Mechanical Failure Part 12

That was the only possibility for this unbelievable chaos. They'd gotten the jump on Admiral Klein, come out of Un-s.p.a.ce with their cannons blasting, swarming over the fighter screen and pummeling the Flagship with everything they had. The alarm made everything between his ears start to ache, and the unintelligible speech of the announcer sounded more and more like someone reading the eulogy at his funeral.

"Sir!" Tunger shouted. Rogers abruptly realized that he was lying p.r.o.ne on the floor but had no recollection of getting there. He was in a maze of droid feet, trying to figure out how to get to the exit so that he could find an escape pod.

"I can't hear you, Tunger! The Th.e.l.lies are coming! The Th.e.l.lies are coming! Get yourself a disruptor rifle and get to the bridge!"

"Sir!" Tunger said again. "Thurs is urnrly a fur drull!"

"And stop talking with that accent!"

He felt a shudder go through the floor and realized with horror that it was too late. The Thelicosans were already boarding. Their shock troops would be flying through the halls in moments, killing anyone who couldn't identify the next prime number in a prearranged sequence of integers.II Which, on this ship, would be everyone. Except the engineers, of course. They knew what the h.e.l.l they were doing.

Just as Rogers was trying to remember which was the hypotenuse and which was hypertenuse-was there such a thing?-a realization came upon him. He had an army with him. It was a droid army, of course. A droid army that didn't know where to fire their weapons and didn't understand half the commands he gave it. But he could certainly use them for something. Not to fight the Th.e.l.lies-Rogers didn't join the military to fight anyone-but to cover his exit. He might not kill any enemy soldiers, but by G.o.d, he would shoot the ceiling over every Thelicosan b.a.s.t.a.r.d that got in his way!

Scrambling to his feet, his eyes watering from the unbelievably loud blaring of the alarm, Rogers fumbled for his keycard in the semidarkness and grabbed the command pad, unlocking it and mashing the orange b.u.t.ton for all he was worth.

"Command?"

"Everyone follow me!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "Ready your weapons and prepare for combat!"

"Sir!" Tunger yelled.

Rogers ignored him. He heard an abnormal amount of beeping coming from the command pad, and when he looked down he saw that he had smeared ketchup all over the screen. b.u.t.tons were going off at random as the machine became unable to distinguish his fingertips from the oils of the condiment; he saw the screen flash briefly to the movement panel and all of the droids started going in different directions at once.

"Stop!" he yelled, but he hadn't pressed the orange b.u.t.ton. He couldn't even get to the orange b.u.t.ton. The room suddenly became a cloud of droids banging into each other and turning every direction, their disruptor rifles whirring ominously. A few droids fell down, kicking their legs and bringing some of the other droids down with them.

"s.h.i.t," Rogers said, trying to clean off the screen with his shirt. He only succeeded in turning on "Love My Lovely Bits," which, coming out of all the droids at once, actually became louder than the alarm for a moment.

"Sir," Tunger yelled, maneuvering through the droids to finally stand in front of him. "What is it, Tunger? I'm a little busy!" Rogers was trying to navigate back to the beginning of the command pad's menu, but the d.a.m.n thing locked again and it took him a moment to find where he'd dropped his keycard on the floor.

"Thurs is urnrly a fur drull!"

"I swear," Rogers said, "I will order these droids to shoot you if you don't drop that accent and I can figure out how to make them point those guns."

Finally, Rogers got back to the main screen and pressed his finger to the orange b.u.t.ton.

"This is only a fire drill!" Tunger shouted.

Rogers stopped and looked up. "Fire?" He shouted, confused.

"Command received," said the command pad.

Time froze as Rogers and Tunger looked at each other for a terrifying moment. Then the s.h.i.t hit the fan.

I. Dathum: Lots of great, sandy beaches and a few giant carnivorous sand dragons.

II. The only thing to which the Thelicosans ascribe more enthusiasm than war is mathematics; regardless of his birth name, every Thelicosan emperor is given the name of a famous mathematician, such as Euclid, Fibonacci, or Kim Jong Un.

Report: A-255FR-01124-B

Serial: A-255FR-01124-B Distribution: DBS//DSS//DAK//DFR//BB//CLOSED NETWORK A66 Cla.s.sification: Special Protocol Required Summary: During date/time stamp in subject line, AIGCS engaged in unexpected high intensity close quarters combat situation at the command of Human 2552 via control device Z99, resulting in catastrophic damage to AIGCS personnel.

Details: After the commencement of combat, Human 2552 emitted several high-frequency noises, possibly encoded communication, and possibly attempted to mate with the floor. Behavior pattern requires more a.n.a.lysis. Human 9994 promptly exited the area. Speech patterns unintelligible, possibly Thelicosan dialect. Human 2552 questioned Human 9994's fort.i.tude and made remarks regarding maternal fornication. Intent of this communication is unknown.

Details: Attempts to mitigate damage by initial volley failed due to disarray of formation. Majority of casualties occurred in the first few moments of combat. Unit F-GC-001 initialized override protocol to attempt to avoid further damage to AIGCS. Weapons disengaged and holstered.

Details: Human 2552 made several references to excrement and continued to suggest maternal fornication. Repeated references to human reproductive habits suggests that it is of the utmost importance to human activity. Further study of this phenomenon is required.

Special Note: Freudian upgrade had insufficient data on this subject and focused primarily on the ambiguous ubiquity of phallic covetousness.

Details: Despite attempts by F-GC-001 to retain control of the situation, Human 2552 continued to access commands using control device Z99. Recommend decommissioning this device as soon as possible.

Details: Human 2552 accessed unarmed combat commands, possibly unintentionally. AIGCS units engaged in droid fu. Manner of employment suggests that Human 2552 remained unaware of control device Z99's functionality. Human 2552 received karate chop to lower ribcage and reengaged aforementioned high-pitched communication attempts. Nominal increase of methane gas in atmospheric composition suggests earlier references to excrement had been prophetic.

Details: F-GC-001 reengaged overriding protocols but was unable to cease droid fu by all units at one time. In the intervening moments, Unit F-GC-005 had collected Human 2552 by the ankles and attempted to use him as bludgeoning instrument to destroy Unit F-GC-012. Vital signs of Human 2552 suggest lapse into unconsciousness.

Details: Protocol 162 was not engaged. Situation was brought under control.

Statistical data is below.

Casualty report: 19 units a.s.sessed destroyed.

Casualty report: 8 units a.s.sessed critically damaged.

Casualty report: 1 unit a.s.sessed damage to ocular sensors due to ketchup.

Fighting strength remaining: 7 units fully operational.

Outcome: Loss.

a.s.sessment: This situation presents data that there may have been several miscalculations. First, more data is required on Human 2552 to elucidate ambiguities of competence, as equal probabilities exist that Human 2552 is a lower form of intelligence and that Human 2552 is a potential concern. Second, presenting control device Z99 as a means of rea.s.surance may have been premature and potentially dangerous. Third, more observation of human behavior in general is necessary to discern levels of importance, e.g. reproduction and ethanol-based beverages.

Report Submitted By: F-GC-001 Too Stupid to Be an Ensign Once, when Rogers was younger and vastly less wise, he made a bet with some friends that he could take a full tablet of zip jack-a powerful and illegal psychedelic-and walk through the ground traffic on Merida Prime unharmed. Amidst all the hoots of disbelief, he took a sugar pill that he had swapped for the real zip jack and prepared to march toward the far side of the busy intersection full of smug bravado.

It wasn't until the first hovercar morphed into a giant slice of apple pie and invited him to sample its innards that Rogers realized that, somewhere along the line, he'd made a critical error with the placement of his sugar pill. The adventure of the next several days (in reality only a few minutes) consisted of him not only getting to the other side of the road miraculously unscathed, but doing so on the back of a sperm whale that sang him songs of the Old Country.

Now the whale was back, and he was not very happy.

Rogers swam through a sea of broken unconsciousness and medically induced adventures, vaguely aware of tiny blossoms of pain that came and went all over his body. Images of droids flashed by, their disruptor rifles flaring as they fired indiscriminately, the deep red eyes of Oh One glaring at him with admonishment and hatred. He saw a pair of sizzling, delicious over-easy eggs dancing in the sky that, when pierced with a fork, dripped dark black oil onto a mountain of SEWR rats into which he was cast, screaming. He watched with horror as the Viking hit other men, all of whom spoke in drunken Thelicosan accents as they slathered her face with kisses. He saw Dorsey sailing away in an escape pod, towing the Awesome behind him and taking large swigs from a bottle of Jasker 120.

In between these nightmares, he woke in fits and starts, barely able to take in his surroundings before dipping back into the land of the sonorous sperm whale. The infirmary was his new home, no doubt, and he lay in an open-air recuperation chamber under thin sheets that did little to keep him warm. Over and over again, he saw the same few faces staring sternly down at him, officers, he thought, all wearing grave expressions. Surely, they were part of the Meridan JAG, coming to court-martial him.

He also saw Corporals Mailn and Tunger a few times, and heard Mailn arguing with someone very loudly. Once, he was almost positive he heard Inspect-o-Droid awarding him a demerit.

In the end, it was the sound of scissors sc.r.a.ping together and the feeling of an acute heat on his face that brought him very suddenly awake.

"Get away from my beard!" he screamed, smashing BAR-BR 116 in the face with his fist and receiving an immediate reminder that metal was tougher than bone.

"What are you doing in here?" a woman-Mailn-yelled, and walked quickly to his bedside, where Rogers was now clutching his fist and whining piteously.

"CALL FUNCTION [PERFORM PRIMARY DUTY]."

"Can't you see this man is injured?" Mailn said, stepping between them. She put her hands on her hips, and Rogers noticed her finger was very close to the holster strap of her disruptor pistol. "Now is not the time for grooming."

"CALL FUNCTION [DE-ESCALATE]. OUTPUT STRING: HE MISSED OUR APPOINTMENT."

"I don't care," Mailn said. "If you don't get out of this room right now, I'm going to do something with those scissors that involves your a.s.s and a blast of hot plasma."

Barber Bot seemed to hesitate for a moment but eventually started wheeling slowly backward.

"CALL FUNCTION [RETREAT FROM SCARY LADY]. AUGMENTED FUNCTION [VOW TIMELY RETURN]."

"Yeah, whatever," Mailn said, her hand easing away from her pistol.

Barber Bot's torch flared to life one last time before he made a slow exit from the room, which Rogers now saw was a private suite in the Flagship's infirmary. He was no longer in a recuperation chamber but a regular bed. A remote vitals monitor chirped pleasantly.

"Congratulations on returning to consciousness!" the monitor said. "You are ent.i.tled to a complimentary twenty-ounce fountain beverage of your choice, to be redeemed any of the many Snaggadir's Sundries locations available across the galaxy. Remember: whatever you need, you can Snag It at Snaggadir's!"

"So, you're finally awake," Mailn said. She was grinning at him, but there was genuine concern in her eyes.

"What happened?" Rogers asked, lying back in bed. His whole body felt like it had just been put together from pieces of grenade victims.

Mailn chuckled. "You had, ah, a little incident in the training room with the droids."

It all came back to Rogers in a flash. The marching, the control pad, the targeting practice. The fire drill. The pain.

"Oh," Rogers groaned.

"You put on quite a show," Mailn said. "Watching the video was-"

"Wait," Rogers said, sitting upright despite the pain. "There's a video?"

"Oh yeah," Mailn said. "There's a video."

Rogers flopped back down again onto the pillow. "I never want to see it."

"It's alright," Mailn said. "I've watched it so many times now, I could direct a film reenacting it. How could you not know that a fire drill was happening? Your personal terminal should have told you when you woke up that morning."

"First, I never trust a computer," Rogers said. "And second, I don't even know what a fire drill is. The last time we had one was when I was in primary school. I'll tell you what, Cynthia: between the inspections and the fire drills and the being chased around by barbers, I don't know how anyone on this ship ever gets anything done."

Even as the words left his mouth, Rogers knew they felt wrong. Since when did he give a Sewer rat's a.s.s about getting anything actually done? He supposed that maybe actual, no-kidding work was preferable to all this idiocy. Any sane man would rather do his job than listen to Inspect-o-Droid issue him demerits, though Rogers had to admit he was feeling a little less sane these days.

"Anyway," he said, "I'm just thankful I'm alive. I don't think a normal man could have survived that kind of pain."

"Are you kidding me?" Mailn laughed. "Most of your injuries were caused by your head hitting the floor when you fainted like a little girl. You screamed like one too."

Rogers felt his face getting red. He did not faint. He was brutally injured in the line of duty.

"Speaking of screaming," Rogers said, changing the subject as hurriedly as he could, "I thought I heard you shouting in here. What's going on?"

Mailn's expression flattened. "You had quite the endless stream of visitors. Just about every bra.s.s monkey in the fleet was in here at one point or another. Even Klein popped in once."

"Klein?" Rogers asked, his voice cracking. This was bad. This was really bad.

"Yep. Said some really powerful stuff." Mailn shook her head. "I'd follow that man anywhere. He's a true leader."

"Powerful stuff?" Rogers asked. "What kind of powerful stuff? Why would anyone come in here and say powerful stuff?"

"Oh, you know," Mailn said. "Just the standard stuff about devotion to duty and tireless perseverance in the face of adversity." She scrunched up her face. "Come to think of it, I can't really remember most of it. But I know it was powerful stuff."

"Hang on a second," Rogers said, now even more confused. "Devotion to duty? I blew up the AIGCS!"

"Not according to Klein," Mailn said. "Or anyone else that kept walking in here looking for interviews."

"Interviews?"

"You discovered a potentially catastrophic bug in the AIGCS system," Mailn said. "Without you, those shinies might have gone straight into combat and blown everyone around them to pieces. You proved that they weren't ready for deployment. You saved the Flagship, Rogers."

A torrent of emotions washed through Rogers. First was relief; the AIGCS was gone. That meant he didn't have to be in command of them anymore. Second was confusion; if there was no more AIGCS, where was he going to go? Third was terror; he'd been highlighted as the savior of the fleet, people had come to interview him, and Klein himself had made a personal appearance. That could only mean one thing.

"Oh my G.o.d," Rogers said. "I'm being promoted."

Mailn saluted, grinning. "Hi there, Lieutenant!"

Rogers could feel his common sense withering away that very moment. Not just an ensign, the sc.r.a.ppy puppy dog of whom not much was expected, but something rapidly approaching a field grade officer, the point at which all men of reasonable intelligence had a full frontal lobotomy and were awarded commands of large units.

"Wait," Rogers said. "Lieutenant? Not Lieutenant Lieutenant? Just Lieutenant?"I "Nope," Mailn said. "You skipped Lieutenant Lieutenant and went straight to Lieutenant."

"That doesn't make any sense," Rogers said. "You can't just become a Lieutenant without being a Lieutenant Lieutenant first."

"Lieutenant Lieutenant was deemed too low of a promotion."