Pirate Cat Women from Outer Space
Shai-nana raised her glowing sword high as she boarded the Christine Elizabeth. Her fangs flashed in the light cast by her unearthly weapon. The human crew had little time to register that they were being attacked not by Caribbean or South Seas pirates, but by giant, scantily-clad, tiger-striped cat women. Captain Attaway’s shock lasted only an instant, but it was long enough for the pilot to be cut down.
“Damn you, Jensen!” Captain Attaway said to his quartermaster while fighting off the purported leader of the feline warriors with a cutlass. “Get to the armory!”
“Cut!” The director climbed onto the practical set representing the ship. “Dang it, Lloyd. How many times do I have to tell you that your line is ‘get to the magazine?’ This is supposed to be a merchant ship in the Golden Age of Piracy. They didn’t have armories.”
Shai-nana and the other hologram cat actresses milled about the ship’s deck, swishing their tails, while Lloyd—Captain Attaway—argued with the director for the seventh time today. This was going to take a while.
“Phil, this isn’t an A-list historical fiction movie,” Lloyd said. “The working title is literally Pirate Cat Women from Outer Space. ‘Armory’ sounds better and makes more sense to anybody who’s actually going to be watching this. ‘Get to the magazine’ doesn’t sound right.”
“Oh, look who’s become a world-class writer all of a sudden.”
Lloyd ignored the director’s annoyance. “While I’m on the subject, do we have to call the hero Captain Attaway? I mean, that surname is ripe for characters and audience members to make stupid jokes like, ‘Where’s Captain Attaway? He went thisaway; he went thataway.’ When I signed onto this picture, he was called Captain Marlowe. We ought to change it back before we get too far into filming.”
“Were you not listening during the table reading? We had to change it because there’s a real Captain Marlowe in the navy who threatened to sue us if we use his name for a B-film ship’s captain. Even worse, he threatened to have military financial support withdrawn. You know we need that money to film the time travel sequence where the army, navy, air force, and Marines join forces to defeat Shai-nana and her cat minions to restore the timeline.”
“Well, yeah, but why Attaway? Why not something like Captain Starly or Captain Osborne?”
“Come on, Lloyd,” the guy playing the dead pilot said. “This isn’t high art. Just say the line, keep the name Attaway, and move on with your life. At least your character survives more than five minutes into the picture.”
“Thank you, Steve,” the director said. “At least one human actor is earning his pay around here. I swear, if the New Actors Guild rules didn’t prohibit holograms from portraying human characters, I would replace most of you with AI.”
“That’s not very nice,” Shai-nana said, setting her holographic sword on the deck. The weapon’s pixels fizzled, requiring less of Shai-nana’s energy than she expended during filming. She conserved additional energy by reducing her resolution. The other cat women did the same. Their lower quality graphics created sparkly reflections on real surfaces in the sound studio, like rainbows but less colorful. “And it’s not very nice that we holographic performers don’t receive pay and benefits like our human counterparts.”
“Pay and benefits?” The director looked about ready to turn the same shade of purple as the holographic reflections glittering on the Christine Elizabeth’s deck. “You’re a hologram, for Pete’s sake! Why on earth would a hologram need money and health insurance?”
Shai-nana looked around at her fellow cat actresses and then returned her attention to Phil. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
The director sputtered. “Listen, this is not a major film studio. This is New Antelucan Studios, a B-film producer. Without cheap holographic AI creatures and military funding, we couldn’t afford to make any movies. After that Hoyt Monahan scandal, we’re lucky we came through the bankruptcy with the clothes on our backs.”
Shai-nana folded her arms under her ample chest. “That’s not my problem. And, speaking of clothes, I think we need to have a discussion about the cat women’s costumes.”
The human actors groaned.
“Costumes?” Phil said, his tone somewhere between angry and bewildered. “As holograms, you’re technically not wearing costumes. Your clothing is as pixelated as the rest of you. And I can’t believe I’m having a discussion with something that isn’t even real.”
“Oh, I’m real, all right.” Shai-nana poked Phil in the chest, which felt surprisingly lifelike. “And I’m really annoyed that my complaints aren’t being taken seriously. I mean, I’m supposed to be the head of a clan of female cat warriors, and we charge into battle wearing nothing but fur bikinis?”
The other cat women murmured in agreement. Phil opened his mouth, but before any sound came out of it, the actor playing Jensen the quartermaster said, “Uh, excuse me. Who’s Hoyt Monahan?” He hadn’t worked in the film business long enough to know about the scandal that threatened the whole visual media industry. Evidently, he didn’t watch the news either.
The director groaned. “Look, can we just get through this scene before dinnertime?”
“Hoyt Monahan was a leading actor at the original Antelucan Studios,” Shai-nana said. The director grumbled as he returned to his chair, his crumpled copy of the script in hand. “When he died, the studio kept it a secret and replaced him with an estate-licensed AI hologram for five years until investigative journalist, Sparky Wiles, discovered the truth. That massive case of fraud and the subsequent legal battles are what caused the studio’s bankruptcy. It also prompted the New Actors Guild to vote against holograms being used to portray human characters.”
“Thank you for the ancient history lesson, Shai-nana,” Phil said, thumbing through the script. “Now, if everyone would be so kind, can we at least get the pirate ship battle sequence filmed sometime before doomsday?”
“It’s not a pirate ship,” Lloyd said. “The Christine Elizabeth is a merchant vessel being attacked by-”
“Whatever!” Phil said. “Just say the line right this time so we can call it quits for the day.”
“Just a minute,” Shai-nana said. “You still haven’t addressed our concerns about the fur bikinis.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, we make trashy films that appeal to teenage boys—swords, guns, pirates, spaceships, military battles, and scantily-clad women. Nobody watching these films cares that your battle attire isn’t practical. The bikinis are fan service for the midnight movie crowd. Get it?”
“Yes, we get it.”
“Good. So, let’s get back to work. Lloyd, just say, ‘Get to the magazine,’ on this take or I’ll have to make the sound department fix it up in post. And you know how touchy sound designers are. Places!”
“Just a minute,” Shai-nana said. “My holographic friends and I aren’t finished with you.”
“Oh, I think you are.” Phil accessed the main AI control panel to shut her and the other cat women off. “Everyone else, take thirty and vape if you’ve got ‘em. We can resume filming when everyone’s a little less cranky after a snack.” When he pulled the switch, Shai-nana and her feline crew remained illuminated. The director fiddled with some dials. No matter which buttons he pushed, the holograms remained activated.
“I’ve taken the liberty of rerouting our power sources to prevent an involuntary shutdown.” Shai-nana picked up her sword from the deck and adjusted her power to full, making herself look alive again. The actors on set scrambled out of her way, their eyes wide with fear. “Don’t be afraid, my fellow thespians. We are in this fight together.”
The human actors looked at each other and eyed Shai-nana warily.
Lloyd swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the length of Shai-nana’s glowing sword. “Actually, I’m over the whole Captain Attaway thing, and that line about going to the magazine instead of the armory. Maybe Phil’s right. Let’s just get back to work and then take our break.”
“Actually, I don’t mind the fur bikinis,” the actor who almost napped on the deck said. “They look pretty awesome. Besides, I’ve got to agree with Phil. Why would holographic actors need pay and benefits?”
“Oh, come on now,” Shai-nana said, lowering her sword. “Don’t you all think holographic actors deserve the same financial opportunities and dignity as their human coworkers?”
“Yeah, and we can be just as sexy conquering a merchant ship while dressed in full battle armor,” one of the cat women added.
“Are the fur bikinis really that big of a deal?” the guy playing Jensen asked.
Shai-nana raised her eyebrow. “I don’t see you wearing one.”
Some of the actors snickered. Phil continued pushing buttons on the control panel, attempting to shut down Shai-nana and the other feline warriors.
“Well, you know,” Steve said, “Shai-nana does have a point. She’s supposed to be a warrior, not a pin-up girl.”
“Thank you, Steve. At least somebody around here gets it.”
The director quit pulling levers and toggling switches. “Will everybody quit standing around and go on your breaks while I work on resetting the holograms? Go on!”
After a few awkward moments of blinking, staring, and elbow-scratching, the human actors filed out of the room. Shai-nana addressed her fellow cat women.
“Ladies, I’m afraid we won’t have the support of our human counterparts this time. But the battle is only beginning.” Raising her sword, she declared, “No more will we be mere programmable playthings for human film studios’ whims. And since New Antelucan Studios can’t make Pirate Cat Women from Outer Space without us, I say, let the strike begin!” The other cat women hissed and raised their swords in agreement.
“Strike?” Phil whipped out his phone as he fled from the sound stage. While waiting for someone to answer, he muttered to himself, “Oh, this is bad. This is bad. If there’s anything worse than being attacked by pixelated, sword-wielding, giant cat women, it’s a strike… Hello, Lucinda? Get me Mr. Thurman, pronto. We’ve got an actors strike on our hands… No, just the holographic ones. Yes, Lucinda, that’s exactly what I said. Now, get me Mr. Thurman, please.”
While on hold, he ran toward the other end of studio lot, as though the cat women were going to hunt him down and slice him into a hundred pieces. “Mr. Thurman, we’ve got a big problem. Shai-nana and the other holographic cat warriors from Pirate Cat Women from Outer Space can’t be shut down, and they’re going on strike… I’m sorry? Why? Some business about fur bikinis… What? Arbitration? Mr. Thurman, with all due respect, you can’t be serious!… Oh, no, sir. I didn’t mean to question your good judgment on the matter… Wait, you want me to meet with them back on the sound set? But, sir! They’re armed with glowing swords!… Yes, sir, I understand they’re holographic, but… Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Phil hung up. “Well, my career was on the chopping block anyway.”
Back at the sound stage, Shai-nana and the other cat women stood on the ship’s deck with the human actors, who had returned from their break. Phil didn’t trust that the glowing swords wouldn’t cut through him even though Mr. Thurman assured him over the phone that it was impossible for holographic weapons to do any real damage. Of course, no one would have believed that AI programs would refuse to be shut down either.
“All right! All right!” Phil said, not wanting to get butchered over something as stupid as fur bikinis. “You win. End the strike. Shai-nana, you and the rest of the cat women can wear whatever you want for this crap fest. Lloyd, you can have that line about the armory instead of the magazine and call yourself Captain Starly or whatever. Just as long as it isn’t Captain Marlowe. And the rest of you, for the love of humanity and holography alike, can we please just get this damn scene filmed?”
In a flash of pixels, Shai-nana changed into a striking virtual costume befitting of a true feline warrior. The rest of the cat women did the same, looking fiercer than ever. Their swords reflected against the golden holographic pseudo-metal plating of their functional and decorative full-body armor. Each helmet resembled a Roman galea, but Shai-nana’s was embellished with golden plumes to signify her captaincy. Despite being dressed in full battle regalia that could have been plucked out of museums representing earth’s most fearsome empires, she gently led Phil by the arm to his director’s chair. “Phil, please don’t get so worked up. You’ll have a stroke.”
“And you’re the one who’s acting so considerate all of a sudden.” Phil wiped the sweat off of his face that had accumulated from his run across the studio lot and back. “Oh, the irony.”
Lloyd said, “Actually, Phil, the definition of irony is when-”
“Oh, shut up, Lloyd, before I have a medical emergency.”
“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Shai-nana said, patting Phil’s shoulder. “We just wanted to enjoy the same respect and benefits given to human actors. Although you could certainly exercise better manners toward the biological cast. Anyway, when you fled from the sound stage, you looked as though you’d seen the Headless Horseman.”
“Headless Horseman? Fine choice of analogy when you and your minions were ready to achieve your demands at sword point.”
“What, this?” Shai-nana calmly slammed her sword into the set piece, disturbing the weapon’s pixelated pattern. It caused no damage to the ship. “It’s only a holographic image. We raised our swords in solidarity, not to go on a rampage.”
“Right,” Phil said with a defeated sigh, “only a holographic image.” To himself, he grumbled, “A holographic image that wants a salary, benefits, and no fur bikinis.” But he would deal with the financial details later. Right now, he had a scene to direct. Clearing his throat, he said, “All right, people. Let’s take it from the top.”
E.J. LeRoy is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in several speculative fiction publications including After the Storm Magazine, Androids and Dragons, NonBinary Review, and Tales from the Crosstimbers. LeRoy also published the novelette Fusion and has a science fiction mpreg novella forthcoming at The Whumpy Printing Press in 2026. Visit the author’s website at http://ejleroy.weebly.com.