The Babe Bomb

"The Major will see you now."

"About time." Rising from his chair James Watson strode towards the door leading to Major Franklin's private office. Stepping in, he glared at the major.

"What in hell," he asked coldly, "do you think you were doing?"

"Professor Watson," Franklin replied smoothly, "I always know precisely what I'm doing. I do what needs to be done."

"And that includes breaking into my lab? Stealing my work?"

Franklin smiled. "You," he said, "work for the army. Under contract, I might add. Which means anything you develop belongs to the army. We can't steal what we already own." His smile became a frown. "Besides, it didn't work."

Watson shook his head, glancing toward the Lieutenant standing beside Franklin's desk. "What you stole...."

"What I requisitioned," Franklin interrupted, "was needed." He turned to a map hanging behind his desk. "Recognize this place?" he asked, indicating a small island. Puzzled, Watson nodded. "I thought so. The island itself is nothing special. Small, isolated, nothing of any value. So no nation has pressed a claim to it. Perfect place for a secret terrorist base."

Franklin's frown deepened. "It was also," he went on, "a perfect place to test that new explosive you promised us. We used it on the base last night. And it failed. According to the latest intel, the base is still there, undamaged. What, exactly, have we been spending so much money on these past few months?"

Before Watson could reply, the phone on Franklin's desk buzzed. The Major scooped up the handset. "I told you...," he began, then fell silent. After a long moment, he said, "Thank you," before hanging up the phone.

"It would seem," he said, "that there is a breach in our security. A small news crew seems to have snuck onto the island, and their report is being aired live even as we speak." Franklin thumbed a remote, causing the large screen on the wall to blink to life. The men watched as the view panned across a small group of nondescript buildings.

"On this island," a female voice said, "something terrible has just happened. According to our sources, the military tested a new weapon here last night. We managed to slip through the cordon the military threw up around this island to keep the world from knowing what they'd done. Now, we will show the world exactly what kind of people run our military."

Franklin shook his head. "Diedre Wilkins," he said. "She's been after the army, and this department, for years. Now, thanks to you, she'll get to show us up as failures."

Slowly, the camera's view approached one of the buildings. Then, without warning, the door flew open. Out staggered a woman wearing only an old fatigue shirt that barely covered her thighs. For a moment, she stared blankly at the camera, before staggering off around the corner of the building.

"Wait a minute," the Lieutenant said, amazement in his voice. "Wasn't that...?"

"Sabrina Starling," Watson replied, glancing toward the Major. "She's..."

"I know who she is," Franklin snapped. "That bondage model with the big...." Reaching up, he pantomimed a set of large, bouncing breasts. "My question is, what is she doing there?"

Before anyone could answer, the woman appeared once more in the doorway, this time completely naked. Again, she stared blankly at the camera before staggering out the door. Another woman, identical in all respects, followed her.

"Three Sabrina Starlings? What exactly is going on here?"

As the men watched, several more women emerged, in various stages of undress. Each was identical to the others. Finally, Franklin turned to Watson.

"Professor? Care to explain?"

Watson shook his head. "What you took from my lab," he said, "was no explosive. It was a genetic virus I've been working on. If it's used on someone, the subject's DNA is rewritten to match the DNA encoded into the virus."

"And where," Franklin asked, "did you get Sabrina Starling's DNA?" At Watson's mumbled reply, his eyes widened. "Say that again?"

"I said," Watson replied more clearly, "the DNA came from Miss Starling's used panties. I had to buy about a dozen pairs to get enough for one test batch."

"Seriously?" the Lieutenant burst out, eyes wide.

"Those things are sixty bucks a pop." Seeing Franklin's frown, he fell silent.

"And how many people can this virus of yours affect?"

"Depending on where you dropped it, and the wind direction," Watson replied, "it could have infected the entire camp."

"By our information," Franklin said slowly, "there were between twenty and forty people in that camp."

"Which means," Watson replied, "you could potentially have between twenty and forty exact copies of Sabrina Starling on your hands."

"Why her?"

Watson shrugged. "Her DNA was available, from the panties." He shrugged. "And," he went on, "I always wanted one of my own."

"You're talking about a woman, not a car."

"Oh, I know," Watson replied absently, watching the screen as a group of nude or nearly nude copies wandered about. "You can't put lines like those on a car."

"Amen to that," the Lieutenant said, with a grin that quickly dropped under the force of Franklin's frown. Before he could say anything, Diedre Wilkins' voice burst once more from the speakers.

"We've just learned from our sources," she said, "that this attack was initiated by a special projects department within the army, headed by one Major George Franklin. So far, our attempts to contact the Major have gone unanswered. We will, of course, continue our attempts to discover exactly how this seemingly impossible event came to happen."

"Great," Franklin muttured, "just great. Now we're a laughing stock."

There was a soft knock on the door, which opened to admit Franklin's young receptionist. Standing before Franklin's desk, she saluted smartly.

"What is it, Corporal?"

"We just received a call," the woman replied, "from a Miss Starling. I told her you were unable to speak with her, but she insisted I deliver this message." The woman handed Franklin a sheet of paper, then retreated from the office.

"This just gets better and better," Franklin said, scanning the page. "Miss Starling is demanding to know how we managed to get our hands on so many exact copies of her. She has also contacted her lawyer to see if she can sue us for copyright infringement, since we used her face and figure without her knowledge or permission."

Franklin continued to read. "She does, however, offer us an out. She says she's spoken with her manager, and she won't sue if we send her several of the copies to use as stunt doubles. Says her manager is frothing at the mouth at the possibilities of having a dozen of her in one room, each bound a different way." At this, the Lieutenant's eyes seemed to glaze over.

"This," Franklin concluded, slamming the paper onto his desk, "is totally your fault, Professor. And you will be held responsible."

Watson smiled. "No," he said, "I won't. My contract with the army is classified. Revealing any details of my involvement would violate a number of national security protocols." His smile vanished. "You say one word," he went on, his voice cold, "and I'll see to it you spend the rest of your military career in a cell."

"But," Franklin spluttered, "what am I supposed to do about this mess?"

"Your problem," Watson replied, turning away, "not mine." Without another word, he left the office, moving through the building and out the front door. As he strode down the sidewalk toward his car, a sudden thought made him smile.

"Time to buy more panties."

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18.07.14

story continues in The Babe Bomb 2

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