Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

  “Were you careful, Geezer?”

  “I’m always careful, Cap’n,” Geezer replied in a hurt tone.

  “Sorry, please continue.”

  “While I was connecting the 100-plus wires to the main Harlreffner Board—”

  “You’re making these names up, aren’t you?”

  “Someone has to, big dog,” said Geezer. “Anyway, I very carefully switched two of the wires.”

  “So you’re saying you made a mistake?”

  “A carefully calculated one, chief.”

  “Right,” Harr said, biting his lip and forcing himself calm. “What’s the bottom line, Geezer? Where are we?”

  “It’s not so much a question of where we are, Cap’n. It’s more a question of when.”

  “What?”

  “We’re about 750 years in the past, honcho.”

  “Time travel?”

  “Ooooh, how it fascinating,” yipped Parfait as Harr’s mind went numb.

  NOW WHAT?

  “Are you honestly telling me that we have gone back in time 750 years?” said Harr while standing in the engineering department.

  “Exactly that, honcho.”

  “How did you do that? That’s never been done before except in cheap novels about stupid space marines who have some ingenious robot who…” Harr trailed off, scratching his head. “Never mind. Can you fix it?”

  “Probably,” answered Geezer.

  “Good, because—”

  “But I gotta figure why it happened in the first place. I have to reverse engineer it.”

  “What? Why would you have to reverse engineer your own invention?”

  “Because there’s a little bit of a problem, prime.”

  “Just one?”

  “I don’t really know how it works. You know, all the science and math and such. I’m an engineer, not a scientist. I mean, I’m okay with math, obviously, but, well, yeah.”

  Harr blinked at his engineer. “Can you at least get us back to present day?”

  “Can’t launch it right now, big cat.”

  Just then, the little model that Geezer had created when he had originally tested the GONE Drive appeared. Both Geezer and Harr looked at it for a few seconds and then it disappeared again.

  “So odd that it does that,” said Harr.

  “Especially now that we’re traveling in time,” agreed Geezer.

  That statement brought Harr’s mind back to the topic at hand.

  “I thought you said that the new drive was capable of launching immediately.”

  “Well, you see—”

  “No, I don’t see. I remember the conversation quite clearly, my Chief Engineer. You said that it could run 25 times, one after the other, if need be.”

  Geezer just stood there, looking at his feet.

  “Fix it,” Harr commanded.

  “Yes, sir,” Geezer replied, sulkily.

  Harr felt a little guilty as he walked out of engineering. He was mad, sure, but in order to make Geezer refer to him as “sir” meant that he was pushing the elderly robot pretty hard. Fact was that if it wasn’t for Geezer, Harr would only be a few months into a 50-year journey to that backwater Merrymoonian planet that made up the purpose of Platoon F’s last mission. Still, on a military vessel, a job is a job. It has to been done correctly, consistently. People, or androids, as the case may be, were counting on each other. Mistakes had to be minimized.

  Reaching the ladder, Harr stopped and sighed.

  “Geezer,” he called down the hallway.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just do your best, okay?”

  “Always do, chief.”

  “Yeah,” Harr said and then took the rungs two at a time.

  Reaching the mid-deck, he turned toward the second ladder only to find Senior Diplomat Parfait standing with his ear on the boom boom closet. Even from where Harr stood, he could hear the sounds of Jezden in the throws with one of the crew.

  “Sir,” Harr said as he walked by.

  Parfait jumped. “Oh, uh…I was, uh…” He started looking around on the floor. “I lost my glasses.”

  “Didn’t know you wore glasses, sir.”

  “Hmmm? I use them for reading.”

  “And you think you misplaced them in the hallway?” Parfait pursed his lips and squinted. “It’s okay, sir. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

  Harr didn’t bother to yell at Jezden through the door as he usually did. He merely turned and climbed up to the main deck.

  Commander Sandoo was sitting in the Captain’s Chair going over his datapad. He looked up and then jumped up.

  “As you were, Commander. I rather feel like standing.”

  “Uh…”

  “No, no,” Harr said. “Sit. One day that chair is going to be yours anyway. May as well get used to how it feels.”

  Sandoo smiled so genuinely that Harr couldn’t help be share in the android’s joy at the thought of becoming captain.

  It seemed like yesterday that Harr had joined the SSMC. His name then was Orion Murphy, of course, but that was another story. Basic training had kicked the vinegar out his youthful ways, making a man out of him. His drill sergeant pushed him day and night, sculpting his mind and body until he was a lean, mean, fighting machine. The day he graduated was the day he knew that he wanted to be a captain. He wanted his own ship. He wanted command.

  Somewhere along the line, it all fell in the wastebasket. Probably when he was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit and was forced to change identities and take over Platoon F and The SSMC Reluctant.

  Not that it had been all bad. Actually, if he were being truthful, he’d have to admit that it was some of the most interesting and exciting times he’d ever spent in the Segnal Space Marine Corps.

  Things were different in Platoon F. Purposefully so. Maybe it hadn’t been intended this way by command, but that’s the way it was, and Harr was the impetus for it. He was the one who had taken over things. He was the one who had essentially blackmailed Parfait into keeping Platoon F together. He was the one who pushed Geezer into reestablishing propulsion in order to get The Reluctant off the confinement of the track system. He was the one that made it possible for Geezer to take things a step further and build out the GONE Drive.

  Looking up at the monitor he saw an open field that was covered with snow. Out there somewhere were people. Not Segnalians, no, but people nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, those people would be interested in setting up a dialog, and Harr could be the man that helped that come to fruition.

  “Commander?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do we know anything about the people of this era on Elf?”

  “Earth, you mean?”

  “Right, Earth.”

  “We haven’t really studied anything yet, sir.”

  Harr nodded. “Commander, I want you to put together a contingent of crew members and go out there to do what we were meant to do.”

  “Uh…what’s that, sir?”

  “We’re special operations, aren’t we?”

  “So you want us to do something special?”

  “Yes, Commander, that’s precisely what I want.”

  “Oh, okay.” Sandoo stood up and then stopped. “Sorry, sir. Could you be more specific?”

  Harr sighed. “I’d like you and four other crew members to go out there and see what you can dig up on the people who live on this planet. Bring your Universal Translators with you, but only for listening. Stealth is key here. You don’t want to be seen or heard. You just want to observe, learn what you can, and report back.”

  “That sounds interesting, sir,” said Sandoo with a big grin.

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “When you build your crew, make sure to leave Jezden, Moon, and Parfait here.”

  “What about Geezer?”

  “He’s kind of connected to the ship.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s true.”

  Commander Sandoo was now st
anding next to Harr as both of them looked out at the white ground of Earth.

  “Beautiful, really,” said Harr.

  “It sure is, sir.”

  “One can only hope that the people that live there share in that level of beauty.”

  “I can’t imagine it would be any other way.”

  “Sadly, Commander,” said Harr, crossing his arms while feeling like a bit of a cynic, “I can.”

  ENSIGN RIDLY

  Commander Sandoo picked four crew members that he’d spent many weeks training in the simulators on Segnal Prime. He had started the training program weeks after Platoon F’s first mission because he wanted to make sure that the troop really fit the term “Special Operations.” Unfortunately, he had no real data to go on as to what the training should entail, so he had dug through the archives until he found some ancient footage that had been put together by none other than Rear Admiral Parfait.

  “Excuse me, Commander,” said Captain Harr as Sandoo was set to leave the ship, “but do you think it’s wise to wear bright pink while you’re trying to be stealthy?”

  “It was in the training videos—”

  “Now those are capital outfits,” Senior Diplomat Parfait said, rounding the corner. “Why, if I didn’t know better, which, I admit, I don’t, I’d say that you lot are going on out to do a little reconnaissance.”

  “They are, Mr. Parfait.”

  “Can I go?”

  “No, sir,” Harr stated flatly, and then eased up a bit. “Not this time. I want to make sure it’s safe out there first, you understand?”

  “Wise call, Captain.”

  “Thank you, sir. Now, again, I’m sure that in a world that was, well, very pink, those outfits would be perfect for espionage, but you’re going out in to the night with snow on the ground. Don’t you see a problem with that?”

  “I do, sir,” admitted Commander Sandoo, “but the only training records we had were made some fifty years ago.”

  “Ah-ha,” said Parfait. “I thought I recognized that look!”

  “What say you and the crew put on something more stealthy, Commander?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Sandoo said, feeling a bit sheepish for not having thought things through more thoroughly.

  He was well aware of his personal compulsion to do things by-the-book, so it was a challenge for him to take leaps of logic sometimes. In many cases, the things that Captain Harr expected in the way of process and protocol weighed heavily on his core programming, but since he was an underling he had little choice in the way things worked…by-the-book or not. The captain would listen to Sandoo, certainly, but the act of challenging anything that came down from on high, whether an order or not, was foreign to the android. Fortunately, Captain Harr was correct 99% of the time.

  This was one of those times.

  The crew reconvened at the main platform fifteen minutes later. Neither Captain Harr nor Senior Diplomat Parfait were present any longer, and this made Sandoo feel good. The captain had said his piece and then trusted his commander to do what was right. A soldier couldn’t ask for more than that.

  “Everyone have weapons set?”

  Nods.

  “Safety locks in place?”

  Nods.

  “Remember, if anyone spots anything, send it through auto-relay. No talking.”

  One benefit of being an android is that they could communicate through digital signals without the need to talk. It was odd for them because they had been programmed to act human, but Commander Sandoo had studied his programming diligently and had uncovered that they did indeed have the capability.

  Can everyone hear me?

  Nods.

  Excellent. Let’s move out.

  The main bay door lowered and the crew slipped out into the night. Sandoo dropped his thermal registers so that the cold wouldn’t affect his synthetic skin, yet another perk of being an android.

  Their feet crunched on the snow and ice as they headed through the field, trying to keep as close to the tree line as possible.

  In the distance, Sandoo could hear sounds. Cheers or chants was his best guess. Whatever it was, it was coming from the direction of the glow that was just over the upcoming hill.

  Drop to the ground.

  As one, the team fell to prone position and began a cautious crawl to the lip of the mound.

  Peering over the edge, Sandoo noted that they were up pretty high, at least a good fifty feet, if not more. Below them sat a large valley that was lined with cobblestones, shops, and houses. There were large, four-footed creatures pulling wagons as pedestrians skittered about as if trying to avoid them.

  Another cheer lifted his gaze and he could see the source of a bright light that was coming from the middle of the small city. A tall circular wall surrounded the area, though, so he was unable to get a glimpse at what they were cheering at.

  Ensign Middleton, take Ensigns Curr and Ridly to the left, through the trees and see if you can determine what the fuss is all about.

  Aye, aye, sir.

  And remember to stay low and out of sight.

  Yes, sir.

  Sandoo watched them depart through the brush until, lowering his vision capabilities to that of a standard human, he could barely differentiate them from the trees. He readjusted his eyes to normal and spotted them again perfectly.

  Ensign Harkam, you and I will take the right side. Stick close and keep your eyes peeled.

  Shouldn’t one of us stay here, sir?

  Sandoo stopped, looking back at Harkam.

  Sorry?

  I’m just saying that instead of both of us going around there and risking the chance of being captured, maybe one of us, preferably me, should stay here and, uh, keep watch or something.

  Sandoo gave Harkam a confused look. Then he remembered how during the training scenarios, Harkam had always been the last one to come into the simulator room. He also recalled how Harkam tended to scream a lot whenever they were being chased.

  Sandoo mentally kicked himself for not recalling this sooner.

  Listen, soldier, you are a member of Platoon F, and that means you have to sometimes do things that can be frightening. It’s what you volunteered for.

  I never volunteered.

  This was the age-old argument that every Platoon F member, minus the captain, had used over the past year. And, in fact, it was a valid argument. Besides Harr, every other member of the squad had been created to believe that they had volunteered for service. The reality, though, was that, originally, they hadn’t. Fortunately, this had been rectified a few months in by the following argument that Sandoo now employed.

  Harkam, I agree that none of us originally volunteered, but when Captain Harr fought to keep us in the SSMC, making Platoon F a recognized entity in the eyes of the Marine Corps, you agreed to stay a part of team.

  Well, sure I did. Everyone did. What choice did we have? I didn’t want to end up in some spice mine, filling barrels.

  He had a point there. Androids had few uses in Segnal society. People didn’t trust them. They were too much like people, and people didn’t like that sort of thing.

  Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to get off your duff, adjust your fear protocols down to 10%, and follow me step-by-step until we have—

  Commander! Came the digital interruption from Ensign Middleton.

  Go, Ensign.

  Ensign Ridly has been captured!

  WITCHES

  “Captured?” said Harr. “What in the blazes happened?”

  “I sent them around the perimeter of the town so that we could get a better sense of what we were dealing with,” said Commander Sandoo. “Then, according to Ensign Middleton, Ensign Ridly took a wrong step, slipped off the edge of the hill, tumbled down to the bottom where a number of armed guards picked her up and dragged her away.”

  “Thit,” said Hank.

  “It gets worse,” said Sandoo, looking nervous. “As they were dragging her through the street they were yelling t
he word ‘witch’ over and over again.”

  “Witch?”

  “As in ‘which way did they go?’” asked Hank.

  “No,” answered Sandoo, “as in witchcraft.”

  “You mean like a magic wand and pointy hat kind of thing?” Harr said incredulously.

  “Yes, sir,” said Sandoo. “At least that’s what the Universal Translator picked up.”

  “Maybe they just needed a witch for something?” suggested Hank.

  “I don’t think that’s it,” replied Sandoo. “The people that were gathered around the glowing light that brought us to that section in the first place…well, there was someone being burned, and, according to Middleton, they were yelling the same thing.”

  “Burned?”

  “They burn witches, sir. At the stake…alive.”

  Harr leaned back against the wall at hearing that piece of information. Ensign Ridly wouldn’t feel a thing, but it would still terminate her as a sentient being. He couldn’t allow that. She was one of the members of Platoon F.

  “She wasn’t wearing a red shirt, by chance, was she?”

  “No, sir, you made a regulation forbidding that during our last mission.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right.” Harr pursed his lips and tapped his superhero chin with a finger. “Do we know where she was taken?”

  “Ensigns Middleton and Curr moved out of sight after Ensign Ridly fell, but Ensign Curr was able to spot her again before she disappeared into a building.”

  “I wonder how long it takes to start the burning of witches?”

  Hank chimed in, turning his datapad toward the rest of crew. “If they handle it anything like the Segnal people did 2,000 years ago, there will be a trial and then she’ll burned tomorrow night.”

  “Assuming they find her guilty, of course,” said Harr.

  “They will, thir. You don’t get set free after being accused of being a witch. At least, they never set anyone free in Segnal.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a trap, of sorts, thir.”

  “Explain, please.”

  “According to our history, if you were accused of being a witch there was only one way you could prove you weren’t: die during the selected test.”

  “I don’t get it.”