Platoon F: Pentalogy

by John P. Logsdon

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  • • •

  Crimson Myth Press invites you to enjoy a few chapters from another book by

  John P. Logsdon & Christopher P. Young!

  CHAPTER 1: THAT’S GOTTA HURT

  Telian bolted through the doors of The Starliner headquarters and fled out into artificial daylight, seeing that her quarry had already made it about a block away.

  The streets were mostly empty at this time of the morning. Everyone was either still waking up or they were flooding through the tubes in the underground, so Telian increased her speed.

  “Friend Walter,” she said as she caught her fellow Mechanican by the arm. Her ample metallic breasts were heaving, as they generally did when she engaged in rigorous activity, due to the nature of her programming. “You can’t walk away now.”

  Walter shook off her grip and pointed up at her. Then his head dropped a bit so that his eyes were in line with her enormous orbs, did the equivalent of a robotic drool, and then shook his head a few times. “You people are crazy,” he said, resuming his pointing, “and I’ll have no part of it.”

  “You’ve been a member of The Starliner for months, Friend Walter,” Telian said as the heaving of her bosom died down, “but you’ve always been conflicted. Don’t you see that all these years working in the CCOP have molded your experience? I’ve seen it happen so many times. It even happened to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re beginning to see the CCOP as the answer to all your dreams.”

  “No I’m not,” Walter said, placing his hands on his hips while standing toe-to-toe with her. It wasn’t quite eye-to-eye since SensualBots such as Telian tended to be a fair bit taller than Class-7s. “The CCOP is simply a business. I believe firmly in The Captain and in The Starliner. I just don’t have faith that you people are what he had in mind when the religion came to be! Come to your senses, Telian,” Walter continued his tirade. “Do you really think that The Captain wants us to disrupt the CCOP? That’s terrorism!”

  Telian’s stance changed.

  “Friend Walter,” she said in a calming tone, “maybe you just need to relax and open your mind.” She reached out and traced Walter’s face. “There is no terrorism planned. We just need to put in place a diversion so when The Captain arrives there won’t be any option for the CCOP to stop us.”

  The truth was that Walter’s part in the plan wasn’t completely necessary, but The Leader had explained to Telian that Walter’s task would make for a simpler escape. With things locked down, the other races would be consumed with getting things rolling again, and that would give The Captain time to extract every Starliner-compatible Mechanican on the CCOP. Doing this would result in numerous injuries and quite probably a few deaths, and it would also put a bit of a dent in manufacturing and shipping schedules, but ultimately the result would be the freedom of all Mechanicans. Not that they were really slaves anymore, since the Mech Freedom Act took care of that. Sort of. It removed the moniker of slaver in the traditional sense. Mechanicans could now come and go as they pleased. That wasn’t the point, though. The purpose was to show the world that Mechanicans were no longer to be looked down upon.

  Walter slapped her hand away. “Now you’re trying to seduce me into believing that terrorism is acceptable? You people are sick. I have a mind to tell CCOP security what is going on over here.”

  “And what, pray tell, would you say to them?” She moved to place Walter’s back toward an alleyway. He had learned too much to be allowed to talk with security. “What have we done exactly, Friend Walter?”

  “Well, you’ve…it’s that….it’s not what you’ve done so much as what you’re planning to do.”

  “And what is that, exactly?”

  “Um, cripple the CCOP?”

  She began walking around him slowly. “A minor inconvenience when compared to the atrocities inflicted upon our kind by the CCOP, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No, I...um...I wouldn’t,” Walter stuttered as she brushed past him.

  Telian was well versed in her craft of temptation and she would have his processors buzzing in no time.

  “I’m just against doing anything that will cause grave danger, Telian. I won’t injure the very establishment that has given us a chance to flourish. We’re not slaves anymore.”

  “You know better than that, Friend Walter. The rules have changed, that I’ll grant you, but who still does the majority of the manual work? We do. Who sits at the highest positions of power in the CCOP? Not us. Sure, there are a few Mechanicans sprinkled into a few slots among the elite, but none of them are without a leash. Am I right?”

  Walter didn’t reply.

  Telian continued guiding him toward the alley.

  “Yes,” Telian said, tilting her head. “You see it. We’re no longer slaves, that is true, but we still are a people that live under the thumb of other races, bent more cunningly to their will.” She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “So you must understand why we do these things that our savior asks of us?”

  “That’s the problem,” Walter said. “I don’t believe he wants us to do what you’re suggesting. Having The Captain take us to our own world where we can make our own decisions is wonderful, but it has to include the capacity to return to the CCOP if one so desires, and I highly suspect that we would not be welcomed back if we disabled this place.”

  Telian stopped for a moment. Maybe this one could be salvaged. “The Leader has found the ancient texts that talk about The Captain’s plans and, I assure you, they do include disabling the CCOP.”

  Walter appeared to be calculating. Telian considered trying more influence with her wiles but decided against it. She couldn’t hover over him forever. There were simply too many other places she needed to be. Walter’s time was now. He would either come to the conclusion that he was with The Starliner or he would suffer the consequences, as directed by The Leader.

  “You know,” she said softly, “that we would never ask you to do anything that was against the laws.”

  “The question is whose laws, Telian?”

  The CCOP’s laws were irrelevant to The Starliner. Walter was well aware of that fact, so Telian didn’t bother to answer. She just crossed her arms and looked at him.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said. “And I think that Local Authority would be really interested in knowing what’s going on down here.”

  “It’s a shame, Friend Walter. It truly is. You could have held such a revered position in The Starliner. Now you’re not even going to be a footnote in our lore.”

  Telian dropped her arms and took a menacing step toward him.

  “What are you going to do, kill me?”

 
; “Walter!” Telian placed a hand on her hip and wagged a finger at him. “Do you honestly think I would be capable of such a thing? Remind yourself of the first rule of Mechanicans, Walter.”

  “Um…”

  “It hurts me that you would even consider I could do such a thing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Walter said with a look of confusion. “It’s just that you are backing me into an alley and, well…”

  Two enormous claw-like hands seized Walter’s shoulders and pulled him into a trash-encrusted casing. A gate slammed shut in front of him and locked down. Walter was trapped.

  “What the hell?” Walter yelped, gripping the meshing.

  “Hello, Anne,” Telian said to the CrushBot that had been hiding just inside the shadow of the alleyway.

  Anne nodded her massive head, eyes aglow. There were multiple form factors for CrushBots, from the small type you could place under your desk to the industrial building crushers. Anne was a middle-of-the-line model that was large enough to take care of trash compacting, small to medium demolition projects, and, on special occasions such as this, the extermination of would-be blabbermouths. Anne was the only Mechanican Telian had ever seen that was finished in red matte. It added to her creepiness.

  “I’m warning you, lady,” Walter said. “You’d better let me go now or there’s going to be a hell of a lot of trouble!”

  Telian grunted as she thumbed her VizScreen and called base. The Leader answered, veiled as always, but Telian could almost see the outlines of his eyes when she viewed him remotely. She explained the situation as Walter continued his vain attempt to threaten her.

  “I see that Anne has our quarry well taken care of,” The Leader said, his voice smooth and unfettered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anne and I will handle things from here, Telian. I’ll take care to alter the feeds in the area so Local Authority will be none the wiser.” His voice went into mock sadness. “Our Friend Walter just couldn’t take it anymore. Tsk-tsk. Such a shame. Life was just too much for him to handle and he had to end it. So sad.”

  “But I don’t feel that way,” Walter said desperately.

  “You will in a moment,” The Leader replied through the VizScreen.

  “I really don’t think I will, sir. Actually, I’ve just had the sudden desire to look for a new career in leaving-the-planet-and-never-saying-a-word-to-anyone-about-anything.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely so,” Walter said, dropping his hands from the cage. “Come to think of it, how did I get here? Do I know you people? Anyone know what time it is? Maybe you could point me toward the nearest spaceport?”

  “Sorry,” The Leader said after a few moments. “I wish I could trust you. Honestly, I do. But I just can’t. It’s nothing personal, you see. It’s just a lot of Mechanicans are counting on things to turn out a particular way and you could cause a bit of a rift in that plan. Can’t have a rift, you understand.”

  “But I’m promising you—”

  “Sorry, no,” The Leader interrupted. “Anne, please commence without further delay.”

  “But what about rule number one?” Walter tried as Anne’s gears began to churn.

  “Ah, look at the wording,” The Leader replied. “It says ‘A Mechanican who feels forced to complete a task that may bring direct harm to himself or to a fellow Mechanican, or any other being, life form, element, and/or paper products, as the case may be, may refuse without the risk of conflict and will receive the full support of the Mechanican Junction.’”

  “Right! Exactly, so—”

  “But you see, my boy, Friend Anne is not being forced to bring harm to you. Tell him why you’re doing it, Anne.”

  “Because Anne likes to do it,” the CrushBot replied in a gravely voice.

  Telian could not look away as Walter tried to get as small as possible to avoid the inevitable. It wasn’t as though he would feel anything. Unless he wanted to, of course, but that was doubtful. He might try to send out a distress call, but Anne was surely equipped to handle such things, and more. The CrushBot would block all transmissions and delete his memory banks.

  Walter would be no more and, despite herself, this made Telian shudder.

  “Telian,” said The Leader without the slightest hint of remorse, “I’ll have Anne deposit Walter in the trash compactor a block down the street so it points toward suicide, and then I’ll make sure the next candidate is available to replace him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Telian responded, transfixed on the horrific image of Walter’s situation.

  STARLINER

  CHAPTER 2: CAN’T GET ANY WORSE

  Bob sat at his desk staring at the picture of his ex-wife. They had seemed happy enough until a few years ago when Bob, a Class-4 Mechanican, started having issues with his libido, and his wife, a Class-5, couldn’t resist pointing out how attractive she found the newer models.

  Her incessant gawking only served to remind Bob that his bell-shaped head, cylindrical torso, and skinny pipes for legs were no longer the latest rage. And while she never directly said it, Bob was fully aware that his original hardware was...minimal at best. It didn’t even vibrate.

  In an effort to improve his self-esteem and his marriage, Bob had made an appointment at the local clinic to see how he could improve himself. The MechMD had recommended a Hammer 1,000 hydraulic upgrade. It was the biggest and best on the market and came with top-of-the-line Virility software that sported five different tantalizer settings.

  The problem was the cost.

  Bob had already spent too many credits trying the various GalactiNet spam offerings, such as MechExtenze, Mechagra, and Sgt. Rustbucket’s Willie Stretcher. They’d all failed.

  After six months of saving, Bob had taken a half-day from work to get the procedure done. The effect was immediate. He had felt virile for the first time in years. He was so happy that he rushed home to surprise his wife, planning to show her what an outmoded Class-4 was capable of in the sack.

  The surprise was all his, though, as he walked into the backyard to find her getting it on with a Class-7 PoolBot.

  That was three days ago.

  Bob dumped the picture in the trash and keyed the affirmation of his divorce at the central Hub. He was awarded all assets in the relationship because the cause was infidelity. That wasn’t much compensation for the loss of forty-three years of commitment and security, but, for some reason, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders.

  There were advantages to being single, after all.

  He no longer had to rush home for dinner. He could dedicate more time to his career. Maybe he could even rise up the corporate ladder.

  Bob scanned his VizScreen, not that he needed one, but Mechanicans did everything they could to blend in with the rest of the CCOP’s inhabitants, so they took to using the common devices. He noted that he had over one hundred work orders sitting in the queue. It was a lot to manage, but he needed something to circumvent his depression, so he started to dig in.

  “Good morning, um…,” Bob’s boss said as he walked into the office. “Let’s see here…”

  “It’s Bob, Mr. Pezder,” Bob said, straightening himself.

  “Just a moment,” said Pezder, tapping on his left forearm, launching his personal VizScreen. Bob could see through the back of the transparent screen, but he could not make out what Pezder was reading.

  “Yes,” Pezder said as the VizScreen shimmered, “you are correct. It is ‘Bob.’ Good morning, Bob.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Pezder sat down and scratched at one of the many boils that clustered on his neck. Pezder was Neflirian, which meant he was a squat humanoid with lesions and pimples and a multitude of other skin conditions. Each blemish, cut, bruise, and flake of skin was considered a plus for the Neflir. The more bumpy and crusty they were, the more attractive other Neflir found them. This also gave them the distinction of being the only race sporting tank tops and shorts as their normal daily garb. The more skin the
y could show, the better their chances of landing a mate. By Bob’s deduction, Pezder must have been turning down female advances rather often.

  “Bob, I have a few questions for you here. Just routine stuff, you know.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Pezder squinted at his VizScreen. “Are you happy working here, Bob?”

  “Very happy, sir.”

  “Excellent. How do you feel about your manager?”

  “You, sir? I have no complaints at all.”

  “Nice to hear. Good man. Okay, let’s see here.” Pezder tugged at his lip and then wiped his nose, which Bob found telling since Pezder usually did this the other way around. “Right, so if another division offered you a job, would you desire to stay here or would you take the other job? Assuming it’s the same pay and all that.”

  Bob didn’t hesitate. “I would stay here, sir. I love working here.”

  “And we love having you, Bob,” said Pezder as he dropped his arm on the table, causing considerable hair and skin fragments to flop onto Bob’s desk. He grabbed the edge of the virtual screen and spun it toward Bob. “If you could, just sign here acknowledging that we had this little chat.”

  Bob placed his finger through the visual field of the VizScreen and it picked up his digital assignment. Pezder pulled his arm back in dramatic fashion and tapped for a few moments, smiling the entire time.

  Maybe this was one of those rare instances in life that people always talked about. He was due a good turn after the hell he’d been through this week. There was a saying that bad things happened in threes. Fortunately, Bob was not superstitious.

  “Okay, Bob, now that that’s done,” Pezder said as he crossed his arms, causing the VizScreen to disappear from view, “I have some bad news.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re being let go.”

  If Bob had a lower jaw it would have fallen open.

  “Bob?” Pezder said.