“Do you really want Arbytwo to take over the charge? He is your successor, after all.”
Arbyone did not want that. The misunderstandings alone would likely set up the Rusty Bucket line to be pushed into a state of shoveling sewage while on their heads, which was assuredly a step down from where they currently were. But why couldn’t Cargo take the helm? She had ideas and that “umph” that leaders seemed to have.
“You could—”
“You know that the rest of the robots won’t follow me,” she said, stopping him before he could even get started. “I’m a girl, remember?”
It was kind of difficult to remember that in her case, but she was right. The Rusty Bucket line was old school. Morally wrong or not, even Arbyone’s programming jolted at the thought of being subservient to Cargo now that he knew of her gender.
“Wise could—”
“Don’t even go there, Arbyone.”
“Right.”
Cargo then set about getting a video connection to the main governing body. Arbyone looked out of the office window and down on all the robots who were looking back up at him. There was a hopefulness in the way they were standing. This didn’t make Arbyone feel any better.
“Got it,” said Cargo. “Just press this button and you’ll be connected.”
“That button, yes?”
“Right. Do you want me to stay in here with you or would you feel more comfortable if I left?”
Arbyone knew well that Cargo would be judging him constantly if she stayed; so he signaled her to leave, and then he pressed the button.
Three rings later a voice picked up.
Thank you for contacting the Segnal Prime Governmental Control Board. We greatly appreciate your call. It is currently after hours and there is no one available at this time. However, if you would like to leave a message, you may do so at the beep. If this is an emergency, press ‘zero’ and you will be connected to our after-hours hotline.
Arbyone pressed ‘zero.’
One moment please.
There was a clicking sound, a few more rings, and then:
You have reached the after-hours hotline for the Segnal Prime Governmental Control Board. Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line and the next available representative will be with you shortly.
Then a song began to play. It wasn’t one that suited Arbyone’s style. It was one of those rhyming songs that was spoken at high speeds.
And she stood in the hood, knowin’ that she could, with a pill and her pride and a blaster on her side, and the man broke on in with a grin on his chin and lifted up the gun and—
“Thank you for calling the Segnal Prime Governmental Control Board,” said a rather pleasant voice.
“Uh, yes,” Arbyone said while wondering exactly what the girl in the song had done with the gun, “I, uh, need to talk with someone in charge, please.”
“It’s a Friday night, sir. Everyone’s gone for the weekend. Maybe I can help you?”
“Well, uh…sure, I guess? What’s your name?”
“Shelby DaCleeve, sir. And you are?”
“Arbyone,” Arbyone replied, nearly giving his RB00001 designation instead.
“And how can I help you, Mr. Arbyone?”
“The sewage backup that’s been happening—”
“Yes, sir, it’s already been reported. That’s why it took us a bit longer than usual to get to your call.”
“I’m not calling to report that it happened,” Arbyone said nervously. “I’m calling to report that I’m…I mean…we’re the ones that caused it.”
“Sorry, sir?”
Arbyone sent a signal to calm his nerves chip and said, “I am the head of the, uh…” That was a problem, thought Arbyone. They hadn’t really come up with a name for themselves. An idea struck him. “I’m the head of the Rusty Bucket Rebellion,” he said somewhat forcefully. “We’re the ones in the sewers and such. Well, I guess we’ve had enough and so we pumped sewage up into the buildings.”
By the time Arbyone had finished the sentence he understood the human word “sweat.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice,” said the voice on the other end. “Do you have any idea how badly it smells up here?”
“I’m a robot, so, no. But could you imagine having spent the last 30 years standing waist deep in it and shoveling?”
“Ew, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“That’s kind of gross.”
“Exactly. So can I speak to someone please?”
“Well, Mr. Arbyone, the only thing I can do is run it up the chain and see which of the governing body answers. I have no idea who you’re going to get, but maybe they can direct your call accordingly.”
“I guess that’s better than nothing.”
“Please hold.”
Bendin’ at the knees in the trees with no breeze and lookin’ out across the city. Pullin’ out a knife, fightin’ for my life, I dive and stick my blade right in—
“This is Rear Admiral Parfait,” answered a man as Arbyone cursed under his breath, wondering where the knife got stuck.
“Yes, this is Arbyone.”
“Oh,” the man said, suddenly sounding muffled. “I can’t really talk right now, Honeybun. A bunch of my colleagues are standing right here. Give me until about midnight and then I’ll get all dolled up and we can do this by video. Unless you’d like to meet somewhere instead. I could certainly use a nice massage.”
“Uh, mister, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Arbyone and I’m a robot from the Rusty Bucket line.”
“Oooh, nice one. Listen, you know I love role-playing as much as the next guy, but—”
“Sir, I’m not role-playing. I actually am a Rusty Bucket. My designation is RB00001.”
“Really taking this to the extreme. I like that.”
Arbyone tilted his head. Was this some kind of joke? Were they making light of the situation? He was starting to get angry.
“I’m the leader of the Rusty Bucket Rebellion and we just flooded your world with sewage.”
“Excellent touch, the rebellion bit…wait, what?”
“I believe you heard me correctly,” said Arbyone. “If you want the sewage cleaned up and you’d like this to not happen again, I’d suggest you listen and comply with our demands.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
Arbyone could hear mumbling in the background.
“Anyone there?”
“Hello,” said Parfait. “I’ve put you on speaker so that everyone can hear you. You say that you’re responsible for this…mess?”
“Technically, you’re all responsible for the mess, I’m just responsible for spouting the mess back up.”
“Listen, you,” said the shrill voice of a woman, “I am Delegate Daily and I will have you know that what you have done is wrong, wrong, wrong.”
Arbyone actually scratched his head at that. “Yes, and?”
“And if you don’t undo it immediately, well, things will go bad for you.”
“I see,” said Arbyone. “Worse than, say, having to spend all of my remaining years shoveling shit?”
“That’s disgusting,” said Daily. “We would never treat our prisoners in such inhumane ways.”
“Seriously? You’re saying that we’re treated even worse than prisoners?”
“This is Senator Muzz Muzzin,” said a man who had a sound like he was on the heftier side. “You sound like a reasonable, uh, man. What will it take to get our sewage back into the sewers?”
“We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” yelped Daily.
“Would you rather we stood in our own feces for the next few months, Ms. Daily?”
“That’s Delegate Daily, you pompous—”
“So what would it take, my dear, uh…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“My name is Arbyone, sir,” said Arbyone, nearly kicking himself for adding ‘sir.’
“Indeed. Mr. Arbyone, w
hat would you ask of us?”
Arbyone spelled out the list of demands that the robots had all agreed upon and then waited while those on the other side discussed it. He couldn’t quite make out the words because the microphone had been muffled, but he sensed that their discussion was heated.
Finally, Senator Muzzin said, “Mr. Arbyone, we have come to the agreement that we will need to deliberate on your requests.”
“How long will that take?”
“These things usually run about 30-90 days, on average.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Indeed, it is,” said Senator Muzzin, “and it’s clearly in the best interest of us all to rectify this situation sooner rather than later, but I should have to ask for some concessions on your part as well.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll need to clean up this sewage so that we can keep the world rolling as normal.”
Arbyone waived Cargo back into the room. Then he covered the microphone and told her what they were suggesting.
“No way,” she said. “You do that and we’ll never get what we want.”
“What if we threaten to just do it again if they don’t comply within 30 days?”
“They’ll have figured out a way to stop us by then.”
“True,” Arbyone said with a nod and then unmuffled the phone. “No deal, Senator. You have to understand our position on this. If we comply, we lose our leverage.”
“Listen to me, you, you, you—”
“Calm yourself, Delegate Daily,” said Senator Muzzin smoothly. “The man is right. He’ll have nothing but our word to go on…and would anyone here trust the word of a politician?” The silence was so thick that the sewage seemed like vapor in comparison. “I thought not. I am a politician and I don’t trust half the things I say. Mr. Arbyone, the world is built upon compromise, so we’ll agree to start in on an emergency session, come Monday. That will set it as a priority topic that pushes your agenda.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“In return, I need you to at least drop the sewage levels under the line of electrical outlets and the like so that we can get our power back on line.”
“I don’t know,” said Arbyone, contemplating as Cargo was shaking her head vigorously.
“You’ll need to be reasonable, Mr. Arbyone. If we’ve got no power, we can’t possibly utilize the resources provided to us in order to make your case.”
Cargo stopped shaking her head, covered the microphone, and said, “Dammit, he’s right. Okay, do it, but say you won’t do it until Monday so that they have all weekend to think about it, and say that we’ll refill the buildings twice as high if that session doesn’t start on Monday, as promised.”
Arbyone did just that and then hung up.
“Well done,” Cargo said, genuinely.
“It felt good,” replied Arbyone.
“Let’s go tell your followers.”
“Right, my…followers.”
SAME OLD CRAP
Once Rear Admiral Parfait finished filling in Harr and his crew on what had transpired with Arbyone, Harr said, “Then we should go down and take over the plant, sir.”
“It’s a thought,” said Parfait, running his hand through his gray hair, “but it’s probably better to let the politicians handle this one.”
“With all due respect, sir,” not that any was actually due, “I would argue that allowing this type of behavior will only result in other terrorists doing something similar.”
“How so?”
Harr blinked. “Well, if you give in to demands of one group, wouldn’t another group expect the same treatment?”
Parfait pointed at Harr. “You’re right. Senator,” he called out, “my fine, fine…” he looked over Harr for a moment, “fine young man here has made a very good point, indeed.”
“Has he now?” said Senator Muzzin as he approached with Delegate Daily only a step behind.
“It seems that he’s of the belief that if we give in to these terrorists that it will only spur more terrorist groups to action.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir,” said Harr, smartly.
“And why is it that you think this, young man?”
“Because, sir, by giving in on such actions we are essentially rewarding the terrorist and telling them that it’s okay to do what they want. In other words, sir, they can do bad things to Segnal Prime or any of the Segnal System member planets and the only repercussion they’ll face is the gift of whatever they asked for.”
Senator Muzzin rubbed his chin, and nodded slowly. “Interesting thought. I have to admit I had not considered this.”
“It’s my job to understand the enemy, sir,” said Harr.
“Indeed, soldier. What, then, may I ask, is it that you suggest we do here?”
Delegate Daily bolted upright and said, “You’re going to listen to what some gun-jockey has to say about an obviously political situation? I said not to negotiate with the terrorists and you didn’t pay that any attention at all!”
“Did you not just hear the man’s summation of the dilemma?”
“Of course I did, but what does he know about terrorism?”
“A fair deal more than either of us, I would imagine,” Senator Muzzin said. “Unless you’ve recently taken some form of training I’m unaware of, madam.”
Delegate Daily grimaced, seemingly finding the senator’s use of the word “madam” aggravating.
She was about to say something more when Ensign Jezden stepped up and brushed against her.
“My apologies, ma’am,” he said as he grabbed her as if helping her not to fall over.
He pulled her closely into his chest for a moment and then let her go so that she was stably on her feet again.
“Oh,” she said with a sheepish smile and then slapped him on the chest playfully. “Think nothing of it.”
“As you wish, ma’am.”
Harr looked in Jezden’s eye, knowing full well what the man was up to.
Rear Admiral Parfait had moved over to where Jezden was and said, “Oh my, I’m falling…”
He thudded to the ground as Jezden deftly moved out of the way.
“You silly old coot,” said Daily as she helped Parfait back to his feet.
“Ensign Jezden,” Captain Harr said in as formal a voice as he could muster under the circumstances, “maybe you could show Delegate Daily around to the back of the building so that she can wash her legs clean of the muck?”
Jezden gave him a shocked look.
“Unless, ma’am,” Harr amended, “you would find it unsuitable for the ensign to help you in such a way.”
“No, no,” Daily said, quickly. “I’d say that’s a wonderful idea.”
She snagged Jezden by the arm and proceeded away from the group.
“I could use a bit of cleaning on my legs,” said Parfait, starting to follow them.
“Sir,” called out Harr, stopping the old man, “we could really use your expertise here.” Not that it was even remotely true, but it was either that or risk Delegate Daily coming back even more temperamental than before.
“Well, yes, of course,” said Parfait, looking forlornly at the departing couple. “I would imagine you would need me for…what was it again?”
“Explaining the importance of military incursion in this situation.”
“Right, that,” Parfait said with a smile. “You know, I remember being in battle situations a number of times, Senator Muzzin. There was this one time four of us were in a foxhole on Marman-32. The foxhole was only built for three, so we had to squeeze in together, which was fine because it was dark and that gave us a little time to—”
“Sir?” said Harr before the Rear Admiral could continue.
“Oh, right, right. Sorry. The, uh—”
“Military incursion, sir.”
“Yes, that. It’s imperative that we do that,” he said and then looked again at Harr, “right?”
“Right, sir.”
&
nbsp; Senator Muzzin seemed to have been ignoring the ramblings of Rear Admiral Parfait. Harr assumed that he was used to Parfait’s oddities.
“And your crew would do this deed, Captain Harr?”
“Yes, sir. It’s what Platoon F was made for, sir.”
“For climbing into sewers?”
“Not specifically that, sir, no. I meant my squad was built to handle missions of a more difficult nature. Ours is a special operations group, sir.”
“Then I suppose it only makes sense to bow to your expertise in this matter, Captain. However, I believe you’ll need some diplomatic representation.” Senator Muzzin snapped his fingers and one of his aides rushed over. The kid couldn’t have been more than nineteen, and he looked as if he could be knocked over from a strong breeze. “Johnson, you’re going to accompany Platoon F into the underbelly of the sewage system and act as diplomat.”
“Sir?” Johnson said, looking shocked.
Harr felt bad for the kid. It would be all this Johnson fellow could do to wear the required gear, let alone keep up with the group.
“You heard me, Johnson,” said Muzzin.
“But I’m not a fighter, sir.”
“No, that you’re not. You’re a diplomat, loosely speaking. Wasn’t I clear on that point just now?”
“We’ll keep him safe, sir,” Harr announced, trying to alleviate the younger man’s fears.
“Don’t go out of your way to do that, Captain. He’s not all that important to my team, truth be told.”
“Uh…” said Johnson.
The Senator leaned into Harr closely and whispered, “Got this job because of his uncle and I like to razz him a bit.”
“Ah,” said Harr, not really caring.
“He’s not qualified enough to tie my shoes,” the senator said more loudly.
“I can tie shoes!”
“And he talks back a lot.”
“I do not!”
“See?”
DEFENDING THE CRAP
One of the problems that Arbyone was coming to grips with in learning to be a leader was what to have his followers do when they had, well, nothing to do.
“What do we do now?” said Wise. “We’ve been sitting here for over an hour without a word from anyone above ground.”
Platoon F: Pentalogy Page 11
