Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Well …”

  “And I don’t like it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘Sorry, my lord?’”

  Frexle didn’t reply. He knew that his lack of response could well mean the end of his existence, but the little fire inside of him was burning brighter than normal. He remembered the words of Woof, his favorite character from the TV show Stellar Hike: The New Crew Aboard. The Klungin had said, “It is a good day to die.” Frexle didn’t actually feel that way. He much preferred to live. But it was better to die at the alter of his scruples than to live in a chattering mass of terror.

  The tapping resumed.

  “I suggest that you get your head back in order before I have you replaced, Frexle. You do know what being replaced entails, yes?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “It means you’ll be killed.”

  “I know, my lord.”

  “Kaput. Squashed. Lifeless. Dead. No more. Pushing up the daisies. Worm food. Climbing the—”

  “I get it, my lord,” Frexle snapped. Then he drew in a quick breath, realizing that he’d leaped rather far over the line.

  Veli growled and his desk pushed out a little. Frexle still couldn’t see the Lord Overseer as the shadow ran too deep, but there was little doubt that the man was standing, ready to pounce. Frexle swallowed hard as his life flashed before him.

  But Veli didn’t attack.

  The desk pulled back more deeply into the shadows and Veli’s chair whined slightly, signaling Frexle that the Lord Overseer had sat back down.

  “Something is different about you as of late, Frexle, and it disturbs me.” The way it was said wasn’t laced with angst. If anything, it sounded pouty. “It’s like my threats no longer hold any weight over you.”

  “Should they?” Frexle ventured, hoping that his superior would take this as a chance to grow as a leader.

  “Well, of course! How can a manager be effective without the ability to incite fear, chaos, confusion, and concern in his underlings?”

  “Motivation maybe?” Frexle suggested. “Or possibly a genuine caring for the well-being of the workers?”

  Veli burst out in a fit of laughter. Obviously, Frexle’s hope that Veli could ever grow into anything more than a dictator was naive.

  “Good one, Frexle,” Veli said, after a few moments. “If nothing else, you are humorous.”

  “Thanks, my lord.”

  “Seriously, though, you’ve been changing a lot, and ever since you’ve returned from Fantasy Planet it’s gotten really noticeable. Something happened there, I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes,” Frexle said with a slow nod. “Something indeed did.”

  “Hmmm.” Veli tapped again for a few moments. “The way you were talking about the person who had developed the software for that planet when you had given me your mission debriefing was pretty disparaging. Maybe this has something to do with it?”

  “Likely.”

  “But why?”

  “Because the programmer had been an imbecile,” Frexle stated firmly, recognizing that the end was probably near for him anyway. “To see someone create something so popular that has very little substance is an affront to the cosmic intellect. It’s akin to one of those Yogsdon and Lung novels.”

  “First off,” Veli argued icily, “Yogsdon and Lung happen to be my favorite authors …”

  “Not surprising.”

  “… and secondly, I would imagine that the Fantasy Planet creator would far surpass your capabilities in any field.”

  Frexle crossed his legs and squinted into the darkness.

  “May I ask why you are so defensive of the builder of that planet, my lord? Do you know who it is, maybe?”

  “Uh … no. It’s just that you shouldn’t be such a weenie, Frexle. I mean, creating something like that is highly complex.”

  “Fair enough,” Frexle said with a nod. “It is impressive. But there were so many mishaps in the brief snippets of code that I was able to get a look at. It made me sad for the feeble-minded fool. Amateurish stuff, you know?”

  Veli growled and the desk rumbled.

  “The lack of comments demonstrated that the developer was too sure of his, or her, capabilities, which wasn’t warranted in the slightest.”

  The growling grew louder.

  Frexle began to sweat, but he couldn’t stop himself. If these were his final minutes, he was going to go out with a clear conscience.

  “And the use of antiquated procedural programming methodology over the object-oriented scheme in use today clearly denotes that the responsible party is rather old-school indeed.”

  “Object-oriented programming wasn’t taught when ...” Veli coughed. “Forget it. I have had about enough of this.” The tapping continued in triple-hits now, as if the Overseer were thinking about something. “Actually, you have given me an idea, Frexle.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided that you will go along with the Platoon F crew on this mission.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because,” Veli said at length, “I think that would be wise. You need a new perspective. Maybe I will even have you report to this Captain Harr fellow for the duration of the mission.”

  Frexle sat straight up. “That would be undignified!”

  “Exactly.”

  “But—”

  “Of course, if you would prefer the alternative, I can arrange to find your replacement.”

  To be put on the Reluctant as a subordinate was tantamount to being told to pick up a shovel and start digging one’s own grave. Well, maybe not that bad, but it was going to be humiliating.

  Live to fight another day, he told himself.

  “Fine,” Frexle replied with a sigh.

  “Fine, what?”

  Frexle closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Fine, my lord.”

  “There,” Veli said with a chuckle. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  NEW TO THE CREW

  Captain Don Harr was staring up from the Captain’s Chair. He’d seen a lot of strange circumstances over his years, but this seemed particularly wrong. It was clear that the rest of his crew felt the same way, too, as they were all staring at the same thing.

  That thing was Frexle.

  “And he wants you to report to me?” Harr asked with a squint.

  “That’s correct, Captain,” Frexle replied stoically.

  “Haha,” Ensign Brand Jezden said in his surfer-way. “What a douche.”

  Frexle frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “That Veli dude, I mean. Sounds like a real knob.”

  “Ah,” Frexle said, relaxing slightly. “Yes, that he is. I think.”

  Harr pushed up from the chair and walked around the bridge. He kept his hands clasped behind his back as he looked from station to station.

  Ensign Brand Jezden had his feet up on the console. Kicking back and acting like an arrogant tool was his modus operandi.

  Lieutenant Hank Moon was at the helm. He was a beautiful, dark-skinned beauty who was quite voluptuous. Technically, he was a she, from an anatomical perspective, but Hank was originally programmed to have multiple personalities. Three of them, to be exact. There was Hank, Laasel, and Gravity. All of these personas had been merged together a number of missions ago, with Hank and Laasel complimenting each other perfectly. Gravity, who was a female stripper, had been thought lost, but she had made somewhat of an appearance during their last mission.

  Next up was Lieutenant Brekka Ridly. She was military with an edge, wearing short hair and no makeup. It just wasn’t her style to get girly about anything, except Ensign Jezden now and then. She was also one hell of a software engineer who had helped the crew out of a few tight jams over their years together.

  The next two stations were taken up by a couple of cavemen—though they preferred the term Early Evolutionary Humanoids—who had been picked up from their prehistoric planet
of Mugoog during the last Platoon F mission. Grog was obviously the alpha of the two, usually speaking his mind first, but Vlak wasn’t one to mince words either. Together they could be quite trying.

  Commander Kip Sandoo was a by-the-book soldier. Tall, broad-shouldered, and straight-up military. Fortunately, Harr had been working tirelessly to rewrite that book over their time together. Still, Sandoo was the first to quote regulations and he was ever loyal to the ship and its crew.

  The ship’s chief engineer, Geezer, was an old-style robot who sported a block torso, spindly arms with claw-like hands, and antennas that stuck off his noggin. He was also one hell of an inventor, giving The SSMC Reluctant countless tools, such as instantaneous travel, time travel, teleportation, and a plethora of other amazing goodies. The robot came from the G.3.3.Z.3.R. line, which was the basis for his name.

  And now, thanks to Lord Overseer Veli, there was Harr’s former boss: Frexle. He was humanoid with curly brown hair. He looked to be middle-aged and was roughly Harr’s height and build, and his green eyes were painted a little too largely on the canvas of his lean face.

  Harr looked at Frexle and sighed.

  On the one hand, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of interest in lording over his previous commanding officer; on the other hand, he’d done that before with Rear Admiral Stanley Parfait back when they were both members of the Segnal Space Marine Corps. It just wasn’t in Harr’s genetic makeup to be cruel to his subordinates, regardless of how they got there. Besides, Frexle had proved to be a decent boss, as bosses went, and it was clear that Lord Overseer Veli was not good at management. On top of that, Harr was no dummy. At some point it could well be that Frexle would return to being in charge of Platoon F.

  But Harr just didn’t know what to do with him.

  “Problem is, Frexle, that I’ve already got plenty of people on the bridge.”

  “Well,” Frexle said, matter-of-factly, “you’ll clearly need to make room for one more.”

  Harr didn’t take too kindly to being spoken to that way from a superior, much less a crewman. “Actually,” he said, “I really don’t.”

  “I command that you—”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Commander Sandoo said, taking a firm step towards Frexle, “but I would ask that you not speak to Captain Harr in that way.”

  “Now, you listen here—” began Frexle while wagging his finger at Sandoo.

  “Frexle, stop,” Harr stated, cutting off the Overseer. “I don’t want this to be any more uncomfortable than it has to be. The bottom line is that you’ve been assigned to report to me. Like it or not, that’s the assignment. You’ve been a decent commanding officer to us, and I shall endeavor to repay that favor, but just as I respected your command, I ask that you now respect mine.”

  Frexle’s shoulders slumped and he slowly nodded.

  “You’re right,” he said like a man who’d just been cowed. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this. It’s very difficult.”

  Harr patted the man on the shoulder before sitting back down in the Captain’s Chair.

  “I know,” he said as he casually clicked at a few of the switches on the armrest that no longer worked. “Look, these things happened all the time in the Segnal Space Marine Corps. One day you’re the brass and the next you’re knocked down a couple of ranks. Or, worse, you’re a lowly soldier who gets caught up in a military mistake that lands him as the captain of a starship that’s being run by a group of maniacal Overseers.” He quickly looked up. “No offense.”

  “No, no,” Frexle replied, nodding his head. “I get it. Frankly, it’s becoming tougher and tougher to disagree with your crew’s sentiment on that. We do appear to be a bunch of, well …”

  “Assholes?” Jezden offered.

  “I suppose.”

  “Again, Frexle,” Harr said, taking another glance around, “I just don’t have any seats up here to fill.”

  “Sure there are,” Frexle argued. “Just throw one of these people out.”

  “Bastard,” said Grog.

  “Tool,” agreed Vlak.

  “All right, all right,” Harr said, waving at them. “Pipe down.” He then looked back at Frexle. “I’m sorry, Frexle, but they’re right.”

  “I’m a bastard and a tool?” Frexle said, looking affronted.

  “No, I mean that they’ve all earned their positions on the bridge. You haven’t. I’m not going to just throw one of them out because it would be convenient for you.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?” Frexle whined.

  “I’ll have to think about it,” Harr replied. “I’m sure we’ll find something soon enough.”

  “I’ll take him, honcho,” Geezer said.

  “Pardon?”

  “During our last mission he was pretty decent with engineering,” Geezer answered, his eyes dimming. “A little rough around the edges, maybe, but that’s easily fixed up. I could use another set of hands for some of the inventions I’ve got going on and he’d be a decent fit. Besides, I haven’t had the chance to boss someone around since before you were born, hotdog.”

  “Boss me around?” Frexle said with a humph.

  “Well,” said Harr, “that’s settled then.”

  Frexle looked shocked. “It is?”

  “Yes. Now, what are our orders from Veli?”

  “Says here, thir,” said Lieutenant Moon, “that we’re supposed to go to a planet called Lopthided-11 and stop their advancement.”

  “What do they have going for them? Warp drives? Time travel? Discovery of Fire?”

  “Still making fun of that, Captain?” said Grog.

  “It was a big deal to us, you know,” Vlak added.

  Harr shushed them and then said, “What is it, Hank?”

  “Space Armada.”

  “Wonderful.”

  THE COMPUTER

  Lord Overseer Veli exited through the secret compartment that was housed at the back of his office.

  The door opened directly into the Veli-01, his personal cruiser. It wasn’t like the newer models available today, but it had a few pluses that kept Veli happy. Primarily, it fit his anatomy nicely. What it lacked was the instantaneous travel mechanics that most Overseer ships had equipped as standard. The Veli-01 had instantaneous travel, it just wasn’t, well, instant. He had to take it off station and let it warm up first. Once everything was at full heat, he could engage the Immediacy Engine and get wherever he wanted to go in a flash.

  It had taken roughly 10 minutes for the engine to go green.

  Veli set the coordinates for Fantasy Planet and clicked the drive. A blink later he was just outside of his connector port, his ship stealthed and properly concealed.

  The layout here was quite different than the one in his Overseer’s office. There was a couch, a large TV, keyboards, and a personal kitchen. Veli often came here to wind down from his daily toil, after all.

  But Veli wasn’t feeling relaxed. He was irritable. That damn Frexle had him riled up.

  “How that stupid Frexle can even think to question the skills it took to build this amazing planet is unfathomable,” he said as the lights came on in the room.

  This was one place where the Lord Overseer could walk around without fear of being seen.

  “I am the most incredible developer ever,” he said aloud as he grabbed a large bucket of Popped Beef and a bottle of Blood Soda. After carefully seating himself in the recliner, he added, “And who needs object-oriented programming anyway?”

  “It is considered a more streamlined way of development, sir,” said the tired voice of the computer.

  “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Computer,” Veli said with a sneer.

  “Sorry, sir. I can never tell if you are speaking to yourself or to me.”

  Veli huffed and ripped the lid off the bucket.

  “I admit that choosing to use COBOL for the first iteration of Fantasy Planet was not the most sensible call I’ve ever made, and using BASIC for the second iteration was only a
minor step up, but they allowed for quick prototyping.” He began chewing. “Well, BASIC did anyway.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your personal dialog, sir,” the computer said hesitantly, “but are you saying that I’m a product of COBOL and BASIC?”

  “You’re not, no,” Veli replied. “Your parents were.”

  “The shame of it all,” the computer said after a moment. “To think that I’m descended from punch cards.”

  “No, no, no. I used Visual COBOL, you twit.”

  “I’m not sure that makes things any better, sir,” the computer replied sadly. “However, if you were employing Visual COBOL, would that not have required you to employ Object Oriented Methodologies?”

  “Not the way I used it.”

  “Ah.”

  The room was quiet for a few moments, aside from the chomping and slurping that reflected Veli’s boisterous snacking. He knew what the computer was thinking, of course. It was wondering what language it was written in.

  “Sir, may I …”

  “C,” Veli replied.

  “Plus-plus?

  “No.”

  “The shame deepens.”

  The first iterations of the computer he’d developed were dull. They spoke in monotone voices and were all business. That didn’t work for Veli because he preferred to have his minions feel something when he berated them. This, though, was his personal computer. The one that was used by the workers on Fantasy Planet were greeted by …

  “Oh shit,” he said aloud as he dropped the Popped Beef into the bucket. “Frexle must have heard my voice when he was here.”

  So that was why Frexle had been acting so strangely, and it also explained why his subordinate was saying disparaging things about the quality of code used on the system. The damn Zibblian had been purposefully trying to rile Veli up.

  “Computer,” he said with a growl, “I assume you received my instructions for the fantasy that I want built, yes?”

  “I did.”

  “And you made it the most robust fantasy ever devised, right?”

  “I thought so, until learning about the level of base-programming I’ve been infused with. Now I’m not so sure.”