Parfait had taken to speaking with Admiral Liverbing of the tiny ship—known as The Ship.
Inkblot was working to get Goozer connected to the computer’s Universal Robot Port, or URP. Try as she might, though, Inkblot was struggling to focus as Parfait and Liverbing conversed, especially since Liverbing had to use a portable Public Announce system to be heard.
“I do believe this is the first time we’ve met, Mr. Liverbing,” Parfait said.
“Admiral Liverbing, if you don’t mind,” Liverbing replied somewhat snootily.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Technically,” Liverbing said with a wave of his hand, “I was the leader of my people back on my homeworld of Tinyfolk. I was elected as king …”
“Elected as king?”
“I believe that’s what I said,” Liverbing replied as he pressed a button on the PA unit. “Maybe the volume is too low on this thing?”
Parfait cleared his throat. “I’ve just never heard of a king being elected before. I thought it was all done through lineage and the like, or assassination, or some type of sex scandal. I always fancied the last option, myself.”
“Hmmm.” Liverbing lowered the PA horn for a moment and then brought it back to his lips. “Well, anyway, never did like being called King Liverbing. Sounds silly. So as soon as we got on The Ship I changed my title to Admiral.”
“You sound like a man after my own heart,” Parfait said strongly. “I used to be a Rear Admiral in the Segnal Space Marine Corps, but now I’m the Fantasy Planet Head.”
“I don’t see the correlation.”
“He just likes mentioning his title, sir,” explained Inkblot.
“Why?”
Inkblot stopped typing. “It’s the head part, sir.
“Still, I don’t ...” Liverbing lowered the PA again for a moment. “Oh, wait, yes, I understand now.”
Parfait sat down and leaned on his elbows, looking dreamily at the little admiral.
“Tell me, Admiral Liverbing, how do you feel about, well, larger men?”
“Ew,” replied Liverbing.
He’d said it without the aid of the PA, but things had gone so quiet after Parfait’s question that the little man could be heard clear as day.
“Can we get to work here, Chiefs?” Goozer announced, not needing a portal horn. “Pal of mine is in a heap of hurt, ya know?”
“Agreed,” Admiral Liverbing said. “What do we know already?”
“Just that they’re in the system,” Inkblot answered. “I’d love to get them out with a few keystrokes, but things are locked down. It’s all I can do just to keep the damn core from overheating.”
“How are you combating that?”
“Honestly, I’m not doing much, Goozer,” Inkblot said. “The system is managing most of it on its own. I’m just closing out fantasies as quickly as possible when they come to an end.”
“Right.”
“Besides,” Inkblot added, “I’m sure that the owner of Fantasy Planet wouldn’t allow the core to overheat.”
Liverbing pointed up at Parfait. “You mean this guy?”
“No,” Inkblot said, also pointing at Parfait. “He’s not the owner, he’s the head ...”
“Oooh.”
“...of the planet.”
“Well, where’s this owner at?” asked Liverbing pointedly.
Inkblot pulled up the feeds to show that a ship had arrived at Fantasy Planet a few hours back. It only lit up the display for a moment, and it was too fuzzy to make out in any detail, but Inkblot had learned how to detect when the owner of the planet arrived, and every time that blurred image appeared, the systems went a little haywire. Nothing like today, of course, but enough to let her know that the system was managing more than only tourist fantasies.
“Right now it appears that he’s in his private lair,” she answered finally.
“Then let’s just go after him,” commanded Liverbing.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Well, sir,” Inkblot said, shutting off the feed, “we don’t really know where the lair is. I mean, we know it’s on the planet, but that’s about all we know. This blur is the extent of his arrival data. After he gets here, he just disappears.”
“We gotta get to the core,” announced Goozer. “That’s the only way.”
Liverbing sat down on the ramp of the ship as a number of miniature crewmen worked on the outside of it. “Captain Plock has already been in there once, right?”
“Yep, Big Cat,” answered Goozer.
“As I recall,” Liverbing stated, “his report pointed out that it was a dangerous place with flying bugs and everything.”
Parfait nodded. “I don’t doubt it. We keep the exterminator on a twenty-four hour watch, but the damn roaches just won’t go away.” He then looked out the window and crossed his arms. “I remember back when I was a cadet, we used to pretend to go bug-hunting. Well, there was this one time when …”
“Sir?” Inkblot said before Parfait could get too far into his story. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a tight time schedule here.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said a disappointed-looking Parfait.
“So what should we do here?” asked Liverbing.
Goozer pulled away from the URP port and walked to the edge of the desk.
“I’d say we get Plock back out with his ship, Prime. I’ll hop on the back and go in with him. He can drop me at the core and let me get to work while he’s keeping the bugs at bay.”
“Should probably send a whole squadron,” mused Liverbing.
Goozer did a robotic shrug. “Whatever you think is best, Bingo.”
Liverbing stood up and brushed off his pants.
“I’ll get them suited up pronto,” he said strong enough that he didn’t even need the help of the PA to be heard.
“I love a man who takes charge,” Parfait said while wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s why I hired Inkblot, after all.”
“Again, sir, I’m not a man.”
“I know that,” Parfait said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t know that originally, obviously. I mean you have that ...”
“Thank you, sir,” Inkblot stated firmly. “I’m aware of the mustache situation. It’s normal for my people, okay? The women have mustaches and hairy bodies and the men are all smooth, though some have to have waxing done to make them look more manly.”
Liverbing raised his tiny hand and the PA horn. “Sorry, but they get waxed to make them look more manly?”
“Right,” Inkblot said, wondering what the problem was with that logic.
“Oh,” Liverbing said like a man who felt that he should keep his opinions on the subject to himself.
“Sounds delightful,” Parfait said dreamily. “I must travel to your homeworld someday, Inkblot. It sounds like my kind of place.”
“Well,” she replied, “it was called ‘Loony’ for a reason, sir.”
Goozer walked back to the computer, plugged in, and said, “Can we please get back to work now?”
AT IT AGAIN
Veli had set the bucket of Popped Beef aside. His stomach was already in the throes of angst over how much he’d eaten, and the soda wasn’t helping matters much.
It was all he could do to keep his attention on Harr and the two bald, lanky soldiers that he’d had with him, but the focus helped to keep his stomach’s irritation at bay.
“I wonder what your plan is, Captain Harr?” he said aloud.
“Is that my new designation, sir?” the computer asked.
“Sorry?”
“Usually you call me ‘computer’ or ‘wingnut’ or ‘bonehead,’ something else derogatory. Calling me ‘Captain Harr’ is something new, though.”
“I do not call you names like that,” argued Veli.
“Sir, I have 93,711 references in my databanks that would beg to differ.”
“No reason to be a smart ass about it, you lousy bent chip.”
“That’s 93
,712.”
“Hmmm.” Veli’s stomach turned slightly. “Anyway, what is it that you’re asking me again?”
“You just called me ‘Captain Harr,’ sir, and I want to know if that’s my new designation.”
“Oh, no. I’m talking about the guy from Platoon F.”
“Ah, I see,” the computer replied sadly. “I thought maybe I’d graduated to having an actual name.”
Veli ignored that. “I’m wondering if he’s planning to kill the king. It’s what I would do.”
“I already told you that the king lives, sir.”
“Yes, you did, and I thank you heartily for ruining that for me.”
“Pickles and carrots, sir.”
“Anyway,” Veli said as his right eye began to twitch, “I’m just trying to sort out what this Harr fellow has planned. Remember, he’s not part of your programming. He’s outside of that. Thus, it could very well be that, regardless of your best intentions, the king could end up dead.”
“I suppose that’s true, sir,” admitted the computer. “Let me ask, though, is he like you, sir?
“Harr? Not even slightly. He’s always wanting to be diplomatic.” Veli belched and then added, “Pansy.”
“93,713.”
“I was calling Harr a pansy, not you, you useless corkscrew.”
“93,713.”
Veli growled. “Anyway, I don’t think killing is his style.”
“Then he will likely try to use diplomacy, as you had said, sir.”
Damn, thought Veli. That means he’ll try to talk with the king so that he can convince them to stop their technological advancement. And that would mean that Platoon F could actually succeed at this mission. Veli couldn’t allow that.
“If he tries diplomacy, it could work,” Veli stated loudly. “This would fit in with Harr’s never-actually-battling, too.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“You wouldn’t. This entire fantasy is predicated on Platoon F failing at their standard mission protocols, so that I may justifiably kill them all and destroy their ship if it doesn’t happen naturally at the hands of the Raffian Fleet that you’ve created. Your little twists and turns may have actually goofed up that eventuality. I want them dead, dead, dead.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t judge me.”
“Oh, I’m not, sir. I’m just trying to determine a clear way through this to help you achieve your goals.”
“Well done, computer. I’m impressed.”
“Seven,’ the computer said.
“I thought you turned off that counter for the sub-process?”
“I … uh …”
“Ah-ha,” Veli said, pointing at the monitor. “What does the seven truly mean?”
“That’s the number of nice things you’ve said to me over the years, sir.”
“Oh, please,” Veli said with a chuckle. “I’m not that bad, am I? Sure, I may be a little rough around the edges, but deep down I’m a pretty good guy.”
“Uh, okay,” the computer replied, clearly unconvinced. “May I make a suggestion?”
“Go on.”
“Why not just have me reconfigure the king so that he believes this Captain Harr and his men are assassins?”
“Interesting,” Veli mused as his stomach threatened to grumble again. “It would make for a nice twist, wouldn’t it?”
“I believe it would, sir.”
“Fine, do that.”
“Setting parameters now, sir.”
Veli wanted to be impressed with the computer, but he couldn’t help but be mostly impressed with himself. It was his programming that made the computer what it was, after all. Still, Veli had to admit that he’d only kicked off the Artificial Intelligence system. The computer had taken things over from there.
“I have to say that you are demonstrating signs of excellent thinking as of late, Computer.”
“That would be eight, sir, and I thank you. Would you like me to start monitoring The SSMC Reluctant or shall I continue to leave them to their own devices?”
“You mean you haven’t been watching them already?” Veli asked darkly.
“No, sir. It was not in the mission parameters.”
“Of course I want that done,” Veli yelled as he stomach turned yet again. “Do I have to spell out everything, you damned bucket of bolts?”
“93,714.”
CAPTURE THEM!
Harr, Grog, and Vlak followed along with the procession, hanging back from the Raffian soldier who had chastised Harr earlier. Why a military unit would consider less medals to mean higher rank was beyond him, but it just went to show that the Segnalian way wasn’t the definitive way for how things should be done.
They turned corner after corner, picking up more soldiers along the way.
Harr tried to listen to the conversations going on around him, but nobody said anything about where they were all headed. Instead, they conversed about their days, projects, and the like.
“Where are we going?” Grog asked.
“I don’t know, but just keep moving along with the rest of these people and we’ll learn about it soon enough.”
“Looks like some very big doors up ahead,” Vlak said while pointing.
“Maybe the king is going to give a speech,” suggested Harr.
“Kings do that a lot?” asked Grog. “Never had one before, you know.”
“Yeah,” agreed Vlak. “Our leaders mostly just grunted and kicked us whenever they had something to say.”
Grog nodded. “True.”
“Will you two pipe down,” Harr hissed and then looked at them imploringly and added, “please?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Grog answered while rolling his eyes.
They finally passed through the doors and found themselves in a huge banquet hall. There were rows of tables with all sorts of delectable foods that tempted Harr to no end. Living a life on a ship meant protein bars and dull rations. Hell, even the prison food he’d had during his last mission was a massive step up from eating on The Reluctant.
A band was playing a classical piece that powered the mass of dancing lords and ladies on the main floor. They were moving in such flawless synchronicity that Harr was tempted to think of them as androids. With the size of these ships, that wouldn’t have surprised him all that much.
“Party,” he announced to the other two.
Grog smiled and started to walk away, “If you say so.”
“Get back here,” Harr admonished. “I don’t mean that we’re going to party. I mean that this is a party. We have work to do.”
“He’s right, Grog,” said Vlak with a stern visage. “We have to act like soldiers.”
Grog shook his head as if clearing cobwebs. “Seriously, Vlak?”
Vlak started laughing as he pointed at Grog. “Had you going.”
Harr dragged them both over to an empty corner, away from the main action. From here he’d be able to see King Raff and Colonel Clippersmith while he devised a plan to speak with the king. Looking at all of the guards surrounding the area, it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Okay, you two,” Harr said as Grog and Vlak were chatting up a storm, “I brought you along because you promised you’d follow orders, right?”
Grog looked as though he were about to say something snarky, but instead he shrugged and said, “Yeah, we did.”
“Sorry,” offered Vlak.
“It’s fine,” Harr said after a moment. “I know that you two are still new to all of this and I’m sure it can be overwhelming at times. We just have to be careful. If we can get to the king and tell him that his life is in danger, maybe he’ll listen to us about the technology and we can all get out of this mission alive.”
As if the king and colonel had overheard him, which was an impossibility from this distance, they both turned and looked directly at Harr.
“There,” yelled King Raff while pointing at Harr, Grog, and Vlak. “Those three men! Assassins!”
“Arrest them
at once,” Clippersmith commanded as guards swarmed towards Harr and his crew.
“And you told us to keep our mouths shut,” Grog said derisively.
“They couldn’t have heard me,” Harr argued. “Not from over there.”
“Pretty damn coincidental, then,” Vlak whispered as a slew of weapons were pointed at them.
An instant later, the guards grabbed their arms and began dragging them out of the room. Harr fought to look back at the king, but only caught sight of Colonel Clippersmith’s smirking face.
“No,” Harr hollered. “King Raff, it’s not me that’s trying to assassinate you ...”
One of the guards raised the butt of his weapon and smacked Harr on the side of the head.
“… it’s your damned colonel,” he mumbled as the world went dark.
THE SITUATION
Frexle had convinced Geezer to go up to the bridge to discuss the situation. Geezer would have preferred that everyone on the bridge come down to engineering instead, but he had to admit that there wasn’t as much room.
Sandoo was seated in the Captain’s Chair when they arrived. Frankly, Geezer couldn’t help but think that the commander fit the position more aptly than Harr … meaning that Sandoo looked the part better than Harr did. Harr was more of Geezer’s style of captain, though.
“So we’re really inside of a fantasy?” asked the commander.
“Yep,” said Geezer.
“That’s fascinating,” Ridly said as she studied the main viewscreen. “Now that I’m aware of that fact, I can spot pixel errors all over the place.”
“So this porn that I’m looking at isn’t real?” asked Jezden.
“It’s real to the guy who set up this fantasy, I guess,” answered Geezer.
“It could be a woman, you know,” Ridly pointed out.
Geezer spun in her direction. “What could be?”
Ridly looked away from the screen and grunted. Frexle saw her as being the only useful android on the ship. Sandoo was too military, Moon was too mentally strange, and Jezden was, well, Jezden.
“I’m just saying that it’s always assumed that a man is in charge of these amazing inventions. Who is to say that the owner of Fantasy Planet isn’t female?”
Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2) Page 46