“Name?” he said as a smaller, more serious-looking Sadian set about putting boxing gloves on Harr.
“Harr, Don.”
“Captain?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, ‘Captain Harr Don’ it is. Height?”
“No, wait. Say it like ‘Captain Harr, first name is Don’ and that way it won’t sound—”
“Height?”
Harr sighed. “Around six feet.”
“Unfortunate. Weight?”
“Two hundred and twenty pounds, last checked.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I could stand to lose a few,” admitted Harr.
“Professional record?”
“For boxing?”
“No,” the man replied with a fixed stare, “for flower-bouquet decorating prowess. Yes, for boxing.”
“I’m not a professional, so—”
“Zero and zero, then. Clean slate. Too bad it’ll be zero and one by the end of the first round.”
“He’s that good, is he?”
“The best. Undefeated in nearly two hundred bouts.”
“Any suggestions?” asked Harr.
“Run?”
The man walked over to the little table and handed the form he’d been working on to a Sadian who was wearing a tuxedo. These people really took their boxing seriously.
After multiple attempts, they finally found a pair of gloves that would fit Harr, but even the ones they settled on were quite snug. That’s when the man who had taken his details came back.
“Name’s Ugger,” he said. “I’m in your corner along with Coobs here. Give me a quick rundown on what we’re working with. You got any formal training?”
“Just boot camp hand-to-hand combat tactics from my home world of Segnal,” Harr answered.
“Been in a ring before?”
“A couple of times.”
“Know what a left hook is?”
“Of course.”
“Right hook?”
“Same as the left, but from the opposite side?” Harr answered with a heavy dose of snark.
“Uppercut?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good. You can’t use any of those. They’re not allowed.”
“What?”
“Only jabs are allowed in a real-man’s boxing match.”
“Uh…” Harr replied with a squint.
“Ever knocked anyone out in the ring?” Ugger continued his questioning.
“Not with a jab,” Harr answered, and then added, “Look, I told you already, I’m not a professional.”
“All right, all right,” Ugger said, “just calm down. Now, here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll go in and make a show of it, see? Dance around a little, take a few jabs, that kind of thing. As soon as Razzin lands the first punch, you fall down, and I’ll throw in the towel.”
“What?”
“It’s the best strategy.”
“I’m not taking a dive,” Harr said with a frown.
Ding ding ding!
“Your call, buddy,” Ugger said. “Any next of kin I should notify?”
Gentlemen and, well, other gentlemen, it’s about toooooooooooooo happennnnnnnnnnnn!
(cheers)
Live from the Sadian Barracks in West Yalps, we present the fight of the night…or afternoon, as the case may be.
(cheers)
In this corner, standing roughly six feet tall and weighing in around two hundred pounds, with a record of zero and zero, coming to you from the planet of Segnal as part of the Segnal Space Marine Corps, the challenger, Captain Harrrrrrrr Donnnnnnnn!
(laughter)
And in this corner, standing four feet, one inch, and weighing in at seventy-seven pounds, with a record of one hundred ninety-seven wins and zero losses, originally from the eastern part of Bladinger Heights, the reigning Champion of the World…Reldo “The Wrecker” Razzin!
(cheers and whistles)
Your referee for this bout is Axen Rems.
(mild, sporadic clapping)
“All right,” the ref said, “bring it in. I want a clean fight. When I say ‘break,’ you break. Obey my commands at all times. Any questions?” Both fighters shook their heads. “Back to your corners.”
“Last chance, pal,” Ugger said.
“I’m not taking a dive.”
“I’ll keep the towel handy in case you change your mind.”
The bell rang and Harr came out to the center of the ring with his hands up to protect his chin. He quickly adjusted them lower, seeing as there was little chance that Razzin could reach his chin.
Razzin’s footwork was impressive. He hopped from left to right with the grace of a deer in a meadow, but when he reached out for a quick jab, the distance his hand traveled was so short that Harr didn’t even have to move.
Then, with a burst of speed, Razzin came in with his fists flying. Harr instinctively reached out and put his hand on Razzin’s head, keeping the man at bay as his tiny arms blurred in a swarm of speedy punches.
The ref slapped Harr’s hand away, but Harr put it right back. The ref slapped it away again. Harr put it back again. This happened repeatedly until the ref yelled, “Time.” He then instructed Razzin to take his corner and he pushed Harr over to his. “You can’t put your hand on his head.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s in the rules.”
“Oh,” said Harr. “Well, what else can’t I do, then?”
“You mean you don’t know the rules?”
“Apparently not for your brand of boxing.”
“Fine,” the ref said. “No kicking, biting, spitting, kneeing, throwing, name-calling or putting your hand on your opponent’s head to keep him at bay.”
“So, we can only throw punches?”
“Well, you can block them too.”
“Right.”
The ref jumped out into the middle of the ring and made a cutting motion with his hand to signify it was time for the fighters to resume.
Harr took the center of the ring as quickly as possible. Razzin zipped in and threw a number of jabs. None of them connected. The speed that the little fellow moved made it difficult for Harr to get a lock on his head, but soon a pattern emerged. Two hops left, one right, jab. One left, one right, two jabs. One left, two right, jab.
Harr let the rhythm sink in while readying his onslaught, and then unleashed a straight punch that caught Razzin square in the kisser, knocking him off his feet and landing him flat on his back, unmoving.
The crowd silenced.
“Huh,” Harr said while standing over the fallen Razzin. “That was easier than expected.”
Ref Rems stood for a moment in shocked silence, but soon remembered his duty and started the count. Once he hit ten, he waved his arms and the crowd cheered louder than before. They had a new champion.
Your winner, by way of knockout, and newwwwwwwwwwwww Champion of the World…Captain Harr Don!
The cheers were deafening as Harr left the ring, leaving a beaten Razzin to the care of physicians.
Little hands slapped him on his lower back as he exited the building. Ugger was in tow, offering to be his manager. As he passed one of the kiosks, he noted an exceptionally entrepreneurial Sadian who was already making “Captain Harr Don” T-shirts available for order.
PAPERWORK
The next morning, Drill Sergeant Razzin was even more obstinate than he’d been the day before. Obviously, he was a sore loser. It probably didn’t help that his left eye was all but swollen shut. Harr felt oddly good about that.
“The real fun is about to begin, soldiers,” Razzin said. “You’ll have to work your tails off if you’re to earn the right to be in this man’s army.”
“And, per regulation 2299G,” noted Woor, “woman’s army, even if there aren’t any yet.”
“Now, drop and give me twenty!”
“Wait a second, here, Razzin,” Harr said, stepping forward and causing Razzin to get into a fighting stance.
&
nbsp; “Watch yourself, mister.”
“I don’t want to fight you again,” Harr said with a grimace. “Wasn’t much of a fight anyway.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Look, we had a deal. You said if any one of us beat you in the ring, boot camp was going to be lax on the physical. If you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, you’ll have zero respect from my crew.”
“So, that’s how it works on Segnal, eh?” Razzin said, lowering his fists. “You make a bet and welsh on the outcome and you’re considered slimy for that?”
“Pretty much, yes,” Harr replied. “Actually, I’d argue that’s true on every planet.”
“Well, not on Sadian, mister. We welsh on bets all the time here. If we didn’t, we’d all be broke!”
“Not all of you,” noted Harr. “That would be impossible. Someone has to win those bets, obviously.”
“Enough talk,” Razzin commanded in a voice that meant business. “Drop and give me twenty.”
Harr stood tall and crossed his arms defiantly.
“Did you not hear me, Harr?”
“I heard you just fine,” Harr said. “I’m just not going to comply.”
“Is that so? Well, let’s just see how tough you are when I put a little squeeze on your team.” He turned to the rest of the squad, who had by now hopped back to their feet. “It seems that your captain, here, thinks he’s above doing the things that a recruit is expected to do. Since that’s the case, all of you are going to pick up his slack! Now, drop and give me a hundred!”
Again, they all dropped and started doing push-ups. Harr just glowered at Razzin and smiled in a not-so-friendly way.
The little man was employing the correct tactic. Make all the others do extra work so that the one slacker ended up in their crosshairs. Eventually that slacker would be the hardest-working bastard in the bunch, after he’d healed from the beatings, of course. But, obviously, Razzin hadn’t gotten the memo about Platoon F being full of androids.
“It looks like your metal-man feels he’s above being a soldier too, eh?”
“Nope, chief,” Geezer replied before Harr could. “I just can’t physically do a push-up.”
Razzin glanced at Harr. “Is that true?”
“It’s true. Look at his body shape and his arms. Frankly, he shouldn’t even be out here. His battery isn’t going to last forever.”
“What’s he good for, then?”
“He’s the ship’s engineer,” Harr answered. “He keeps the ship running. You can tell by looking at him that he wasn’t built for fighting, jogging, sprinting, or any other demanding physical activity.”
“Then why did you bring him down here?”
“Following orders…sir.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” said Razzin while taking a step backward and throwing his arms up. “You’re one of those types who follows orders when it’s convenient.” He turned to the crew. “Drop and give me another hundred.” They dropped and started pumping their arms without hesitation. Razzin walked up and down the line and saw that the soldiers weren’t tired in the least. “They’re a resilient bunch,” he said when he’d returned to Harr.
“Yep,” agreed Harr. “You can do whatever you want to them. They’re not going to tire out.”
“We’ll see about that,” Razzin said in challenge. “They’re about to go on a ten-mile run.”
“Make it twenty,” Harr replied. “They don’t care.”
“I’ll make it fifty!”
“They won’t even break a sweat.”
“You’re pretty damned confident in your soldiers, Captain.”
“Supremely…sir.”
That stopped Razzin in his tracks. He stared up at Harr for a few moments before he slowly started to nod. Then he squinted and studied back over the rest of the bunch, stopping to scoff at Geezer.
Harr felt bad for faulting the man. He was only doing his job. It wasn’t easy being a drill instructor. Sure, you got to yell at people all day, and you got to inflict all sorts of punishments simply because you’d had a bad morning, but deep down you knew the recruits hated your guts. Eventually, assuming you did your job right, they’d learn to respect you. Hell, they’d eventually thank the stars you were there to whip them into shape should an actual battle ever come to their doorstep. Until then, though, you were the enemy.
“I hate to say it,” Razzin said quietly, “but I admire that in a leader. It’s a shame that they’re going to hate you after I put them through the wringer.”
The androids did their final twenty push-ups and then stood in unison. None of them were breathing heavily and there wasn’t a bead of sweat to be found.
“Huh. That’s odd. It’s like they haven’t stressed themselves in the least.”
“Told you.”
“Well,” Razzin said, putting his hands on his hips, “if I have no leverage on you or your squad, why the hell are you here?”
“Frexle told us to be here,” Harr answered. “Frankly, I’m not sure what it is you’re supposed to be teaching us. We can obviously outdo you in physical tests, and at hand-to-hand combat you were no match for me—no offense. What else is there that you could possibly excel at that we don’t?”
Razzin snapped his fingers and pointed at Harr. “Paperwork.”
“What?”
“The Overseers love paperwork, which is how we became part of their clique in the first place.” Razzin had the look of a man who’d struck gold. “Reports, updates, spreadsheets, presentations, and things of that nature. Reams and reams of paper filled with all variants of statistical analysis. They love it. We’re good at it. That’s what you’re going to learn.”
Harr felt a tightness in his chest. “Actually,” he said with a gulp, “maybe those push-ups aren’t such a bad idea after all.”
THE UPDATE
The only thing worse than standing in front of the senate was having a one-on-one with Veli. There was something intimidating enough about the Lord Overseer that made Frexle fight to keep his blood pressure under control. It probably had to do with the fact that Veli was ever in the shadows. No, that couldn’t be it. He’d been summoned to numerous meetings with council officials and senators who kept themselves as secretive as Veli. Whatever it was that was different about Veli, it served to keep Frexle on his toes.
“How’s this crew of yours doing?” Veli said between what Frexle assumed were chews, since there was a grating sound of loud crunches, and it was dinnertime.
“Razzin says that they were incredibly adept at both the physical work and the paperwork, my lord. All except for their captain, anyway.”
“Oh?”
“It seems that he was incapable of competing with his crew in the number-crunching arena. Razzin remarked that all but Harr were insanely fast at running reports.”
“Shows that their captain is the real brains,” Veli pointed out.
“Sorry, sir?”
“Think about it, Frexle,” Veli said after a crunch and what sounded like a cut-off cry. “He can probably outdo anyone on his crew. But to do that would mean he’d be on their level, so he did what any wise leader would do: very little.”
“That does seem to be the case with leaders,” Frexle said without thinking.
“Watch yourself, Frexle.”
“Present company excluded, of course, Lord Overseer.”
“Of course,” Veli said as a little creature ran across his desk. A black whip flew out and snapped it right back into the shadows with a squeal. “What’s the next step?”
Frexle gulped. “Get them out into the field, my lord.”
“Good. The planet of Kallian has made too many strides as it is. They’re only a couple of days away from testing their warp technology. If that test succeeds, you know what happens?”
“Faster-than-light travel?”
“Besides that.”
“Annihilation of their species,” Frexle stated softly.
“Everyone on the senate knows that this is the only poss
ible outcome, but we’re following your lead on this, Frexle. If this Platoon F of yours succeeds with their mission and our popularity rating continues to drop while the HadItWithTheKillings group rises, you and I are going to have a very short talk.”
“You mean a long talk, my lord?”
“No, a short one.” There was another crunch. “It doesn’t take much talk to kill you. For example, I’ll say something like, ‘Now you die,’ and then I will kill you. See? Short talk.”
“But, my lord, you must see that I’m just the messenger in all of this? I brought you the reports and offered a possible solution, nothing more.”
“Poor Frexle,” Veli said with a chuckle. “Haven’t you heard the old saying that you always kill the messenger?”
“With all due respect, Lord Overseer, I believe the saying is, ‘Don’t kill the messenger.’”
“Maybe where you come from,” Veli replied after another crunch.
CREW MEETING
Androids or not, everyone on the Reluctant’s bridge was beat. Harr didn’t know if it was part of their programming to show fatigue after a while or if working with spreadsheets affected all races the same way, even digital ones. This was a first where he was the least fatigued person on the ship. Mostly because he’d acted in a supervisory role on Sadian.
Android software had built-in curiosity and emotion, and they were developed to be as close to human as possible, so much so that it had taken Harr half of their first mission together to realize that they were androids. Because of this, Harr made it a point to treat them like he’d treat any human soldier.
“Listen up,” he said from his chair. Sandoo stoically stood. “Sit back down, Commander. Be at ease.” Sandoo complied. “Okay, people, I know about as much as you do regarding the plan for this crew; but, whatever happens, just remember that my top priority is to keep you all safe.”
Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2) Page 4