The Rebellion Hyperbole

by John P. Logsdon

  She burped.

  “Right,” Trek said to break the silence. “My name is Trek Gibbons and I’m the new chief of this division.”

  “Agency, sir,” Lelly corrected.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s an agency, not a division.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Oh yes, sir,” Lelly said, seriously. “If it were a division, the logo on the front door would be all wrong.”

  “I see,” Trek said with a fake grin before turning back to the rest of the team. “As I was saying before Smelly interrupted me...”

  “It’s Lelly, sir.”

  “...I’m the new chief of this, uh-hem, agency, and I assume that you are my new staff.”

  The human scratched his neck and said, “Name is Torg.”

  “Torg,” Trek nodded and then looked at the Velcrian.

  “Opal,” he said in a clear voice.

  “Opal?”

  “That’s correct,” answered Opal. “My real name is Opalsoledezleberiun, but Lelly suggested I go by the name Opal to make things easier.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, sir,” Lelly said.

  “No, it’s fine,” Trek said. He turned to the Worge. “And you are?”

  “Belchore,” answered the Worge bluntly.

  Trek nodded, giving him the once-over. “It’ll be nice to have some muscle on our squad.”

  “I’ve got brains too,” Belchore growled. “Not just muscle.”

  “Of course you do,” Trek said, recalling how easy it can be to offend anyone these days.

  “You sayin’ I don’t?”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You sayin’ I don’t got no brains?”

  “Actually, I believe I just agreed that you did have brains.”

  Belchore crossed his arms and glared at Trek. It was intimidating to be sure, but Trek had learned long ago that one couldn’t show fear to a Worge. It was the quickest way to guarantee a punch in the nose, a kick in the teeth, their utter lack of respect… or all three.

  He squared his shoulders. “Is there a problem, Agent Belchore?”

  “Just you,” Belchore stated.

  Trek pointed at the door. “I have no issue with you leaving the services of the GDA, if you’d prefer.”

  Belchore broke Trek’s gaze after a few more moments. Trek could feel the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. There weren’t many things less fun than staring down a Worge.

  “I’ll stay for now,” Belchore said, as if it were his choice. Of course, since the brute had been placed by McCracken, it essentially was his choice.

  “You’ll stay only because I’ll allow it… for now.”

  Belchore shot Trek a hot look, which Trek held for a couple more seconds. Then he decided it would be best to move on to the Awkian.

  “And you are?”

  “Adna,” she said, picking her nose with that long talon of hers. She didn’t bother to stop.

  “Nice to meet you, Adna.”

  “Okay,” she replied in an aloof manner.

  So far this bunch was looking to be wonderful. Not. Trek had already felt the disdain he’d gotten from McCracken. At least that’s what it had felt like during his brief time with the Supreme Commander. Trek couldn’t say why McCracken had a problem with him, but based on the crew that he’d just inherited, Trek was giving more credence to his belief.

  “Agents,” Trek said, turning toward Herb, “this is my assistant. His name is Herb.”

  “Assistant,” Belchore said derisively, and then added, “humans,” with a shake of his head.

  “Yes, Agent Belchore,” Trek said hotly. “He is my assistant. When one is in a position of power, he needs to delegate now and again. When one has no idea what it means to be in a position of power, it’s understandable that they wouldn’t quite grasp the need for an assistant.”

  “You know what I think?”

  “I honestly don’t care what you think regarding my assistant, Agent Belchore,” Trek stated. Then he glanced away. “Okay, let’s form up some partnerships here. There are no lone rangers on this squad.” Trek took the easy road to pairing them up. He just went from left to right. “Torq and Opal, you’ll team up. Bel…”

  “Me and Adna is partners,” Belchore said suddenly, grabbing Adna by the shoulder. “Ain’t we, Adna?”

  Adna was intently studying the prize she’d pulled from her nose when she shrugged and said, “Yeah, okay.”

  “I guess that leaves you and the Yaxian,” Belchore said with a chuckle.

  “Lelly isn’t an agent,” Trek pointed out while thinking that he could easily undo the partnership that Belchore had just provided himself.

  “I guess you’ll have to be at it all alone then… chief.”

  Just then a robot came into the room. He looked like one of the original models that could be seen on display at any number of robotic museums. He had a rectangular head with a hinged jaw, large round eyes and a brushed-gray cylindrical body that sat atop a couple of spindly legs. He obviously couldn’t wear the one-piece GDA outfit, but he at least had the shirt on.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the bot said in a chipper voice as his jaw flapped out-of-sync with the words. “The name is Elf and I’m here to rock this place.”

  “A bot?” said Belchore in a surprised voice.

  Elf crossed his arms and said, “I’m a robot, Jack, not a bot, yeah?”

  “Sorry,” Belchore said dramatically with a bow toward Elf. “I meant to say that it looks like the boss and the robot are partners.”

  “That works perfectly for me,” Trek said. He liked robots. They were linear, easy to get along with, and they didn’t fight back like, say, Worges. The timing was perfect, too, since Trek spotted an easy way to one-up Belchore, knowing how Worges hate having superiors. “I was in need of a second-in-command.”

  Belchore looked suddenly concerned. Trek gave him a cold grin. No, it wasn’t how a responsible captain would select his hierarchy, but Trek wasn’t exactly known for being responsible.

  “It seems to me that the most logical officer to handle the role of deputy would be my partner.” Trek moved over and shook Elf’s metal hand, and said, “Welcome, Elf. I hereby place you as second-in-command of the GDA.”

  “Wow, really?”

  “Really?” Belchore echoed.

  “It could have gone differently,” Trek said, looking at Belchore, who turned away with a grunt, “but I think you’re the right person for the job, Elf.”

  Elf’s jaw flapped as he said, “Man, that’s groovy!”

  “Great,” Trek said with more than a hint of self-satisfaction. “Well, with that settled, let’s discuss this morning’s findings.”

  He opened up his datapad and showed everyone the pictures of the silver box that he’d found at the communications building.

  “These were found at the scene of recent sabotage,” he said. “You’ll note that there are symbols on every side of the object.”

  “Looks like something from that stupid alien show,” said Belchore.

  “I love that show,” Elf said. “It’s so totally inaccurate, but it’s great for laughs.”

  “Anyway,” Trek said. “We need to figure out what these symbols mean.”

  “Simple,” Elf stated while running his finger over a set of the glyphs. “It’s the original symbols used by The Committee when they formed a couple of hundred years ago. It means The Voted Ones Who Are Smarter Than Everybody.”

  “It does?” asked Trek, looking again at the symbols.

  “As if politicians had any brains at all,” Torg noted.

  “Yeah,” Opal said.

  Trek pondered. “I wonder why the rebels would use those symbols.”

  “To discredit The Committee?” Elf suggested.

  It was as good a hypothesis as any, thought Trek. If nothing else, it would be enough to show McCracken that Trek’s team was on the ball and quick to solve issues.

 
“So that’s it?” asked Belchore. “All solved and done, then?”

  “Not really, groovy cat,” Elf stated. “I mean we still don’t know who’s responsible for the attack, yeah? We only know that the Rebellion is trying to discredit The Committee.”

  “Lelly,” Trek said after a moment, “please send a communication to Supreme Commander McCracken to let him know that we have deciphered the symbols and that we will be using that information to further investigate any clues that may lead us to The Rebellion members.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lelly said.

  Not bad for their first foray into detective work. Trek had the feeling that Belchore was kicking himself for not snagging Elf when he had the chance. Trek liked robots, but he honestly hadn’t expected that Elf would prove this useful. It made sense when he thought about it. Robots had a direct connection to all of the computers and databases, especially when having clearance. So while it would take Trek or anyone on his crew a while to dig up information, someone like Elf could find it with unmatched efficiency.

  “Well done, Elf,” Trek said before looking at the rest of the crew. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s been a very long day of traveling and I need a little relaxation. What say we all get acquainted with our personal lodgings, if you haven’t already, and then we meet at a local pub to get to know each other a bit better?”

  “Ergy’s Joint,” Belchore said. Everyone looked at him. “It’s right across the street from here. Nice club. Dancing and stuff.”

  “They’ve got good whiskey,” Torg stated with a nod at Belchore.

  “Fine,” Trek said, letting the Worge win one. “We’ll meet there at seven.” Trek then had a thought. “You know, if you want to avoid a hangover, I’d be happy to share a secret with you all.”

  “Probably only works for humans,” Belchore said.

  “On the contrary,” Trek replied tightly, “it’s all about basic hydration. But if you’d rather be hungover that’s fine by me.”

  “I’m listening,” Torg said.

  “Me, too,” Opal agreed.

  “Just drink two tall glasses of water about thirty minutes before you start in on the alcohol, and then one glass of water every now and then during the binge, and you’ll be all set in the morning.”

  “That’s it?” Opal asked.

  “Basic hydration,” Trek said with a shrug. “The other option is to take a hit of Soothe in the morning, but to each his own.”

  “I’ll stick with water,” Belchore said. “Only idiots use Soothe.”

  “Right,” Trek said, finding it hard to argue that point. “See you all at seven, then.”

  Stealing is Wrong

  McCracken was sitting in his command chair when the message came in from the new GDA clerk, Lelly.

  It had turned out that Gibbons and his new crew got exactly halfway to where McCracken was hoping they’d get. He wanted them to tie the symbols to The Committee, which they did, but he was hopeful that they would take it a step further and link The Committee with the actual deed of interrupting the communications. He wanted Gibbons to state that The Committee itself was the culprit. This was obviously too much to ask for.

  He should have known better. If anyone knew how inept Trek Gibbons truly was at detective work, it was McCracken.

  Step two in his plan moved up.

  Reaching in the bottom drawer of his desk, he pulled out a PHD (Personal Holographic Disguiser) and wrapped it around his waist. The unit was programmed to mimic Internal Security Chief Broog.

  McCracken had tested it out a few times, but being that he was one for checking and rechecking things, he stepped in front of the mirror and activated the device. After a brief shimmer, McCracken stared into the reflection of Broog, I.S. outfit and all.

  He flicked off the device and smirked before heading out the door.

  The plan required him to get a gallon of Kretizophomin, an extraordinarily powerful laxative that had a cost to match its potency. Due to its rarity, only the wealthiest could afford the most thorough cleansing substance known to man. It had been marketed under various names over the years, including SquirtLax™, Thru-O-Cleanse™, ColonSneeze™, Clench-n-Cry™, and UncorkDeluxe™. The product was so powerful that it had been used during the invasion of Prisk 30 years ago, when McCracken was just a cadet. He could still recall the smell.

  After leaving the main building, he turned the corner and got out of camera range before reactivating the PHD. Then he angled around the other side of the building and walked right back in and headed down to the supply depot.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” said the robot on duty.

  “What’s my designation, soldier?” McCracken asked and then coughed, recognizing that he had gone out of character. “I mean, who the hell do you think I am?”

  The robot paused for a moment and said, “My records indicate that you are Captain Broog of Internal Security.”

  “That…er, yeah, that’s right.”

  “How can I assist you, captain?”

  “Get me a ten gallon barrel of SquirtLax™.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the robot, “but that is a controlled substance.”

  McCracken pointed. “What’s that on the wall behind you?”

  The robot turned to look, giving McCracken the opportunity to stick a Neutralizer Whip in its neck. It crumbled to the ground and shook a few times before the lights of its eyes faded. McCracken had less than 10 minutes to clear the area before it either rebooted or another bot showed up to bring it back online.

  Carrying a 10-gallon barrel wouldn’t have been so bad had McCracken truly been a Worge, but as it was he employed the services of an electrocart and high-tailed it out of the depot.

  Taking the transit system was out of the question at this point since he had to be careful to cover his tracks, so he slipped into the lowest level of the military building and jumped into the tubes. This led him through a labyrinth of tunnels that spread throughout Quarn.

  Two miles later his datapad signaled that the water treatment facility was just beyond the wall. He tied into the internal feeds and found that the main reservoir room was empty. Perfect.

  First he deactivated the cameras so he could slip inside undetected. Then he reactivated them as he dumped the contents of the barrel into the main water supply. The security feeds would indict Broog perfectly. That would, in turn, show that The Committee—who pulled Broog’s strings—were the real rebellion, and the Gordo Galaxy and its member planets would start seriously questioning what the hell The Committee was really up to.

  Once he had finished dumping the barrel of Kretizophomin, he made a mental note to not drink the water until everything was eradicated. Then he shut down the cameras, slipped back through the portal, deactivated the PHD, ran down about a mile, and exited a few blocks away from his personal condominium.

  This time Gibbons would have no choice but to pin the attack on The Committee.

  Avoid the Water

  Trek’s living quarters were pretty posh.

  McCracken had gotten him set up a block away from the GDA in an apartment complex called Prodigious Penthouses. The building itself was easily as tall as the red building that sat next to the GDA, but this one felt more like a five-star resort. On the left side there was a water fountain that put on a show all its own as it emptied into an enormous guest pool. On the right sat a large patch of SynthyGreenGrass™, which Trek assumed doubled as both a play area and a pet area.

  “I don’t think you’ve lived this nice in 15 years,” Herb noted.

  “Nor you,” Trek pointed out.

  “Hopefully it’s not a single bed,” Herb said as they approached the main entrance.

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Trek as he waved his badge at the reader, opening the main door to the building, “I’m sure there will be a couch or a chair.”

  “Nice.”

  The lobby was as contemporary and extravagant as the grounds outside. It was a little cold, seeing that the
re were no pictures or anything, but it looked clean and crisp.

  “I like the use of marble,” noted Herb.

  “Probably synthetic.”

  “Even better.”

  A robot approached them as they stood looking around. “How may I assist?” it asked in a chipper female voice.

  “It seems I live here,” Trek replied with a nod. “The name is Trek Gibbons.”

  “Welcome home, Mr. Gibbons,” she replied. “My records show that you haven’t been in the building prior to now.” She pulled out a keycard with 713 stamped on it. “Your room is on the seventh floor.”

  “Thanks,” Trek said, taking the card. “I’ll need another card for him, too.”

  “Name?” she asked.

  “Herboghedianizagithan,” said Herb.

  Her eyes lit up for a moment as she scanned the Flejnarian. Then she pulled out another card and handed it to him.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she said before moving to help a gentleman who had walked in.

  They took the elevator up and found 713 was a corner unit that had two bedrooms, a small office, and a nice living area that sat just off of a quaint kitchen. There was no formal dining area, per se, but there was a small table that was built in as part of a bump out in the wall overlooking the SynthyGreenGrass™. On the other side was a balcony that hung above the pool.

  “I wonder if your entire team got rooms like this,” Herb said, his face a study in awe.

  “Doubt it,” Trek said, puffing out his chest. “This is a VIP living space, if I’ve ever seen one.”

  His luggage was already sitting in the foyer, along with Herb’s. Trek decided on the bedroom to the left of the entrance and dragged his things in and started unpacking.

  “I want to leave in thirty minutes,” he called out to Herb. “Assuming you’re going?”

  “I will just stay here, I think,” Herb responded, much to Trek’s relief. He liked Herb, but the Flejnarian could be a bit of a downer at times, especially where there was drinking involved.