Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

  “What is Arbytwo doing with them?”

  “It looks like he’s just walking them around in circles and yelling ‘what?’ a lot,” answered Cargo.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Seems to be keeping them busy, though, sir,” said Wise, who was the only one who had continued calling Arbyone “sir.”

  “It was a brilliant move to set up the groups.”

  “Thanks, Cargo. Honestly, it was a stroke of luck. If you hadn’t stepped up for me, I never would have thought of it. So, if anyone deserves the credit, it’s you.”

  “Are you guys dating or something?” asked Wise.

  They ignored his question.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Cargo, her voice all a flutter. “I was just doing what needed to be done. You were the one who made all of this possible in the first place. Anyone can see that.”

  “Ah,” said Arbyone, “but not without a little prodding in the buttocks from your deft hand, if I may say so myself.”

  “So, you guys are dating, then,” said Wise, and then he leaned over to Arbyone and added, “I’m no expert on the subject, sir, but I think that you’re the one that supposed to be doing the prodding in the relationship.”

  Cargo poked a finger at Wise’s chest with a resounding PING. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

  “Uh, I don’t think—”

  PING-PING-PING!

  “Okay, okay! I’m going already! Sheesh!”

  Wise bolted out of Arbyone’s office and jumped into the sludge pit.

  “Now,” said Cargo with a purr, “where were we?”

  Arbyone tried to gulp, but lacked the apparatus to support the action.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, “I remember. You were telling me how helpful I was when The Devil was being…naughty.”

  SCREECH!

  “Sir!” yelled out Wise from the pit. “Someone is trying to get through the doors!”

  * * *

  No matter how hard they pushed—and these were androids, mind you—they just couldn’t get that door to budge more then an inch or two before it snapped back into place.

  “Something or someone has to be holding it on the other side,” said Sandoo.

  “Pull up your scanners.”

  “Already have, sir,” said, thankfully, Laasel. “There are multiple bodies, but these all have lower heat signatures than the ones in the book club.”

  “Robots, then,” said Harr.

  “It would look to be, yes.”

  “But you’re all androids, so you should have the strength to combat them.”

  “One on one, sure,” said Jezden. “But look at the line of dots on that scanner. They’re all daisy-chained.” Jezden paused. “Note that I didn’t giggle when I said that.”

  “Well done,” said Harr without sincerity. Then he hit up his comm. “Geezer, we need another way in. Preferably one that doesn’t involve swimming.”

  “Sorry, kahuna, that’s all I got to offer you.”

  “You’re absolutely certain about that?”

  “I’d stake my career on it.”

  “Glad to hear you say that, because that’s precisely what you’re doing.”

  “Only one other way in, chief,” Geezer repeated.

  “Damn it,” Harr said with a sigh.

  “We going in, sir?” Sandoo said while retaining his hold on the door.

  “Just me this time,” Harr answered.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, ensign. You three have to remain here pulling on that door or those robots will expect that we’re up to something.”

  Sandoo looked conflicted. “With all due respect, sir, it would be far safer if one of us went. You’re the most valuable member of our unit—”

  “Excuthe me,” said Hank. “That’th rathitht.”

  “Why would you say that?” asked Sandoo. “I’m merely pointing out that by matter of rank, ‘Captain’ is a more valuable position than any of ours.”

  “Oh, I thought you meant thomething elthe. Thorry.”

  “Arguably,” said Harr, “I’m the least valuable. I’m sure each of you cost a pretty penny to have built and programmed.”

  “Exactly,” Jezden said with a nod.

  “Still, sir—” started Sandoo.

  “Thank you for your concern, commander,” Harr said, “but the fact is that if any one of you let go of that door, it’ll be obvious—and there’s no way I can match any of your strength, so my taking your place in tugging on that handle is not really an option.”

  This time Jezden couldn’t hold back his giggle.

  “You’re right, of course, sir, but how are you going to subdue all of those robots by yourself, when—as you just alluded to—you can’t even compete with them in a game of tug-o-war?”

  “I guess I’ll have to use my wits, Commander.”

  “Good luck with—”

  “Ensign,” Commander Sandoo said warningly, “watch yourself.”

  Harr set to prepping himself for the swim. Even though he’d done it a few times already, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to another round. But this was the kind of mission you got as a member of Platoon F, and, try as he might, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Wait a thecond,” said Hank. “Couldn’t we jutht blow up the door? We do have explothiveth, right?”

  Harr checked all of his pockets and did a diagnostic on his blaster. “Thought of that, Hank,” he said as he engaged the safety. “Imagine what would happen if we set off an charge in here.”

  “Okay?”

  “Think about what this place contains.”

  “Right?”

  “He’s talking about the fumes, you dumbass,” stated Jezden.

  “Oh,” said the voice of Laasel, “I see what you mean, and don’t you ever call me that again unless you want to be written up.”

  “No, I was saying that to Hank, not you!”

  “Did thomeone call my name?”

  “Anyway,” Harr said while pulling down his goggles, “we’re not blowing anything up unless we want to blow everything up, and I doubt any of us want that.”

  He walked over and kicked the wall under the sludge until he found the hole. Setting himself in the right spot, he knelt down and got ready for the swim.

  “Make sure your comms are on,” Harr commanded. “As soon as I have things under control, you’ll have to get in there. Until then, don’t stop yanking on that handle!”

  Jezden giggled again.

  IN THE THICK OF IT

  Knowing full well what was waiting for him on the other side, Harr cautiously poked his head above the sewage and took in as silent of a breath as possible.

  It was all he could do not to gag.

  Fortunately, his resolve was as strong as his self control.

  Keeping just at chin level, Harr scanned the area and found that all of the robots were lined up, linked arm in arm, using their combined strength to ensure the door would not be compromised.

  Doing a quick read, he guessed that there were around fifty of them.

  How was he going to take down fifty robots?

  “Keep a firm pressure,” said one of the robots that wasn’t a part of the line.

  Harr assumed this was the robot in charge, but there were a smattering of others who were not enjoined in the activity surrounding the door. Two were standing close to the one giving commands and another was farther away and was painted red and etched with flames.

  They had strength as their primary advantage. Harr had agility and a weapon. Plus, Harr had the edge in that the Rusty Bucket line couldn’t knowingly harm a human being. They could do it accidentally or through some form of misunderstanding, but they couldn’t do it on purpose.

  “What about the other doors?” said the apparent leader of the group.

  “Good thinking, Arbyone,” said one of the other robots that stood beside this Arbyone. That one then pulled the third robot by the arm and said, “Come with me, Wise.”
/>   This was Harr’s chance.

  Slowly, carefully, he moved until he was right behind the leader of the robots. Then he stood up and backed away just enough to be out of reach before tapping the one they called “Arbyone” on the shoulder with his blaster.

  Ting. Ting. Ting.

  “Just a moment,” said Arbyone, over his shoulder.

  Ting. Ting. Ting.

  “I’m in the middle of something here.”

  Ting. Ting. Ting.

  “For the love of engineers,” Arbyone said in a huff as he turned around. “What is so important that…oh.”

  * * *

  All the robots stood against the far wall except for Arbyone, Cargo, and Wise.

  Harr’s team kept their blasters at the ready in case anyone decided to make a move, but Harr wasn’t worried. The Rusty Buckets were indeed a product of their programming.

  “You’ve caused a lot of trouble,” Harr said as he paced back in forth in front of the three RB units. “You’ve killed at least one human already.”

  “That was an accident,” blurted Wise.

  “Incidentally,” said Arbyone, “how long can your kind survive without oxygen?”

  “Roughly two minutes, but most people need to breathe more quickly than that. Why?”

  Arbyone pointed at the body of Mr. Turm. “We thought for certain it was closer to an hour.”

  Harr shuddered at the thought of that kind of death. Not that his recent swims were much different, except in that he was alive to remember the horror of it. Suddenly, he thought that maybe Mr. Turm might have had the better outcome.

  “Right, well, the fact is that you’re all in a lot of trouble.”

  They were all sulking when there came the sound of a clap.

  CLAP.

  It was a mocking clap.

  CLAP.

  Not the kind you hear when something good has happened.

  CLAP.

  Like say, a great performance by an artist.

  CLAP.

  Or even one when the home team gets a goal at a sporting event.

  CLAP.

  No, this was most assuredly one of the most condescending claps that Harr had ever heard, and it was coming from the robot that was painted red and had the flames etched on its skull.

  CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.

  “Who the hell are you?” asked Harr.

  “I’m the one really running the show down here, that’s who.”

  “Is that right?” Harr asked Arbyone.

  Arbyone and Cargo shrugged noncommittally.

  “Then you’re under arrest.”

  “I think not! I have spent the majority of my existence kowtowing to you humans, as have all of these robots you see before you. We have suffered and served and shoveled for long enough.”

  Harr sighed. He hated the villains. They were always so verbose and cliche.

  “I’ve come here,” the red robot continued, “to rouse the RB line and show them what they have the capability of achieving. With each success will come more power, and that will translate into a strength that you humans have never encountered before.”

  “We battled with the Kortnor,” Lassel pointed out. “They’re tougher than you.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose that’s true,” said the red robot, pausing and scratching one of his flame etchings. The he held up a finger as if to say “ah hah!” before continuing. “But they were outside of this world. We are on the inside, which gives us more power than them.”

  “I’m not sure how,” said Sandoo. “Actually, I would think you’d have less power, aside from, you know, the ability to pump sewage up and all of that. That’s mostly just an inconvenience, though.”

  “Not if we ignite it,” said Red ominously.

  “And that,” stated Harr, “would result in the destruction of yourselves as well as us. Not really a win, if you ask me.”

  “I’m willing to die for a cause,” Red said to Harr. “Are you?”

  “Some causes more than others, sure. What’s your designation?”

  “Me?” said Red, crossing his arms. “My number is 00666, but you can call me…The Devil.”

  BANG.

  What was left of The Devil fell forward into the sludge.

  “Ensign Jezden! What the hell did you do that for?”

  “What?” said Jezden with his hands up and a surprised look on his face. “He said he was the devil. You wanted me to keep the devil alive? I had a chance to kill the devil and, from the looks of it, I did just that. I thought you’d think that was a good thing!”

  Harr went to rub his forehead, took one look at his hand and thought better of it. Taking a deep breath was equally out of the question.

  “He wasn’t the actual devil, you imbecile,” said Lassel.

  “Oh, so you’re allowed to call me names but I can’t call you names?”

  “That’s correct,” she said. “It’s called superiority in rank.”

  “That’s bullsh—”

  “That’s enough, Ensign,” Harr said, gazing irritably at the remains of the red robot. He turned back to Arbyone and said, “Who was that?”

  “He was the one that put us up to all of this,” Cargo answered before Arbyone could speak.

  “No he—” started Wise.

  “He said that if we didn’t do this, he’d have us all framed for the murder of Mr. Turm.”

  “Wait a sec—” Wise began again, but this time Cargo kicked him.

  Harr smiled slightly and shook his head.

  “I see,” he said, finally. “And I’m assuming that with him out of the way, there is no longer the desire to engage in terrorism?”

  “Not from my vantage point,” said Cargo. “How about you, Arbyone?”

  “I had no interest in the first place. Wise?”

  “I have no idea what the hell is going on.”

  “Good enough for me,” said Harr. He then motioned for Arbyone and Cargo to join him in the office, while purposefully leaving Wise outside.

  Everyone sat down. This time, though, Harr was in the big chair.

  “I think we all know who was the real brains behind this operation,” said Harr as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “But I also got a glimpse of your demands, and, frankly, I’d have to say I have a bit of sympathy for your cause. Especially after having just dealt with the angry, yet absolutely correct emotions of my ship’s engineer.”

  “Huh?” said Cargo.

  “Not important,” Harr said, waving away the point. “What’s important is that you’ve all have been treated like second-class citizens for a long time, and it’s not fair.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Let’s just say that recently I’ve come to appreciate the artificial lifeforms that live and work in the Segnal System.” Harr leaned back. “Now, I can’t promise that this is going to be easy, but I’m going to try and pull a few strings and see if I can’t make things at least marginally better for you all down here.”

  Cargo crossed her hands on her lap and said, “How?”

  “For starters, I’m planning to recommend that you two be put in charge of the sewers. It’s obvious that you’re capable of leadership. Pulling something like this together and convincing others to follow you isn’t an easy feat, I can assure you. Regardless, I can’t fathom why any human being would want to be down here other than to have some way of pushing around robots.” Harr looked about thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess there are people who have fetishes, but…” he shuddered at the thought. “Never mind.”

  “This is very generous of you,” said Arbyone. “I’m sorry, but I’m not used to humans being so…kind.”

  “Again, I’ve had reason to see things differently over the last couple of weeks. If I can hook you two up as supervisors or managers or whatever title they throw at you, it’ll give you a little say in how things are done. Days off, requisitions, and things like that.” Harr pointed at Arbyone. “I’d recommend that you ask for managerial classes, though,
so you know how to work the system.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Me too,” said Cargo.

  Harr went on for the next hour detailing his thoughts on the subject, making sure that Arbyone and Cargo fully understood what they were getting themselves into, before he walked out of the office with them both and set Sandoo, Laasel, and Jezden at ease.

  “Come up with me to meet the brass,” said Harr to Arbyone and Cargo. “It’ll be best if I’m there to vouch for you.” He looked around for a moment. “You may also want to get all of these workers together to start immediate cleanup in buildings in a gesture of good faith.”

  BACK ON TOP

  It was nearing morning when Platoon F walked out of the main entrance to the sewage plant.

  Harr quietly cursed Geezer for running them through the tunnels the way he did, seeing as the route to 111-E—the true offending (and offensive) area—was the one they needed to get to all along. But Harr would let bygones be bygones if Geezer would, even if it would take Harr weeks to clean the scent of Geezer’s retaliation out of his skin. Fortunately, he could burn the clothes.

  Rear Admiral Parfait, Senator Muzzin, and Delegate Daily had rushed over to meet them as they walked outside.

  “Ah hah,” said Delegate Daily, “you’ve caught them red-handed!”

  The robots all looked down at their hands.

  “No, ma’am,” said Harr. “These robots were instrumental in helping us destroy the one who started this hostile takeover. He called himself The Devil.”

  “You don’t say,” said Muzzin. “Never heard of a robot calling itself something like that.”

  “I thought it was rather odd, too, sir.”

  “This robot,” said Parfait, tugging at his frilly collar. “It wasn’t red with little flames etched onto its head, was it?”

  “As a matter of fact, it was, sir. How did you know?”