Rescued: A Catgirl Harem Adventure (I Rescued A Catgirl Book 1) Read online

  Rescued

  I Rescued a Catgirl Book 1

  Jack Truxton

  Copyright © 2018 by Jack Truxton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Thanks for reading!

  Author’s Note

  1

  “St. Clare!” Mr. Hugo, Katsukami Biodesigns manager and overall pain in my ass, bellowed from across the laboratory. “Shut down whatever it is you’re doing and get your ass over here!”

  I clenched my teeth and tried not to shout back how stupid Mr. Hugo was. Sure, I was just an intern here at the San Francisco campus, but I graduated near the top of my class in biotechnology. The idea of just shutting down a complex genetic modification of feline DNA in mid-mix was stupid, dangerous, and would probably waste valuable materials. The synthetic genetic material used to make Katsumaki’s biodroids was extremely expensive, after all. If I wasted any of it, they would take it out of my salary, and believe me, I couldn’t afford it with my crushing student loans. Of course, that also meant that I couldn’t afford to lose my job by calling Mr. Hugo out.

  Instead, I took the diplomatic approach, glancing up and over at my boss. Well, technically, Mr. Hugo was my boss’s boss, but whatever. The Design Department manager wouldn’t countermand him.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I began, “but I am right in the middle of the build on this new domestic Kat model. It’s a Burmese base breed and the specifications from corporate are extremely complicated and super specific. We’re supposed to have it ready by the end of the workday, and if I shut it down now, well, you know what that means.” I gestured at both my flat-screen monitor, filled with complex genetic patterns, and the holo-tube next to it on my desk, showing in real time what every bit of tinkering would do (within a 97% degree of accuracy) to the fully formed Wonder Kat.

  That product, if you could use so simple a word for it, was what put Katsukami at the top of the corporate world. They were the sole producer of the Wonder Kats, revolutionary biological androids made with feline DNA. Engineered to be beautiful women with the perfect mixture of feline features to make them endearingly adorable, the Kats were flesh-and-blood robots that could act as menial labor, domestic servants, business assistants, just about anything the company programmed into their brains. Their synthetic minds were almost as adaptable as a human brain, but capable of being limited through various genetic tweaks, making them easier to train, easier to maintain, and less hassle than robots in many situations.

  “You think I don’t know that, St. Clare?” Hugo snapped back. He was a massive guy in more ways than one, an obese shaved ape stuffed into an ill-tailored suit and used to throwing his weight around. “I need someone in Reprogramming with Kleiner calling out sick, so I need a qualified genetics guy. You’re the intern, so you’re the lucky one.” He thumbed over at Clements, one of the other gene-monkeys in our department, a real hack of an engineer. “He’ll be taking over the domestic compile.”

  That pissed me right off. To start with, Clements was absolutely shit at his job. I was pretty sure he only got to his Senior Designer position because he was Mr. Hugo’s son-in-law. On top of that, I hated the idea of working in Reprogramming, even for a day. Sure, the Wonder Kats were just organic robots, but I, like most of my peers, had grown up watching the cartoons, following the social media, and literally having the cuteness and kindness of the Kats drilled into my psyche. That made me reluctant to want to have to mess around with the brain of one. It was just a bit too uncomfortable for me.

  Still, with the less-than-reputable nature of my loan and the fact I had a payment due the moment my paycheck cleared tomorrow, I forced myself to keep my temper in check. Better to suck it up at work than have Mr. Romine’s ‘security guards’ break my kneecaps. They were old-school like that.

  “Mr. Hugo, sir,” I said very calmly and professionally, trying not to look like I was staring down Hugo’s beady eyes even though I was. “While I would be happy to do that, I would suggest that with how important this compile is, you might want to have me stay here and finish it. Not that Mr. Clements isn’t competent, sir, but I did almost all of the work on this design and—”

  He cut me off with a grunt, his belly shaking with the effort of it, even as Clements, that weasel, slunk up next to my workstation. “And that matters how, St. Clare? All you gene-jockeys are the same, you all had the same training, so Clements can finish it. Not like you’re going to get any credit.” Mr. Hugo snorted. “We’re all a team here, right? You don’t want to act like you’re some lone wolf, do you?”

  I was in a corner, and everyone in the lab knew it. Clements was smirking, Davis was ducking down behind his monitor to avoid notice, and Patricia winced in sympathy. Sucking in a deep sigh and resisting the urge to clench my fists, I got up, relinquishing the genemod station to Clements.

  “No, sir, and you’re absolutely right, sir,” I acquiesced. “I apologize for questioning your judgment.” I told myself that this was just temporary, that after I got out of this internship, I’d make good, leave this all behind and make my mark on the world. I just had to keep it together.

  “That’s better,” Hugo grunted with a dull grin of satisfaction. “Report to Johnson at the Reprogramming office and hurry up with it. Those Kats won’t get fixed on their own.” He snorted at his own horrible joke.

  Me, I didn’t find it so funny. Before I was tempted to snark back at him, I took what I had left of my injured pride and got out while I had the chance. The one upside to the entire mess was that when the compile failed, and we were set back a whole day, it would finally get Clements fired. See, like any good genetic designer, I ‘signed’ my work with a specific molecular sequence in the protein chains, something that all the higher-ups knew about, even Mr. Hugo … but that signature would only show up if the compile was followed to the exact specifications of my design. When Clements invariably went off-design and fucked it up, the lack of my sequence would be clear proof of his incompetence, and if he actually did it right, I would still get the credit in the end.

  Heck, I could likely turn it into a chance to finally get promoted out of internship when I fixed the problem he would undoubtedly cause. Sometimes, you have to take heart in the small victories, right?

  Outside of the sterile genetics lab, the Katsumaki corporate décor took over. The color scheme turned from clean whites to soft pastels, non-threatening and exactly matching the branding for the Wonder Kats. In even intervals down the hallways, LCD screens displayed ‘on the job’ videos of the various Kat models, dressed in purposefully cute versions of their appropriate work clothes. With their feline eyes, cat ears pok
ing through their fur patterned hair, and swishing tails, they covered every professional variation, from Cute Maid to Sexy Librarian to Hot Secretary.

  Yeah, it goes without saying that the appeal of the Kats was more than their tireless devotion and exceptional work ethic.

  As I made my way through the campus towards Reprogramming, I tried to avoid looking at the screens, telling myself repeatedly that this was no big deal. The Wonder Kats weren’t people, after all. They were just biodroids. This was no different from updating the operating system of my computer, and it’s not like I didn’t design these things. This would be easy.

  And before I knew it, I found myself standing in front of the frosted glass door to Reprogramming. I’d never been behind that door. In fact, anyone who wasn’t part of the department wasn’t even allowed to enter. I’d never thought much about it before, but now that I was there, staring at the blocky black letters that said, ‘REPROGRAMMING DEPARTMENT, AUTHORIZED EMPLOYEES ONLY.’

  Before I could even touch the call button on the intercom plate beside the door, it slid open, showing a familiar-looking white clean room. More importantly, standing in the door was a short, gangly man, somewhere in his mid-forties, his thinning hair swept in a combover. From his too-watery eyes and hooked nose, he gave off an unsettling feel. Unlike most employees here, he was dressed in an orange jumpsuit just shy of an environmental suit you’d see in some bioterror flick, with large, black rubber boots and gloves. ‘REPROGRAMMING’ was printed in the same block letters as the door along the sides of the arms and legs.

  “All right, Jake St. Clare from Genetics,” he said before I could even process everything that I saw, added, “come in. We’re already behind schedule, thanks to Jacobson, that fool, and we have much to do!”

  I nodded, stepping into the clean room. “Right, yeah, I’m him.” I offered a polite hand, eager to make the best of this that I could. “And you are?”

  Mr. Jumpsuit looked at my outstretched hand in horror. “Oh no. No contact, not until you’re suited up. Contamination can ruin the reprogramming process!” He pointed a gloved finger at lockers on the far side of the room, next to another standard-issue airlock.

  I frowned at that. “Is that why Jacobson isn’t in today? Contamination, right?”

  If he was so worried about it, I wasn’t going to ask the specifics, not when he was inferring that his work partner got sick from this job. I knew more than enough about biochemistry and genetics to know not to play with this sort of thing. Nodding with understanding, I went straight to the indicated locker and found my own jumpsuit and gear, as well as a hood and respirator. Deciding not to take any chances, I tucked my long black hair, already tied back, into the hood as I pulled it on.

  As I suited up, Jumpsuit finally introduced himself. “You can call me Rolf, Mr. St. Clare, and we’re going to keep your job today simple. I’ll handle the deconstruction process, while all you need to do is escort the product down to the vats.” As I finished getting myself dressed, he pulled on his hood and picked up what I recognized as a standard-issue Control Wand, which was basically a black, metal tube with a bulbous grip that reminded me of a turkey baster of all things. “Should be a Wand in there too. While we rarely have issues during the process, if you do, one puff of the pheromones—”

  “And the genetic behavioral limiters kick in,” I finished for him. “The Kat’s natural instinct for obedience will multiply, while multiple doses will lead to paralysis and eventual deactivation.” When Rolf blinked at me through the clear bane of his hood, I grinned (not that he could see it). “Genetics department, remember? We put those limiters in with every new model.”

  Rolf grunted and nodded. “Good. Then you know how important this process is.” I was about to point out that I didn’t even know what the process even was, but he was already brushing past me. “Let’s get started then.”

  Grabbing the Control Wand from the locker, I had to practically run to get into the airlock before Rolf cycled it. It was pretty much impossible to talk during the rush of pressurized air and the roar of the decontamination cycle, and then we were off again. Rolf was apparently a power-walking king, and I had spent far too much time in classrooms and not enough time on an exercise bike. It was all I could do to keep up with him as he led me down a short hallway.

  Black solid steel doors lined both walls, six in total, that reminded me more of prison doors than office ones, right down to the metal plates waiting to be slid aside to push in food. Gone were the pastel colors and even the white of the labs, everything now a drab, utilitarian beige, with concrete slab floors that had large drains set into them every ten or so feet. At the far end of the hall was a set of double elevator doors.

  “Right, young St. Clare,” Rolf chirped, “I’ll head down to the vats and get things fired up.” He turned towards me, thumbing towards the only monitor in the hall which was just now coming to life over the elevator. “Once I get the system running, you’ll see the information for the next Kat set for reprogramming up there, and your biometrics should already be set for the doors. Just remember to use the retina scanner, no need for contamination, and then lead the product downstairs.” He cackled like the crazy old man that I suspected he just might be. “Easiest day at work you’ll ever have, trust me, as long as you remember not to talk to the product beyond giving them orders.”

  He was already halfway to the elevator when I raised a hand and called after him. “Wait, hold on, Rolf. Shouldn’t you tell me more about what to do? What all we have to do for reprogramming?”

  “I’ll walk you through it while we take care of the first one,” he said, waving his hand over his shoulder dismissively. “See you soon!” Before I could interrogate him further, he was dipping into the ultra-modern elevator, leaving me alone in the dead silence of the hallway.

  Call it nerves if you wanted, but I was starting to get a bad feeling about this whole thing. It was stupid though. This wasn’t anything strange or nefarious. All across the world Wonder Kats were reprogrammed every day by the hundreds. The only reason this place looked like a Death Row prison from an old crime vid was that these were biodroids that could rip a man’s arm off with a good yank.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have long to think about it. Within a few minutes, the screen over the elevator flashed to life as the intercoms came on. A normal array of data flashed across the screen, the familiar product information grid for a Wonder Kat plain as day, while Rolf’s warbling voice called out.

  “First subject is Annie-8713, a nursing model,” he informed me pointlessly, as this was all plain from the datasheet. “Original breed Ragdoll. A nice easy start for you.”

  What confused me was that there was nothing deviant in Annie’s sheet. No medical issues, no irregular behavior reported, nothing.

  “Uh, maybe this is asking too much,” I asked anyway, “but why …?”

  Rolf’s amplified voice cut me right off. “We don’t ask why, young St. Clare. We just reprogram. Now, get a move on!” The intercom turned off with a harsh crackle, and that seemed to be that.

  Sighing into my respirator, I turned toward the first cell door on the left, the one that matched the Kat’s info sheet. Rolf did say he’d fill me in once I got downstairs, and I knew how schedules around here were. Katsukami expected an utterly ruthless level of efficiency in the design department, so I doubted Rolf had it any easier in reprogramming. Swallowing my questions, I tapped on the door pad, brought up the retinal scanner, and let the red laser light scan my right eye through the protective visor.

  Then the cell door slid open to reveal the most beautiful woman, Wonder Kat or not, that I had ever seen, sobbing and crying.

  2

  I don’t know what surprised me more, her beauty or her tears. I had never seen a Wonder Kat cry before, but then again, I strangely hadn’t been around them much outside of the design room. Computer simulations based on DNA profiles don’t have emotions, and no matter how ‘affordable’ Katsukami said the Kats were, neither
my family or I could certainly afford one. Honestly, I had never really seen one up this close before.

  She’d probably just come up to my shoulder if she wasn’t crying, counting the triangular cat ears that poked through her fluffy hair. As with all the Kats, the fur on her ears and poofed-out cat tail matched her hair, all lilac in color save for a triangular shock of white that soared up her bangs. Soft cheeks, a button nose, and pouty lips mixed with her bright blue, cat-slit eyes to form a heart-stopping mixture of exotic, cute, and sexy, and then her body …

  Well, the plain, white shift she was wearing might not have been fashionable, but her hourglass figure, long legs, and perfect pale skin more than made up for it. She was a beauty that would have made a potato sack look like high fashion, and all that was focused entirely on me.

  “Uh,” I started stupidly before I got a grip. Wonder Kats were supposed to have simulated emotions in their biodroid brains, so emotional responses shouldn’t be a shock. And damn, beautiful or not, she was a product, right? “Annie-8713, I’m supposed to take you down to Reprogramming now. Can, uh, you come quietly please?”

  “Yes, sir,” Annie said, her voice soft and a little raw. Sniffing, she wiped at her cheeks and did a very human show of collecting herself, right down to trying to smooth the puffed fur on her tail. “I promise to be good, sir.”

  That didn’t sound like a simple reassurance. It sounded like a plea, like a child begging for a second chance after they did something wrong, and it pulled hard on my heart. As much as I tried to tell myself the cat girl in front of me was just an organic robot, I couldn’t make myself really believe now, no matter how much I knew about their creation, how many I had designed myself.