Greetings to all fans of the Swat Kats. This is my third fanfic please note this in any flames that you send. A few points to remember. 1) Swat Kats: The Radical Squadron is owned by Hanna Barbera. Which in turn is owned by Ted Turner, the same man who owns the Atlanta Braves baseball team! 2) Tim Hunt is owned by me. Please inform me if you wish to use him. 3) As Tim Hunt is an Australian, he pronounces some words differently. For example Lieutenant is pronounced as _LEFT_tenant and his rank would be Flight LEFTtenant. 4) All flames and praise can be sent to Mark Johnson at rodj@mrbean.net.au or johnnosk@hotmail.com To arms! To arms! By Mark Johnson T-Bone was stunned "Assassination Bureau? What do they do?" "Well, we kill people" Tim answered as he striped off his flight suit and began looking through his flight bag. As he was about to take something out, T-Bone stopped him. "Tim, what do you think you're doing?" he asked with suspicion "Just getting my spare uniform, mate. Do you want to check it out?" Tim replied, his Australian accent growing thick with fatigue "No Tim, I'm just a little on edge" T-Bone replied, releasing Tim "So. How many have you killed?" "108 confirmed kills with 32 possible, that's not including guard dogs. This is over 10 years, though" Tim said as he changed into his drill uniform, which was the same drab green as Chance and Jake's coveralls, and made his way up the ladder that linked the hanger to the salvage yard, tucking his gun into his belt as he did so. Stunned with this latest development T-Bone and Razor changed out of their flight suits and into their mechanic's coveralls, unsure of what to make of the mysterious alien. When they had reached the top of the ladder they found Tim looking through that day's newspaper. "Find anything interesting?" Jake asked, smiling "Kat-Mart is having a sale" was Tim's dry response. Looking at his watch Tim did some mental calculations "Take-off was at 0900; I'd have flown for about an hour when I hit that cloud and ended up here. Time is 1800 hours. I wonder what the General is doing right now?" ************************************************************************ The Pentagon, Washington DC Earth In the Pentagon, the nerve centre of the United States military, a top secret meeting between the Joint Chief's of Staff and General Drybeck on the disappearance of Flight Lieutenant Tim Hunt and his F-22C was taking place. Although it had been eight hours since FLTLT Hunt disappeared and the sun had already set, the Joint Chief's were alert and ready to take whatever action was required. "Doug, are you saying that your pilot flew into a storm cloud and just disappeared with a 158 million dollar aircraft?" asked the Army Joint Chief of staff General Robert Meyers "That's right, Bob. The F-22C and Flight Lieutenant Hunt just disappeared, and I have no explanation. Except to say an 'Act of God'" "Have you considered that this _Foreign_ pilot has stolen our latest aircraft and is planning to return it to his country?" a voice asked from one corner of the table. Drybeck eyed the intruder and then turned his attention back to the Joint Chief's "Who the hell's this?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards the man at the end of the table "Doug, this is Mr. Smith," Meyers said with a mixture of laughter and annoyance "He's from the CIA." "And it appears that you don't know very much about FLTLT Hunt, if that is his real name," Smith began. "We have intercepted several letters from Hunt to someone called 'Duck-hole 18' and he signed them 'Duck-hole 29'. Can you explain that, General?" Drybeck chuckled to himself, then burst out laughing. When he had calmed himself enough to speak, he faced the CIA agent. "Oh Boy, are you a dickhead! Duck-hole is the radio name for RAAF Edinburgh, if you had done your research you would know that it is the same base where he is stationed, and as for the numbers 18 and 29 are simply a way of identifying each other over the radio. Most Australian pilots use their radio names in everyday conversation" "Then why don't they use their callsigns?" Smith retorted Drybeck was about to answer when the Joint Chief of the United States Air Force General Anthony Pembroke silenced him with a reassuring look. "It's because, you poor excuse for a spy, Australian pilots don't have callsigns!. They only have radio names. Hunt's callsign was given to him by his fellow pilots. In the United States!" "Then what about the his last radio message then?" Smith asked, his unflappable attitude slipping slightly. "He refers to himself as 'Hunter' and...." "Mr. Smith, I know more about Tim Hunt than you will ever know. The only reason that you have a job is because he did his," Drybeck said silencing the CIA man. "Now. Get out this briefing before I have you thrown out." Mr. Smith was about to protest when two marines appeared next to him, leaving him no choice but to be escorted from the briefing. "God, that guy gives me the shits.." began Drybeck "Then general, I suggest that you get more fiber in your diet" Drybeck turned towards the strange voice. "It's been a long day and I'm very tired, boy. Give me one reason why I don't have you shot" "I have Flight lieutenant Hunt's file.." "So have I" "The unabridged version" "Sit down. Now!" ************************************************************************ Tim tried with some success to eat the pizza that Chance had ordered, though not being used to having such sharp teeth, he was making a small mess of it. Both Chance and Jake were having a hard time keeping straight faced, and failing miserably. "Having trouble, Tim?" Jake asked, breaking into a smile. "What do you think? You Kats have it easy, you where born like this," he said pointing to his body. "Humans are omnivorous, our teeth are adapted for grinding up plant matter as well as meat. I'm just not used to having a mouth full of razor blades" Chance burst out laughing at Tim's poor attempt to save face and after a few seconds Jake and Tim joined in as well. "I think we should find you some salad." Jake said as he tried to contain his mirth "I think we should see who just entered the yard!" Tim replied chuckling Chance immediately sobered "What do you mean?" "Come with me!" Tim replied, standing Calico Briggs entered the still open salvage yard; she had called earlier in the day but she could only reach the answering machine. She has had many terrifying experiences dealing with the many criminal elements of MegaKat City, but having a gun placed at her head was new to her. "Would you please identify yourself," an Australian accented voice asked from behind. Before she could answer she heard Chance call out to her unknown assailant. "It's OK Tim, we know her." Instantly the gun was removed from her head. "Miss Briggs. This is Flight Lieutenant Tim Hunt, Royal Australian Airforce" Chance said indicating to Tim "Tim. This is Calico Briggs, Deputy Mayor of MegaKat City" Callie turned and faced her assailant, and the first thing she noticed wasn't the uniform nor the fact that he was blushing slightly at his mistake. The first thing she noticed was that Chance and Tim where almost identical in physical appearance. "Are you two related?" she asked "Yes, we are" Tim answered, thinking fast "Chance is my cousin" ************************************************************************ The Pentagon, Washington DC Earth Drybeck was only slightly stunned at what he had read in Tim Hunt's file. What he read was a detailed account of Hunt's activities from the time his parents and brother where killed in a car accident to when he took off that day. The file had explained many things about Hunt's personality that, otherwise, would have remained secret. "Where the hell did you get this?" Drybeck asked the mysterious man, who had started to smoke a cigarette, "And why are you showing this to me?" "So you will write off the loss of your precious aircraft and discontinue your investigation into the disappearance of Flight Lieutenant Hunt" "Are you threatening me?" Drybeck asked in a low growl "Merely advising you, General" With that final comment, the cigarette smoking man left. Drybeck looked around the table. "Gentlemen, what do we do?" "It appears," Admiral Victor Green began "That this person is playing hardball. And you all know what happens in the Navy when somebody plays hardball. Don't you?" "Batter up?" suggested Pembroke "Exactly! This is what we're going to do" The conspiracy had begun. Now all they need do was wait for Hunt to contact them. ************************************************************************ In the office at the garage Chance couldn't believe his ears. He listened to Tim tell Callie about himself and his past, a past that was being made up as he was talking. The amazing part was that Callie was believing it. She believed the part about Tim being Chance's cousin, about the family tradition of being pilots and several other questions that Callie had asked. Presently Jake walked in and handed Callie the keys to her car and proclaimed it to be fixed. Chance breathed a quiet sigh of relief, until Callie asked the question that know-one wanted to hear. "Where were you guys today?" she asked "I phoned but all I got was your answering machine" Chance and Jake had blank looks on their faces but Tim came to their rescue "They've been with me since" Tim looked at his watch "About 1000 hours" Callie looked thoughtfully at Tim "What time is it now?" she asked "2020 hours, ma'am." "What was so important that you could keep two civilians occupied for ten hours?" "Well, I was trying to get my gun through customs when they found it. Customs officials detained me while they contacted the consulate, the consulate gave me diplomatic immunity." Tim smiled slightly. "As you would know, the wheels of diplomatic business turn very slowly. Chance and Jake where waiting in the airport lounge for me" "Tim, you said that you had some official business to take care of" Jake said, in a testing tone. "I did" Callie made her way towards her car with Chance. She opened the door and leaned on the roof and asked Chance the impossible question, thinking that she was out of Tim's hearing range, "Chance, what's the real reason your cousin is here?" "Stress leave" Chance replied, saying the first thing that came to his mind. "He clipped his wingkat while on exercise, nearly killing them both" "That's terrible, but why is he here?" "I'm his nearest relative" "When does he go back?" "Hopefully, very soon" Chance said truthfully After Callie had left Tim walked in and tapped Chance on the shoulder. When Chance came down from the ceiling he glared at Tim. "Stress leave?, Clipped my wingman? You've stepped in it this time, Chance" "Sorry, Tim. But it was the first thing that came to mind" Chance said in his defense. When Jake walked in Tim, decided to let the matter drop; Chance had done his best at very short notice which Tim acknowledged. "People" began Tim, which got him strange looks from both Chance and Jake. Correcting himself Tim continued "Kats, tomorrow is going to be a big day and I think that we all should get some sleep. Where can I bunk?" Jake smiled "Try the couch" ************************************************************************ The Pentagon, Washington DC Earth "Tony, are you sure you can have those munitions at Pearl Harbour in time?" "They should be. Your boats are going to transport them" "Shut up, flyboy!" "Go walk a plank!" Drybeck started to laugh. Whenever you put Anthony Pembroke and Victor Green they would trade insults until they turned blue in the face, but they got their work done. And fast ************************************************************************ Tim had slept fitfully for almost three hours, a small record on his part. Checking his watch Tim found out that it was approaching midnight. Restless, he did what he always did at such times - work. Specifically, work on why his navigational data wasn't compatible with this world. Making his way down towards the hanger Tim formulated his plan of action. By comparing his own navigational data with the SWAT Kats, and by using Greenwich as his frame of reference, he should be done in less than an hour. All he had to do was link up his navigational computer in the Raptor to the computer in the hanger and let the two compare data. Smiling Tim put his plan into action. Tim did a quick visual scan of the hanger, and smiled as his search paid off. Taking the starter-cart from its place near the TurboKat, Tim wheeled it over to the Raptor. After manually opening the starboard access port and plugging in the starter-cart, Tim started the Raptor's internal systems. When the systems had started, Tim then took the Navigational Data Pod from the TurboKat and connected it to the Raptor's own NDP and told them to compare data, displaying each set of data on an individual VDU. While the two NDP's compared their information, Tim ran his hand over the serrated edge of the Raptor's cockpit, remembering the technology that makes an F-22, F-117 or a B-2 radar invisible wasn't in it's avionics package, instead its in the actual design and composition of the aircraft's skin. Including the use of serrated edges on the compartments, access ports and on the edge of the cockpit. Tim looked back along the wing and saw the 'Stars-and-Bars' insignia of the United States Air Force and realised that if the USAF logo was still visible then his name and rank would still be visible on the left side of the cockpit just beneath the LexGuard canopy. Muttering things about the heritage of the person who gave the Raptor it's paint job, Tim set about to remove the various identifying marks that sat upon its skin. Taking his knife Tim first carefully cut a rectangle around his name and callsign. Digging the point of the knife under the paint on one corner of the rectangle, Tim easily peeled back paint revealing the glossy black armour of which the Raptor's airframe was composed. Tim stripped off the top of his drill uniform as he proceeded to remove the rest of the Raptor's paint in the same manner. It was going to be a long night. Chance awoke with a start. He checked his watch; it was past midnight. In the pit of his stomach he had a feeling that something was very wrong. Making his way towards the hanger Chance happened to glance at the couch where Tim was sleeping, except for the fact that Tim wasn't there. Concerned Chance continued on his way towards the hanger. What he saw surprised him. Standing topless and covered in sweat, Chance watched Tim as he peeled back the dark paint that covered the Raptor, revealing it to be a glossy black bird-of-prey. Chance took a pace forward and stepped on a small nut, hearing the almost inaudible sound Tim spun around and drew his gun and had it aimed at Chance before the Swat Kat knew what had happened. "Halt!" Tim challenged. "Take it easy, Tim" Chance replied, moving away from the ladder and giving Tim a clear shot. "I was just wondering what you where doing down here." "Just removing the Raptor's markings" Tim said, pointing to the unfinished tail section Chance looked at the Raptor's tail and asked "What dose WH1 mean?" "Whisper one. That's the project I was working on at Dreamland when I found myself here" "How did get to be called 'Whisper'?" Tim sat down on the wing. "In the late seventies, a British scientist theorised that if you played sound waves that was the opposite of what was being produced, they would cancel each other out. He called it Anti-Noise" "Does it work?" "Listen to this" Tim manually started the Raptor's left engine and Chance covered his ears at the deafening racket, Tim then pressed another button and the racket changed to a low hum. "That's good!" Chance exclaimed "That's Whisper" "You sound like a commercial-" "-That reminds me" "How can you sounding like a commercial remind you of anything?" Ignoring Chance's comment, Tim continued "In MegaKat City, who would I go to see about quantum physics?" "Either Pumadyne or Professor Hackle. For you, Professor Hackle. He's helped the SWAT Kats out before and I think he could be just the Kat to see" "Good, lets go" Tim's reply caught Chance off guard. Surely he didn't expect to see the Professor now, did he? "Yes Chance" said Tim, reading Chance's mind. "We suit up and go now" Chance heaved a sigh and sensed that nothing he could say or do would change Tim's mind. "Come on, we'll take the Cyclotron. It shouldn't wake Jake up" "If Jake slept through that" Tim said, jerking his thumb at the Raptor "he could sleep through World War III." Jake's slumber remained undisturbed as the Cyclotron left the SWAT Kats underground hanger and sped on its way towards Professor Hackle's residence. ************************************************************************ U.S.S Enterprise CVN 65 Pacific Ocean The Enterprise's captain had just received a transmission ******** FLASH ******** To: Captain, U.S.S Enterprise CVN 65 From: Commander, Pacific Fleet Subject: New Orders Message: Captain, matters of a global importance have forced the Joint Chiefs to instate General Order 256. General Order 256 takes effect immediately. Commander, Pacific Fleet 462D3232 2C205469 6D204875 6E743A20 48554E54 4552 "What do we do, sir?" the watch commander asked "General order 256 says that we have to lend any assistance required to foreign pilots flying American aircraft. I think this is a security test, nothing more" When the watch commander had left the Captain took the codebook from the safe in his quarters and with it he translated the HEX code attached to the end of the message into something more readable. Translated the message read 'F-22, Tim Hunt: HUNTER'. Now the Captain knew who to expect and what he would be flying. The Captain also knew that all US military bases worldwide would have received the same transmission and came to the same conclusion. Something big was about to happen involving an operative called Tim Hunt, and that was all he needed, and wanted, to know. ************************************************************************ Professor Hackle was working late when he saw the Cyclotron pull up on his Monitors. Flicking a switch he opened the security door to his workshop and continued his work. What he didn't notice was that the second SWAT Kat sniffed the air once, drew his gun and dived behind some old oildrums, using them for cover. "Hunter! What do you think your doing?" T-Bone asked, looking at his partner in confusion. "Getting some cover! Someone's using high explosives!" "How can you tell?" T-Bone asked, disbelief showing through his mask "I can smell C4 or Simtek H, they both smell like marzipan" "Come on!" growled T-Bone. The two SWAT Kats, one more cautious than the other, made their way to Professor Hackle's main work area. Hackle looked up from the project that he was currently working on and faced the T-Bone. "Ah SWAT Kat, is your curious friend the alien who visited our fair city this morning?" Hackle asked. "That's him, Professor" T-Bone said "But what is he looking for?" "He's looking for High explosives. Apparently he smelled some before" Tim was looking around the Professor's work area, sniffing the air occasionally and moving the odd piece of equipment. Then he found what he was looking for. Professor Hackle was making a cup of coffee and he was using a white substance to heat the water. "Found it!" Hunter called out as made his way back to T-Bone and the Professor, "Someone is using C4 to make coffee." "Yes, I was" Hackle replied. "But I couldn't smell anything," "T-Bone?" "Sorry buddy, nothing" Seeing that the new SWAT Kat was slightly annoyed with this news, Hackle tried to lift his spirits "What brings you here?" "I have a bit of a problem with some quantum physics. In order for me to return to my home dimension, the quantum frequencies must match." Hackle nodded "And your problem is..?" "We have no way of finding the right frequency" Hackle pondered this for a moment, "Do you have anything metal from your dimension?" Hunter looked at T-Bone, who nodded slightly. "Just my dogtags" Hunter replied, removing the two metal disks from around his neck. "These contain my name, rank, serial number and blood type." "What a pity that during the extraction of the quantum frequency they will be destroyed." "Yes, it is a pity" Hunter said, handing his dogtags to the Professor "But sacrifices must be made." ************************************************************************ As T-Bone rode the Cyclotron back towards the hanger, Hunter asked him to pull over to the side of the road. T-Bone did as he was asked. "What's wrong, Hunter?" asked T-Bone as Hunter got off the Cyclotron and took a step back. "Have you ever heard of 'Culture Shock'?" Hunter replied, breathing heavily "Isn't that a rock band?" "No, that's 'Culture Club'. When your life puts you into a strange and unbelievable situation, it often takes some time for it to sink in, but when it does..." "Culture Shock!" "Exactly!" Several minutes passed, in which Hunter's breathing rate slowed to a safer level. "You OK now?" T-Bone asked, genuinely concerned. "I'll live, boss" "Don't worry, Tim" T-Bone began, ignoring Hunter's discomfort at the use of his name while in his SWAT Kat uniform. "We'll get you back to your home dimension soon" "That's easy for you to say, you didn't have to escort the General's niece to Las Vegas tomorrow!" Hunter said with a smile. "Now let's get back to the Hanger and get some sleep." T-Bone straddled the Cyclotron and asked Hunter, "Are you gonna hop on or are you walking back?" "Just promise me that you won't drive like an old Kat." That was the worst thing that Hunter could have possibly said. ************************************************************************ At the Hanger T-Bone and Hunter were both greeted by an anxious Jake, dressed as Razor, completing the job of stripping the paint off the Raptor. "Where have you two been?" he asked "At Professor Hackle's, discussing quantum physics" T-Bone replied, weariness evident in his voice, as he changed from his SWAT Kat uniform into his normal attire. Razor looked at Hunter for his answer. "Ditto," Hunter said as he also removed his flight suit. "Don't forget the ailerons and goodnight, Razor," he added as he made his way to the main level, with only one purpose in mind: to sleep. ************************************************************************ The next morning, MegaKat City awoke in its usual fashion. The birds were singing, the kricket's were chirping and one mutant Kat was, for all real appearances, dead to the world. "Wake up, lazy bones!" Tim heard someone say as he felt a hand, no a paw, on his shoulder. "What time is it?" he asked, trying to shake the sleep from his head "Ten past seven," Jake replied, with a cheesy grin from ear to ear. "Why didn't somebody wake me?" "Because we didn't have the heart to wake you," Chance offered, handing Tim a bowl of breakfast cereal. "Eat this, today we have to get you some sort of life or your stay here could be real short." "And I know exactly where to go," Tim said as he handed Chance the slip of paper that Commander Feral had given him the previous day. "You up for it?" Chance cocked an eye as he pondered what was written on the paper. Thinking for a split second, he gave his answer. "Hell yeah! When do we leave?" "0700" Jake checked the wall clock "That was fifteen minutes ago!" "Then, we are late and I'd suggest we leave now!" Tim replied, taking his pistol from underneath his pillow and tucking it in his belt. "You're taking that!?" Jake asked, pointing to Tim's pistol. "I'm paranoid" "Your crazy!" Jake said as Tim was walking out. "I'm allowed to be," he replied as he opened the door to the tow-truck ************************************************************************ The local office of the Assassination Bureau was nondescript, to say the least. In fact it was downright anonymous. A large building in among other large buildings in the heart of MegaKat City. "This is it?" Chance asked as he parked the tow-truck outside the building "Yep," Tim replied. "Let's go shopping!" "I wonder if they've got the latest issue of Kat Kommandos?" Tim stopped, almost causing Chance to walk into him "I'm not sure, but we can find out." Inside was just as nondescript as the outside; a single guard sat behind a large desk. Tim could see the glow of the black and white monitors and guessed that apart from the four cameras that he could see, there would be at least eight pinhole cameras concealed in the walls and roof. Tim knew that, although the guard looked as though he was paying more attention to the newspaper than to the two Kats walking past his station, nothing escaped his attention. Including the Bureau's stickpin on his collar. "Chance, meet me by the lift" "Lift?" Chance asked in confusion, not understanding Tim's Australian. "The Uh.. Elevator," Tim said as he made his way towards the guard. "Hey, mate," Tim Began, leaning close to the guard so he could get a clear look at the exact pattern on Tim's Bureau pin. "Do you know which level MegaKat publishing is on?" "No sir," replied the guard. "But there's a level directory next to the elevator." "Thanks, mate," Tim said as he turned away, going back to the elevator When Tim reached the elevator, the guard reached under his desk and flicked a small switch, allowing both Chance and Tim access to the parts of the building that were above the fifth floor. "Chance, this is where it gets interesting!" said Tim as the elevator doors opened for them. "It better be because it's been kinda boring so far!" Chance replied, stepping in the 'lift with Tim. Seconds later the doors reopened and the pair stepped out into another world. The world of the Assassination Bureau Chance was noticeably unimpressed by the banks of super computers, recording devices and other, smaller, pieces of equipment that were in constant use. But when Tim told him that it was all devoted to the creation of false identities, Chance let out a low whistle. "You mean that all this equipment is to create lives for Kats like you?" "Yep, here I can make up Drivers licenses, Passports, military ID cards. Basically anything with a photo on it, we can make an exact copy. We also tap into bank and government computers and place records there." "You are kidding, right?" Tim gave the computer operator a sly look "Say Chance, did you know that you have an unpaid parking fine?" "WHAT!!" Tim pointed to the screen "It say's so right here" Chance looked at the screen; sure enough, an entry read Registered Owner: Furlong, Chance P License No: MKC 3141592654 License Type: A, B, C Offence: Parking in restricted area Date: 05-03-99 Fine: $25.00 Chance stared at the screen for a second and realised that the date on the fine was wrong. "Wait on! That date hasn't happened yet." "That's right, Chance. But we can make that, or just about anything else, happen." "Can you tap into my bank and...?" "No, I can't, and won't, increase the amount of your bank account at MegaKat First National. But I'll give you credit for trying." "Sir," the computer operator began, "we've opened a bank account at MegaKat First National in your name. How much do you want?" Tim gave the matter serious thought "$1026.25 to start with and $389.22 a Week, payable every fortnight." The operator did some typing and input the amount that Tim had specified. With just a few keystrokes a new identity was created. The identity had a name, a job, a bank account and a birth certificate. Placing the documents in a secure briefcase, Chance and Tim walked back to the elevator. "What's next?" Chance asked, still in awe, "Uniforms!" "Oh joy." Uniforms was putting it mildly; there was an entire level devoted to the military uniforms of many nations and several civilian organizations. Everything from air stewards and stewardesses to the uniforms of a dozen security companies around MegaKat City. To his credit, Tim knew exactly what he needed to keep his cover of a RAAF pilot on leave. Searching for something in his size, Tim bumped into the Tailor in charge of the Bureau wardrobe. "Terribly sorry...?" He trailed off. "Delta Two Nine" Tim answered. This got the Kat's attention. "What do you require?" "A uniform for a Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Australian Air Force." "Yes sir, I'll just take your measurements." Chance tried to contain his laughter at Tim's facial expressions as the measurements for his neck were being taken. Needless to say, he failed. "Sir, who is he?" asked the tailor, in annoyance, indicating to Chance "He's just a SWAT Kat" was Tim's reply The tailor remained silent as he took Tim's remaining measurements and collected the required items of clothing. Chance stifled a yawn as the final touches where being put on Tim's uniform. "Can we get back to the garage now?" he asked. "Soon, boss. Just a couple of things to do and then we can leave." "Where to now?" "The armoury, then the pits." "What's in the pits?" "Transport," "Great, and stop calling me 'boss'." "Right, boss." Chance decided to quit while he was behind. ************************************************************************ Jake was going over the read-outs of the programme that he had found running last night; what he found was, to say the least, interesting. A large portion of California, running along the San Andreas Fault line, had disappeared into the sea, leaving only the highest hills above the waterline. One such hill was Anakata Island, formally part of a place called HOLLYWOOD, at least in Tim's dimension. Where MegaKat Central bridge stood, one of many in downtown MegaKat City, there was a canyon. This puzzled Jake, but when he thought about it, it was quite logical. If the United States of Tim's world had a larger landmass in that area, any rain would fall before it reached the mountains, making the land beyond dry, arid and incapable of supporting a population of any real size without help. Military style help. And with the military involved in an arid environment, away from populated areas, it would be the perfect testing area for experimental aircraft. It may also be a place where the SWAT Kat's could have their missiles developed and tested, but first they had to find the right dimension _and_ the right airbase. ************************************************************************ Tim Smiled. When Tim smiled most sensible people ran for cover. Needless to say Chance didn't run for cover; Chance had the same smile on his face that Tim had on his. The look of a Kitten in a toy store. "Tim, where do we start?" Chance asked, looking down the rows and rows of weapons, ranging from small calibre handguns, sub-machine guns and assault rifles to bows and arrows and knives to grenade launchers and LAWS rockets. "I want to try them all!" "Sorry, boss. But I have everything worked out," Tim replied, oblivious to Chance's disappointment. Looking around "Now where is the Gunsmith?" he wondered out loud The 'Smith in question appeared from behind a rack of assault rifles. Only seconds previously he had stripped and cleaned a weapon before securing it in it's place. "Can I help you sir?" he inquired. "Here" Tim said, handing the 'Smith a list of what he needed. "How soon can we have it?" he asked as the 'Smith looked the list over. "I can get most of these now, but this one will take some time," the 'Smith replied, pointing to an item on the list. Chance recognised the entry and stood stunned, wondering why no body else had thought of that particular solution to the MetalliKat problem. "How long?" "I can have it here by this time tomorrow, if you're not in any hurry" "We're not. What about sidearms?" "9-mm I assume?" Tim nodded. "A small selection is waiting for you at the firing range." Tim thanked the 'Smith and walked past Chance on his way towards the Firing Range. Stunned, Chance was muttering something to himself. Tim could make out the words 'Armour' and 'Bullet' in Chance's disjointed speech. At the firing range a small selection of handguns lay waiting to be tried. All where 9-mm size and all had the slide pulled back with their breaches empty. Avoiding the Browning, Tim picked up the SIG P226, one of the four styles of SIG that were available. Inserting a fresh magazine and closing the breach, Tim prepared himself to fire. The Kat shaped paper target was the length of the building away, about 55-60 meters down the range. Putting on the required ear and eye protection, Tim took careful aim at the centre of the target's 'head', and fired. And missed the target completely. Adjusting the sights, Tim repeated the procedure, this time he hit the target high in the 'head'. Seeing this Tim adjusted the pressure by a minute amount and tried again. The result, a small hole in the centre of the targets 'head' Smiling, Tim fired repeatedly, emptying the magazine into the target. In a flash he ejected the spent magazine and replaced it with a fresh one, took aim at the 'chest' and fired until the second magazine was spent. When he had finished, Tim heard muffled applause through his hearing protection. Turning around he saw both Chance and the Gunsmith giving him a round of Applause. Retrieving the target, Tim noticed that his shots where clustered within centimetres of where he had aimed. From 50 meters it proved that he could still shoot. "I'll take this one" he said, holding the empty Sig for inspection by the 'Smith, as Chance replaced Tim's target with a fresh one and sent it back down the range. "What about the MP-5's?" "Your friend has the rest," the 'Smith replied as he handed Tim one of the sub-machine guns. Examining the weapon, Tim noticed that a sound/flame suppressor had been fitted to the weapon's barrel and the folding stock was locked away. Loading in the 30 round magazine that the 'Smith handed him, he closed the breach. Pausing for a second, Tim removed his hearing protection from around his ears to his neck, shouldered the weapon, sighted the target, and fired. The muzzle flashed as it spat out the muted rounds, that was drowned out as the empty shells hit the ground. "Quiet, isn't it?" Chance asked the Gunsmith rhetorically "Yeah, and it's one of the louder models." "Wha??" The 'Smith just smiled. After only a few seconds on full automatic the chamber locked back, the magazine was empty. Tim glanced at the target that Chance had set up only seconds before, the chest area that he was aiming for was peppered with 9-mm sized holes. "Are all the MP-5's weighted like this one?" he asked "They are" the 'Smith confirmed. "We'll take 'em." ************************************************************************ "Are you happy now, Chance?" Tim asked as they drove back "I've got a life, bank account, uniforms, a nice car and enough firepower to blow Dark Kat into the next time zone. So why aren't you smiling?" "I didn't get to see the car" Chance replied with a slight frown "If we hurry, we could beat it home. Do you know any shortcuts?" Chance didn't make a verbal reply, instead he made a sharp right and sped along a dirt road, with Tim, who, because of Australian law wore a seat belt out of habit, hanging on for his life. "Tell me Chance, How many lives does a Kat have?" "Nine, why do you ask?" "I'm down to eight!" ************************************************************************ Jake was having a weird day. First he discovered that the North American continent was noticeably different in his own world than in Tim's, then a sleek, black Corvette that was loaded with clothing and military equipment arrived for Tim. The arrival of the 'vette had Jake stunned; the two Kats just left it parked outside the garage, handed the keys to Jake, told him the car was for Flight Lieutenant Hunt and left without another word. Finally. Chance arrived with Tim, who was looking greener than Dr. Viper and babbling 'Never again, never again' "Chance, what did you do to him?" "Nothing serious." "Chance!" "I just took a shortcut," Chance said, saying the last word under his breath "You took a what!!" Jake practically screamed "A shortcut, Jake, I took a shortcut." Jake looked at Tim, who had stopped babbling and now was trying to stop his paws from shaking. "Chance, I don't think he's been that scared in all his life," Jake said, throwing a paw in Tim's direction for emphasis. "Well, there was that time in East Germany, before the fall of the Berlin Wall...." Tim said from inside the garage. Chance looked at Jake, Jake looked at Chance, they both looked at the garage where Tim was. "Tim can you hear us out here?" Jake asked in a quite voice. "Yes." "Tim, how far is it from us to you?" asked Chance. "About 15 meters." 15 meters was 14 meters too far for any ordinary Kat to hear. The answer eluded the two until Jake had an idea. Walking back to the garage and carrying on an animated conversation with Tim, Jake questioned his own sanity at doing this but his curiosity had to be satisfied. Tim had heard Jake walking towards the garage; this didn't disturb him for he had kept his hearing sharp as part of his Assassination Bureau training, but what Jake was saying put him on edge. Questions without any clear meaning or answer always made Tim nervous. While pondering Jake's strange line of questioning, the Kat in question calmly walked up unnoticed by Tim. "Hey Tim, do you mind if I try something?" "Nah, go ahead," Tim replied, turning to face Jake. And received a knife in the stomach for his troubles. Crying out, Tim acted on a combination of training and instinct; he pushed Jake back, grabbed his sidearm with his left paw, and began to try to remove the knife with his right. Upon hearing Tim's cry of pain, Chance ran from the new Corvette to the garage to investigate what was going on. When he arrived at the scene, Chance only saw the knife in Tim's chest and the gun that was being pointed at Jake. Jake for his part was being very calm about the whole situation. "Jake, what happened?" Chance asked softly "I was just testing a theory." "By STABBING HIM!" "You gotta admit, Chance. Jake had an interesting theory" Tim said as he removed the knife from his stomach "I just wish he gave me some warning before he tried to run me through" Chance couldn't stop staring at Tim and the absence of a wound that the knife would had produced if Tim had been a normal Kat. "H..How is that possible?" Chance stuttered, pointing to Tim's stomach and the knife in Tim's paw. "Chance, Tim's a mutant, similar to the ones that Dr. Viper makes. He has superiour hearing, he heals at an amazing rate and his blood is more acidic than our own" Jake said, examining the small knicks on the blade after Tim had removed it from his abdomen. "I'll bet you a can of milk that he's stronger, faster and has better eyesight than we do too," Jake concluded "He's probably right, Chance. But I don't want to be stabbed to prove a point" "You're right, Tim. But you did get the 'point' right?" Chance said with a smile. "Chance, SHUT UP!" Jake and Tim shouted at the same time. Laughing softly to himself, Chance made his way to the kitchen to rustle up something to eat for Jake and himself, figuring that after having six inches of steel in his gut, Tim would have had his daily requirement of iron. ************************************************************************ To Be Continued..... "Your paranoid!" "T-Bone. Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get me!"