Platoon F: Pentalogy Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Segnal System

  Mission 1: The SSMC Reluctant

  The Brig

  A New Identity

  Transport

  18

  The SSMC Reluctant

  Orders

  Confirming Orders

  Propulsion?

  Gathering Intelligence

  Informing the Crew

  Updating the Orders

  Engineering

  Preparing to Launch

  Something's Not Adding Up

  The Wrinkle

  The Closet

  Bringing in Geezer

  Derailed

  Deployed

  Second Contact

  Back on Track

  Platoon F

  Mission 2: Angry Robots

  Arbyone

  Ceremony

  Now What?

  An Attack?

  Negotiations

  Same Old Crap

  Defending the Crap

  Time to Move

  Getting Restless

  111-C

  Challenger

  111-D

  Hold That Door

  In the Thick of It

  Back on Top

  Mission 3: The SSMC Voyeur

  Orders

  Research

  Outfitting the Ship

  The Launch

  Prepping to be GONE

  Blink #1

  Blink #2

  Blink #3

  Arrival

  Merrymoon

  The Leader Guy

  Back at the Ship

  The Feast

  The Owl

  The ARC

  ElectroMag

  Retrieving Jezden

  Good God, Geezer

  GONE Again

  Reporting In

  Mission 4: Earthlings

  The Mission

  An Android Combined

  GONE 2.0

  What Time Is It?

  Now What?

  Ensign Ridly

  Witches

  Playing Dress Up

  Inquisitive Minds

  Saving Ensign Ridly

  Trysts

  The Guard

  Back to the Ship

  Arise!

  Another Time

  Military

  Area 51

  Alien Files

  Heroes

  Mission 5: Synthetic DNA

  Landing

  Splitting the Crew

  The Truth

  Shuttle Flight

  The Museum

  Autographs

  Getting with Geezer

  The Jezdens

  Questions

  A Crew Divided

  The Model

  Convincing Arguments

  Takeovers

  Back Together

  The Getaway

  The Short Goodbye

  The Decision

  Back in Time

  New Plans

  Epilogue

  Thanks for Reading

  Starliner - Chapter 2

  Starliner - Chapter 3

  Starliner - Chapter 4

  Crimson Myth Press

  About the Authors

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by John P. Logsdon & Christopher P. Young

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Published by: Crimson Myth Press (www.CrimsonMyth.com)

  All cover art: Jake T. Logsdon (www.jakelogsdon.com)

  THE SEGNAL SYSTEM

  The Segnal System is a collection of planets that has grown over the course of time. It's somewhat like a Federation, but that term had been used so many times that the powers-that-be decided to keep it simple and stick with "system."

  Many travel guides have warned against going to the Segnal System via standard modes of transportation because the people inhabiting Segnal are adamantly opposed to standard forms of propulsion. Segnal engineers worked tirelessly to determine a means for expanding their borders, finally coming up with the Segnal Space Rail System. Essentially, it's a monorail system that connects all the planets together. All ships ride along this rail using magnetization. Cool idea? Not at all. Utterly stupid, in fact, as it puts them on a two-dimensional plane in three-dimensional space!

  The Segnal Space Marine Corps (SSMC) is the only line of defense against all things that may threaten the Segnal System. Internal espionage, alien races, rogue robots, and angry asteroids are just a sampling of the constant threats that the SSMC is called upon to defend against. Their challenge is defending the System while being stuck on rails.

  Fortunately, there is a top-secret special operations group known as Platoon F who have slipped past the rules so that they are not held captive to the rails.

  Platoon F is the team that does what other teams will not or cannot do, and often times they are the only barrier between life-as-Segnal-citizens-know-it and utter destruction.

  Mission 1 from the files of

  Platoon F

  THE BRIG

  Lieutenant Orion Murphy sat in the brig waiting for execution.

  Sure, there were hundreds of casualties and more than a few deaths; and sure, there was a lot of property that got destroyed; and sure, it had all happened in the blink of an eye, but it only happened because he was following orders.

  He tapped on the wall pad and pulled up a copy of the orders.

  “To attack or not on Primus-12? That is the question! Your orders are to answer that question, Lieutenant Murphy.”

  How the hell was he supposed to know that it was some kind of test? Wasn’t it the job of space marines to attack, defend, and/or destroy?

  He looked down at the patch on his shirt. It said it right there!

  Segnal Space Marine Corps — Attack, Defend, Destroy!

  So he did what he was trained to do, and now he was going to be “hanged until the hanging has done its job.” Whatever happened to the good old firing squad from fifty years back? Fast, effective, and there wasn’t much time for feeling anything.

  “Murphy?” one of the guards said as he approached the cell.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve got a visitor.”

  “I don’t suppose she’s good looking?”

  “It’s a he,” the guard said.

  “I don’t suppose he’s good looking?”

  “Not to my way of thinking, but we’re in a ‘don’t-ask-don’t-tell’ unit here.”

  The force field buzzed a bit louder for a second and then dropped.

  Murphy followed the guard through the winding hallways that ended up in a grouping of offices. The entire place was a dark, dismal gray color. If things hadn’t been depressing enough for Murphy, the lack of pop from paint would have solidified his poor state of mind.

  At least they didn’t resort to cuffing and shackling him like they’d done with other prisoners. Even though he was on the executioner’s list, he was a soldier, and soldiers did what they were told—which is what got him in here in the first place.

  Years had gone into making a soldier like Murphy. The powers-that-be took training seriously in the Segnal Space Marine Corps (SSMC).

  “Lieutenant Murphy,” said Rear Admiral Parfait, Murphy’s direct-to, “have a seat.”

  “Yes, sir,” Murphy said, sitting, but doing so at full attention.

  “At ease. Murphy,
I’m disappointed in you. You have all the makings of a rising star. You’re smartish, you’ve got excellent reflexes, powerful biceps, a nice chiseled set of abs, and a butt you could bounce a 50-point credit off of.”

  “Sir?”

  “Uh…what I mean, Lieutenant, is that you’re the kind of man that can really make someone reconsider…I mean, you’re a solid soldier.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Murphy said as he shifted uncomfortably.

  “The problem is that you failed the simplest test of them all! Everyone knows that the answer to the question is to not fire. Everyone! Hell, even the new batch of recruits that have just come through this morning, a fine looking bunch, too, I have to tell you, yes, yes, strong and virile—and, well, anyway, even they know better than to fire when asked that question.”

  “But, sir,” Murphy said, pointing at his Segnal Space Marine Corps patch, “it says right here that our mission is to attack, defend, and/or destroy.”

  “That’s correct, soldier, and that’s why it’s all the more important that you not actually do those things.”

  Murphy blinked.

  “The difference between a soldier and a civilian,” Parfait said helpfully, “is that a soldier has a choice to kill or not.”

  “Doesn’t a civilian also have that choice?”

  Parfait pursed his lips. “Come to think of it, I suppose they do. I’ve never been asked that question before. I guess it’s just been assumed that soldiers kill people and civilians don’t, or shouldn’t anyway. Maybe that’s the point I’m trying to make. Yes, yes, that makes more sense.” Parfait squared his shoulders and said, “The difference between soldiers and civilians is that soldiers are supposed to kill people.”

  “That’s what I did, sir.”

  “Right, and it was wrong.”

  “But, sir, I’m a soldier.”

  “I don’t see your point.”

  “You just said that soldiers are supposed to kill people.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, sir, I’m a soldier and I killed people.”

  “Yes, and that’s wrong.”

  “Which one is it, sir?”

  “Both and neither, Lieutenant, as anyone with even a modicum of intelligence could tell you!”

  Murphy was starting to wonder if maybe he was a bit too smartish to be in the Segnal Space Marine Corps.

  Rear Admiral Parfait tapped on the desk and a holographic user interface popped up. Murphy watched as the Rear Admiral swiped this way and that until he was in the SSMC indoctrination system. Jumping from page to page, Parfait kept mumbling until he finally said, “Aha…yes, this is it.”

  Murphy pulled himself closer to the screen.

  “Right here,” Parfait pointed at the display. “Read that out loud.”

  Murphy cleared his throat and said, “To attack or not on Primus-12? That is the question! Your orders are to answer that question, insert name here.”

  “That ‘insert name here’ part is where we put the soldier’s name that’s being asked the question.”

  “I gathered that, sir.”

  “Good, good. Now, read the next line.”

  “The soldier is to answer that question with an emphatic ‘no’.”

  “See that?” Parfait said with his hands up. “It’s right there in digital, Lieutenant. You screwed up. Big time.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’ve never seen this before.”

  Parfait’s face scrunched slightly. “You haven’t?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you were indoctrinated on 2/2/9042, were you not?”

  “No, sir. I was indoctrinated on 2/2/9041.”

  The Rear Admiral turned the screen back away from Murphy and started typing as quickly as a Rear Admiral could be expected to. He was saying “hmmm” and “huh” a lot.

  “Now, that’s a nice tush,” Parfait said at one point.

  “Sir?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, sorry, got an email from a, uh, colleague. Had to respond to it. Let me pull up your record, Lieutenant.” Parfait worked on the screen for a moment and then said, “Hmmm. Well, what do you know about that?”

  “Sir?”

  “I fear that we may have made a mistake, soldier. It seems that we asked you the wrong question.” Parfait spun the screen back toward Murphy and said, “Answer this: If you were to fire on Xapecious-12, a peace-loving world that has no weaponry at all, would that be wise?”

  “The answer is no, sir.”

  “Correct,” Parfait said, triumphantly. “See, if only you had been given that question instead of the one meant for a graduate from 9042, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “So, does that mean I’m free to go, sir?”

  “No, sorry. We can’t have the military look bad because of one lousy mistake. I’m afraid you’ll have to take one for the team, soldier.”

  “I’d rather not, sir.”

  “I understand. I wouldn’t either if I were in your shoes. Such is life, I suppose.”

  Murphy was torn. On the one hand he was a soldier, and soldiers sometimes had to suffer the consequences of the choices of their superiors; on the other hand, this was his life they were talking about, to be sacrificed due to a clerical error. Murphy was fine losing his life in the line of duty, but this was insanity.

  “I would like to appeal this decision, sir,” Murphy said.

  “On what grounds?”

  “Uh…that I didn’t do anything wrong, sir.”

  “But the military did, soldier,” Parfait said with a tilt of his head.

  “Right, that’s kind of my point.”

  “Sadly, your defense about it being our fault doesn’t hold much water.”

  “Shouldn’t it, sir?”

  “Probably. Anyway, I think that pretty much clears up the appeal process. I’m sorry it had to come to this, Murphy, but things are what they are…unless…” Parfait tapped on the desk for a moment. “No, you probably wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s just that we have a new division that’s being started and nobody wants to take command. It’s a horrible unit.”

  “Better than dying, sir.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll take it.”

  “I don’t know,” Parfait said with a faraway look. “You’ll have to change your name, your identity, and you’ll need to undergo some face-altering surgery. We’ll have to stage it as though you were executed as planned. Your real name has to be dragged through the muck and all of that.”

  “Due to a clerical error,” Murphy said with a nod.

  “Correct.”

  “Will I still remember who I truly am, sir?”

  “Of course you will. What kind of people do you think we are?”

  “Right, well, either way, I think I’ll chance running this new troop, sir.”

  “So you’re volunteering, then?”

  “I suppose so, if that’s what you want to call it.”

  “Good lad. Fine, fine. I will have everything prepared.” Parfait stood and saluted smartly. “Come tomorrow, Lieutenant, you will awake to a new life, with a new name, a new face, and a new job…don’t worry, though, we’ll keep that rock-hard physique of yours intact. Wouldn’t want to lose that!”

  “Uh, thank you, sir.”

  A NEW IDENTITY

  When he woke up the next morning, they had him sitting in a chair in a room that was blurry at best. He could barely move his face, as it was being squished by some machine. It wasn’t comfortable. There was a tangy taste in his mouth and he was certain that he was drooling all over the place, but the numbness of his lips and chin made it difficult to tell. The worst part was how the machine was pressing against his nose, making him breathe with a bit of a whistle.

  Fortunately, his ears were uncorked so he could at least hear what was going on around him.

  “What about his eyes?” he heard Commander Parfait say. “You didn’t touch those steely blue
eyes, did you?”

  “No, sir. We kept to your prescribed changes.”

  “Sturdy chin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “High cheek bones?”

  “Check.”

  “Pearly whites?”

  “Check.”

  “So you fixed those crooked lower teeth? I’m not a fan of that, you know.”

  “They’ve been fixed, sir.”

  “Fuller lips?”

  “Just a bit, sir, as you had said.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t want to overdo that. He’d look foolish. I see you’ve given him the platinum blond hair, and thickened it up too. Nice touch, that. Did he get the full-body tan I’d asked for?”

  “It was in the medications, sir.”

  “So it’ll be permanent?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Perfect, perfect. I don’t suppose you were able to alter his emotions toward older gentlemen at all?”

  “Sorry, sir. That would be beyond allowable protocol.”

  “Of course it would be, soldier! I was just testing you. Now, what’s his new name?”

  “Don Harr, sir.”

  Murphy felt his ears perk up at the sound of his name. It didn’t actually sound familiar to him, but it felt right. Somewhere in the back of his brain floated a reference to the name “Orion.” Things started to fall back in place. The message, the test, the destruction, the Rear Admiral’s odd comments regarding his buttocks. Ah, he thought, his real name was Murphy, Orion Murphy; but the name ‘Harr’ resonated a tad more solidly with him.

  “Has a bit of a ring to it, I suppose,” said Parfait, who was just out of Murphy’s visual range. “You’ve also bumped him to the rank of Commodore?”

  “We have, sir.”

  “Wait, wait, wait…did you say Don Harr?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It sounds kind of interesting when you reverse the names, doctor.”

  “Commodore Don Harr, sir?”

  “Last name first, doctor.”

  “Oh, yes, I see what you mean.”

  “I’d say we should probably change that out to something a bit less easy for the troops to use against him.”

  “Sorry, sir, no can do. Identity swap protocols are only safely integrated once every six months. We could rewrap him then, of course.”

  “Oh well, can’t be helped. When will he be awake?”

  “Looks like he already is, sir.”

  “Excellent,” the Rear Admiral said as he walked into Harr’s view. “Nice to see you’re in good spirits, Murph…erm, I mean Lieutenant Harr…uh, I mean Commodore Harr.”