The problem with ironic situations, Captain-General Tvanir decided, was that
you can’t appreciate them when they’re happening to you, instead of some
other person. Had she heard of anyone else trying to spark a rebellion to
justify his or her position and then getting captured by those rebels, she
probably would have found it immensely amusing. Worse, if the newly-arrived
Captain-General Mselt freed her, he’d get the credit for stopping the
rebellion and her career would stagnate even further. She didn’t want to
think about what her assignments after that would be like. Probably
internal security in the Fortress of Gloom or something.
The door to the room she shared with Prince Boltar of Arorua opened and
two Arorans walked in. They were Garav, who had captured her, and Bentor,
who seemed to be in charge.
“Hi, Secret,” Boltar said in greeting.
“Huh?” Bentor replied.
“I said—”
“I heard that,” Bentor interrupted. “Why do you keep calling me
Secret?”
“It’s your name, isn’t it?”
“I am called Bentor.”
“No, not your code name. Your real name.”
Bentor made a strangling noise. “My real name is not ‘Secret’.”
“It isn’t?” Garav asked. “Then how come you’ve never told any of us
what it is?”
“It is a secret,” Bentor replied through clenched teeth. Regaining
self-control, he turned to Garav. “Garav, get Boltar.”
“So how come I don’t get a secret name?” Garav asked.
Bentor slapped his forehead. “No one knew ‘Garav’ was your real name
until right now. Now go get Boltar, our … ‘new prisoners’ want to speak
with him.”
“But they aren’t prisoners.”
Bentor visibly restrained himself from strangling Garav, and instead
gestured at Boltar.
“Right.” Garav quickly untied Boltar’s hands and walked him outside.
Bentor glanced at Tvanir and then left, closing the door behind him.
“Idiots,” Tvanir mumbled. As if being imprisoned wasn’t embarrassing
enough, she had to be imprisoned by amateurs. She doubted they were even
keeping a guard on the door. With that cheerful thought in mind, she went
back to loosening her bonds.
Roger Vasta looked up as Bentor returned, along with someone else who was,
presumably, Prince Boltar. Somehow, Chancellor Elahte had convinced the
Aroruan People’s League that, although he seemed to have been working for
the Zakavians, he was actually on their side. More importantly (in Vasta’s
view), he had also convinced them that Vasta and his companions were also on
their side—despite the fact that none of them knew exactly which side
that was.
“Prince Boltar,” Elahte said in greeting. “I hope you were treated
well?”
Boltar shrugged. “Sure, except that they tied me up and left me in a
room with Captain-General Tvanir.”
“We assumed they were working together, like Princess Elim and Governor
Jjana,” Bentor explained.
“Ah,” Elahte said sagely. “Well, hopefully we can avoid similar
misunderstandings in the future. Allow me to introduce these people I just
met, they are … um … enemies of the Zakavians.”
Vasta sensed that that was his cue to explain his group’s origin.
“We’re from the starship Anonymous. We were out testing some weapons
systems when Captain-General Mselt—he was just a Captain at the time—showed up and captured us for reasons that I’ve never really heard
explained. We were taken to Planet Gloom,” those familiar with that planet
shuddered, “where we managed to escape. Then we snuck back onto Mselt’s
ship.”
“Why?” Bentor asked.
“It was better than Planet Gloom,” Samantha Dixon answered.
“Indeed,” Thomas Dent agreed, looking up from the copy of English
Syntax that Alex McCurry had lent him (no one knew why McCurry was carrying
a book about grammar, and that suited them just fine). “We also knew it was
going somewhere else, where we would stand a better chance at escape.”
“The point,” Elahte continued, “is that all the primary anti-Zakavian
forces (with the possible exception of Princess Elim, whose loyalties are
suspect) on the planet are gathered here today. Since we can no longer lay
low and hope the Zakavians will get so bored they’ll leave for a more
interesting planet,” he cast an irritated look at Bentor while he said that,
“we’ll have to take a more … direct approach.”
“Like what?” Bentor asked. “The only bargaining chip we’ve got is
Tvanir, and I don’t think the Zakavians really like her that much.”
Elahte shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking of bargaining. It’s time we
attacked.”
“Attacked?” Bentor demanded. “Are you out of your mind? Even if they
join us,” he gestured at the Blue Squadron, “we’ve still got less than
twenty people. What can we do against the Legion?”
“Actually, my plan requires only five people to succeed, but they must
be familiar with high technology.”
No one spoke for a few moments.
“Well,” said McCurry eventually, “we’re familiar with high
technology.”
“Some technology,” Dixon corrected. “I doubt that would be much of a
help in this situation.”
“You’d be surprised,” Elahte said.
“So what’s the plan?” Vasta asked.
“Well, as offworlders, I assume you’re unfamiliar with the legend of
Ampron, right?”
The Blue Squadron expressed agreement.
Elahte nodded and took a deep breath. “Many years ago,” he began, “our
peaceful planet was defended by a powerful force of good. That force was
called Ampron, the Really Powerful Defender of Niceness and Stuff.”
“Nice title,” McCurry interjected.
“Er… yes. That particular phrase was created by the chief of public
relations… a Ms. Varneyloop, I believe. [She may or may not be related to
G.X.P. Varneyloop. We had asked the research department to go check, but
they spent their budget on inflatable weasels instead. Evidently, there was
a sale or something — Ed.] Anyway, Ampron was a giant robot—”
“Typical,” Dixon snorted.
“What is it with the giant robots?” Vasta wondered. “How come planets
are never defended by vast armies of fanatic celery or something?”
“They’re not as appealing to adolescent boys,” Dixon explained. “Harder
to merchandise.”
“If I may continue?” Elahte asked acidly. After the others finished
mumbling apologies, he continued. “It’s commonly believed that Ampron was
destroyed it its last battle. As you might expect, that’s not completely
true. It was split into five components, which were rebuilt by various
secret organizations and hidden should the need for their use arise again.
Five keys to the components were also created and hidden. Unfortunately, I
only know the location of four of them. They’re in the palace at the moment.
I should be able to sneak some people in to fetch them.”
“Will four be enough?” McCurry asked.
Elahte pursed his lips. “Without all five, they can’t combine to reform
Ampron. They’re not as effective individually.”
“We can’t partially form Ampron?” Vasta asked.
“No. The missing key is for the primary unit.”
“Rather inconvenient, that.”
“Could we try to start it without the key?” Bentor asked.
Elahte grinned weakly. “That brings us to the other problem: the
location of the units has been lost. The keys receive a homing signal, but
it’s unlikely they’re all in the same place.”
There was another moment of silence as the rebels and displaced Terrans
considered.
“So what’s your plan?” Bentor asked at last.
“Well,” Elahte said, “on the off chance we can find the fifth key, we’ll
need five pilots.” He paused and looked at the Blue Squadron. “Will the
four of you be willing?”
Vasta looked at his group. Dent was still scanning his book on syntax,
but McCurry and Dixon looked fairly interested. He wished Jen were still
with them—she’d provide a good fifth pilot. Plus, he wouldn’t have to
feel guilty for accidentally leaving her on Planet Gloom. “We’re willing,”
he said, “but who will be the fifth pilot?”
“Ooh, ooh! Pick me!” Boltar said, waving his hands around.
“You?” Bentor asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“But, I’ve got political connections! And I’m familiar with Aroruan
customs! You’ve got to pick me. Please?”
Elahte sighed. “I suppose,” he said, sounding reluctant, “it would be a
good move politically. Certainly, the public likes you more than they like
Princess Elim right now.” He turned to Vasta. “Do you accept?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” Vasta replied. Glancing around at his team, he saw that
they agreed. He turned to Boltar. “Welcome to the Blue Squadron,” he said.
“Not the Blue Squadron,” Elahte corrected, “the Ampron Force.”
“Right.”
“So,” Dixon asked Elahte, “what’s the plan? How are we going to find
these … units? And what are they?”
Elahte hesitated for a second, and then spoke. “Penguins,” he said.
“I’m told they’re robotic penguins.”
“How do you make a giant robot out of penguins? More importantly, how
do you make five penguins out of a giant robot?”
“With an instruction manual?” Dent suggested.
Elahte shrugged. “As for your first question, I plan for a small group
to infiltrate the palace—it should be fairly easy, since they still trust
me—and return here with the keys. Then we can sent larger groups out to
find the penguin units and then we’ll be ready to plot our assault on the
Zakavians.”
“Sounds good,” Bentor said. He was about to continue when Garav
suddenly burst in.
“Bentor!” he cried. “It’s Tvanir! She’s escaped!”
“What?” Bentor demanded. “How could this happen?”
“She managed to untie herself, and then she snuck out,” Garav explained.
“She may have heard our plans,” Elahte warned. “We must move quickly.”
“What about the guard on her cell?” Dixon asked.
A silence descended on the room; had there been any crickets in the
area, this would have been the cue for their solo.
“I knew we forgot something,” Bentor groaned.