough pressure, Meg. Anyone. And anything, too. All it takes is time and a little … creativity.”

The human slid his black plastic tool down her cheek. Even unpowered, the all-too-familiar feel of its cold metal contacts caused Meg to shudder, her eyes widening in fright.

“And I … well, I’ve got lots of both.”

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[Sthurmovik]

Ugh, I'm kinda rooting for the Govies cause if they can reverse engineer the Gynoid technology then that'll bring in a boatload of fun.

[Stephaniebot]

I'm definitely rooting for the girls!

But I am hoping they decide to transform a few humans as extra labour force

[tectile]

On the edge of my seat.