The Red Tape War (1991) Page 11

  "Just what are you proposin'?"

  "I will concede a tactical victory to you," the Protean Pierce said slickly. "I, however, have the life of your daughter in the palm of my sac. It is a standoff for the moment, and I propose a compromise. I will turn over to you not only your daughter but the others of the ship. At that time you will allow me and the then-deserted ship to depart, with no interference. I have weapons far greater than you can imagine, and I can destroy your fleet at my leisure if you attempt any treachery."

  "Ha!" laughed Daddy. If you had such fearsome might, why would you put forward this compromise at all?"

  "For honor, a concept perhaps unknown to flesh-creatures. Perhaps we will do battle again on a different field."

  Arro squeezed a sac softly. "Honor?" he bratted. "Silence, First Officer," said Pierce. "It is a stratagem."

  The bald man considered it. Pierce knew what he was thinking—how to get the hostages off the small ship, then atomize the Pete Rozelle before the energy creatures could make the jump to light speed in it and escape.

  That line of thinking was exactly what the gasbags hoped the humans would take. The gasbag Pierce had no intention whatsoever of escaping on the Pete Rozelle. His ultimate goals lay in the man whose image was still before him—almost literally. He thought of the three left back on the ship. A slick little bit of subtlety on his part when he returned might well do the trick. A little press on the emotional levers here, a little adjustment in the adrenal glands there, and he'd produce two nice lovebirds who would become inseparable. Then, of course, he and Arro would ride with, perhaps become, the human Pierce when they all went to meet dear Daddy in the flesh.

  "I agree to your suggestion," the hologram informed the Proteans. "We will do nothing as long as you keep your end of the bargain. You must realize that, to me, a contract is a contract, and I will keep my word."

  "Somehow, sir," said the first officer, "I don't really believe him."

  "Watch and learn," said the commodore.

  The bridge of the alien lizards' ship was alive as the roar of "battle stations" sounded throughout the great vessel.

  "Targeting computer has acquired!" announced the saurian gunnery officer. "But wait a minute! There's another ship, looks like the flagship of the alien fleet, closing on them. They'll be joined before we can get within firing range!"

  There were curses all around. Captain William Tecumseh Roosevelt gnashed all three hundred of his teeth, well worn now through hundreds of tight campaigns, and turned to the general.

  "Well, sir? You're the brains behind this one. What do you suggest?"

  General Geronimo Custer thought for a moment. "How long before we're in range?"

  "About ten minutes," the gunnery officer told him. "And the rest of the alien fleet . . could it hit us when we hit them?"

  "No, they'd need another dozen or so minutes to get to us."

  The general nodded. "And besides that, we're bigger than they are."

  The captain turned in surprise. "You're suggesting we take them all on?"

  "Only if we have to. Remember, we're having a regrettable accident. A weapons malfunction.

  One sustained burst near the airlock probably wouldn't do more than mild damage to that flagship, but it'd get our intended quarry. I don't see how the plan's changed. If the enemy fleet then wants a fight, well, isn't that what we're here for?"

  "Spoken like a true son of Seabiscuit!" cried the captain. "Now we're gettin' somewhere! Up and at 'em boys! Full steam ahead!"

  General Geronimo Custer glared at his junior officer. "That's Secaucus," he grumbled, "not Seabiscuit."

  The captain, getting fully revved up, yelled, "Damn the torpedoes! Bury me not on the lone prairie! Chaaarge!"

  "Well, it certainly took you long enough," the lizard general Pierce remarked, as both Marshmallow and the human Pierce reentered the control room. Both were wearing absolutely nothing—with the exception of a giant Band-Aid prominently displayed on Pierce's posterior.

  "Ah hadta juice up his circulation just a bit," the woman responded lightly.

  "Disgusting," muttered the general, who'd already shed his medal-bedecked uniform. Now he looked some-thing like a dinosaur exhibit at the museum of natural history. "Get over here, both of you. And as for you, Pierce, wipe that damned smile off your face!"

  "Um? Oh, sorry," the man replied, but the smile stayed on.

  "Hey, computer!" the general called out. "Position us for least effect from your charge."

  "You know, Mills," said the computer, "that was most fascinating. I'm still having difficulty analyzing the thing, though. The both of you seemed to be going through an awful lot of agony and silly gymnastics, yet you look pleased by it all."

  Pierce's smiled vanished. "You were peeking?"

  "Well, of course not," huffed the computer. "I am an XB-223 navigational computer. XB-223s are known for their discretion."

  "But you just said—"

  "I was only commenting on what I saw."

  Pierce's face started to glow red from anger. "So you did peek!"

  "I did not! I warned you to pay more attention to Screen 6! I really did. Now he got you back."

  "Listen, you! First of all, Screen 6 is merely an adjunct of you. And secondly, it is a receiver, not a transmitter!"

  "Receiver . . . transmitter . . . hmmm. Thank you. That might give me a handle on it. But what in heaven's name was being communicated, then? This will take further thought."

  Suddenly, there was a tremendous jolt that shook the ship.

  "What was that?" all three in the control room asked at once.

  "Oh, just the flagship of the fleet out there docking with us," the computer informed them.

  "Now, let's see. Do the noises you made constitute part of the thing you were communicating? Or is it the gymnastics? Now, I can see if it's a complex part of—"

  "The flagship!" Pierce cried. "Damn it, computer! Pay attention to the job at hand! If that's the flagship, we're going to look mighty silly standing here naked as jay-birds!"

  "Oh, don't worry about that," the computer responded. "The thing's only a primitive mock-up, really. Hardly worth worrying about. No, the only life-form aboard seems to be the energy beings you're so worried about. "

  "A mock-up," the lizard general muttered. "Some-one's a slick customer at that. But who's running the ship? The energy beings?"

  "I suppose so," the computer said. "They took control with little trouble. Now, if they'd put in an XB-223 navigational computer, it would have been far more difficult—nay, perhaps impossible—to have done so. Chintziness never pays. There's probably an XB-223 sitting in some dark, dank warehouse, circuitry decaying from disuse, who could have been fully employed, as is the right of all good little computers everywhere, who might have saved that vessel. No wonder we have a galaxy-wide unemployment problem!"

  "Cut the chatter!" the general snapped. "I hear the airlock. Are you ready to give this thing the jolt of its life?"

  "Of course I am. The calculations are relatively minor. I would recommend the three of you stand at least arm's length from one another on three different pieces of deck plating, if you will.

  And please don't touch one another or anything else, or move until I tell you."

  They waited, not knowing what to expect.

  "Millard?"

  "What?"

  "Would it make any difference that the lizards' ship is currently closing in and locking on to us with gunnery sighting lasers at this very minute?"

  "WHAT?"

  "I said, would it make any difference that—"

  "I heard that! You mean they're going to shoot us?"

  "It is difficult for me to fathom the intent of an alien species, considering how difficult it is just to fathom yours, and my communications circuits are still messed up, thanks to the alien now approaching us, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say yes, they're going to shoot us."

  "How long until they can fire?" the general put in.

/>   "Two minutes, give or take."

  "Then fry the bastard first!"

  At that moment, the Pel Torro, with Pierce and Arro aboard, entered the control room unseen, and found their way inside the head of the android, Frank Poole. "Hey, guys," said the android, "I know this is kind of a tense moment, but would anyone like to play a little gin rummy?"

  "Frank?" Pierce cried in confused puzzlement.

  "I see that you have all escaped your bonds," said Commodore Pierce through the android's mouth. "I can understand much now about your races, but I must confess that I haven't the slightest idea why all three of you, upon escaping, should shed your clothing and stand there like that."

  Millard Fillmore Pierce just stared at Frank Poole. A terrible energy creature, he thought. An alien ship about to blast us into kingdom come. And we're standing here stark naked, depending on, of all things, an XB-223 navigational computer to get us at least a temporary reprieve. This is it. This is simply as bad as things could possibly get. We can't even move, and I have to go to the bathroom bad.

  "Most interesting," the XB-223 commented, more to itself than to the others. "A totally unique form of energyin my experience, although I'm just an XB-223 navigational computer . . ."

  Pierce could only think of the great alien ship now lining up its sights on them. He frantically wished the computer would get it over with.

  Frank Poole stepped forward on the control room deck plating, heading toward the human Pierce but looking from one to the other of them. The gasbag Pierce didn't like this inexplicable situation at all, and he was wary.

  "They're standing in a triangle, sir," said Arro.

  "I see that," snapped Pierce. "They're up to some-thing. The flat flesh-creature is standing at the point, with the well-sacced flesh-creature to his right and behind him, and the green-scaled creature to his left rear. I will take another two steps closer."

  The computer continued its nattering. "I think I've got the proper voltage and polarity worked out," the computer said, again mostly to itself, "but, then, nothing is certain when dealing with such a novel energy form. Still, there's nothing really to be lost by trying it, considering we're all going to be atomized anyway in about seventy seconds. So—"

  The lights flickered and went out. Great leaps of lightning, like a miniature electrical storm, kept the cabin alit in a strobelike fantasy. The computer, retaining only enough energy to keep itself powered, drew all of its energy reserves from throughout the ship, channeled that surge through circuitry in the deck plates ill-designed and equipped for such a load, and poured it all into the soles of Frank Poole's boots.

  The Proteans were suddenly struck a blow like that of an energy sledgehammer. Frank Poole gave a startled cry and pitched into Pierce, who suddenly felt a terrible, weirdly pleasurable pain in every cell of his body. He felt as if he were melting, and he collapsed crazily into Marshmallow, who, drawn forward into the energy vortex, thrashed and flailed and toppled onto the general, who in turn struck the deck itself. All four forms writhed for a moment, bathed in a blue-white energy glow, which reached into the totality of the control room itself, far into the complex circuitry of the XB-223. The computer felt a similar wrenching sensation and quickly shut down, restoring power to normal and automatic functions.

  "Shoot, damn you!" screamed General Geronimo Custer. "Why don't you shoot!"

  The gunnery officer looked apologetic. "Sorry, sir. Give me three or four minutes more."

  "Three or four minutes more! What for?"

  "They're rushing the paperwork through as quickly as they can."

  "What? Why do you need forms to shoot? What would happen if we were under attack now?"

  "Oh, well, then Section 666 1/2B of the Gunnery Code Manual, Volume 49, latest revision, states that we could shoot first and fill out forms later. But it's been judged that this is not a Class I emergency of that type, and so, being only a Class II—and a Class IIC at that—it'll take a couple of minutes. Patience, sir! They aren't going anywhere."

  General Geronimo Custer looked to heaven.

  Consciousness returned rapidly to those on the deck of the Pete Rozelle, but they all felt an almost total numbness. One by one they picked themselves up.

  We've failed, the human Pierce thought glumly. It's incredible we weren't all electrocuted. Or would that havebeen the kinder thing? That ship's gonna fire any minute now. So things can get worse. At least I don't have to go to the bathroom anymore.

  Vision returned, and he got groggily to his feet. The others did the same, with the exception of Frank Poole. The android had obviously dealt his last hand.

  The lights were dim and intermittent, there seemed to be small electrical fires all around, and there was the overpowering odor of ozone in the air.

  Pierce looked around to see how the others were. The general seemed dazed but all right, and so did--Wait a minute there!

  He looked frantically for Marshmallow and didn't see her, and then he looked more closely and found her, all right.

  He also found that things could still get a lot worse. And they most certainly had.

  A thin, reedy, electronic voice came from Frank Poole. He hadn't been totally destroyed after all. "I can't move! I'm trapped in this worthless android! And you've all become giants, or I've shrunk!"

  The lizard general got weakly to his feet. "Well, ah sweah! Ah feel all funny and crazy!" It looked around, spotted another form, and stared, goggle-eyed. "Wait a dad-blamed minute, sugah! What am ah doin' over theah. when ah'm heah?"

  "When we all touched during that charge we must have been connected somehow," Pierce guessed. "I don't understand it, but it happened." He shook his head in wonderment, feeling the unusual brush of long hair against his bare shoulders. "I'm Millard. I got shoved somehow into your body, Marshmallow. And you got shoved into the general's. And . . . ?" They both looked at the still form of the android on the floor.

  "I'm General Pierce, you idiot!" came Frank Poole's grating, mechanical voice.

  All three then looked at the form of the human Millard Fillmore Pierce, who'd stood up and was now looking around in bewilderment and wonder.

  "And he must be the thing!" cried the general.

  The form of Millard Pierce stared at them. Finally, it said, "Thing indeed! I'll have you know I'm an XB-223 navigational computer!"

  Pierce gulped. "You're the computer? Then tell us what happened? And where's the energy creature?"

  "I regret to say," said the computer, "that I no longer have access to the infinitely superior memory and data banks with which I could have, quite rapidly, come up with that solution. My best guess is, if we're all accounted for, the energy beings are knocked cold somewhere in my own memory core. I was brought into it when the general was so clumsy as to fall against the master console. However, I find this change fascinating and exciting. How sad I shall have so little time to explore, to touch, to feel, to love, perhaps someday become a real live boy."

  "What do you mean?" they all asked at once.

  "Because, if you've forgotten, the alien ship's about the blast us into atoms any moment now."

  "Then we have to get out of here fast!" Pierce yelled. "Everybody get to the airlock and into the other ship!"

  Nobody moved. Marshmallow felt her new snout and wagged her tail slightly, then shook her head. "Oh, Daddy ain't gonna understand this at all."

  There was a sudden jarring crash, and they were all hurled again to the deck. Their little world seemed suddenly to be upside-down and tumbling. The light flickered. Then the ship seemed to stabilize. Machinery whined and the light held steady. There was a jolting moment of acceleration.

  "What are those dolts doing?" grated the general in his Frank Poole voice, sounding angry.

  "Was that a helluva bad shot, or did they just ram us?"

  "Exactly," came a cold voice from the computer's speaker. "They ran us down. They're grappling with the flagship and we've been bumped. We broke loose and I've taken control."

 
"Who are you?" demanded the lizard-Poole.

  "I am Commodore Millard Fillmore Pierce of the Imperial Protean Navy."

  "Another Pierce," groaned Pierce-Marshmallow.

  "And a damned good thing, too," said the gasbag-computer. "I pulled us out of there just in time. Their computer tells me we were ten seconds away from a completely annihilating barrage."

  "Ah!" said XB-223-Pierce. "I'm right! She does love me!"

  "You're not the computer!" Pierce-Marshmallow cried accusingly. "You're the energy beings!"

  "Something like that," the cold voice agreed. "We're out of range of the general's treacherous friends, but we're headed for a sanctuary. I will admit there is some temptation to just crash this thing and be done with it, but that would kill all of you and, of course, set me back in my plans somewhat. Therefore, it is in my best interest to get us down alive if at all possible, and then hope for rescue."

  "Get us down? Sanctuary? Where?"

  "All this time, I've maneuvered these various crafts in the direction of a primitive-looking but acceptable world not far from our present position. I'm going to put us down on it as best I can, although it'll be something of a crash landing, I'm afraid. As to where it is—I'm afraid you'll have to ask your navigational computer. I haven't a clue."

  The computer in Pierce's body looked amazed at the comment. "How in the universe should I know?"

  "At last he admitted it." Pierce sighed.

  "Brace for crash landing," the gasbag-computer Pierce warned them. "Counting from thirty . .

  . now!"

  They all hung on to whatever they could and hoped for the best, while the Proteans who now controlled the ship counted off the moments to impact. Waiting seemed like an eternity, and during all that eternity all Pierce could think was, We're going to die. And if we don't, we'll be cast adrift on an alien world with no hope of rescue. Or, even worse, we'll get rescued by Marshmallow's father—and I'm trapped as her! Things couldn't get any--