Platoon F: Pentalogy Read online

  Everyone just stood there, staring at him.

  “Well, come on, people, let’s get a move on!”

  Feet started shuffling this way and that as the crew went about their duties.

  “You four,” Harr said, pointing at his officers, “I was told we were to expect our orders by 11:00. We’ll meet in the officer’s conference room at 11:30 to discuss.”

  As he climbed back down the ladder to set up his quarters, he couldn’t help but think that execution might have been the better choice.

  ORDERS

  As expected, the orders were about 20 minutes late—which was why Harr purposefully set the meeting with his officers to be 30 minutes after the orders were due. Maybe he should have scheduled it an hour out so that he could familiarize himself with the mission before entering the conference, but he hadn’t thought of it at the time and he preferred more of an open style of management.

  The crew was already sitting when he arrived.

  “Commodore is on—”

  “Stop doing that, Commander,” Harr said as he sat down. “I’m not one of those by-the-book types. Sometimes in front of the brass we have to play the game of good soldier, but not while we’re on my boat.”

  “But, sir,” Sandoo said, “you are the brass.”

  Harr went to retort, but Sandoo was right. That’s exactly what he was, thanks to Parfait.

  “Nevertheless, on this boat let’s just work as a team. Yes, I make the final call on things … somebody has to, after all.”

  “I’ll do it,” Yek said in a hissing voice, his face betraying no emotion.

  Even though he was in the same amount of light as the others, Harr couldn’t help be feel the man was sitting in a dark corner. It was like he had his own personal shadowed dome. What Harr could see wasn’t pretty. Scars, missing teeth, tattoos, and black hair that was shaved tightly on one side and hanging elbow length on the other.

  “I’m sorry,” said Harr. “You’ll do what?”

  “Make the calls.”

  Harr gave him a funny look and said, “No thanks, I’m good. My point is that we follow a standard chain of command as far as orders go, but we keep the saluting at bay unless we’re in a public venue. Clear?”

  “Clear, sir,” Commander Sandoo replied, looking a bit forlorn.

  Harr sighed. “If it’s that important to you, Commander, you may continue to salute me, but don’t expect it from others and don’t announce me every time I walk into a room.”

  That seemed to clear Sandoo’s visage a bit. Being the brass was a pain in the ass, thought Harr.

  “Sir?” Laasel said, raising her hand.

  If there was one thing on this ship that could be considered attractive, it was Lieutenant Laasel. She was a bit full-figured, just like the supermodels that walked the runways in those Vandoo’s Secret commercials. Her ebony skin was flawlessly stretched across a perfect chest that heaved its cleavage with every breath, but it was the light blue hair that made Commodore Don Harr shift uncomfortably.

  “Lieutenant Laasel?”

  “Who?” she said, looking funnily at him.

  “You are Lieutenant Laasel, are you not?”

  “No,” she said at length, and then added, “My name is Gravity Plahdoo.”

  “Good to have you back, baby,” said Ensign Jezden, the muscular youngster on board.

  Harr felt an instant dislike for Jezden, and it wasn’t because he was known to be packing quite a punch in the dong region of his anatomy. The damn thing had won Jezden an award, after all. But that wasn’t the issue. There was just something flippant about the kid that would probably one day spell trouble.

  Harr dismissed that and focused back on the multiple personality issue of his Lieutenant. He wondered why in the hell would the military keep someone with such issues on the force? There was little sense to it. At least give her some drugs or do surgery or…well, something! Then he looked at her again and realized that, if nothing else, she was good for morale; and it wasn’t like her alternate personalities were considered a threat, unless seeing a beautiful woman strip naked at a moment’s notice could somehow cause a heart attack. One more glance at those breasts made him think that it was indeed possible.

  “I didn’t know I went anywhere, sugar,” Gravity said to Jezden.

  “If we could keep some form of professionalism please?”

  “You’re the one that said regulations be damned, sir,” said Jezden, flashing his perfect smile.

  Asshole.

  “Okay, so we’ll add this one back in: No fraternizing with each other while on board this ship.”

  “Uh, sir,” Commander Sandoo said, “that’s not even a requirement on the books in general. It’s unenforceable.”

  “Fine,” Harr replied. “Can we specify that there should be no hanky-panky while we’re on duty, at least?”

  “Definitely, sir. That’s regulation 17a.”

  “17a?” said Jezden. “What’s 17?”

  “No hanky-panky while sitting in a conference room with a superior officer.”

  “That makes no sense,” Yek mumbled. “What if the hanky-panky is with the superior officer?”

  “That’s allowable under the 17b addendum,” Sandoo answered.

  “Thank the gods for addendums,” Harr stated sarcastically, and then he looked at Gravity, “Anyway, you were going to ask me a question?”

  “No,” she replied in a somewhat huskier voice.

  “But you just said …”

  “Ugh,” Jezden said, yanking his hand off Laasel’s shoulder and tilting his head at her, “this is Hank, sir. Gravity just took a backseat.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Hank.

  Harr turned to Sandoo. “Commander, I honestly don’t care what it takes or what regulations need to be bent in order to get it done, but I want you to find a way to make Lieutenant Laasel stay Lieutenant Laasel. Are we clear?”

  “I’ve got a stash of pills that’ll do it,” Yek said.

  “Will they do anything besides keep her on track?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Such as?”

  “Kill her.”

  Harr gave Yek his best stare. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t. The man was damned unsettling. Still, per regulations, Harr had to keep the upper hand. “Then I guess we’ll just have to avoid that, won’t we?”

  Yek shrugged. “You’re the boss … for now.”

  “That’s correct, I am.” Harr looked again at Laasel. “So what was your question?”

  “I have no quethtionths,” said Hank, in an amazingly lisped voice.

  “Right. Super,” Harr said, quickly and then went to key up the orders, “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  He tapped on the desk, but nothing happened—then he recalled that some of the older systems used an under-the-desk power system. Reaching under he felt something and pressed it. It was sticky. He pulled his finger out to find a bit of gum on it.

  “Sorry, sir,” Ensign Jezden said. “I was sitting there before you showed up. You know, just to get a feel for the chair.”

  “And you thought it’d be okay to stick your gum here?”

  “Habit,” Jezden said, looking sheepish.

  “Work on correcting that habit, Ensign.”

  “Sir,” Jezden acknowledged.

  “Does anyone know how to turn this damn desk on?”

  “Rub it?” suggested Hank.

  “This ship isn’t equipped with the latest technology, sir,” Sandoo said.

  “Ya think?”

  Sandoo said, “If you pull out the little drawer in front of you, you’ll see a keyboard.”

  Harr did so.

  “Now, if you just press any key on that, sir, you’ll be good to go.”

  Pressing down the key brought to life a whirring sound. The lights automatically dimmed and a projection of data showed up on the far wall. Harr logged in, which took a while since the keyboard had a haphazard layout that was completely foreign to his normal mode of
data entry.

  Soon the team was looking at his inbox. The first three items in the list were spam.

  … Be a man in the sack! Get The Stiff Maker™.

  … Do you have small testicles? Ha ha ha!

  … Found your wife with another woman? Sell the videos!

  Harr coughed, highlighted the three items, and deleted them. Then he moved to the next one in the list, which was from Parfait. Opening it up, he found it was a video message.

  Lieutenant Murphy … huh? What’s that? Oh, yes, right. I mean Commodore Harr, you are to take The SSMC Reluctant to sector 27 and launch an all-out attack on the Kortnor space station in quadrant 27-19. There are to be no survivors, Lieutenant. What’s that? Damn it. There are to be no survivors, Commodore, on either that space station or on The SSMC Reluctant. Also, these orders are for your ears only. Nobody on your ship should be notified until the last moment. If you have to let Commander Sandoo in on things, I suppose that’s fine. He’s a nice young man, even if he does have a penchant for sticking four too many toes on each foot. But the rest of your officers are expendable anyway so they should be on a need-to-know basis only. Side note to watch out for Yek. He’s one crazy bastard. That’s it for now. Feel free to give me a call tonight if you’re not too busy. I have some pictures from my private collection that I wouldn’t mind showing…what’s that? Fine, fine. Good luck, Lieut … erm, Commodore Harr. Parfait out.

  The room sat in stunned silence. It was all Harr could do to keep his cool. Lesson learned, he thought, regarding the need to first review all orders before sharing them with his officers.

  “Well,” Harr said, “I guess that tells us where we all stand.”

  “27-19 is off the tracks,” Yek grumbled, seemingly unfazed by Parfait’s comments.

  “That can’t be,” Sandoo said.

  Yek glared at him. “Look it up.”

  Harr did. Sure enough, it was off the tracks, and it wasn’t even within firing distance from the tracks.

  “There must be a mistake,” Ensign Jezden said.

  “Agreed,” said a military-sounding female voice that Harr could only assume was Lieutenant Laasel’s primary personality.

  “It’s no mistake,” Yek said.

  “It has to be …”

  “No, Yek’s right,” Harr interjected. “It’s no mistake, people.” Then he laughed at the idiocy of it all before flipping up the main page for the SSMC. He pointed at it. “We’re on The SSMC Reluctant. The year is 9050. That means it’s the ship’s 50th anniversary. It’s a setup.”

  “Uh?” said Jezden.

  “Don’t any of you watch the news?” Yek said. “It’s been sidebar story for the last month.”

  “News is too depressing,” said Sandoo.

  “So much death and violence,” agreed Jezden.

  “The killing is just out of control,” Laasel pointed out.

  Harr looked at them, one to the next and said, “You do realize that all of you are certified killing machines, right?”

  “That’s different,” Jezden said. “We’re supposed to be killing people.”

  “Exactly,” said Laasel, as if that made everything okay.

  “Anyway … Yek, what do you think’s going on here?”

  Yek adjusted in his seat to the point where he became almost invisible. Harr had to tilt his head this way and that just to see the man.

  “Anniversary voyage. They’ll have clips and feeds. Fan fair. All that malarkey. Just when they have the worlds in a gasp, there will be an accident. The SSMC Reluctant will go out of control. It’s old tech, so everyone will buy it. Poor crew can’t stop it. Runs off the rails at a point that conveniently aims it straight at a space station that just happens to belong to one of our galactic neighbors who appears to be setting up to spy on us. Pure happenstance. Unfortunate circumstance. Perfect scenario. Flawless sell.”

  By the time he was finished, Harr felt dirty. Yek was right, of course. Tactically, it was a brilliant maneuver. So brilliant that Harr had a difficult time believing that Parfait had anything to do with it.

  “Why so many people on board?” Lassel said.

  “Two reasons,” replied Yek. “Believability, and a backup plan.”

  “How do you figure?” said Jezden.

  “Nobody’s going to believe an anniversary ship with one crew member on board,” Harr replied before Yek could get started. “It takes a full contingent to run a ship. If only one person is aboard, it looks fishy, like something was planned. But with a full complement of personnel, it comes across as just an unfortunate accident.”

  Commander Sandoo leaned forward. “And the backup plan?”

  “In the event that the ship doesn’t fully annihilate the station, we have a crew of trained killers who will have taken escape pods just prior to detonation. They’ll finish the job.”

  “Who are the …” started Jezden and then he stopped and said, “Oh, right, us.”

  “So what are we going to do?” asked Laasel.

  “We’re going to complete our mission,” Harr said as if it were a stupid question. “But before we break off that track, we’re going to make some modifications to this ship. I don’t know about you people, but I have no death wish.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Yek.

  “I believe I just did,” Harr replied evenly. “Everyone get to the bridge and work on ideas. Keep things from the general crew, of course, but anything you can come up with that could possibly save our hides is worth a listen, so don’t hold back.”

  “What are you going to do, sir?”

  “Commander, I’m going to go have a word with Rear Admiral Parfait.”

  CONFIRMING ORDERS

  Everyone was going about their duties as Harr returned to his quarters. It was getting late in the day, even without a sun and a moon as a compass. The SSMC Reluctant was kept running at Standard Segnal time. Most ships were, except for a few special ops patrols that Harr had been on.

  He yawned, groaned, and then keyed up Parfait’s personal number.

  “Yummy Parfait here,” the Rear Admiral answered, wearing a pink chiffon. His eyes then got as wide as Harr’s felt and the call disconnected.

  “Ew,” said Harr to the blank screen.

  A few minutes later he tried again.

  “Rear Admiral Parfait here.” Parfait was now wearing his normal uniform, though the top couple of buttons were undone and he still had on what looked like a bit of rouge. “Ah, Lieutenant Murphy!”

  “Commodore Harr, sir.”

  “Right, right! Damn that’s tough to get used to, I daresay.”

  “Don’t I know it, sir.”

  “I’m glad you decided to call. Good timing, too. I literally, just 30 seconds ago, walked in.”

  Harr didn’t say anything.

  Parfait cleared his throat. “I’m assuming you want to talk about your orders?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We could talk about other things too, if you’d like. I know that The Reluctant through and through. Served on her when I was a cadet. Good times back then. Cramped quarters. Sharing bunks. All-men crews in those days, you know? Didn’t allow the ladies on board. A fella could get lonely on an eighteen-month tour and…”

  “Sorry, sir,” Harr interrupted, “the orders?”

  “Ah, right, of course. I have a tendency to ramble on from time to time. I remember one of commanders threatening to write me up for what he called ‘droning.’ Well, he got his. One day we were …”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we please discuss the orders? We’re on a tight schedule.”

  “Of course, yes. What’s your question, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s Commodore, sir, and the issue is that you’ve essentially pulled me off of the execution list and dumped me into a suicide mission.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got the orders under perfect control.”

  Harr bit his lip, literally. “But, sir, doesn’t that seem a bit callous?”<
br />
  “You would have rather have just been executed?” asked Parfait.

  “Well, no, of course not.”

  “Then I’m failing to see the problem.”

  It took everything in his being not to lash out at the Rear Admiral. All things considered, it wasn’t like he could be reprimanded or anything. He was, after all, being sent to his death. Via orders, no less. So dropping a choice bit of language here and there would be cathartic.

  “The problem, sir, is that I was being executed for a military mistake.”

  “Correct.”

  “Which, in and of itself, sir, is ridiculous. On top of that, you had the doctors rearrange my face, hair, and pigmentation, and, also, I’ve noticed, added a fair bit of length and girth to my penis, though I have no idea why.”

  “Just being thorough, Lieutenant,” Parfait said with a wink.

  “It’s Commodore … never mind. The bottom line, sir, is that this entire ordeal is insanity.”

  “Which is precisely why we chose to do it this way,” Parfait said, in a momentary sense of clarity that Harr was not used to seeing. “If we don’t do it by the book, the Kortnor will know we set it up. You know as well as I do, Lieutenant, that we can’t win an all-out war against the Kortnor. They’re a bunch of robots. Hell, they fly in three dimensions!”

  “I do know, sir,” Harr said more venomously than he’d intended.

  Parfait shifted in his seat and seemed to redden a bit. Regardless of the fact that Harr was heading off on a suicide mission, his blood pressure still elevated at the thought of betraying the chain of command.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “No, no, Lieutenant,” Parfait said hastily, “keep going. You should let out your emotions.”

  “Again, sir, you made me a Commodore.”

  “It angers you that I keep calling you Lieutenant?”

  Screw it, Harr thought. He was going to die anyway, so what possible further harm could come from just speaking his mind?

  Still, he asked, “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”

  “Of course,” Parfait said and then leaned forward with excited eyes.

  “This whole thing stinks, sir. I’m a useful soldier. I’ve trained for years to fight in the Segnal Space Marine Corps and now I’m getting ass-raped, pardon my language, over the fact that some idiot screwed up on a form and set me as graduating a year after I actually did. Because of that, well, asshole, I’m being sent out as fodder.”