New chapter! This is a long one.
Enjoy ~
When they finally arrived at Nyel'no, the platoon were immensely grateful that the long trip was over. But there was no time to rest: they still needed to find their hotel and get checked in, drop off their luggage in their rooms, and then head over to the convention center to confirm their arrival with the convention admins and pick up their attendee badges before tomorrow's panel.
They left their ship docked just outside the convention center at a port populated with several hundred other spaceships, all different models and colors, each sporting a shiny registration sticker proving that the owner was there to attend the military conference. Most of the ships were of Keronian make, but a good portion of them were from Keron's allied planets, recognizable by their unique builds and designs. Some of the ships were enormous, easily five or six times the size of Keroro's vessel. Keroro looked up at these in awe. "I wouldn't say no to having one like that sometime, no sir!" he muttered to himself as they passed a particularly sleek purple ship that was as tall as a city block was long.
The convention center at which the platoon's panel was being held was as large as a city and it consisted of behemoth white skyscrapers and countless longer, lower buildings that looked like immense silver tubes half-sunk into the ground. These snaked around in intricate formations that could only be appreciated when viewed from the sky. The planet was entirely covered with "cities" like this, with very little space between; Nyel'no's purpose was to serve only as a venue for conventions and conferences, and consequently no space was left to nature. Rural areas were nonexistent and suburbs extremely limited. The planet was similar in size to Pekopon, but with only just over a billion full-time residents, all of them staff who managed the several million events that took place there annually. There were small neighborhood areas reserved for the staff in convenient locations around the planet, as well as sections of temporary housing to accommodate the influx of seasonal staff who poured into the planet during busy seasons.
The complex was so vast that it took considerable time for the platoon, who were traveling by foot, to even come within sight of their destination. The hotel that had been booked for them lay in the center of a large ring made by one of the serpentine buildings, which they had to pass through to reach the hotel. As they made their way across the building towards the doors on the inner wall, they passed dozens upon dozens of other people of all different species bustling around. The conference was already in full swing.
There were so many people pressing against them on all sides that it took nearly twenty minutes just to get through them; by the time the four of them had made it outside and reached the hotel's doors it had been nearly an hour since they had left their ship. Keroro observed this fact with a quick glance at his watch and a groan of distaste.
"We should have ridden our saucers over here like I said, Giroro!" he complained, hoisting his bag higher up over his shoulder. He stumbled forward dramatically, clutching at Giroro's arm for support.
At once, Giroro shook him off and retorted, "What–and have to drag them all the way up to our rooms? It says 'No Parking' here!" He pointed to a sign on the wall next to the front doors. "Plus, it would be a waste of fuel. Don't be such a brat."
"You guys aren't going to start fighting again, are you?" asked Tamama wearily.
"No, Private," replied Keroro in a huff. But he stuck his tongue out at Giroro once his back was turned.
The moment they entered the hotel, any lingering thoughts of arguing left their minds at once. The lobby was grander than any room they had ever seen, the only thing coming close for Keroro and Giroro being the foyer of Dororo's childhood home.
The room was as wide as two basketball courts laid end to end and thrice as deep, illuminated by soft golden light from the dozen crystal chandeliers hanging from the high, arched ceiling. The light reflected off of the rich wood-paneled walls and the shiny tile flooring, which was patterned with dark matrices of triangles and squares. Around the perimeter of the room were comfortable-looking sitting areas, many of which were occupied by guests who were sitting and chatting amicably. The furniture was all dark wood adorned with delicate gold scrollwork, the cushions all colorfully embroidered. The sitting area nearest the platoon had a black marble fireplace large enough for one of them to lie down in; they could feel the heat emanating from it from where they stood.
The entire lobby was filled with noisy chatter from the tens of groups of aliens bustling about, and beneath this chatter, a low roar of water: in the center of the room was a massive, grand fountain. Water spouted in high arcs from an intricate gilded marble statue depicting a man and woman of Nyel'no's native alien species, space foxes lying luxuriously at their feet. On the ceiling above this, a large banner was hung, the words "KERON MILITARY DECENNIAL CONVENTION" printed in crisp red ink on the white canvas background. Below the first line, in delicate green scrollwork: "WELCOME INTERGALACTIC AMBASSADORS!"
Along the western wall of the lobby was a long row of desks at which receptionists stood, industriously checking groups in. Giroro was the first to spot this, and he led the group to it. There were several clerks who were already busy helping other guests, but one clerk toward the far end of the desk was available and she waved them over. She was a violently green-colored young woman with white hair and, bizarrely, very sharp-looking golden spikes protruding along the length of her arms; none of the platoon could identify exactly what species of alien she was. She smiled welcomingly at them as they approached.
"Hello, how can I help you today?" she asked sweetly. When she spoke, the spikes on her arms vibrated and rang like tuning forks. The sound was melodic, if a little eerie.
"W-We just need to check-in. The Keron Army booked rooms for us for the weekend," Giroro replied, blushing a little; aside from the spikes, the clerk bore a striking resemblance to Natsumi Hinata. Behind him, Keroro and Tamama were still busy taking in the sight of the magnificent lobby and chattering excitedly about the accommodations. To his right, Dororo stood, dutiful and quiet, somehow having been coerced into accepting both Keroro's and Tamama's luggage. He was managing the weight with as much grace as possible, but his legs were beginning to tremble with strain. He was fit and had a strong build, but he was also narrow-framed and clearly not meant to be the universe deadlift champion. He alerted Giroro of the reservation papers in Keroro's bag and adjusted his load slightly so that he could access it.
Giroro handed the papers over to the clerk and told her that the reservation was under Keroro's name and rank. The clerk turned to her computer and began to pull up the information, and he added, "Oh, and one of our men is out sick and won't be attending, so we don't actually need the fifth room." Lying made him feel a little uncomfortable, especially to such a pretty girl, and he shifted slightly as he spoke. The receptionist paused in her keyboard-clacking and turned back to him, looking slightly confused.
"I'm afraid we don't have you listed under multiple rooms, sir," she said.
Keroro and Tamama fell silent and looked back at the clerk with bewilderment and slight alarm. Giroro frowned and exchanged a glance with Dororo. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you see," she explained politely, her arm-spikes ringing slightly higher in pitch now, "the reservation is very clear here: one room on the 61st floor for the Sergeant Keroro Platoon." She slid the reservation papers around to face Giroro and pointed out lines of information as she spoke.
"...We're not getting our own rooms? They only booked us one?"
"Yes, sir, that is correct."
The four men stared at her, disbelieving. Seemingly at the same time, their minds all fell upon the same burning question, and Keroro was the first to voice it.
"How, uh…," he began sheepishly, shoving Giroro aside to stand at the head of the group. "How many beds, ma'am?"
She looked at her computer again. "It looks like this one has two, but we may have a rollaway that can be brought up."
They all suppressed an aggravated groan (except for Tamama, who grinned lasciviously and glanced sidelong at Keroro).
"We'll have a four-bed room available two days from now, if you're able to come back then," she suggested, still polite but not appearing to have any genuine concern for the platoon's plight.
"No thank you, ma'am…"
She produced a folded card from a drawer beneath her desk and marked the room number on the front with a black marker. Within the card were two shiny plastic discs emblazoned with the hotel chain's logo.
"...Here are your room keys. Enjoy your stay, and welcome to Nyel'no."
The quartet slumped down the hallway from the elevator in the direction of their room. Keroro held the card that the receptionist had given them in one hand, and one of the two room keys in the other. He was inspecting both critically, his nose scrunched slightly in distaste.
The halls were less crowded than the lobby had been, but they still had to occasionally squeeze to one side of the hall to accommodate another group's passing. Their footsteps were dampened greatly by the clean, royal-purple carpet.
"Well, all things considered," Keroro began, pocketing the card and sighing heavily, "I suppose it's not such a bad thing that Sergeant Major Kululu took off, after all..."
They paused in the middle of the hall to allow another group of surly-looking Keronians to exit their room and pass by in the opposite direction. They, too, looked as if they had been recently fighting amongst themselves. Keroro silently hoped that he and his group did not look like that. True, his men had gotten on his nerves about a thousand times over the past few days, but he knew that he himself was not blameless and that some of the fights wouldn't have been started in the first place if he hadn't been so bored. And though it was true as well that they should be thankful that their room would be one man less crowded this weekend, he still found himself wishing that Kululu was there with them. They were supposed to all be in this together, yes sir–regardless of the Army's bullshit accomodations for them.
"I think it's this way," Giroro muttered, glancing at the number on the card and then at the sign on the wall indicating that rooms 634-660 were to the right, and rooms 661-696 to the left. The group took a left turn at the fork.
"I hate to bring this up, Sarge," Tamama said, though his expression betrayed the statement entirely, "... but how are we gonna work out this sleeping arrangement thing, anyway? The reception-lady said that we could get a rollaway brought up, but that's still only three beds, and even without Kululu, there's still four of us… unless–I don't know–you and I share a bed or something–I don't know–"
Ignoring the last bit, Keroro replied, shrugging, "Well, really, it makes the most sense if Giroro sleeps on the floor, yessir…"
"What?" Giroro spat, coming to a halt in the middle of the hallway. His abrupt stop caused Dororo to run right into his back, crashing with the weight of all the luggage he was carrying. They both stumbled forward several steps, almost taking out another group that was walking down the hall. They recovered and pushed to the side to allow them to pass, receiving strange looks as they did so. When they were alone in the hall again, Giroro rounded on Keroro and yelled, just as loudly as before, "Why should I have to be the one on the floor?!"
Keroro squinted at him, a shrewd little frown creasing his brow. "Giroro, you live in a tent in the backyard," he responded dryly, waving his hand. "How is this any different, sir?"
Giroro sputtered for a moment, a vein popping dangerously in his temple, and then shouted, "It's totally different!" At this, some of the doors along the hall opened and people poked their heads out curiously, investigating the commotion. Several of them looked irritated.
Dororo glanced around anxiously and said in a low voice, "Giroro, please, we're starting to bother people," but his warning went unheard.
"Tamama should be the one on the floor! He's young, this kind of thing is good for him! It builds character!"
Tamama scoffed at that, moodily running his forefinger along the wallpaper as they proceeded down the hall. "I'd rather have no character and sleep on a bed for the weekend, thanks… If you ask me, the person who should be on the floor is…" He trailed off, but glanced in Dororo's direction.
Unaware, Dororo struggled to readjust one of the bags he was carrying, cringing against the strain on his shoulder, then said, "Perhaps we can sleep on the beds on a rotating schedule over the weekend."
Keroro did not look impressed at the suggestion. He shrugged. "Let's just find the room first and then we can revisit the issue."
The room was only a little further down the hall and they managed to reach it without incident. Giroro let them in with the other key, commandeered from Keroro, and they all filed into a room which was underwhelming compared to the hotel's magnificent lobby. To the right of the doorway was the door to the bathroom, and across from that, a small closet with mirror doors. At the far end was a window overlooking Nyel'no's cityscape. An air conditioner hummed below the window, drowning out some of the noise from the neighboring rooms and making the room feel like a walk-in freezer. The furnishings were plain and utilitarian, but it was clean and comfortable enough. There were, indeed, only two beds, which Keroro noted with some disappointment. He had been hopeful that the clerk had been mistaken. At least there was a good-size television hanging on the wall.
Giroro eyed him sideways. "Don't even think about it. We're not here to watch TV," he growled.
"Jeez, Giroro! I wasn't even thinking about that!" squalled Keroro, and he flung his hand out as if to slap him, though he did so with little vigor. Giroro dodged him easily and crossed the room to set his luggage down on a chair in the corner. The slightly worn upholstery was beautifully embroidered with a pattern of unrecognizable flora and fauna, similar to that of a jungle, possibly some of Nyel'no's native plant species. Giroro had packed the lightest of the four of them, and his luggage consisted of a single duffle bag, which Keroro imagined probably contained little more than another set or two of the clothes he was currently wearing: white tank tops, maroon cargo pants. Socks and underwear too, if you want to get into specifics, which Keroro didn't. Knowing the corporal, there were probably firearms or weapons otherwise in the bag as well. Giroro sat down next to his bag on the chair and rested his forearms on his knees, looking partially irritated but mostly just exhausted.
Keroro observed how tired he looked with little sympathy and plopped down on the bed nearest him, saying, "You know, we're all making sacrifices, here, Corporal! I'm missing the season finale of Captain Geroro for this!" With that, he lay back on the bed. The soft duvet puffed out around his weight, then gradually settled back down. "It's a good thing Fuyuki is recording it for me! They don't make friends like that anymore, sir…" he added.
Tamama peeked into the bathroom on his way by. It was spacious and sported a good deal of marble. There were three bottles lined up on the counter beside the sink, each looking to hold about a teaspoon of product and labeled Shampoo, Conditioner, and MOISTURIZING Body Lotion, respectively. "This room is pretty nice, actually," he said. "It could be worse, anyway. Listen, Sarge, about the beds–" The transition in topic was seamless and casual, but the scheming look that had returned to his face belied this.
Dororo, passing him on the right and still laden with three-fourths of the luggage, finished the thought, "We still need to decide what to do." He finally set the bags down near the window at the far side of the room, rubbing his shoulder and grimacing.
Keroro sat up, looking towards him as though just noticing him for the first time. "Oh! Dororo, you wouldn't mind being on the floor, right?" he asked, grinning, a manipulative glint in his eye. "Since these two are being such babies about it?" he added, the idea of himself sleeping on the floor apparently never crossing his mind even once.
"B-But Keroro–" Dororo stammered, his voice raising in both pitch and volume. "I–"
"Great, then that's settled!" said Keroro, easily speaking over Dororo's sounds of protest. "You can have the floor, Giroro can have the rollaway, and Tamama and I will be on the beds–separately. Now, let's finally put all this pointless arguing behind us so we can start to enjoy the trip, yessir!"
Tamama had sat across from Keroro on the other bed now. Giroro was still sitting by the window, impassive. Dororo's pale, washed-out-blue eyes were round with shock, and he glanced back and forth between his comrades, looking betrayed. Though he was clearly not going to be receiving any backup, he began, "K-Keroro–"
Standing up from the bed, Keroro crossed the room, dismissively glancing at Dororo as he went, and loudly asked, "Giroro, do you still have the reservation papers? I had them paper-clipped together with the convention stuff–It's getting late and we must be getting checked-in at the convention!" In the back of his mind, he was quietly thankful that Kululu hadn't come; dealing with the sleeping arrangement had been stressful enough without him there to antagonize everyone or hit on their corporal… yes sir.
None of them slept well that night, despite being so exhausted from their trip. The anxiety they were all carrying in anticipation of their panel the following morning made it impossible to relax, and they awoke feeling unrested (and, in Giroro's case, a little nauseated) a few hours before it was set to begin. They ate little of what the hotel offered for breakfast in the dining area on the first floor and set out into the brisk morning air feeling rather ill-at-ease and apprehensive.
But the worst part of the morning by far was the forty-five minutes that they had to wait in their seats at the front of the impossibly huge hall while hundreds of people flooded in and sat down in the audience. In addition, there were several crews of camera operators setting up their equipment to record the event, their cameras focused with unnerving steadiness on the four Keronians at the long table set facing the audience. By the time everyone was seated, there were several thousand people in the room. The noise of such a crowd was deafening, but when the panel officially began and Keroro stood shakily to welcome them all, his scratchy voice piercingly magnified over his microphone, the hall immediately fell deathly quiet, their attention fully fixed upon the sergeant and his men.
Ultimately, it didn't matter that none of them had prepared and rehearsed material for the panel, because following a short introduction and summary of the Pekopon invasion delivered extemporaneously by Keroro, which he handled with a surprising amount of poise, people began lining up in front of standing microphones placed between the aisles of seats, and for the remainder of the panel a question-and-answer dialogue with the audience ensued. The platoon received all manner of questions, most of which they could not have possibly prepared for, anyway–ranging from the intelligent ("Would Pekopon's infrastructure be able to accommodate an influx of tourists from all over the galaxy wanting to visit now that it's been conquered?") to the utterly moronic ("Which is better: sukiyaki or shabu-shabu?"). And though Keroro had explained during his introduction that Kululu wouldn't be attending because he was "sick", this didn't stop people from probing for more information. Giroro shut down this line of questioning immediately.
This agonizing process continued for over two hours, and it was with immense relief that the platoon greeted the end of it, just short of one in the afternoon. Keroro stood to thank the audience, the press, and the convention admins, and amongst the clamor of several thousand people standing from their seats and filing out of the convention-hall, the platoon were finally able to slink out.
Now with the tremendous weight of responsibility lifted from their shoulders, and still armed with their 'speaker'-level convention badges, hanging on lanyards around each of their necks, they were allowed to face the rest of the day with greater enthusiasm. It was still early, and they didn't need to leave for planet Mepki to rendezvous with Kululu until the next morning. Rather than simply returning to their hotel room, they unanimously decided to spend a few hours longer at the convention. After all, it would be another ten years before they would have the chance to attend again.
They had an enjoyable time milling around and popping into this or that panel at their leisure; there were several speakers that caught their attention, including a former general who was the oldest known living Keronian veteran, on-or-off-planet. As they were leaving one panel they passed a weapons exhibition that drew Giroro's interest immediately, and they subsequently spent over an hour gazing in awe at the most expensive, destructive collection of Keronian and alien weaponry any of them had ever seen. Not unexpectedly, Giroro came away with several purchases, including a new black pistol wrought in silver filigree, more decorative than what he usually would select, and a number of explosives, all boasting to be the 'newest technology' in demolitions.
After five, when most of the panels had ended and the sun had begun threatening to set over Nyel'no's industrial skyline, Keroro suggested that they cap off their trip by going out for a drink. This was met with general assent, and soon after they were seated inside a tidy little pub within the convention center complex, one of several bars nearby. Dororo decided to leave after only one drink, mentioning something about heading back to the hotel and buying a souvenir from the shop for Koyuki. The others, finishing up their own beverages, assured him that they would be right behind him and sent him off with a wave.
As they left the pub a short time later, however, they spotted another, more energetic-looking bar across the street and popped inside to check it out before heading back up to their room. They hadn't intended to stay, but they quickly found themselves sipping on another drink each at a table by the window, followed by another round, courtesy of Keroro. By the time they left this locale, they were all thoroughly tipsy and had completely forgotten that Dororo was alone at the hotel without a key. They found another interesting-looking bar down the street and drunkenly wandered into it, and what had started as an easy celebration of the end of the convention had swiftly turned into a night of bar-hopping.
It was two in the morning when the drunken trio finally stumbled down the hallway towards their hotel room, clutching onto each other for support. Keroro and Tamama were giggling endlessly and repeatedly falling over each other on the way, Giroro only just barely managing to keep the two of them upright and moving, though he was feeling a bit giddy himself. In their raucous state, they woke the residents of several rooms on their way by, but none of them knew nor cared.
As they neared their room, Keroro spotted something on the floor. "Wha's that … blue thing?" he slurred, pointing, and the others squinted to see what he was looking at. Curled up against the wall to the right of the door was the lance corporal, seemingly asleep with his arms around himself. When they got closer he stirred and looked up at them all wearily. His eyes were bloodshot, whether from crying or being sleep-deprived they couldn't tell.
"...You guys are so mean," he whispered tearfully.
