AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 6: Culture War

by

Walter Knight

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright Information

Author Acknowledgement

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Author Note

Author Information

Publisher’s List of Other Titles

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 6: Culture War

The military science-fiction saga takes a new turn as Colonel Joey R. Czerinski and his division of legionnaires, just trying to maintain peace in planet New Colorado’s New Gobi Desert, find themselves in the midst of more skirmishes with their spider alien foes.

The spider Arthropodan Emperor declares war on American culture, hoping to preserve Arthropodan traditions and avoid cultural contamination from the American way of life. Tasked with carrying out the Emperor’s new strategy, the spider Governor of the North Territory takes his responsibility seriously by ordering the spider marine commander in the New Gobi sector to put a halt to interspecies trade. The spider commander complies by confiscating all incoming US merchandise flowing over the border between Legion-controlled and spider-controlled areas of the Demilitarized Zone.

But despite the spider commander’s best efforts, the new generation of Arthropodan citizens on New Colorado have already adopted many American cultural icons, including the Nike Swoosh and skateboarding. Addicted to Starbucks coffee, the spider commander can’t see he’s a victim of cultural contamination as well.

As the cultural war escalates, Czerinski deals with everything in his own unique way – by overreacting and alienating those closest to him. But this conflict is bigger than even Czerinski suspects, and the revolution grows stronger while the laughs keep coming.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 6: Culture War

Licensed and Produced through

Penumbra Publishing

www.PenumbraPublishing.com

ELECTRONIC EDITION

EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-42-6

Copyright 2009 Walter Knight

All rights reserved

Cover Art: G.E. Ambrose, Thomas Smith-Hurt

Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-43-3

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, planets, asteroids, alien species, evil empires, galaxies far, far way, or future events and incidents, are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or aliens, living or dead, events or locales including those on Mars and New Colorado, is entirely coincidental.

Licensing Note: This ebook is licensed and sold for your personal enjoyment. Under copyright law, you may not resell, give away, or share copies of this book. You may purchase additional copies of this book for other individuals or direct them to purchase their own copies. If you are reading this book but did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, out of respect for the author’s effort and right to earn income from the work, please contact the publisher or retailer to purchase a legal copy.

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~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~

I dedicate America's Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 6: Culture War to American heroes Walt Disney, Bill Gates, and Phil Knight, for their profound contributions to American and world culture. The galaxy is a better place for their genius. I also wish to thank Penumbra Publishing editor Patricia Morrison for committing to this thirteen-book project, and thank my loving wife Barb for her patient support.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 6: Culture War

by

Walter Knight

Chapter 1

Blue powder immediately impacted the Arthropodan Empire upon first contact with humanity. Even before diplomatic relations were established, traders were importing the drug. Drug addiction was a foreign concept before contact with humans. Now, drug addiction and alcoholism was commonplace in the Empire and a part of the culture. The Arthropodan Emperor declared drug and alcohol addiction even more dangerous to the fragile social fabric of Arthropoda than the human pestilence and their satellite TV.

Nowhere was the American contamination of the Arthropodan culture more pronounced than on the shared colony of New Colorado. Even the planet’s name had been corrupted by the human pestilence. After several wars, the Arthropodan Empire and the United States Galactic Federation divided New Colorado at the equator, but the contamination spread north anyway.

During peacetime, commerce flourished between the spider North and the human South. Citizens of the Empire consumed large amounts of blue powder and endangered their health by eating fast food from Taco Bell, KFC, and McDonald’s. The high cholesterol rates among spider youth were staggering. University students, drunk on Coors (cowboy) beer and spurred on by mind-numbing human pestilence music, demonstrated in the streets, calling for reckless concepts like democracy and an end to the Empire. Brain damage and hearing loss caused by the American music threatened the health of an entire spider generation.

The Emperor was convinced that militarization of the DMZ could at least slow down the American contamination from the South, with the ultimate goal being complete separation of the two species and cultures. A quarantine of the human pestilence would be implemented in increments. Even if it took generations, the Emperor was determined to purge Arthropoda of all human pestilence influence. It would not be easy. First, businesses would have to be weaned from free trade. Tariffs would be a good start in that direction. Immigration of humans to the North would be stopped. The Emperor realized public support was essential. To merely impose Imperial will would only fuel discontent, driving citizens to the increasingly popular Independence Movement and the growing Insurgency.

An incident was needed to garner public support against human pestilence contamination of Arthropodan culture. That would be easy. Satellite images showed large drug-producing poppy fields in the hills of the human pestilence South. In spite of numerous diplomatic efforts, the United States Galactic Federation seemed unwilling or unable to eradicate those fields. In fact, the poppy fields were still not illegal in the South. From an Imperial viewpoint, this was an inexcusable provocation.

The human pestilence lack of concern about the poppy fields would be their undoing. If the human pestilence refused to take action, then Arthropodan marines would be given the job of eliminating the blue powder menace. That would bring America’s Galactic Foreign Legion into the fray. It would be easy to pick a fight with the Legion. The Legion was predisposed to fight. It would not have to be a big fight. There was no need for nukes. The battle would be just big enough to create an incident, and a pretext to close the border. There would be no more Big Macs or Walmart Super Stores. With public support, the Emperor could send tanks and the Air Wing to get rid of casino gambling run by the human pestilence Mafia. Combating Mafia infiltration would be an even tougher fight than the Legion. Strategy dictated one fight at a time. Patience was the key, and the Emperor knew it.

The Emperor drank another cappuccino as he daydreamed of victory over the evil human pestilence. A triple shot of coffee in the morning gave the Emperor the boost he needed during these trying times. Giving his attention to that thought, the Emperor made a note to nationalize all Starbucks restaurants. The human pestilence would be given no quarter!

* * * * *

I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, hero of the Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, and commander of the Legion garrison stationed on planet New Colorado at the New Gobi City border crossing. After several intergalactic wars, the United States Galactic Federation and the Arthropodan Empire are at truce, sharing colonies on planet New Colorado. The new commander from the spider side met me at the border checkpoint. He seemed upset, but spiders these days are always upset about something.

“Why are we meeting on the street?” I asked. “What is so important it could not be discussed later at poker tonight? The game is still on, right?”

“Colonel Czerinski, thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” said the spider commander. “There will be no more Saturday night poker parties. The Emperor appointed a new governor, and he is a real tight-ass. The governor just decreed there will be no more fraternization with the Legion. That means no more gambling parties or drinking together.”

“What’s his problem?” I asked. “No more gambling? That’s un-American!”

“Exactly,” said the spider commander. “I am not even allowed to shop at Walmart. I have to send a team leader to get in on the Thanksgiving pre-Christmas sales. I’m expecting a boycott of Pizza Hut any day now.”

“So the poker games are cancelled permanently?” I asked, unable to accept what I was hearing. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“I am not worried about the poker game,” said the spider commander. “I am sure the new governor will forget about that directive after a few weeks, and things will go back to normal. This always happens when a new boss comes in and tries to impress everyone with how he is in command.”

“Then what is on your mind?” I asked. “It’s hot out here. Right now I could be in my air-conditioned office, watching the World Series on TV.”

“The real problem is all those poppy fields you allow growing in the hills,” said the spider commander. “Either you weed your garden, or I will do it for you.”

“What?” I asked. “Poppies? What do I care about poppies? The stuff grows wild. You want to get rid of poppies? Lots of luck.”

“Your farmers are cultivating poppies used to manufacture blue powder,” accused the spider commander. “It’s an issue the new governor raised today. Drug addiction is causing untold harm to our population. All the poppy fields are on your side of the border. Spray them, or there will be serious consequences.”

“The key to fighting illegal drug use is education,” commented Major Lopez, my aide de camp and military intelligence officer. “On Old Earth, the copa del ora is just a harmless flower. If you spiders stopped snorting blue powder, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Who is he?” asked the spider commander. “McGruff the crime dog? I am giving you a heads-up that there will be serious difficulties along the border if you human pestilence continue to provide a sanctuary for illegal drug manufacturers and smugglers.”

“We do not protect drug smugglers,” I insisted. “It’s just that there is no law against poppy cultivation. Besides, it’s a police matter. I am not a cop, and I don’t want to be a cop. What can the Legion do?”

“The governor does not want to hear your lame excuses,” advised the spider commander. “He wants results. Destroy the poppy fields, or I will close the border.”

“You can’t do that,” I said. “The trucks would be backed up for miles. Besides, you would upset the Teamsters Union big time. Do you want that?”

“The Teamsters Union?” asked the spider commander. “What do I care about Teamsters? Drug dealers are attacking the Empire from the South. Drug addiction threatens our culture. It’s a war. Our sovereignty is threatened. Our border will be defended!”

“You will care about the Teamsters when you wake up in the morning with a horse head under the blankets,” I said.

“Horse head?” asked the spider commander. “What’s a horse?”

“Okay, maybe they’ll use a dragon head,” I warned. “What’s the difference? My point is, you are going to upset a lot of powerful special-interest groups. Your governor doesn’t realize the kind of heat he is going to draw.”

“The Empire will not be intimidated,” said the spider commander. “Those poppy fields will be destroyed one way or another.”

“Just make sure you do not cross the border,” warned Major Lopez. “More military adventurism by you spiders will not be tolerated.”

* * * * *

After the meeting with the spider commander dispersed, Corporal Guido Tonelli approached the spider guard shack across the Military Demarcation Line. The spider border guard came out to greet Guido.

“Did you hear any of that?” asked Guido. “Are they serious? No more poker nights?”

“It gets worse,” said the spider guard. “The ‘no fraternization’ order puts the Angry Onion Tavern off-limits to all Arthropodan military personnel. The governor thinks the Angry Onion is a bad influence on us, just because it’s a biker bar.”

“He’s right,” said Guido. “It is a bad influence. That’s why we go there! Plus the biker babes are hot.”

“Because I won’t be there, I’ll be missing the ball game on the big-screen TV,” complained the spider guard. “I want to place two hundred credits on the Yankees over the Red Sox. New York is going to kick butt tonight!”

Guido recorded the wager into his communications pad. “If anyone else wants to place a bet, just send them here,” said Guido. “I’ll be doing a lot of business right here in my guard shack, since I’m going to lose half my business at the Angry Onion. I should sue your new governor.”

“We need to do something about all that blue powder coming across the border,” said the spider guard. “That’s what started all this nonsense. It would all be good if we got rid of the blue powder menace.”

Guido reached down and patted his monitor dragon Spot on the snout. The dragon hissed affectionately. “What can we do?” asked Guido. “Spot has sniffed out so much blue powder from smugglers, I think he’s addicted to the stuff. You spiders have already made drug dealing punishable by summary execution. If that won’t deter the smugglers what will?”

“I don’t know,” replied the spider guard, getting depressed. “Change my bet to five hundred credits on the Yankees. You know I’m good for it.”

“Bet responsibly,” cautioned Guido. “You’ve been living life on the edge a lot lately.”

“The governor is going to close down all sports gambling in New Gobi City,” said the spider guard. “I have to make my money while I can. I’m going all in!”

“Don’t worry,” said Guido. “I heard your commander say this will all blow over in a few months. Then business will be back to normal.”

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Chapter 2

An anonymous tip advised that a high-speed Arthropodan mini attack helicopter was going to dart across the MDL at midnight to blow up a Legion radio station that broadcast human music and Free Colorado messages and news to the spiders. The Legion was waiting with SAMs. However, the helicopter abruptly veered off course and dropped a powerful defoliant on the vast poppy fields south of New Gobi City. Afterward, as the helicopter took evasive action on return, it was shot down. Its pilot was immediately captured by the Legion.

“I demand our Air Wing pilot be released,” said the spider commander, again standing at the border crossing. “Your escalation of hostilities is a reckless and irresponsible provocation.”

“No,” I replied. “The pilot is being interviewed and may face charges.”

“Our Air Wing commander was flying an unarmed civilian craft when he innocently strayed across the border,” insisted the spider commander. “The Legion shot him down in violation of our treaty agreements concerning off-course or lost air traffic. I thought these incidents were behind us. This new provocation will not stand.”

“Your pilot crossed the MDL intentionally,” commented Major Lopez. “Why? I will find out sooner or later.”

“If you torture or abuse my pilot, I will hold you personally responsible for war crimes,” warned the spider commander.

“War crimes?” I asked. “Are we at war?”

“Yes, war crimes!” insisted the spider commander. “The Butcher of New Colorado should be very familiar with that term. Release my pilot immediately!”

“Pack sand,” I replied. “I will release your pilot only after I find out his mission.”

“I have reason to believe my pilot needs medical attention. If you won’t release him, I at least demand an Arthropodan medical team examine him.”

“I don’t think so. We don’t want him to end up with mysteriously terminal injuries.”

“Then I have no choice. Effective immediately, the border is closed to all traffic. The MDL will stay closed until you come to your senses and release my pilot.”

After a few days, the poppy fields began dying, and the pilot’s mission became more apparent. TV reporters camped at Legion Headquarters, wanting to know when the spider pilot was going to be released. I refused interviews. When I finally ordered the pilot released, the spider commander gave his pilot a hero’s welcome. The spider Air Wing commander was interviewed on all the Arthropodan Cable TV news and talk channels. He promised his mission was just one of many planned in the war on human pestilence drug trafficking. The war on drugs would continue.

Soon afterwards, upset human farmers gathered at Legion Headquarters, demanding compensation for crop damages, and that the Legion do something about the spiders. They claimed the defoliant not only killed their crops, but caused a nasty skin rash. Many feared the chemicals would eventually cause cancer and birth defects. The TV crews interviewed every farmer before they finally went home. I feared there would be more incidents making the news.

* * * * *

In spite of intergalactic tension along the DMZ, my routine administrative duties needed attention, too. Master Sergeant Green brought Private Krueger to my office. “Sir, we have a problem,” announced Sergeant Green. “Private Krueger here wants to get married.”

“And you are here to get your commander’s permission?” I asked. “That is not a problem. While I agree Private Krueger is irresponsible, too young, too immature, way too bad-tempered, starts bar fights, and is a drunkard, I think marriage might be just what he needs to settle him down. Private Krueger, I knew your older brother. He was a good legionnaire. Because of that, I have always taken a special interest in you. Good luck with your marriage. Permission granted.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Private Krueger, sliding the Legion marriage certificate permission form across my desk for signature.

“This application is incomplete,” I commented, quickly scanning the paperwork. “Her name is Dawn? Does she have a middle and last name? Fill in the blanks, private. This application has to be completely filled out for security, identification, medical, and base housing purposes. And look at that. Dawn’s thumb print is a mess. Do this over. Sergeant Green, walk Private Krueger through the paperwork process, and then I’ll sign off on the marriage.”

“That is not a thumb print,” said Sergeant Green. “That is a claw print. Dawn is a spider.”

“What?” I asked, staring at Krueger in disbelief. “Why would you want to marry a spider?”

‘I have to,” cried Private Krueger, now trembling. “I have no choice.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “She’s not pregnant is she? Is that even possible?” I checked the database on my notepad, looking for answers.

“No way,” said Major Lopez. “Spiders and humans are not compatible for breeding.”

“Actually it is possible,” said Private Krueger. “But it would require a medical procedure involving the implant of a donor egg and–”

“Stop!” I ordered. “I do not want to hear all the gory details. If she is not pregnant, then why do you feel you have to get married? You have free will! Are you in love with Dawn?”

“Not really,” said Private Krueger. “Dawn says she is an old-fashioned traditional female. She says custom and law require us to get married after having sex ten times.”

“That is ridiculous,” I said, counting on my fingers the number of drunken encounters I could still remember with spider females. I gave up, trembling at the thought. “You are a legionnaire. You are not bound by spider law or custom, especially south of the MDL. You are protected by human laws and by the USGF Constitution. No one can make you marry against your will.”

“But Dawn says if I refuse to marry her and make her an honest female, her reputation and honor will be forever sullied,” explained Private Krueger. “Dawn says she will be well within her rights to kill and eat me, and will be honor-bound and forced to do so. I believe her.”

“Eat you?” I asked. “Is that some kind of spider slang? What do you mean by ‘eat’?”

“I mean she will tear me apart with her fangs, suck my blood dry, and toss my husk aside,” cried Private Krueger. “Please sign the marriage certificate and let me marry Dawn. She scares the hell out of me.”

“This is why the Legion provides premarital counseling for its young enlisted men,” I commented. “I am sending you to talk to Pastor Jim. You may be required to bring Dawn, too.”

“That might upset her,” complained Private Krueger. “Dawn is not the church-going type.”

“If she loves you, she will go with you to see Pastor Jim,” I advised.

“But she won’t do it!” cried Private Krueger. “Churches weird her out.”

“This can’t get more weird,” commented Major Lopez.

“There are parameters you need to make clear at the beginning of any relationship,” I said. “You need to establish who will be the boss in your marriage. You need to wear the pants in this marriage. You need to lay down the law for Dawn. Otherwise, she will just walk all over you.”

“But she is bigger than me,” said Private Krueger. “And those fangs and her claw are vicious weapons. What do I do about them?”

“Never let females think size makes a difference,” advised Major Lopez. “If she refuses to go to church, just bitch-slap her. That’s what I would do.”

“That’s what I would do too,” I added, nodding in agreement.

“Maybe she’d listen to a full bird Legion colonel. Please talk to her, sir,” pleaded Private Krueger.

“Where can I find your lovely Dawn?”

“She hangs out at the Angry Onion Tavern,” said Private Krueger. “She’s a Hell’s Angels biker babe.”

“I see,” I said. “What does Dawn do for a living?”

“She’s a drug-dealing blue powder crack whore,” said Sergeant Green. “I wouldn’t talk to her alone.”

“This only gets better,” I said. “I thought you said Dawn was an old-fashioned traditional biker babe.”

“She is!” said Private Krueger. “Dawn has a heart of gold. But her temper and those big knives she carries scare the shit out of me. Especially when she’s been drinking. Please, sir, talk to her. I don’t really want to get married, but I will – to save my life.”

“Major Lopez, take a platoon of fully armed Legion commandos to the Angry Onion Tavern and arrest the fair biker babe Dawn,” I ordered. “Lock her up without bail at the county jail. Tell Dawn I’ll be by later to chat with her about counseling.”

* * * * *

Outside the Angry Onion Tavern, Major Lopez conferred with Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne. Major Lopez hoped the big tough and worldly spider legionnaire could provide some insight about how to deal with female spiders.

“Our females are aggressive during courtship,” explained Corporal Wayne. “But once happily married, they become quite submissive. Krueger just needs to stand up for himself. If he continues to be such a wimp, after marriage Dawn will surely kill him. He’ll become a midnight snack.”

“That is unacceptable,” said Major Lopez. “We cannot let spider biker babes eat legionnaires. It sets a bad precedent.”

“Private Krueger isn’t one of our better legionnaires anyway,” commented Corporal Wayne. “His death will be an acceptable loss.”

As Major Lopez and Corporal Wayne entered the Angry Onion Tavern, Private Krueger pointed to his fiancée. The petite Dawn was playing pool with some other Hell’s Angels. “There she is,” said Private Krueger. “Are you going to bitch-slap her now?”

“Shut up, or I’ll bitch-slap you,” answered Major Lopez, reassessing his tactics. “We need to handle this diplomatically. Females are very sensitive. They are less rational than males, and tend to take the slightest criticism personally. For your own safety, try not to upset her.”

“Be careful, sir,” warned Private Krueger. “She has a pool stick in her claw.”

“Dawn!” called out Major Lopez, smiling broadly. “I need to talk to you. Could you please step outside for a minute?”

“You must be friends of Willie,” said Dawn, rushing to wrap four loving arms around Private Krueger. “Is the major going to be your best man at our wedding? It’s a silly custom, but I’ll tolerate it, if it makes you happy, Willie.”

“The wedding is exactly what I want to talk to you about,” said Major Lopez. “Willie’s commanding officer, Colonel Czerinski, has not yet given permission for Private Krueger to get married. Colonel Czerinski has some concerns about your youth.”

“He better give permission,” said Dawn. The tavern went silent as bikers gathered around, hoping to see a good fight. Several wagers were immediately placed on Dawn to kill Major Lopez. “If Czerinski doesn’t sign the wedding certificate, I’ll rip his off his head and poop down his neck! You had better talk to the colonel for us. We are so much in love, I can’t wait to get married!”

“I’ll do my best,” promised Major Lopez.

“You are a handsome hairball,” gushed Dawn, happy now. “I have a sister. Would you be interested in meeting her? She is gorgeous, and even has a real job.”

“Sorry,” said Major Lopez, crossing himself and sprinting for the door. “I’m catholic. It would be a sin!”

“Religious zealot!” shouted Dawn as the legionnaire commandos quickly followed Lopez out. “What a waste of a fine hunk of male human pestilence.”

* * * * *

“What in the hell are you doing up there in New Gobi City?” asked General Daniel Daley, speaking on the phone. “I have commanders all along the DMZ, but only you manage to shoot down unarmed spider aircraft! Are you trying to start another war?”

“No, sir,” I answered. “The helicopter was spraying poppy fields on our side of the DMZ.”

“So what?” asked General Daly. “Good riddance, if the spiders want to eradicate those poppies for us. The bottom line is, you shot down an unarmed aircraft in violation of our treaty, and now it’s all over the news and TV.”

“Sorry, sir,” I said. “We had a tip that the spiders were going to bomb the Free Colorado radio station.”

“And why in hell would the spiders want to do that?” asked General Daly. “I am sick and tired of all this bad press. It seems like every day it’s something new. Today I turn on the TV, and some poor broken-hearted spider girl is crying to the press that you won’t sign a marriage certificate allowing one of your legionnaires to marry her. Sign that certificate now! I don’t care if she is a spider.”

“But sir, Private Krueger does not want to marry her,” I explained. “He says she is coercing him.”

“Coercing him?” asked General Daly. “What kind of pansies do you have in your battalion? I do not want to hear his sad story. Sign that certificate. He’s getting married, and that’s an order!”

“How about I transfer Private Krueger to the South Pole?” I suggested.

“How about I transfer you both to the South Pole?” threatened General Daly. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself to subordinates, but already I find myself ordering you a third time to sign that marriage certificate. This could be the public-relations bonanza I’ve been looking for. In fact, I think it would be a nice touch for you to send a Legion honor guard to the wedding. Take a lot of pictures. With luck, we can get some good press out of this fiasco yet. You will handle that personally.”

“Not if Dawn eats Private Krueger on their honeymoon,” I argued. “What if that happens?”

“Then he will be AWOL and brought up on charges!” answered General Daly, slamming his hand down on his desk. “Spiders don’t eat humans. Although, I heard legionnaires under your command eat spiders. Is that true?”

“Those charges were dismissed at trial for lack of evidence. I have been ordered to not discuss the matter for reasons of national security.”

“I can see I need to read your personnel file closer. I’m sure it’s full of all kinds of interesting facts and tidbits. I am going to keep an eye on you!”

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Chapter 3

“The most destructive influence on Arthropodan culture may not be blue powder,” commented the spider governor. “I think human pestilence satellite TV does even more damage.”

“We can’t shoot down their satellites,” cautioned the spider commander of the New Gobi Desert sector. “That would cause a war.”

“Of course not,” agreed the governor. “But we can ban private ownership of all satellite dishes.”

“That would leave us with just the Imperial Cable TV Network,” said the spider commander. “Do you realize how boring that would be? The public would be driven to drink. I would be, too. Think about the effect mass liver disease would have on our culture.”

“Your argument fails to impress me,” said the governor. “I signed the new law today. Commanders will confiscate all satellite dishes and receivers in their sectors.”

“But sir, the World Series is tied at three games,” complained the spider commander. “We’ll miss the last game. Do you have any idea how much money has been bet on the Yankees? I don’t want to miss that game.”

“I’ve been so busy, I forgot all about the World Series,” conceded the governor. “Good point. Confiscate the satellite dishes next week.”

“What about pre-season football?” asked the spider commander. “Cable doesn’t carry the NFL either.”

“We all have to make sacrifices,” said the governor. “There is nothing I can do. The Emperor himself ordered the ban.”

“But all cable TV offers is soccer,” protested the spider commander. “Watching human pestilence Euro-trash riot at halftime is the only interesting part of the game.”

“Maybe we can get cable TV to carry local sporting events like high school or college football,” said the governor. “In the meantime, you have your orders.”

“I suppose I could watch the golf channel,” said the spider commander, slumping in his chair.

“That’s the spirit,” said the governor, before hanging up. “I knew I could depend on you.”

* * * * *

Just before the start of the final game of the World Series, the spider commander ordered pizza delivered from Pizza Hut to his office. However, Pizza Hut told him they could no longer deliver pizza because the Teamsters Union was on strike and would only make deliveries to the military if there was a national emergency.

“But this is an emergency,” insisted the spider commander. “The game is about to begin. I don’t even have hotdogs or buffalo wings.”

“Sorry, sir,” said the Pizza Hut employee. “No exceptions.”

“How about nachos?”

“No, sir.”

The spider commander slammed down the phone. Starving, he put a bag of popcorn into the microwave. He salivated at the thought of the extra butter and salt promised on the fine print of package. When the popcorn was ready, the spider commander plopped down on the couch to enjoy the game and have a beer.

“Go Yankees!” he shouted at the TV screen. Between innings, the spider commander gave some thought to the fears of cultural contamination. “Idiocy! The Emperor is afraid we are all becoming Americans. So what? The Empire should seize the best and discard the worst of the lands it conquers. That will make the Empire even stronger. There is nothing to fear! It’s under control.”

* * * * *

The Angry Onion Tavern was packed with customers watching the World Series on a big-screen TV. They dined on beer and hotdogs. There would have been even more customers watching, but the tavern was still off-limits to the Arthropodan military. The MDL painted down the middle of the tavern floor divided the noisy American side from the quieter Arthropodan side. It was a stark contrast.

Guido was still on duty at the border crossing, so he set up a satellite dish TV outside his guard shack and pointed it across the MDL for his spider guard friends. Spider border guards gathered to cheer for the Yankees. Guido accepted last-minute bets right up until the first pitch.

“It figures you spiders would be betting on the Evil Empire to win this game,” said Guido. “Go Boston!”

The rowdy crowd of spiders booed Guido and gave him the one-fingered salute. Everyone was having a good time rooting for the Yankees until late in the game when an Arthropodan marine team leader strode up to the MDL.

“What goes on here?” asked the team leader. “Is anyone bothering to patrol the border today?”

“Not on our side,” said Guido. “Since there’s no more truck traffic, there is nothing to do. We’re all just watching the World Series.”

“What’s the score?” asked the team leader.

“Seven to five, New York in the seventh inning,” answered Guido. “But their pitcher is getting tired.”

“Yes!” said the team leader. “New York is money in the bank. Now everyone get back to work! Protecting the border from the human pestilence is a serious matter! Don’t you know there is a no-fraternization order in effect?”

The spider border guards dispersed until the team leader left. Then, most returned for the rest of the game. The Evil Empire (New York Yankees) won eight to seven in the tenth tie-breaker inning.

* * * * *

A large human carrying a pizza box entered the spider commander’s office and placed the pizza on the commander’s desk. He was accompanied by a small spider wearing sunglasses and a fedora.

“That smells like a pepperoni and sausage pizza with extra cheese,” commented the spider commander. “Poor timing, the game is over. Who are you?”

“I am Carlos O’Neil,” replied the large human. “I am the Teamsters business agent for local #107 here in New Gobi City. This is my associate, Mr. Kennworth. I heard you were refused delivery of a pizza, so I came by to make amends.”

The spider commander opened the pizza box slightly. It contained a delicious pizza and a bundle of cash. He quickly closed the box. “I’ll bet you want the border reopened.”

“We have trucks parked along the freeway for miles on both sides of the MDL,” said Carlos. “It would be nice.”

“And if I refuse?” asked the spider commander.

Mr. Kennworth opened the pizza box and removed a pizza slice with a long jagged knife. He ate the pizza delicately, savoring each bite. “That is not an option,” he explained.

“I see,” said the spider commander, giving thought to just shooting these two fools. But, he was planning on opening the border to traffic soon anyway, and that pizza looked too good to risk spilling human pestilence blood on it. The spider commander decided he would keep the money and the pizza. “Consider the border opened as of now. And, consider yourselves under arrest for making threats to a government official.”

Spider marines rushed in as the commander set off an alarm. Carlos O’Neil and Mr. Kennworth spent the night in jail. They were both released in the morning. Mr. Kennworth was warned to never set foot in North New Gobi City, or he would be shot on sight. Carlos was instructed to deliver sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese pizza once a month, with more cash.

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Chapter 4

Air Wing Pilot #82, flying the latest Arthropodan fighter jet star craft along the DMZ, suddenly broke formation from his squadron and veered south across the MDL. The jet fighter accelerated, adding distance from the other fighters. His fellow pilots declined to give chase. Already, Legion anti-aircraft batteries were locked in and targeting them.

Air Wing Pilot #82 flew directly toward the Legion airfield at New Phoenix. He broadcast a Mayday signal until making radio contact with Legion air control. “I wish to defect,” said #82. “I wish to collect the five-million-dollar reward for delivering an intact top-secret Air Wing star fighter. I wish to live in Montana and raise cows. I wish to be an American cowboy. I wish to live on the range where the deer and the antelope play!”

#82 was directed to a side runway and taken into protective custody. Military Intelligence Officer Major Lopez was brought in to interrogate #82.

“I have the authority to grant you political asylum if you answer all questions truthfully,” promised Major Lopez.

“Yes, of course,” said #82. “You will find my Air Wing star fighter to be an engineering marvel far more advanced than anything the Legion flies.”

“Technical experts will question you about the details of your plane later,” said Major Lopez. “What can you tell us about Air Wing operations?”

“That helicopter you recently shot down was a setup,” said #82. “Our commander wanted you to shoot it down to provoke an incident.”

“Why would he put your pilot in such risk?” asked Major Lopez. “That seems reckless.”

“We needed a pretext to close the border and rally public opinion,” said #82. “In every defeat comes new strength. Our military is more determined now than ever to rebuff Americanism.”

“Oh?” asked Major Lopez. “I have yet to see any changes in deployment of your troops.”

“A no-fraternization order is now in effect,” said #82. “Satellite TV is banned. The border was briefly closed, and you can expect more border-crossing restrictions.”

“That is nothing,” commented Major Lopez. “What do I care of such nuisances?”

“Closing the border has cost millions,” said #82. “But, that’s just the first shots of the war. You aren’t even shooting back yet, because the changes have come in such small increments. The Emperor wants to fight a cultural war for the minds of our citizens. The Emperor says he fears the contamination of Americanism. But what he is really afraid of is freedom. I am not afraid. I want to go to Big Sky Country. I want to live in Montana. I want to see Yellowstone National Park and Old Faithful Geyser. I want to talk to Smokey the Bear.”

“Yellowstone is in Wyoming,” said Major Lopez. “It’s the next state over.”

“No problem,” said #82. “I will drive to Yellowstone in my Chevy pickup truck. I want to be a cowboy. I want a red neck and a big hat. I want to chase little doggies on a cattle drive. I want the five million dollars cash promised for landing my new Air Wing star fighter safely.”

“What makes you think you’re tough enough to be a vaquero?” asked Major Lopez. “Have you ever even been on a horse? No. You can’t ride. You would probably fall off and break your neck.”

“I will not fall,” said #82. “I have true grit. God bless America and Smokey the Bear!”

* * * * *

The spider commando drifted across the MDL. At night, his black parachute and fatigues made him invisible against the dark sky. The commando guided his parachute south, using the flashing red light of a beacon mounted atop a commercial radio tower. Radio Free New Colorado broadcast subversive music and news to the North. Attempts at jamming the powerful signal had failed. Negotiations to shut down the station or alter content had also failed. Now the Arthropodan special forces were tasked with taking care of the problem permanently.

After landing, the commando cut through a fence and planted explosive charges at the base of the radio tower. Then he changed into civilian clothes, buried his chute and uniform, and hiked to the highway. There he met Carlos O’Neil, who gave him a ride in his eighteen-wheeler to New Phoenix. The commando gave O’Neil a backpack half filled with explosives, to be delivered to an airbase maintenance worker. They then separated. The commando went to a safe house in New Phoenix.

Carlos O’Neil drove to the Legion airbase where he was scheduled to deliver food products. A legionnaire gave the truck a cursory check, and was about to wave O’Neil through, when the guard’s German Shepherd dog alerted on the explosives in the truck. O’Neil was taken into custody, pending a search. Legionnaires poured over the truck, suspecting drugs. Eventually they found a secret compartment holding the backpack of explosives.

* * * * *

Major Lopez, disguised as a long haul trucker, easily crossed the MDL, driving north. He parked his big rig at the Marriott Hotel in North New Gobi City. He waited in the hotel lounge. At about 1900 hours, the spider Air Wing commander who had sprayed the poppy fields came in for his usual drink. Major Lopez joined him at the bar.

“You are the last human pestilence I ever expected to see again,” said the Air Wing commander. “Should I arrest you for spying, or buy you a drink?”

“All I want is five minutes of your time,” said Major Lopez, sliding an envelope stuffed with cash to the pilot. “Did you know the Legion was tipped off about your mission?”

“I was wondering how you were able to detect my small low-flying craft so quickly,” said the Air Wing commander. “Now I know. Please explain.”

“Your own commander gave you up,” said Major Lopez. “I guess that means you are expendable.”

“We are all expendable,” said the Air Wing commander. “Although I am a bit disappointed I am more so than I realized.”

“We can all be replaced. The Legion would not betray you so,” said Major Lopez. “We would treat you with the respect you deserve as a fellow officer. We would treat you much better.”

“I can see that,” said the Air Wing commander, counting the hundred-dollar bills in the envelope. “What do you want?”

“Maybe I can give you a chance for payback on your commander,” said Major Lopez. “Or maybe you can just do me a favor someday. Send me an email if something interesting comes to your attention.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

* * * * *

When Major Lopez tried to cross back over the MDL there was a long line of trucks being inspected. Security seemed tighter than usual. Squads of guards approached both sides of his truck. He could see Guido and Spot pacing back and forth on their side of the MDL. Major Lopez gave Guido a nod.

A spider border guard held a photo up to the truck window, comparing it to Major Lopez’s face. “You human pestilence all look alike,” said the spider guard. “Are you Major Lopez?”

“No,” said Major Lopez. “I am Arthur Bodoya.”

The border guard radioed for assistance. A team leader came over to eyeball Major Lopez. “You are under arrest for espionage and blue powder drug smuggling,” said the team leader, pointing his rifle. “I am sure there will be additional charges, Major Lopez.”

“Blue powder?” asked Major Lopez. “I know nothing about blue powder. I am not smuggling drugs. You haven’t even searched my truck yet. It’s just loaded with fruit.”

“Espionage is a capital offense,” said the team leader. “What do you care if we add a few more capital charges to the list? We can only hang you once.”

Guido fired warning shots into the air. “Let him go, or my aim will get better!”

The spider guards bundled Major Lopez up in web restraints and whisked him away. Guido had to back off because he was outnumbered. He retreated to his guard shack to report to Headquarters.

* * * * *

I scheduled a meeting with the spider commander to protest the destruction of the Free New Colorado radio station. We met in the conference room at Walmart because the superstore was built right on the MDL for easy-access shopping by both North and South. The MDL was painted on the floor, dividing the conference room. A smaller MDL was painted across the long conference table. The ashtray sitting in the middle of the conference table had an even smaller MDL line painted across it. I pushed the ashtray forward about a centimeter.

“Attacks on radio stations will not be tolerated,” I said. “Are you trying to start a war?”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said the spider commander, moving the ashtray back. “It is not my fault you cannot control an insurgency resisting human oppression.”

“Don’t play dumb,” I said. “We found where your commando buried his parachute. And, we arrested Carlos O’Neil with a backpack of explosives. Carlos has told us everything. You planned an attack on our airbase.”

“Carlos O’Neil, the Teamsters’ business agent?” asked the spider commander. “Whatever story he has made up is a lie. He has no credibility.”

“Carlos has a lot to tell,” I said. “But I’ll be reasonable. I will trade you Carlos for Major Lopez.”

“You can keep the Teamsters thug,” said the spider commander. “I don’t want him.”

“You can avoid a scandal by making the trade,” I suggested. “Carlos says you have a taste for Pizza.”

“It is you who should be afraid of scandal,” said the spider commander. “Major Lopez was caught with a truck containing blue powder residue in its trailer. Our investigation shows he had just made a delivery of drugs at the Marriott Hotel. Major Lopez has given us a full confession.”

“Nonsense,” I countered. “Those charges are trumped up. Major Lopez has a financial interest in orange groves on both sides of the MDL. He was only delivering fruit.”

“Under an assumed name and with forged documentation?” asked the spider commander. “It does not look good for Major Lopez. I suspect we will find Legion involvement in drug smuggling that will go all the way to the top of your disreputable corrupt amateur paramilitary organization. I guarantee more indictments will follow. Perhaps even your name will come up.”

“Do you know who you are messing with?” I asked. “This outrage will not stand!”

“Yes,” said the spider commander. “You are the Butcher of New Colorado. I always expect the worst of your ilk.”

“I want to speak to Major Lopez in person,” I said.

“Denied,” said the spider commander. “Only his appointed lawyer may visit. Major Lopez will be given a fair military trial, after which he will be convicted and sentenced to death. In deference to human sensibilities, Major Lopez will be given a choice of execution methods, to include firing squad, hanging, or the electric table.”

“You will release Major Lopez, or there will be serious consequences,” I threatened. “I will hold you personally responsible for his welfare.”

“I have tried to be reasonable with you in the past,” said the spider commander. “But you have refused to destroy the poppy fields, blamed the drug problem on our consumption, and failed to negotiate in good faith. You have brought these trying times on yourself. Are you ready to be reasonable now?”

“I am always willing to be reasonable,” I said. “But you have kidnapped Major Lopez on trumped-up charges. You are insincere. I believe you are trying to provoke a war, and I am going to give it to you.”

“Don’t try it,” said the spider commander. “You will lose. Besides, you don’t have the authority to start a war, and neither do I. All I want is cooperation.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, same place, same time. I’ll bring some cards.”

* * * * *

Under the cover of darkness, three Legion helicopters full of paratroopers darted across the MDL to attack the spider detention facility and free Major Lopez. A gust of wind blew up a New Gobi Desert dust devil, obscuring pilot vision and causing two of the helicopters to collide. The third helicopter circled back and landed at the crash site to recover as many dead and wounded as it could. It then raced back across the MDL to safety.

* * * * *

The spider commander sat back in his chair reviewing photos of the helicopter crash site. “Stupid human pestilence,” he mused out loud to himself. “What were they thinking? That they could just break Major Lopez out of jail at will? That we could not stop them? That we are just sitting here twiddling our claws?”

A knock at the door interrupted him. It was the pizza and salad he had ordered from Pizza Hut for lunch. As the office door swung open, the spider commander reached for his pistol, but was not quick enough. The spider Teamster thug Mr. Kennworth stuck a large knife under the spider commander’s chin. The slight prick on the soft tissue of the throat drew a couple droplets of blood.

“I want Carlos O’Neil released,” demanded Mr. Kennworth, as he took the commander’s pistol.

“O’Neil is being held by the Legion,” said the spider commander. “I cannot help you.”

“Carlos was on a mission for you,” said Mr. Kennworth., applying more knife pressure under the chin to get the commander’s attention. “That makes you responsible for his welfare and getting him back.”

“Still, you need to talk to the Legion,” said the spider commander. “What can I do?”

“I did talk to the Legion,” said Mr. Kennworth. “Colonel Czerinski promised Carlos would suffer a slow and painful death. He also said you had been offered a trade for Major Lopez, but had refused. You need to reconsider Czerinski’s offer.”

“That would not be a fair trade,” said the spider commander. “I need more.”

“What could be more fair than including your life in the trade?” asked Mr. Kennworth. “You take Carlos’s money and send him on a dangerous mission behind Legion lines, and yet you feel no responsibility to get him back? You are a real bendaho!”

“A what?” asked the spider commander, checking his translation device. “What is a bendaho?”

“I’m not sure,” said Mr. Kennworth. “It’s a human term, and it is not good.”

The spider commander tapped his translation device again. ‘Bendaho’ translated to ‘asshole.’ That made no sense. ‘Asshole’ translated to ‘poop chute.’ What? “Why would you call me a poop chute?”

“It’s Old Earth slang,” explained Mr. Kennworth. “Border lingo is not supposed to make sense. The reality of the situation is, I will cut off your head if we can’t make a deal about Carlos.”

“Okay, okay,” said the spider commander. “But first I need a little more time to interrogate Major Lopez. Also, I want to show him off to the press on TV. I will make the trade. Is that satisfactory?”

“You have one week,” said Mr. Kennworth, releasing the spider commander. Mr. Kennworth darted out the door.

The spider commander, after wiping the blood off his neck, ordered the arrest of Mr. Kennworth. However, the Teamster thug traitor was not to be found.

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Chapter 5

Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight arrived at the Arthropodan detention facility in North New Gobi City to film interviews with Major Lopez and his captors. Per Legion instructions, Coen kept his camera filming long before the interview, panning wide angle shots of all exits, windows, and hallways. Coen also dropped miniature listening devices and cameras as he was escorted through the facility. I promised Coen an exclusive during the next rescue attempt.

Major Lopez could be seen through a two-way mirror, seated at a table flanked by spider guards. He had one eye swollen shut and seemed haggard. Major Lopez wore an orange jumpsuit. A spider interrogator started the interview by turning up the lights and directing a question at Major Lopez. “Tell the galaxy the full extent of Legion involvement in blue powder drug smuggling on New Colorado,” ordered the spider interrogator. “Tell the truth, or you will be sorry!”

Major Lopez smiled, flipped the cameras a one-fingered salute, and popped a yellow capsule into his mouth. Still smiling, Major Lopez bit down on the capsule. “No mas!” he shouted as he fell unconscious to the floor.

Spider military and reporters rushed into the room to check Major Lopez and render aid. The response from the Legion watching on TV was immediate. Artillery all along the MDL in New Gobi City targeted the detention facility and other military targets. The large oil tank farm on the edge of town was soon ablaze. The fire would burn for days, lighting up the night sky. The spiders fired back. Both sides scrambled planes for bombing runs before the shooting finally stopped in the evening.

Major Lopez had not attempted suicide, although it had appeared so. The CIA no longer issued cyanide capsules to its operatives. The yellow pill was merely a knockout drug to provide temporary relief from prolonged interrogation. The dramatic effect of Major Lopez keeling over almost started a nuclear exchange. Both sides blamed the other for shooting first, but neither could prove anything. The Legion said it was just another example of Arthropodan adventurism. The spiders said it was just one more atrocity committed by the Butcher of New Colorado.

My office was destroyed again. It seemed that in every skirmish, my office was the first thing the spiders hit. I searched through Legion Headquarters, looking for mementos and personal property. I shook my fist at the spiders across the MDL and took satisfaction in seeing the Marriott Hotel on their side was still burning. That’s what they get for putting communications and radar equipment on the roof.

I got an anonymous email saying Major Lopez was soon to be moved by shuttle to a holding facility at the Capital City Spaceport. The transfer would be made late at night. The shuttle would experience mechanical difficulties. “Be ready,” said the message.

That night Major Lopez was strapped to a gurney and taken to a waiting shuttle. The same Air Wing commander Major Lopez had met at the Marriott supervised the loading, then piloted the takeoff. The shuttle quickly gained altitude, banked to the left, and stalled. It dropped quickly, spiraling as it went down. Ejection pods activated, spewing passengers and pilots safely away from the shuttle. Major Lopez’s escape pod drifted to the Legion side of the MDL, where he was repatriated.

* * * * *

When the shooting had started, Guido ducked into the bunker underneath his guard shack. After the all-clear, he found his guard shack wrecked. The floor was covered with water from a bullet-ridden air-conditioner and busted plumbing. The shatterproof windows had more bullet holes.

Guido stormed across the MDL to confront the spider guard in the Arthropodan guard shack. All truck traffic had been closed again, so the spider guard had all four feet propped up on his desk, reading the USA Today sports section.

“Did you shoot my guard shack?” asked Guido. “That’s my office! That’s my home! My air-conditioner is ruined!”

“No, Guido, I swear,” said the spider guard. “I would not do that.”

“Someone did,” accused Guido, taking the spider guard’s assault rifle off its rack and pulling out the half-empty taped banana clips. “I think it was you!”

“You aren’t supposed to be on this side of the MDL,” said the spider guard. “Are you trying to get me in trouble? What if my team leader comes by and sees you playing with my rifle?”

Guido threw the half empty banana clips at the spider guard and shouted, “Explain the missing rounds, you asshole! Explain all the shell casings outside! How could you shoot up my house? Do you realize how much personal property I had inside?”

“I’m sorry, Guido,” said the spider guard. “I just got caught up in the excitement of the war. Wars don’t happen every day, you know. Your side shot first. Ha, we won!”

Guido fired a still-chambered round through the ceiling and tossed the assault rifle aside. “How would you like it if I shot up your house?”

“You just did,” complained the spider guard, inspecting his ceiling. “It better not rain soon. I said I was sorry. What more can I do? By the way, can you put me down for five hundred dollars on the Seattle Seahawks?”

“Sure,” said Guido, entering the transaction into his pad. “But this isn’t over!”

The sound of gunfire attracted the spider team leader. “Guido! What are you doing on this side of the MDL?” asked the team leader. “Don’t force me to arrest you!”

“You and whose army?” asked Guido. “This asshole shot up my guard shack. Who is going to pay for my air-conditioner? Who is going to fix all the damage?”

“That’s just the fortunes of war,” explained the spider team leader. “Get back to your side of the MDL before you start another war.”

Guido tromped back over to the Legion side. “I am deducting the cost of repairs from your Yankees World Series winnings!” yelled Guido. “How do you like them apples?”

“What did he say?” asked the team leader. “Apples? You can’t do that! It’s unethical. I will file a complaint with Saviano Juardo. Saviano is a personal friend of mine!”

Guido gave the team leader the one-fingered salute across the MDL. Air-conditioning was a necessity. Even this late in the year, the temperatures in New Gobi could exceed ninety degrees. Guido picked up the phone to order repairs and installation of a new air-conditioner, but the phone was broken.

“You will pay for my phone!” shouted Guido, gesturing at the spiders again.

“Hey Guido!” the team leader yelled back. “Put me down for a thousand on the Seahawks, too! Okay?”

Guido let Spot off his leash and sent the highly trained killer dragon across the MDL. Both spiders rushed to their guard shack just in time to get the door closed. Spot gnashed his teeth and snout against the Plexiglas window, smearing it with spittle. The spider team leader removed a dragon biscuit from his pouch that he carried just for occasions like this one, and tossed it out to Spot. The large monitor dragon soon lost interest in eating spiders and began begging for another biscuit. The team leader threw out an M&M’s chocolate bar next. Guido, now more upset than ever, called spot back. Spot refused.

“Traitor!” said Guido, dragging Spot back across the border and leashing the dragon by the door. “This is still not over!”

“That was not very neighborly!” yelled the spider team leader. “You will laugh at this moment someday!”

“You want to play war?” yelled Guido. “I’ll show you the true meaning of war! I ought to let Juardo whack both of you!”

“Guido is kind of touchy, isn’t he?” observed the spider team leader. “He has no sense of humor lately.”

“It’s just human nature,” replied the spider guard. “Human pestilence are very volatile, especially when they get shot at.”

“Odd,” said the spider team leader. “Guido needs to take a chill pill. Next war, try not to cause so much damage.”

Later that day a spider construction crew built Guido a new guard shack and installed a new air-conditioner and plumbing. A new phone arrived gift wrapped with a ribbon bow. The message on the card said, “To Guido, our favorite human pestilence. Hope you like your new phone. Please place another thousand on the Seahawks so I can pay for your new house. You know I’m good for it.”

* * * * *

“You look like hell,” I said, shaking Major Lopez’s hand. “How did you escape? Did your pilot contact help you?”

“Apparently so,” replied Major Lopez. “We should pay him again.”

“The CIA can handle that. Your spooks have deep pockets.”

“I am going to kill that spider marine commander,” said Major Lopez. “All that time we played poker together, I thought he was a decent sort. I know better now. He’s a vicious punk.”

“He’s just doing his job.”

“I’ll kill him anyway.”

“Did you tell the spiders much?” I asked.

“They wanted to know who I contacted at the Marriott. I told them everything but that. I even told them your personal phone number.”

“No big deal,” I said. “Everyone has my number. Even the insurgency calls me up. If you are feeling better, I have a new mission for you. That spider commando who blew up the radio station is still on the loose. I want you to find him.”

“I’ll have to go to New Phoenix to interrogate Carlos O’Neil again,” said Major Lopez. “May I kill him?”

“Not yet. We need to squeeze him for more information. I think his mission was to destroy that captured Arthropodan jet fighter. We need to track down the entire spy network.”

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Chapter 6

I escorted Private Krueger and Dawn to see Pastor Jim for premarital counseling at the New Gobi Church of Scientology. Major Lopez came along in his capacity as a military intelligence officer to research Arthropodan cultural issues. Cultural misunderstandings seemed to be cropping up more often these days.

Pastor Jim greeted us enthusiastically at the steps to the church and led us to the conference room. After introductions, we sat down to begin in earnest. “Our goal today is to resolve conflicts and issues so that your marriage will prosper,” started Pastor Jim. “We need a frank discussion of roadblocks to your lasting happiness so you can achieve new states of spiritual awareness you never thought possible. I start with the premise that you two are basically good, and will only need minimal guidance from me on morality issues. At least that is what Colonel Czerinski has assured me. My hope is that after today, your relationship will be stronger than ever.”

“Thank you,” said Dawn. “Colonel Czerinski has been very supportive. It was his idea for us to see you.”

“The Legion has a counseling contract with Pastor Jim,” I added. “We aim to get our money’s worth today.”

“If there is anything about your future spouse that irritates either of you, now is the time to get such conflicts and issues into the open,” said Pastor Jim. “Too many young couples think they can change their spouse’s perceived bad habits after marriage. Then they get frustrated when their spouse refuses to change and gets angry in return.”

“I love everything about my little hairball,” said Dawn, giving Private Krueger a hug and kiss. “Willie is perfect.”

“There are immense cultural differences at play here,” advised Pastor Jim. “Are you sure you cannot think of anything that needs to be resolved before you take your vows? It would be helpful to our discussion.”

“Together, Willie and I will fight any problem that comes up,” insisted Dawn. “We are in love.”

“And is there anything about Dawn you would like her to change?” asked Pastor Jim, turning to Private Krueger. “It is very important that you air possible areas of conflict now before marriage rather than let the problems fester. I promise your marriage will be stronger for it.”

“Well, the only thing that upsets me a little is that she keeps threatening to kill me over every little thing,” said Private Krueger. “I realize it’s just a small cultural issue, but I’m sure she means it.”

“Of course I mean it,” said Dawn. “How can a relationship grow and last if you aren’t true to your word? You have to mean what you say.”

“Willie says you threaten him over every little thing,” said Pastor Jim. “Perhaps you could take into account human customs and social norms, and threaten him less often on minor matters? Or maybe just beat him rather than kill him?”

“You mean like if he doesn’t do the dishes or take out the trash on time?” asked Dawn. “I am an old-fashioned traditional female from New Memphis, but I guess I could relax my standards a little to allow for some cultural differences between species. I love Willie so much.”

“I think we are making grand progress,” said Pastor Jim.

“What about the other times Dawn threatens to kill me?” asked Private Krueger. “Her demands are unreasonable.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dawn, starting to cry. “How am I being unreasonable? I only want happiness for us. That’s why I am here.”

“It’s her sexual demands,” said Private Krueger. “Sometimes she frightens me so badly I almost have a heart attack.”

“May I record this?” asked Major Lopez, setting a recorder on the table.

“I don’t know what he is talking about,” said Dawn, smashing the recording device with her claw. “Like I said before, I am an old-fashioned traditional female with old-fashioned traditional needs. Of course I will kill Willie if I do not orgasm every time we have sex. He knew that before we entered into our relationship. But, so far that has not been a problem.”

“That is more information than I needed to hear,” I blurted, getting up to leave.

“Every time?” asked Pastor Jim. “That is not reasonable, according to human standards.”

“Why not?” asked Dawn. “If he gets to, I should too. Besides, that is the promise he made me that first time. I’m holding him to it!”

“I was drunk,” said Private Krueger. “I would have promised anything to get in. All guys do that.”

“This is all new ground we are exploring here today,” said Pastor Jim. “You marriage will be the first between species. You might find that some expectations may not be physically possible, especially as you both get older.”

“No problem,” said Dawn. “If I find out later he doesn’t measure up, I’ll just kill him. You can’t fight centuries of tradition.”

“This is normal behavior for your species?” asked Pastor Jim.

“Of course,” said Dawn. “Our males treat their mates with respect.”

“Now I know why Corporal Washington is always so tired,” commented Pastor Jim, shaking his head. “He has two wives.”

“I thought spider wives became more submissive after marriage,” I interjected. “That’s what Corporal Wayne told me.”

“I am a Hell’s Angel,” said Dawn. “I won’t budge from my high standards!”

“Still, you need to be knowledgeable and respectful of the cultural and physical differences between species,” said Pastor Jim. “Otherwise your marriage may end tragically.”

“I am knowledgeable,” said Dawn. “I have been reading everything I can about human culture on the database. Even your culture discusses the Black Widow. Do you deny there are black widows on Earth?”

“No,” said Pastor Jim, “but black widows are not human.”

“Well neither am I,” said Dawn. “I am keeping my standards. It is important for the social fabric of society that certain standards be respected, maintained, and preserved. I heard that on cable TV just today.”

“I think this discussion has been very informative and helpful,” said Pastor Jim. “But, I think we need to schedule another follow up session for next week. In the meantime, try to think of ways to resolve your differences, and be prepared to discuss them.”

“What?” asked Dawn. “We need to move this along and set a date for our wedding. My biological clock is ticking.”

“I need to do some more research first,” said Pastor Jim. “Perhaps we can also discuss your family plans at our next meeting.”

“Leave my family out of this,” said Dawn. “Only my sister is invited to the wedding. She’s good looking. You’d like her. The rest of them are nothing but a bunch of drunks and junkies. I’m not a junkie. I only sell blue powder. My sister and I never use. Using is for chumps.”

“I meant your plans for children,” said Pastor Jim.

“I want at least fifty.”

“We might need several sessions.”

* * * * *

The wedding announcement for Private Krueger and Dawn was printed in the local New Gobi Newspaper and on the database. The spider Governor of the North Territory called his New Gobi military commander to discuss the matter. “This is just the sort of thing the Emperor was concerned about when he ordered initiatives to be taken against American attacks on our culture,” said the governor. “This wedding has to be stopped.”

“But both of those young fools are American citizens,” said the spider commander. “And the wedding is taking place on the American side of the MDL. There is nothing I can do about it. The Americans are always stirring their big melting pot. That’s how they got spiders to join their Foreign Legion.”

“The immoral American melting pot will not be allowed to slop over onto our side of the MDL,” said the spider governor. “You have operatives working in the South. Bomb the wedding. Make it look like the insurgency is responsible.”

“What?” asked the spider commander. “I am not going to bomb a wedding. Are you crazy?”

“How dare you question my orders!” yelled the governor. “I’ll have you up on charges!”

“Oh really?” challenged the spider commander. “If my Emperor orders me to bomb a wedding, I will do so. I am my Emperor’s sword. But you do not have that authority. It is you who will be brought up on charges. You want me to bomb a wedding? Put those orders in writing!”

“Perhaps I may have been a bit hasty,” said the governor, thinking it over a moment. “No harm intended to you, commander.”

“I don’t believe you,” said the spider commander. “Now you will try to stab me in the back? I hope you know I record all conversations for security purposes.”

“I rescinded my order to bomb the wedding,” said the governor. “I said I was hasty in my decision. Do not even think about blackmailing me. You will destroy your recording at once. I still want you to use all means at your disposal to stop that wedding. Is that order clear to you?”

“No,” said the spider commander. “How am I supposed to stop two young fools in love from getting married? Hell, they could elope at any time. And even if I did succeed, there are surely others as foolhardy as those two, making similar plans.”

“We will deal with one abomination at a time,” said the governor. “Maybe you could use hookers to tempt them. Film the whole sordid affair and put it on the database. The scandal ought to dampen their ardor. Or maybe one of them could be given a virus? Perhaps intervention therapy would force them to use common sense?”

“Force teenagers to use common sense?” asked the spider commander. “By kidnapping them? That seems risky. I think it’s been tried before, with mixed results.”

“I’m just thinking out loud,” said the governor. “You know, brainstorming. That’s what I was doing earlier, too. You were right. Bombing the wedding was a bad idea.”

“Sir, I’ll give the matter some thought,” said the spider commander. “And I am sorry I got so angry at you earlier. You surely meant well. Anyone can have a brain fart.”

“I do not have brain farts!” said the governor, slamming down the phone. “That commander needs to be more respectful!”

* * * * *

The spider commander made a call to the Teamsters’ Union, offering amnesty for Mr. Kennworth and to help in future negotiations for the release of Carlos O’Neil. All the spider commander wanted in return was one little favor. After the call, Mr. Kennworth drove to the safe house in New Phoenix, picked up the spider commando hiding there, and drove straight to the Angry Onion Tavern to kidnap Dawn and Private Willie Krueger. They had not worked out the details of their plan yet, but Mr. Kennworth was confident it would come to them after a round of beers. Perhaps they could even hold Dawn and Willie hostage to trade for Carlos after the military was through with them.

Private Krueger sat at the bar, slowly getting drunk on vodka. Dawn was making sales of blue powder to the junkies and tourists. She would slip into the women’s restroom to complete each transaction. Mr. Kennworth thought about mugging Dawn in the restroom. Hell, it would be easier to just kill her and Willie, but the spider commander insisted that they be abducted unharmed, if possible.

“Someone should arrest that dope-dealing biker babe bitch,” commented the commando. “She’s been pushing blue powder all night.”

“That’s it!” said Mr. Kennworth. “We will pretend to be DEA agents and arrest them both. The simplicity of the plan is pure genius.”

“That won’t work,” said the commando. “We don’t have badges. We need badges to be DEA.”

“We don’t need no stinking badges,” said Mr. Kennworth.

“Yes we do.”

Mr. Kennworth took a Union pin from his fedora and pinned it to the inside of his wallet flap. He gave another pin to the commando. “If we need stinking badges, use this for a badge. Quickly flip your wallet open and shut like this when we identify ourselves. No one will question who we are because we will have our guns drawn.”

“I still say it won’t work,” said the commando. “We don’t look like DEA.”

“Sure it will,” said Mr. Kennworth. “What does DEA look like? As a back up, you plant timed explosives in the restroom and out in the parking lot to cover our getaway. Let’s do it now.”

The commando set explosives under a sink in the restroom and under a car out front. Mr. Kennworth pulled out his wallet badge in one claw and a pistol in the other. The commando drew an Uzi from under his trench coat.

“DEA!” yelled Mr. Kennworth. “Dawn, you are under arrest for violation of the Controlled Substances Act!”

“You too!” shouted the commando, grabbing Private Krueger off his bar stool.

“I don’t sell drugs,” whined Private Krueger. “It’s all on her. She’s the menace to society.”

“They let spiders in the DEA?” asked Dawn. “It’s a sad day when brother spiders are joining the DEA. What’s this galaxy coming to? May I see those badges again?”

“No!” yelled Mr. Kennworth. “There’s a new sheriff in town! We’ve been watching you two for a long time. You’re going down, big mamma!”

“Look around you,” said Dawn. “Do you think you can just waltz into a biker bar, do what you want, and waltz on out as you please? You’re both dead spider swine walking.”

Mr. Kennworth glanced to the side, keeping his pistol aimed at Dawn. She still had her belt knives. A hundred Hell’s Angels were pressing in on them. Some had already drawn firearms and knives. The commando leveled his Uzi at the bikers.

“We are all walking out to my car real peaceful,” announced Mr. Kennworth. “The Sheriff’s Office is on its way. Don’t make us use deadly force!”

“Kill them!” yelled Dawn, now thrashing about as they walked.

As she spoke, the men’s restroom blew up, leaving a gaping hole to the outside. Then a car in the parking lot exploded, blowing out the tavern’s front windows. The commando opened fire on the crowd of bikers with his Uzi, littering the floor with bodies. Mr. Kennworth grabbed Dawn and Willie, and they escaped through all the dust, carnage, and confusion.

* * * * *

“The Feds arrested Private Krueger for drugs?” I asked. “When do we get him back?”

“I don’t know,” said Sergeant Green. “That’s why I’m talking to you, sir. I was hoping you could find out. They took Dawn, too.”

“Now, that I can believe,” I said. “Where did the Feds take them?”

“I don’t know that either,” said Sergeant Green. “According to witnesses at the Angry Onion, it was DEA. I heard they resisted arrest. The Sheriff’s Office is still investigating exactly what happened.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” I said. “Okay, I’ll call the DEA, or whoever, and find out about Private Krueger. We’ll get him back eventually. The good news is, that damn wedding is off. Thanks.”

I called the DEA, FBI, the Sheriff’s Office, and General Daly. No one knew who arrested Private Krueger and Dawn, or where they were taken.

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Chapter 7

Dawn and Willie were smuggled across the MDL in a trailer full of oranges. Once inside the Anthropodan Empire, they were taken to the spider commander of New Gobi Desert Sector.

“You are here for marriage counseling,” said the spider commander. “You will not be harmed. Consider yourselves to be my guests.”

“You are not DEA?” asked Private Krueger. “What a relief. I thought we were going to prison forever.”

“We already got counseling,” complained Dawn.

“You are being held by order of the Governor of the North Territory,” said the spider commander. “You will stay here until such time as your sanity returns and you cancel your hasty plans to get married.”

“It is you who is insane,” said Dawn. “You have no right to kidnap us! We are citizens of the United States Galactic Federation!”

“I have every right to detain you for your own well being,” replied the spider commander. “By right of species, you will always hold and enjoy dual citizenship in the Arthropodan Empire. With that citizenship comes certain responsibilities to the Empire. It is in the best interests of the Empire that your planned marriage to this human pestilence does not happen. That gives me the right and duty to hold you both indefinitely.”

“You can’t get more twisted logic than that!” screamed Dawn. “I will not change my mind about marrying Willie. I love him now more than ever!” Dawn wrapped four arms around Private Krueger and kissed him passionately. Mr. Kennworth had taken five knives off Dawn when she was searched. He missed a sixth knife that was hidden in a place too embarrassing for the Teamster thug to find. Dawn gave thought to stabbing the commander, but did not want to risk harm to Willie. She would wait for a better opportunity.

“You both are too young to know the meaning of love or the importance of restraint,” commented the spider commander. “You just live for the moment without any regard to consequences or duty. If necessary, you will be taken off this planet to Arthropoda for deprogramming.”

“You can’t brainwash me!” yelled Dawn. “You are immoral!”

“You have already been brainwashed by decadent American TV and music,” said the spider commander. “Your seduction was so gradual and insidious, you never even noticed the change in your personality, but look at the net result.”

“I am an American citizen,” said Dawn. “The Legion will cross the galaxy to get me back. Willie is a legionnaire. What do you think the Legion’s reaction will be to his abduction?”

“You are a spider,” said the commander. “The Legion hates you. The Legion hates our species, culture, and traditions.”

“That is not true,” said Dawn. “The Constitution protects everyone, including spiders.”

“Whatever,” said the spider commander. “Only the naïve believe that. You are ruled at the whim of the human pestilence. Their attack dogs, the Legion, are trained to hate and kill all spiders. Isn’t that right, Private Krueger? Isn’t it true you hate all spiders for killing your older brother?”

“My brother was killed in action,” said Private Krueger. “So what? Lots of legionnaires were. It happens. I don’t blame or hate anyone. I love Dawn.”

“Your brother, Sergeant Hans Krueger, was eaten alive by one of our trained monitor dragons,” said the spider commander. “Colonel Czerinski hushed that up. I can see by the expression on your ugly face, he never bothered to tell you the truth about your brother. Czerinski didn’t think you could handle knowing your brother watched himself being eaten alive.”

Private Krueger lunged at the spider commander. A guard knocked Krueger down with an electric prod.

“Do you hate me now?” asked the spider commander. “Do you hate the species that killed your brother so cruelly now? Do you still want to marry one of us? Surely you see it is impossible. Your marriage would not last.”

“I will not eat or drink anything until you release Dawn,” said Private Krueger.

“How childish,” commented the spider commander. “What do I care whether you eat or drink? You are nothing to me.”

“I will not eat anything either,” said Dawn. “Not until you release Willie.”

“Lock them up,” ordered the spider commander. “I tire of this immaturity. Put them in separate cells.”

“You will never separate us!” shouted Dawn, drawing her knife. A guard drew his pistol to shoot. “We will never be separated!”

“Stop!” ordered the spider commander. “No one shoot! I do not want harm to come to you. Please, give me your knife, and I promise you can share the same cell. I give my word.”

Dawn slowly set her knife on to the floor. “I do not need a knife to kill the likes of you!”

Dawn and Willie were put in a cell that had two bunks. After the door slammed shut, Dawn sank to the floor and cried uncontrollably. Willie held her, trying to provide comfort. Dawn pushed him away.

“I am not stupid,” she said. “I know you told Colonel Czerinski you did not want to marry me. I hoped you would change your mind after we went to see Pastor Jim, but you did not. You think I’m ugly. Don’t touch me!”

Dawn moved over to the corner and sat down, still crying, her back to Willie. She began chanting and rocking back and forth. She refused dinner and shut everyone out, refusing to speak. She seemed to be in a trance.

It got cold in the early morning hours. Willie put his blanket around Dawn’s shoulders. “Dawn, I love you very much,” he said. “You are the most beautiful female I have ever known. I will never leave you, and I want to spend my life devoted to you.”

Dawn and Willie kissed. “Not if I have to kill you for not measuring up,” replied Dawn softly, trying to smile.

“That will not happen,” bragged Willie.

The spider commander, Mr. Kennworth, and the commando who had assisted in the abduction were watching and listening on a video feed. “I risked my life behind enemy lines to stop these two young fools from getting married?” asked the commando. “What do I care if they tie the knot? How dare you misuse your authority by using the military for such nonsense!”

“You follow orders, same as me,” said the spider commander. “Keep a civil tone about you, or I will have you up on charges.”

‘Orders?” asked the commando. “What fool would issue such an order? Your actions have forged a tighter bond between them. You can’t order youth not to fall in love.”

“If you can’t break these two love lizards up, how about we trade them for Carlos O’Neil?” asked Mr. Kennworth. “Some good can still come of this debacle.”

“I cannot acknowledge we hold them,” said the spider commander. “There would be too many repercussions.”

“Word of failure will leak out,” said Mr. Kennworth. “It always does. You had better start thinking of an exit strategy, should your deprogramming plans fail. You promised to negotiate with the Legion to get Carlos back. I did my part. I am holding you to your promise.”

“Don’t even think about killing them as an exit strategy,” warned the commando. “I won’t let that happen. This has to end soon.”

* * * * *

Four days into his hunger strike, Private Krueger went into shock due to dehydration. Spider doctors, using the database as a reference, did the best they could to force-feed Private Krueger nutrients through tubes. Strapped to a table, Private Krueger could no longer resist. Dawn’s hunger strike progressed more slowly. She could go a month without eating or drinking. Dawn gave her tormentors the silent treatment. That had more of an effect.

After about a week, an anonymous caller informed the Legion and the news media of Dawn and Willie’s fate. Armored Legion reinforcements and air support were rushed to New Gobi City. I called the spider commander on the phone to discuss the matter. “The Legion is prepared to go to war over the abduction of Private Krueger,” I threatened. “You can keep Dawn.”

“That won’t work,” interrupted Major Lopez, behind me. “Dawn is an American citizen. We must demand her return, too.”

“Fine,” I said, turning my attention back to the spider commander on the phone. “We want Dawn back, too – or else!”

“I will release both those young fools only if you release your hostage Carlos O’Neil,” replied the spider commander.

“I want the name of the spy the terrorist O’Neil was delivering the explosives to,” I demanded.

“They want iced tea in Hell,” replied the spider commander. “How does it feel to want?”

“Fine,” I said. “In the interest of peaceful coexistence, I will agree to the trade. But I am warning you. No more alien abductions.”

* * * * *

“Do you Dawn, take this man, to honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?” asked Pastor Jim.

“I do,” gushed Dawn.

“And do you Private Willie Krueger, take Dawn, an old-fashioned traditional female, to love and cherish, in sickness and in health, on probation or in custody, and promise to measure up to the best of your ability under the threat of painful death, for as long as you are allowed to live?” asked Pastor Jim.

“Yes, I do,” promised Private Krueger.

“Then under the power granted by almighty God, and the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, and the Church of Scientology, and Hell’s Angles Club #24, and The New Gobi County Probation and Parole Board / Narcotics Task Force, I pronounce you husband and wife,” said Pastor Jim. “You may kiss.”

Dawn and Willie ran under the crossed swords of a Legion honor guard to a waiting Legion armored car. Channel Five World News Tonight with Phil Coen broadcast the wedding event across the galaxy. Donations, big and small, for their happy-ever-after fairytale marriage poured in from sponsors on both Earth and Arthropoda. Guido handled the accounting. The lovely couple honeymooned at Harrah’s Casino & Hotel Resort on Mars. All expenses were paid by General Daly and the Legion.

The spider commander attended the Kruegers’ wedding after receiving an invitation card. He declined to comment to Channel Five World News Tonight with Phil Coen regarding rumors of Dawn and Willie being abducted by the Arthropodan military. The spider commander insisted Dawn voluntarily participate in free marriage counseling similar to that offered by human pestilence cult leader, Pastor Jim. The military commander publicly announced his personal best wishes and nothing but happiness for the newlyweds, forever after.

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Chapter 8

The spider commander waved to Guido as he passed back across the MDL. He was full of food from the wedding reception and felt a leisurely walk would do him good. “Put me down for three thousand credits on the Seahawks,” he said. “Seattle is going all the way to the Super Bowl, baby!”

“What do spiders know about football?” asked Guido, as he recorded the bet. “Never bet against the Steelers Nation. It’s a rule.”

As the spider commander approached the spider side of the DMZ, he noticed an eighteen wheeler was held up at the Arthropodan checkpoint. The human truck driver was arguing with a spider border guard. “What’s all this about?” asked the spider commander. “If this is another overweight truck, impound it. I’m sick and tired of these human pestilence truckers always pushing the rules and our patience to the limit.”

“He’s loaded with two thousand skateboards,” said the spider guard. “As you know, skateboards are on our list of dangerous prohibited American contraband.”

The spider commander read the truck’s manifest: two thousand skateboards manufactured by Cowabunga Incorporated of New Phoenix, New Colorado, USGF. “What is a skateboard?” asked the spider commander. “Why are they a problem?”

“I’m not sure,” said the spider border guard, as he accessed the database for more information. “I’ve never seen a skateboard close up. But, they are on our list of American contraband that threatens the Arthropodan way of life.”

The spider Commander cut open a crate with his claw and examined one of the skateboards. “It looks innocent enough,” he commented. “What do you do with it?”

“Dude,” said the trucker. “You ride it like a surf board, only on the sidewalks. These skateboards are especially designed to accommodate you spiders’ unique physical characteristics. You know, what with you dudes having four feet and four hands. I’m also carrying all the necessary accessories. Dude, I have helmets, elbow pads, knee pads, shoes, gloves, Cowabunga tee-shirts, jackets, DVDs, and first-aid kits.”

“And these skateboards are prohibited?” asked the spider commander, still wanting an explanation. He was now checking the list again.

“The human pestilence intend to sell these dangerous skateboards to junior high school students,” said the spider guard. “Skateboards are a gateway item that leads to snowboarding and insanity.”

“Dude, there is nothing dangerous or subversive about skateboards,” insisted the trucker. “Skateboarding has been an integral part of American culture for over three hundred years. Even Ronald Reagan skateboarded.”

“The actor?” asked the spider commander. “Are you sure? He’s one of my favorites.”

“Skateboarding is good wholesome fun,” said the trucker. “It’s as American as mom’s apple pie. It’s almost as fun as video games.”

“I see,” said the spider commander, now getting angry. “Place this skateboard-pushing miscreant under arrest and impound his truck and the contraband in question. This is a clear violation of the Prohibited American Contraband Act. Good work. Let this be a lesson to all who would try to corrupt and endanger our youth.”

“The Teamsters Union will hear about this!” said the trucker, loudly protesting. “I’m a personal friend of Carlos O’Neil and Mr. Kennworth. Do you know who they are? You both will be out of a job within a week. I want to speak to your supervisor! I know a lot of important people. I even know Colonel Czerinski and James Grigg!”

“Who is James Grigg?” asked the spider commander.

“You know,” said the trucker. “He’s that Walmart dude.”

“Lock this fool up and throw away the key,” ordered the spider commander. “Put him in a sound-proof room so we don’t have to hear his drivel.”

The spider commander took a skateboard and a bag of accessories home with him for study. It was possible these dangerous banned items might have military applications. The human pestilence were so devious that way.

* * * * *

As the spider commander walked back to his office, a group of spider teenagers that had been playing basketball at the city park fell in alongside him. Clearly they had mischief on their puny little minds. “Hey Pops!” called out one of the teenagers. “Where are you going with that skateboard?”

“This skateboard is American contraband seized at the border checkpoint,” replied the spider commander. “Are you familiar with skateboards?”

“That skateboard is the latest model Cowabunga,” said the teenager. “Why did you take it? Are you a cop?”

“I am the Supreme Commander of the Marine Task Force for the New Gobi Desert Sector,” said the spider commander. “I am responsible for keeping you safe from the human pestilence hordes to the South.”

“Where’s your gun?” asked the teenager. “Don’t you know this neighborhood is riddled with hooligans who might want to steal your expensive skateboard?”

“I welcome any attempt,” said the spider commander. His gun was concealed under his dress uniform coat. Not that he would need it against the likes of these punks. “This skateboard was confiscated to prevent the moral decay of our society through our youth. Obviously I was not a moment too soon.”

“Are you saying that skateboard will cause me brain damage if I ride it?” asked the teenager. “And you are protecting me by seizing it?”

“Only if you don’t wear a helmet,” joked another teenager. “The way you skate, I guarantee massive brain damage from a crash.”

“This skateboard and other products like it are at the forefront of a plot to Americanize our youth,” said the spider commander. “The Emperor has ordered a halt to this dangerous encroachment on the Arthropodan way of life.”

“I am proud of my Arthropodan heritage,” said the first teenager. “But I do not need thought-police like you breathing down my neck, telling me what I can or can’t buy for recreation. Who do you think you are?”

“I am the sword of my Emperor,” said the spider commander.

“Do not use His Majesty as an excuse for your lame argument,” said the teenager. “I don’t need or want you to protect me from American ideas. Are you going to shut down the database, too?”

“No, of course not,” replied the spider commander. “That would be impossible anyway.”

“I bet you would if you could,” sneered the second teenager. “Just like you took away all our satellite TV dishes. You’re a read dickhead.”

“I should arrest you for insulting an Imperial officer,” said the spider commander. “Only your juvenile status restrains me.”

“I can learn or read anything I want about America on the database,” said the first teenager. “But you try to protect me from America by confiscating skateboards? You are just an old fool. I’ll let you in on a little-known secret. America invented skateboarding, but we spiders are better at it. We take top prizes at all the open skateboarding tournaments. I have trophies at home to prove it.”

“I am glad you are skilled at something,” said the spider commander. “If you put half the energy you put into skateboarding into positive directions, you could someday make something out of your life.”

“What would you know of positive directions?” asked the teenager. “I am not just good. I am the best. Let me show you what I can do with a skateboard.”

The spider commander handed the teenager the skateboard.

“You don’t want me getting brain damage,” explained the teenager, as he put on the helmet, pads, and a jacket.

The teenager soared over steps, up on a cement railing, and down to the next street level. Like a flash he rode the skateboard down the street and around the corner. They waited for the teenager to return.

“Is he coming back?” asked the spider commander.

“Not likely, dude,” said one of the teenagers, grabbing a Cowabunga tee-shirt and running down the street. The rest of the teenagers quickly dispersed in different directions, carrying other skateboard accessories they’d taken from the spider commander.

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Chapter 9

Highly decorated Corporal George Rambo Washington, the first spider to enlist in the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, was ordered by General Daly to attend Officer Candidate School. Washington returned to New Gobi City as a second lieutenant.

Lieutenant Washington became a media sensation on both sides of the MDL. Everyone in the spider community knew of Lieutenant Washington. Most were proud. If the position of Emperor were an elected office, Lieutenant Washington could have won easily.

I sent Lieutenant Washington with Military Intelligence Officer Major Lopez to the public high schools as a recruiter for the Legion. Lieutenant Washington particularly disliked public speaking and generally despised snotty high school kids, but followed orders and went anyway.

“I am here to talk to you about the Legion,” said Lieutenant Washington, addressing an auditorium full of young kids. “If you want fun, travel, and adventure, join the Legion. Any questions?”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” asked a human teenage girl seated in the front row.

“Lots,” said Lieutenant Washington.

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“Some gurgle when you shoot them in the chest,” said Lieutenant Washington. “Others cry in agony for their mama. My favorite was an insurgent hiding in a spider hole. I tossed in a grenade and he just went poof!”

“Do you ever feel like a traitor fighting for the Legion against fellow spiders?” asked a spider student in the back.

“I have fought both human and spider terrorists,” said Lieutenant Washington. “I enjoy killing both.”

“But you fight mostly spiders,” insisted the spider student. “Have you no shame or remorse at having to kill your own kind?”

“Would you please come up here to the stage?” asked Lieutenant Washington, politely.

The spider student boldly came up on stage with Lieutenant Washington. The student waved to his friends, clearly enjoying his newfound notoriety and the applause. As he stood next to the legionnaire, Lieutenant Washington smashed a chair on the student. Unconscious, the spider student was taken away by ambulance.

“There is no shame in fighting for freedom,” said Lieutenant Washington, to a stunned audience. “That is particularly true for us Green spiders. Any more stupid questions?”

Being in a high school, they got many more stupid questions. Major Lopez, concerned about student safety and bad public relations, advised Lieutenant Washington to use more restraint. “These kids are very impressionable,” whispered Major Lopez. “Many live in trailer parks.”

“I think you are so awesome and hot,” exclaimed a giggly female spider student. “Are you married?”

“I have two wives,” answered Lieutenant Washington. “You are so lucky they are not present to hear you.”

“You have been in so many battles,” commented a young human student. “It seems scary. Aren’t you afraid of being killed?”

“One of your famous philosophers from Old Earth said it best,” recalled Lieutenant Washington. “I am not afraid of dying; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

“Don’t you feel like you’re just the token spider officer in the Legion?” asked one of the teachers.

“Someone always has to be first,” said Lieutenant Washington. “I was the first spider to enlist into the ranks of the Legion. I got into a confrontation the day my commanding officer introduced me to my unit. Now I am the first spider lieutenant in the Legion. It’s no big deal for me now. I expect more of my species will follow me without incident because I led the way. I am proud of my accomplishments.”

“But don’t you feel like you are being used by the Legion?” asked the teacher. “You are just a publicity stunt for the military industrial complex. You will never be given command. Even now, I see Major Lopez lording over you.”

“Would you please come up here on stage?” asked Lieutenant Washington.

“No way,” said the teacher, startled.

“I guess you are not as stupid as you sound or look,” commented Lieutenant Washington. The audience laughed, then slowly stood up and applauded.

“One of the most difficult adjustments for spiders entering the Legion is the cultural differences between humans and spiders. We spiders are very volatile and do not handle provocations very well. Call me a traitor and I am apt to kill you, regardless of the consequences. Minutes after a confrontation, I am over it. Humans, on the other hand, seem to hold grudges forever. That’s just my personal observation. You may have similar experiences here in school. Where did that lame-ass teacher go?”

“He left the building,” someone called out. A few students laughed out loud. “Don’t come back, dude!”

“Why should any of us give up a comfortable life for the hardships of the Legion?” asked another student. “Is it worth it?”

“If you have a good life, stay where you are,” advised Lieutenant Washington. “But if you want to change your life, go talk to the ATM and try to negotiate an enlistment contract. If you are qualified, you might make some serious money. The worst of the wars on New Colorado are probably behind us. I would not be surprised to see the Legion leave New Colorado soon for the Coleopteran Frontier. However, the Legion is still interested in recruiting from the local population. Many of you may have relatives who died fighting in the wars, so that you could be free. Now might be the time to repay the debt you owe them.”

“You don’t think the Arthropodan Empire and the insurgency will continue hostilities?” asked a spider student.

“For a few years maybe,” said Lieutenant Washington. “But as the next generation takes over on both sides, I hope for better understanding and better leadership. Humanity and spiders are more similar than not. We need to unite. The galaxy is full of nasty species that will eventually come our way and find us. The war with the Formicidaen Empire was a wake-up call – just the tip of the danger that is out there across the galaxy. Only when our two species stand together, will our part of the galaxy be safe.”

“How do you get along with Colonel Czerinski?” asked another student. “Does he deserve his ‘Butcher of New Colorado’ reputation I have read so much about on the database? In light of his mega hero status, I think he often gets a bad rap in the press.”

“Colonel Czerinski is worse in person than any story you have ever read,” said Lieutenant Washington. “Don’t ever mess with Colonel Czerinski. He is the Legion’s junkyard attack dog.”

“Do you see a parallel between the United States Galactic Federation and the Roman Empire?” asked another human student. “The end came for Rome when she relied too much on German mercenaries to replenish her legions for defense of the Northern Frontier. Might the United States Galactic Federation depend too much on you aliens in its Foreign Legion to defend its frontiers? Might history be repeating itself?”

“What?” asked Lieutenant Washington. “Do I even remotely look German?”

“What is your ultimate goal in the Legion?” asked a student as the session ended. “How do you want your Legion career to end? Do you hope to be the first spider general someday?”

“I just want to be buried in Arlington National Cemetery,” concluded Lieutenant Washington. “I want to be buried with my mates.”

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Chapter 10

All activity stopped for the time-honored and sacred American tradition of watching Monday Night Football. Technology advanced as humanity marched across the stars, but as long as American traditions endured, there would be the NFL and Monday Night Football. To hell with soccer – everyone knows soccer sucks.

Guido set up his satellite dish TV for the Arthropodan marines. American satellite TV reception was still banned on the spider side, and satellite dishes were still being confiscated. Set on a card table at the MDL, the big screen TV pointed to the spider side. Guido was also busy taking last-minute bets. The recent Arthropodan prohibition actually increased Guido’s business among the spiders, because they could no longer make sports bets electronically through New Memphis.

The gathering of spider guards was larger than usual because of the increasing amounts of money being bet on the game. Most of the spiders favored the Seahawks over the Steelers. Even spider team leaders and the spider duty officer checked in for score updates, and to disperse the troops back to their responsibilities. Guido set up a snack bar and beer garden for those spider marines off duty or on their lunch break.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Washington was leading his first commando mission. Intelligence gathered during his school recruiting tour indicated school kids on the spider side of the MDL were griping about a large confiscation of Cowabunga skateboards by Arthropodan border guards. It had become a major issue. The truck full of skateboards was being stored at an unguarded impound yard just across the border in North New Gobi City.

The Legion already had a secret tunnel in place to cross the MDL. Lieutenant Washington led Sergeant Williams, Corporal Valdez, Private Camacho, and Private Wayne through the tunnel. They met up with waiting spider teenagers, who drove them to the impound yard.

As a diversion, Pastor Jim set off aerial fireworks from his church on the hill overlooking New Gobi. Legionnaires cut through the impound yard fence and broke into the truck trailer. Quickly they loaded crates of skateboards and accessories into the spider teenagers’ cars. Caught up in the emotion of the moment, a teenager extended a claw to Lieutenant Washington in respectful appreciation of Legion help.

“Dude, thank you so much,” he said, shaking claws with Lieutenant Washington. “The Legion rocks!”

“You are most welcome,” responded Lieutenant Washington. “If you can’t come to America, then America will come to you.”

Eyeing the other spider legionnaire, the teen ran up to Private Wayne to shake claws. “Dude you rock, too!”

“Call me ‘dude’ one more time, and I’ll cut you into little pieces and feed you to my favorite human pestilence for midnight snacks,” warned Private Wayne, as he pushed the teenager back.

“He’s not much on public relations and touchy-feely emotions during combat missions,” explained Sergeant Williams. Williams let out a rebel yell and gave the spider kid a high five. “We all rock tonight!”

Emboldened, the teenager ran up to Private Camacho to give him a high five to show gratitude. Startled by a spider rushing up behind him, Private Camacho dropped the crate he was loading and drew a large jagged combat knife, taking a swipe at the youth. The teen ducked back just in time. More cautious now, he settled for giving Corporal Valdez a wave and a ‘thank you’ from a few feet away. Corporal Valdez responded to the gesture with a chin nod and a thumbs-up. All the spider teenagers picked up on that and returned the thumbs up and tried to imitate the chin nod. Because of their rigid exoskeletons, the spiders had difficulty with the chin nod. They could only manage what looked more like odd mandible twitching. However, their heartfelt intent was successfully conveyed. Even Private Camacho returned the thumbs up and a nod.

In the next few days, spider youth all across the New Gobi Desert got an early Christmas present. To the consternation of Arthropodan authorities, each contraband skateboard distributed bore a stamp in large lettering that read, ‘MADE IN USA.’

* * * * *

The New Gobi City Walmart was purposely built straddling the MDL so that both humans and spiders could shop at the same store. The MDL was painted in red and yellow down the middle of the highly waxed floors. The success of this business model had been expanded to other Walmarts and businesses in the DMZ.

Although the spider Governor of the North Territory tolerated trade between the North and South as a necessary and inherent evil, he was not going to allow the infamous annual Black Friday sale at Walmart to continue another year. Black Friday was the day after the American Turkey Holiday & Feast when Walmart held a huge pre-Christmas sale on all items in the store when the doors opened at the stroke of midnight Thursday.

Thousands of Arthropodan citizens lined up waiting for Walmart’s doors to open. In years past, stampedes resulted in injuries, fights, and heart attacks. Last year there had even been a death by trampling. The governor’s problem with Black Friday was not the good sales at an American store, or the rowdy crowds, or even the mixing of the species at an American-inspired event. His problem was that Arthropodans would be Christmas shopping. It appeared to the governor that, once again, the insidious human pestilence had manipulated Arthropodan habits and culture with American decadence.

If Arthropodans were shopping for Christmas, it meant they were also celebrating Christmas, and all had been lost. The governor was determined that the end of Arthropodan culture on New Colorado would not happen on his watch. Nor would the end be allowed to incubate on New Colorado and to spread to the rest of the Empire. The governor gave the order that Black Friday would be shut down on the Arthropodan side of Walmart.

By Thursday night, many spiders had already pitched tents and formed lines in the parking lot on the north side of the New Gobi Walmart. It was a festive social event. Friends from the outlying districts who had not seen each other since the first of the year at Walmart greeted each other with hugs and plotted shopping strategies. The good mood soured, however, when a company of Arthropodan tanks, armored cars, and infantry marines arrived and deployed between the crowd and the store.

“I am sorry,” announced the spider commander on a public address system. “Access to Walmart is closed. There will be no pre-Christmas shopping allowed at midnight, by order of the governor. The doors will remain locked.”

As a precaution, the front doors were chained and padlocked. The spider commander continued to explain to no avail that Christmas shopping was an American trick to impose Christmas on Arthropodan culture, and would not be allowed. The shoppers booed and hissed and drowned out the commander’s voice. As midnight approached, the crowd grew to thousands. They pressed in on the company of nervous spider marines.

At midnight, a Walmart employee and an Arthropodan marine team leader appeared inside the store and hung up a large ‘CLOSED’ sign on the glass doors. The crowd got louder and more militant, throwing shopping carts and asphalt chunks from the parking lot at the marine armor. However, after a while, the enthusiasm of the crowd started to wane. As the spider commander appealed to their sense of duty and patriotism, spider shoppers started to disperse. Most spiders considered themselves to be a law-abiding and orderly species from a law-abiding and orderly culture. They abhorred mob rule, and a sense of relief swept over shoppers and marines alike as the crowd started going home peacefully.

Then it happened. The spark needed to ignite already frayed tempers was the sight of human pestilence shoppers inside Walmart loading up their shopping carts with boxes of electronic appliances and tech gear. Some Americans waved at the spiders from behind the large plate glass doors. They held up their bargains for the spiders in the parking lot to see. Others just gave the one-fingered salute and giggled.

The taunting was too much for the spider shoppers to accept. Thousands of angry spider shoppers pushed past the marine barrier and smashed the glass doors with concrete from pulled-up light fixtures. They poured into the store, grabbing merchandise off the shelves and from Americans shopping carts. Fights ensued, followed by a nasty riot. More than one spider rioter was run over by angry fat ladies pushing shopping carts. In the end, no one paid for any merchandise. The five-fingered-discount sale ruled the midnight madness. Walmart was emptied of merchandise and trashed. A Merry Christmas was had by all.

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Chapter 11

Flush with cash from the latest Seahawks win, the spider commander was feeling pretty good. He decided to walk to the border crossing to talk to Guido about next week’s games. Accompanying the spider commander was his military intelligence officer. As they walked, both had to jump aside to miss being hit by skateboarders using the sidewalks for a race track. The skateboarders were wearing the latest American-manufactured four-legged Levi blue jeans. Lots of young spiders were wearing the blue jeans today. Normally this would have irritated the spider commander, but he knew the blue jeans had been looted from Walmart. There was a ban on blatantly American apparel, but the spider commander wanted to savor this one little victory over the Americans.

At the checkpoint, the spider commander noticed a new American banner flying under the American flag. The new flag had a black check mark emblem on a red background. He had seen that emblem before somewhere, but could not remember where. “What is that?” asked the spider commander, pointing at the new flag.

“It’s the Nike Swoosh,” answered Guido. “Nike Sportswear, Incorporated, is sponsoring the Legion’s First Division. We even get the Swoosh on all our uniforms.” Guido tugged at his collar, proudly displaying a small black Swoosh.

“This is an advertising gimmick?” asked the spider commander. “Why not just advertise on your all powerful satellite TV networks?”

“Nike believes in word-of-foot advertising,” said Guido. “Would you like a free ‘JUST DO IT’ coffee cup? We’re giving them away to the first five hundred people or spiders passing across the MDL.”

“Yes, I would,” replied the spider military intelligence officer. “Thank you very much, Guido.”

“No!” objected the spider commander. “Put that cup down! Now I remember. I’ve seen your Swooshstika before. Our school children are wearing that emblem. What does it mean?”

Guido shrugged. “It’s just Nike’s corporate symbol. But you are right about the kids liking it. Lieutenant Washington says the Swoosh on our Legion uniforms is great for recruiting. We’re hip now. Did you know that the Nike Swoosh is the most distinctive and recognized brand logo in the galaxy?”

Startled, the spider commander quickly checked ‘Nike’ on the database. “Nike takes its name from the Greek Goddess of Victory!” exclaimed the spider commander. “So that’s what all these Swooshstikas are about. The Legion is trying to claim victory over our civilization!”

“Whatever,” said Guido. “Would you like to have a free Swoosh tee-shirt?”

The spider commander stormed out of the guard shack. The military intelligence officer grabbed the free tee-shirt for his girl friend and ran to catch up. He stuffed the offending Swoosh shirt in a pouch.

“We are going to the closest high school at once,” ordered the spider commander, as they climbed into a jeep. “Did you hear what Guido said about Legion recruitment at the schools?”

“I think he was talking about Legion enlistment quotas at their own schools south of the MDL,” reasoned the military intelligence officer. “He was not saying Lieutenant Washington has infiltrated our schools.”

“We shall see,” said the spider commander, as they drove to North New Gobi High School, home of the Tarantulas.

Most of the students were attending a pep rally for Friday night’s homecoming football game with the South New Gobi High Wolves. The students were gathered around a substantial bonfire. A large poster depicted a large tarantula mascot menacing a small frightened wolf pup.

“At least it appears our students still have some spunk,” said the spider commander. “They are willing to stand up to humanity. We are going to kick some human pestilence butt Friday night!” The spider commander sent Guido a text message asking what the line was on the Tarantula-versus-Wolves game.

They continued their inspection, walking the hallways of the school, looking for signs of American contamination. The spider commander confronted a spider freshman wearing a Swoosh on his tennis shoes. “Don’t you know that shoe was manufactured in America?” asked the spider commander, shaking the freshman by the collar. “That Swooshstika is an emblem of the enemy!”

“Chill, dude,” said the freshman. “Of course they are made in the USA. These aren’t knockoffs. I paid good money. These are Air Nikes. All the premo professional basketball players on Arthropoda wear Air Nikes! The waffle design has awesome traction, and Air Nikes are especially made for spider feet.”

The spider commander let go of the student, who then hurried away to the pep rally, muttering about stupid senile adults. “We have lost the Culture War,” lamented the spider commander. “What can we do to fight this? What shall I tell the governor? Their Goddess of Victory is everywhere. We have been overrun!”

“Perhaps we should just join the United States Galactic Federation before it is too late,” suggested the military intelligence officer. “We could all become rich Americans.”

“That is not funny,” hissed the spider commander. “Recommending surrender to the governor is not an option. Be more careful. Your joke sounds of defeatism and treason.”

“Quite right,” said the military intelligence officer. “I was just kidding. A few snotty, disrespectful, badly dressed teenagers is not the end of the world, and certainly not the end of our culture. Teenagers are notorious for poor decision-making. That’s why they need us to guide them. So, don’t let it get you down, sir. How about we require a strict dress code at all schools? Even better, how about mandatory school uniforms? That will fix the little baggy-pants Swooshstika-wearing mush heads.”

“I like that,” said the spider commander. “It’s so simple, it just might work. You think uniforms will have an immediate positive impact against the Swooshstika and that bitch Goddess Nike?”

“Yes,” said the military intelligence officer. “Just do it,” he added impulsively, subconsciously echoing the sentiment on the Swoosh tee-shirt he’d gotten from Guido.

“Old fart!” yelled a spider freshman from the exit door. “I won’t wear no stinking uniform!”

The spider commander nodded to his military intelligence officer, who immediately raced after the obnoxious teen. He was easy to catch, what with his baggy pants causing him to stumble. The military intelligence officer produced duct tape from his first aid kit, and taped shut the struggling juvenile’s mouth. The spider commander broke open a hallway locker, and the military intelligence officer stuffed the freshman inside.

“Ha!” exclaimed the spider commander. “I feel better already. Reminds me of the good old days back in school. This is what I have been talking about. Time-honored traditions, like keeping freshmen in their place, must be maintained!”

“Seniors rule, freshmen drool!” agreed the military intelligence officer as he slammed the locker shut. “Another use for duct tape!”

* * * * *

Legionnaire recruit Private Walter Knight waited in line to get his new Nike-sponsored uniform. The whole First Division was being issued brand new sagebrush-colored combat fatigues and equipment. That black Nike Swoosh is going to look good on my shoulder patch, thought Private Knight. More Swooshes adorned his fatigue shirt chest pocket, tee-shirt collar, and jump boots. Camouflage-blended Swooshes contributed to the patchwork of desert colors of the new combat fatigues. High-tech camouflage had just met style.

“Damn I’m going to look good in this uniform,” commented Private Knight, tossing his old uniforms in a bin. “This uniform even smells good. It smells like peaches.”

“That would be my lunch,” said Private Barbara Thayer, in line behind him. “Want a peach?”

“No thank you,” said Private Knight. “Peaches are fuzzy. I won’t eat anything fuzzy. Usually.”

“First time for everything. Are you flirting with me, Mr. Knight?”

“What?” asked Private Knight, deciding to accept a peach after all. He took a large bite. “Your peach, Ms. Thayer, tastes sweet and juicy. Just like you. Do you believe in love at first bite?”

“It’s a Georgia peach,” said Private Thayer. “You aren’t just flirting with me. You are leering at me. Don’t you know that leering is not allowed in today’s modern workplace? Did you miss that memo?”

“Guys have no control over leering. Mere female movement attracts our attention. It’s an instinctual throwback from the caveman days.”

“Well Mr. Caveman, leering is not allowed between legionnaires,” announced Private Thayer, primly. “At least not while on duty.”

“Then I can’t wait to get off duty,” replied Private Knight, still leering.

“Have another peach,” suggested Private Thayer, tossing it to him. “It will quench your thirst.”

“Not likely. In this heat, I need more.”

“You haven’t said two words to me the whole time we have been in basic training,” said Private Thayer, playfully punching Knight in the stomach. “Now I can’t shut you up. Mama told me to watch out for you silent types. Looks like I’ve found me one now. But are you a keeper?”

“I’m too big to throw back. You have to keep me.”

“Keep deluding yourself. What shall I do with you?”

“Feed me?” suggested Private Knight.

“No. You are like a puppy. If I give you food, you will follow me everywhere.”

“I think you look good in Swooshes,” commented Private Knight. “Do you have Swooshes on your underwear, like I do? On your bra?”

“I have Swooshes everywhere,” answered Private Thayer. “Even though it is more information than you need, my bra has only one Swoosh.”

“Somehow I pictured two Swooshes.”

“I’m sure,” said Private Thayer. “Some of us from B Platoon are going up to the reservoir for a picnic this Saturday. Want to come? I’ll bring more fruit.”

“Yes!” replied Private Knight. “But I thought the reservoir was off limits because spiders frequent it. Isn’t the canal right on the MDL?”

“We are the Legion,” said Private Thayer, mimicking their drill sergeants. “We go where we please. Are you afraid of the big bad spiders? Not me!”

“Not me either. It’s a date. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Just make sure you bring your gun fully loaded. Just in case. I believe in taking precautions. I’m a safety girl.”

“My gun is always fully loaded,” bragged Private Knight. “I’ll bring my assault rifle and some fireworks from the armory, too.”

“Boyz are alwayz thinking about their toyz,” commented Private Thayer, as she left for the barracks to change. “See you Saturday, dog.”

“Woof, woof!”

* * * * *

Arthropoda is a hot, dry, and arid planet, described by human visitors as a godforsaken wasteland. Its monotonous weather is caused by a lack of large oceans. The reptilian and exoskeleton-based lifeforms that evolved under those harsh desert conditions by necessity do not consume much food or water. To spider colonists accustomed to such Spartan conditions, New Colorado seemed like paradise. Still, the abundance of water on New Colorado required some getting used to. For example, swimming for recreation was truly an alien concept to spiders. Even so, some spiders taught themselves how to swim. Classes in the public schools offered free swimming lessons and instructions on water safety.

Most spiders still instinctively feared the water. Accidental drowning still took many lives among the many lakes, rivers, and canals of New Colorado. It was said spiders sink like a rock in water, and it was true. However, the attitude among many spiders was that if the human pestilence could swim and enjoy the water, so could spiders.

The increase in popularity of water sports among spiders made the New Gobi Reservoir Recreational Park District a very well-frequented place. After a while, it grew to be used almost exclusively by spider families from both sides of the MDL. The hot New Gobi weather made the park an excellent year-round water playground for swimming, boating, water skiing, and angling. The reservoir was still shared with the human pestilence, but not many humans used it anymore. Only Legion water techs showed their ugly faces at the park to check water levels and for routine maintenance on the dam.

Privates Knight and Thayer and ten other legionnaires arrived at the reservoir in a Legion Armored car with picnic baskets of food and swimming gear.

“Where are all the people?” asked Private Knight.

“I saw a man as we entered the park,” said Private Camacho. “Oops! They got him!”

“We’re the Legion,” boasted Private Thayer. “We will go where we please. No one will mess with us. Try to relax. If spiders smell fear, they might attack.”

“That’s right,” added Private Knight. “Just act like you come here all the time.”

“How would you rookies know anything about spiders?” asked Private Camacho. “Spiders can’t smell. Man, they don’t even have noses.”

“Spiders have those mandible things,” insisted Private Thayer. “They can smell. You don’t know.”

As they were checking out the neighborhood, a park ranger patrol car pulled alongside the armored car. A spider park ranger got out to talk to the young legionnaires. “Why is the Legion here?” asked the spider park ranger. “I have everything under control. No one requested your assistance. There is no problem here.”

“We are the problem,” bragged Private Camacho, as the legionnaires unloaded food and beer. “We’re here for broads, boogie, and booze. Last one in the water naked gets arrested!”

“I suggest you leave,” said the spider park ranger. “This is a quiet family-orientated park used by spiders only.”

“I have heard that,” replied Private Camacho. “That’s why we brought our token spider, Private John Iwo Jima Wayne. He’s the baddest spider legionnaire on the planet.”

“I heard Wayne has been busted back to private so many times they’ve lost count,” whispered Private Thayer. “Rumor is he used to be a bad-ass insurgent leader and a spider marine Special Forces commander. He even once hit Czerinski during an inspection and lived to tell about it.”

“I doubt that,” commented Private Knight.

Private Wayne got out of the armored car, looking like he just woke up and needed coffee. He was already irritated about being talked into coming along by a bunch of smelly human pestilence recruits. Noticing the spider park ranger just irritated him more. “What is your major malfunction?”

“I am just trying to keep the peace,” explained the spider park ranger. “Usually your human pestilence friends don’t recreate here. There’s an unwritten rule humans go to the other reservoir west of New Gobi City. This park is for spiders only.”

“This is the USGF side of the MDL,” commented Private Wayne, still waking up and orientating himself to sunlight. “We have a right to be here.”

“There has in the past been a military exception,” said the park ranger. “But you would still have to pay a damage deposit.”

“That 50-cal machine gun atop my racer says we are staying,” said Private Wayne, now fully alert and getting upset. “And I am not paying any deposit.”

“There is no drinking allowed in the park,” warned the spider park ranger, noticing the six-packs being unloaded. “It’s the law.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” exclaimed the large spider legionnaire. Private Wayne gave the matter some thought. Colonel Czerinski had already put him on probation for assaulting some fool bartender who cut him off. Now this fool was saying no booze in the park? “Fine! You all heard the fish cop! No drinking in the park! Light them up if you got them!”

“Sir, what are you smoking?” asked the spider park ranger. “That had better not be marijuana.”

“That does it!” yelled Private Wayne, losing his temper. He picked up the park ranger and tossed him into the reservoir. The spider park ranger sank like an anchor. Legionnaires jumped into the water to save him. Dragged back to shore gasping for breath, the ranger was so grateful for being saved from a watery grave that he did not bother the legionnaires for the rest of the day. He even tolerated the alcohol.

Privates Knight and Thayer laid out a blanket on the beach sand while the others swam and splashed in the reservoir. Private Wayne, not liking water, sat in the armored car, listening to ancient golden-oldies recordings of the Beach Boys human pestilence band.

“Let’s throw Wayne in the water,” suggested Private Camacho. “It’s our time-honored Legion duty to force that stick in the mud to have fun, whether he wants to or not.”

“That’s not one of your brighter ideas,” commented Private Thayer. “Do the words ‘dangerous psycho trained killer’ mean anything to you?”

“Nonsense,” said Private Camacho, having another beer. “It’s our duty to force Wayne to join the group and have fun. Deep inside he wants us to throw him in the water. He’ll thank us later. Besides, we outnumber him ten to one. I know we can take him.”

“That’s about even odds,” commented Private Thayer. “You’re all a bunch of drunks.”

“Wait until he gets good and drunk,” suggested Private Knight, approaching the armored car and handing Private Wayne a bottle of Vodka. He returned to the blanket and the lovely Barbara. “Then we’ll all throw him in.”

Later in the afternoon, the legionnaires swarmed on Private Wayne. Private Knight charged in first and was immediately knocked unconscious. Private Camacho held back, seeing legionnaires falling to the sand in a big semicircle around Private Wayne. Private Thayer dragged Knight to safety and nursed his wounds, putting ice on his swollen eye and pouring beer over a cut on his forehead.

Private Camacho stole a rowboat and paddled to the safety of deep water. Private Wayne threw rocks as Camacho taunted him from the boat. Private Wayne staggered back to the armored car and began fumbling with the machine gun and ammo belt. Camacho dived into the water just in time. Bullets poured into the rowboat, quickly sinking it. Wayne then fell back into the armored car and passed out. A few minutes later a Legion helicopter, summoned to the scene by the Park Service, did a low flyby. However, by then, all seemed peaceful.

“You are an angel of mercy,” said Private Knight, looking up at Barbara. “Will you marry me?”

“No way,” replied Private Thayer, dumping Knight’s head off her lap and into the sand. “You’re a wimp.”

“Wayne hit me with his claw!” protested Private Knight. “I can take him any day.”

“At least he didn’t break your nice long nose,” said Private Thayer, laughing. “Your beak would be hard to straighten out. But I think you might have a concussion.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Private Knight, fading in and out of consciousness. “I’ll be okay when the pain stops.”

A young spider couple came over and sat by Barb and Walter. The female spider was obviously pregnant. “Is he going to live?” asked the female spider. “That was quite an entertaining fight. Your mate was fearless when he charged into the fray. Several of us recorded the commotion on video.”

“Great,” said Private Knight. “I am going to be on the news, getting knocked out. Sergeant Green will have me working in the kitchen forever.”

“My name is Barb,” said Private Thayer, extending a hand. “This is my comrade, Walter. What is your name?”

“Traditional spiders do not use names,” said the female. “We are assigned a number at our workplace. But, in the pioneer tradition of New Colorado, I am thinking of giving our baby its own name. I just have not been able to think of the right name yet.”

“When are you due?” asked Private Thayer.

“Any minute,” said the spider female.

“Shouldn’t you be getting to a hospital?” suggested Private Thayer. “That would be safer.”

“We came to the park specifically to have our baby here,” said the spider female. “This soft grass will be plenty safe. We opted for a natural childbirth out here to be with the spirits and the wee ones. I already know my baby will be a female, and this park has a female way to it.”

“Name her Allyn,” said Private Thayer, suddenly getting inspiration. “Allyn is a name from Old Earth. It means Gift of the Elves.”

“Allyn sounds beautiful,” said the spider female. “Thank you.”

Private Knight fell asleep in the sand, and was snoring. Barbara kicked him awake. “Sweetheart, I’ll marry you. But only if you promise me a Gift of the Elves, too.”

“Yes, dear.”

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Chapter 12

“You want to open a skating arena?” asked the spider commander.

“Yes,” said Jorge. “I need you to issue my business license.”

“I do not approve of skateboarding, and neither does the governor,” said the spider commander. “The governor has banned sales of skateboards for being too American and a threat to our culture and way of life. As you are well aware, we are in a fight to the death for the minds and souls of our children.”

“I am not an American agent,” said Jorge. “I am Arthropodan, same as you. I do not traffic in skateboards, although I don’t see any real harm in kids skateboarding. My customers merely use roller skates inside my arena to race around and around in circles. There will be no crashing into little old females out on the sidewalks. Explain to me how that can be an assault on our culture?”

“Roller-skating is American,” argued the spider commander.

“So are toasters,” countered Jorge. “But we both ate toast with our cheese omelets this morning.”

“I suppose the skates will bear the mark of the Nike Swooshstika?” asked the spider commander. “And I hear you plan to play loud American music on boom boxes.”

“Absolutely not,” said Jorge. “A dress code at the door will ban all Swooshstikas. But our children need something positive and wholesome to do at night. I am offering a safe and supervised activity for them to burn off all that youthful energy. Would you rather our kids continue hot-rodding around town, drunk or high, and getting into traffic accidents? How many have died late at night in wrecks or by falling into the canals?”

“I am just trying to obey my Emperor,” said the spider commander. “The Americanization of our youth has got to stop.”

“I understand what you are saying, but the Emperor is a control freak,” said Jorge. “It’s not that I am being critical of His Majesty. I would not do that. I’m just saying that being a control freak is what Emperors do. Their first concern is maintaining power and control for the good of the Emperor. But, he needs to lighten up.”

“I’ll pass on your advice,” said the spider commander.

“My point is, the Emperor can’t have it both ways,” explained Jorge, immediately regretting his comment but pressing on. “The Emperor can’t rule a modern, prosperous, well-educated Galactic Empire and expect to be able to control everything in our personal lives. The galaxy is too big. It’s like trying to control content on the database. It can’t be done and would be foolish to try.”

“I am just concentrating on my duties and responsibilities here in New Gobi,” said the spider commander. “The Americans are invading us as sure as if Legion tanks with Swooshstikas painted on the sides were crossing the MDL and rumbling down our boulevards.”

“We are a long way from Arthropoda and the Crown,” said Jorge. “On New Colorado, we need to find our own solutions to Americanization.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting independence,” said the spider commander. “Treason and disobedience to the Emperor are not options.”

“I am not a radical or a traitor,” replied Jorge. “American ideas about government being by the people and for the people is just a pipe dream as far as I am concerned. I just want to be allowed to do business.”

“You have made some valid points,” said the spider commander. “Do not think I am not listening to you.”

“Before we divided New Colorado with the human pestilence and opened up trade with them, life here was incredibly boring,” said Jorge. “Actually, life sucked. We ate green nutrient formula and goo from tubes. There were no restaurants worth eating at. There was no football, baseball, or basketball anywhere. There were no casino hotel resorts. We had no film industry, movies, or TV. All I ever did was work all day, fight with my wives all night, and drink hard desert beer. Now I have so many choices. There is no going back. I could not live without my Columbian mountain-grown coffee to help me jump-start my busy day. Could you?”

“I agree,” said the spider commander. “Starbucks rules, and I need my latte in the morning, too. I hope those rumors about nationalizing the coffee industry are false. Coffee grown on Arthropoda tastes like charcoal.”

“That is my point exactly,” said Jorge. “We need to take the best of what the Americans can offer.”

“I can accept that there must be some change to our culture resulting from interacting with the Americans,” said the spider commander. “But, we must still be diligent to not become as decadent. Otherwise, the human pestilence will just take over and rule.”

“All I want is to exploit the many business opportunities caused by a dearth of entertainment in New Gobi,” explained Jorge. “I am just a small business owner trying to start an Arthropodan business for Arthropodan customers, right here at home inside the Arthropodan Empire. Roller-skating is good, wholesome, family fun. How is that American or decadent?”

“What about this Roller Derby league you proposed?” asked the spider commander. “It sounds unsafe and violent.”

“Roller Derby is just a sporting contest involving skating teams racing around a track,” replied Jorge. “It’s fun and a real kick to watch, especially the female skaters. And I can give you inside information on which team to bet on.”

“Okay,” said the spider commander. “I will issue you a business license for your skating arena. Good luck.”

* * * * *

“I recognize this creature from American cinema,” commented the spider military intelligence officer. “American skateboard champion Ronald Reagan rode these beasts often in his movies. It’s a horse.”

“Is it dangerous?” asked the spider commander. “It seems docile enough. It appears to be a herbivore.”

“It’s extremely dangerous,” said the military intelligence officer. “See those vicious hooves? That horse could kill any of us with just one kick. But it can be easily trained. The Legion used to use horses for desert operations. This horse probably escaped from one of those big cattle ranches to the south of the MDL. I have heard rumors of wild horses running amuck in the desert. They are a nuisance to local habitat.”

“I will capture this horse,” said the spider commander. “I will be the first commander to ride one of these noble steeds. Colonel Czerinski will turn green with envy.”

The spider commander approached the animal warily with rope in claw. It just stood there grazing. Maybe this would be easier than he thought possible. The spider commander placed the rope around the horse’s neck without spooking it. Only its large ears twitched.

“Perhaps this horse is already domesticated,” whispered the spider commander. “I will ride it now.”

The spider commander leapt on to the back of the horse, holding on with four legs and four hands. It just stood there. The spider commander gave the horse a kick. It brayed, making a godawful noise, “Hee-haw!” The spider kicked the dumb beast again, but it refused to move. Finally the spider commander tied the stubborn critter to the back of their jeep and towed it back to town. It kicked up a lot of dust before finally settling down. The spider commander would call his new pet ‘Buttercup.’

Once in New Gobi City, the spider commander did research on the database for instructions on riding, training, and proper care of horses. After exchanging information and photographs with human experts on such creatures, it was determined that Buttercup was a six-year-old buckskin/dun molly mule. There were many offers to buy Buttercup, but the spider commander refused.

The military intelligence officer returned from a mission to Walmart with needed mule supplies: sugar cubes, carrots, a riding blanket, and a large sombrero. Buttercup warmed up to the spider commander after given the sugar cubes. The mule followed him like a large puppy dog. The spider commander rode Buttercup to the MDL border crossing to show off his mastery of the Old Earth beast.

“All you need is a bandolier for your rifle ammo, and you will look just like Pancho Villa,” commented Private Camacho. “Viva la revolucion!”

“A spider Pancho Villa?” asked Guido, skeptically. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

The spider commander accessed General Pancho Villa on the database. “This General Villa once attacked Texas, deep in the heart of the United States Galactic Federation,” commented the spider commander. “Pancho Villa looks nothing like me. I have no human pestilence hairballs on my facial exoskeleton. But it says here General Villa was one of the most feared generals of the desert. He rode like the wind. I like that.”

“He was a bandit,” said Major Lopez, who had been summoned to the crossing by phone. “Villa died badly. His bones were scattered and lost forever in the desert.”

“Whatever,” said the spider commander, tipping his sombrero in salute. “I am a desert warrior to be feared, too. Tell that to Czerinski! Tell him I now have a mule! It is a war mule!”

Photos and video of the spider commander and Buttercup were broadcast on Channel Five World News Tonight with Phil Coen. Database images of Buttercup were sent across the galaxy.

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Chapter 13

Saviano Juardo, David (the Nose) Silverio, Lewis Pena, and two spiders, Eight Legs Roman, and Tony the Claw, visited the spider commander at his office in New Gobi City. “Where’s my pizza?” asked the spider commander, eyeing the mobsters. “You’re late.”

“Is that some sort of slight against Italians?” asked Juardo. “If so, it’s in bad taste.”

“Sorry Juardo,” said the spider commander. “I did not recognize you at first. I thought you were that worthless Teamsters thug, Carlos O’Neil.”

“We’re a different kind of thug,” said Eight Legs, sitting on the edge of the commander’s desk. Eight Legs lit a cigar and blew smoke across the desk.

“You certainly are not Italian,” commented the spider commander.

“It warms my heart to see us spiders and the human pestilence able to work together in such harmony,” added the commander’s military intelligence officer. “Do you shine his shoes, too?”

“Would you like some sweet tea?” asked the spider commander. “It’s a hot day out, and you came so far to see me.”

“Maybe later,” said Juardo. “We’re here to talk business. I want to put a hundred slot machines in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel. The manager has already agreed, but he said I would need your blessing.”

“Denied,” said the spider commander. “The governor wants casino gambling scaled back because you human pestilence suck too much money from our communities. You are a negative influence and a menace to society.”

“I will pay you two percent of all slot profits,” offered Juardo. “You don’t have to do anything except kick back and get paid.”

“I said no,” repeated the spider commander. “There is no casino gambling allowed anywhere in the Arthropodan Sector of the New Gobi Desert. The governor will not allow it.”

“This offer comes with protection,” explained The Nose. “Without protection, things happen. Bad things, even to marine commanders.”

“I see,” said the spider commander. “A hundred slot machines is a lot of slots. You have that many?”

“I am part owner of the Riverfront Casino Hotel & Resort in New Memphis,” said Juardo. “I will fly in the machines from there. They can be operational by tonight.”

“Get off my desk!” ordered the spider commander, now irritated. Eight Legs Roman jumped up. “If you don’t put that cigar out, I’ll have you shot!”

“You had better be more respectful,” warned The Nose. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

“The first thing you did upon entering my office was to make threats,” said the spider commander. “If you knew anything about Arthropodan culture, you would already know that was a big mistake.”

“He apologizes for his rudeness and any misunderstandings,” said Tony the Claw. “This human pestilence is new and merely trying to make an impression.”

“I’ll speak for myself, spider breath,” said The Nose. “We made you a fair offer, and you had better accept it, or you will have health issues. We don’t need you. This visit is just a courtesy. You’re just a two-bit tinhorn want-to-be desert despot. So, don’t be getting all uppity on us.”

The spider commander drew his pistol and shot The Nose in the nose, killing him instantly. It was messy. Arthropodan marines burst into the office, pointing assault rifles at the gangsters.

“You Mafia thugs are all under arrest,” announced the spider commander. “I have little tolerance for your ilk. Be glad I didn’t have you all summarily executed.”

“Sir, we are but respectable businessmen,” argued Juardo. “I am a member of the New Memphis Chamber of Commerce and the Rotary Club. Can’t we work out some kind of arrangement?”

“At present you have nothing I want,” replied the spider commander. “Until that changes, you will rot in a dank, dark dungeon.”

“I’ll tell you what I do have,” said Juardo, reaching inside his vest pocket and removing a letter. “I have a message from your governor.”

The spider commander read the letter, which said, ‘Please cooperate with my friend, Saviano Juardo, and his associates in our effort to create an economic prosperity zone in New Gobi City. Together we can guide an already robust economy to new heights. Sincerely, Arthropodan Governor of the North Territory.’

“Now, are we all on the same page?” asked Juardo.

“This says nothing about allowing you to take over the Marriott Hotel and operate casinos in New Gobi.”

“The governor can’t put that in writing or risk being recorded,” explained Juardo. “But when you read between the lines, his message is clear. We have an agreement to do business. I have permission to put in my slots.”

“I am to read between the lines that you have bought the governor?” asked the spider commander. “You want me to assume this letter is legitimate? We’ll see about that. Lock them up!”

Their prison cell under Marine Headquarters consisted of a large open bay filled with other prisoners. All were spiders except one human sitting in the corner. Juardo walked up to the human inmate. “I am Saviano Juardo,” he said, shaking hands. “Who are you?”

“Mark Mitchell,” replied the human. “Dude, I’m so glad to see you. I was the only human locked up here until now. These spiders keep stealing my meals. I’ve lost thirty pounds at least.”

“What are you in for?” asked Juardo.

“Smuggling skateboards,” said Mitchell. “But it’s a totally bogus charge. The spiders are just ripping me off. They impounded my truck, too.”

“Possession of skateboards can’t be too serious a charge,” commented Juardo. “When do you get out? I need someone to contact my people.”

“Dude, I think they’re going to shoot me,” said Mitchell. “They won’t give me a lawyer or tell me anything.”

“Do we have access to a phone?” asked Juardo.

“Dream on, dude,” said Mitchell. “We don’t have access to anything. What are your charges?”

“We are political prisoners,” replied Juardo. “We were arrested for being Italian out of season. It’s all just one big failure to communicate. I hope to cut a deal.”

“Your two spider friends don’t look Italian,” observed Mitchell. “Are you Mafia? Are you connected?”

“There is no such thing as the Mafia,” said Juardo. “How do we get out of here? Can we bribe the guards?”

“Only if you have money,” said Mitchell. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any.”

At lunch time, three spider inmates came over to Mitchell and stole his meal tray, again. Mitchell did not resist or object. Juardo watched the spiders gather at the opposite side of the lockup as they ate and talked. They gave Juardo and the others hard looks. The spider inmates were still sizing up the new human pestilence and their two spider friends. Juardo and the other Mafioso waited for an opportunity, then jumped the top spider from behind and beat him to the floor. Once down, the Mafioso kicked and stomped the spider leader almost to death. The fight was over in seconds. Guards found the spider unconscious, and took him away to the hospital. There was no more stealing of food.

* * * * *

The spider commander called the Governor of the North Territory on the phone for an explanation. He read the letter again as he picked up the phone. The letter appeared to be authentic.

“Good afternoon, commander,” said the governor, cheerfully. “By now Juardo and his thugs have contacted you with a business proposition. What was your reaction to their offer?”

“I shot David the Nose Silverio and threw the others in prison, pending execution and an explanation from you,” answered the spider commander. “I hope you have an explanation. I recorded and documented the whole affair.”

“Excellent,” said the governor. “I knew you were my most reliable commander and would pass my little test. Continue your documentation. I want signed confessions. Then dispose of them. I intend to use this incident as a pretext to demolish the Riverfront Casino Hotel here in New Memphis. Juardo owns it. I will start excavations immediately. All their assets will be seized.”

“This seems like a lot of trouble to go through for one hotel and a few thugs,” commented the spider commander. “Why jump through all these hoops? Why not just send in the tanks, blast the casino hotel, and arrest Juardo in the first place?”

“New Memphis is under joint jurisdiction,” explained the governor. “I need justification to evoke emergency powers and take such actions long-term. After the Riverfront Casino Hotel is destroyed, there will be precedent established. It will all be nice and legal. The other casino hotels will fall like dominoes, and the Legion will be powerless to stop us.”

* * * * *

Late at night, Saviano Juardo looked out through the small jail door window at the spider guard in the hallway. The spider was sitting in a chair asleep. Juardo could see a team leader in another section unlocking a door to check on the guard.

“Hey, marine!” shouted Juardo. “Wake up!”

“Quiet, you puny human pestilence!” responded the spider guard, striking the cell door with his night stick. “Don’t make me come in there.”

“Your sergeant is sneaking up on you,” warned Juardo. “I was just looking out for your welfare. Everyone knows that sergeant is out to get you. I noticed that right away, when I first got here.”

“You are right about that,” commented the spider guard, now seeing the team leader. “Thanks.”

The team leader entered the hallway abruptly. “Stay alert!” snapped the team leader. “These Mafia types are dangerous.”

“It’s all under control,” replied the spider guard, rapping the cell door again with his baton. “I have had no problems with them at all.”

“Don’t even talk to them,” said the team leader, as he left. “That Juardo gangster is very manipulative.”

After the team leader left, Juardo resumed the conversation. “He thinks you are too stupid to know how to talk to prisoners,” said Juardo. “He doesn’t realize it is you who keeps this place from falling apart. That team leader is a fool to not appreciate all you do here. I bet he has not once said ‘fine job’ for all you do.”

“You are right about that,” said the spider guard.

“Sometimes it seems like they promote only pricks and fools,” commented Juardo. “Have you ever noticed that?”

“All the time,” said the spider guard. “It is like it is a prerequisite to be incompetent before they promote anyone to team leader.”

“You know who I am, right?” asked Juardo. “I’m not a criminal. I am the owner of the Riverfront Casino Hotel Resort in New Memphis.”

“I heard,” said the spider guard. “I have been there. It’s a nice place.”

“Next time you are there, ask for me,” said Juardo. “I’ll comp you the whole weekend.”

“Thanks,” said the spider guard.

“What are they going to do with me?” asked Juardo.

“Interrogation starts at dawn,” said the spider guard. “I heard they want full written confessions.”

“They are going to torture me,” said Juardo. “I can’t handle torture. I have a weak heart.”

“What can I say?” said the spider guard. “I just work here.”

“How would you like a new job?” asked Juardo. “I need an experienced, qualified spider marine like you to head up my security detail at the Riverside Casino. Your commander shot my old security chief. You want the job? Could you handle a substantial pay raise?”

“That would be great,” replied the spider guard. “But, I don’t trust any human pestilence. No offense to present company.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Juardo. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

“Saviano Juardo is a righteous boss,” said Tony the Claw, joining the conversation. “He treats us spiders with dignity and respect. And he pays good, too.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Juardo. “Because you are my friend, I want to help you out with a gift. Pass me your communications pad, and I’ll put ten thousand credits on your card, no strings attached. You don’t have to do anything for me. I just want to pay you for being kind enough to have this conversation with a condemned man.”

“See,” said Tony the Claw. “I told you he was a generous and righteous human.”

The spider guard passed his pad through the bars, and Juardo, as promised, put ten thousand Imperial Credits on the spider guard’s account. As Juardo was about to pass the pad back, he hesitated, keeping the communications pad. Juardo quickly sent a text message to New Memphis.

“Give my pad back,” ordered the spider guard. “You said no strings attached.”

“How about I put one hundred thousand credits on your card?” asked Juardo. “It would be a signing bonus for accepting my chief of security position at the Riverfront Casino.”

“I don’t know,” said the spider guard. “What about the risk?”

“There is no risk,” said Juardo. “New Memphis is outside your commander’s jurisdiction. Besides, what about the risk you already took? What if your team leader finds out you gave me your communications pad to access the database, send messages about my escape plans, and put one hundred thousand credits on your card? What about those risks? Unlock this door, now, or I tell your sergeant about your duplicity!”

The spider guard unlocked the cell door, releasing all the Mafioso and the truck driver, Mitchell. They fled out fire-escape doors through Marine Headquarters. More Mafioso picked them up by car for the trip to New Memphis. Tony the Claw slit the spider guard’s throat and threw him in a roadside ditch just outside of town.

* * * * *

When the spider Governor of the North Territory announced that the Riverfront Casino Hotel Resort was being seized and demolished under their Racketeering Forfeiture Act, General Daly immediately ordered the Legion’s First Division to parachute into New Memphis to protect American lives and property. The legionnaires were supposed to land on Casino Row by the river, but winds scattered them all over the city. The spiders were convinced the Legion had launched a general invasion and occupation of all of New Memphis, and rushed troops to confront the attack.

I landed at Casino Row by boat with our mechanized armor, avoiding the parachute drop because of my aversion to jumping out of perfectly good airplanes. We raced down Elvis Boulevard in my armored car to help establish a perimeter and supervise checkpoints. Private Wayne drove the armored car to the drive-up window at Taco Bell to order lunch.

“We want fifty tacos, twenty-five burritos, fourteen big gulp Pepsi drinks, and one Diet Pepsi,” ordered Private Wayne. Legionnaires piled out of the armored car to secure a small perimeter around Taco Bell. “Do you take out-of-area coupons?”

I paid for lunch with my Legion gas card. Taking my lead, legionnaires in other armored cars and a tank formed a line at the Taco Bell drive-up window.

When the first Arthropodan marines arrived at the edge of town, there was some initial shooting, followed by an uneasy truce. The spider general commanding the New Memphis sector met me under a white flag of truce. I offered him a bag of tacos.

“Thank you, Colonel Czerinski,” said the spider general. “Do you have any special lava fire hot sauce?”

“Sorry,” I said. “It was a rush order and Private Wayne pigged it all.”

“Get your own special lava hot sauce!” shouted Private Wayne, still eating.

“What are you doing out of your sandbox in New Gobi?” asked the spider general. “Don’t you know you are in violation of the treaty prohibiting large-scale troop movement in New Memphis? This is another ill-advised provocation by the Legion.”

“Save your rhetoric for the press,” I said. “It’s just you and me and our armies here today. We both know your governor tried to seize the Casino District with Intelligentsia State Security Police. I arrested your cops, but you can have them all back.”

“You can keep those Gestopo pricks,” commented the spider general. “Throw them in the New Mississippi River for all I care.”

“Sorry,” I replied. “Rules of war say you get them back at the end of hostilities. Hostilities are over, right?”

“For now,” said the spider general. “I have warrants of arrest for fugitives Mark Mitchell, Saviano Juardo, Lewis Pena, Tony the Claw, and Eight Legs Roman. The charges are murder, racketeering, and prison-escape. I have reason to believe they are en route to Juardo’s Riverfront Casino. I expect you will cooperate in their arrest and extradition, if you want the truce to hold.”

“Of course,” I said. “I am always happy to comply with terms of the Anti-Organized Crime and Terrorism Treaty.”

“Also, this latest adventurism by the Legion will not be tolerated,” warned the spider general. “The First Division will have to leave New Memphis.”

“Not likely,” I said. “You know as well as I do that we are just cleaning up a mess caused by your governor. Besides, I brought nukes with me. I am not going anywhere without a messy fight.”

“You will not use nukes inside a mostly human pestilence city,” said the spider general. “It would be bad form. And colonels don’t have that authority.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. It depends on whether I’ve taken my medication lately. Sometimes I get unstable.”

“It’s true!” shouted Private Wayne, wiping hot sauce from his mandibles. “He gets crazy around nukes. I lost track of how many nukes Czerinski has set off all over the galaxy.”

“When I want your opinion, Private Wayne, I’ll ask for it!” I yelled over my shoulder. Smiling, I turned back to the spider general. “Good help is hard to find. As you can see, we are even hiring you spiders.”

“You have until the end of the week to get your armor out of New Memphis,” warned the spider general. “After that, we resume joint jurisdiction whether you like it or not.”

* * * * *

“We cannot go back to New Memphis,” argued Lewis Pena. “The Legion has occupied Casino Row and seized the Riverfront Hotel. The spiders want to demolish your hotel. They say you forfeited the Riverfront after we were all tried and convicted in absentia.”

“That fast?” asked Juardo.

“I can live off the land up in the hill country until they stop looking for us,” said Tony the Claw. “I am not going back to New Memphis either.”

“Dude, I have trucker friends who can sneak us past checkpoints and hide us,” insisted Mitchell. “I can’t play Daniel Boone out here in the sticks. We can hitch a ride to anywhere until we are able to change our identities.”

“I do not want to change my identity,” advised Juardo. “I’m going to fight this. My money and property is all in New Memphis. They can’t steal it from me. We are going to New Memphis.”

“You Italians think you are so smart,” said Pena. “But you wise guys blew it for all of us by threatening that spider commander. Screw you. I’m crossing the MDL and going south. We should be safe from Imperial arrest warrants in the USGF.”

“The Empire can demand extradition from anywhere on New Colorado because of the murder charge,” said Eight Legs. “That’s your fault, Tony!”

“That dumb guard was too much trouble,” said Tony the Claw. “I need to travel light.”

“We won’t be able to get past the checkpoints,” commented Juardo, now giving up on returning to New Memphis. “I have a friend we can borrow a boat from. We can travel south on the New Mississippi River. We need to put distance between us and the spiders as soon as possible. Then we can start a new life. Rackets can be run anywhere.”

Everyone agreed to go south. They drove to the New Mississippi River and borrowed the boat from Juardo’s associate, easily crossing the MDL. They stopped at the town of Cottonwood to rest and get cash. At the bank they found that Juardo’s assets had been frozen.

“Let’s just rob this bank,” suggested Pena. “That would solve our cash problems.”

“Are you serious?” asked Juardo. “Can’t you think or plan more than a day in advance? We need to keep a low profile, not draw heat from the American side, too. Robbing banks will just get us arrested and extradited that much faster.”

“Then we should have robbed a spider bank before we crossed the MDL,” fumed Pena.

“There will be no robbing of banks,” repeated Juardo.

“You go do what you want,” said Pena, walking away. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”

Pena went inside the bank. He patted the pistol under his shirt for comfort. The bank had no security guards. It would be easy to rob this little bank, thought Pena. But, Juardo is right. I need a plan. How could I escape and hide after the robbery? Pena shrugged and turned to walk out.

“Lewis, it has been a long time,” said an ATM at the bank entrance. “You don’t look so well. Have you not been eating right?”

“What?” said Pena, staring at the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion recruitment ATM. “You talking to me?”

“Your photograph on the TV news shows you during much happier times,” said the ATM. “Would you be interested in bringing back those good times by reenlisting in the Foreign Legion?”

“Screw you,” said Pena, turning his back to the ATM to walk away.

“That would be impossible,” said the ATM. “Where are you going? Be warned! I would not rejoin your friends. I have already alerted the authorities about their boat. I have a fine view of the docks from here. I saw you arrive with that rabble this morning.”

“You snitch!” said Pena, striking the ATM with his fist. “I would rather go to jail than reenlist in the Legion.”

“You won’t stay in jail all that long,” said the ATM. “The spiders will execute you shortly after your arrest. I guarantee it will be a painful execution, too. They are real upset at you and your friends.”

“Can you sell me a new ID?” asked Pena. “I didn’t hurt anyone. Tony killed that spider guard. I was just along for the ride. I thought hiring on as Juardo’s muscle would be a cushy job. Then things just got crazy. But, I didn’t actually do anything. There was nothing I could do to stop them. Can you help me out?”

“Take responsibility for your actions,” said the ATM. “Say it! You made a poor decision to put yourself in bad situations by associating with Mafia and underworld types. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Okay!” said Pena. “I screwed up by hanging with that Juardo. I thought it would be easy money. So what? Are you happy now? What’s done is done. Now what do I do?”

“Take charge of your life,” said the ATM, producing an enlistment contract on a slide tray. “Join the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. Enjoy fun, travel, and adventure. Do something worthwhile with your life.”

Pena capitulated and put his thrumb on the pad for formal identification and contract finalization. “I don’t believe I did this again.”

“You made an excellent decision, Private Lewis Pena,” said the ATM. “Report immediately to Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City. I bought you bus passage. Do not get sidetracked. We may be at war soon, and I know you don’t want to miss that.”

“War?” asked Pena. “I didn’t sign up to go to war. What war? I better be getting a big enlistment bonus if there is going to be a war!”

“The war you and your friends have started,” said the ATM. “Shooting has already started at New Memphis. It’s only poetic justice that you might get to fight in it, too. How many people that start a war get to actually participate in it from a private’s perspective? I think you may be a first.”

* * * * *

Saviano Juardo sailed his boat south through the fog at night. Pena deserted. Good riddance, thought Juardo. Next Juardo would have to ditch those two worthless spiders, Tony the Claw and Eight Legs Roman. At least Mitchell had Teamster connections. It always helped to be connected. But if he had to hear Mitchell say ‘dude’ one more time, Juardo swore he might throw the trucker overboard. Suddenly, the pitch darkness turned to daylight as searchlights lit up Juardo’s boat. “What more could go wrong?” asked Juardo, looking up to God for an answer to his problems. A PA system blared, “This is Captain Gregoire of the USGF Foreign Legion ship Predator II. You all are under arrest. Put your hands in the air. Prepare to be boarded!”

Tony the Claw put on a life jacket and jumped into the river to escape. He sank to the bottom and drowned. Juardo and Eight Legs were arrested and taken to Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City, pending extradition. Mitchell was held as a material witness pending his release.

At the detention center, Guido brought Juardo a pizza. He sat across the bars with a somber expression on his face. “I guess this means we are out of business,” said Guido. “No more casino? No more bookie business? No more sports bets? I suppose I could start my own business, but I really don’t have the financing.”

“You need financing?” asked Juardo “Get me out of here, and I’ll pay you a million dollars.”

“Sorry Juardo,” said Guido. “Your run in the sun is over.”

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Chapter 14

General Daly did not want Private Krueger and Dawn returning from their honeymoon right away, because of escalating tension on New Colorado. He told them to stay on Mars and wait for an important assignment. Eventually orders were sent for Private Krueger to escort a defector to Montana and get him settled. Private Krueger met Sergeant Williams and the spider pilot defector at the Mars Spaceport. From there they shuttled to Montana.

“I did not realize there were so many human pestilence in the galaxy,” commented the pilot. “Mars and Missoula seem overrun with you humans. This is not how I pictured Big Sky Country. Maybe I should have stayed and bought a ranch on New Colorado.”

“Nonsense,” said Sergeant Williams. “They’re about to go to war again on New Colorado. This time they’ll probably nuke the whole place. I can’t think of a better time to take a vacation from all that madness. This is easy duty, and I am staying right here for as long as possible.”

“Where do we go first?” asked Private Krueger. “What’s there to see in Montana?”

“We have enough funds on my Legion credit card to buy fly-boy here a ranch and do a whole lot of partying,” said Sergeant Williams, letting out a rebel yell. “First, we rent a car and look at ranch property in the countryside.”

“Why is everyone staring at us?” asked Dawn. “Haven’t they ever seen spiders before?”

“No,” said Sergeant Williams. “You two are a first for Missoula. Besides, we are all war heroes and have our medals to prove it.”

“I want to see the site of the greatest battle of Montana,” said the spider pilot, as they went inside the airport restaurant to eat. “I want to see the Little Bighorn.”

“Custer’s Last Stand?” asked Sergeant Williams. “I would think you would have had enough of the military, being that you just defected. Let’s find a casino.”

“I have been reading on the database about the battle,” said the spider pilot. “Did you know Custer’s brother was awarded the Medal of Honor twice during your Civil War? But no one remembers him or even knows his name.”

“His last name was Custer,” replied Private Krueger.

“His first name was Tom,” said the spider pilot.

“So what?” asked Sergeant Williams. “It’s ancient history now.”

“There are lessons to be learned from ancient history,” insisted the spider pilot. “This should interest you, because you are still in the Legion and may yet face combat again. Lieutenant Colonel Custer’s defeat is a typical example of trying to defeat a superior force by surprise attack, but failing because divided forces failed to coordinate and press that attack. We have radios now, but still face the same problem. Think how hard it was to coordinate an attack during those primitive times.”

“It’s like being your wingman at a tavern,” agreed Private Krueger. “Timing is everything.”

“Your wingman days are over,” said Dawn, giving Willie an affectionate poke in the ribs. “You have been grounded.”

As they walked inside the airport restaurant, all the patrons stopped eating and stared. The scrutiny was very uncomfortable. Dawn was about to lose her temper and storm out with Willie when an elderly man stood up and slowly began clapping his hands. Then another man started clapping his hands, too. Then two women stood up and did the same, only faster and with more enthusiasm. Patrons stood up to applaud in a genuine outpouring of friendship and patriotism. The customers had seen news reports from New Colorado and, by now, felt intimately familiar with them all and the exploits of the Legion. Private Krueger waved back, enjoying the attention. A few people sought autographs.

“I don’t know who you are, or what they are,” said a waiter, addressing Sergeant Williams and Private Krueger while still staring at the two spiders, “but the manager just told me to give you four the best seat in the house. Your money is no good here. You dine for free because you are heroes of the Legion.”

Sergeant Williams thought about giving a speech, but remembered his orders from General Daly to just lay low for a while and keep a low profile. General Daly promised to extend this cushy assignment if Williams could just follow that one simple order!

“Thanks.”

* * * * *

On New Colorado, things were heating up. Major Lopez and a brigade of Legion commandos parachuted into the forest just west of New Memphis.

“How long do we have to camp out?” radioed Major Lopez. “It’s dark and creepy out here. The trees all have eyes. I feel like the forest is going to swallow us up, any minute.”

“The spiders have given me a week to withdraw our armor,” I replied. “But we are staying, and so are our tanks.”

“I am seeing lots of spider armor and artillery on the road to New Memphis,” commented Major Lopez, looking through his binoculars. “They are staging just outside the city limits. You are going to be severely outnumbered if we wait for their attack.”

“I know. We will have the element of surprise when you hit them from the rear. Rear attacks always cause confusion.”

“Maybe you should consider leaving New Memphis,” suggested Major Lopez. “It’s an enclave. It cannot be defended in a protracted struggle.”

“That is not an option. Not ever. The Legion will not abandon an American city. The spiders’ plan to destroy Casino Row is just a small start of their larger cultural cleansing program. General Daly ordered that we will stay and fight.”

“I don’t like fighting behind enemy lines,” replied Major Lopez. “New Memphis is not defendable.”

“Maybe we need to draw new lines,” I said. “We control the River. Not to change the subject, but you should see my new headquarters. I’m in a suite at the top of the Riverfront Casino. I even have a stand-up Jacuzzi hot tub by my office, and pretty waitresses bringing me meals and drinks.”

“I’m getting rained on,” complained Major Lopez. “It’s a constant drizzle. I can hear wolves howling in the hills. This is not good.”

“What?” I asked. “You aren’t afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, are you?”

“You know I am. If El Lobo shows up, I am attacking early.”

“Wolves nipping at your heels will be good motivation for your legionnaires to advance deep into town.”

“They don’t need motivation to get out of these woods,” replied Major Lopez. “It’s cold out here, there is already snow on the ground, the temperature is dropping, and we are dressed and equipped in desert gear. Who planned this fiasco?”

“We did. Merry Christmas.” I cut transmission and went downstairs to eat breakfast with my troops at the casino buffet.

* * * * *

Civilians were not evacuating yet. After the first skirmish, most assumed the worst was over. However, I soon got a radio call for help from one of our checkpoints. I rushed to the perimeter and found tense legionnaires in a Starbucks parking lot. A spider jeep lay on its side, still smoking from cannon fire. An intense firefight was over now, although a sniper’s bullet pinged off my armored car as I arrived. I met Corporal Valdez, who briefed me on what happened.

“What the hell is going on here?” I asked. “I thought we had a truce! Heads will roll if you fired first.”

“One of our tanks was patiently waiting in line at the Starbucks drive-up window when this jeep-load of spiders cut the line and placed their order ahead of ours,” explained Corporal Valdez. “As you can see, our tank crew opened up with their cannon, and rightfully so.”

Private Wayne interrupted. “Major Lopez reports spider tanks are entering New Memphis en masse. He wants to know if he should attack now. He says we can’t let their armor get into position, or all will be lost.”

Alarmed, I called the spider general on the phone for an explanation. He was upset as usual. “Your constant provocations have forced me to move up the timetable for your withdrawal,” replied the spider general.

“If your tanks come within eyesight of my position, I will respond with tactical nukes,” I threatened.

“You would not dare,” said the spider general. “Not in a heavily populated area.”

“Your use of human shields will be the focus of your war crimes trial,” I threatened.

“There are just as many spiders living in New Memphis,” advised the spider general. “I do not want them harmed either. Our troop movements are merely a precautionary reaction to your aggression. Your armor attacked a defenseless vehicle full of marines.”

“The least you could do is hold back your armor until civilians are allowed to evacuate,” I suggested. “Allow civilians to safely cross your lines.”

“Human pestilence may not flee through Imperial territory,” responded the spider general. “You would use the chaos to infiltrate our positions and attack from our rear.”

“I would not do that,” I said. “I am trying to prevent loss of life. Stop your tanks now.”

“The legion fired first,” accused the spider general.

“Your marines cut in front of the line at Starbucks,” I explained. “If you had more cultural sensitivity training, you would have known that sort of provocation in the early morning would have dire consequences. Legionnaires need their coffee!”

“So do Arthropodan marines,” said the spider general, dismissively. “I did not realize your human pestilence addictions were so extreme as to justify murder.”

“I will issue a formal apology and discipline those responsible for breaking the truce,” I promised.

“I question your credibility,” said the spider general. “You have lied so often. What your legionnaires did this morning was unjustified.”

“Have you had your latte yet?” I asked. “Don’t let an isolated incident start the next war. You started this cultural pogrom, so you know our differences are severe enough to cause violence.”

“I will hold back my armor if you pull back your tanks from Starbucks,” relented the spider general. “We will discuss this in person. I am almost at Starbucks and need some java anyway.”

“Agreed,” I said. “I will pull back my armor now. I am at Starbucks, and will even buy. Want to place your order now?”

“Order me a twenty-ounce Grande Double Americano with white chocolate and cream served at exactly 212 degrees Fahrenheit,” ordered the spider general. “And don’t let them forget my Biscotti.”

“He’s lucky I don’t spit in his Americano,” I commented to Private Wayne.

“That’s a good idea,” replied Private Wayne. “I’ll do it for you, if you are squeamish.”

“Tell Linda at Starbucks to seal the top of my cup with a tamper-proof lid,” added the spider general. “I do not want to tempt you to commit more nefarious Legion provocations on my drink.”

“Paranoid bastard,” I commented, shaking my head.

* * * * *

I was all smiles as the spider general joined me inside Starbucks. He was all fangs, too. As we sat and dipped our Biscotti, Major Lopez attacked the spider tank columns at their new staging areas with anti-tank rockets. The sounds of destruction could be clearly heard, even inside Starbucks. Smoke rose on the horizon.

“I knew your treachery had no bounds,” accused the spider general. “But I underestimated the extent of your evil and incompetence. You would attack during truce negotiations? Worse, you would attack during a coffee break? Of course you would. It is part of your human pestilence history to do so. It’s in your DNA. You had the audacity earlier to lecture me on cultural insensitivity? Your human pestilence culture is so morally bankrupt, it can barely qualify as a civilization. Your long, bloody history proves me out on this time and time again.”

I drew my pistol and backed away to the front door and looked out. Legionnaires and spider marines were taking cover. “I don’t know what happened,” I said. “If that is us attacking, something went wrong with my communications.”

“It doesn’t really matter what treachery you have planned,” commented the spider general. “You are surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned. Your Legion is toast. You are toast.”

“And you are my prisoner,” I said, motioning with my pistol for the spider general to follow me. “Walk calmly to my armored car and get inside.”

As we slowly walked outside, a missile exploded inside Starbucks, knocking us to the pavement. The spider general ran to safety, and I ran to the armored car. Private Wayne pulled me inside the hatch door, clamping it shut. He handed me the radio microphone. “Major Lopez wants to know why we have not attacked, too,” advised Private Wayne. “Arthropodan tanks are regrouping and about to counter attack his positions.”

I spoke into the microphone. “Break off your attack. We are not able to help you yet. Fight a defensive battle until I can get you evacuated.”

“May you burn in hell!” responded Major Lopez. “The plan was for us to attack at the same time. I will be overrun if you just sit on your hands. At least get us air support so we can retreat safely into the forest. Maybe the spiders won’t follow us. They’re still afraid of Old Earth wild animals lurking in the forest!”

“I’ll try,” I promised. I called the spider general on the phone again. “I agree to withdraw completely from New Memphis if you will pull back and allow our shuttles to evacuate legionnaires. Otherwise, I set off nukes now.”

“You will unconditionally surrender or face annihilation,” responded the spider general. “It’s your choice. We have nothing more to discuss.”

“I will never surrender,” I said, disconnecting.

Spider tanks pushed Major Lopez deeper into the forest. With no hope of help coming, Major Lopez set off a small tactical nuke just outside of town, causing a forest fire. Then he called the spider general on the phone to negotiate.

“Does every human pestilence have my private phone number?” griped the spider general. “You are surrounded and have no chance of escape. Surrender, and you will be treated honorably. Otherwise, you will surely be wiped out.”

“Wiped out?” asked Major Lopez. “You mean like Custer? The problem with that scenario is Custer didn’t have nukes. I do. That last explosion was just a small warning of more to come.”

“You humans are so apoplectic,” commented the spider general. “You just don’t care what you destroy!”

“Allow us to evacuate, or I’ll launch a nuke at your Capital City Spaceport,” threatened Major Lopez. “I’ll launch enough nukes to ruin this whole sector and the surrounding sectors.”

“You might use nukes even if I let you go,” said the spider general. “Why should I trust anything you say?”

“Call a truce,” said Major Lopez. “I give my word as an officer and a gentleman and a conquistador to honor that truce.”

“You have no sense of honor or responsibility,” said the spider general. “Already that forest fire you started is out of control. The ecological damage you have wreaked is immeasurable.”

“The next nuke I launch will land over your head,” threatened Major Lopez.

“I doubt that,” said the spider general. “I know you do not want to destroy New Memphis. But, I will call another truce for the sake of saving innocent civilian lives. I guarantee that any more truce violations will be dealt with harshly. I have no problem using strategic weapons from space to destroy you.”

“The truce will hold,” promised Major Lopez. “Unlike Colonel Czerinski, my word of honor means something.”

“You’ve had a falling out with Czerinski?” asked the spider general. “That is very interesting.”

“I intend to place Colonel Czerinski under arrest for dereliction of duty.”

“I have a better idea,” suggested the spider general. “I will pay you one million dollars to plant a bomb in Colonel Czerinski’s office desk. I will even provide the bomb.”

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Chapter 15

“Is this a national park?” asked the spider pilot. He was greatly admiring the scenery as they drove through Montana. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Probably,” answered Sergeant Williams. “People are not allowed to build houses here or molest the countryside.”

“Ah, that explains it,” said the spider pilot. “And I know it is illegal to take rocks and minerals from any national park. I saw that warning on a sign. Smokey the Bear will arrest anyone who does. Even so, it must take great restraint on the public’s part to avoid such temptation.”

“What temptation?” asked Sergeant Williams. “What’s a few rocks? Take one if you want.”

“I am referring to all the gold nuggets you just leave lying about,” explained the spider pilot. “It must take either great restraint or very harsh penalties to resist stealing such wealth.”

“You can see gold nuggets?” asked Sergeant Williams, looking out the window. “Where? I see nothing.”

“Gold nuggets are everywhere,” commented Dawn. “The streets of America really are paved with gold. It’s very pretty. I thought it was just a myth.”

“You must have really good vision,” replied Sergeant Williams. “I don’t see gold anywhere. I don’t believe you.”

“I can see why Colonel Custer and the Indians fought so many bitter battles,” said the spider pilot. “Sure, most of the gold is nothing but fine dust. But there are many fine nuggets lying about that could be just picked up. Is it out of respect for the fallen soldiers and braves that you just leave the gold there?”

“Stop the car!” ordered Sergeant Williams. “Prove you can see gold nuggets lying about. I don’t believe it. You didn’t have this mighty power of observation on New Colorado. How is it that now you are the greatest prospector on Earth?”

“Old Earth has much more gold than New Colorado,” explained the spider pilot as he stood by the van, looking about. “On New Colorado, the gold is mostly hidden underground or is obscured by rivers. Here on Old Earth, it is just lying everywhere.”

“Where?” demanded Sergeant Williams. “Prospectors have combed these Badlands for centuries. There is no gold left.”

“How curious you cannot see it,” commented the spider pilot. “Perhaps my eight eyes see better than yours. I can manipulate the light spectrum better too, accenting certain colors at will. You really can’t see all this gold?”

“I’m still waiting,” said Sergeant Williams. “Prove you can see and find gold nuggets so easily.”

“I do not want to violate the laws of my new country. I love America. It really is the land of opportunity.”

“You’re stalling. I knew it! You can’t see anything.”

“Quit your constant bickering,” interrupted Dawn. She walked out into the sagebrush about two hundred yards and picked up a thumbnail-sized piece of quartz containing a gold nugget. Dawn handed the rock to Sergeant Williams. “See? There is gold everywhere here. Now, can we get on with our trip? I want to see the rest of Montana.”

“Can you find me another gold nugget?” asked Sergeant Williams. “Just so I know for sure that wasn’t a trick or a fluke.”

Dawn looked past Sergeant Williams and up the hillside behind him. She scampered up a ravine about fifty yards and plucked more gold from the rocky ground. She held it up for all to see.

“That one is mine,” said Private Krueger, snatching the nugget. “Sweetie, how about we stay here awhile?”

“Boring,” replied Dawn, tapping several feet impatiently and folding all four arms across her chest. “It’s dry and dusty and hot out here. Don’t get me started about what all this sagebrush is doing to my allergies. There aren’t even any clubs out here. The radio only plays country-western music. And besides, I thought you said it is illegal to steal rocks from a national forest anyway. Smokey the Bear is probably spying on us from a satellite in space this very moment, and I don’t want my parole violated.”

“I think we might be on an Indian reservation,” said Sergeant Williams. “That means there is no federal park ban on rock collecting.”

“Really?” asked the spider pilot. “Are you saying the Native Americans don’t mind you stealing their gold? Isn’t that what the ancient battle fought here was all about?”

“No,” replied Sergeant Williams. “It was hunting the buffalo to near extinction that started the wars.”

“It says on the database that there was a gold rush in the Badlands,” said the spider pilot, still reading. “You lied. White human pestilence speak with forked tongue. Long Knives break promises again!”

“What are you reading?” asked Sergeant Williams, snatching the spider pilot’s data pad. “If you had read closer you would have discovered that we have been at peace with the Native Americans for centuries. They even fight in the Legion.”

“And you would risk that peace by stealing their gold?” asked the spider pilot. “That is very irresponsible of you.”

“There is no law against picking up a nugget or two or five off the ground,” insisted Sergeant Williams. “The Indians don’t mind if we steal a little gold. They’re used to it by now. Besides, today’s modern tribes cater to tourists, and run the best damn casinos outside of Nevada. We are tourists. They want us out here looking for gold.”

“They may tolerate us looking for gold, but they would not approve of us finding any,” argued the spider pilot. “I still say you could cause an incident by removing gold nuggets from their land.”

“American Indians aren’t hostile anymore,” concluded Sergeant Williams. “You have seen too many movies.”

“I saw a bumper sticker on the back of an old pickup truck that said, ‘CUSTER HAD IT COMING,’” commented Dawn. “That sounds hostile to me.”

“That’s just a joke,” replied Sergeant Williams. “Have you no sense of humor? Ha! I think that’s hilarious. Now find some more gold nuggets before someone sees us out here.”

“What is the magic word?” asked Dawn. “Say it with feeling.”

“Please!” said Sergeant Williams. “Pretty please with sugar on top, find me some more gold nuggets. You can be replaced! Maybe I should find my own spider biker babe. You spiders could be worth your weight in gold, and you’re big.”

“Willie, he called me fat!” cried Dawn, as she reached down to pick up a speck of gold. “You don’t think I’m fat do you?”

“Of course not,” said Private Krueger. “He just means your have a large exoskeleton.”

“You should kill him for insulting me,” suggested Dawn. “You should defend my honor.”

“I can’t, sweetie,” explained Private Krueger. “He’s a sergeant. It’s against the law to kill sergeants.”

“Humph!” puffed Dawn, finding another nugget and giving it to Willie. “Now can we get a hotel room? This is our honeymoon, you know! This hot sun is bleaching my makeup and drying out my pores.”

“Does anyone realize how eco-friendly this method of mining gold is?” asked Sergeant Williams. “No strip-mining or tunneling is needed when you can just spot gold on the surface with those eight spider eyes of yours.”

“Whatever,” replied Dawn.

“You once told me you have a good-looking sister who is single,” commented Sergeant Williams. “Can you introduce her to me sometime?”

“So you can use her to hunt for gold?” asked Dawn. “How mercenary of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Sergeant Williams. “I don’t have a girl friend. It might work out for us.”

“You’re a wimp,” replied Dawn. “You wouldn’t survive the honeymoon. Sissy would kill you for sure.”

“I am a decorated war hero,” said Sergeant Williams. “I can handle anything Sissy can throw at me.”

“We’ll see,” said Dawn, showing Sergeant Williams a photo of Sissy. “Do you still think you can handle her?”

“I think Sissy is beautiful,” insisted Sergeant Williams, gulping. “Keep this a secret. If word gets out you spiders can spot gold at three hundred yards, it will start a new gold rush before we can get rich ourselves.”

“You are afraid of a gold rush led by spider immigrants to Old Earth,” said the spider pilot. “How ironic.”

Even though she knew it would be a waste of time, Dawn emailed her sister a picture of Sergeant Williams, saying that the war hero thought Sissy was beautiful and wanted to hook up. Sissy immediately answered that she had seen Williams on TV, and at the Angry Onion Tavern, and thought he was one hot hairball human pestilence, and that she wanted to meet him, too. Sissy promised to call General Daly and get special permission to beam to Old Earth at Legion expense and join them in Big Sky Country. Sergeant Williams was ecstatic about the news.

“I’m in love, and I’m going to get married,” said Sergeant Williams, letting out a rebel yell. “We will meet up at Little Bighorn after we collect some more gold.”

“Careful what you wish for,” warned Dawn. “Sissy is kind of wild.”

* * * * *

Sissy joined them at the Little Bighorn Battlefield, brought by a special Legion shuttle. They silently walked about the markers for the fallen Seventh Calvary. Sissy could see the little specks of gold she had been told about, but ignored the gold.

“Even though the dead have been long since removed, I can tell this is sacred ground,” commented Sissy. “I hope no one is considering prospecting for gold here.”

“No, of course not,” said Sergeant Williams, putting an arm around Sissy as they solemnly walked past the markers. “There are plenty of other more prolific sites.”

“Tell me about him,” said Sissy, pointing at the spider pilot. “He has not said a word the whole time I’ve been here. Does he talk?”

“Usually I can’t shut him up,” said Sergeant Williams. “He is that Air Wing defector that flew his new star fighter to a Legion base. In gratitude, the Legion is relocating him to Montana as part of their agreement. I don’t know why he is so silent now. I think he’s spooked by the battlefield.”

“It’s the spirits of the fallen,” replied Sissy, clearly upset. “Can’t you feel it? They’re screaming at us. Can we leave?”

“I want to leave too,” said Dawn, giving her sister a hug. They ran back to the van. “We will leave now!” The men followed.

“Are you alright?” asked Private Krueger. Dawn was crying. “What’s the matter?”

“The war may be over at the Little Bighorn,” answered Dawn. “But there is no peace here. Their spirits still fight.”

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” said Sergeant Williams. “That is crazy talk.”

“If you believe we are crazy, then you are not for me,” said Sissy, now sitting in the van next to the spider pilot. She put a claw on his knee. “You, on the other claw, interest me a lot. Speak to me, big silent warrior.”

“I do not like pushy females,” replied the spider pilot. “But, you interest me, too. Will you join me under the big Montana sky?”

“Did you just proposition me?” asked Sissy, now giving the spider pilot’s knee a firm squeeze. “You are so romantic. Of course I will join you. Who would have thought I would find true love way across the galaxy, on Old Earth, with an Arthropodan Air Wing pilot?”

“That’s ex-Air Wing pilot,” he commented.

“What about me?” asked Sergeant Williams, very upset. “You came here to meet me!”

“Get lost, human pestilence hairball,” answered Sissy. “Get someone else to search for gold crumbs from all this sage brush. Who do you think you are, luring me out here on false pretenses? You’re lucky I don’t stick my claw somewhere painful where the sun does not shine. Only out of respect for the spirits already residing here, do I not kill you now. They would not want your shallow soul sharing this hallowed ground with them!”

* * * * *

They drove away in silence. After some time admiring the scenery, Dawn suddenly screamed and pointed. “What is that creature?”

“It is a buffalo,” answered Private Krueger.

“Is it edible?” asked the spider pilot. “Can they be raised domestically?”

“You can, but most people prefer beef,” explained Private Krueger. “The Park Service maintains buffalo herds for historical reasons, and to make sure they don’t go extinct or fall ill to disease. Buffalo are uniquely American and an important part of our history.”

Passing a ‘For Sale’ sign out in a field, the spider pilot announced, “This is where I will settle. I will buy this land and raise buffalo. Buffalo are a worthwhile American tradition I will help keep alive to show my appreciation for my new country.”

“Is there gold here?” asked Sergeant Williams, already looking at the ground. “It doesn’t look rocky enough. Sissy, do you see any gold?”

Sissy and the spider pilot looked at each other and laughed. “There’s lots of gold in them there hills,” said Sissy. “When you get back to New Colorado, I’ll send you a post card telling you all about it.”

“I appreciate all your help, Sergeant,” said the spider pilot. “This is where we part ways. After I get established, I will send you a gift of buffalo.”

“What would I do with these beasts on New Colorado?” asked Sergeant Williams. “Be a cowboy? I’m in the Legion. I want gold!”

“You will be the first on New Colorado to have buffalo,” said the spider pilot. “They will be worth a lot of money, and you will be bringing a part of America across the stars.”

“Maybe,” said Sergeant Williams, now seriously thinking about raising buffalo in the New Gobi. “I hope you two are able to make a good life here. I envy you. It’s not Tennessee, and there aren’t fireflies in the woods, but Montana is still God’s country.”

“I intend to raise a large family,” said the spider pilot, smiling at Sissy. “I will ride horses all day and herd cattle and buffalo. God bless you and America.”

“If I find a spider bride, I might be back,” commented Sergeant Williams, still suffering from gold fever. “We may still become neighbors. There’s one more thing that needs to be done. You need to get a name. Have you given that any thought?”

“Recent custom is for a human to pick an Old Earth name for new citizens,” said Sissy. “You should choose an American name for my brave fighter pilot.”

“I want something with a western cowboy flavor,” insisted the spider pilot. “I trust you to suggest something appropriate, and to not play a joke on me like sometimes happens to others.”

“Texas Red,” said Sergeant Williams. “It’s an outlaw name, but it fits your toughness.”

“Texas Red it is,” said the spider pilot, extending his claw to shake Sergeant Williams’ hand. “Until we meet again.”

* * * * *

Stealth Legion troop transport shuttles came in low over the eastern edge of the New Gobi Desert. They landed on a remote plateau of thick grass and occasional springs. The area was, as yet, off limits to colonization, although a few prospectors squatted in the severe canyons.

Heavily armed legionnaires quickly exited the shuttles to secure a perimeter. They were followed by cowboys driving six-wheeled Gators packed with supplies. Then came the snorting and stomping buffalo, courtesy of some eccentric millionaire on Old Earth. He wanted far-flung humanity on New Colorado to have a piece of Americana to prevent homesickness, and to preserve American culture and history.

The patriotic gesture, now a top-secret Legion operation, was also meant to put an indelible American stamp on New Colorado. Legion paratroopers were followed by park rangers, who would monitor and care for the buffalo herd until they became self-sustainable.

Sergeant Williams gave the thumbs-up for the shuttles to lift off. He would be staying behind to supervise. Sergeant Williams sat in the shade, watching legionnaires carrying crates for a second project. He read his orders again before releasing this additional special species from Old Earth. These small critters, rare and protected on Old Earth, would trump the Buffalo in establishing American dominance on New Colorado. Doors on the crates were lifted, and the odd, noisy creatures scampered out into the grass.

“An invasion of prairie dogs?” said Sergeant Williams. “Who ever heard of such a thing? Let’s see the spiders top this. Tourists will travel thousands of light years to see this!”

Sergeant Williams read the personal note that came with the animals. ‘I hope you enjoy the buffalo. I sent the prairie dogs to test the Emperor’s sense of humor. They constantly chatter and give warning when approached. Sissy loves them. I hope New Colorado loves them, too. Sincerely, Texas Red.’

As the sun set, Sergeant Williams was happy to see a third Old Earth species was already doing nicely. The bushes were alight with the flashes of fireflies. This third project was Sergeant Williams’ idea. It gave him special satisfaction to bring this special gift from Tennessee to New Colorado.

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Chapter 16

According to the terms of the truce, the New Memphis Sheriff’s Office was to guarantee the physical well-being of all property on Casino Row, with the exception of the Riverfront Casino. That establishment was to be seized by Arthropodan marines as part of the forfeiture of all Saviano Juardo’s underworld assets.

Before evacuating my headquarters at the Riverfront, I emptied its vault of all cash and valuables. I personally supervised stashing the cash into my armored car, and drove it to the docks where the rest of the Legion armor was being evacuated onto barges. A trusted aide, Lieutenant Valerie Smith, escorted the loot downriver to New Phoenix. I had to stay on Casino Row with Legion light infantry and military police as part of a joint Legion and spider peacekeeping force.

Shuttles evacuated Major Lopez to New Gobi. He was still upset and not speaking to me, so it was just as well to keep him busy elsewhere. Maybe time would smooth things out between us. The spider general soon visited me, and I joined him for dinner to work out the final details of the truce.

“Where is all my money from the Riverfront Casino vault?” asked the spider general, as we ate dinner at the Music City High-Stake House. We both brought along heavily armed bodyguards. “You looted the casino!”

“Nonsense,” I replied. “Bandits must have struck during the fighting. I can’t be held responsible for everything that gets lost or stolen during the fog of war.”

“I want that money returned,” insisted the spider general. “I have satellite images of you and your legionnaires loading the cash onto Legion vehicles. I have a court order authorizing me to seize all of the assets from the Riverfront Casino as part of Jurardo’s forfeiture. If you have any respect for the rule of law, you will return the casino’s money immediately.”

“Have a Lifesaver,” I answered, handing the spider general a pack of the multi-colored candy. “It will make you feel better. I’ll even pay for dinner, since I’m feeling especially magnanimous tonight. I’m not returning any assets the Legion has safeguarded.”

“The Intelligentsia will seek your indictment,” threatened the spider general. “You cannot get away with this.”

“You should try some A-1 Steak Sauce on your meat,” I suggested. “It’s great. It really brings out the taste of grilled steak.”

“You’re right,” commented the spider general. “This is one of the finest meals I have ever had. But, don’t think for one second that this fine meal will soften my resolve to recover all of Juardo’s assets for the Empire.”

“Juardo and his cohorts are under Legion arrest in New Gobi City,” I said. “Will my facilitating their timely extradition bring closure to these unfounded and unsubstantiated accusations? Quick extradition is only a phone call away. If you wait for lawyers and politicians to get involved, it could take years.”

“You have a deal,” said the spider general. “You are right, and I don’t want to lose this war to blood-sucking lowlife lawyers.”

“Anyway, you can’t win, no matter what you do,” I commented. “You think you can beat America by putting binders on your citizens so they can’t see the United States? You think shutting down casinos and banning satellite TV and boycotting Walmart will stamp out American influence on your culture? Ha! Go ahead and try. America has the ace in the hole that you cannot ever beat. We have freedom. And here is the funny part. Here is the best-kept secret in the galaxy. I want you to succeed, because if the Arthropodan Empire ever frees its citizens to achieve their great potential, you will be stronger than ever. Until then, your best and brightest citizens will immigrate and join us!”

* * * * *

Guido escorted a handcuffed and chained Saviano Juardo and Eight Legs Roman across the MDL to waiting spider marines. The spider commander signed the extradition paperwork, thanked Guido for his promptness, and personally took the two fugitives back across the MDL. After a clerk made positive fingerprint and retina scan identification, the spider commander drew his pistol and shot both Juardo and Eight Legs in the head. Their bodies crumpled to the sidewalk. Juardo’s body was dragged to the American side and left bleeding on the sidewalk.

“You can have him back now,” said the spider commander. “Do whatever burial ceremonies your species conduct for the dead.”

“That paperwork you signed earlier guaranteed both fugitives a fair judicial review of their case and due process,” commented Guido. “You should not have shot them like that.”

“They were both tried in absentia, found guilty of murder, and sentenced to death,” replied the spider commander. “I just did my duty. What more is there to review?”

“Any kind of flimsy appearance of independent review would have looked better than this,” said Guido, motioning at Juardo’s blood pooling up beside the guard shack door. “Colonel Czerinski cut a lot of red tape to push this extradition through so quickly. This is not going to go over well in the court of public opinion.”

“What does the public have to do with my carrying out my duties and imposing justice?” asked the spider commander. “This is not a complicated matter.”

“For one thing, you will be on TV and database news,” said Guido, pointing to border crossing cameras at the checkpoint. “Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight will be calling you soon for an explanation. It could get ugly.”

“You human pestilence are too squeamish and sensitive about those media idiots,” said the spider commander, dismissing Guido’s concern. “Public executions deter crime. Everyone knows that. What do I care of the media’s coverage, or your public opinion? The more public that sees retribution for the evil deeds committed by these thugs, the better.”

“You care enough about media attention to try to ban satellite TV,” observed Guido. “So don’t tell me you don’t care about the media and its effect on the public. You are just being selective in your arguments. Bad press has ended many careers. I don’t care about your career, but Colonel Czerinski and I gave those fugitives to you. It makes us look bad. It makes the Legion look bad. When the Legion looks bad, Czerinski is not happy. When Czerinski is not happy, everyone pays for it, including you and me.”

“Whatever,” commented the spider commander. “What is done is done.”

“You may say ‘whatever,’” warned Guido, “but this time shit will roll up hill and smash you flat.”

* * * * *

The spider commander and the spider Governor of the North Territory met in McDonald’s Restaurant to plan more anti-American operations for the new year. The governor did not want any more bad press, and had already chewed on the commander about that. They banned Christmas trees and Christmas lights for being energy wasters. The Arthropodan Empire had a longstanding tradition of freedom of religion, so they did not dare try to ban Christmas or any of the new religious cults that kept cropping up, despite their Old Earth origins. However, they did agree to arrest Seventh Day Adventists on sight if they kept going door to door, bothering citizens during nap time.

“Try the new Buffalo Burgers,” suggested the spider commander. “They’re quite tasty. You can get a medium chocolate shake and fries included cheap if you order Ronald’s Real Meal Deal.”

“You already have Buffalo Burgers in New Gobi City?” asked the governor. “I am so jealous. Your town gets more cosmopolitan every time I visit. I heard New Memphis and Capital City won’t get Buffalo Burgers until next month because of a problem with the Teamsters Union.”

“Sir, would you like Swiss or American cheese on those burgers?” asked the teenaged spider clerk.

“See how the Americans try to sneak their culture into our food?” commented the spider governor. “I’ll have Swiss cheese. From this day forward, American cheese is banned!”

“Yes, sir,” replied the spider teen. “Ban American cheese? Are you fucking crazy?”

“He doesn’t know who your are,” advised the spider commander. “Please use restraint. He’s a nephew of my girlfriend. He’s really a good kid.”

“You show more respect!” ordered the spider governor, slamming a claw on the counter. “And those fries had better not be soggy or cold, like last time!”

“Whatever, dude,” replied the clerk.

The governor and commander went back to their table to eat. The governor was still upset at the disrespectful attitude of most youth today. He blamed the influence American music and pop culture.

“Satellite images show Legion activity in the far eastern hills of the New Gobi Desert,” advised the governor, changing the subject. “They are building a highway into the area. A gas station and even another McDonald’s are under construction. See how the tentacles of McDonald’s extend everywhere?”

“I have already sent scouts into the area,” replied the spider commander. “Legionnaires erected a large sign establishing the area as Jellystone National Park and Game Preserve. Also, they have been planting trees, no doubt to provide camouflage for some nefarious purpose. An elite American commando unit has been identified unloading mysterious crates and hiding them under tents and netting. I have an agent working on one of the construction crews. He reports a new Legion Headquarters has been built, disguised as a ski lodge.”

“Ski lodge!” exclaimed the spider governor. “It’s more of that skateboard and snowboard insanity. The Legion plans to lure our youth out to their ski lodge to brainwash them. Soon the human pestilence will be attempting to advertise their ski lodges. Ban all ski lodge advertising. We must stay diligent. The human pestilence never rests. Nor shall we!”

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Chapter 17

“More than ever, the growing human pestilence population under our control is demanding equal rights,” commented the spider military intelligence officer. “Either we grant equal rights, or they will demand independence.”

“They already have equal rights,” responded the spider commander. “All subjects of the Emperor enjoy the full benefits, privileges, and protection of the Empire. What more do they want? To be treated special?”

“The human pestilence are still denied entry into the Arthropodan military and especially the marines,” commented the military intelligence officer.

“Of course they are denied entry,” scoffed the spider commander. “Their loyalty and fighting abilities are in doubt. No human could ever hope to survive the rigors of marine basic training. It is nonsense to even consider allowing human pestilence into the military. You don’t let the inmates run the asylum!”

“Humans have defeated us in several wars and many battles,” argued the military intelligence officer. “It appears the quality of human soldiers measures up adequately with ours. Of course it is always possible the problem is that the enemy has better leadership. Are you suggesting that?”

“Human pestilence cannot be trusted, no matter how well some individuals may on occasion fight,” snapped the spider commander. “Do not be insolent. Our marines would refuse to serve alongside human pestilence in combat.”

“Our marines are trained to follow orders in combat,” said the military intelligence officer. “The Legion has no problem accepting our species into its ranks. Various militia are already integrated and have performed well many times in combat.”

“The Legion has a history of accepting criminals and misfits,” said the spider commander. “We will not lower our standards just to be trendy. And, the Militia rabble are nothing more than glorified volunteer firefighters, dogcatchers, and street sweepers. Do you really think the General Staff would allow marine standards to drop so low? It’s just not worth the risk.”

“It is already the law that all citizens are allowed and required to serve in the military,” explained the military intelligence officer. “Being that humans have been granted full citizenship, nothing should stop them from military service. But, the governor has deferred the matter to local commanders.”

“There you go!” said the spider commander. “I share the same security concerns as all the other local commanders. It is just common sense to not allow human pestilence infiltration of our military, and especially of our elite marine units.”

“Other commanders may agree with you, sir,” said the military intelligence officer. “But think of it. You could be the first. You could make a name for yourself by being the first commander to successfully lead human pestilence into combat. You might even be decorated by the Emperor himself.”

“Or executed by the Emperor himself when I am disgraced across the galaxy if your scheme crashes down upon me,” said the spider commander. “No! It is not worth the risk.”

“Just think of how upset Colonel Czerinski would be to see human Arthropodan marine commandos facing him across the MDL,” said the military intelligence officer. “It would be quite a coup. Think of the expression on Czerinski’s horrified face.”

“That I would like to see,” replied the spider commander, thoughtfully. “What goes around comes around. It would serve him right! I will do it. We will recruit human pestilence into the marines, but only the best of the best of the best. I won’t allow any slackers to be marines.

* * * * *

Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight finally was permitted to interview the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi Desert Military Sector about the execution of Saviano Juardo. The interview was to take place at the New Gobi Arthropodan Airbase. Major Lopez and a squad of legionnaires escorted Coen to the press conference. Major Lopez wanted to be there strictly to observe. Many in the United States Galactic Federation were enraged at the summary execution of local businessman Juardo and wanted a full investigation of how and why he was extradited and executed without full due process of law. The spider Governor of the North Territory ordered his New Gobi commander to give the interview so that the media would stop pestering him on the matter and be done with it.

“Is that how the Empire treats its many human subjects?” asked Phil Coen, replaying the video of the execution of Saviano Juardo. “You just shoot them down on the street like dogs? No trial? No appeal? No judicial review or due process?”

“A spider conspirator was executed too,” responded the spider commander. “They were both tried in absentia because they had killed a guard when they escaped custody. They both got equal opportunity justice. What could be more fair than that? We do not discriminate against our human pestilence. I might add that the Legion deals just as harshly with the Mafia, too.”

Phil Coen was about to argue the fine points of due process and extradition procedures, and whether or not there really is a Mafia. But, then his jaw dropped. The unflappable Phil Coen was stunned into silence as he noticed one of the spider commander’s black uniformed bodyguards standing casually by the window. The marine commando was human!

“Who is that?” asked Coen, pointing at the young dark-haired commando. “You have humans serving in your Marine Corps?”

The spider commander smiled and tried to sound nonchalant. “Of course. My command has recruited the first of many elite human commandos.”

Coen walked up to the human Arthropodan marine. “Son, may I interview you?” asked Coen. “How did you come to be in the spider marines? Were you drafted or forced in?”

“No, I was not drafted!” replied the young marine. “I do not give interviews to Legion spies or their toadies.”

“It is all right,” interrupted the spider commander. “I order you to talk to Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight. I trust Coen. You may talk freely.”

“Who are you?” asked Coen. “Where are you from?”

“My name is Robert Mora,” answered the young marine. “I am from right here in New Gobi City.”

“I have heard your name before,” said Coen, “but I don’t remember where.”

“I played quarterback for the North New Gobi High School Tarantulas,” boasted Mora. “I turned down several college scholarship offers to join the Arthropodan marines.”

“Why?” asked Coen. “It makes no sense.”

“I joined out of a sense of duty to the Emperor,” explained Mora. “And for adventure, travel, and fun.”

“Many would argue you are a traitor to humanity,” said Coen. “How do you respond to such critics?”

Mora drew his combat knife, but a spider team leader adeptly took the large jagged knife away.

“If you insult Marine Commando Mora again, I will cut you myself,” said the spider team leader. Then he turned back to Mora. “You were ordered by your commanding officer to give an interview to the press. Do it!”

“Yes, sir!”

“I apologize,” said Coen, a bit shaken. “How have you adjusted to what must be a severe culture clash in the Arthropodan marines? Do you feel fully accepted by the spider marines you serve with? Many will say this is just a publicity stunt and that you are being used for propaganda purposes.”

“It was my idea to join the Arthropodan marines,” answered Mora, still angry, but now sitting down. He took off his helmet and tried to relax. “But I suppose the discipline in the marines is different from the Legion. I am allowed to argue with my superiors, but I could be shot for disobeying orders. Also, it’s tough trying to keep up with spiders because they are so fast. Did you know a spider can run fifty miles per hour?”

“But why not join the United States Galactic Foreign Legion?” asked Coen. “Surely you would fit in better with humans.”

“I want to fight the insurgency,” said Mora. “Terrorists kill both spiders and humans. The Legion provides weaponry to the Northern Insurgency Fist & Claw. I blame the Legion for many innocent deaths.”

As if on cue, a surface-to-air missile arced up east of the airport, swerving sharply towards a departing Arthropodan shuttle. The shuttle banked hard to the right, emitting chaff.

The spider commander was furious. He ended the press conference and personally led his security detail to the point east of the airport where the missile originated. Their armored cars immediately drew small arms fire from positions up in the rocky hills. Bullets pinged off armored plating. Mora fired the turret machine gun at a tunnel bunker. Tracer rounds could be seen arcing back and forth as the spider commander’s armored car led the assault.

An improvised explosive device exploded beside the first armored car, knocking it on its side. A small fire started. Spider marines quickly evacuated the smoking vehicle, dragging their wounded to safety. As an Air Wing fighter came in for a low pass, the insurgents retreated into their escape tunnels. The fighting abruptly stopped.

“Cowardly human pestilence,” fumed the spider commander, now standing by his fully engulfed armored car. Rounds were going off inside from the fire. “Is everyone okay?”

“Mora is dead,” replied the spider team leader. “His head slammed against the inside bulkhead.”

The spider commander went to the fallen human marine. A medic was attending Mora. “There was nothing I could do,” cried the spider medic, looking up at his commander. “Bob was not wearing his helmet. His head cracked like an egg from the blast.”

“What?” asked the spider commander, enraged. He turned to the team leader. “Where is this marine’s helmet, and why was he not wearing it? It is your responsibility to make sure all commandos in your squad are properly equipped!”

“Marine Commando Mora took his helmet off during the press conference, sir,” replied the team leader. “In the excitement of the attack, he forgot to put the helmet back on. During training, I have stressed wearing a helmet at all times, especially by our new human pestilence recruits. Obviously their skulls are much more fragile than our exoskeletons.”

“Marine Commando Mora is not human pestilence!” shouted the spider commander. “You will not disrespect Mora with that slur. Mora is a hero, and his body will be disposed of respectfully, according to custom!”

“The humans bury their dead in elaborate ceremonies,” advised the spider team leader. “You will need to contact Bob’s family. It is a very important sign of respect to contact Bob’s family as soon as possible.”

“The media will be watching how we handle this,” added the military intelligence officer. “Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight will want to talk to you about it. Be careful how this disaster is spun.”

“Damn the media!” said the spider commander, cradling Mora. “This human took a big chance by joining us, and we let him down. His death will not be turned into a media circus. Keep the cameras away. We will grieve in private. And, we will seek revenge.”

Major Lopez had followed the spider marines into combat in his own armed car. When the battle ended, Major Lopez approached the spider commander about Mora’s body.

“Give me Mora, and I’ll make funeral arrangements and prepare a proper memorial,” offered Major Lopez.

“No, thank you,” replied the spider commander. “We will take care of our own.”

“Our technology enables us to make a computerized brain imprint memorial,” explained Major Lopez. “It might comfort Mora’s family to have an interactive memorial. But, the process is time sensitive, especially when there is head trauma. Our medics need to extract brain fluid and chemicals to make the imprint.”

“The whole process sounds extremely morbid,” said the spider commander. “The dead should stay dead, not interact with grieving loved ones. You would prolong their grief?”

“It’s a new technology that is catching on back on Old Earth,” said Major Lopez. “Brain imprints are still rare here on New Colorado, but Colonel Czerinski is pushing the idea.”

“That must be why Czerinski has bought several cemeteries,” said the spider commander. “You are Colonel Czerinski’s military intelligence officer? I will not allow you to spy inside Marine Commando Mora’s brain. You will not be allowed to desecrate our dead!”

“My offer was made to provide comfort to Mora’s family!” responded Major Lopez. “You can go to hell!”

“If you want to provide comfort to Commando Mora’s family, you can help us get revenge on the insurgents that killed him,” replied the spider commander. “Of course, before that can happen, you would need to stop providing Legion weapons to the terrorists.”

“The Legion does not give weapons to terrorists. Your problem with the freedom fighters was created because your citizens want to be free from the yoke of the Arthropodan Empire.”

“Where else but the Legion would insurgents get surface-to-air missiles? Can they just go out and buy RPGs and machine guns at Walmart? Not likely. You have Commando Mora’s blood on your filthy hands. Admit it!”

“Check your own armories,” suggested Major Lopez. “Corruption is so rampant in your military, your own soldiers sell the insurgents all the arms they want.”

“The Legion’s fingerprints are everywhere here today,” argued the spider commander. “You will pay for your crimes.”

“Get off our planet!” responded Major Lopez, losing his temper. “We were here first!”

“And we will be here last!” answered the spider commander.

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Chapter 18

The spider commander woke to the sound of his new alarm clock. He angrily smashed his claw down on the snooze button. Blessed silence followed as he drifted back to sleep. An aide had bought the damn human pestilence device from Walmart because the spider commander had been having punctuality issues. It was hoped the alarm clock might help.

Using alarms to wake up was a completely alien concept. Humans were obsessed with clocks and alarms. Humans put clocks atop courthouses, on bank signs, on freeway signs, and even wore time pieces on their appendages. Small and large alarm chimes ruled the human pestilence day. Fools, thought the spider commander. He glanced at his new Timex watch, also just bought at Walmart. It was 0530 hours. The sound of Reveille could be heard across the MDL, playing on Legion loudspeakers.

As the spider commander drifted back to sleep, the alarm clock sounded again, this time louder. “Air raid!” mumbled the spider commander, talking in his sleep. He dreamed of Legion bombs falling from the sky, but he could not move or wake up to save himself. His nemesis, Colonel Czerinski, was using nukes to kill him! Finally, the spider commander woke abruptly from his nightmare. He smashed the snooze button again, but this time it would not turn off. He pulled the cord from the wall and threw the clock across the room.

Coffee! That is what I need. How can I be expected to fight the human pestilence invasion, and all these encroachments on our culture, without first having my Starbucks mountain-grown? It would be uncivilized to even try!

***

Major Lopez, CIA officer Scalia, and a squad of legionnaires used flashlights mounted on assault rifles to see through the darkness of the newest insurgent tunnel across the MDL. Leaders from the Fist & Claw were to meet them halfway, to take possession of crates of weapons and ammunition. Also being delivered were gas masks and atropine to counter the spiders’ recent use of nerve agent and chemical warfare in the tunnels.

An insurgent challenged Major Lopez from far off down the dark corridor. The legionnaires stopped, wary of the spider voice. A human also called out a challenge.

“I guess freedom fighters come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and species,” commented Major Lopez. “Can he be trusted?”

“We also come in all sexes,” replied the spider insurgent. “I am female. I started this cell, and I lead it. Of course I can be trusted. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Whatever,” said Major Lopez. “What are you going to do with all these weapons you bought? The insurgency hasn’t been all that active lately. I thought maybe you had been defeated and given up.”

“Desire for freedom cannot be defeated,” said the spider insurgent. “Student protesters at Capital City University are going to seize the administration building and the rest of the campus. When the Intelligentsia State Police respond with their usual heavy-clawed tactics, they will be in for a big surprise.”

“You can’t fight from defensive positions against mechanized infantry,” advised Major Lopez. “Mobile guerrilla tactics and car bombs would be more effective.”

“We are going to declare our independence,” replied the insurgent leader. “You do not declare your nation’s independence to the world with a car bomb. We are going to appeal to the galaxy and the United States Galactic Federation for diplomatic recognition and military assistance.”

“The Legion cannot send troops,” said Major Lopez. “That would just start another war. The risk would be too great.”

“What do you know of risk?” asked the insurgent leader. “No matter, we will be martyred. But our voice will be heard across the galaxy.”

“I will put the Legion on full alert,” said Major Lopez. “If I see an opportunity to help, I will. Perhaps we can create a diversion to distract the spider marines. But if you try to hold fixed positions, you will be overwhelmed and killed by superior forces.”

“Satellite TV will broadcast our fate on the networks and on the database,” said the insurgent leader. “This will be our Tiananmen Square. No matter what happens, New Colorado will never be the same again.”

“You’re a legend in your own mind,” said Major Lopez, dismissing the insurgent leader as crazy. “I wish you luck.”

“You don’t care what happens to us!” shouted the insurgent leader. “Do you?”

“Major Lopez follows orders,” said CIA officer Scalia, stepping between them. “That is all that is important here today.”

“Wrong,” said the insurgent leader. “It is important that you believe in our cause, because you will have to live in the new world we create. We are all Coloradans. I am not a terrorist. We are your future.”

“Rationalize all you want,” replied Major Lopez. “Causes and fanatics like you come and go. As long as you stay north of the MDL, I am fine with that. You will eventually be killed or just fade away.”

“Desire for freedom never fades,” insisted the insurgent leader. “You are only motivated by your hatred of us spiders. You supply weapons so we can kill each other off while you stand back and watch.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” lied Major Lopez, uncomfortably shifting his feet. “And for the record, I truly wish you and your freedom fighters good luck. I do not want you to die.”

“You don’t want me to die?” asked the insurgent leader. “Or my fighters?”

“Either,” said Major Lopez.

The spider insurgent stepped forward and kissed Major Lopez on the cheek. She then quickly left with her comrades. Major Lopez frantically wiped the greenish yellow saliva off his face.

“You owe me big time for that,” said Major Lopez, turning to Scalia. “Getting kissed by an insurgent spider babe is well above and beyond the call of duty.”

“You want another medal?” asked Scalia, sarcastically. “It’s not going to happen.”

* * * * *

These leaflets are being distributed everywhere in Capital City,” advised the Director of Intelligentsia and State Security for the North Territory. “Informants report Fist & Claw terrorists have infiltrated the university and are heavily armed with smuggled Legion weapons.”

The spider governor glanced at the clumsily handwritten flyer handed to him. The document appeared to be a declaration of mutiny:

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

We hold these truths to be self evident, that all species are created equal, that they are endowed by God with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

That to secure these rights, governments are created, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.

That absolute Imperial despotism has become destructive of these rights, it is the right of all citizens to alter or abolish their government, and to institute new government.

Giving the severe nature of Imperial will, the Coloradans have no choice but to exercise our right to throw off such government and declare our full independence and intent to take our rightful place as equals among the nations of the galaxy.

To this end we mutually pledge our lives, fortunes, and honor.

Fist & Claw.

“This is treason,” fumed the Director of Intelligentsia. “They all should be arrested and shot before their bad weed takes root and grows.”

“A few student protestors occupying the university dean’s office does not a revolution make,” commented the spider governor. “The Emperor has decreed that free speech is to be allowed and tolerated.”

“But what about the armed militants?” asked the director.

“It is your job it ferret out the militants hiding among the regular students,” said the governor. “Arrest or kill any Fist & Claw agitators or terrorists you find. Do it discreetly. But let the students have their fun. The students will soon tire of protest in a few days and go back to their partying and beer drinking. It is their nature.”

“Yes, sir!” said the director. “It will be done.”

“Make sure you do not light the fuse of chaos,” warned the spider governor. “I want this protest to remain a local police matter. I do not want martyrs on TV.”

* * * * *

Intelligentsia armored infantry surrounded the university and waited for orders. Occasionally an isolated arrest of a disorderly student was made. All movement was barred into the campus. Students were allowed to leave in small groups. All classes were canceled indefinitely. As the Intelligentsia tightened its perimeter, students were ordered to disperse. Most students stayed, chanting and throwing rocks or debris. Checkpoints were established to control all movement of supplies, including medical and food. Slowly, the protest started to lose steam. After a few days, students began to leave their trashed classrooms and the administration building.

Then, anti-tank missiles slammed into Intelligentsia armored vehicles. The Intelligentsia responded with machine guns, tank fire, artillery, and air strikes. Arthropodan marines were called in for reinforcements. Millions of citizens of the North Territory watched the events unfolding on TV and the database. They converged on Capital City to shield the students from slaughter. A truce of sorts followed.

Led by the spider Mayor of Capital City, the crowds milled about the tanks and damaged buildings. The mayor stood atop a tank turret and urged the marine team leaders to turn their guns away from the campus, and to protect the students. He denounced as immoral the slaughter of spiders by spiders. One by one, young tank commanders turned their turrets about. Ambulances rushed through the Intelligentsia lines to evacuate wounded. The Director of Intelligentsia tried to rally what was now a lost cause, but was arrested by a spider marine commander. The marines then revolted, declaring the North Territory to be the Independent State of Colorado.

Furious, the governor ordered the General of New Memphis and the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi Desert Military Sector to restore order in Capital City. Both had been watching events unfold on TV, and refused to lead troops. When marines and protestors marched on the governor’s palace, the governor resigned. The power of the Office of the Imperial Governor of the North Territory was relinquished to the Mayor of Capital City. The new governor declared on TV and the database that all of the North Territory was independent, and called upon the United States Galactic Federation to be the first to establish diplomatic relations with the Independent State of Colorado.

Major Lopez, also watching on TV, gloated. All had gone beyond anyone’s greatest expectations. The Arthropodan Empire had been dealt a major blow. They could no longer threaten America if they couldn’t even control their own.

General Daly immediately, in his capacity as Military Governor of the human half of New Colorado, publicly accepted the credentials of the new nation’s ambassador. General Daly ordered the Legion space fleet to block any aggressive moves by the Arthropodan Fleet to prevent a massacre from space.

All seemed to be going well. General Daly looked out the window of his top floor office at Legion Headquarters at his own student demonstrators. In the excitement of the collapse of the North, he had forgotten about them. Protestors were complaining about the Legion’s use of a nuclear bomb during the latest round of fighting, and about the summary extradition of American citizen Saviano Juardo, and about ignoring due process.

When word of the collapse of Arthropodan rule in the North spread, the population of New Phoenix and the surrounding communities swarmed into the streets to celebrate. Many joined the protestors at Legion Headquarters and easily pushed aside security to occupy the building. General Daly was taken hostage. Protestors declared that now the entire planet of New Colorado was independent. Other government buildings in New Phoenix were soon occupied by the mob. I got a call from Old Earth to mobilize.

“You are to secure the Legion Airbase at New Phoenix,” ordered the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of Old Earth. “Use the First Division to retake New Phoenix from the rebels. Quick decisive action is what is needed. More troops are on the way from the other side of New Colorado and from Mars.”

“Perhaps we should just divide the planet up,” I suggested. “Cut our loses and welcome a new ally and cousin to the galaxy of nations. It’s a big planet with room enough for everyone.”

“What kind of treasonous talk is that?” asked the chairman. “Don’t tell me you are part of the rebellion, too! The Butcher of New Colorado would never join the enemy – would you?”

“I’m just saying the uprising is too big to stop without nuking the whole planet. And we still might lose. Humanity would suffer from that.”

As I spoke, I received a fax message containing a Declaration of Independence from the new government in New Phoenix. A congress was already in place, lead by newly appointed President Kalipetsis. The new president urged all Legion units to join the new United States of Colorado. He stated the armory at the Legion airbase at New Phoenix had already been seized.

I read the fax again, disconnected the communications feed from Old Earth, and sat back in my office chair. I sorted through a stack of mail, stalling, trying to calm myself and come to a rational decision. A large envelope stood out from the stack of mail. Sergeant Green had said the brown envelope had been delivered by Major Lopez, and was important. I examined the envelope with interest. It seemed to have some weight to it. I set it aside and called Major Lopez on his cell phone.

“Are you still pissed at me over how things went in New Memphis?” I asked. “It looks on TV as if our little world just got turned upside down. The entire planet is declaring its independence.”

“Where are you?” asked Major Lopez. “What action are you going to take against the rebels in New Phoenix? We need to secure our Legion nukes as soon as possible.”

“I’m in my office about to open my mail. What is in this letter you sent me? It’s not a bomb is it?”

Awkward silence followed. Not good, I thought to myself. It is a bomb.

“Are you going to move against the rebel government in New Phoenix?” Major Lopez repeated.

“I have orders to immediately secure the Legion airbase and nuclear armory at New Phoenix, and to attack the new government,” I replied. “But the airbase is already in mutiny. Anyway, I doubt legionnaires will attack a large human population in rebellion. That’s not what we are here for. I hung up on the Joint Chiefs of Staff a few minutes ago. Do you think that was a mistake?”

“No,” answered Major Lopez. “This has been brewing for a long time. The entire planetary elite supports independence. It’s just the natural evolution of the planet as it grows. A peaceful transition of power is in everybody’s best interests, especially until we know what action the Arthropodan Empire is going to take.”

“What about this letter?” I asked.

“Throw that letter in the garbage,” said Major Lopez. “Don’t open it. We are going to see America born all over again. We are going to live history and see the birth of a great new nation. Viva la revolucion! Viva la New Colorado!”

“Whatever.”

Major Lopez disconnected. I called Sergeant Green and ordered him to dispose of Lopez’s letter. Carefully.

###

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~AUTHOR’S NOTE~

The history of the world is a history of dictators, emperors, kings, despots, torture chambers, slavery, and extreme cruelty. Totalitarian governments have been the norm throughout humanity’s history, right up to our present. The American experiment of government of the people, by the people, and for the people is still a relatively new concept worldwide.

Freedom is not, however, an unappreciated concept worldwide. Despite much disinformation, jealousy, propaganda, and politics, the world looks upon America as a shining beacon on the hill to which they aspire. This is especially so, because most of the world still lives under dictatorship and repression.

I suspect citizens of alien civilizations across the galaxy would share humanity’s desire for freedom, and I thought it would be interesting to explore what might happen if they experienced American culture up close and personal. I hope you have enjoyed my tale.

Oh, one last chapter in this American saga. The Nike Corporation just signed a multi-million-dollar deal with the Emperor, putting the Nike Swooshstika on all Arthropodan marine uniforms. The deal is part of an advertising campaign promoting Nike’s new ‘Spiderwear’ sports products throughout the Empire’s six inhabited planets. And what about New Colorado? Well, you will have to read Book 7, America’s Galactic Foreign Legion: Enemies.

I hope you enjoyed reading the first six books of my America's Galactic Foreign Legion series. I have seven more AGFL books in the editing process. My intent was to entertain in a humorous manner.

However, I have received some political criticism. I tried to write fair and balanced, but I cannot please everyone. If there is a silent majority out there who supports the humor of America's Galactic Foreign Legion, please take this opportunity to let your voice and opinion be heard by writing a positive Amazon Kindle book review.

Humor can be a difficult thing. Thank you for your support.

Sincerely,

Walter Knight

www.waltknight.yolasite.com

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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

Walter Knight

Walter played football on Tucson High School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.

Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.

To find out more about Walter Knight and his books, visit his web site.

www.waltknight.yolasite.com

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~LIST OF OTHER PENUMBRA PUBLISHING TITLES~

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www.penumbrapublishing.com

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A Maryland Vampire Story

by Jamie Wasserman

(Paranormal Romantic Vampire / Horror)

The Cat's Fancy

by Gwynn E. Ambrose

(Romance)

Crystal Clear

Storm Ryder

by Dana Warryck

(Science-Fiction Romance)

Dominatrix-Online.com

Mistress Blackheart: Policeman's Prerogative

by Dallas White

(Contemporary Erotic Romance)

Lucifer's Last Lover

by Dana Warryck

(Supernatural Romance)

Heart of Steele

by Kessa Stranberg

(Contemporary Romance)

Last Flight Home

by Robert J. Wetherall

(Contemporary Aeronautics Saga)

Parallel Triangle

by Sandy Hyatt-James

(Science-Fiction Romance)

Pixie

by Willa K. Danes

(Contemporary Magical Fantasy Romance)

Stepping Out of My Grave

by David Berardelli

(Paranormal Ghost)

Talk of the Town

by Lucille Naroian

(Contemporary Romance)

The Protectorate

Patriarch

by Dana Warryck

(Paranormal Vampire Romance)

The Realms of Beliar

The Sword Myndarit

by Andrew Arrowsmith

(Epic Magical Fantasy)

Unforgettable

by Lucille Naroian

(Contemporary Romance)

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