Five, six…
Jeb grabbed a piece of the platform that had been snapped off in the battle. He flung it toward the broken bit of Gel.
Seven, eight…
The piece of Gel smacked against the board, bounced off it and headed back toward the rest of his body. Gel reached out with a long pseudopod to grab it and suck it back into himself.
LaFuentes yelled, “Dolfrick, ten more seconds!” as he shot the sharpshooter who had tried to injure his minion.
Nine…
Gel smacked against Loreli’s chest, startling her conscious.
“Gel!”
“Pardon me, Ma’am. Thrilling heroics. No time to explain. Just, uh, relax.”
Loreli squealed and giggled as he spread himself thin over her and oozed down her body.
Twenty three, twenty-four.
The world began to sparkle around them.
Jeb and LaFuentes rematerialized aboard the Impulsive next to the huge stinky vat. The barricades were around them, and Loreli was safely in the slop.
“You’re welcome,” Dolfrick said.
Weak as she was, Loreli still managed to complain that Gel was tickling her.
Beside her, the slop began to bubble, then a mound of sludge grew. Someone of the botany team gasped, then the sludge sloughed off and Minion First Class Gel O’Tin, Hero of the Day and the only creature known to get so intimate with their ship’s sexy, emerged and glopped out of the vat.
“Sorry for that,” he said. “We were in kind of a time crunch. Normally, I like to take things more slowly.”
“Ay!” LaFuentes snapped.
Loreli leaned against the vat. Already, her skin was starting to return to a healthier green. “Thank you. You saved me. Against all odds and any logic, you’ve come through again.” She gave each of them a weary, pale, yet completely stunning smile. A couple of the team, including the doctor, blushed. Enigo stuck out his chest.
But Jeb? He was just glad to have his Sprout back aboard.
***
Captain’s Personal Log, Intergalactic Date 67698.02
…and as soon as we were aboard, Smythe ordered our hasty exit. We got out of the system before any weapons could mobilize. So far no Keepout forces have pursued. Not the easy solution we’d hoped for but didn’t expect, but the successful one we wanted.
Loreli is in a special alcove in Sickbay, still in the vat of nutrients and being misted ‘round the clock. She’s already looking better. Her trunk is again splitting to legs, and the doctor said she should be ambulatory in a few weeks. Engineering set her up with a humidity-resistant console, and she’s already hard at deskwork. Which is good. I think she needs the distraction, considering the mission, in her opinion, was such a dismal failure.
I disagree, of course; after all, except for Loreli, who was the victim of a terrorist attack, no member of the Impulsive placed any contamination whatsoever on Keepout. In this whole Human-GON encounter we took the high ground and held it.
I’m going to go talk to her, as soon as I get the debrief from Wylson.
As Jeb looked at the split screen showing all three of Wylson’s heads, he marveled that a creature with one brain could hold so many opinions.
Wylson 1 had a call from Keepout and excused himself to take it. The privacy shield was on, but Jeb could see he was agitated. He’d taken control of an extra tentacle just to fling it about in frustration. Meanwhile, the others kept talking with Jeb.
“Are you kidding?” Wylson 2 said to his own other face. “I saw that throw! The Captain just grabbed a piece of, of debris and whirled it at his security officer. It was, as the humans say, Herculean.”
“Thank you. And all this time, I’d thought three years of disc golf in high school was only good for getting my sports letter so I could make it to the Academy.”
Wylson 3 cut in. “You fired on civilians!”
“We shot at terrorists. They were killing all the dignitaries and scientists, too, you know. Did anyone die, by the way?”
“Apparently, an underling. They didn’t mention his name, only that he had a red thorax. But you also destroyed the shield generator.”
“Which was the only way we could save our crewman and protect their planet’s soil sanctity. We did an analysis and found despite everything, Loreli and Gel combined retained only .0034 grams per cubic meter. That’s better than the Logics did at their last visit in ‘5776. We even ran Gel through the teleporter, removed the rest of the foreign elements and sent them back.”
That had been Dour’s idea. The security chief was always up for a challenge. A detailed transport at sublight-away through the shields had made his day. Jeb had even allowed him to wear his black robes for a shift to celebrate.
“Didn’t they shoot at you?”
Jeb shrugged. “We were too fast for them.”
“You went down there armed for a fight.”
“We went down there ready to defend ourselves.”
“Come on, Wy,” Wylson 2 said. “You were facing the other way. The Impulsive officers were amazing – the epitome of everything good about their species.”
“Shucks, thank you, Wylson.”
“I don’t agree!” Wylson 3 said.
“Then, up your third, sir.”
The privacy shield around Wylson 1 snapped shut and the head spun around, with protests from the other two. Wylson faced the captain. “This is all a moot point now. The GONs have broken off relations, armed their buoys and recalled all their people.”
Jeb raised a brow. He’d expected the reaction from the GONs, but not that Wylson would call them by the human slang. Looked like another head had had their fill of the species.
“Good riddance!” Wylson 2 said.
“Let me talk to them,” Wylson 3 argued.
“No. It’s done. They need to get themselves in order. The Union has enough drama dealing with humans – no offense.”
“None taken. We excel at drama.”
“I have let them know that we are willing to reopen channels as soon as they are willing to accept a diplomat of our choice. I think we’ll send a Huagg.” All the Wylsons smiled a tight, determined smile.
* * *
Despite the shield that was supposed to hold in moisture, Sickbay felt more humid than usual to Jeb. The Doctor was in his office, working on…something. Jeb felt certain he always kept handy a few vials of something colorful to stick in a scanner when he wasn’t interested in talking to people. He waved for him to continue his research – real or pretend – and wandered to Loreli’s alcove.
She was working on a portable console, her back to the room and earbuds in. Probably Mozart; even among alien plants, human classical music seemed to stimulate growth. Her color was back to its original green, and a seat had been put into her vat. This was a good sign; she had legs rather than a trunk to sustain her.
Jeb rapped on the side of the alcove.
“Captain!” Loreli rose and swished to face him. She was thinner, he saw, her chest not as buxom, but still in a classic athletic form many found appealing. Her uniform was smoother and tighter to match. She was such a professional.
He glanced at her hands. “Lin did a fine job.”
She smiled, “And I’m caught up on ship’s gossip. Did you really goose Commander Deary?”
“That was on the Graptarian ship. I was newly converted and a little enthusiastic. Enough about me,” he said. “How are you?”
She knew he meant emotionally rather than physically. “Lin also told me about Keepout. Of all the missions to go FUBAR, I did not expect it to be by me.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Lieutenant. That was the terrorists. The GONs have some growing up to do before they’re ready for the Union.”
“I suppose.”
“Hey, did I ever tell you about my family?”
“You’re ranchers?”
“That was just my direct line. I’ve got this one umpteenth-great uncle, Grant. He’s family legend. Mom said I must have som
e Uncle Grant in me.”
“Oh?” She pulled her chair around. Everyone knew when a senior officer started sharing personal or family stories, there was a moral attached. It paid to listen.
“’It’s the wanderlust,’ she said. He had it, too, but this was in the time of fossil fuel transportation. He became what they called a door-to-door salesman, traveling around, visiting people and trying to get them to buy his stuff.”
“Like I was trying to ‘sell’ membership to the Union?” Loreli asked.
Jeb nodded. Normally, he’d playfully chide a crewman who interrupted his story to get to the point, but for Loreli, he’d make an exception. “He had a motto that traveled throughout the generations of Tiberiuses: Sometimes, when you stick your foot in the door, someone’ll slam the door on it.”
He smacked the side of the alcove, mainly so the author had a definitive transition for him, and pointed at her console. “Don’t work too hard. Once you’ve nursed that sore foot back to health, I expect you back on the road.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Jebediah.”
“Anytime, Sprout.”
Day in the Life
In the life of every SF series, there comes a time when it has a “filler episode.” You know the type: cute, personality driven, day-in-the-life of some minor character that is more about showing the main characters in a casual plotline that probably does not involve phasers. The episode ends happy and unsurprising, and you may never see the protagonist again. (Unless the audience loves them so much, the actor/actress gets asked to come back and join the life of fame, fortune, and conventions. And if they aren’t, they may still find fame and fortune with some other series, but are doomed to go to cons forever pegged as “That girl in the filler episode, um, um… You know, the one where we follow her around the ship doing…something? She was cute, but we never saw her again. Oh, well, it wasn’t much of an episode…”)
Well, dear readers, we have approached that time here! I promise the character will be cute, as will the vignettes. I also promise there are breadcrumbs important to later episodes, because I hate useless fillers. And if you like the character, let me know in the comments and maybe it’ll return.
“It,” you say? Read on.
One of the best parts of being in HuFleet is that the only times you have to sweep or dust are while a newb at the Academy or when on a planet trying to fit in with the native population, which is why they still require you to take Primitive Housekeeping 101 at the Academy. The rest of the time, you only need to do such mundane chores if you enjoy it and aren’t interested in getting psychiatric help for your delusion.
We open our story on the trail of a Janbot 3000, series 5, as it scurries along the hallways of the Impulsive, following a track only it and the mathematicians who programmed it understand to be the most efficient route. Its tiny brushes whir under its base and on the sidearm it uses to clear the corners, sockets and baseboard area. The collected dust, microbes and alien matter are analyzed for potential dangers unnoticed by humans. Any potential threats are reported to Ops and the appropriate science or engineering department. Then the particulates are incinerated and the resulting energy used to fuel janbot on its way.
Some might say this is impossible, but thanks to the Theory of Overcompensation of Power, it’s perfectly possible on a janbot scale, since the batteries are made with unobtanium. They’re far too expensive for the average household, however, and reserved only for deep space missions, the extremely wealthy, and those who thought getting counseling to overcome their housekeeping fetish was a good idea.
Its processors are capable of recording and analyzing millions of bits of information per second. As it weaves around crew on its mission, it keeps track of what’s going on around it. These records have saved a ship on more than one occasion. (We have to catch the saboteur! Were there any janbots in Engineering? Well, what do you know – Derek. Of course, it was a Derek.) In addition, it keeps track of which crewmen take the time to step around it, greet it or even give it a compliment or thanks. Such crewmen often found their rooms extra clean and a mint on their pillows. Very few crewmen make the connection, however, and those that do are not eager to share their knowledge. The mints are that good. Some very special ones got an extra surprise, like fresh-cut flowers.
This particular janbot was a roamer, which meant it had free rein over the Impulsive’s common areas. There are special janbots for engineering, for the computer core, for medical and, of course, for the kattboxes. It visits several areas on a regular schedule, but some days, it moves at random, hitting areas only it and the Omnipotent Narrator feel necessary for the day and plot purposes.
It does not communicate except with the occasional tweets and whirs programmed after R2D2, which janbot greatly admires and would strive to be if it didn’t look more like that imperial droid on the death star which only seemed to be around to show that the Empire could make small robots, too. Just like in Star Wars, the janbot was generally unobtrusive unless it got in the way of an unwitting alien. In fact, deep in janbot’s programming lay a secret longing to encounter a large, hairy alien in chains that would roar threateningly at it. Sometimes, when it was in its charger, it would emit a terrified squeal, just to practice, stumping Deary’s engineering team who thought androids only dreamed of electric sheep.
But otherwise, as noted, it remained unobtrusive, such as you’ll see in the next installment. For now, let’s leave janbot in the training room where the security team is watching the log of a Union mission.
Little janbot scooted merrily around the edges of the training room, picking up the dust and hair that often gathered into the corners. “Dust bunny prevention” was one of its primary mission objectives. Meanwhile, the security team was focused on watching a recording of a mission log of Union ship in peril.
The assailant held a phaser to the man’s neck. From the insignia, the hostage was part of Engineering, but not the chief. From the look of concern on the Captain’s face, however, this was obviously a person who played a recurring role in keeping the ship safe. The Captain held up his hand to the security team behind him and they hesitated, but stood ready.
The assailant said, “Drop your weapons.” In lieu of an exclamation mark, he pushed the phaser deeper into his hostage’s neck.
“Captain?” a security officer asked.
“Do it!” the Captain said and led the way by gingerly setting his down.
“Kick them to me. Good. Now lower the shields and let my team on board.”
“We can’t do that,” the Captain said.
The assailant didn’t bother to hesitate. He simply shot one of the security team, who obviously did not have a recurring role in saving the ship.
“No!” The horrified look on the Captain’s face showed he was not expecting such drastic response.
“Lower the shields!”
Defeated, the Captain went to an engineering console and complied.
Security Chief Enigo LaFuentes snapped his fingers, and the replay stopped. The lights went up. He took center stage.
“It took the crew of the Valiant Intentions three days and two expendables to get out of this mess. Who’s expendable on the Impulsive?”
“Not me, sir!” the security team, shift B, shouted with practiced unity and absolutely no hint that most were nursing hangovers and had half-napped during the holovid. The party to celebrate Minion Gel’s heroic rescue had been badly timed. Next time, some vowed, they’d invite the lieutenant.
“Who on this ship is expendable?”
“Fracking intruders, sir!”
“Damn right! And it’s our job to never let a fracking intruder have power over us.”
LaFuentes paced the room until he came across Minion Jenkins, who watched with an expression both excited and fearful. “You, newb! What did they do wrong?”
LeRoy gulped under his commanding officer’s glare. LaFuentes eyes seemed to glow with a feral light that made LeRoy want to jump up and run into enemy fire sh
outing his own name. That’s what got him fired from his last job. “The…Captain should not have given up his weapon.”
“Right! So, what do you do?”
“Uh…” Somehow, charging the intruder didn’t seem like the right move.
“Pull out your weapon!”
Everyone obeyed. LaFuentes held his up, his finger on the control button. “What’s this setting?”
“Stun, sir!”
“And what do we do with stun?”
“Shoot them both, sir!”
“But,” LeRoy protested, “if we shoot the hostage…”
LaFuentes shot LeRoy, who slouched in his chair. “You will attend this briefing with A shift, maybe the wiser for your headache,” he told Jenkins, although it was for the benefit of the rest of his people. “Anyone else want to join him?”
“Hell, no, sir!” The room shouted. This was not the first time someone had been stupid during a quarterly refresher class – and no one wanted a phaser headache on top of the ones they already had.
“What do we do in a hostage situation?”
“Stun them both, sir!”
“Stun them both. A headache now saves lives later. Headaches save lives!”
“Headaches save lives, sir!” the team repeated, desperately hoping this was true and the pounding in their own heads would indeed have meaning.
“We are the security forces of the Impulsive. We do not let intruders control the situation. And if the captain says to lower your weapons?”
“Stun them, anyway!”
“Why?”
“Headaches save lives!”
“Sir? What if the intruder is impervious to stun?”
LaFuentes stopped and wiped some spittle from his mouth. “Tank, grab Jenkins.”
The largest and most muscular minion on B shift rose from his chair. He took LeRoy by the scruff of his uniform and held him up. LaFuentes supported the unconscious minion while he directed Tank to grab his phaser, hold it to Jenkins’ neck and use Jenkins as a shield. When he’d done so, LaFuentes let go. Tank dipped a bit as he took on LeRoy’s dead weight.
Hold My Beer Page 10