Harr furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“I mean, I guess it’s kind of dark here in the corner.” Grunt glanced around. “I did request a corner cell.”
“You requested … wait, what the hell are you talking about?”
Grunt stepped back and lifted his fists. “We’re in prison,” he said. “Time to get our fists bloody.”
“I don’t understand,” said Harr. “Why do you want to fight me?”
“It’s simple,” Grunt whined slightly, dropping his arms. “Inmates fight.”
“They do?” Harr replied.
“Of course they do. Haven’t you ever seen any prison movies?”
“I’ve seen a few.” Harr moved back, just in case Grunt lunged. “I see no point in fighting someone merely because we’re in prison together. If anything we should be building alliances, not breaking them.”
“But this was my fantasy!”
“What?” Harr said with a wince. “Your fantasy was to go to prison so you could fight?”
“I’m learning to be tough, guy,” Grunt replied with a hiss. “Now put ‘em up or else.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope,” Grunt said, lunging forward.
Harr snaked a hand out and put it on the guy’s head, keeping him at bay. Grunt was swinging wildly, but he was no match for the strength of a man like Captain Don Harr.
“Stop it,” Grunt said, smacking Harr’s hand away.
“I swear, this is just like fighting a boot camp instructor I once knew.”
Grunt stopped at that statement.
“Wait,” he said. “You’re military?”
“I was. Segnal Space Marine Corps.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Well, this is bullshit,” Grunt said with a frown. “I paid a lot of money and took time off work for this. You’re supposed to be an easy mark. I can’t see how a space marine can be considered an easy mark.” Grunt turned around and grabbed the bars. “Guard! Guard!”
Greps walked down to the cell and put his hands on his hips.
“What?”
“Putting me with this guy isn’t going to work,” complained Grunt.
“Why not?” asked Greps.
“Look at my record,” Grunt demanded.
Greps pulled out his datapad and scanned through for a few moments. Finally, he nodded and then glanced up at Harr apologetically.
“Uh, sorry about the mix-up,” Greps said and then opened the cell. “You’re supposed to be in cell 39, not 29.”
“Who is in cell 39?” asked Grunt.
“Bruno.”
“Bruno? He sounds even tougher than this guy.”
“Trust me. He’ll be perfect for your fantasy.” Greps shut the door and eyed Harr for a second. “Looks like you’re going to have cell 29 all to yourself, 977236. Just stay put.”
“Where else would I go?”
“Exactly.”
Harr was glad to have the cell all to himself. He would still take the bottom bunk, but at least now he’d do it simply out of preference. Not that it really mattered seeing that he wouldn’t be in prison any longer than needed.
His goal was to get to the leader of the Boas, get the information he needed, and then get the hell out.
He sat down, listening to Grunt complain during his entire walk down to cell 39.
“He’d better not be as big as that guy,” said Grunt.
“He’s not.”
“Better not be as muscular either.”
“He’s not.”
“And he’d better be easy to beat up.”
“He’s not … erm, I mean, he is.”
“But you said his name …” Grunt trailed off. “Where is he?”
“Standing right there in the back of the cell.”
“To the left of the sink?”
“No,” said Greps, “that’s a broom. He’s the smaller guy on the right.”
“Oh.” Grunt sounded somewhat elated as the cage opened and closed again. “Come here, punk,” he added.
There were a few yelps and smacks and smashes, along with a number of expletives that flew from Grunt’s lips. Obviously the man was having the time of his life. Harr couldn’t help but feel bad for Bruno.
Greps walked back past and Harr said, “Isn’t that a bit unfair to Bruno?”
“It’s his fantasy, too,” Greps said with a shrug. “Comes in here three times a year to get his ass kicked.”
“Seriously?” Harr replied with a grimace.
“Not as bad as most of the fantasies guys have when they come here,” Greps said. “We only have like one hundred actual criminals in this facility, you know. Everyone else is here as part of a fantasy. The majority of the fantasies are—”
Harr quickly held up his hands. “Don’t want to know,” he said. “Really don’t want to know.”
“Smart,” said Greps as he walked away.
He sighed and sat down on the bottom bunk.
There were so many things in this universe that Harr had found disturbing. But, then again, who was he to judge? He’d just gotten out of a relationship with a woman from another planet who had a tail.
“You Harr?” said a female guard as she approached the cage.
“Yes, ma’am,” Harr said, dragging himself back to his feet, “or 977236, depending on who you ask.”
“I’m Officer Maven,” she whispered. “I’m your inside man.”
Harr glanced at her breasts. “Um. Okay.”
Just then, another guard walked up and stood next to Officer Maven. This guy seemed to be her superior officer. Either that or he wasn’t in on the job that Harr was involved with, because as soon as the guy arrived, Officer Maven’s demeanor changed completely.
“I’m going to show you the ropes real quick,” she said and then opened the flap of her jacket to display a set of ropes. She speedily slapped the jacket back in place.
“Wow,” Harr said with a grimace.
“You’re going to be in here a while,” she said. “Maybe you’d like a book?”
“Uh … I guess so. Sure.”
“We’ve got many to choose from,” Officer Maven said. “There’s one about anti-gravity that I just couldn’t put down.”
Harr couldn’t manage more than a disbelieving blink in response.
“If you need to call any of the other prisoners, you can use a cell phone.”
“These are awful,” Harr said while shaking his head.
“I’d give you a nasty look,” Officer Maven replied without missing a beat, “but it looks like you already have one.”
Harr groaned. “I take it this is how you punish the prisoners?”
“Is that a hypothetical question?” asked Officer Maven while tilting her head. “Actually, that makes me wonder … what if there were no hypothetical questions?”
“Honestly,” Harr said, “this is terrible material.”
“On the one hand, you may be right,” Officer Maven said, nodding sagely. “On the other hand are completely different fingers.”
“Okay, okay,” Harr said while putting his hands up in surrender. “I get it. Your fantasy is to be a comedian.”
“It is?” said Officer Maven thoughtfully. “I thought it was to be a writer. That reminds me, I’ve been working on a porn script for a long time, but I don’t think I’ll ever finish it.”
Harr sighed. “Gee,” he said, playing along, “why not?”
“Too many holes in it.”
Harr put his face in his hands and took a deep breath. He was already feeling bad enough about his breakup with Rella, he didn’t need to deal with all of this insanity, too.
“Are you finished?” he said to the guard.
“I’m only getting warmed up,” she replied.
“Could I borrow one of your ropes, then?”
The other guard laughed at that and then walked down to the next cell.
“I thought he’d never leave,” Of
ficer Maven said. “Okay, listen up, you’re going to head down to the main cafeteria in the next few minutes. You’re looking for the tallest guy in the place. He’ll have a buzz cut and a scar running down the right side of his face.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Runk,” she answered. “He’s Jocco’s right-hand man … and probably left-hand man, too, but I don’t judge.”
“Right,” Harr said. “Jocco is the guy in charge of the Boas?”
“Used to be,” Officer Maven answered. “He knows the ins and outs. Just get on his good side and he’ll spill the beans.”
“Great, thanks.”
“No problem,” she said as the other guard slowly walked back towards them. “Uh … did you hear about the dyslexic guy that walked into a bra?”
Harr sat back down.
CURR'S FANTASY
Grand Commander Grover Curr was standing on the bridge of a gargantuan space station. From where he stood, which was dead-center of the monstrous room, he could see all incoming vessels.
But he wasn’t focused on ships at the moment. He was staring at the man who was being held by two of his burly guards.
That man was Miles Middleton, a lowly Sub-Ensign—which was a new title that Grand Commander Curr had created specifically for Middleton—who had apparently been speaking derogatorily about the station and its commander.
“Sub-Ensign Middleton,” Curr said in a snooty tone of voice, “it has come to my attention that you have called me improper names.”
“If you mean names like ‘goat face,’” answered Middleton, “you heard right.”
One of the guards smacked Middleton on the back of his head.
Curr grinned evilly and said, “Put him in the airlock.”
“No, not that,” pleaded Middleton, but Curr simply smirked and waved the guards away.
Middleton struggled and yelled the entire way to the door, but the guards didn’t budge and Curr didn’t care.
A few moments later, Curr watched delightedly as the form of Middleton floated outside of the window. He nearly burst with joy when one of the incoming ships slammed into the Sub-Ensign, knocking the man with enough force to propel him into the engines of an outgoing ship.
Curr laughed maniacally and then reset the simulation.
Again, he saw two guards holding Middleton in place.
“Sub-Ensign Middleton,” Curr said while holding his nose in disgust, “why haven’t you bathed in three weeks?”
“Because I don’t want to follow any regulations that you set, that’s why.”
Curr had the look of a man who knew what was about to happen, and he relished in it.
“Vaporize him,” he said casually.
Middleton’s eyes grew wide as the guards pushed him away and pulled forth their sidearms.
“Wait, wait,” said Middleton with his hands up. “I’ll take a shower! I’ll take a damn sh—”
The beams struck Middleton square in the chest as the anguish covered his face. An instant later, there was naught but a puddle on the floor that signaled the remains of the Sub-Ensign.
“You there,” Curr happily called out to a nearby janitor, who was wearing a tattered uniform, “clean this mess up immediately!”
JOCCO BOCCO
Lunchtime hit and Harr followed the other inmates down to the cafeteria.
Though he had suffered a brief stint in the military prison cell back on Segnal, that hadn’t exactly been a proper prison, at least not when compared to those shown in the movies. The Joe Simon Memorial Correctional Facility, however, fit the screenplays Harr had seen perfectly, including the way that the cafeteria was laid out. The tables were configured so that no more than four inmates could be seated together at any given time; there was an upper-level that overlooked the eatery, too, allowing guards to walk the perimeter with weapons at the ready; the trays were made from a flimsy plastic that made them impossible to use as a weapon; and the food looked like gruel.
He grabbed a tray, waited for the slop to get dropped on it, and then walked into the main seating area to look for Runk and Jocco. Runk was easy to spot because he towered over everyone else in the room. Plus, he had the buzz cut and scar that Officer Maven had mentioned.
Harr walked over and noted that Jocco was sitting alone at the table in the corner. At least he assumed it was Jocco since the man was wearing a pink boa and since Runk was guarding the table.
“What do you want?” Runk said tightly.
“I want to speak with Mr. Bocco.”
“About what?”
Harr gave Runk a challenging look. “None of your business.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Outta the way, Runk,” Jocco said in a not-so-manly voice.
Runk grunted, but stepped aside and kept his eyes on Harr.
Jocco looked Harr over for a couple of moments before saying, “You look like a damn superhero.”
“Thanks.”
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Harr …” Harr coughed and then added, “Vee. Uh, Harvey.”
“Harvey?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Why are you in the joint?”
“Assaulted a bunch of Ascots in a barroom brawl.”
Jocco raised an appraising eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Never did like those bastards,” Harr said, playing the part.
“Okay, Harvey,” Jocco said in a way that indicated he didn’t believe that was really Harr’s name, but he was clearly impressed enough with the attack on the Ascots that he was letting it go, “you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”
Harr took a seat opposite of Jocco. How this man had become the leader of a gang was surprising. He was demure, had a pleasant face, and carried himself in a way that screamed docile. Then again, Harr had met many psychopaths in his time and most of them were unassuming as well.
“Word on the street is that you might have some intel on a kidnapping that went down,” said Harr as he picked at the gruel.
He took a bite and found that it actually tasted pretty amazing. There were hints of spices that he’d not had in a long time, and some he’d never had at all. If the cooks had only formed it into the shape of something appealing to the eye, it would be rather palatable indeed.
“You sure you’re not undercover?” Jocco asked suspiciously.
Harr looked up. “Why do you think that?”
“You seem to be surprised about how good the gruel tastes.”
“Been a while since I’ve had it is all. Still looks as horrible as ever.”
“No arguing that,” said Jocco. “It’s like they go out of their way to make being a prisoner uncomfortable. Bastards. What did we ever do to them?”
“Right,” Harr said. “Well, no, I’m not undercover. The guy that got nabbed owes me money, is all, and I want that money back.”
“We are talking about Planet Head Parfait, right?”
“Yep.”
“And he owes you money?” Jocco seemed perplexed at this.
Harr thought it over for a second. Frankly, it didn’t make much sense that Parfait would owe anyone money, unless …
“I, uh,” Harr barely managed to say, “did some, uh, favors for him.”
“Ohhh, right.”
“Anyway, you help me get the money and I’ll give you a cut.”
“You ain’t cuttin’ nobody, pal,” Runk said, reaching towards Harr.
Harr batted the goon’s hands away. “I’m not talking about actually cutting him, you dimwit. I mean that I’ll give him a share of the money.”
“Oh,” Runk said, gingerly rubbing his hand where Harr had slapped it. “Sorry.”
“Runk,” Jocco said, crossing his arms. “Use your head, will ya? Actually, scratch that. Just shut up, yeah?”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Runk said dejectedly.
Jocco sighed and looked back at Harr.
“How do I know you’re on the up-and-up?”
“You don�
�t,” Harr answered evenly.
“Exactly. How do I know you ain’t some kind of cop?”
“Again, you don’t.”
“You do realize that you must tell me if you’re a cop, right?”
Harr looked surprised. “I do?”
“It’s in the rules of the Fantasy Planet penal code.”
In the back of his mind, Harr could hear the juvenile laughter of Jezden at the term “penal code.”
“Okay,” Harr said. “I’m definitely not a cop.”
“Good enough for me,” Jocco replied with a smile.
“I’m surprised at that, but whatever.” Harr took another bite, savored it, and then said, “So you going to help me out?”
“You really going to give me some of the money?”
“Do I have to be honest about that, too?”
“No.”
“Then, yes.”
“Hmmm,” Jocco said. Then he shrugged. “Either way, meet me at the Parfait Cell at 7pm and I’ll get you the details.”
“Sorry, the Parfait Cell?”
“It’s a special cell that was named after your pal.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” Jocco said with a giggle.
“How can I get there at 7pm? Won’t our cells be locked up tight?”
Jocco looked Harr over again suspiciously. “You sure don’t know much about prison life, do you?”
“Not on this planet.”
“Right, well, you gotta tell one of the guards that you need a little … release, and they’ll bring you to the cell.”
“A little release?” Harr asked, and then it hit him. “Oh!”
SOFTWARE REVIEW
This was Frexle’s first actual flight on the Reluctant and he found it to be somewhat boring.
He had expected there to be lights and fanfare when Geezer pressed the button on the GONE Drive, but there was nothing. No sensation at all. At first he’d assumed that it hadn’t worked, but when Geezer pointed to the main screen Frexle could see that it surely had.
“So this Inkblot person said that you two would be getting jobs there of some sort?” Frexle said to Grog and Vlak.
“Yep,” Grog replied while Vlak nodded.
“Then I shall take you both down to the planet with me.”
Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2) Page 28