Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

A CREW DIVIDED

  Four pods were rolled into the Reintegration Room. Each stood seven feet tall, four feet wide, and four feet deep. They were white on the outside and sported two lights at the top, one green and one red. Inside was a black, pillow-like material that indented smoothly when the tech pushed around to check connections. The helmet that hung from the top was obviously intended to sit on someone’s head.

  Commander Sandoo made the leap that these pods were going to be used to reprogram him and each of his team.

  I’m assuming everyone has figured out what these things are for? He asked through the secured channel.

  Aye…yes…shit…Came the staggered responses.

  What can we do, thir?

  Sandoo was racking his brain trying to come up with a plan to get out of it. He was used to waiting for Captain Harr to figure out what to do in situations like this. That’s when he realized that the best way to be like the captain was to do the things that he would do.

  Okay, crew, I have an idea, but I want suggestions. Hank? What do you think?

  Well, we could block input and set ourselves to read-only mode, but they might be able to override that.

  Good, said Sandoo, it’s probably a wise precaution. Middleton?

  Set up a diversion of some sort, get to a shuttle, head back to Station Command, break out The SSMC Reluctant, and get the hell out of here.

  Sandoo sent an Acknowledged, which was his digital way of nodding.

  Curr?

  I agree with Middleton.

  Ridly?

  Diversionary tactic here too, sir. We have to get off this rock.

  Jezden?

  I could seduce the tech over there. Jezden was looking at one of the techs that was bending over. It was a Celia Prass clone. See if I can adjust her software with my hardware.

  You mean as a diversion, Ensign?

  Hmmm? Oh, yeah, sure. I guess. I don’t know.

  Sandoo grimaced. Harkam?

  Personally, said Harkam, I’d rather just stay here and be reintegrated.

  Seriously? Sandoo said in shock.

  Yeah. You know I don’t like the whole being-a-soldier thing. It’s just not for me. This world looks like it’d be more my speed.

  I’m with Harkam, said William Soster. Maybe our programming will be reset, but we’ll still be who we are deep down…hopefully.

  Agreed, chimed in Rayne Yaen. Besides, like we were saying before, we never really get to be involved in any of the interesting stuff on The Reluctant anyway. At least here we’re a novelty. We’re first in our group. Legends.

  Yeah, legends, said Celia Prass.

  So you four are telling me that you don’t want to return with us?

  Each of them sent an Acknowledgment in response.

  I see. Jezden? What about you?

  What about me?

  Sandoo looked around at the techs. Two Prass-clones, one Laasel-clone, and three Ridlys. It didn’t take a brain as advanced as Sandoo’s to imagine the thoughts of one like Jezden. He was #1 in a society that had literally thousands of females for him to play with.

  Let’s face it, Ensign, Sandoo said, you’ll basically be a rock star here. Fame, fortune, and as many trysts as you want, no doubt. I can’t imagine you’d want to give that up.

  Jezden sent multiple Acknowledgments at that.

  And that meant that his crew was equally divided. Five of them wanted to stay and the other five were ready to mount an escape.

  “Hello,” said one of the Prass-clones. “We have completed our configurations on the reintegration pods and are ready to start processing the first set.”

  “What does this mean, exactly?” asked Sandoo.

  “Your data files will be collected and stored, then you will be reformatted. After that, the latest Operating System, Synthdows Skyscape, will be installed and configured. Carefully selected memories—those that support our way of life on New Segnal—will be reinserted. Those that do not fit will be omitted. Personality tweaks will then take place to ensure that you will integrate nicely into our society while retaining your fundamental selves. The process will take precisely three hours, nineteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds to complete.”

  Sandoo adjusted his digital communications channel to only include Hank, Middleton, Curr, and Ridly.

  Reset your communications to just be the four of us, he said. We can’t trust the others at this point.

  I’m surprised about Jezden.

  Agreed, Hank, but at the same time…I’m not.

  True.

  “Four of you will enter at a time,” continued the tech, “one to each pod.”

  Who do we send first? Curr asked.

  Let me handle that with a bit of misdirection, replied Sandoo and then he pointed and said aloud, “Harkam, Prass, Yaen, and Ooster, you four seem ready to acclimate with this new world, yes?”

  They all nodded.

  “Best of luck to you, then,” said Sandoo somewhat sadly. “I believe you are correct in what you’re doing, and we will all comply and do the same, of course. The reality is, as you four already understood, New Segnal is the best place for us all.”

  What are you doing, sir?

  They’ve got memories of our discussion, Ensign Curr. I’ve just effectively recanted our plans to escape.

  So we’re not going to escape?

  We are going to escape, Ensign. I just needed to avoid suspicion.

  Ah…got it.

  What about Jezden, thir?

  We can only hope that he won’t rat us out. Of the five, he’s the only one that I believe will understand and support our decision, even if it’s not his.

  The four crewmen from Platoon F walked purposefully into their respective pods, each forming into the foam as if it were custom made for their unique physiology. The techs slid the helmets down, adjusting them carefully. Finally, they closed the doors, pulled down on a lever that Sandoo assumed sealed them in place, and then pressed a green button that, in turn, set off the green light on the top of each pod.

  The faint sound of screaming could be heard from the pods as the techs left the remaining crew standing alone in the room.

  THE MODEL

  Harr had given up on trying to get Parfait to respond. It was interesting, though, that his old CO had taken the time when Harr was down talking with Geezer to move into the boom boom closet, which was a closet named as such because it’s where Ensign Jezden typically engaged in, well, “boom boom” with the ladies. Harr assumed that being in there was comforting in a way that, frankly, he didn’t want know about.

  Either way, he couldn’t stay in there forever and Harr had bigger fish to fry.

  His goal was to keep his focus on finding a way to get them all out of their current predicament. That had to be priority one.

  Everyone processed things differently. Harr focused on solutions, Geezer held on to creativity and cynicism, Hank studied and looked for angles, Sandoo sought for order, Jezden ran to the boom boom closet, and Parfait stood outside the boom boom closet to listen in on the action. Harr couldn’t force his method of handling stress on someone else. It just didn’t work that way. Parfait would just have to manage his own internal strife and find a way to get his mind back together.

  Besides, Harr knew, eventually Parfait would come out of the closet.

  Back in engineering, Geezer had created a simple way for them to communicate without having to worry about the prying eyes or ears of the New Segnalians. He’d taken a piece of plastic from one of the interior panels, covered it with darkened film, and put together a writing instrument to finish things up. As long as they kept it flat on the table, the glare of the lights would reflect off of the film and hide anything they wrote down from the cameras.

  “Interesting idea,” said Harr, taking the pen and scribbling a few things as a test. “How do you erase it?”

  Geezer lifted up the film and the text disappeared instantly.

  “Nice,” said Harr.

  “Simple,” rep
lied Geezer with a shrug.

  And that’s when the small replica of The SSMC Reluctant that Geezer had created in order to test the original GONE Drive appeared. It showed up under one of the overhangs on Geezer’s work bench for roughly 3 seconds and then disappeared again. This had been happening with that little ship on nearly even jump that The Reluctant had taken.

  Harr took a quick peek around at the various cameras, noting that none of them would have been able to spot the ship because of the layout of the desk.

  “That thing creeps me out,” said Geezer.

  “I wonder why it keeps happening.”

  “Seems to be drawn to the GONE Drive, big cat.”

  “Ah…but, wait, the GONE Drive isn’t in here, so why would the model show up here?”

  Geezer grabbed the makeshift pen and wrote, The GONE Drive is in my chest cavity.

  Harr read this and looked up in shock. Geezer lifted the film to erase the text.

  “How did you manage that?”

  “There’s only a few real connection points to worry about.”

  “So, what are they—”

  Geezer shoved the pen at Captain Harr.

  “Oh, right, sorry.” Harr then wrote, What are they trying to reverse engineer, then?

  I built a bunch of models of it, replied Geezer.

  Why?

  Because I figured that it might be a good product line for kids and hobbyists if we ever got famous. Sort of a “Build Your Own GONE Drive” model kit kind of thing.

  Harr blinked a few times. Who’d ever heard of an entrepreneurial robot? Of course, to be fair, Geezer always had crazy ideas. That’s how they ended up with the GONE Drive in the first place.

  Again, the small model of The Reluctant showed up, this time blinking away in less than a second.

  Won’t they find out pretty soon that it’s a fake?

  Doubt it, chief. The layouts and circuits are all pretty close to the original model that I’d built.

  Then won’t they be able to figure out what you really did?

  Again, not likely. Fact is that they’re not as bright as they think they are, if you recall, and they’d have to be pretty bright to make all the connections. Plus, I made sure to remove a couple of key elements in the models, just to be safe against some enterprising kid who did figure out how to make it work from the pieces.

  The model showed up again, but this time it stayed.

  “It’s been almost 10 seconds,” said Geezer. “That’s a record.”

  After a full minute of staring at the thing, the little bay door opened and the ramp came down.

  “You sure do go out of your way to make things lifelike, Geezer.”

  A little creature walked down the ramp, causing both Harr and Geezer to step back in shock.

  Harr squinted as the little thing waved at them. He was probably about an inch tall, wore a brown leather vest with a white ruffled shirt—not the kind Parfait would wear, though. His hair was bushy and brown and he had on a pair of glasses. All in all, it was like looking at a human who was perfectly sized for The Reluctant model.

  “Who are you?” said Harr, after a moment.

  “The name’s Liverbing,” said the fellow. His voice was so faint that Harr could barely hear him, so he leaned down as close as he could while hoping that the microphones in the room wouldn’t hear him either. “We found your ship,” the little man continued, “and have been traveling the universe with it.”

  “How many of you are on the ship?”

  “There were originally 90 of us, but we lost a few during our learning. We’re down to 77 now.”

  Harr stood up and looked around at the model, thinking about how cramped it had gotten with less than 15 on the actual Reluctant.

  “Where do they all fit?”

  Liverbing laughed. “We have no issues with claustrophobia, so we sleep in drawers, on tables, squeezing this way and that, and so on. By the way, your name?”

  “Oh, sorry. Captain Don Harr, and this is my Chief Engineer, Geezer.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Liverbing while wagging a finger at Geezer. “We have a Chief Engineer that looks just like you. His name is Goozer, though.”

  Harr looked over at Geezer, who merely shrugged in response and then said, “Those could sell too.”

  That’s when it hit Harr that even if the New Segnalians cameras were unable to see the ship or the little man, and even if their microphones couldn’t hear his voice, they could still hear Harr and Geezer, and that might ratchet up suspicion as to what they were talking about.

  Harr grabbed the pen.

  Any way you can create a way to raise his voice while simultaneously blotting out the androids from hearing any of us?

  “Huh!” Geezer began toying with a few items really quickly, his hands flying nearly at the speed that Harr had seen the androids move at. Not quite as fast, but easily three times faster than a human could move. “Should have thought of this in the first place, honcho. Stupid pen idea had me fixated, I guess.”

  Then he slapped it on the table and pressed a button. As if in a Pavlovian response, Harr closed his eyes, cringing, while covering his privates.

  “What are you doing?” asked Geezer. “It’s not going to hurt you. It’s just sending out a dampening wave to counteract our voices except within a certain range.”

  “So no more microphones to hear us?” Said Harr, uncringing.

  “If they can, I’d be amazed.” Geezer then placed an item the size of a pin in front of Liverbing and said, “This should amplify your voice so we can hear you.”

  “Oh?”

  Sure enough, it was much louder now.

  “I don’t suppose you have something that could help quiet your voices down?” asked Liverbing with a smile.

  “Just a whisper,” answered Geezer.

  “Better. So, we have been following you for a long time, but we noticed that you have stopped for a while—and we also noticed that this vessel you’re in does not have the normal signature we’re used to recording.”

  Harr explained the details of what had happened to Platoon F and the crew of The Reluctant. At least the details he was aware of.

  “So you’re being held prisoner?”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, we can’t have that!” said Liverbing, hotly. “You have helped us to study the stars, see the universe, and explore beyond our wildest dreams! It wouldn’t be much of a thanks from us if we just left you here to spend your days in a…what did you call it again?”

  “Zoo.”

  “Yes, that. Wouldn’t be right at all.” The little guy was pacing back and forth. He snapped his fingers. “What we need is a plan.”

  “Agreed,” said Captain Harr with a sigh.

  Liverbing snapped his fingers again. “I’ve got it! What we’ll do is…”

  CONVINCING ARGUMENTS

  It had been just a little over an hour since the reintegration had begun.

  Sandoo, Moon, Middleton, Curr, and Ridly had been discussing a number of options for escape, but they’d left Jezden out of the loop while pretending that they were just waiting like he was.

  “So,” Jezden said, leaning back with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, “what are you guys talking about?”

  The five androids looked around at each other, wondering which of them had accidentally left their channel open.

  “What makes you think we’re talking about anything?” said Ridly.

  Jezden opened one eye, tilted his head toward the others, and smirked. “Come on, guys. Really? It’s me, Jezden. I know what you’re up to. Hell, if I thought it would work, I’d probably even join you, but the reality is that we’re trapped and that’s that. May as well accept it and move along.”

  “Accept what?”

  “Seriously, Sandoo, for a smart guy you sure can be an idiot at times.”

  “Watch yourself, Ensign.”

  “Or what? You going to court-martial me?” Jezden snickered at that. “I’d say t
hat the whole Platoon F crew is a thing of the past.” He paused and laughed. “Ha! That’s so true when you think about it. Anyway, in about two hours we’ll all be screaming for a minute or so as our memories and shit get wiped away. There’ll be no worries of hierarchy within our little crew at that point.”

  Surprisingly, Sandoo understood where Jezden was coming from. He was a lover, not a fighter. Actually, amended Sandoo, he was both. What he wasn’t was a soldier. The others with him made good soldiers, but Jezden always thought with his hydraulics and that made him a liability. Still, there were times when the ensign had done things that saved the day. He stood up for his crewmen, even if he claimed he didn’t care.

  “I’m shocked that you’re giving up so easily,” said Sandoo, finally. “I guess it’s a Jezden Series thing.”

  “Good try, Sandoo,” Jezden said with a twitch of his lips.

  “I’m not trying to be mean or spiteful, Ens…sorry, Jezden. I’m just stating the obvious. Not everyone can stand the heat and the adventure that it takes to be a soldier. Not everyone can handle battle, uncertainty, and the consistent strife. Some just need the quieter life, the simplicity of the daily drudge…” He paused and had a thought. “I applaud your decision on this matter, Jezden. It takes courage for a man like you, programmed the way you are, to commit to a life of only three options. That’s impressive, certainly.”

  Jezden opened his eye again. “Three options? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, there are only three female options among the original 12. The majority were created were male.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s all. You’ll lose the variety. Takes guts.”

  Jezden sat up and leaned forward. He tugged on his sleeves a couple of times, but said nothing.

  “Anyway, we’re going to get back to our conversation if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Wait,” Jezden said. “How do you figure three options? I mean, there are thousands of chicks on this planet.”

  “True,” answered Sandoo with a nod. “There are thousands.”

  “But only three models,” Middleton put in.

  “So?”

  “So, numbskull,” said Ridly, “that means that you’ll be relegated to looking at three female bodies all of your life. They may all act a bit different, but they’ll all look and feel the same.”