Unidentified Funny Objects 7, page 4
Jada and Shaw both looked at Chad, who felt uncomfortable without knowing why.
“Tie him up,” said Jada, decisively. “I’ll go by myself; you stay here and be ready to go.”
A giant smile broke out on Shaw’s face.
“Shaw, if I come back and I’m not alone . . . run.”
From where Chad stood, feet bound and hands on a wall hook over his head, he could see the starboard camera monitor. Jada exited the gangplank in full Trooper armor. She was about the right size, and tried to look confident, but moved nothing like a Chad. She would be spotted immediately.
“So what’s the plan here, bro? Spread some explosives around, go down in a blaze of glory? I don’t even know what you were going for.”
Shaw smiled condescendingly.
“That swamp planet . . . do you know why we were there?”
“Based on my experience, there’s nothing you dudes like more than hanging out on uninhabitable planets.”
“We were meeting a contact and retrieving a file. A file with some very interesting information . . . it turns out this very base is the source of all the clones that form the backbone of the Imperial army—"
“You needed a file to tell you that? It is literally called the Mothership.”
“—and it happens to have a fatal flaw. A few well-placed explosives and the whole place goes up.”
Chad was struck speechless.
“But that’s . . . all the little bros . . . they’re babies! You’re just going to wipe them out, just like that?”
“It’s them or us.” Shaw had the decency to look away. “They’re just clones.”
Chad pressed his lips shut. Shaw got up and paced around the room, checking the monitors.
“Where is she? She should be on her way back already.”
“Yeah, my guess would be the brig. She wasn’t fooling anybody with that Trooper get up.”
Shaw punched the wall. After a moment he started gathering up some gear.
“What are you doing? Jada told you to stay here and wait for her. You’re supposed to be guarding me.”
“If she’s caught, then we’ve only got a few more minutes before they come for us. I’m not going to waste it.”
He shouldered a backpack and crept down the gangplank without looking back.
Quickly, Chad used his bound wrists to do a pull up, rubbing the ropes around his ankles against the sharp edge from some unrepaired blaster shot on the opposite wall.
Once his legs were free he simply jumped straight up to unhook his wrists from the wall.
“Should have followed orders, bro,” he said, strolling down the gangplank after Shaw.
Chad and another Chad, both in full Trooper armor, opened the cell door. Jada and Shaw looked up dejectedly from the bench where they sat.
Chad motioned with his blaster.
“Let’s go, you’re coming with us.”
Jada’s eyes dropped to the blaster for just a moment.
"Walk behind them,” said Chad, “so they don’t go for your blaster. I’ll be Right Chad and you be Left Chad.”
“Who died and made you Commander?” said Left Chad.
“Your mom.”
“Good one, bro,” said Left Chad, and they bumped forearms.
“That is uncanny,” said Shaw. “They really are all like that, aren’t they?”
“Move it!” said Left Chad, giving him a shove.
They walked through a series of gray corridors until they turned into a side hallway. It was completely deserted.
“Okay," said Right Chad, "I’ll take them from here.”
“Uh, bro? That is not how this works. The door at the end of this hallway leads directly to the hangar bay, where their ship is docked. There is literally no way that is where Commander Grimsby wants to interrogate them. What kind of idiot do you take me for?”
Right Chad sighed.
“Listen, Chad, do you ever think about taking orders?”
“Uh, yeah? I think, ‘I better follow these orders.’”
“No, I mean like, how we’re the best except we always lose and never ask why we have to storm the swamp all the time, or why Commander Grimsby has an accent but we don’t, or if there’s something else out there for us.”
“Yeah, none of that made any sense, bro. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Right Chad tried again, “No, look; this one time I read a book and—"
“That’s it,” said Left Chad, “you’re going to the infirmary.”
“Wait!”
He put his hand on Left Chad’s helmeted face. “Who are you? What do you really want?”
They stayed like that for a few seconds, gazing into each other’s helmets, until Chad saw Jada and Shaw out of the corner of his eye with their mouths literally hanging open. He dropped his hand self-consciously.
Left Chad jerked like he was waking up from a deep sleep.
He said, “You take them from here. I’ve got to . . . I gotta go back to my room and think.”
He turned and left.
“What was that?” whispered Shaw. “I could fistbump you right now!”
“Let’s not and say we did.”
“They confiscated all the explosives when we were caught, but we still have time to—"
“No,” interrupted Chad. “I’m not letting you kill all of . . . all of me.”
“I understand why this is hard for you, but—"
“Not happening, bro. This is my offer, take it or leave it.”
Chad and Shaw stared at each other.
“Take it,” said Jada.
“Great. Your ship is on the other side of that door.”
“Let’s go!” said Jada.
“But, there are also multiple battalions of Troopers just standing around in there as well.”
“Why?” asked Shaw.
“Why?”
“Yeah, I mean, what’s the point of all these soldiers just standing around in formation in the hangar all day?”
“Um, well, I guess I never really thought about it much, but it looks pretty awesome for starters . . .”
"Shaw, stop distracting him! Chad, what’s the plan?”
“I march you out there and pretend you’re my prisoners.”
Shaw groaned.
“That’s the oldest trick in the book. They’ll see through that—"
“In about thirty seconds, I know. I figured that will get us almost to the ship. When they’re onto us, we run for it. We’ve got maybe another thirty seconds of confusion before somebody thinks to close the hangar blast door, and that takes about five minutes once the sequence is initiated. Think we can get your hunk of junk into the air in less than that?”
“Long odds, but we can try!” said Shaw, punching the air.
Chad took up his position behind them.
“All right. Put your hands behind your head.”
They made it three quarters of the way before Commander Grimsby saw them.
“You there! Trooper! What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” Chad called back without stopping. “You’re going to have to be more specific, bro. Lots of Troopers in here.”
“Yes, you,” Grimsby growled. “The one escorting those rebel scum to their rebel scum ship!”
“Well, I suppose that could be me,” said Chad, “but it’s a big hangar and I can’t see to the sides very well in this helmet, so for all I know there could be—"
“Stop!” ordered Grimsby. “Any and all Troopers, don’t move!”
Despite its enormous size, the hangar went completely silent.
“No,” said Chad.
“No?” repeated Grimsby in disbelief. “Did that clone just tell me ‘No’?”
He looked around for someone to confirm.
Chad, Jada, and Shaw ran for the Celestial Albatross.
“Do not allow them to board that ship!” screamed Grimsby and, as one, every Trooper opened fire.
Somehow, they all missed.
Chad could have easily outdistanced Jada and Shaw, even in his armor, but he was the only one who was armed. He wasn’t about to start shooting Chads, but he did take a couple of shots at Grimsby.
A flash grenade thrown by one of the Troopers bounced off the Albatross and landed at their feet. Chad barely had time to duck his head before it went off.
Jada was blasted backward, colliding with Chad and knocking them both off of their feet. Shaw was propelled up the gangplank, into the Albatross.
Chad hauled Jada to her feet, but the blaster fire was concentrated at the gangplank. Inside, Shaw scrambled to his feet.
Klaxons sounded and ceiling lights began to rotate as the hangar door began the closing sequence.
Jada and Shaw locked eyes for a moment, and then Shaw reached up and hit the button to close the door.
“You coward!” yelled Chad. “Rebel scum!”
Jada was still disoriented by the blast, so Chad got two fists in the back of her shirt and spun her toward a side corridor.
“We’ve got to move!” he said, giving her a shove.
The Albatross was powering up its engines and beginning to spin toward the ponderously closing hangar doors. The handheld blaster rifles of the Troopers weren’t making a dent in its armor.
“Why aren't you pursuing those rebels?” shrieked Grimsby, pointing at Chad and Jada as they slipped through a door.
“Well, technically sir, you only ordered us to keep them from boarding the ship,” said one of the Troopers. “I’m happy to report, mission accomplished!”
Chad slumped dejectedly on a heap of discarded food paste containers.
“Eventually they’ll check the waste disposal pods. It’s only a matter of time.”
Jada took a deep breath.
“I’ve got a plan, but it’s going to sound crazy.”
“From where I’m sitting, nothing sounds crazy anymore.”
“Okay, well, here goes: I’m activating a tracker sewn into my vest. In a few minutes, I’m going to jettison all of this junk into space, including us.”
“Still waiting to hear the plan here.”
“Shaw is out there, I know it. He’ll pick up the tracker and be waiting just outside. Once we hit space, he’ll have a minute or two to grab us before we die, give or take.”
“This is completely crazy,” said Chad. “What in the entire universe would make you think that jerk is anywhere but hyperspace right now?”
“Because I’m an excellent judge of character,” said Jada.
Chad snorted.
“I was right about you, wasn’t I? Look, I know how he can come across, but Shaw and I have been through a lot together. He’s been on edge, but keep in mind we were coming here to blow ourselves up, okay? But one thing you have to know about him: when I need him, he’ll be there, watching my back. Always.”
“He’s your Left Chad.”
“My Left Chad,” confirmed Jada. She moved to a control panel on the wall. “So are you ready to do this? Deep breath, then empty lungs and keep your eyes closed.”
Chad stood up.
“He’ll be there.”
“Wait!” shouted Chad. Suddenly his heart was pounding and his arms were shaking.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know! I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know what’s happening to me!”
“Are you . . . scared?”
“Yes! That’s it! I’m scared!”
“Well, I mean, that’s understandable I suppose, but you must have done dozens of Trooper drops before, this isn’t much—"
“Jada, there’s only one of you! If you die, that’s it! You’re gone forever.”
Realization hit Chad and he fell onto his butt with a thump.
“Oh man, there’s only one of me.”
“Have you never . . . has that never occurred to you before?”
“I’m not sure it’s ever been true before. I’ve never really . . . usually we’re all the same, you know? If Left Chad doesn’t come back from a mission, I just get a new Left Chad. Granted, with the same impeccable sense of style and the same appreciation of fine humor.”
“This is no time for an existential crisis. If Shaw has picked up my tracker—”
Chad felt nauseous.
“—AND HE HAS, then I’m sure the Imperials have too. It’s now or never."
Chad stood up.
“On three,” she said. “One.”
Chad grabbed Jada’s hand.
“Two.”
“Three.”
“As soon as we come out of hyperspace, they’re going to want to know why the Mothership is still out there,” said Shaw, putting on a headset. “Let me talk to them first; smooth things over a little bit."
Chad and Jada waited impatiently.
“This is the Celestial Albatross,” said Shaw, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up. “Now look, General, I know what you’re going to say but . . .”
He listened for a moment.
“Come again?”
He covered the mic with his hand and hissed, “Did you guys do something up there?”
Chad and Jada looked at each other in confusion.
“Like what?” asked Chad.
“Yes of course we did it!” said Shaw into the microphone, and then lowered his voice again.
“She says that Troopers all over the galaxy are throwing down their weapons and refusing to obey orders. They just keep repeating, ‘What do you want, Chad?’”
A huge grin broke out on Chad’s face.
“Good for you, bros! Left Chad must have been busy after we left.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Jada.
“Thinking for themselves. Being different. ‘Infecting them with the idea of rebelling.’”
“Oh, it was no big deal,” said Shaw. “Just spreading a little rebellion up there. Turns out we found a bit of a secret weapon.”
He fistbumped Chad.
“Not it, him, and I definitely think you’ll want to see him. Just name the planet and we’ll arrange a rendezvous.”
“They’re not going to trust you at first,” said Jada. “Just like Shaw. But just be yourself and you’ll win them over.”
“Good news,” said Shaw, spinning in his chair and tossing off the head set. “You get a chance to impress the Rebel Alliance. In person.” He grinned. “We’re going planetside to meet with them.”
“Where?” asked Jada.
“Dinkophage.”
“What a minute,” said Chad. “Isn’t that a—"
“Swamp planet,” finished Shaw.
Shane Halbach lives on the swamp planet "Chicago", where he and his several clones write software by day and avoid writing stories by night. His fiction has appeared previously in UFO 5, as well as Analog, Intergalactic Medicine Show, Year’s Best YA Speculative Fiction, and elsewhere. He blogs at shanehalbach.com, or can be found befriending the suspiciously cute, but notoriously fickle, natives on Twitter @shanehalbach.
The Secret Destiny of Heroes
Matthew Bailey
I knew the moment I awoke that a hero had stolen into my bedchamber, intending—as heroes always do—considerable harm to my person.
Mondays.
It wasn’t sight that told me a stranger lurked nearby, much less that it was one of those fabled heroes sworn to destroy me. Eyes are so damnably unreliable when it comes to spotting heroes. Most heroes tend to be innocuous-looking, especially early on, culled as they are from the ranks of the unlikely. I believe Fate keeps its candidates on different pieces of parchment labeled thusly: Orphans, Farm Boys, Orphaned Farm Boys, and Homely Maidens Who Become Comely When They Let Their Hair Down. Hard to identify a hero out of that pool.
No, it was the quiet hum of the hero’s magick sword that alerted me to his presence. I lay still for a moment, listening wistfully to the sound of it, remembering my own magick sword and wondering where the devil it had got to. Buried deep and collecting dust in some long-forgotten corner of my fortress, no doubt. I felt a moment’s regret for never having the old thing mounted, before reminding myself that trophy collecting is a bad habit in an overlord. Heroes see trophies as a potential weakness to exploit, and the last thing I needed was more of them barging in and spilling blood on the carpet.
A sudden footfall brought me back to the matter at hand. The hero must be approaching—yes, I could hear the hum of his sword growing louder. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep, waiting for him to speak.
The hum took on what can only be described as a salacious tone. Being semi-sentient, sorcerous blades take that kind of tone, sometimes, when they know they are about to “get some.” It could mean only one thing: the hero was raising his sword. The coward meant to kill me in my sleep!
It was unusual behavior for a hero, but I did what I had trained myself to do: take the initiative. I rolled off the bed, landing in an undignified heap on the floor.
The hero grunted in astonishment, then grunted again, this time in pain as the silver carafe I threw bounced off his forehead. Heroes never expect overlords to roll, of course. He staggered backwards, giving me the precious seconds I needed to study my foe.
The hero was a he. Tall, but not a giant; lean rather than muscular. Pale skin, dark eyebrows. And he wore a hood. Now that was interesting. Hoods implied many things while simultaneously ruling out others. One thing was certain: this hero liked to brood. Heroes with hoods always do.
The hero recovered quickly from the shock, raising his sword and charging. I rang out a disabling spell. Old hat, that one, but I wanted to ensure my voice was suitably confident and deep. Even overlords are not immune to morning throat-frogs. My technique pleased me, but the results did not. The spell bounced right off the breastplate of warding he wore. Somehow, I had missed that.
Reminding myself I had hitherto been able to conduct only a cursory inspection, and that I shouldn’t beat myself up about it, I dodged the first swing of his sword, ducked the second, then spun away from his third. I was rewarded with another grunt.
“Expecting someone more decrepit, my boy?” I asked. I didn’t blame him—many overlords allow themselves to become twisted and frail. Most people imagine it to be the consequence of wandering down the dark, brambly path known as evil, but in reality, it comes mainly from a lack of exercise and insufficient sunlight. I always made sure to get plenty of both. Still, it was a useful impression to cultivate, and it’s why I never allowed myself to be seen by my subjects. Let them think of their overlord as some crippled horror rotting inside his dark tower.
