Part 13 (2/2)

Herb was put out, because this was just another example of how Daddy always treated him like an inexperienced fool. Herb had been tracking the Pete Rozelle from the very moment it broke free and headed toward the uncharted planet. ”I'm not an idiot, you know,” he told Daddy in a sulky voice. ”I went to college and everything. I know how to do my job.”

Daddy slammed his well-manicured fist against a stainless steel panel. ”I never said you couldn't do your job! Do you have my baby girl on the screen?”

”And you don't have to shout,” said Herb. He indicated a tiny, faint blip on a glowing green screen the size of a panel truck. ”That's them, right there.”

”Good,” said Daddy, clenching and unclenching his fists. He sat back in his padded leather acceleration chair and tried to relax. ”It was better in the old days,” he murmured. ”In the old days, I had henchmen with psychic powers.”

Herb shook his head dubiously. ”Psychic powers are a waste of time these days. There is more paperwork for psychic powers than for almost anything else. It's been that way ever since the Galactic Privacy Act. You can't even telekinetically move a saltshaker without filling out six different forms. You only need five to blow up a planet.”

There was silence on the bridge for a moment. ”Herb,” said Daddy at last, ”how much do I pay you?”

”Sir?”

”Never mind,” said Daddy with a sigh, ”it's probably way too much.” The blip on the viewscreen was moving slowly but steadily away from them. What good was a two-dimensional screen in a four-dimensional galaxy, anyway?

”Do you want me to lay in a new course, sir?” asked Herb. ”You want to follow the Pete Rozelle?”

It seemed like the logical thing to do, but Daddy didn't get to be one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy by always doing what was logical. He thought aloud for a moment. ”I trust that Marshmallow's situation won't get any worse until after those foul fiends arrive at their destination, wherever it is.”

”They seem to be moving straight for that uncharted planet, sir,” said Herb.

Daddy ignored him. ”That gives us a little time. A short respite, during which we can deal with that lizard invasion. Say, whatever happened to those three million capsules they launched?”

”We're tracking them, sir. The capsules don't seem to be in any hurry. They were released in all directions, evidently with no specific destinations. I believe thelizards are trying to flood this part of the galaxy with them.”

Daddy nodded. ”Any idea what's in the capsules?”

”It could be garbage, sir. Plastics and paper and aluminum and gla.s.s all separated for recycling.”

Daddy looked up for help, as if G.o.d were hovering near the bank of digital readouts overhead. ”I'll take your suggestion under advis.e.m.e.nt, Herb, and then forget about it completely.

We'll operate with the contents of the capsules listed as 'Unknown.' You said they're being tracked?”

Herb nodded confidently. ”All three million of them are being individually tracked by our fleet's Third Computer Tracking Wing, which wasn't doing anything else at the moment.”

”Good, fine,” said Daddy, hitting the palm of his hand with his other fist. ”If that lizard fleet takes any other suspicious action, let me know at once.”

”Yes, sir. What are you going to do now, sir?”

Daddy's eyes narrowed. ”I've got an idea for a completely new and diabolical kind of quadruplicate form! Those s.p.a.ce pirates will rue the day they ever crossed ballistic paths with me!” And he began to laugh softly like a maniac.

At the main airlock waited one hundred thousand lizard warriors, armed to the teeth and pumped full of sophisticated drugs that turned each one into an unstoppable demon of destruction. On a gray-painted flying bridge above them, General Geronimo Custer snapped the chin-strap of his helmet and glared down in barely controlled blood l.u.s.t. ”Men!” he cried. ”In a few seconds, that door will slide open, and we will go charging into the bowels of the enemy fleet's flags.h.i.+p! Victory will quickly be ours!”

The infantry lizards cheered so loudly that the general had to wait impatiently for silence. He turned to Captain William Tec.u.mseh Roosevelt and shouted in his ear, ”What if you're wrong?”

Captain Roosevelt shrugged his saurian shoulders. ”Then perhaps the first fifteen or twenty thousand of them will die horribly.”

The general considered that. ”Fifteen or twenty percent losses at the outset,” he muttered.

”That's accept-able.” He turned back to his legions. ”You all have your a.s.signments. This is a very complex operation. Each division must achieve its objective within the time frame of our schedule, so that we can wrest control of the flags.h.i.+p from those unearthly humanoids. We want the flags.h.i.+p intact, with most of its leaders alive, so that-”

Just then, the giant airlock door began rumbling open. The hyped-up soldiers started screaming again, and the general gave up his pep talk. The first companies of rampant lizards charged through the tunnel, into Daddy's huge mock-up of a military flags.h.i.+p.

”Onward, men!” cried General Geronimo Custer. ”On to glory!”

Those first companies, however, had fallen almost immediately to their knees, helpless with nausea. The gunnery captain saw the problem and shouted orders. ”Back!” he screamed. ”Back to the s.h.i.+p! Close the airlock and break out breathing apparatus!”

It took many minutes for the savage lizards to retreat to their own s.h.i.+p. The ones who'd been exposed to the cold, thin, foul-smelling atmosphere aboard the enemy vessel were weak-kneed and shaky, but they recovered quickly. ”Sorry, men,” said the general, pa.s.sing through the ranks and showing his cannon fodder that he trulycared about them. ”I forgot all about the atmosphere on the other s.h.i.+p. Make sure your breathing apparatus is properly in place, and we'll try this again.”

For a second time, the great airlock door rumbled open. ”Charge!” shouted the general through his own faceplate. And again they charged.

The a.s.sault went on right on schedule, helped no doubt by the fact that there wasn't a single enemy aboard the false flags.h.i.+p. Companies split up into platoons, each with its own mission.

However, there were no guns to silence, no cla.s.sified communications rooms to capture, no top- level humanoid commanders to interrogate.

”This is terrible,” said General Geronimo Custer.

Captain Roosevelt checked his wrist.w.a.tch. ”I don't see why, sir. Our men are virtually in control of this s.h.i.+p, and we're only fifteen minutes late.”

”You don't understand. I can't go back without casualties. How would that look in the paperwork? No casualties, not even one? Headquarters would find that just too suspicious. It's impossible to take an objective without casualties. It's just unmilitary! They'd probably find a year's worth of forms for me to fill out, explaining this action. We've got to think of something!”

The captain rubbed his long, fanged snout. ”I never thought of it that way, sir.”

Just then, the general's face lit up. ”I've got it!” he said, and he began shooting his rifle and hand laser into the bulkhead above him. ”Hit the dirt!” he shouted. ”We're under attack!”

Soldiers near him began firing their own weapons, and within a few seconds, all of the hundred thousand scaled soldiers were blasting away at nothing. ”There,” said the general with satisfaction, ”we ought to get our ten to fifteen percent casualties now!” And he ducked as a fiery red laser wand swept low over his head.

There were many obvious reasons why the Pete Rozelle was severely damaged structurally and electronically when it crash-landed on Uncharted, and only one reason why it wasn't totally obliterated. A leading factor on the first list was that the s.h.i.+p's guidance system was now occupied by the trespa.s.sing consciousnesses of Commodore Pierce and First Officer Arro, neither of whom had had much prior experience as a man-made Artificial Intelligence computer network.

The single thing that saved them was a miracle. G.o.d, or mathematics, allowed the pa.s.sengers on the Pete Rozelle to live a little longer.

Not that the Pierce-Arro combined ent.i.ty intended to abuse the privilege. ”h.e.l.lo?” said Pierce-Arro. There was no answer.

”What's happened?”

”Apparently,” the ent.i.ty answered itself, ”our two separate Protean minds have become fused.

I don't know if it happened because of the deck-plate charging debacle, or as a result of the crash.

But we're in here together.”

”Do I have to salute myself?”

<script>