“I have an idea,” he said, feeling suddenly disturbed.
GETTING TO THE CORE
Three miniature ships entered through the hole in the wall of Inkblot’s command room. The lead pilot, Plock, had taken point while his two wingmen, Clack and Fluck, followed close behind.
Plock was old-school military. He grumbled a lot and was direct. If something needed saying, he’d say it. If someone needed a punch in the head, he’d put on his boxing gloves.
Clack was an enthusiastic pilot who did all she could to impress her commanding officer. Plock found her annoying. This was mostly because she was over-the-top about it. A little brown-nosing was expected from any underling, but Clack often had her head so far up his rump that it was rather uncomfortable … metaphorically speaking, of course.
Fluck, on the other hand, was as grumpy as Plock, and he wasn’t keen on the fact that Plock was his superior officer. The two had served in the military together over the years before The Ship had arrived. Fluck had often voiced that he should have been named the commander of the piloting crew, but the fact was that Fluck’s attitude was too much of a distraction at times. Regardless, he was one hell of a pilot.
“Keep your wits about ya,” Plock announced over the comm. “Last thing I need is to have to worry about your sorry butts while I’m flying point.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clack strongly. “Brilliant idea, sir.”
“No point in being an ass about it, Plock,” Fluck replied.
“Watch it, Fluck. Now, silence the chatter as we slip through the main port. I need to focus.”
“Fluck off.”
Plock’s head jolted. “What was that?”
“I said, ‘Fluck off,” as in ‘I’m signing out of the comm,’” Fluck replied.
“Oh yeah, right.”
“Clack off, sir,” Clack chimed in next. “Call out if you need anything and I’ll jump right to it!”
The tunnel was tight, keeping Plock at full attention so as not to slip and tag one of the walls. They were already moving at one-quarter speed as it was, and even that felt a little too fast for his taste. At a few of the junctions, he had to cut the engines to ten percent, so they could maneuver through without incident.
Finally, after what seemed like miles of tubing, they cleared the pipe and found themselves in a cavernous room.
“Keep your eyes open,” Plock commanded as he scanned the area, searching for whatever this thing called a “core” might be. Obviously he knew it would be near the middle, but the middle wasn’t exactly small, and it looked to be surrounded by walls anyway. “If you spot anything that looks core-like, let me know.”
“Sir,” Clack said, “we’ve got bogeys incoming!”
“Where?” said Plock, looking over each shoulder.
“Six o’clock,” Fluck replied before Clack had the chance.
“Not when, ya idiot,” retorted Plock. “Where?”
“Gah,” Fluck answered. “They’re behind us.”
“Don’t ‘gah’ me, Fluck. You were the one giving me the time where I was looking for the location.”
“I was using a point of reference like from a clock, dumbass.”
“Call me a dumbass one more time, Fluck,” Plock said darkly, “and I’ll punch ya in the head and then have ya written up for insubordination!”
“F … k … ff,” said Fluck, though a bit of it was interrupted with static.
“Don’t you dare disconnect on me, Fluck!”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh,” he replied, recognizing that the static had intervened at precisely the right moment.
“They’re closing, sir,” Clack announced, “though I’m sure you already know that, being that you have such an advanced military mind.”
“What the hell are they?”
“Sir,” Clack replied, “if I were to guess, I’d say that they’re gigantic roaches.”
“Yuck,” agreed Plock.
“What?” said Fluck.
“No,” answered Plock, “I said, ‘Yuck.’”
“Ah.”
“We’ve only got about fifteen seconds before they’re on us, sir,” Clack said.
Plock took inventory of the situation. He usually had a full contingent of fighters to work with, assuming it wasn’t a solo mission. Having only three pilots on a run was not something he felt comfortable with.
“Okay,” he commanded, “do a split-3 progression with a double roll-back.”
“What the hell is that?” asked Fluck.
“I don’t think we can mix a split-3 with a double, sir,” Clack pointed out. “Not without practicing it anyway. But, may I say, that it sounds like a grand military attack strategy.”
“Damn,” Plock spat. “What about a triple roll-back?”
“Never heard of it, sir,” answered Clack, “but if we get out of this alive, I sure would be humbled if you would share your thoughts on it with me.”
“You guys can do whatever the shit you want,” Fluck called out. “I’m going to fly away from these disgusting things.”
“No! We stick together or they’ll pick us apart.”
“They’re on us, sir!”
“Pull straight up,” yelled Plock. “Now!”
All three ships suddenly went nose first towards the ceiling, leaving the roaches to fly directly under them. Plock nearly blacked out from the sudden change in force, but he tipped the nose of the forward again and waited for his brain to steady itself.
It wouldn’t take long for the beasties to adjust, so Plock had to act quickly. The roaches were already starting to make turns.
“Fire at will,” he commanded. “Blast those damn things!”
Within moments, there was a barrage of mini-lasers striking at the backs and sides of the enemy roaches. The bugs did their best to twist and turn away, but they were simply no match for Plock’s pilots. Soon, the creatures were catching fire, slamming into walls, and falling straight out of the air, dead to the world. But there were too many to contend with and they were starting to split away from each other in order to make a run for it.
“Keep after them or they’ll be back,” Plock commanded. “Clack, take the ones on the right. Plock, you’ve got left. I’ll take middle.”
“I thought you said we had to stick together,” complained Fluck.
“While they were attacking us, yeah. Now we’re attacking them,” Plock yelled back. “Go, ya idiot!”
“Fluck off.”
THE PLAN
Hank Moon was still a bit wobbly as Harr, Sandoo, and Jezden rushed over and helped him to his feet. The android must have bumped his head or something. That made Harr worry that his mechanical crew members may not be as sturdy as he had imagined.
“You okay, Hank?” asked Harr.
“I think so,” Moon replied without a lisp. “What happened?”
“Gravity Plahdoo came out,” said Sandoo.
“No way,” said Moon with wide eyes. “How could that—”
“No time for that now,” Harr said as a mass of weapons were raised by the Boas. “You can get with Geezer on it later.”
“Or,” suggested Jezden through the side of his mouth, “you can get with me later … on it.”
“That thounds fun,” Moon replied, lisp returning in full.
“Ew. I mean with your Gravity personality.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Uh, that you’re a dude?” Jezden replied sourly.
“My body isn’t, you twit. Besides, I could fake being Gravity if I really wanted to.”
Jezden looked at Hank thoughtfully. “You can do that?”
“Of courth I can.”
“Hmmm. Something to think about.”
“Really?” Moon said hopefully.
“No.”
“Teathe.”
“What about his teeth?” asked Sandoo, clearly misunderstanding Moon.
“Okay,” Harr said as the gun hammers all clicked into place, “that’s enough.
”
“What are we going to do, sir?” Sandoo said.
“Yeah,” Jezden said, “You said you had an idea, right?”
Harr nodded and then said, “Hank, you were just playing music.”
“I was?”
“You were, Hank, and I need you to do it again.”
“Are you sure—”
“I’m sure,” Harr stated. “You can play music through your external speaker, right?”
“Checking,” said Moon. “Wow, I guess I can. I always listen to muthic internally, obviously, but I didn’t know I had a thpeaker system on the top of my head. Seems that my design allowed Gravity to provide her own ambiance for her, well, you know.”
“Yes, we saw.”
“What do you want me to play?”
“Do you happen to have the song H.M.C.A. by the Village Populace?”
“Of course I do, thir,” Moon replied as if Harr were stupid. “What self-respecting man wouldn’t?”
“Me,” said Harr.
“Me,” agreed Sandoo.
Jezden was notably silent. They all turned to look at him with eyebrows raised.
“What? It’s a good song.”
“Thee?” said Moon. “I personally love that thong.”
“What thong?” asked Harr, not sure he really wanted to know the answer.
“Thorry, thir,” Moon replied, sighing. “Meant to thay thong. I mean, thong. Thong. Dammit. Sssssssong!”
“Oh, right.”
“Personally,” Sandoo said while crossing his arms, “I cannot fathom why anyone would write a musical piece about the Hot Men Come-hither Association.”
“Me neither,” agreed Harr, “but I have a feeling it’s about to save our butts.” They eyed him dubiously, and even he had to admit that it was a poor choice of words. “Anyway, here’s what we’re going to do.” He turned towards Moon. “You’re going to blast that song at full volume, Moon, and we’re going to dance to it.”
“No way I’m doing that,” stated Jezden without pause.
“Would you rather be shot or hanged?” Harr asked incredulously. Jezden was looking around. “Well?”
“I’m thinking!”
“You’re dancing, Jezden,” Harr commanded firmly.
“Sir,” Sandoo said, nervously, “I don’t know how to dance.”
“Follow along and do what I do.”
“I can’t dance either,” Jezden said, almost as if he were embarrassed.
Harr’s face said, “What?,” but he held himself in check. How could a robot whose entire existence was predicated on getting it on with the opposite sex not know how to dance? Dance was one of the major forms of seduction, wasn’t it?
“That makes no sense, Ensign.”
“Fine,” Jezden said, rolling his eyes. “I can dance. Just not to disco.”
“Oh, it’s easy,” declared Moon. “Pretend you’re in the boom-boom closet, but you’re standing up instead and you have your clothes on.”
“I’m always standing up in the boom-boom closet.”
“Oooh.”
Harr wished that he’d had the ability to selectively erase his own memories. Maybe he would talk to Geezer about creating a device that acted as the antithesis to the Feeder at some point.
“Too much information, Ensign. Follow my lead, okay?”
“You know how to dance disco, sir?” Sandoo asked.
“Yes, and there’s a very good reason for that, which I’ll explain later. For now, signal Ridly to move towards Parfait and be at the ready.” He glanced around once more and gulped. “Moon, hit the music!”
THE CORE
The roaches had fled, but Plock fully expected that they would return, and probably in greater numbers. He hoped that they weren’t as smart as he and his crew, but this wasn’t a standard planet so he had no idea what the level of intellect was for indigenous insects.
Clack had located a ventilation port that likely led to this core that Inkblot and Frexle had talked about. The problem was that it was covered by a steel mesh that his ship couldn’t fit through, and he’d flown up an android’s nose once!
“Not getting in there,” he declared.
“We could if we get out,” Fluck said, stating the obvious.
“Just a reminder, sir, that we were explicitly told not to leave our ships.”
“Exactly, Clack.”
“Gah,” Fluck said with a snort. “You’re a couple of pansies. Don’t you remember the war on our home world?”
“Which one? We had like ten of them every year.”
“The one right before The Ship arrived, Plock.”
“You mean the one against the Kirbington tribe?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember it,” Plock said, wondering where Fluck was going with this.
“We would have lost that war had we not gone against orders.”
“We did lose that war,” Plock argued.
“Well, we would have lost it worse than we did.”
Plock wanted to debate the point, but time wasn’t on his side.
“What’s your point, Fluck?”
“That sometimes you have to go against the rules if you want to win.”
“Sorry to interrupt, sirs,” Clack said, “but we lost that war because the troop on the hill went against the orders. The rumor about us losing because they followed commands was propaganda.”
“What?” Plock asked as if he were smacked.
“Is that true?” Fluck said, sounding equally perplexed.
“The soldiers were told to hold their posts and to not run out into the night. But they decided to go out that night to enact a surprise attack anyway. When they arrived, nobody was there. When they came back, the base had been captured and they had to surrender. Had they followed orders and stayed put, sirs, we wouldn’t have lost.”
It had been a while since the war against the Kirbtington tribe, but Plock’s recollection was far different than the story that Clack had relayed.
“That’s not how I heard it.”
“Me neither,” said Fluck.
“What did you hear, sir?” Clack asked.
Plock cleared his throat and said, “I heard that the orders were to act like they were going to surrender the hill, but when the Kirbingtons came up they would surprise attack them. The big order was that the troop was to dress up as birds, but none of them wanted to do that, so they lost.”
“Never heard that one, sir.”
“Ain’t what I heard neither,” Fluck said as if shocked that the others were so dense. “Well, not exactly anyway. Same idea as what Plock said, but the commander was told to make a big feast and then surrender, feeding the food to the Kirbingtons as a reward for winning. The trick was that they were to poison the food. The big orders were to not eat the feast, but the troops were hungry so they ate it anyway and died.”
Plock stared at his console for a few moments. What the hell was Fluck going on about now?
“That makes absolutely no sense at all.”
“But dressing up as birds does, right?” Fluck retaliated.
“You’re an idiot,” Plock said.
“Fluck off.”
Plock studied the room again. He was under direct orders by Liverbing to not exit the ship, and unlike Fluck, he was going to follow those orders. That meant there was nothing more he could do in here. Besides, those damn roaches were going to be back soon.
“Well, we’ve got to get back,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Fluck? Did you hear me?”
“I think he disconnected, sir.”
“Fluck, you—”
“Sir!” Clack responded in shock, “I’m only giving you information. I hope you’re not angry at me for doing that, I’m just—”
“What?” said Plock. “Oh! No, Clack, I wasn’t saying anything bad. Ya have to let me finish is all.”
“Ah. Sorry, sir.”
“Right.” Plock tried again. “Fluck, are ya there?” There was no
response. “Fine, stay here then, ya stupid Fluck.”
YOU SHOULD BE DANCING
The music started and the Boas appeared confused. Their weapons were still trained on the Platoon F crew—except for Ridly, who was slinking closer and closer to Parfait—but their feet were tapping. As much as Harr hated to admit it, the song was catchy.
He put his one hand up and started writhing his hips in time with the music. Sandoo and Jezden did the same.
The Boas slowly lowered their weapons and backed away to give the trio more room to operate.
Once the singing came in, Harr, Sandoo, and Jezden were dancing like three men who knew their stuff … and each other’s “stuff” as well.
They shimmied, they spun, they jumped, and they thrusted, and they did so masterfully, though Jezden became a bit unbalanced during thrusts since he was used to having someone help to counteract his thrusting motions. They were like a team who had danced together all of their lives. This made sense to Harr. The androids had always caught on quickly when it came to duplicating tasks. Well, it made sense that they were able to catch on so quickly, anyway. It still bugged him why he knew how to dance like this. He knew why he knew, and the reason was irksome indeed.
By now, every Boa in the room had dropped their weapons and were all clapping in time with the music.
Harr turned and looked at Moon and gave him a nod. Moon nodded back, smiling grandly.
Harr made a cutting motion to signify he wanted Moon to shut off the music, but Moon clearly thought it was another dance move and so gave Harr an encouraging thumbs-up.
“For the love of…” He danced over and said, “Cut the music!”
“Oh, right!”
The moment Moon did, Harr spun around and put his hands out in a “ta-da” fashion. Jezden and Sandoo mimicked him precisely, though they weren’t breathing heavily.
There was a moment of utter silence. Then the room erupted in cheers and applause.
And that’s when the reality of the situation unfolded.
Planet Head Parfait had miraculously broken free from his shackles and was standing and applauding louder than anyone else in the room. He even yelled, “Bravo” more than once.
Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2) Page 36