Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

  The Reluctant came to rest on a large platform that housed hundreds of ships like the one Stevey had been piloting. Crews of, Harr supposed, Merrymoonians were walking around the ships, standing over half the height of said ships, proving to Harr that his supposition of them being giants was correct.

  “Thothe guyth are huge,” said Hank.

  “Wow,” agreed Sandoo.

  Harr nodded. “Let’s just hope they’re as friendly as Stevey seemed to be, shall we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do make sure that everyone is properly armed, though, just in case. Keep it all concealed, though. We don’t want to start an incident out of nothing.”

  “I’ll inform the crew, sir,” the commander said before switching on a channel. “Attention crew of The SSMC Reluctant. This is Commander Kip Sandoo. We have landed on a planet. Everyone is to pack a weapon, but keep it concealed and only bring it out if absolutely necessary.”

  “Sir,” chimed the speaker.

  “Yes, Ensign Jezden?” replied Sandoo.

  “I need to carry my weapon on the outside of my pants, sir. No room on the inside.”

  Harr groaned.

  “No weapon for you, then, Mr. Jezden.”

  “But—”

  Commander Sandoo cut off the speaker, much to Harr’s relief.

  “Well done, Commander.”

  “Sir,” Sandoo acknowledged.

  “Okay, let’s get to the main hatch. Required personnel only. Everyone else is to stay docked unless I give the word.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  * * *

  The hatch opened slowly, letting in the stench of Merrymoon, a smell that could only be equated to that of the Segnal sewage system.

  Before the hatch was even 25% open, several enormous faces crowded in to have a look at the Segnalians.

  The average height of the people looked to be about 10-feet, though there were a few shorter and taller than that. Even the short ones were insanely big. Harr himself stood at 6’2”, and weighed in at 220 pounds of mostly muscle. Compared to the Merrymoonians, though, he felt like a scrawny child.

  “Back up,” commanded one of the giants, who turned out to be Stevey. “I brought dem in. Dey is my responserbility!” He pushed through, smiling butter-like. “You dem same people up in space dat I talked wif?”

  Harr blinked a few times. “Uh, yes, we are.”

  “Thought so! Okay, you follow me to meet da boss.”

  He strode off. Harr looked at his officers, and the single ensign who had security duty. Harr noted that the ensign had chosen to wear the red outfit instead of the standard blue.

  “You comin’ or what?” called Stevey.

  The crew had to run, nearly full out, in order to keep up with the giant, and it was quite a trek. By the time they arrived at the command building, Harr was covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Even though he was in excellent shape, he felt lightheaded, which he attributed to the likelihood that the oxygen on Merrymoon was thinner than he was used to.

  Stevey cut corner after corner as he “walked” through the labyrinth. People were gawking at Harr and his crew at every turn. It was all Harr could do to hope that they weren’t being brought to some underground place to be “studied.”

  “Wait here,” Stevey said, putting his hand back and knocking Harr on his butt. “Oops, sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Harr said as his crew helped him back to his feet.

  “You can sit in doze chair over der,” Stevey said, pointing.

  The crew walked over and climbed, literally, up into the chairs. They looked like a bunch of kids sitting in gigantic furniture at an amusement park.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” asked Sandoo.

  Harr didn’t know, but he put on his confident face and said, “I’m sure we’ll just meet with the powers that be, talk about our different cultures, share information, set up some type of communication, maybe a treaty or two, and then be on our way.”

  Jezden leaned over. “I thought Rear Admiral Conster said we were supposed to blow them up.”

  “Well, he’s not here, Ensign. I am, and that makes me in charge, and I’m not blowing anybody up with out due cause.”

  “All right, all right,” said Jezden as if slapped. “I was just pointing out our orders. Jeez.”

  Harr took a deep breath. “Sorry, Ensign. I’m feeling a little stressed at the moment.”

  “Ya think?”

  Another deep breath. The fact was that Jezden was correct: those were the orders. But Conster was an idiot and there was no way that Captain Don Harr was going to go down in history as being a butcher, at least not without provocation.

  The ensign who had donned the red outfit instead of the customary blue hopped down from the chair and went over to put his ear to the door. An instant later, Stevey burst through, knocking the ensign across the room.

  “Okay, you can go see the leader guy now,” started Stevey, and then stopped and looked at the fallen ensign. “Uh oh. Dat don’t look good.”

  Harr and Sandoo jumped down and raced to the ensign’s side.

  “Him gonna be okay?” asked Stevey, sounding concerned.

  “Well,” said Harr, “he does have a bit of a dent on his head.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “I think it might be. We should get…Command Sandoo, who is this again?”

  “Ensign Cliff Waters, sir.”

  “Waters needs to get back to our ship for immediate medical attention.”

  Harr knew full well that the ensign was an android, and The Reluctant didn’t have anyone on board that specialized in fixing androids, even if Ensign Sandy was supposedly good at working with their anatomy, but he could only hope that Geezer might be able to patch the fellow up.

  “Okay,” Stevey said, “How can I help?”

  “Since you’re much larger and stronger than we are, maybe you could carry him back to ship?”

  “I can do dat,” Stevey said, and then grabbed the ensign by the leg and started dragging him.

  “Stevey,” Harr called out. “Maybe it would be better if you carried him more like you would carry…say…a baby.”

  “Oh, yeah, okay. Dat makes sense.”

  Stevey dropped the ensign’s leg and then grabbed him firmly by the head and lifted him off the ground and started running.

  Harr sighed, but then realized, based upon the way the Merrymoonians looked, that Stevey was probably carrying the ensign precisely how a Merrymoonian baby would be carried. At least the males.

  The door to the office of the “boss” was still open, so Harr started to walk in.

  He turned back and said, “Let me talk to the, uh, leader guy on on my own.”

  THE LEADER GUY

  Captain Harr had the sudden wish that he wasn’t the captain of The SSMC Reluctant.

  Now and then, he’d learned over the years, it was much better to be an underling who happily muddled through a less adventurous life. He, for example, would be just fine sitting back in the ship, checking and double checking atmospheric anomalies or playing a game of “fetch me some coffee” for someone else. As it stood, he was the captain and, thusly, he was the one who sat in a large chair that faced what appeared to be a ferociously large woman.

  At least, in his estimation anyway, she was much more attractive than the males he’d seen so far. Black hair, greenish eyes, which were not crossed, a more demure nose, and a feminine jawline. He couldn’t account for the quality of her teeth because she had yet to smile, but her lips were full, even when compared to her overlarge face.

  “So, you are the leader of this vessel that has infiltrated our space?” said the leader guy, who, again, had turned out to be a girl, in a commandingly clear grasp of the Segnal language.

  “I am the captain of The SSMC Reluctant, yes, but—”

  “And you have come to attack us, have you?”

  “What? No, not at all.”

  “Your ship is outfitted with enough f
irepower to put our planet back to the days when the men ruled Merrymoon with a wooden fist!”

  “You mean iron?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” said Harr, waving away the point. “May I have your name, please?”

  She adjusted slightly, looking somewhat apprehensive. “My apologies,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “I am Supreme Admiral Preepap Slaroop.”

  “Well, Supreme Admiral Slaroop,” said Harr, “we outfit all of our ships for the eventuality of attack.”

  “Get in to a lot of fights with planets, Captain Harr?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your ship is stacked with Ground Shakers, Planet Poppers, Mayhem Missiles, and Rat-a-tat-tat Sidewinders.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” Harr said with a bit of shock.

  “Ah hah!” she said, pointing at him.

  He recovered quickly. “We’re also carrying many ship-to-ship missiles, and we carry 18-inch laser cannons too. The SSMC Reluctant, ma’am, is a military ship.”

  “Well, that’s different, then,” she thumbed her finger on the desk. “Not! Why would Segnal send a military ship out to attack us.”

  “I assure you, Supreme Admiral Slaroop,” Harr said, lying, “that we have no intention of engaging in any militaristic activity, unless, of course, provoked. Surely you must understand the logic behind that.”

  “All right, I’ll accept that, Captain Harr,” she said, leaning back and slamming two gigantic feet onto the desk while simultaneously crossing her legs. “So you’re telling me that you’re here specifically on a diplomatic mission?”

  Harr wanted to mirror the relaxed pose of Slaroop, but there was no way his feet would reach the desk. Besides, the act would probably be construed as rude anyway. Instead, he just crossed his legs, which he immediately felt looked stupid, being that he had to have appeared tiny in that large chair. He undid the crossing of his legs and relegated himself to sitting normally.

  “Those were my orders, ma’am.”

  “Then you must have a diplomat on board, yes?”

  No, he thought. There was Ensign Jezden, of course, but he was a different brand of diplomat than most. Glancing again at Slaroop, though, Harr determined that Jezden may actually pack enough punch to at least measure up.

  Harr tugged at his collar. “Well, we do have a diplomat specifically for, uh, well…the ladies.”

  “Oh?” said Slaroop with a sudden look of interest. “How so…specifically?”

  “Uh, well, he won the Steel Bone award at The Loose Box convention on the planet Klood.”

  Slaroop’s look went instantly dark. “Are you talking about pornography when you say that, Captain Harr?”

  “I, uh, well, you see…in our culture…” he trailed off, wishing he’d never said anything.

  She pulled her feet back down, reached into her desk, grabbed something out, opened it, twisted it, and began painting her lips until they turned bright red.

  “How do I look?”

  Surprisingly beautiful, thought Harr, but he said, “You look very nice, Supreme Admiral Slaroop.”

  “Thank you,” she said, sultrily. “Why don’t you send in this diplomat of yours, hmmm?”

  Harr groaned. It wasn’t fair to put this responsibility on Ensign Jezden. Then again, it was Jezden he was talking about.

  “I’ll talk to him, ma’am,” Harr said, hopping off the chair.

  “Captain Harr?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I have one final question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you accepted Soenso into your heart?”

  “I’m sure I haven’t, ma’am.”

  “We must work on that, Captain,” she said, seriously. “And we will do so after I’ve had ample…diplomacy.”

  “Right.”

  BACK AT THE SHIP

  While Harr shouldn’t have been surprised, Ensign Jezden not only jumped at the chance to play diplomat, he asked for a title change.

  The rest of the crew had been returned to the ship, including Harr, so that they could clean up and prepare for a feast that was being held in their honor. What that feast would consist of, Harr had no idea, but he would do his best to stomach whatever was put on his plate. Until then, he wanted to check in with Geezer.

  “And so they speak Segnalian?”

  “They do.”

  “Probably just the Universal Translator kicking in.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Harr said. “I looked at it a few times and it wasn’t even processing anything.”

  “Hmmm. How well did they speak it?”

  “Perfectly,” Harr answered. “Well, the women anyway. The men have a bit less cohesion with the language.”

  “How do you suppose that happened?”

  “Probably something to do with testosterone and—”

  “No, I mean why do you think they speak Segnalian at all?”

  “Oh. Only thing I can think of is that they somehow learned it off of The SSMC Voyeur.”

  Geezer grunted and then started typing on his computer. “That could very well be it,” he said, turning his screen toward Harr. “There were a ton of pictures and words sent along with that probe. Plus, every word was spoken by both male and female voices.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Any idea who their leader is?”

  “Overall?” said Harr. “No. I met with the Supreme Admiral, though.”

  “Supreme Admiral? What the hell kind of title is that?”

  Harr shrugged, agreeing at the absurdity of it. “Couldn’t say, but she seemed to have her stuff together.”

  “And that’s the chick you left Jezden to…bone?”

  “He’s merely being a diplomat.”

  “If that makes you feel better about it, chief, we’ll call it that.”

  “It does,” Harr said, resignedly. “Anyway, I didn’t come down here to talk about Jezden. How’s the ensign I sent here?”

  “Unrecoverable. Head was squished like a grape.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” said Harr. He hated losing a member of his crew, android or not. At least he didn’t have to worry about contacting next-of-kin. “How are you feeling, Geezer?”

  “Fully recovered, honcho. Tip-top shape and all that.”

  “Ready for a round of salsa dancing, maybe?” Harr couldn’t resist.

  “Damn protocol bootups. You know that each of the G.3.3.Z.3.R. line got slapped with some obscure program like that so we would be considered well-rounded?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s true, but who the shit thought that someone built like me could engage in salsa dancing anyway? I mean, I know how…it’s intrinsic with each boot, but my body can’t do the necessary moves to make it happen.”

  “Sorry to have brought it up.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No,” Harr agreed with a smile, “I’m not.”

  “Right, well, thanks for the concern, but I’m fine.”

  “Good to hear,” Harr said as he started to walk out. “Listen, while the officers are out at this feast tonight, can you try and tap in to the systems here and find out anything you can that may be useful?”

  “Already on it, chief. Still not in, but I’ll keep at it.”

  Harr nodded and headed back to his quarters.

  Pulling together his dress blues was a challenge at best, especially in such cramped quarters. But tradition was tradition and he knew that the rest of the crew would be wearing theirs, so he go to work.

  Thirty minutes later, he stood before the mirror, going over himself. His hair was perfectly quaffed, his collar was flawlessly pressed and bent at the appropriate angle, his tie was knotted correctly, and his medals lined up as if by ruler. Looking further down he noted that the crease in his pants were identical on either side and his shoes shone a glossy black. Harr was a man that fit the look of a Segnal Space Marine Corps captain to the T.

  Tapping his comm, he said, “Commande
r Sandoo and Lieutenant Laasel, please report to the main hatch.”

  When he arrived, he found that his two officers looked as stunningly kept as he did. The Merrymoonians were sure to be impressed with the SSMC dress uniforms.

  “Ensign Jezden has yet to return, sir,” said Sandoo.

  “I have a feeling we’ll see him at the gala, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shall we?” Harr said, motioning them to step out into the Merrymoon stench.

  THE FEAST

  The tables sat in long procession underneath makeshift tents that hovered roughly 14 feet above the ground. Even at that height, many of the Merrymoonians had to duck to slide under the lip of the canopy.

  Looking up and down the table, Captain Harr was amazed at how goofy the men looked and how attractive the women were in contrast. They were literally Amazons. To be fair, though, if the men had even looked moderately normal the women probably wouldn’t be so grand in comparison.

  At least their hosts had been kind enough to set them out a table that was more their size. Harr assumed that this was the equivalent of being sat at the “kid’s table” during the holidays, but at least here his feet could touch the ground and he could reach his food. The plates, too, were just the right size, though they did have paintings of rainbows and ponies on them. Rear Admiral Parfait would have approved.

  Sitting on the plate was a piece of meat and a glass of what appeared to be beer, though Harr couldn’t quite tell from sniffing it.

  He felt envious of the androids just then. They could smell and taste and all that, but they couldn’t get sick, and they could even turn off their smell and taste programs if they wanted to. Harr was stuck with a nose that wouldn’t shut down, taste buds that would harvest the very last spice, or lack thereof, and a stomach that was already prepared to lurch just from the smell of the general air.

  “And now we shall call for prayer,” announced Supreme Admiral Slaroop, who was happily bouncing Ensign Jezden on her knee.

  The crowd went silent.

  Dead silent.

  Then, as if on queue, the chorused chant began in unison.

  Our Soenso, who art in the mountains, hallowed be thy name. Thou camest to Merrymoon on The SSMC Voyeur, thou taught us how to speak good, and thou stopped the men from being in charge of everything all the time. Give us this day our food and stuff and forgive us for our resounding flatulence as we forgive our neighbors for their resounding flatulence, even if it is funny. Lead us not away from the path that you have set, cause you don’t like us going into the mountains, but deliver us from, well, anything that makes us have to go into the mountains, cause, again, you don’t like it when we do that. Yours are the chipsets, the wires, and the little spinny device that you use to shoot us when we’re bad. Amen.