by Isaac Hooke
Together, they gazed at the ocean for several moments, watching the waves gently lap against shore.
“So peaceful here,” Crusher said. “We should build a beach house. I could stay here forever.”
“Me, as well,” Bambi said. She paused. “You know, it feels almost like the calm before the storm. Like this is the last chance we’ll have to relax, before the real fighting begins.”
“Maybe it is,” Eric said. “I can’t argue with you there. Because while I’m confident we’ll get home, I doubt we’re done fighting yet.”
“Home,” Crusher said. “Wasn’t it you who told us, no matter where we went, we’d always be at home, because of all this?” She gestured toward the ocean in front of her.
“It’s true,” Eric said. “This reality is based on my imagination. I’ve always believed that you could live anywhere in the world, and it would feel like home, because of what we have up here.” He tapped his temple.
“You know, I’m kind of a sapiosexual, I think,” Crusher said. “Turned on by intelligence. Because I’m suddenly really horny.”
“Why do girls always say that these days?” Eric said. “‘I’m a sapiosexual.’ They think it makes them sound smart or something?”
“Ass,” Crusher said.
Eric smiled. “Sorry. But seriously, what I said wasn’t intelligent. It was just the truth.”
“Just shut up for a second, okay?” Crusher said.
“How rude—” Eric began.
But Crusher and Bambi jumped him then, and what followed was a sexual session involving burying the girls in the sand, leaving strategic openings for his pleasurable access, and then building a few sand castles in the nude. Oh, and some skinny dipping, and more sex. While blue dolphins splashed in circles around them.
Yep. It was as close to paradise as any man could ever get.
And he had his own slice of it.
If only for a little while.
The afternoon passed blissfully. In the evening, as the sun set, he received a call from Frogger.
“What is it?” Eric asked.
“We’re having a barbecue in Tread’s VR,” Frogger replied. “Everyone’s invited. We’re doing some unwinding before returning to the real world, and setting our time senses to normal.”
He glanced at his VR time to real world time converter: only twenty minutes had passed in the real world.
“Yeah, I guess there’s time,” Eric said. “We’re not doing anything here anyway.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Frogger said. “I wasn’t doing anything but having sex all day with Molly anyway.”
Eric smiled wanly. Molly.
“What is it?” Frogger said.
“Nothing.”
“I saw that smile,” Frogger pressed.
Eric shook his head. “Who am I to judge whether your Molly is real or not.”
“Oh, she’s not,” Frogger said. “But she’s real to me, and that’s all that matters.”
“I suppose so,” Eric said. “See you in Tread’s VR.”
“Good, because I got a couple of surprises I’m bringing along,” Frogger said.
“I’m intrigued,” Eric said.
“Of course you are,” Frogger said.
“I’ll be right there.” Eric disconnected. He glanced at Bambi and Crusher, who pressed into his side in the hot tub he’d created on the beach to watch the sunset.
“Well, we can either stay here, and watch the sunset,” Eric told them. “Or join our friends in a Tread’s VR for a barbecue.”
“I don’t want to go,” Bambi said. “I just want to stay here. Forever.”
“I hear you,” Eric said.
Crusher snuggled against his side, giving her answer.
Some moments later, Crusher sighed. “I suppose we should show our faces. Do what we can to boost morale. Show that we give a shit about the rest of the team.”
“Even if we don’t?” Bambi joked.
Eric chuckled. He lifted his arms over their necks, and set them back down into the water beside his own body, resting his hands on his thighs. “Well, I guess we should go then.”
Bambi pouted, but then sighed. She squeezed his crotch and gave him a French kiss, arousing him instantly. When she pulled away, she said: “You punish me, I punish you.”
And then she vanished.
“Damn her,” Eric said. He turned toward Crusher, wanting to satisfy his sudden urge, but she smiled apologetically and disappeared as well.
“I guess this was my idea.” He logged off his VR, and entered Tread’s.
Eric found himself standing on a pier overlooking a pool of lava.
“Holy shi—” He lost his balance, and almost fell right in. He spun around, only to find the Bolt Eaters all standing there in a half circle.
“Surprise!” Bambi shouted. She was wearing a party hat. She held a big cake in both hands.
“Oh, it’s my birthday,” Eric said.
“Our birthday,” Frogger said from beside him.
Eric stepped away from the edge of the pier; the scenery instantly changed, becoming a conference room hall. Tables of food spanned the carpeted floor. Festive ribbons were tied onto some them.
Eric opened one of the metal food warmers. There was some pasta inside, though most of it was eaten.
“You didn’t wait for me,” Eric said.
“Of course not,” Frogger said. “I never wait for anyone when I’m at the buffet. But I did leave the cake, so you have to give me some credit where it’s due.”
Eric nodded, then glanced at Tread. “Nice touch on the lava, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Tread said.
Bambi set the cake down on the main table. She gestured toward it. “The two of you have to blow out the candles.”
Eric approached the cake with Frogger. It read: Happy two hundred and twenty-third birthday, Scorpion and Frogger!
“Well, that would explain why there are so many candles,” Eric said.
“Two hundred and twenty-three, to be exact,” Brontosaurus said. He patted Eric on the shoulder. Well, patted was probably too gentle a word: more like pounded, with that meaty hand of his.
Eric glanced at Frogger. “Shall we?”
He bent over to blow them out.
“Make a wish!” Crusher said.
I hope we get home without anyone dying.
Eric blew, and between himself and Frogger, they extinguished all two hundred and twenty-three candles.
Dickson cut Eric a piece of cake and placed it onto a paper plate. The cake was white, with white icing on the top, and custard cream layered in the middle. While Dickson gave Frogger the next piece, Eric surveyed the ranks, and was disappointed to see that Marlborough hadn’t shown up.
“Don’t be too disappointed that the Sarge isn’t here,” Dickson said. “He was aware it was your birthday. But you know he doesn’t come to functions like this. He did tell me to wish the two of you a happy birthday.”
“Appreciate you passing that on,” Eric said.
He sat down at one of the tables in the conference room and Frogger sat across from him. The others joined, with Bambi on his left and right.
“This meeting of the Knights of the Round Table is now in session,” Mickey announced.
“Knights of the what?” Slate said.
“Hm, I guess the King Arthur legend went the way of Robin Hood in modern times,” Mickey said.
Slate shook his head. “You bitches and your weird cultural lingo.” He made his voice high-pitched next, to mock them. “Oh King Arthur, where’s my Robin Hood. I need you so bad, because you’re such a big, strong manly man, with those big strong arms, and such wee shoulders, oh King Slate.”
“Somehow he went from King Arthur to King Slate in the same sentence,” Eagleeye said. “And I’m not quite sure how.”
Eric scooped a piece of the cake from his plate into his spoon, and took a bite. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“Only in VR can we celebrate a bir
thday in the middle of a mission,” Traps said, shaking his head. “You’re right, good cake, though.”
“So what did you wish for?” Dunnigan asked as he licked the icing off his spoon.
Bambi raised a finger. “Oh no, he can’t tell you. That’ll make the wish never come true.”
“She’s right,” Crusher said. “Wishes made on the sacred alter of the birthday cake have to be kept secret.”
Eric had to smile at their conspiratorial behavior.
“You know, this isn’t even the real birthday of Frogger and myself,” Eric told them. “As I’ve always said, the day we woke up in Cicada war machines is a much better marker.”
“You say that every year,” Crusher said.
“I know,” Eric told her. “I did preface the comment with, as I’ve always said.”
“And as I’ve always said,” Hicks chimed in. “The day when our minds first formed on this planet mark our real birthdays. Whether you like it or not.”
Eric sighed, shaking his head. He took another bite
“So you’re another year older,” Traps said, glancing between Frogger and Eric. “How’s it feel?”
“Given that we don’t really age,” Eric said. “It’s only a psychological marker.”
“Yes, your minds are a year older,” Traps said. “How’s it feel?”
Eric considered. “Tiring.”
Slate giggled. “Them two girls are seeping up all your mental energy in bed, aren’t they?”
“No, more like the reverse,” Eric said. “They restore my energy. When they don’t tease me.” He looked at Bambi accusingly.
Bambi shrugged gleefully.
Eric ate another big spoonful. It came from the edge of his piece, so it had a lot of icing, and was cloyingly sweet. “So I thought you had a surprise?” Eric asked Frogger. “Or was this it?”
“No, I have one,” Frogger said.
He reached down into a cooler resting under the table, and produced two beer bottles. One labeled Heineken, the other Guinness.
“I promised you all I’d prepare some beers…” Frogger said.
“Shit man, that seems like ages ago,” Slate said.
Frogger shrugged. “It was shortly after we arrived on this planet.”
“Well give me the Dutch beer, I don’t want no English crap,” Slate said.
“Guinness is Irish,” Crusher said.
Slate waved a dismissive hand. “Same diff.”
Frogger tossed Slate a Heineken can, while Dunnigan took the longer Guinness container.
“I don’t think it’ll taste that good after eating cake,” Brontosaurus said.
Frogger shrugged. “Clear your digital palate in your settings.”
Slate cracked open the top and took a long sip. “Mmm, you got it just right. I can drink this shit all day.” He held it to his lips again and kept drinking until it was empty. Then he crushed the can in his fingers and tossed it aside. “Another!”
Frogger waved a hand, and a twelve-pack appeared in front of Slate.
“Now that’s what I’m talking ‘bout!” Slate said. “You my fav bitch today, Froggy!”
“Notice how his words become more slangy as he gets drunk?” Treads commented.
Dunnigan meanwhile tried his Guinness. “Hmm, it’s close. Something’s not quite right though.”
Frogger frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You’ll get it mate, don’t worry,” Dunnigan said. Eric noticed that Dunnigan was happy to hang onto the drink, however, and kept taking sips. Maybe so that Frogger wouldn’t feel as bad.
Eric accepted a Heineken. He wanted something light. When he finished his cake, he accessed his HUD and reset his VR taste sensors. Then took a sip.
“What do you think?” Frogger asked.
“Not bad,” Eric said. “Tastes like every Heineken I’ve ever had in real life. And that’s a good thing.”
“Thank you.” Frogger seemed relived.
“I still think it’s a load of bull crock that them chicks of yours are revitalizing you,” Slate said. “Having to constantly please two girls, not just physically, but mentally, has got to be draining.”
“No,” Eric said. “Maybe it was, at first. But after twenty years, you get used to it. And I can’t imagine ever living without them.”
“Well, good for you then, man,” Slate said. “All the more power to ya.”
“Try not to be too jealous or anything,” Traps said.
“Bro, there was not a shred of jealousy in my voice,” Slate said. “I assure your bitch ass. Shit, you’re the one who’s jealous. You don’t even have a girlfriend.”
“At least I’m dating,” Traps said. “I mean, I was, before this mission.”
Slate chuckled at that. “Sure you were. Dude, you weren’t dating jack and shit. And jack called in sick.”
“That reminds me of a line from a movie we once saw…” Frogger said, looking at Eric.
“Army of Darkness?” Eric said.
Frogger nodded. “Uh huh. Looks like some classical slang phrases have passed the test of time, even if Robin Hood and King Arthur failed to make the grade.”
“Make the grade?” Slate said. “Whoa, you guys and your strange slang. Anyway, in regards to what I just said, it was no slang phrase. I made that shit up. Seriously. So don’t try to tell me I got it from no twentieth century crappy movie.”
“It was quite good, actually,” Frogger said. “You should watch it. You’ll like it.”
“Uh, when you watch Beasties Feast On Buggies V, then I’ll think about it,” Slate said. “Now that’s a real classic.”
“The dumbing down of America actually came to pass,” Frogger bemoaned, throwing up his arms.
The rest of the evening passed much like that, with Eric and Frogger reminiscing on past birthdays, and the times the team got in trouble at various clubs they visited on Earth. Androids weren’t allowed in most such clubs, so they had to sneak in most of the time, which usually caused a few problems when they were found out.
In any case, eventually the time for celebrations came to an end, and the Bolt Eaters, who had been avoiding dealing with reality for as long as possible, were at last summoned to return to the real world.
“Sarge is calling,” Dickson said. “It’s time to go. I hope the two of you had a fun birthday.”
Eric smiled sadly. “It was as fun as it could get. Good beer. Good cake. Good friends. No complaints.”
Bambi raised an eyebrow. “What about good sex?”
“That, too,” Eric said. “Well, before you teased me at the end.”
“Hey, we have to keep you coming back for more,” Crusher said. She blew him a kiss, and vanished.
“I’ll keep coming back, don’t you worry,” Eric promised the empty air she left behind.
Bambi gripped his hand one last time. “I really don’t want to go back. Let’s run away together.”
“I wish I could.” Eric was the one who vanished this time.
He logged out of this reality, and returned to the real world.
13
Eric blinked as the real world returned. He raised his robotic arm and squeezed his metal fist with some regret. But maybe not as much as might be expected.
Back inside the killing machine.
It was this form that was keeping him alive in here, not his VR form. And he respected that about his machine body more than anything else.
“Well, the emitters are finished,” Marlborough said.
“Even mine?” Bambi asked.
“Even yours,” Marlborough replied. “Though you started late. Some of the other drones finished their emitters early, and the different Accomps in charge sent the spare units to yours to help with construction. So yes, you’re ready, too.”
Brontosaurus nodded toward what was left of the tanks. Most still had substantial metallic components left, though many were gutted.
“So what should we do with these, or what’s left of them?” Brontos
aurus asked.
“We don’t need them anymore,” Marlborough said. “They’ll only draw attention to us, and give away what we really are. But gather as much material as you can fit into your storage compartments for any future repairs.”
Eric and the others ripped away different parts of the wreckages, and shoved the materials into their storage compartments.
“So what’s the range on these masking devices?” Tread asked. “As in: how close can we let the enemy approach before they realize we’re not actually those three-legged Sloth units of theirs?”
“Just to be on the safe side, I’d say don’t let any Banthar units close to more than five hundred meters,” Frogger said.
“But with modern telescopic lenses, couldn’t they get a visual a lot farther than that?” Treads pressed.
“And maybe, just maybe, we should have talked about this before we spent all this time creating the damn things?” Hicks said. “Instead of just blindingly trusting in Frogger.”
“Your trust isn’t misplaced,” Frogger said. “I’ve been recording a lot of data on the Banthar machines, and I’m convinced that most of their units don’t really rely on the visual spectrum, except at very close ranges. In fact, some of them don’t even have cameras. My alien tank certainly didn’t for example: neither I, nor my repair drones, found anything remotely resembling a camera while disassembling the tank for spare parts. There were a few LIDAR emitters, but that was about it. The hulls of our mech automatically scatter LIDAR, so we’re safe on that front.”
“But won’t LIDAR scattering give us away right there?” Brontosaurus asked.
“I don’t think so,” Frogger said. “As far as I can tell, the real Sloths used LIDAR scattering.”
“So keeping our distance from Banthar units might prove easier said than done,” Dickson told him. “When I was in the army during my human days, if ever we spotted friendly units in the distance, we always established an ID before moving on. I don’t see why these aliens wouldn’t do the same. If they detect us, they’ll probably approach in an attempt to confirm we really are friendly.”
“I don’t think so,” Frogger said. “The emitters are the ID you’re speaking of. If I thought otherwise, I would have never designed the devices. Enemy units won’t approach once we’re detected. It’s up to us to keep our distance.”