Mechanical Failure (16 page)

“Wow,” said Tunger.

Groaning, Rogers pulled himself to his feet, his heart racing. The ketchup packet that had been in his hand had spilled most of its contents onto his fingers. He wiped as much of it as he could on the floor, not really wanting to stain his uniform, but his hand was still much redder than it had been a moment before.

“That was . . . enthusiastic,” Rogers said. Oh One made no
reply. The red-faced badger now looked like a red-faced badger-killer-robot. Rogers wasn't sure he liked the change.

It took another few seconds—and unlocking the command pad twice—before Rogers could figure out how to get the droids to turn in place. It took another few tasteless pop songs before Rogers could even begin to understand how to make them find a target and take aim. The last thing he wanted was all of them facing different directions, shooting whatever they liked.

“Let's maybe just start with you, Oh One,” Rogers said. He highlighted Oh One in the list of droids and pressed the button for “attack target.”

So quickly it blurred in Rogers' vision, Oh One snapped his rifle up, took careful aim, and with deadly precision, shot the ceiling of the training room.

Both Rogers and Tunger ducked reflexively, despite there not being anything to duck away from. The floor vibrated as the disruptor rifle blasted a hole in the ceiling the size of a small melon, sending disintegrated metallic dust showering down like silver snow. A larger chunk broke off, colliding with the head of one of the droids in the second row and sending it sprawling to the floor. Its motion knocked another droid down, and soon there were four or five of them down, legs and arms flailing as they tried to get back up. The one that had been hit in the head wasn't moving; its eyes were no longer shining blue, and, for all intents and purposes, it appeared to be “dead.”

“Great job, Oh One,” Rogers said. “You're the first droid to ever commit fratricide.”

“While I should appreciate your praise, sir, I don't understand how fratricide would be classified as a good job. Is it encouraged to kill one's peers in training?”

Rogers shook his head. He should know better than to think droids understood sarcasm. They couldn't even march properly.

“No,” Rogers said. “No, it's not. Never mind. Tunger, are you sure we're ready for firearm practice?”

Tunger brushed gray dust off his uniform, his hands shaking. “No, sir.”

“I didn't think so. Maybe we should try—”

The
Flagship
exploded. At least, that's what it seemed like to Rogers. The lights went off, leaving only the red hue of the emergency glowbulbs. The ground vibrated. The walls seemed to be caving in. Every robot in the room was bathed in an eerie red glow, swathed in the shadow of the droid next to it. A shrill alarm split his ears, followed by the unintelligible speech of what must have been one of the public transportation announcers coming over the loudspeakers, shouting frantically:

“Fhrrr drigg. Mrhgh a ghnanbr. Next stop is grrnnsvilne shrugngh. All aboard!”

“Everyone get down!” Rogers screamed as he ducked. “I was wrong! I was wrong! The Thelicosans are attacking! I was wrong!”

That was the only possibility for this unbelievable chaos. They'd gotten the jump on Admiral Klein, come out of Un-Space 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 prone 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 Thellies are coming! The Thellies 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 hell 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 Thellies—Rogers didn't join the military to fight anyone—but to cover his exit. He might not kill any enemy soldiers, but by god, he would shoot the ceiling over every Thelicosan bastard 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 button 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. Buttons 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 button. He couldn't even get to the orange button. 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.

“Shit,” 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 damn 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 button.

“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 shit 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.

Serial: A-255FR-01124-B

Distribution: DBS//DSS//DAK//DFR//BB//CLOSED NETWORK A66

Classification: 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 analysis. Human 9994 promptly exited the area. Speech patterns unintelligible, possibly Thelicosan dialect. Human 2552 questioned Human 9994's fortitude 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 assessed destroyed.

Casualty report: 8 units assessed critically damaged.

Casualty report: 1 unit assessed damage to ocular sensors due to ketchup.

Fighting strength remaining: 7 units fully operational.

Outcome: Loss.

Assessment: 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 reassurance 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

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.