“Yes, I know, Rubber Mallet. I was there, remember?”
“Rubber Mallet?”
“So think, man,” Geezer said.
Frexle’s eyes began to dart around the room. He was obviously seeking some intellectual perch to hang his brain on, and he was clearly failing to find one.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Think about the level of technology Veli has been responsible for over the years,” said Harr.
“Again, I’ve seen his code.” It was said with angst. “He doesn’t even use object oriented programming.”
“I have no idea why that matters,” Harr admitted, “but it doesn’t make a difference anyway.”
Frexle grunted. “It should.”
“Maybe.” Harr wasn’t about to debate the finer points of programming with either of these two. In fact, he wouldn’t consider it a worthy venture to debate with any of the crew on the topic, even Grog and Vlak. “Look, the bottom line is that he’s created so much advanced technology that it’s maddening.”
“Fair enough,” Frexle said. “I suppose the fact that he did it without even being up-to-date on things makes it even more impressive.”
“Yep,” Geezer agreed.
“Exactly.” Harr put his hand on Frexle’s shoulder. “Now, imagine what he could do if he were able to weasel his way into the Reluctant’s computer.”
Frexle turned pale. “We’re going to have to thoroughly protect this ship.”
“Yep,” said Geezer.
“Exactly,” Harr repeated, more somberly.
MR. CORLAIR
Interim Lord Overseer Pillbox had no idea what her first order of business should be, aside from the rounding up of Veli supporters, obviously, so she had done the only thing that brought her comfort: she hid inside her office.
Eventually she would have to make an appearance, or did she?
Veli had never made one. He’d given radio addresses and held countless meetings with the senate, but not once did he show his face to the public. Everyone understood why now, obviously. The likelihood of the Overseers allowing a dinosaur to rule them was remote, particularly since the majority of the Overseer community had no clue what a dinosaur even was.
She lifted her head and glanced around the room. It wasn’t what one might expect for a senator’s office. Flowery draperies hung beside bright yellow walls, a blue desk with craftwork edges, bookshelves filled with fiction and cookbooks, and two tweed chairs, one she sat in and the other for a guest.
“Madam?” came her admin’s voice over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“There is a Mr. Corlair here to see you.”
Pillbox racked her brain. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Everyone and their mother had tried to see Pillbox after the announcement of her position. It was dreadful.
“Who?” she said.
“He’s the owner of Oversoft, ma’am.”
“Ah, yes,” Pillbox replied more to herself than the admin.
“Says it’s urgent, ma’am.”
Pillbox looked at her timepiece. It wasn’t necessary since she had nowhere to be, but it was habit and she was in great need of habitual things at the moment. Keeping with that thought, she pulled out her mirror to verify she didn’t look disheveled.
“Okay, send him in.”
The door opened and Gavis Corlair strode in as if he owned the place. He was a smallish man with wire-rimmed glasses, a top hat, and a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. Pillbox estimated his age to be close to her own, which, if asked, she would claim to be just under thirty. The reality would add a couple of decades.
“Good afternoon, Interim Lord Overseer,” Corlair said with a respectful bow.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Corlair,” she replied, providing a nod of her own. “I don’t wish to be gruff, but I have a committee meeting to attend shortly, so if you could please state your business?”
She had no such meeting, of course, but it was in her best interest to keep the upper hand against the likes of a CEO who ran the Oversoft conglomerate.
“As you wish,” he said, taking a seat. “It’s come to my attention that you are rounding up all of those who supported Lord Overseer Veli—”
“Former Lord Overseer Veli,” Pillbox corrected, “and we are indeed rounding up his supporters. I would imagine this to be a logical course of action, no?”
“That depends on one’s perspective, ma’am,” Corlair countered.
“Seeing that I only have my perspective to attend to, I feel rather okay with my stance on the subject.”
“Which would be fine and suiting were you not suddenly thrust into the chair that requires you to attend to a perspective much greater than your own.”
Pillbox frowned. “Pardon?”
“You no longer represent yourself, madam,” explained Corlair while slowly removing his leather gloves. “You are the eyes, ears, and voice of the people. Personal vendettas are beneath you now, I’m afraid.”
“Well…” Pillbox began, but then found herself unable to argue against his point. “Actually, I suppose you’re correct. But what does this have to do with finding Veli’s supporters and ensuring they can do no further harm to our community?”
“Because, madam, many of those supporters make up the backbone of our society. If you round them up and summarily execute them…” He peered over his glasses. “I’m assuming it is your course of action, yes?”
“Obviously.”
“Impressive, if I do say so, being that you’re aligned with the HadItWithTheKillings group.” He cracked open his briefcase and set his gloves inside. Then he shut it back up and placed it on the floor near his feet. “Sadly, doing so will set the very fabric of our socioeconomic norms to crumble.”
It would?
“How so?”
“Because I happen to know the majority of supporters for Lord—” He stopped himself and gave another small bow. “My apologies. I meant to say the majority of supporters for former Lord Overseer Veli hold positions of power at the largest corporate entities in our vast empire.”
“Like who?”
“Me, for one.”
“You?”
“That’s correct, madam, and while I have no fear of dying for my beliefs, I’d imagine you’d rather not have Oversoft suddenly go out of business.” He met her eyes. “Unless, of course, you have no issue with replacing ninety-two percent of the operating systems used on computers today.”
“You can be replaced, Mr. Corlair,” she said, more strongly than she’d intended.
“Indeed, I can.” He seemed not to take offense. “But considering my entire executive staff is comprised of Veli supporters, you’ll have a difficult time finding all of their replacements.”
Pillbox said nothing in response. He had her dead to rights on that point. Still, it could be done. Yes, there would be a blip on the corporate scene for a couple of weeks, but it would straighten out eventually. People would step up… she hoped.
“Madam,” Corlair said, shaking her from her thoughts, “the fact is the majority of our society were Veli supporters. This HadItWithTheKillings group was allowed as a gambling device to show that killing is the better, more effective way of stomping competition.”
“Interesting for you to feel that way being that your head is on the chopping block, Mr. Corlair.”
He shrugged. “That may be, but I do feel that way, madam. If I’m to be killed for the good of the people, so be it.”
“Very noble of you,” she said, and she meant it. Were their positions reversed, Pillbox would not likely be so calm in the face of death.
Mr. Corlair stood up and walked over to one of her bookshelves. He kept his hands behind his back while appraising the tomes resting on her shelves, pausing and slightly shaking his head at the Yogsdon and Lung boxed set she’d had signed by the authors.
“I fear you’re missing the point, madam,” he said while continuing his perusal. “Kill
ing me is not for the good of the people. In fact, killing any high-level Veli supporters will only result in a civil war, and it’s not one you can win.”
“You seem rather sure of that, Mr. Corlair.”
“Oh, I am, madam,” he replied, turning back to face her. “It’s not bravado. It’s simply logic.” He gingerly walked back towards her desk. “To be blunt, madam, your beloved group of supporters don’t have the balls to stand up against a bunch of ruthless corporate moguls such as myself.”
She felt her throat go dry. “Ah.”
“And what do you honestly believe is going to happen if that damnable Frexle succeeds in destroying Veli, madam?”
“He’ll be considered a hero by the HadItWithTheKillings group, of course.”
Corlair whipped his hand from behind his back and pointed at her. “Precisely. Then he’ll return here and be immediately thrust into the position of what exactly?”
Pillbox swallowed and answered, “Lord Overseer.”
“And you’ll be demoted back to senator.”
Honestly, that sounded pretty good to Pillbox. Or did it? Sure, she was terrified of the position Veli had named her for, but it was also exhilarating to know she was the ruler of the most powerful entity in the known universe. Her head told her to get out of this position as quickly as possible, but her heart was beginning to warm up to the idea. She was being recognized as a real player, for once. While she’d always run from such things in the past, there was something to this that she couldn’t help but enjoy. When else would she be sought after by the likes of Mr. Corlair, for example?
“But, madam,” said Corlair with a smile that looked like it should be attached to a “sell your soul” contract, “it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“It doesn’t?” she said in spite of herself.
“Stop this witch hunt and join us. We’ll protect you and get our society back on track.”
“But what if Frexle does kill Veli?” she asked, finding it a challenge to avoid getting caught up in the narrative.
“Unlikely,” Corlair said, “but I’m not fool enough to leave anything to chance, so I’ll answer the question. If, by some miracle, Frexle outwits Veli, nobody will know about it except a small group of people. We’ll then set up a private shindig for Frexle and that group of misfits he inflicted upon our world.”
“Platoon F?”
“Indeed.” He’d said the word with a sneer. “We shall bring them in and kill them all. Then we’ll report that everyone, including Veli, was killed in the firefight.” He gave that demon-bred grin again. “And then we’ll start cheers of ‘Long live Lord Overseer Pillbox!’”
“Oooh, I like that,” she said as his words caressed her ears.
“I thought you might.” He reached down for his briefcase and cleared his throat. “We will need to keep this quiet for now, but you’ll have to stop your people from their searching, obviously.”
“That may prove difficult.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll send some fodder your way.”
“Meaning?”
He set the briefcase on her desk and looked over at her. She could see he was carefully calculating his words, which he’d done throughout their conversation. The man was impressive in presence, even if not in stature.
“Meaning there are a few members of our group we wouldn’t mind seeing dismissed… permanently.”
“Ah.”
“You will also need to keep up your public facade of being a member of the HadItWithTheKillings group.”
He cracked open the briefcase and began shuffling through its contents.
“That will be easy enough,” she said.
“This is the Name Book for our new group, madam,” Corlair said as he placed a sizable binder in front of her. “I’ll just need you to sign it, signifying you are a committed member.”
“A ‘Veli supporters’ group?”
“More like ‘supporters of Veli’s ideas’ group. Whether it’s Veli or someone else sitting in the Lord Overseer’s chair is irrelevant to us.”
She wanted to reach for her pen, but things were progressing too quickly. Just minutes ago she was quaking in her boots regarding the prospect of what to do next in her interim position. Now this smooth-talking CEO of Oversoft had all but convinced her to change affiliations, keep the position of Lord Overseer—she melted a little more at the thought—and begin another reign of mercilessness with herself at the helm.
“I know what you’re thinking, madam,” Corlair said as he pulled the pen back.
“You do?”
“Of course. You are wondering what will happen if Frexle fails in his attempt against Veli.”
It wasn’t what she was thinking, but she played along.
“Oh, yes, that’s what I was thinking.”
“If you are with us, madam, we will have no desire for Veli to return. He was somewhat vexing to work with, after all.” There went that smile again. “However, if you prove to be less than accommodating…” He shrugged. “Let’s just say we shall hope for Veli to have a safe trip home.”
“I see.” She gulped, letting her eyes fall back to the binder before her.
Mr. Corlair was making her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Literally. If she balked, he’d tip his hat to her, leave, and then put out a contract on her life. She wouldn’t survive the night. If she went along with things, she’d hold the Lord Overseer position as a puppet…
She straightened up. Actually, it was perfect! She’d have all the respect attributed by the people to the position of Lord Overseer, but she wouldn’t have to make any of the real decisions. It was essentially everything she’d wanted in a job.
“What’s it called, then?” she asked as she opened the binder and took the pen from him.
“Hmmm?”
“This group. What do you call it?”
“Ah, yes. It’s the HadItWithTheHadItWithTheKillings group.”
“Honestly?”
“Seemed fitting.” He pointed at one of the blank lines on the form. “Now, if you’ll sign there, Permanent Lord Overseer Pillbox?”
“Oooh,” she said as a tingle went down her spine.
NIGHTMARE
Mr. Bronto had just finished going over the chemical structure of Pramboomium and was asking the class if they had any questions.
Young Veli waited patiently for others to participate, hoping someone else in the room would raise their hand and point out that Mr. Bronto’s pathetic depiction was inaccurate. He wasn’t holding his breath, though, since the majority of this class was full of idiots who were more interested in playing sports than in exercising their brains.
To be fair to Mr. Bronto, he wasn’t qualified to teach this subject anyway. His expertise was physical education. He’d only been leading this class because Mrs. Qet was on maternity leave for a few weeks.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bronto,” Veli said, unable to keep his mouth shut, “but the molecular structure of Pramboomium is not made up of three parts Pram and one part Boomium.”
Mr. Bronto’s muscles flexed and the green skin around his red eyes pulled together sinisterly, as a seeping of drool hung from his lips.
“Are you questioning my teaching, boy?”
“No, sir,” Veli replied while showing his belly. “I’m questioning the crappy book you have on Molecular Dynamics.”
“Oh.” Mr. Bronto relaxed and leaned back on his desk. “Fine, then, smartypants, what does make up Pramboomium?”
Veli stood up and looked around the classroom. Each face was sourly looking back at him. They all despised him, and they never went out of their way to hide that fact, but Veli knew someday they would all be working for him in some capacity. When that day arrived, he would have their respect.
“It’s one part Pram, two parts Boom, and one part Ium.”
“Hmmm,” Mr. Bronto said as he scanned over his book while furrowing his brow.
Veli was amazed the fellow could read at all.
The truth was that mo
st of the teachers in this part of the world were behind the times. He’d heard there were some communities that had rejected the concept of the Great Sky Face, claiming—rightly, in Veli’s eyes—that it was idiocy to believe the “twinkling lights” stared down upon its creation with judgmental eyes. But in the area where he grew up, the community was still evolving.
“And just so you know,” Veli added, despite himself, “it’s not used to blow up Prams.”
“It’s not?” Mr. Bronto said, glancing over the top of the book.
“No, sir. It’s used to cure Dinosaur’s Foot.”
Mr. Bronto reached over and grabbed the small jar that held the sample of Pramboomium he’d been discussing.
“Good to know,” the teacher said. Then he waved at Veli. “You may sit back down.”
“Thank you, sir.”
After slamming the book back down on the desk, Mr. Bronto pointed an accusing finger around the class. “The rest of you kids should use our Mr. Veli here as an example. In fact, I’m going to assign some extra homework for the weekend to help you sharpen up!” Mr. Bronto then winced and scratched his foot. “I’m going to take a quick trip to the, uh, teacher’s lounge to put some of this stuff on my foot…” His head snapped up. “Uh, I mean, I’m going there to grab some papers.” He stopped at the door. “All of you be good until I get back!”
As soon as the door shut, every eye spun to stare at Veli.
He gulped.
“Way to go, nerdosaur,” said Deek, one of the rougher dinos in the class. He was a jock who had the looks and muscles, and he also carried a chip on his shoulder regarding anyone who was smarter than him. It was a rather large chip. “Now we’re all going to get homework because of you.”
“Yeah, smelly,” Hoospa said. She was the one girl who Veli had always dreamed of. White teeth, dark green skin, dulled feathering, and the perfect scent of rotting flesh. “Thanks for that.”
“It’s pronounced, ‘Veli,’” Veli said somberly.
“Smelly Veli, fat as jelly,” Hoospa sang.
Veli looked hurt. “It’s not nice to call dinos names, Hoospa.”
Platoon F: Quadology: Missions 6, 7, 8, and 9 (Platoon F eBook Bundle 2) Page 59