Communication Failure

by Zieja, Joe

  But it would be a cold day in hell before he admitted it to anyone. Especially to the Viking, who had been staring at him from the corner of the bridge for what seemed like the last four hours.

  Marines. Can’t live with ’em, can’t board an enemy capital ship and kill people without ’em.

  Rogers stood up and brushed the toast crumbs off his pants before walking over to where the Viking stood. Sergeant Mailn was close by, the two of them talking together quietly. The Viking, however, never took her eyes off Rogers. When he got close enough to hear anything, she elbowed Mailn and both of them looked at him innocently.

  “Am I interrupting?” Rogers asked.

  Sergeant Mailn shook her head. “Just reminiscing a bit. Looks like things are going to calm down a little bit around here.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” Rogers said. “I think this is all part of something bigger. Who knows what HQ is going to say? I’ll need my marines ready for whatever happens.”

  He wasn’t totally sure where the encouraging words had come from, but, amazingly, both Mailn and the Viking seemed to stand up a little straighter. He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his own seriousness.

  “You know, if Flash can’t save the galaxy on his own, right?”

  “That guy is an idiot,” the Viking said. “I guess he did sort of do alright, though.” She looked at Rogers squarely. “You did too, Rogers.”

  Rogers felt the heat rising in his cheeks. “I was just making things up as I went along.”

  “Improvising isn’t a bad thing,” the Viking said.

  “I guess not,” Rogers said.

  They stood there awkwardly for a moment. Why had he even come over here? The Viking was just going to end up hitting him in the face, no matter what he did.

  “Anyway,” Mailn said. “I’ve got those things to take care of.”

  The Viking shot her a look. “What things?”

  “You know,” Mailn said. “The things. I’ll catch you later, Captain Alsinbury.”

  Before the Viking could say anything else, Mailn was gone, hopping over a railing casually to get to the bridge door. Both the Viking and Rogers watched her go.

  “So,” Rogers said after a moment, scratching his beard. “I’m sure you’ve got some training to do, or whatever. I’ll go, uh, run the fleet. Or something. I don’t want to bother you.”

  He was halfway turned around when he felt a large bear latch on to his shoulder. After a moment, he realized it was just the Viking’s hand, which slowly turned him around to face her. She looked a strange mix of concerned, confused, and Viking-like.

  “Y-yes?” Rogers said. “Have I done something wrong? Please, my abs are sore, I can’t duck anymore.”

  Letting go of his shoulder, the Viking sighed, which sounded something like all of the four winds having an argument.

  “I don’t want you to duck,” the Viking said.

  Rogers bristled. “Well, I’m not going to just let you hit me in the face.”

  The Viking’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to hit you in the face, either, Rogers.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I want to say I’m sorry for making you think that those are the only two things we can do together.”

  Rogers’ pulse quickened. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, Rogers unable to blink and the Viking apparently unable to continue speaking.

  “So,” Rogers said, “what . . . other things . . . could we do together?”

  The Viking smacked her lips, her whole body tense. She was silent for what seemed like an eternity. Rogers felt like maybe she’d been lying about not wanting to punch him; she was never this tense for any other reason than her muscles bunching up to strike.

  “Aw, hell,” she said, so loudly that Rogers actually jumped. “I can’t do this shit, Rogers. Mailn can take her advice and shove it. Let’s you and me have a drink soon, alright? We can take it from there.”

  Rogers felt like a rainbow had just sprouted in the middle of his face and was shitting unicorns and flowers everywhere. The Viking had literally just asked him on a date. A real date. For reasons beyond understanding, he found himself laughing.

  This was not the right choice of reaction, he understood very quickly.

  “Well, if that’s how it’s going to be,” the Viking said, “you can go f—”

  “No, no,” Rogers said, holding up a hand. A tear was actually running down the side of his face. “It’s just so . . .” He searched for a word to describe what he was thinking, but nothing appropriate came to mind. “I would love to do that. We could maybe set a room on fire, and I could crawl under a beam, and—”

  “Slow down, Skipper,” the Viking said, but he could have sworn she was smiling. He didn’t really know, because he wasn’t totally sure he’d seen her do it before. “We’ll work all that out later.” She pointed over his shoulder back at the command platform. “You’ve got some shitty commander-ing that you have to go do first.”

  Rogers glanced back to see Deet and Belgrave, who appeared to be arguing over something Rogers couldn’t discern. There was also a light blinking on his console, indicating that something or other needed his approval, or he was missing some communication. Sometimes duty really sucked.

  “Yeah, alright,” Rogers said, turning back to the Viking. “Slow down. Got it. But let’s do it soon.” He leaned in close and spoke softly. “The world could be ending.”

  “Wow,” the Viking said, smirking. “That was pretty goddamn bad, Rogers.” She slapped him on the back. “Pretty goddamn bad.”

  She walked off the bridge, leaving him in the middle of the collision of his fantasies and reality. Maybe he’d had his last ducking lesson with Mailn after all.

  He walked over to the command dais to see what the hell these two idiots were so upset about.

  Deet, omnipresent on the bridge now that he’d figured out all the workings of the droids, fell silent as Rogers approached.

  “Rogers,” he said. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “We’ve gone over this, Deet,” Rogers said. “You don’t really think. You process.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Belgrave said. “Thought is a concept, not an action. Cogito, ergo—”

  “Let’s skip the Russian lesson,” Rogers said. “I’ve had enough of Sun Tzu. What’s on your CPU, Deet?”

  Deet didn’t answer for a moment, which always struck Rogers as odd. At least when humans were contemplating something they showed it on their face, or took a deep breath, or something. Deet just completely stopped moving and making noise, which was really weird.

  “Now that I know who made me,” Deet said, “I was thinking I would like to ask him some questions.”

  Rogers frowned. “Couldn’t you just get a service manual or something? Besides, you don’t really know who made you; you just know you were made by a subsidiary company to Snaggardir’s.”

  “But there must be some sort of mastermind. Powerful artificial intelligence is a new thing, Rogers. I want to meet the man who thought of it.”

  Rubbing his beard, Rogers chomped down the last bit of toast left and picked a few crumbs off his face. AI wasn’t exactly new, but Deet was different. He was able to teach himself, and not just by accruing data and running it through Boolean expressions. There really did seem to be a form of “thought” in there.

  But that was the kind of deep philosophical stuff that Rogers really didn’t like to think about. At least not without a copious amount of alcohol.

  “Well, technically you’re a piece of property of the Meridan government. If you were going to go anywhere, you’d have to either be defective or a third party would have to purchase you as salvage.”

  “I’m a person!” Deet said. “I’m not property!”

  Rogers thought about that for a moment. This conversation was starting to make him feel uncomfortable, and he had general rules about avoiding discomfort.

  “I’m not pro
perty either,” he said, carefully avoiding expressing the fact that Deet was, in fact, property and not, in fact, a person. “But watch what happens if I just try to pick up and leave. They call that being AWOL.”

  “They threw me out, remember? I should have a disposal order somewhere in the system records. I’m not even really here. I’m just here doing you a favor because this whole ship would fall apart without me. But now that the battle is over, you don’t need me anymore.”

  “A bunch of corrupt droids threw you out because you wouldn’t conform to the idea of taking over the ship,” Rogers corrected. “I get the feeling they weren’t keeping records of that. We’ll check it out, alright? I promise. But right now we sort of have bigger fish to fry.”

  “I thought you didn’t like fish?” Deet asked.

  “Expression. Starman Brelle, how are the comms?”

  “All set, sir! Opening a channel now.”

  A few seconds later, the main display changed to a view that Rogers hadn’t seen in a very long time. Well, he really hadn’t seen it ever, except in pictures and videoconferences like this. It was Meridan Naval Headquarters, centered on Merida Prime in the second-largest city on the planet’s surface. Most of Fortuna Stultus’ planets had sparse continental living space, which scientists had always said was odd for planets that could support so much life.

  The face that was staring back at him was that of High Admiral Holdt, who served as the naval representative to the Meridan Staff of Joint Representative Chiefs. His face showed the harsh wrinkles caused by years of dealing with the Meridan political machine, and right now his eyes looked sunken, red, and tired. What time was it over there? Had Rogers woken him up?

  “Captain Rogers! Where the hell have you been?”

  Not quite the greeting he’d hoped for.

  “I’ve got a big report to make, sir,” Rogers said.

  “We don’t have time for a big report. The galaxy has gone to shit, Captain. Do you have any idea what’s been happening over here while you’ve been busy slacking off and not answering any of my messages?”

  “No, but I can tell you what’s been happening here,” Rogers said, feeling a little insulted. “After an army of robots tried to take over my ship, we were attacked by a Jupiterian masquerading as a Thelicosan who tried to kill me no fewer than three times, right in the middle of their real commander trying to marry me. Sounds like a real picnic, right?”

  Holdt appeared to be paying attention now. “Did you say Jupiterian? Oh shit. Rogers, Merida is the only system left that hasn’t been infiltrated. We think it’s because of your report on the droids—we shut them all down. But New Neptune, Thelicosa, and Grandelle are all torn to pieces. Half the damn military of all those systems has either defected or been taken over. Worse, Snaggardir’s has shut down all its stores for some reason.”

  Rogers couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That’s because Snaggardir’s is Jupiter, Admiral. They’ve been running things while selling slushies and beef jerky for centuries. That’s probably how they were able to fund everything they’ve been doing.”

  The admiral’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”

  “I have documentation to prove it,” Rogers said. “I’ll send everything I’ve collected as soon as we get off the comms.”

  “Good. Then set your course for home. Communication has been spotty, but we’re recalling all our fleets and using Merida as our center for command. We’ll work out a promotion for you, but for now you’re no longer the acting commander of the 331st. You’re the real, no-kidding commander.”

  “What? I thought you were sending us a new admiral to replace Klein!”

  “We did, but he’s dead. Flew into an asteroid.”

  Rogers closed his eyes. “I hate asteroids.”

  “Well, there you have it,” Holdt said. “You have your orders. Get back here on the double, and get ready for a fight. Blockades have been popping up everywhere, and they know our tactics like they wrote the damn book.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Rogers said dryly.

  “Get back here fast, Rogers. We need every gun we can get.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rogers said, and the transmission cut out.

  The bridge was quiet. This was an absolute mess, and now he had to deal with it.

  What had they been thinking during the War of Musical Chairs? You can’t just displace an entire planet’s worth of people and expect them to go away. And now he’d been eating their nachos his whole life.

  He wondered if the Uncouth Corkscrew had any nachos today.

  Focus!

  “Alright, everyone, you heard the admiral. Issue a general order to the fleet that we’re preparing to move. And . . .”

  He thought for a moment. If he was going to do this, he was going to need as much help as he could get.

  “Send a hail to the Limiter.”

  “Yes, sir,” S1C Brelle said, and began pressing buttons.

  Rogers wanted time to think about what had just happened, but a moment later, the Thelicosan Grand Marshal’s voice came through the speakers.

  “Yes?” Keffoule said. Her voice was cold, distant. “I thought our business had been concluded, Captain Rogers.”

  “Well, we’ve got a problem. Feel like taking a space cruise?”

  The line was silent for a moment. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  “No,” Rogers said. “That’s not a euphemism. I’m asking you if you want to go fight a war with me.”

  He could hear the tapping of Keffoule’s fingernails on the other end of the communications channel. She had to know that her own fleet was against her now. Who knew how much Snaggardir’s had infiltrated?

  “Well,” Keffoule said, “it’s not what I was aiming for, but I suppose I’ll have to take what I can get.” She paused for a moment, her voice softening. “Have you talked to Edris yet? He may . . . know some things.”

  Zergan was still unconscious—whatever the Viking had done to him had been pretty effective, apparently—and floating weightlessly in Rogers’ old stateroom. They’d made sure to place him in the very center of the room and keep the ship’s inertia under strict control. It would be nearly impossible for him to move around the room, never mind escape, once he woke up.

  But once he did, Rogers had a million questions for him. He was sure Zergan wouldn’t talk right away, of course, and Meridan law specifically prohibited torture of any kind, but Rogers had plans. The first thing he was going to do was put Zergan in the same room as Tunger; Rogers had a feeling Zergan would be singing like a bird after not very long.

  “I haven’t,” Rogers admitted. “But I suppose now is as good a time as any.” He turned around and shouted to no one in particular to go do their best to wake Zergan up and prepare him for interrogation. A few troops ran out of the bridge to carry out his order.

  “When do we leave?” Keffoule said through the comm line.

  “Now. Get your fleet ready for a tough run back to Merida Prime. I’ll have Starman Brelle here send you the details.”

  “Fine,” Keffoule said. “I’ll follow your lead, Captain Rogers.”

  God, how could a woman make a rank sound sexual? It was going to be a “tough run” for more reasons than just hordes of Jupiterians standing in their way.

  Rogers just sighed and closed the channel.

  “Alright, let’s get ready to talk to our guest in the zero-g room,” he said. “Is he ready yet? We can—”

  “Sir! Sir!”

  The bridge door opened and in ran a young marine whom Rogers recognized as one of the two guards who had been posted outside Zergan’s door. That didn’t give him a good feeling.

  “What is it?” Rogers asked. “And what did I tell you people about the double ‘sir’?”

  “It’s the enemy commander,” the young marine said, his face white. “He’s . . . he’s dead!”

  Rogers goggled, his mouth open. “What? When? How?”

  “Sir . . . he hanged himself.”


  THE [EXPLETIVE] END

  Acknowledgments

  For every book in this world, there’s a team of really tired people in the background who may or may not have been drinking. This book wouldn’t have been possible without my editorial team at Saga, my wonderful agents at JABberwocky, and all my early readers. Together you all helped me shape this story.

  To America: Thanks for the job security and for helping me Make Satire Great Again.

  About the Author

  Author photo courtesy of the author

  JOE ZIEJA has vast experience in the utter silliness of governmental machinations. As an officer in the United States Air Force, he traveled the world in search of the perfect PowerPoint slide, but found only reflective belts, safety briefings, and, uh, war.

  In a totally natural and common transition, he’s now an author and professional voice actor in Los Angeles. You’ve heard him on national commercials, in anime such as Mobile Suit Gundam, as an official Pandora voice, and as the voice of Fox McCloud in Star Fox Zero: The Battle Begins. He’s also a contributor to DuffelBlog.

  His name is pronounced just like “zebra,” except you take out the “br” and add a hard “j.” Zee-dja. It’s seriously not that difficult. You can check out his other novels and his voice-acting exploits at joezieja.com.

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  Epic Failure Trilogy

  Mechanical Failure

  Communication Failure

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