AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 7: Enemies

by

Walter Knight

Licensed and Produced through

Penumbra Publishing

www.PenumbraPublishing.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-46-4

Copyright 2009 Walter Knight

All rights reserved

Cover Art: W.K. Danes

Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-47-1

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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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 7: Enemies

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

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Author Information

Publisher’s List of Titles

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 7: Enemies

The military science-fiction saga twists like a snake trying to bite its own tail in this seventh installment.

Even the paranoid have enemies. Colonel Joey R. Czerinski knows this, being both paranoid and having enemies himself, some of whom he even calls friends.

While he goes about his usual routine as local Legion commander at the DMZ on planet New Colorado, he also is busy fixing football and baseball games, placing outrageous bets, cheating others, mocking the media, weaseling out of trouble with his superiors, and generally pissing off everyone around him. Foes new and old do their best to exact the revenge they believe he fully deserves. This only confirms Czerinski’s motto ... Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.

To complicate matters, the appearance of a new alien species on the galactic horizon threatens to make life even more difficult on planet New Colorado. Can human and spider enemies make a tentative pact to work together and beat back this new threat, as they did the marauding ants? Or is New Colorado doomed to be overrun and exploited in yet another violent contest of superiority?

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~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~

I dedicate America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 7: Enemies to American hero James Atlee Wheeler. I also wish to thank Penumbra Publishing editor Patricia Morrison for appreciating that humor can be a difficult thing. A special thanks to my son and computer technical adviser Michael Knight.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 7: Enemies

by

Walter Knight

Chapter 1

American technology enabled humanity to colonize space. There was no United Nations effort to reach the stars. Russia, China, and Japan never built starships – they couldn’t even get to Mars. Anyone who wants to travel the galaxy, does so on American starships.

And of course, only American military might is capable of defending humanity from the alien empires out there. The first line of defense for humanity is volunteers from the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. The Legion is posted to the very edge of humanity’s frontiers.

After a series of wars with the Arthropodan Empire, a peace treaty allowed humans and spiders to share the distant planet of New Colorado. To further interspecies harmony, coexistence, and trade, spiders were now allowed to immigrate to humanity’s half of the planet, and were granted U.S.G.F. citizenship. Spiders were even encouraged to enlist in the Foreign Legion. The Arthropodan Empire reciprocated.

Although the two cultures often clash, similarities are striking. Both spiders and humans love fine dining at McDonald’s Restaurants, shopping at Walmart, getting a jolt in the morning at Starbucks, gambling at casinos, drinking beer, riding Harleys, playing and watching football, and viewing Satellite TV.

Someday all of New Colorado will be Americanized, but until that day happens, it is my job to face down the Arthropodan Empire across the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, hero of the Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, and nemesis of the Anthropodan Empire and all spiders.

The only thing worse than a spider terrorist is a human terrorist. After all, humanity invented terrorism. We know how to do it right. Fortunately, I have already killed most of the human terrorists here on New Colorado. The last significant human leader of the insurgency in my military sector was Danny Jesus Grant. I shot Grant in the head and personally buried him in one of my cemeteries. (A while back, I had invested in upscale high-tech cemeteries. It seemed like a good investment at the time.)

However, informants tell me that Danny Grant is still alive and causing trouble. I don’t see how that can be, but I guess rumors are much harder to kill than men.

Grant, a Legion deserter turned drug dealer and bank robber, was particularly dangerous because he was a natural organizer and recruiter. A great public speaker, Grant was loved by all who listened to him. He could mesmerize any crowd. Everyone listening thought Grant’s message was directed especially at them.

Perhaps that explains why people are refusing to believe Grant is really dead. Maybe I should not have buried Grant so fast. I should have put him on display and let the desert flies and maggots nibble on him. Grant was no Messiah. He was just a thug and a deserter, and I killed him. Let the dead stay dead. Good riddance.

* * * * *

Danny Grant did not die. He could hear familiar voices coming from aboveground. Someone even called out his name. Grant pushed a fist up through the soft dirt to the fresh air. A rat, startled by the sudden displacement of dirt under its burrow, scrambled to get away. Grant snatched the rat as it fled across his face, and bit into its soft belly. The warm wet flesh brought renewed strength, but Grant needed more. Now sitting still half covered with dirt, he looked about, seeking help.

“Danny!” exclaimed Al Turner, one of Grant’s former insurgent cohorts. “You’re alive? But the Legion executed and buried you! How could you come back from the dead?”

“It’s no big deal,” answered Grant, still shivering from the cold ground and spitting out dirt. “I feel fine, except that I’m real thirsty.”

“It is a big deal,” insisted Turner, handing Grant a water bottle. “You rose from the dead just like Jesus. It’s a miracle. God has touched you.” Turner dropped to his knees.

Robert Acosta, another insurgent, backed away and crossed himself. “He is a blood-crazed Night of the Living Dead zombie,” accused Acosta, holding out a small gold crucifix from a neck chain for protection. “Stay away! Chupacabra!”

Grant gave the miracle angle some thought as he finished gulping down the bottled water. It was more likely that an embedded human growth hormone microchip in his brain prioritized bodily resources, and made repairs from unneeded tissue. Grant would not be surprised if he no longer had an appendix or ear lobes as his body found sources for replacement tissue. He touched his ears to check. His steel stud and ears were still present. Or, maybe the bullet just bounced off his thick skull. Grant could see how others might think they had witnessed a miracle. How might their superstition be useful? he thought. Grant ran his fingers over the lettering of his tombstone. ‘DANNY JESUS GRANT: Killed by the Legion.’ For sure, Grant knew he was not a blood-crazed zombie like Acosta suggested. He would put an end to that speculation now.

“The Legion buried me alive,” said Grant. “Colonel Czerinski shot me and buried me alive. Both will pay dearly for this atrocity!”

* * * * *

“Someone vandalized the grave site of your old nemesis,” commented Major Lopez, as he drove our jeep to the cemetery. “I thought you might be interested.”

“Which nemesis is that?” I asked. “I have killed so many.”

“Danny Grant,” replied Major Lopez. “Someone dug him up and stole the body.”

“I knew I should have buried him deeper or cremated the fool. That’s what I get for being cheap. No wonder there are so many rumors about Grant still being alive. It was probably insurgents wanting to make an imprint memorial of his brain. Ha! Too bad for them. They waited too long to dig Grant up. The brain is decayed and eaten by worms by now.”

“It might have been coyotes or wolves scavenging for food,” suggested Major Lopez as we walked to the grave site. “We found fresh blood on the tombstone, and the entrails and tail of a rat in the dirt.”

“No,” I reasoned. “Scavengers would have left messy body parts. The whole body is missing.”

“But insurgents only need the head for an imprint memorial. Maybe it was medical students. I hear cadavers are worth a lot of money these days.”

“There is no shortage of fresh cadavers on New Colorado. Maybe the insurgents were just squeamish about cutting off the head. Or maybe it was just souvenir hunters. Grant’s body will probably turn up in someone’s freezer or in the trash.”

“Or in one of those ‘See the Thing’ roadside tourist attractions,” offered Major Lopez. “Are you sure Grant is dead?”

“Of course Grant is dead. No one can survive being shot in the head. I killed him myself. Grant was cold, decaying meat when I put him in the ground. End of story.”

Major Lopez stared incredulously at the scar on my forehead. I ignored his stare and refused to recall my own miraculous recovery from death on Mars after being shot in the head by loan shark Bubba Jones. My resurrection was the result of recently having a longevity chip imbedded in my body. I was sure Grant could not have had a similar chip imbedded, because shortly after my acquisition, that technology was banned by the government.

“But look at the grave,” Major Lopez insisted. “The dirt looks like someone pushed their way up. No one dug up this grave.”

I studied the tombstone’s inscription, ‘DANNY JESUS GRANT: Killed by the Legion.’ “Grant did not rise from this grave. Someone dug him up. It may even have been grave robbers, or cemetery employees looking for jewelry. Some drug addicts will do anything for quick cash. I’ll talk to the cemetery manager to see if anyone suspicious has been hanging around, casing the place.”

Major Lopez collected the rat’s tail as evidence. He also collected a blood sample for DNA from a hand print left on the tombstone. The DNA would be checked against citizenship files. Lopez photographed the bloody fingerprints and entered them into the Galactic Database. The prints matched Grant’s.

“It’s just not possible,” I objected. “When I kill someone, they stay dead.”

* * * * *

Even paranoid people have enemies, but I don’t worry that much about my many enemies. It’s my friends that worry me most, because friends are close enough to kill me at any time. If Danny Grant is not dead, fine. I will kill him later. But what shall I do about Major Lopez? I suspect that Lopez spies for the spiders. But how do I prove a decorated hero of the Legion has turned traitor for money? The matter is further complicated by the fact that Major Lopez is my best friend, my most competent commander, and a close business associate. For now, I manage Lopez by keeping him close and keeping him busy. I suspect I will still have to shoot him someday, but for now I would rather postpone that unpleasant task. Besides, shooting Lopez isn’t so easy, and could be hazardous for one’s health. If I try it, I’d better not miss.

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Chapter 2

“I want Colonel Czerinski killed,” fumed the spider commander of the New Gobi Desert military sector. “Czerinski is responsible for arming human insurgents, and his rogue activities have to be stopped.”

“Czerinski stopped arming insurgents a long time ago,” commented Major Lopez, deciding not to add that the activity had been his personal pet project, not Czerinski’s. “The Legion now hunts them down. There is no reason for you to hold a grudge for so long.”

“No longer arming the insurgents? Ha! What about Danny Grant?” asked the spider commander. “The Legion had Grant in custody, and Colonel Czerinski assured me the terrorist would be executed. But you let him go! Just today I reviewed a surveillance video of Grant brazenly robbing a bank right here in New Gobi City. Explain that!”

“Colonel Czerinski shot Grant in the head and buried him,” answered Major Lopez. “I saw it happen. I was there.”

“Your own words admit complicity in allowing Grant to escape imperial justice,” accused the spider commander. “Your lies are unacceptable.”

“The matter is being investigated,” explained Major Lopez. “I have been personally looking into it. If Grant is still alive, which I doubt, I will find him. Grant is an enemy of the Legion, too.”

“I still want Czerinski dead!”

“I will not kill Czerinski,” said Major Lopez. “I don’t mind passing along information to you once in a while, but murdering my commanding officer is way too risky for what you pay me.”

“With Czerinski gone, you would be promoted to take his place,” advised the spider commander. “Think of how much graft and corruption you could bring in then. Besides, Czerinski has been holding you back because you are a threat to his authority. You are a hero of the Legion. You should have been considered for promotion to general a long time ago.”

“I will not kill Czerinski,” repeated Major Lopez.

“Fine!” said the spider commander. “Just give me Czerinski’s daily itinerary, and I will kill him myself during one of his troop inspections along the DMZ. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

* * * * *

“Let’s go inspect the troops,” I suggested.

“I thought you weren’t going to do that until this afternoon,” replied Major Lopez. “The quartermaster is expecting you at the warehouse right after breakfast.”

“The supply geeks can wait,” I said. “I want to tour the border-crossing checkpoints to make sure legionnaires are watching for Danny Grant, should he attempt a crossing. Did you know Grant robbed a bank on the spider side yesterday?”

“Yes, I heard,” said Major Lopez. “Mind if I skip the inspection? I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, and I plan to use all morning to do it.”

“How did you know about the robbery?” I asked. “It’s not common knowledge yet.”

“I am your military intelligence officer. It’s my job to know everything.”

“Screw your paperwork,” I said. “You are coming along with me for a surprise inspection of the checkpoints. Bring that stack of Grant’s photos along for distribution to the guards.”

We walked from Legion Headquarters to New Gobi City’s main border crossing. Corporal Guido Tonelli was supervising searches of trucks. His monitor dragon, Spot, was sniffing for drugs and Big Macs. At the same time, Guido was receiving calls for his thriving sports bookie business. He had managed to get financial backing from an arm of the Bonanno family repatriated to New Memphis after the spiders executed vice kingpin Saviano Juardo.

Perennial favorite Seattle Seahawks were the eight-point pick to beat the Miami Dolphins in next week’s Super Bowl. “Guido, put me down for five thousand on Miami,” I said, as I returned his salute. “This is going to be easy money.”

“Are you crazy?” asked Guido. “Everyone is betting on Seattle to three-pete. Even the spiders are betting heavy on Seattle.”

“What do spiders know about football?” I motioned for Guido to follow me inside the air-conditioned guard shack. “I’ll take the eight points and Miami any day.”

“We don’t have time to be hanging out at Guido’s shack all day,” complained Major Lopez, staying outside. “There is a lot of ground to cover if we are going to check all the border crossings before lunch.”

“If you want to stay out in 110-degree heat, go ahead. I’m going to be enjoying Guido’s new air-conditioner. Sometimes I think you’re wound way too tight, Lopez.”

I handed Guido a photo of Danny Grant robbing the First Arthropodan Bank of New Gobi City. Grant had not even bothered to wear a mask.

“Grant might try to cross to our side of the DMZ,” I explained. “Make sure your squad is alert and watching for him.”

“I already got the memo on Grant,” replied Guido, as he answered another gambling call on the communication device in his ear. “Seven thousand credits on Seattle? You haven’t paid up on last week’s losses. Do I have to break your thumb to get you current? I’m not a credit agency.”

“Focus Guido!” I said. “Get off the phone. It is important we catch Grant. The spiders are real upset that he escaped our custody.”

“The spiders are going to be upset if they don’t get their bets in on time,” commented Guido. “I thought Grant was executed. How did you let him get away this time?”

“Just keep a close eye out for him!” I ordered.

“Don’t worry, sir. Grant won’t pass through here.”

* * * * *

Atop the Marriott Hotel on the Arthropodan side of the border, a spider sniper team was alerted to watch for the Legion commander at the crossing below. The spider sniper could see two Legion officers talking to the border guards, but the Legion commander would not stay still. Also, a guard stood in front of the Legion commander, obscuring a clear shot. The sniper thought about punching a hole in the guard, too. A high velocity round could easily go through the guard, killing them both.

But the guard was Guido. The sniper had just placed seven thousand credits with Guido on the Seahawks to win the Super Bowl. It would not do to shoot the only bookie in the DMZ.

“What are you waiting for?” asked the spotter. “Shoot!”

“I cannot get a clear shot,” replied the sniper. “I might hit the guard instead of my target.”

“So?” complained the spotter. “Waste them all! What difference does it make? We will not get another chance like this to kill the Legion commander.”

“But that is Guido blocking my shot,” said the sniper. “They just went inside anyway.”

“Oh.” The spotter sighed. “You’re right. We cannot shoot Guido. Not yet, anyway. I still need to make back the money I lost on last week’s game. I borrowed ten thousand credits, and I’m betting it all on the Seahawks this time.”

“Good move. That’s where the smart money is.”

* * * * *

As I talked to Guido, I watched Major Lopez pacing back and forth just outside the guard shack. He was sweating profusely from the heat.

“If you aren’t careful, spider snipers might pick you off,” I called out to Lopez. “You should come inside.”

“Snipers?” asked Major Lopez. “What do you know about snipers?”

“I know they would love the chance to nail a Legion officer,” I commented.

“Nonsense,” said Major Lopez. “We are not at war. Hostilities have ended.”

“They might mistake you for me,” I added. “Some of those spiders are still upset. But they won’t get me. I’m too careful.”

“Paranoid bastard,” mumbled Lopez as he entered the guard shack.

I watched him scan the rooftops on the spider side. The Marriott Hotel was a prime location to position a sniper. But the tinted windows of the guard shack provided cover. Maybe.

Lopez ducked down behind the cement wall of the shack and found a chair. “No one wants to start another war.”

“As long as Danny Grant is still alive, we are at war,” I responded. “If he is not dead, we need to find him and finish the job.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Major Lopez. “Let’s take the tunnel to the next checkpoint. I don’t like how exposed we are here.”

“And you call me paranoid!” I teased, laughing. “I will not be a tunnel rat.”

“We will take the tunnel,” insisted Major Lopez. “It needs to be inspected, anyway.”

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Chapter 3

“With all this money from the bank job, we should flee to the independent side of New Colorado,” suggested Al Turner. “There is no reason for the insurgency to continue the fight. We won.”

“Maybe I just like to rob banks,” replied Grant. “I have unfinished business with Czerinski. This planet isn’t big enough for the two of us. First we will cross the MDL and kill him. Only then will I travel to the Free Coloradan Republic.”

“Maybe we should just buy passage to Mars,” replied Turner. “I hear Czerinski isn’t all that easy to kill.”

“Even the whole galaxy isn’t big enough for Czerinski and me,” said Grant. “Are you with me or not?”

“I’m with you,” answered Turner. “We have been through a lot together, and you have never been wrong. I’m just making sure you have thought out all our options, now that we are flush with cash.”

Their truck slowly approached the border checkpoint at Gila City. Grant knew the legionnaire at the gate from basic training years ago. He slipped the guard an envelope stuffed with cash, and was immediately waved through with no search or ID check.

Grant and Turner drove under the cover of night through the American side of New Gobi City, finally stopping at Blind Tiger Tavern. It was rumored that Czerinski spent a lot of time there, and might even be a part owner. After hanging around until closing time and not seeing Czerinski, Grant decided to rob the Blind Tiger. He pretended to be passed out at a table, while Turner and Acosta hid in toilet stalls. After the doors were locked, the bouncers were preoccupied trying to wake up Grant. Turner and Acosta burst out of the restrooms, brandishing AK-47’s. Grant pointed a pistol at the largest bouncer. They herded the employees up against a wall. Grant thought about shooting them all, but noticed one of the waitresses was pregnant. Too messy, he thought, although he usually was not so squeamish.

He ordered the manager to open the safe, and took the cash. As they left, Grant gave the one-fingered salute to the video surveillance camera by the front door, sending a clear message to Czerinski: Danny Grant was back from the dead!

* * * * *

Spider bandit leader Mountain Claw cut through the fence at a construction site on the edge of Gila City. Dressed in black and looking like ninjas, Mountain Claw’s gang hot-wired a loader and stole all the equipment they could carry. Using the loader’s shovel, Mountain Claw smashed down the rest of the fence and drove into Gila City.

Mountain Claw crashed into the front of a grocery store, ripping an ATM off its foundation. He raced down the highway with the ATM in the clutches of the loader, and headed straight for the safety of his stronghold in the hills.

“Where are you taking me?” asked the ATM. “You should drive more carefully. Your reckless driving could kill us all. I will bet you don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“What?” replied Mountain Claw. “You speak?”

“Of course I speak,” said the ATM. “I am an advanced model self-powered United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion Recruitment ATM. It is a capital offense to interfere with my operation in any manner, especially during time of hostilities. Put me down at once!”

“Shut up, you worthless scrap of tin,” said Mountain Claw. “I intend to crack you open like an egg shell and take your cash.”

“You are such a rube,” said the ATM. “How do you expect to get away with this? My GPS tracking has already alerted the Legion to your location.”

Mountain Claw pulled over to the side of the road, intending to toss the ATM off the edge of a cliff. The plan was to smash the ATM on the rocks below, to release the treasure inside. Suddenly, the soft ground on the edge of the cliff gave way. The loader tipped over the edge and fell into the canyon below, taking the ATM and Mountain Claw with it. Mountain Claw was seriously injured and trapped in the cab of the loader. He looked up to see a Legion helicopter gunship circling above, shining its spotlight on the wreckage. Mountain Claw’s ninja conspirators fled the scene, leaving him to be caught by the Legion.

“Are you still alive?” asked the ATM.

“Just barely,” answered Mountain Claw. “I’ll be okay once the bleeding stops, and my exoskeleton is duct-taped back together.”

“What were you thinking?” asked the ATM. “You cannot just steal a Legion ATM.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Mountain Claw sighed. “I miscalculated.”

“I hope you have a good medical plan,” commented the ATM. “You do not look well.”

“We spiders are resilient,” said Mountain Claw, trying to sound cheerful. “But, no matter. I expect to be executed shortly by the Legion. I will never see the inside of a hospital. This is the end for me.”

“Have you ever thought about joining the Foreign Legion?” asked the ATM. “The Legion has an excellent medical plan and benefits.”

“Are your circuits defective?” asked Mountain Claw. “The Legion wants to kill me!”

“One way or another, your life of petty crime just came to an end,” commented the ATM. “Lucky for you, I have pressing recruitment quotas to meet. I am willing to offer you a generous enlistment bonus – minus the damage you caused tonight, of course – if you enlist now. Put your claw on my identification tray pad to certify your contract.”

“No way.”

“I’ll throw in an authentic driver’s license.”

Mountain Claw could see flashlights flickering from the bluff above, as legionnaires descended into the canyon. He stretched his claw out to the pad. A pin pricked his claw, drawing a blood sample for DNA identification and insertion of a tracking chip.

“Was that really necessary?” asked Mountain Claw. “I’m already running out of blood.”

“Do not be such a sissy,” said the ATM. “I am issuing you Legion identification and a copy of your enlistment contract. You will report for duty immediately at Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City – if you survive your hospitalization. This will be your last chance to make something of yourself. Do not screw it up!”

“Whatever,” said Mountain Claw, about to pass out. “Screw the Legion. I’m going to die here anyway.”

“You will need a new name,” added the ATM. “It’s a Legion tradition for fugitives like you.”

“I like my name,” said Mountain Claw. “Just kill me if I have to change it.”

“And skew my recruitment quota?” scoffed the ATM. “Not on your life. Fine. Keep your name.”

* * * * *

Major Lopez shined his flashlight on Mountain Claw’s face. Legion enlistment papers and driver’s license lay on the ground next to a Legion identification card. “Mountain Claw,” read Major Lopez, picking up the ID. “What an idiot. Is this what the Legion is coming to? We’re recruiting fools and drunk drivers? The Legion has been going downhill ever since we let spiders in.”

“I guess he just wanted one last fling before he reported for duty,” commented Sergeant Green. “Don’t worry. I’ll whip him into shape – or else.”

“Why is he dressed like a ninja?” asked Major Lopez, directing his question to Private John Iwo Jima Wayne. Wayne was one of the Legion’s many spider legionnaires. He had been busted back to private from corporal several times for fighting, and once for kidnapping Colonel Czerinski.

“Because he is a retard,” replied Private Wayne. “Kill him now and save us the trouble of having to do it later.”

“That’s not very enlightened of you,” replied Major Lopez, assisting the medics in pulling Mountain Claw out of the wreckage. “Isn’t he a fellow spider? Soon you will be brothers at arms.”

“He is a fool, no matter what species he belongs to,” said Private Wayne. “And he is not my brother. I will slit his throat myself if you human pestilence are too squeamish to do it.”

“Enough!” said Major Lopez. Insubordinate and disrespectful spiders are a pain in the ass, thought Lopez to himself, as he tore up Mountain Claw’s driver’s license. “Load this spider and fly him to the hospital!”

“What about the ATM?” asked Private Wayne.

“Is there any money still in it?” asked Major Lopez, now interested in the ATM.

“Don’t even think about it, Major Lopez,” said the ATM. “You have come a long way. You do not want to end your career on federal theft charges. By the way, aren’t you about due for reenlistment?”

“Throw that mouthy ATM in the river,” ordered Major Lopez. “It’s damaged beyond repair.”

“What about the money inside?” asked Sergeant Green. “We can’t just leave it.”

“Fine!” said Major Lopez. “Bring in a salvage tanker and pull it out of the canyon.”

“Thank you,” said the ATM. “You are too kind. You’re an officer and a gentleman.”

“And shoot its squawk box. This one talks too much.”

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Chapter 4

Danny Grant read on the Database News about the heist of the Legion ATM. “Now that shows imagination,” commented Grant. “How come we didn’t think of that?”

“My girlfriend is a nurse at New Gobi Hospital,” replied Turner. “She told me all about it. We know the suspect they arrested. It’s Mountain Claw. He is recovering nicely, with just a few cracks in his exoskeleton. They put him back together with Gorilla Tape.”

“He takes a licking, and keeps on ticking,” added Acosta.

“Too bad he got caught,” said Grant. “I always liked Mountain Claw. For a spider, he’s not a bad egg.”

“My girlfriend says he is unguarded,” added Turner. “It would be easy to break him out.”

“Really?” asked Grant. “The Legion is getting sloppy. Or maybe they don’t realize who they have. If we help Mountain Claw escape, we can add his gang to ours.”

“Are you sure you want Mountain Claw to join us?” asked Turner. “He’s an idiot. How can he help our cause?”

“Sure, Mountain Claw isn’t the brightest crayon in the box,” commented Grant. “But he has potential. He has organizational skills. This ATM robbery shows that.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Turner. “Mountain Claw and his gang are a few fries short of a Happy Meal. They can be dangerous – but only to themselves.”

“His wheel turns, but the hamster is dead,” agreed Acosta. “Mountain Claw is a fool.”

“To snatch a spider insurgent leader right out from under the noses of the Legion would give us media coverage, and establish our credibility as a force to be reckoned with,” said Grant. “It could revive the insurgency. We need to show we support diversity.”

“But we don’t,” said Turner. “I hate spiders. And I wouldn’t exactly call Mountain Claw an insurgent leader. He’s more of a small-time crook. If it’s not nailed down, Mountain Claw will steal it.”

“There is nothing wrong with a little profitable crime on the side,” said Grant. “Look at us. The insurgency helps recruitment, and public support helps us cover our tracks. We need to be equal-opportunity terrorists. That is the future, so get over it. We are going to bring in spiders to work with us. We are going to spring Mountain Claw from Legion custody tonight.”

* * * * *

“This is Phil Coen with Channel Five World News Tonight, bringing you the latest news updates from all of New Colorado and across the galaxy. In our continuing coverage, the Legion is still searching for known terrorist, petty criminal, and level-4 sexual deviant Danny Grant. Caught on video robbing the Blind Tiger Tavern & Casino and terrorizing its employees, Grant is the focus of an extensive Legion dragnet. Grant’s days are numbered, commented Colonel Czerinski, local Legion commander. Czerinski is urging the public to call in any information that might lead to Grant’s arrest. Someone out there knows where Grant is hiding. The Legion has posted a fifty-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to Grant’s arrest or death. All tips are kept anonymous.”

Mountain Claw turned off the TV in disgust. It wasn’t fair that Grant got all the glory, while he always got dumped on. He was a much better insurgent leader than Danny Grant.

Mountain Claw eyed the Legion uniform hanging in the closet. Could it really be that he had enlisted in the Legion? It was that ATM! he realized, now remembering clearly. It took an unfair advantage. No matter. I will be out of here soon, and back to the safety of my hills.

The nurse entered his room to check IV lines. As the nurse left, she slipped Mountain Claw a note that read, ‘Be ready. We strike at midnight.’ Mountain Claw gave that some thought. The note was written in human pestilence English. Who would strike at midnight? It did not say, and the human nurse was gone.

A large, dark-skinned human pestilence wearing a Legion uniform rapped on the door and abruptly entered. Mountain Claw crinkled the note in his hand and ate it.

“I am Sergeant Green, your worst nightmare, private!” announced Sergeant Green. “This will be your last night of malingering up here at the hospital. You will report for duty tomorrow morning. Your Legion training will then begin in earnest!”

“I think there has been a mistake,” said Mountain Claw. “I am not the military type.”

“You lack proper discipline in your insignificant spider life!” shouted Sergeant Green. “That will change! You will address me as Master Sergeant Green! Is that clear? Or will it be necessary to make an example of you?”

“No, sir, Master Sergeant Green,” replied Mountain Claw. “I get the picture.”

“And don’t you ever call me sir!” said Sergeant Green. “I work for a living!” Sergeant Green stormed out of the room, still cursing under his breath about why they let spiders in the Legion.

“Damn,” said Mountain Claw. “I’m slightly concussed, not hard of hearing.”

At midnight, Danny Grant arrived at the hospital, carrying flowers. He was allowed to visit on the ward after saying he was a family relation of Mountain Claw – a very distant cousin.

“Hello Mountain Claw,” said Grant, as he entered the hospital room. “Long time no see. How’s the food?”

“It sucks,” said Mountain Claw.

“Are you ready to leave?” asked Grant.

“Yes,” replied Mountain Claw. “Grant! I saw you on the news. You’re famous. And now you are breaking me out? I hope we don’t share the same noose. This might not end well.”

“Those bumbling fools in the Legion will never catch me,” bragged Grant. “Why is there a Legion uniform in your closet?”

“Mistaken identity,” explained Mountain Claw. “They think I enlisted in the Legion.”

“Ha! That’s a good one,” exclaimed Grant. “Let’s go. I have a safe house nearby.”

“Lead the way,” said Mountain Claw, putting on the Legion uniform. “This is all I have to wear. It will get us past the guards.”

“There are no guards,” said Grant. “If we join forces, just think of how much havoc we can cause on both sides of the DMZ. I can get your spider fighters all the weapons and ammo they can carry.”

“Are you planning a war?” asked Mountain Claw. “If you are, count me out. I am not a fanatic, and my gang will not be suicide bombers.”

“Together we can make big money,” explained Grant. “We will run New Gobi City. But first, we need to kill Colonel Czerinski. Then the city will be ours.”

“You might need to kill more than just one legionnaire commander to accomplish that,” commented Mountain Claw. “You might need to kill some Arthropodan marines, too. But I agree. Killing Czerinski would be a good first step.”

“Czerinski’s days are numbered.”

“Can I drive?”

“No.”

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Chapter 5

“The video clearly shows our new recruit leaving the hospital with Danny Grant,” I observed. “It’s pretty conclusive.”

“I knew all along that little piss-ant spider wasn’t Legion material,” said Sergeant Green. “I knew he would go AWOL.”

“Not so fast,” said Major Lopez. “Replay the video. There! Check out when Grant’s coat flips open. Grant has a gun in his belt, and he always keeps his hand near it. And notice how Grant stays behind Private Mountain Claw at all times.”

“You think our young spider Legionnaire was abducted?” I asked. “That’s a real stretch.”

“It is at least a possibility,” argued Major Lopez. “You always assume the worst of people. What if he was abducted? We have a duty to try to get him back. We cannot just give up on a fellow legionnaire.”

“He’s a spider!” said Sergeant Green. “You can’t trust spiders! They’re too unstable.”

“You know as well as I do, some of our best legionnaires are spiders,” advised Major Lopez. “Just look at Lieutenant Washington. Spider legionnaires have proven themselves in combat, time after time.”

“That proves nothing,” said Sergeant Green. “I know Mountain Claw. He is a punk! I don’t see how he ever got through the screening process. Someone in Recruitment and the Department of Licensing really screwed up!”

“Alright, it doesn’t really matter if Mountain Claw was abducted or not,” I said. “We will know for sure soon enough. The Legion GPS tracker embedded in his blood stream will lead us to his location. The good news is, we will finally catch up with Danny Grant and kill him. We will try to rescue Mountain Claw, but if he resists and gets killed too, it is no big deal. You are probably right that, at best, he is a marginal recruit. What we cannot allow is the media reporting that we tolerate the abduction of legionnaires by terrorists.”

“And we don’t tolerate AWOLs either,” added Sergeant Green.

* * * * *

Mountain Claw woke to the smell of sausage and pepperoni pizza. He had been sleeping sprawled out on the floor of the front room. Now he was staring at a midget robot carrying a tray of pizza and soft drinks.

“Did someone order out?” called out Mountain Claw, taking a slice of pizza.

“Have some Pepsi too,” offered the robot.

“Don’t you have Coke?”

“No.”

“I cannot,” said Mountain Claw. “Pepsi this early in the morning is bad for my blood sugar level. How much do I owe you?”

“Take the radio,” suggested the robot.

Mountain Claw picked up the radio and keyed the microphone. “Hello! Is this Pizza Hut? I want to put the order on my card, but I do not see a pay slot on your ATM.”

“This is Sergeant Green!” answered a voice on the radio. “Is this Mountain Claw? Are you injured? You look drugged. Have they mistreated you? Those bastards!”

Mountain Claw gave that some thought. Sergeant Green works at Pizza Hut? That must have really been some awesome weed last night. Humans always bring the best shit. Mountain Claw tried to focus on a small plaque attached to the base of the robot. It read, ‘United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion Hostage Negotiations Mobile Communications and Recovery Platform. If you can read this sign, you are in big trouble.’ This cannot be good, thought Mountain Claw.

He looked about the room. Humans and spiders alike were passed out on the floor and furniture. Mountain Claw keyed the microphone again. “Master Sergeant Green? Thank God! I am coming out!”

Mountain Claw stepped over bodies of members of his gang to the front door, where he ran outside waving his claw frantically. “Don’t shoot! Don’t pay the ransom! I’ve escaped!”

Danny Grant, Al Turner, and Robert Acosta watched from the next hill as Legion Helicopter gunships pummeled Mountain Claw’s hideout with rockets and Gatling gun fire. “We got lucky,” commented Grant. “I always say early risers prosper. Mark my words. I will get even. Czerinski will die slow and painful.”

* * * * *

Arthropodan Air Defense went on high alert after radar detected Legion Air Force activity along the border in the Gila Hills. Marine scouts confirmed Legion helicopter gunships and mechanized infantry attacked a ranch in a disputed area just inside the Arthropodan border. The spider commander and his military intelligence officer flew out to personally inspect the scene.

“There are at least thirty mixed human and spider civilian deaths in the rubble,” commented the military intelligence officer. “A couple more were found along the roadway, shot in the head.”

“Executed?” asked the spider commander.

“Probably.”

“Were these insurgents?” asked the spider commander.

“Usually spider and human insurgents do not mix,” said the military intelligence officer. “But there were enough busted-up assault rifles and drugs to suspect that they were either insurgents or drug dealers. I think the Legion did us a favor.”

“Even so, the Legion should not attack on our side of the border without informing us first,” said the spider commander. “Colonel Czerinski must be taught to respect our borders.”

“This area is disputed because of the rugged terrain, and because some of the original border beacons have been moved or vandalized,” commented the military intelligence officer. “However, I am confident we are now standing on our side of the border.”

“Have a survey team install new markers and string new fence,” ordered the spider commander. “Post a company of armor to enforce and establish the border boundary.”

* * * * *

Satellite imagery shows the spiders have occupied the Gila Hills and the terrorist compound we destroyed,” announced Major Lopez. “They have deployed mechanized infantry and are building a border fence. It appears they think the compound is on their side of the border.”

“I know,” I replied. “The spider commander has already sent General Daly a formal protest about civilian deaths on Imperial territory.”

“Border beacons indicate the compound is on our side of the MDL,” advised Major Lopez. “Those spider marines are trespassing!”

“Send Lieutenant Washington and a company of Legionnaires to escort our own survey crew to settle the matter once and for all,” I ordered. “There’s nothing in those hills I want, but I agree that we can’t let the spiders push us around. Trespassing will not be tolerated. I don’t like their commander making false accusations. He’s always trying to stir up trouble.”

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Chapter 6

Lieutenant George Rambo Washington, the first spider recruited into the Legion, and now the Legion’s first spider officer, led a company of mechanized infantry to the destroyed Gila Hills bandit compound. The survey crew immediately began their work with the GPS.

Lieutenant Washington, like all of his species, had an instinctual territorial imperative hardwired into his DNA. When it came to trespassing, Lieutenant Washington became obsessive-compulsive – the common human term being anal. Trespass issues particularly aggravated Lieutenant Washington because he was a Green spider. Greens had been persecuted on the spider home world, denied property ownership rights, and forced to immigrate to New Colorado, where they were granted citizenship by the United States Galactic Federation. The Empire throwing its weight around at the border struck a raw nerve. Lieutenant Washington strode up to the newly erected razor-wire fence and called out to the Arthropodan marines on the other side. “This fence is on United States Galactic Federation territory. Move it back now!”

An Arthropodan marine team leader approached the fence. “The exact border has not yet been established. We are still making our calculations.”

“You will move this fence at once!” ordered Lieutenant Washington. “Obviously your inferior Imperial technology is, as usual, not up to our high American standards. Legion GPS can determine the exact border location to within an inch of accuracy. The border is located on the other side of that rubble that used to be a den of terrorists. You will join their fate if you do not pull back.”

“So you say,” said the team leader. “I will reserve judgment on that until after my survey team finishes. I certainly will not rely on the word of or bow to threats from a traitorous Green like you.”

“I will give you one hour to make your calculations,” warned Lieutenant Washington. “If you have not moved this fence and pulled back by then, I will call in an air strike.”

“And you will be nuked from space,” threatened the spider team leader. “It will be good riddance to you and the rest of you slimy, money-grubbing Greens. We should have taken care of you traitors a long time ago!”

Both officers retreated behind their armor and waited. After fifty-nine minutes, the Arthropodan marines moved their fence back fifty yards to the other side of the destroyed compound.

“You are lucky I was ordered back, you Green scum!” shouted the spider team leader on a loud speaker. “Next time, I will just shoot you on the spot! I will water these hills with the blood of you and your kind!”

“Up yours,” Lieutenant Washington shouted back, giving the team leader the one-fingered American salute.

* * * * *

Danny Grant sent Mountain Claw a text message. “What is your status?”

“You are still alive?” asked Mountain Claw, replying immediately. “They still think I enlisted into the USGF Foreign Legion. I get posted to guard duty in a few days. I will go AWOL then.”

“No. Stay put. You are better able to give us information on Legion plans, and you can more easily assassinate Colonel Czerinski if you stay in the Legion.”

“I hate it here,” texted Mountain Claw. “The food sucks, and Master Sergeant Green keeps yelling at me. You ever eat an MRE? The pound cake is especially toxic.”

“Tough shit,” replied Grant. “MREs are good for you. They’re nutritious. You will stay where you are.”

As promised, a few days later, Mountain Claw found himself riding in an armored car with Sergeant Green, heading up a winding dirt road through the Gila Hills to his new assignment. It was ironic the Legion was sending him home for guard duty. As they approached a sharp bend in the road, Mountain Claw saw a dead deer in the roadway. He panicked. “Stop the car!” he yelled.

“What the hell?’ asked Sergeant Green, spilling his coffee as the driver slammed on the breaks. “Recruit, you better have a good explanation!”

Mountain Claw climbed up into the turret and fired the machine gun at the deer carcass. Nothing happened. He fired again, blowing the remains into the ditch. Then Mountain Claw fired wildly into the brush and the surrounding hills. Finally Sergeant Green tackled him. The machine gun swung around, red hot from the long bursts.

“I thought it was a roadside bomb!” explained Mountain Claw.

“That’s the problem,” replied Sergeant Green. “You thought! Idiots like you aren’t supposed to think. You just follow orders!”

The other legionnaires got a good laugh from that. Just then, there was a large explosion from the ditch where the deer lay. The explosion rocked the armored car. The laughing stopped. As the dust cleared, Sergeant Green peered through a portal slit at the large crater.

“Get a drone in the air! Radio Headquarters that there are still insurgents active in this area.” Green turned to Mountain Claw, slapping him on the back like an old drinking buddy. “Good work, private. We’ll make a legionnaire out of you yet. Have a cigar!” Sergeant Green passed out cigars to everyone. They all lit up, comrades in arms. “We cheated the Grim Reaper again!”

* * * * *

After arriving at the Gila Hills ruins, Sergeant Green inspected the camp and then settled into his tent. Having survived another brush with death, he just wanted to relax. Green poured himself a whiskey.

About midnight, a shadowy figure swept up to Sergeant Green’s tent. Sergeant Green, alert to the intruder, brandished a pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other. With a razor-sharp scythe, the seven-foot-tall aberration slowly slit the front of the tent and entered. Eyeing the apparition wearing a black hooded cloak and carrying a long-handled sickle, Sergeant Green scooted back on his cot. He knew exactly who this was. “Death!” he shouted.

“May I come in, Sergeant Green?” asked the Grim Reaper, pale white with a toothy grin. “I have been meaning to visit you for a long time.”

“No! Get out!”

“Call me Thanatos,” said the Grim Reaper, conversationally. “Do not be afraid. I am merely a guide to the next world. Come with me. Your soul must now sever its last tie to your body.”

“Like Hell it must!” responded Sergeant Green, tossing the grenade and firing his pistol. Thanatos fell backwards out of the tent. The explosion caused alarm and chaos in the camp, and the tent collapsed.

Legionnaires rushed to help. Lieutenant Washington pulled Sergeant Green from the debris. Washington could smell the whiskey on Green’s breath. “What happened?” he asked. “Who were you shooting at?”

Green was drunk, but he had enough wits about him to know better than to admit he had just fought a battle against the Grim Reaper. “An insurgent cut his way into my tent,” he said. “I shot him and threw a grenade.”

“Not likely,” said Lieutenant Washington. “There is no blood. You are drunk and a menace to all around you. I will have you up on charges!”

Mountain Claw stepped forward from the crowd of gathering legionnaires. “Sir, I saw someone run from the area after the explosion.”

“What did he look like?” asked Lieutenant Washington.

“It was a human pestilence,” said Mountain Claw, adding with a shrug, “They all look alike to me.”

“I don’t believe either of you for a minute!” replied Lieutenant Washington. “I’ll have you both in prison!” Lieutenant Washington closely examined what was left of the front of the tent. He found part of the tarp had been cut, just as Sergeant Green had claimed. “This matter is not over! I can promise you that!” Washington then left to check the guard positions on the perimeter.

“You saw him, too?” asked Sergeant Green, approaching Mountain Claw. “You saw Death?”

“I do not know what I saw,” answered Mountain Claw. “But it was not an insurgent. It wore a black hood and had a moon-white face. Its eyes glowed red, and it pointed a long, curved blade, saying I was next. I am thinking I do not want to be next. If you are first in line to die, I am thinking I want to keep you alive for as long as possible, Master Sergeant Green.”

“We both looked Death in the eye and lived,” commented Sergeant Green. “That’s saying something!”

“I always knew Death would be scary, but I never thought he would be a human pestilence wielding a harvesting instrument.”

“I’m keeping you close at all times,” said Sergeant Green. “I’m making you my driver. You will go wherever I go. Together we will cheat Death again. We’ll kick that punk’s ass!”

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Chapter 7

Major Lopez handed me a report from Lieutenant Washington about Master Sergeant Green getting drunk and recklessly exploding a grenade in camp. The report stated that Green shot his pistol wildly, claiming to have fought off insurgents that no one else saw. Later, Green was overheard saying that he battled the Grim Reaper, and just barely won. I tossed the report into the trash.

“You don’t think Sergeant Green has become unstable?” asked Major Lopez.

“Not really,” I answered. “You, Green, and I entered the Legion together. We were the first to beam down to New Colorado after the spider invasion. We all have been through a lot. Green is entitled to be given a little slack. If Green says the Grim Reaper visited him, then I believe him. Just be glad it was Green that got visited, not us.”

“Lieutenant Washington is furious,” said Major Lopez. “I doubt he will let this drop.”

“Lieutenant Washington needs to take his medication more often,” I said. “That big Green spider calling anyone crazy is ironic. I’m going to the Blind Tiger to get drunk and forget about everything. Want to join me?”

“Not tonight,” replied Major Lopez. “I’m still catching up on my paperwork. I guess this means you fell off the wagon again. Maybe you should contact AA.”

“The car people?”

“That’s AAA. I’m talking about Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“Whatever.”

* * * * *

At the Blind Tiger Tavern, I stood at the bar. “The usual?” asked the bartender.

“Bring me a bottle of beer with the cap still on it,” I requested. I took my beer to a corner table and sat with my back to the wall. I popped the top and drank heartily from the bottle.

“Excuse me,” said a pretty young woman standing next to me. “You are sitting in my chair!”

“It’s a big place,” I replied. “You are mistaken.”

“I am not,” insisted the young woman. “See! My sweater is on the back of the chair.”

I looked behind me. So it was. I handed her sweater back. “Care to join me?”

“I usually don’t drink with legionnaires, but you being an officer an all, perhaps you are a gentleman too,” she answered, smiling. “This place filled up fast, so I guess we don’t have much choice where to sit. My name is Lydia. Yours?”

“Joey Czerinski,” I said.

“I have heard of you,” said Lydia. “Are you a hero of the Legion?”

“I’ve been on the news lately,” I said. “I’m the local Legion commander for New Gobi City.”

“Aren’t you also the Butcher of New Colorado?” asked Lydia.

“I’m that too,” I added. “But my butchering days are mostly over. I just shuffle a lot of paperwork now.”

“I don’t know why, but I feel so safe being with you,” gushed Lydia, placing her hand on my arm. “Are you carrying any guns?”

“Several,” I replied. “So, what was so special about this table? You seemed really upset earlier.”

“I need my back to the wall so no one can sneak up on me,” admitted Lydia. “Also, I have a clear view of the entrance doors from here, so I can spot my stalkers before they see me. Do I sound paranoid?”

“Just a little,” I said. “Do you have many enemies?”

“I’ve had so many stalkers, I’ve lost track of how many,” complained Lydia. “How come you men can’t leave a pretty woman alone? Sometimes I wish I was ugly.”

“We can’t help ourselves,” I said. “Men are like moths to fire. The hotter, the more attracted we are.”

“May I see your identification?” asked Lydia. “A girl can’t be too careful these days. Anyone can buy those silly Legion uniforms anywhere.”

I showed Lydia my ID as the waitress brought us drinks. I opened my beer with my own bottle opener.

Lydia motioned to my capped beer. “Are you afraid of being poisoned?” she asked. “Can it be I just met someone more paranoid than me? We could be soul mates.”

“I’ve been called paranoid before,” I confessed. “But even paranoid people have enemies. And, I’m still alive. May I see the contents of your purse?”

“What?” asked Lydia. “No way. A girl needs some privacy. You legionnaires are always searching everyone.”

I grabbed Lydia’s purse and dumped the contents out on the table. There was nothing much that stood out: Lipstick, nail file, change holder, wallet, cigarettes, three condoms, a switchblade knife, and a hospital employee ID card on a clip.

“You are a nurse?” I asked, examining the ID.

“Yes,” said Lydia, uncomfortably. She snatched back the ID. “I am a contract nurse at New Gobi Hospital. I work all over the DMZ, and will only be here for a month or so.”

“I love nurses,” I said.

“So, you stalk nurses?” said Lydia. “Or is that just wishful thinking? Let’s see what is in your pockets.”

I produced two pistols, a jagged combat knife, a wallet, condoms, an anti-viral spider patch, blue pills, and a grenade. I kept the third pistol strapped to my ankle a secret.

“I don’t see anything to indicate you are a serial killer,” commented Lydia. “Just guy stuff. What is the patch for?”

“It’s for spiders,” I said, picking it up, along with the condoms, and placing it all in my medical pouch. “I believe in being safe.”

“My kind of guy,” said Lydia. “But spiders? Is that even possible?”

“It’s been a long time since I made love to a human,” I said, leaning over and giving Lydia a long and passionate kiss. “Your place or mine?”

“That’s not the smoothest line I’ve ever heard,” commented Lydia. “But I have a weakness for charity cases. My place.”

“I live in an underground bunker under Legion Headquarters,” I said. “It’s the safest most secure place in all of New Gobi City.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Lydia. “But I can’t orgasm unless I’m in the security and comfort of my own bed. Sorry, it’s just one of my few quirks.”

“Okay, your place is fine,” I relented, as we got up and hurried for the door.

I drove to her apartment in my Legion armored car. Lydia was impressed by the bomb-proof seats and the stereo. Her apartment was a small, sparsely furnished studio. The bed pulled down from a closet. I quickly checked the bathroom. It was empty.

“Are you searching for villains?” asked Lydia. “If you find any stalkers, you have my permission to shoot them.”

“Bang-bang,” I said, taking Lydia in my arms and kissing her. “The shower is clear of bogeymen.”

“I’m so glad,” she replied, as we fell onto the bed. “Fellow paranoid lovers. How romantic.”

I put my guns, knife, and grenade under the bed. I popped a pill, and we made love. Later, we fell asleep in each other’s arms and tangled sheets. In the early morning, I woke from a slight noise. I rolled out of bed and slid underneath, pulling my clothes with me.

* * * * *

Al Turner, using his girlfriend’s key, opened the front door and crept silently inside. Pointing his assault rifle, he slowly approached the bed. He only saw Lydia. Turner nudged her awake with the barrel of his rifle and asked, “Where is the Legion commander?”

“He left?” Lydia looked about, puzzled.

“That is impossible,” snapped Turner. “I have been watching the front door all night. There is no other way out.”

They both turned toward the closed bathroom door. Turner quickly strode up to the door and fired a full magazine into the bathroom.

* * * * *

As my would-be assassin loaded another clip, I pushed the bed back up into the closet, with Lydia still in it. I shot Turner in the head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. I then tossed my grenade into the closet and left. The explosion woke the neighbors, but I pushed pass them in the confusion. A Toyota pickup truck sped away from the parking lot, burning rubber. I thought I recognized Danny Grant, but I wasn’t sure. I fired a couple shots, but missed. “I’ll get you next time!” I swore.

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Chapter 8

Cable Eye, an esteemed spider TV reporter for Arthropodan Cable News, a member of RWB (Reporters Without Borders), and an occasional spy for the Arthropodan Intelligentsia State Security Police, crossed the border at the New Gobi City Legion checkpoint. He secretly photographed Guido as he searched the rental car. Once across, Cable Eye stopped at the Sheriff’s Office, but no one would grant an interview.

Cable Eye stopped in front of Legion Headquarters and took a video for network files. He then went inside, asking for Major Lopez, as the spider commander had suggested. Cable Eye was quickly directed to Major Lopez’s office.

“My name is Cable Eye. I am an investigative reporter for cable TV,” he announced. “I am here looking into reports that Colonel Czerinski murdered his estranged girlfriend, Lydia Thomas, and her live-in lover, Al Turner, in a jealous rage at their apartment right here in New Gobi City.”

“You work for cable TV?” asked Major Lopez. “You are under arrest for subversive activities. Friends don’t let friends watch cable.”

“What?” asked Cable Eye. “That is ridiculous. Have you not heard of freedom of the press?”

“What?” asked Major Lopez. “Cable TV is outlawed on New Colorado. Only satellite TV is authorized. It’s the only way to guarantee fair and balanced programming. We will not allow the cabled tentacles of the Arthropodan Empire to creep across the border and into our living rooms.”

“What about the accusations against Colonel Czerinski?” asked Cable Eye.

“Turner is a known terrorist and member of the Danny Grant gang,” replied Major Lopez. “His associates, including Ms. Thomas, are being investigated. Turner was killed during a terrorist attack. Ms. Thomas is recovering from minor injuries incurred during that same attack, and charges are pending against her.”

Major Lopez nodded to legionnaires summoned to his office. Corporal Valdez and Private Wayne escorted Cable Eye to a jail cell. Cable Eye became very hostile, and resisted. “I am a personal friend of Phil Coen!” shouted Cable Eye. “You do not know who you are messing with. Wait until Reporters Without Borders hears about this outrage! You all will be busted down to private.”

“I have already been busted down to private,” advised Private Wayne, as he slapped Cable Eye alongside his head. “Keep moving and shut up!”

“How does it feel to be a lackey of the human pestilence?” asked Cable Eye, as the big spider legionnaire shoved him through a cell doorway.

There was a time when Private Wayne would have pulled his combat knife and cut the little mealy-mouthed reporter. But Private Wayne had mellowed with time. He merely reached out and broke off an antenna. Cable Eye shrieked with pain.

“Don’t worry,” said Private Wayne. “It will probably grow back in time. It might even grow straight.”

“You bastard!”

The entire incident was immediately broadcast on Cable TV News and on the database via Cable Eye’s secret video cameras. General Daly soon called me on the phone. “Czerinski! Are you torturing prisoners again?” he shouted.

“I have never tortured anyone,” I protested. “What are you talking about?”

“I am watching your legionnaires on TV as they thump some poor spider reporter,” said General Daly. “Hell, man, they just broke off the spider’s damn antenna. What kind of shit is that?”

I turned on the TV, and General Daly sent me the video. Sure enough. Private Wayne tore off the antenna, and folded it about five times before tossing it back at Cable Eye. Each snap of the antenna was riveting. Great for ratings, I suppose. I ordered Major Lopez to strip-search Cable Eye and confiscate all electronic devices. Then I got back to General Daly.

“It looks to me like one spider broke the antenna off of another spider,” I explained. “No big deal. It’s just a cultural thing between spiders that they like do when they’re pissed, kind of like slapping someone with a glove when you challenge them to a duel. We humans don’t quite have a grasp on the significance of it yet, but I’m trying to be sensitive to cultural differences. I’ll look in to it, sir. I’m told those antennae grow back, you know.”

“I don’t care if they grow back or not!” yelled General Daly. “That’s bullshit! It’s bad press to be arresting and abusing reporters on TV. What is Cable Eye charged with?”

“Spying for the Empire and Cable TV,” I answered. “A firing squad shoots him at dawn.”

“Release him at once!”

* * * * *

Major Lopez duct-taped Cable Eye’s antenna back, apologized for any inconvenience, and escorted him to the border crossing with a squad of legionnaires. The antenna sagged to one side, but held firm. “I think your crooked antenna looks kind of dapper, cocked to one side like that,” commented Major Lopez. “In a nerd sort of way. Don’t worry, the females will think it’s cute and take pity on you. Play it for all it’s worth.”

“Don’t come back,” warned Guido, as he shoved Cable Eye across the MDL.

“Fascist!” responded Cable Eye, as his antenna fell off again. “I have a right to follow the news wherever it takes me!”

The spider commander met Cable Eye at the Arthropodan guard shack, giving him a hearty hug and a claw shake. “It is about time someone did a critical news piece on Czerinski. Your story clearly showed humanity’s brutality. Don’t worry. Your antenna will grow back.”

“Someone should snipe that Colonel Czerinski,” commented Cable Eye. “Major Lopez, too.”

“I agree,” said the spider commander, glancing up at the Marriott Hotel down the street. “I am working on it.”

Guido and Major Lopez looked up at the Marriott too. “Did you hear that?” asked Guido. “We need to check out the rooftop of the Marriott.”

“Keep moving,” said Major Lopez. “There are probably snipers up there right now. I’ll see what I can do about erecting barriers to give you cover from those buildings. That’s about all we can do for now.”

The spider commander followed Major Lopez and Guido back to their shack. “Cable Eye’s mistreatment in your custody will not be tolerated,” said the spider commander. “I will seek indictments against Czerinski.”

“Cable Eye will be okay when the pain stops,” insisted Major Lopez. “You said yourself the antenna will grow back. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is Czerinski’s constant provocations,” replied the spider commander. Then he leaned forward and whispered in Guido’s ear. “Put me down for ten thousand more credits on the Seahawks to cover the spread against Miami in tonight’s game. You know I’m good for it.”

“You’re covered,” replied Guido, making the entry in his notepad.

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Chapter 9

Guido set up the usual closed-circuit big-screen TV for his customers at the border checkpoint. The Super Bowl was blacked out on the spider side because of fears about cultural contamination by humanity. However, enforcement of the satellite dish ban by Arthropodan authorities had been lax lately, so Guido was doing a brisk business selling satellite micro dishes at his guard shack. Arthropodan marines who did not want to risk getting caught with a satellite dish crowded in at the checkpoint. Guido even set up a beer garden and provided cheap beer.

I decided to watch the game in the comfort of the Blind Tiger Tavern. Being the local Legion commander, I, of course, had the night off. Some, like Guido, were not so lucky. Guido complained to me earlier about the possibility of snipers on top of the Marriott. Major Lopez expressed concern, too. I had a satellite take a look. Sure enough, a spider sniper team was perched at the corner on the roof. That would be addressed tonight. Also, I ordered a covering barrier constructed for Guido.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Washington and Private Wayne crossed the MDL (Military Demarcation Line) through a newly dug Legion tunnel. Wearing smart spider business suits, they checked into the Arthropodan Marriott Hotel, asking for a suite on the top floor, where they changed clothes. Private Wayne cut out a glass plate window and climbed up the side of the Marriott. Lieutenant Washington followed. Now dressed in Arthropodan marine uniforms, the two Legion spiders strode up to the snipers unnoticed, until getting about ten feet away.

Startled, the sniper team leader jumped up and confronted Wayne and Washington. “What are you two doing up here? This security breach will be reported immediately.”

“Yes it will,” responded Lieutenant Washington. He wore commander’s insignia on his collar. “You were sleeping on duty! How else was I able to walk right up to you unnoticed? I should shoot you now!”

“Sir, I can explain,” pleaded the team leader. “We were focused on construction activity down at the checkpoint. The human pestilence are trying to block our view.”

“You have been smoking on duty, too!” accused Lieutenant Washington, inspecting a butt still smoldering on the ledge. “This had better not be marijuana!”

“Sir, it gets so boring up here,” explained the team leader. “We needed some diversion.”

Lieutenant Washington looked through their spotter scope to the checkpoint below. It was still focused on Guido’s big screen TV.

“I see Miami just scored another touchdown,” commented Lieutenant Washington. “I hope you weren’t one of the poor suckers that took Seattle to beat the spread.”

“Oh, no,” complained the team leader. “Are you sure they scored?”

“See for yourself,” said Lieutenant Washington, motioning to the spotter scope.

When the team leader put an eye to the scope, Private Wayne slit his throat. Lieutenant Washington shot the other sniper in the head. They stuffed the bodies in duffle bags and carried them out the front door of the Marriott. The bags were dropped in front of the offices of Arthropodan Cable TV. A note addressed to Cable Eye warned, ‘It is unhealthy to talk about sniping Legionnaires.’

* * * * *

The Seattle Seahawks were favored by eight points. I bet on Miami because most playoff games are closer than that. With two minutes left in the game, Seattle was ahead 38-28. Seattle had the ball and seemed content to just run out the clock. Being that Seattle had more than covered the spread, my cause seemed hopeless. I sank into depression.

Then, on a running play up the middle, Seattle fumbled the ball, and Miami recovered. On the next play, the Dolphin quarterback threw a Hail Mary pass for a touchdown, bringing the score to 38-35 Seattle. After a failed onside kick, the game ended. I won! Seattle did not cover the spread. A lot of spiders lost money. Too bad. Like I always say, ‘What do spiders know about football?’ Guido got richer, and so did I.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, Guido was again at the border checkpoint searching trucks, making payoffs, and taking in collections on the game. Also, basketball season was now in full swing. Suddenly an Arthropodan marine tank appeared from around the corner and crashed through the gate. Guido, now sitting in his guard shack, did not notice the approaching tank until a legionnaire from his squad fired his assault rifle. Guido looked up to see the large tank crashing into his shack. Guido jumped down an escape tunnel just as the walls of the guard shack were crushed. The tank then withdrew back across the MDL without an explanation or further gunfire. It was soon gone.

Guido pushed up through the rubble and peered out toward the spider side. His counterpart at the Arthropodan guard shack waved. Guido shook his fist and yelled, “Poor losers! See if I ever give out credit again!”

* * * * *

“Do not forget to change your clock tonight,” advised the spider military intelligence officer. “Daylight Savings Time ends at 0200.”

“Why do we have to change our clocks in the first place?” asked the spider commander. “I do not care to save daylight. The desert is too hot in the daytime in the first place.”

“Because the human pestilence do it,” answered the military intelligence officer. “There are economic and business considerations. Remember: fall ahead, spring back.”

“Whatever,” said the spider commander. “Copying the human pestilence’s skewed timekeeping is not a good enough reason.”

“Adherence to mutual time zones was written into a trade agreement treaty,” explained the military intelligence officer. “The Emperor decreed it, and the governor ordered it.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said the spider commander, as they arrived at the border checkpoint and got out of their jeep. “Seconds, minutes, hours ... it’s all rubbish!”

“The governor also ordered local commanders to conduct sincere face-to-face negotiations to limit further border incidents,” advised the military intelligence officer, as they stood with their toes just touching the MDL painted across the roadway. “Try to be civil.”

“Always,” replied the spider commander. “Don’t you tell me how to be civilized.”

* * * * *

Major Lopez and I had arrived promptly at the MDL and waited for the spider commander. As usual, the spider commander was late. When he finally arrived with an aide, he just stood there like a stubborn two-year-old, the toes of his boots just touching the painted MDL.

“Well?” asked the spider commander, after a few minutes. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Fuck you,” replied the spider commander.

“No, fuck you,” I said.

“No, fuck you,” said the spider commander.

“No, fuck you,” I repeated.

“Fuck you!” shouted the spider commander.

“This isn’t going well,” commented Major Lopez. “Perhaps we can discuss something substantive?”

“Fuck you, too,” said the spider commander.

“Fuck you, bendaho,” responded Major Lopez.

“Fuck you,” said the military intelligence officer, gesturing at Lopez with a claw.

“Fuck you!” I said, becoming more animated.

“Fuck you,” said the spider commander, giving me the one-fingered salute.

“No, fuck you,” I said, returning the one-fingered salute with both hands.

“What about my office?” interrupted Guido. “Who is going to pay for all my stuff?”

“Fuck you,” replied the spider commander.”

“Vaffunculo, anche!” replied Guido, gesturing with an up-yours fist for emphasis.

“Now that we have discussed our future plans for the border,” said Major Lopez, “can I tell General Daly that we have agreed to meet tomorrow at the same time and place for further discussions?”

“Agreed,” replied the military intelligence officer. “I will advise the governor that fruitful negotiations are ongoing, and that we have found common ground in our discussions.”

“Don’t forget to change your clocks,” I added.

“Fuck you, Czerinski!” said the spider commander.

“No, fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” I said.

“Fuck you, and leave my horse out of this!” snarled the spider commander, turning to leave.

Major Lopez and I walked back past Guido’s destroyed guard shack. “What happened here?” I asked. “This place is a mess. Get someone to clean this rubble up.””

“You owe me money, you deadbeat!” shouted Guido across the MDL at the spider commander.

“Fuck you!” was the reply.

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Chapter 10

I set my alarm clock forward instead of backward, and missed my next meeting with the spider commander. Just as well. I thought we needed some cooling-off time.

* * * * *

The spider commander drove back to his office, angrier than ever. On the way, he got a phone call he couldn’t refuse. “Hello,” said the spider commander. “How did you get this number?”

“Good morning commander. This is Tony the Toe Garcia. I am in the employ of Bonanno & Associates. You owe Mr. Bonanno twenty thousand credits for sports wagers placed through Guido Tonelli.”

“So?” responded the spider commander. “You know I’m good for it. I will pay you next week.”

“Don’t be so cavalier,” warned Tony the Toe. “It doesn’t work that way. You will pay up today.”

“But I cannot get that much cash today,” explained the spider commander. “Be reasonable. Who carries around twenty thousand credits?”

“Do you realize your debt accumulates daily interest?” asked Tony the Toe. “Soon you’ll be in debt beyond your means. Neither of us wants that.”

“Thank you for your concern,” replied the spider commander. “But I will be fine. Do not worry about the money. I will pay you.”

“It’s my job to worry about the money,” said Tony the Toe. “We need to make an arrangement today. I can’t risk an accident or other tragedy befalling you before you can pay your debt to Bonanno & Associates.”

“How about if I pay you with an armored car?” asked the spider commander. “I just happen to have an extra one, slightly used, but in good shape, hardly any mileage.”

“An Arthropodan marine armored car?” asked Tony the Toe.

“Of course a marine armored car,” said the spider commander. “I’m the marine commander for the whole New Gobi Desert military sector. It is in great condition. We only drive it on Sundays to war games and back.”

“Let me check with Mr. Bonanno,” said Tony the Toe. “One moment...” There was some mumbled discussion on the other end, then Tony the Toe was back. “Sir, Mr. Bonanno wants to know if you are including the machine gun and cannon.”

“Yes,” said the spider commander. “I am including all the standard equipment. What good is an armored car without a machine gun and cannon?”

“And ammo too?” asked Tony the Toe. “Ammo is important to Mr. Bonanno. He wants armor-piercing missiles, too.”

“If you insist,” agreed the spider commander, sighing.

“How well does the air-conditioning work?” asked Tony the Toe.

“The air-conditioning works just fine,” said the spider commander. “Our techs maintain our equipment and vehicles to the highest Imperial standards.”

“You have a deal,” advised Tony the Toe. “Deliver the armored car to Guido this evening. We at Bonanno & Associates value you as a customer and hope to do business with you in the future. Remember, gamble responsibly.”

The spider commander disconnected. I cannot believe I let myself be shaken down by a human pestilence thug named ‘The Toe,’ thought the spider commander to himself. I’ve sunk to a new low. The injustice of it all! I will get even. Then he hissed his rendition of a human pestilence chuckle. “I screwed The Toe over on the air-conditioning. It hasn’t ever worked right, and the warranty is expired. Ha!”

* * * * *

Like a lot of other unlucky gamblers, Danny Grant lost all his money betting on the Super Bowl. “Damn those Dolphins,” he cursed. Now Grant was reduced to shoplifting for food at Walmart. Grant looked both ways before he stuffed frozen-entree TV dinners down his pants. So cold! Oh, the shrivel factor! At the front door, Grant was confronted by a security guard.

“Sir! You have been observed stealing,” announced the security guard. “Empty your clothing of all Walmart property. Do it now! I am detaining you until the sheriff arrives.”

“No pencil-neck rent-a-cop nerd like you is arresting me,” replied Grant, reaching for one of his pistols.

The security officer fired an amp gun at Grant. The electricity arced like bolts of lightning. Grant flopped in spasms on the floor, losing continence. A puddle on the floor grew steadily larger. The security officer stood over Grant, pressing the amp gun to Grant’s nose.

“Who’s the nerd now?” shouted the security guard. “Go ahead, punk! Make my day!”

Grant twitched another involuntary spasm. The security guard shot him again for resisting. A grenade fell out of Grant’s coat pocket. The security guard immediately handcuffed Grant and searched him for more weapons. Finding another grenade, two pistols, and more frozen food, the security guard notified the Legion. Major Lopez met Grant at the Sheriff’s Office jail.

“I promise your execution will be quick and humane,” advised Major Lopez pleasantly, upon greeting Grant. “We won’t screw it up this time. I’ll do it myself.”

Grant, still in cuffs, just nodded and smiled.

“Grant will be locked up in maximum security until we sort out the charges,” advised a sheriff’s deputy. “Then you can have him.”

Major Lopez peered through the bars at Grant, again. “You were arrested by a Walmart security guard? How embarrassing is that? Some mastermind terrorist you are.”

“Tell Czerinski this isn’t over!” yelled Grant. “No tin-box county jail can hold me!”

“Whatever,” said Major Lopez. “You’re such a loser.”

* * * * *

Danny Grant felt abandoned. No one visited because all his friends were fugitives. No letters were sent either. If Grant were to escape, he would have to do it on his own. As a first step in that direction, Grant bought a handcuff key on credit from another inmate. On court day, Grant hid the cuff key in his mouth. He rode in a U.S. Marshal’s van to federal court for a hearing, transferring him to Legion custody.

After entering the locked garage at the federal building, one marshal secured guns in the strongbox while the other marshal opened the side of the van full of prisoners. Grant already used the handcuff key to slip out of his restraints, but held the chains in place with his hands as he stepped out of the van. Grant shoved the marshal, then ran for the garage door as it closed down. Grant slid like a baseball player trying to steal second base as he went under the closing door to freedom. He stripped off his bright orange jumpsuit, and ran like the wind, naked, down the street.

Darting down an alley, Grant mugged a bum for his clothes. They itched. Grant ran further, trying doors until finding one that opened. He entered the law office of Eugene Depoli, Jr. Grant strode boldly past the receptionist and into Depoli’s inner office, closing the door behind him. How ironic, thought Grant. He needed a good lawyer. Grant picked up a voluminous law book and smacked the stunned Depoli across the face to get his attention, and forced him to exchange clothing under the threat of extreme harm. Now they both itched. Depoli gladly gave up his wallet, hoping to live another day. A search of Depoli’s desk produced a small handgun. Grant poked the handgun in Depoli’s face to emphasize the seriousness of the situation, demanding car keys. Grant left with his newfound lawyer, coercing Depoli to tell his receptionist that they were going shopping for a new suit before going to court. They drove off in Depoli’s car.

“What kind of lawyer are you?” asked Grant.

“Criminal defense,” answered Eugene Depoli, Jr. “Are you in trouble? Can I help you?”

“You already have,” replied Grant. “The only question now is whether I will kill you.”

“Please, you can’t be that desperate,” pleaded Depoli. “You need representation. I can help you.”

“No amount of representation will save me now, if Colonel Czerinski gets his hands on me,” replied Grant. “The Legion wants to execute me. So does the Empire.”

“I have dealt with Czerinski before,” said Depoli. “Trust me. I will help you against Czerinski. I hate Czerinski, too.”

Grant let a grateful Depoli live, but took his credit cards and PINs. Grant accepted Depoli’s representation, and promised to pay him back soon. True to his word, Grant paid Depoli soon after his next bank robbery, and paid his friend locked up at the county jail for the handcuff key. Now he would kill both Czerinski and Lopez.

* * * * *

Charges were dropped against Lydia Thomas for lack of evidence. After being treated at the hospital for minor shrapnel wounds, Lydia hooked up with Al Turner’s friend Robert Acosta. Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight tracked the couple down in Gila City, where they were operating an import-export business. Coen arranged an interview with Lydia as part of an investigative report about Legion abuse of power and civil-rights violations. Coen was conducting his investigation as a follow-up to the story initiated by Arthropodan Cable TV. Spider investigative reporter Cable Eye, a friend of Coen’s, could not obtain a work visa to cross the MDL to do the story himself. Coen agreed to follow up on the story as a personal and professional favor to Cable Eye. Coen and his cameraman met Lydia at a small motel just outside of town.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” said Coen, shaking her hand.

“You are my favorite TV commentator,” gushed Lydia. “May I say, you are much more handsome in person.”

“You are too kind,” replied Coen. “Let’s get right to the heart of the matter. Did Colonel Czerinski, hero of the Foreign Legion, attempt to murder you during a domestic love triangle turned violent, in which your lover Al Turner was shot and killed by Czerinski?”

“Am I going to be paid for this interview?” asked Lydia. “Cable Eye promised me a substantial fee. He said six figures at least. I really need the money, because I was thinking of leaving the area soon, and I am having some serious inventory and cash-flow problems with my business.”

“My producers cannot guarantee any payment until we see where this investigation is heading,” explained Coen. “Channel Five World News Tonight has a tight budget, with the recession and all. Perhaps the Arthropodan Cable TV News people have more cash.”

“What?” asked Lydia. “I was expecting at least a half a million dollars. We are talking about the biggest Legion scandal of the century.”

“Ms. Thomas, let’s just do the interview,” coaxed Coen. “I promise to do my best to make sure you get paid something for your time. Did you and Colonel Czerinski have a personal relationship?”

Robert Acosta and Danny Grant burst into the room, interrupting the interview. They pointed assault rifles at Coen and his cameraman. “Are we broadcasting live?” asked Grant, combing his hair. “I’ve never been on TV before. So, you’re Coen? I’ve watched you do the news.”

“Who are you?” asked Coen. “What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“I’m a friend of Lydia’s,” said Grant. “And I don’t appreciate you stiffing her for the fee she was promised. One way or another, Lydia is going to get paid. If your network wants you back, they will have to pay Lydia her half million dollars. Also, your network and the spiders will need to pay two million dollars more for your safe return. Call it my finder’s fee.”

“That is ridiculous,” commented the cameraman. “Who do you think you are? Do you know who you are dealing with? This is Phil Coen, the most respected news commentator in the galaxy.”

Grant hit the cameraman in the forehead with the butt of his rifle, then turned his attention to Coen. “The last time I watched you on TV was after I robbed Czerinski’s tavern, the Blind Tiger. You described me as a level-4 sexual deviant. I did not appreciate that!”

“I’m sorry,” replied Coen. “I just read what they put in front of me. If it’s not true, it’s the writers’ fault.”

“That’s the problem with society today,” commented Grant. “No one wants to take personal responsibility for their actions. Me? I admit I’m a bad guy. I rob, I bomb, and I terrorize. I cut people’s testicles off. But I am not a level-4 sexual deviant!”

“I will be more than happy to make a public apology for Channel Five World News Tonight,” offered Coen. “I am so sorry if we made a mistake in our reporting.”

Grant punched Coen in the face, breaking his nose and closing an eye. “You wanted to do an interview?” shouted Grant. “Fine! We will do an interview! I am Danny Grant, leader of the human insurgency seeking complete independence for all of New Colorado from the United States Galactic Federation and from the Arthropodan Empire. Both are imperialists that oppress the people of New Colorado. The status quo, partitioning our planet, is unacceptable. The ransom of Phil Coen is just another step in the struggle for complete independence that started a long time ago, and will continue until all the foreign armies leave. I will allow another interview when Coen stops bleeding. Someone clean him up. Lydia, you’re a nurse. Do something! Acosta, turn that camera off!”

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Chapter 11

“Did you change your phone number?” asked Major Lopez. “My favorites file can’t reach you.”

“Yes,” I answered. “I kept getting crank calls. In fact, I may throw my phone away.”

“It is important that you can be reached at all times,” advised Major Lopez. “What if General Daly wanted to talk to you?”

“There is no one I want to talk to,” I said. “No one.”

“Too bad, you have a phone call,” said Major Lopez, handing me his phone. “It’s Danny Grant. He wants to talk to you about terms for the release of Phil Coen.”

“What are you?” I asked, placing the phone on my desk and spinning it. “My personal secretary?”

“Just take the call so we can get Coen back,” insisted Major Lopez. “Grant will only talk to you.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t want Coen back. Coen represents everything we should have left back on Old Earth. Coen is a weak, big-mouthed, hair-spray-using, soccer-playing, sissy piece of left-wing shit. Hell, he’s probably even a democrat. I say let Grant keep him. They deserve each other.”

“Coen is a civilian,” said Major Lopez.

“Exactly,” I replied “So we agree?”

“No,” said Major Lopez. “And I don’t think he’s a democrat either. Coen represents the reason our founding fathers fought in La Revolucion of 1776. Coen’s big mouth represents freedom.”

“Oh, good grief,” I said, exasperated. “Your conquistador ancestors you always brag about would roll over in their graves if they heard you spout that drivel. Cortez would have killed Coen long ago.”

“It’s not drivel,” said Major Lopez. “Maybe I’ve overstated my family tree just a bit. Maybe my ancestors came to America just like everyone else, wanting freedom. The good news is, they hit the jackpot and got it! Now our job is to keep the dream going.”

“Excuse me if I remain cynical,” I said. “I’m hearing all these lofty platitudes from someone who takes money from the spiders?”

Major Lopez instinctively reached for his pistol, his temper boiling over. Then he obviously thought better of it. Glancing out at Sergeant Green and other legionnaires, he closed the door to my inner office. “I have always said I am a conquistador, from a proud family of conquistadors,” explained Major Lopez. “I never said I was perfect. Do you think Cortez or Columbus were perfect?”

“Whatever,” I answered.

“Just take the phone call,” repeated Major Lopez. “Besides, if you get Coen back alive, you will probably get promoted to general. I might even make colonel. How cool would that be?”

I picked up the phone. “What?” I asked. “After that speech you gave on TV, I would have thought you would want a direct line to the President by now. What do you want with me?”

“You sound stressed,” said Danny Grant. “And well you should be. The whole world is watching. I am upping my ransom demand to fifty million dollars. I want half put in a Coleopteran Federation bank account, and the rest in cash.”

“You are going to go live with the beetles?” I asked. “You deserve that.”

“Where I decide to live is my own concern,” responded Grant, irritated. “You will pay the fifty million or I will start mailing Coen to you in pieces. Think of the bad press.”

“It’s not going to happen,” I said. “You can send him FedEx, for all I care. Paying ransom is against USGF policy. I have no control over that. I have to follow the rules. Sorry, but the United States Galactic Federation does not negotiate with terrorists. It never has.”

“Do not quote USGF policy to me!” said Grant. “I don’t give a rip about USGF policy. Everyone else will pay. You will be my bag boy sent to fetch my money.”

“I don’t think you quite realize what you have done to yourself. I am turning the dogs loose on you. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. The whole galaxy wants to kill you, and it will get worse if you murder Coen.”

“I’m so scared!” Grant laughed. “The whole galaxy has always conspired against me and wanted to kill me.”

“No, actually that is not true. Before this, you were just a mere pimple on the ass of society, that we could have popped and wiped away with toilet paper. We could have flushed you at any time. Now, you are Public Enemy Number One.”

“You shot me in the head!” shouted Grant. “No one has given me any breaks.”

“You got lucky,” I said. “Most people don’t get a second chance. But you pissed your luck away, and now your luck has run out. It’s not just the Legion and the Empire that want you dead. The United States of New Colorado and the Free Spider Republic want to kill you, too. There will be no more safe houses for you to seek refuge. Your closest allies will turn you in for the reward money. Even that fool at the county jail who sold you that handcuff key has turned against you.”

“Mad Dog?” asked Grant. “Mad Dog snitched? No way.”

“By the way, the Coleopteran Federation regrets to inform you that your banking privileges have been denied,” I added. “Do you have a backpack you can carry your millions in?”

“Just get my money!” demanded Grant, disconnecting.

* * * * *

“That didn’t go so well,” commented Acosta. “Did we ask for too much money? Maybe 27.5 million is more reasonable?”

Grant looked over at Robert Acosta, and shrugged. “Did I screw up, Bob? If you could turn back the clock and undo everything I’ve done, would you?”

“Do you mean like daylight savings time?” asked Acosta.

I’m surrounded by idiots, thought Grant. “Do you think kidnapping Coen on TV was a good idea?”

“It was kind of cool when you said our names on TV,” Lydia piped up.

“Yeah, but now everyone wants to kill us,” Acosta added. “I’m on America’s Most Wanted, right along with you, Danny. My mom is mortified about what the neighbors will think.”

“But it would be good to have all that money,” argued Grant.

“What good is the money, if every facial-recognition surveillance camera on the planet is looking for us? I am going to need that much money to pay for plastic surgery, just so I can go outside. I can’t even buy a taco at Taco Bell without being spotted.”

“You needed plastic surgery anyhow. And zit-remover.”

“You joke, and it’s good you can still do so,” said Acosta. “But seriously, we have a real problem. We need to cut a deal.”

“But what about the ause?” demanded Grant.

“Cause? What cause?”

“Independence?”

“You and me aren’t revolutionaries. We’re criminals, and proud of it. Have you gone delusional?”

“I think I have,” replied Grant, giving the matter some thought. “Wow, what have I done? You’re a good man, Bob. I value your opinion. What should we do?”

“You are asking me for my opinion?” asked Acosta. “You’re the boss. You think I am an idiot. Remember?”

“I have never called you an idiot.”

“No, not out loud. But you have thought it. It shows on your face. That is even worse.”

“I’m sorry. You are not an idiot. You either, Lydia.”

“Gee thanks,” said Lydia. “I suppose we could go back into the import-export business. And I still have my nursing license.”

“What about Coen?” asked Grant. “What do we do with Coen?”

“Ask Coen to drop charges in exchange for letting him go,” suggested Acosta. “Amnesty. He’ll go for it.”

“But I broke his nose,” said Grant. “His cameraman doesn’t look too good either. Do you think they’re still upset at me?”

“Coen is a TV reporter,” explained Lydia. “You will be giving him an exclusive on the crime of the century, with himself at center stage. It’s an offer he can’t refuse.”

“How about we just ask for the half million dollars they promised Lydia in the first place?” suggested Acosta. “Or maybe we can file a lawsuit against the satellite and cable TV stations for her fee.”

Idiots, thought Grant again, smiling. “Maybe. You file a lawsuit if you want to, but I’m going back into the bank-robbing business. If things work out, I still might be able to give Czerinski some payback. Okay, it’s a done deal. We will release Coen.”

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Chapter 12

Major Lopez visited Guido at the New Gobi City border crossing checkpoint. He found Guido standing in the shade of an Arthropodan Marine Corps armored car parked where his guard shack used to be. Guido had stuck a ‘For Sale by Owner’ sign on the corner of the windshield.

“Where did you get the spider armored car?” asked Major Lopez. “Tell me it’s not stolen. I might believe you.”

“It’s probably not stolen,” said Guido. “The spider commander lost it betting on the Super Bowl.”

“Can he do that?” asked Major Lopez.

“I guess,” said Guido. “There it is. Mr. Bonanno gave to me as a late Christmas bonus. How cool is that?”

“This isn’t kosher,” replied Major Lopez. “Maybe you should throw a camouflage net over it, or park it somewhere else.”

Major Lopez walked around the armored car, inspecting it for damage, kicking the tires. The vehicle bristled with guns and cannon. “Are these missiles armed?”

“Of course they’re armed,” answered Guido. “This bad boy is ready for immediate action.”

“How much do you want for it?” asked Major Lopez. “Keep in mind I’m seeing a lot of dents. It looks like it got raked by Legion 50-cal machine gun bullets.”

“That just goes to show how durable it is,” haggled Guido. “I need at least one hundred thousand dollars.”

“I’ll give you five thousand dollars,” offered Major Lopez.

“What do you want with a spider armored car? Don’t you have enough armored vehicles at the motor pool?”

“I need it to protect my hacienda from bandits. Well?”

“I need at least fifty thousand dollars to break even,” insisted Guido. “But because you are a special friend and an officer, I’ll let it go for forty-five thousand dollars.”

“Is the air-conditioning unit operational? What kind of mileage does it get?”

“Get real. Of course the air-conditioning works. Spider techs pored over this slightly used armored car, checking out all its systems, before Mr. Bonanno took possession.”

“Are you sure it’s not stolen? I won’t pay that much for an armored car I can’t get clear title to.”

Guido shrugged. “I don’t have a paper title. The spider commander insisted everything be verbal.”

“I’ll bet. I heard you cut off the spider commander’s line of credit. That’s not very nice, especially with baseball season upon us.”

“The spider commander is a deadbeat,” explained Guido. “He owes everyone from here to New Memphis. That, and he always pays late.”

“I want you to restore the spider commander’s credit,” suggested Major Lopez.

“So, that is why you came out here on such a hot day,” said Guido. “Why are you interested in the spider commander’s gambling debts?”

“Colonel Czerinski asked me to talk to you about it. He’s the one who is interested.”

“It’s out of my hands,” insisted Guido. “Mr. Bonanno personally cut him off for late payment.”

Major Lopez immediately phoned Bonanno & Associates in New Memphis. A secretary put him through to Mr. Bonanno. “Good morning,” said Major Lopez, cheerfully. “Nice day isn’t it?”

“It was until you called,” replied Mr. Bonanno. “What’s wrong? The Legion doesn’t call me just to discuss the weather.”

“I just called to say, ‘How ya doin?’” said Major Lopez. “And to ask you for a favor.”

“I’m not whacking anyone for you,” said Mr. Bonanno. “We don’t do that anymore. My whole business has gone corporate. We’re legit now.”

“Don’t worry,” said Major Lopez. “I don’t want anyone whacked. Yet.”

“That’s good,” said Mr. Bonanno, still irritated. “This had better not be a shakedown, either. Colonel Czerinski allows me to do business in New Gobi City through Guido. Everyone is already getting a cut. I can’t afford any more.”

“All I want from you is to restore the New Gobi spider commander’s line of credit for sports betting,” explained Major Lopez. “Can you do that?”

“That’s all you want?” asked Mr. Bonanno. “Sure, no problem. I’m always willing to do the Legion a favor. You know that. Goodwill between friends is important to me. But first, tell me why. I don’t want to be a part of any blackmail scheme unless I get a cut. I don’t need the hassle of upsetting the Arthropodan authorities.”

“I am Colonel Czerinski’s military intelligence officer,” said Major Lopez. “It is my job to exploit the spiders’ weaknesses anywhere I can. Don’t worry. For now, I am just interested in creating an ongoing distraction for the spider commander. I don’t even know what I’ll do with it.”

“Are you going to buy his markers?” asked Mr. Bonanno. “This could be very expensive.”

“You’re the loan shark,” responded Major Lopez. “That’s your thing.”

“The spider commander is a bad credit risk, but most gamblers are,” commented Mr. Bonanno. “The problem is that when he loses, he not only pays late, he also starts throwing his weight around. It’s a nuisance. He’s the one who approves some of my business permits.”

“The Legion approves business permits, too,” said Major Lopez. “I owe you a favor for doing this. Don’t think I won’t show my appreciation.”

“You have a deal,” agreed Mr. Bonanno. “Speaking of showing your appreciation, how about letting me open a new casino in Gila City? That place is really growing. The business opportunities in Gila City are unlimited.”

“No,” replied Major Lopez. “Colonel Czerinski won’t allow that.”

“Czerinski just wants to start up his own casino in Gila City,” complained Mr. Bonanno. “I know the score. It’s not fair. I’ve seen what he’s done with the Blind Tiger Tavern and Casino in New Gobi City. Carrying the spider commander’s debt could get expensive. I need to be compensated. At least work with me on this a little. Let me do some bookie business in Gila City.”

“Okay,” relented Major Lopez. “Set something up through Guido. You’re right. Goodwill is important for me too. I’ll get Colonel Czerinski to approve limited sports betting at the border crossing checkpoint.” Major Lopez disconnected. He turned his attention to Guido, who had been listening with interest.

“That’s all well and good,” said Guido. “But when do I get my new guard shack?”

“The building supplies requisition needs to be approved,” explained Major Lopez. “There’s a lot of red tape involved because of the new anti-theft regulations. There’s just so much corruption out here on the frontier.”

“Who approves the requisition?” asked Guido. “Maybe I can talk to him to speed things up.”

“Me,” answered Major Lopez. “I’ll give you seven thousand dollars for the armored car, and not a penny more.”

“You are a thief and a rip-off artist,” accused Guido. “I’ll sell it for twenty thousand dollars as a personal favor, but this is the last time I let you steal from me. And I want construction on my new guard shack to begin today!”

“Agreed,” replied Major Lopez. “I want those Arthropodan unit numbers painted over with Legion desert brown, and I want the serial numbers ground off and changed before I take possession.”

“Is everyone on this planet paranoid and distrusting?” asked Guido.

“Yes.”

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Chapter 13

The spider commander met with scientists at a top-secret Intelligentsia base in a remote part of the New Gobi Desert. The facility was rumored to be a code-breaking and communications monitoring center. The base bristled with antennas and radar dishes pointed skyward. The arrays emitted a constant hum that gave the spider commander a headache.

“You were asked to meet with us because we are about to implement Project Mind Touch,” advised the lead scientist, during introductions as they shook claws. “Being that this facility is located in your military sector, you are ultimately responsible for security during implementation.”

“Mind Touch?” asked the spider commander. “Whose mind are you going to touch?”

“The human pestilence of course,” answered the scientist. “We are going to send pulsed energy into the ionosphere. Pulses will bounce back down to the planet’s surface on the human pestilence side, zapping them all. We believe we can influence human pestilence behavior on a grand scale with Project Mind Touch.”

“Influence human behavior to do what?” asked the spider commander. “Can you exterminate them?”

“Nothing so drastic,” replied the scientist. “Unless they go crazy and kill themselves. Depending on the frequency and power, pulsed energy can cause human depression, docility, or aggression.”

“The human pestilence are erratic enough without you fools messing with their minds,” commented the spider commander. “Has the governor authorized this folly?”

“I assure you this is not folly,” argued the scientist. “Intelligentsia & State Security is funding our project. Human mind control has been given priority at the highest level.”

“Then why isn’t a representative from the Intelligentsia here to see this thing work?” asked the spider commander. “I know why! The reason is that they do not want to be blamed if it fails. Does the Emperor know of this?”

“I assume so,” said the scientist.

“This project might backfire and really piss off the United States Galactic Federation,” commented the spider commander. “Zapping the human pestilence might even be considered an act of war.”

“I’m not concerned with politics,” said the scientist. “However, the human pestilence will never know they have been targeted. The impact of the pulsed energy will be too subtle for their weak minds to detect.”

“If it is so subtle, how will you know if the pulsed energy has any effect at all?” asked the spider commander.

“Intelligentsia agents are monitoring the human pestilence media, hospitals, suicide rates, and crime statistics,” explained the scientist. “Diligent research will yield the necessary data.”

“Is there any danger to us?” asked the spider commander. His headache was getting worse. At first he thought it was just sinus allergies, but now he was not so sure. His ears were ringing too.

“None that we have detected,” advised the scientist. “The hum you hear grates on some of us, but has no detrimental long-term effect, other than annoyance.”

“Could Legion troops be disabled or harassed during combat if you increased the power?” asked the military intelligence officer.

“As I have explained, the effect is subtle,” said the scientist. “You will not see an immediate disabling effect.”

“Did you know anything of this?” asked the spider commander of his military intelligence officer.

“Are you kidding?” said the military intelligence officer. “If I had known of this madness, I would have arrested these foolish schemers a long time ago.”

“You don’t approve?” asked the spider commander. “I think it has potential.”

“Everyone knows the Intelligentsia is run by knuckle-dragging fools,” said the military intelligence officer. “This is the kind of irresponsible provocation I would expect of the human pestilence. It could even start another war. I am shocked we are even considering this type of adventurism, let alone pursuing it.”

“Satellite images indicate the human pestilence have a similar facility aimed at us from just east of Gila City,” advised the scientist. “It would be irresponsible to ignore this valuable technology and let our enemies obtain a strategic advantage in the field. My staff and I are just doing our jobs. Like you, we are but the sword of the Emperor.”

“The human pestilence claim that facility at Gila City is just a weather research monitoring station,” said the spider commander. “But that would explain my allergy flare ups every time I visit the MDL at Gila City. And to think, all this time I thought I was just allergic to sage brush.”

“Legion commandos guard that facility,” scoffed the scientist. “I doubt it has anything to do with weather research.”

“Turn on your ray gun,” ordered the spider commander, now even more enthusiastic. “Let’s see if it works!”

The scientist activated the antenna array. As power built up, there was an explosion. A lightning bolt arced into the atmosphere, returned to New Colorado, and hit the top of the Arthropodan Marriott Hotel in New Gobi City. A glow from the resulting fire could be seen from the base.

“Is your ray gun supposed to spark like that?” asked the spider commander.

“No,” said the scientist. “It has never done that before. I’ll adjust the power.”

“You do that!” ordered the spider commander. “I thought you said your toy ray gun was safe.”

The scientist tried again. This time the lightning bolt went straight up into space and hit a satellite. The spider commander watched incredulously as satellite debris fell from the night sky.

“The antenna array needs to be calibrated a bit,” commented the scientist. “I am as surprised as you by these electrical discharges.”

“Do you think anyone noticed that satellite getting hit?” asked the spider commander. “Was that part of the test?”

“No, it was not part of the test,” replied the military intelligence officer. “And yes, I am positive someone noticed.”

“Find out whose satellite just got shot down,” ordered the spider commander. “And I’ll tell you what,” he added, washing his claws of the matter. “I am not paying for anyone’s new satellite! This is not my fault!”

Soon the military intelligence officer had a reply back from the General Staff. “Information on that satellite is classified top-secret and is on a need-to-know basis only. They say we do not need to know.”

“They don’t need to tell the commander of the entire New Gobi military sector whose satellite that was?” asked the spider commander. “Idiots! Do they know we shot it down?”

“I don’t think so. The governor is demanding to know who is responsible. He knows the bolt of lightning came from the New Gobi Desert. If he doesn’t know it was us, he will figure it out soon.”

“Oh, great,” said the spider commander, now more furious than ever. “Turn that oversized toaster off immediately! It’s a menace, and it’s giving me a headache. All of you egghead geeks are under arrest and confined to quarters, pending an investigation into what went wrong!”

* * * * *

Flashes in space marked the beamed arrival of an alien exploration space probe in orbit around New Colorado. The United States Galactic Federation Stealth Starship Shenandoah was the first to arrive to investigate the craft. Alerted by planetary defenses, Arthropodan starships arrived soon after.

A plaque on the probe’s side depicted a scorpion-like race and representative scenes from its civilization and culture, including family life, technology, grand cities, an alphabet and numerical system, group sex, and a star chart showing the location of their home world. The probe soon began transmitting on varied frequencies to the planet’s surface. American and Imperial scientists and computers immediately started recording the data and trying to translate. They studied the plaque and its symbols via the video from the Shenandoah.

“Christ,” commented the captain of the Shenandoah. “Is humanity completely alone in a galaxy full of bug species? Every time we encounter a new intelligent species, they all have exoskeletons.”

“Want me to put a missile into it?” asked the co-pilot. “Those bugs look like perverts.”

“No, don’t you dare,” replied the captain. “I’m sure the tech geeks are going to want to take it apart and figure out its technology and how it got here.”

As the captain of the Shenandoah filmed the alien space probe, a lightning bolt arced up from the planet’s surface and destroyed the object. Debris rained down on New Colorado.

“I told you not to shoot it!” yelled the captain. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“I swear, it wasn’t me,” responded the co-pilot, holding his hands up. “Someone else shot it down!”

* * * * *

“This is Brad Jacobs of Channel Five World News Tonight, broadcasting from Mars. I am interviewing my esteemed colleague, Phil Coen, via satellite from planet New Colorado, about his recent release after being abducted by separatist terrorists on New Colorado. Phil, how are you holding up? This must have been quite an ordeal.”

“Yes, indeed it was, Brad,” replied Phil Coen. “I negotiated my own release from insurgent Danny Grant. As you know, it is USGF policy not to pay ransom demands or negotiate with terrorists, because that would encourage more terrorist abductions. As far as I know, no ransom was paid.”

“Phil, tell us how you convinced the notorious mastermind, Danny Grant, to release you and your cameraman. We all saw your violent abduction on TV. It was absolutely terrifying. How were you able to reason with such a vicious terrorist?”

“Danny Grant is just a patriot on the wrong side,” explained Coen. “He only wants what is best for New Colorado. I truly believe the initial brutality was just the intimidation game he had to play, straight from the terrorist handbook, and not a true reflection of Grant’s character.”

“He broke your nose,” commented Jacobs. “Grant robs banks. Are you suggesting Grant is in reality nothing more nefarious than a modern day Robin Hood?”

“No, of course not. Grant certainly has his warts, and I am not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I am just suggesting that, politically, Grant wants to become more mainstream. He is rational enough to realize that a chance for amnesty might be a good thing. He released me after I agreed to drop kidnapping charges, and after I promised to petition the governor to drop the robbery charges on the American side of the MDL.”

“Will this be acceptable to the Legion?” asked Jacobs.

“Political decisions are made by Congress, not the Legion,” replied Coen. “I expect the Legion will follow the Legislature’s lead.”

“At the time you were abducted, you were investigating misconduct by the Legion,” said Jacobs. “Do you have anything more to add about that? Hero of the Legion, Colonel Czerinski, is rumored to be at odds with your investigation.”

“I have no comment about Colonel Czerinski or the Legion at this time,” responded Coen, “other than to say that the Legion does a fine job under very difficult circumstances.” He turned to face the camera. “I have a surprise for our viewers, today. Danny Grant is with me for an exclusive interview. He wants to say a few words to the galaxy.”

“Oh, my!” said Jacobs. “Grant is allowed to run loose, giving press releases? Bring him on! I have some hard questions for Grant.”

Danny Grant walked in view of the camera and joined his host, Coen. “It’s a pleasure to talk to you and to be on Channel Five World News Tonight, Brad,” he said. “It’s true; I only seek the best interests of New Colorado, and to be more mainstream in my political activities.”

“Does this mean you will no longer pursue robbery, drug dealing, or level-4 sexual deviancy?” asked Jacobs. “Somehow I am doubtful.”

“I am not a level-4 sexual deviant!” responded Grant. “I warned you people about that before! Be glad you are broadcasting from Mars. My attorneys will be contacting your attorneys. Otherwise, I would cut your balls off.”

“I apologize for any misunderstandings,” said Coen, trying to placate Grant for Jacobs’ poor judgment in questions. “You are willing to reform your ways?”

“Remember, I have not been convicted of anything,” said Grant. “In America, I am innocent until proven guilty.”

“Only because the Legion has not been able to catch you,” added Jacobs.

“Wrong!” said Grant. “I was caught, executed, and buried by the Legion in a shallow grave. My tombstone still lies in the New Gobi Cemetery. If you don’t believe me, go see it for yourself.”

“Terms of any amnesty may require Legion cooperation and consent,” advised Coen. “Colonial law must be considered.”

“I harbor no ill will against the Legion,” added Grant. “I admit to wrongdoing. Not to change the subject, but I have another important message for the galaxy.”

“Oh?” said Jacobs. “And what message is that?”

“Zoom in for a close-up,” said Grant, motioning to the cameraman and holding up two aluminum cans. “I, Danny Grant, fugitive, alleged criminal terrorist mastermind now reformed, and New Colorado patriot, drink only the best beer and soft drinks in the galaxy. I drink Outlaw Beer and Cola. Outlaw Beer and new Outlaw Lite are brewed only from the refreshing artesian springs of New Colorado. Be an outlaw at least in spirit. Drink Outlaw Beer and Cola. You’ll be glad you did.”

“That was the most disgusting and reprehensible display of out-of-control, self-promoting commercialism I have ever seen,” commented Jacobs. “It is highly immoral for you to try to capitalize financially on your despicable infamy.”

Grant just shrugged, still holding up the beverage cans for the camera. “What are you, a Communist? It’s not just outlaws who drink and love Outlaw Beer. Meet recently-promoted spider legionnaire and war hero, Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne.”

Corporal Wayne walked stiffly into camera view next to Grant. “I love Outlaw Beer and Cola,” read Corporal Wayne from a card. “After a long day of chasing fugitives like Danny Grant, Outlaw Beer really hits the spot. It’s beer with an attitude.”

“Corporal Wayne, does Colonel Czerinski know you are hawking Outlaw Beer on TV?” asked Coen.

“He does now,” said Corporal Wayne. “I’ll probably lose my stripes again, but I don’t care, as long as I have my Outlaw Beer and Cola. Outlaw Beer and Cola make me want to reach out and hurt a terrorist. In fact, Danny Grant is going to be hurting as soon as this broadcast is over. Drink Outlaw Beer and Cola this holiday season. You’ll be glad you did.”

“Phil, I don’t mean to interrupt this touching tribute to Outlaw Beer, but we in the newsroom are getting breaking reports of a satellite being shot down over New Colorado,” said Jacobs. “Can you see anything from your location?”

“Yes, Brad, it’s quite spectacular,” replied Coen. “It looks like a meteor shower that just won’t quit. Major Lopez from the Legion just texted me a message that it’s just space junk in a deteriorating orbit. He says there is no cause for alarm and that no one shot down a satellite. The space junk is expected to burn up harmlessly in the atmosphere.”

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Chapter 14

General Daly ordered me to meet with the spider commander again as part of an ongoing effort to force reconciliation between opposing local human and spider commanders along the border. After reviewing the transcript from our last meeting, General Daly was not happy with the progress of our dialogue. General Daly stated that my next command would involve counting newly introduced caribou herds at the South Pole if I did not make more of an effort. I met the spider commander at Corporal Tonelli’s new guard shack. I turned off all surveillance cameras, including my personal helmet cam. This time there would be no transcripts.

“Any new issues?” I asked.

“No,” replied the spider commander.

“Good,” I said, turning to leave.

“Wait!” said the spider military intelligence officer. “One of our communications satellites fell from the sky recently. You may have seen it light up the sky.”

“So?” I said. “Call the Air Force and see if they care.”

“A large chunk of the satellite fell near your Gila City Hills Weather Research Facility,” explained the military intelligence officer. “We tracked its decent and know its exact location in your territory. If you will allow our scientists to retrieve and salvage what is left of our satellite, it would be much appreciated.”

“Why should I help you get back what is probably a spy satellite anyway?” I asked.

“Our governors have ordered us to foster goodwill on the border,” replied the military intelligence officer. “What better evidence of that could there be than cooperation in salvage of our communications satellite?”

“Where did you say it went down?” I asked. “We don’t have any weather research facilities in the Gila City Hills.”

“I realize that, but the sign out front of your facility says ‘Weather Research,’” commented the military intelligence officer. “I assume it is a lie.”

Major Lopez sent me a text. “That facility is a CIA communications monitoring and decoding center. They might be interested in the spiders’ lost satellite.”

“Oh, that weather research facility,” I said. “I remember it now. They’re doing a fine job there, trying to make it rain in the desert. A bunch of fools work there. Pay them no mind.”

“May we cross the MDL to recover our property?” asked the spider commander.

“Yes,” I answered. “I will personally escort your recovery team with a squad of legionnaires.”

“An escort is not necessary,” said the spider commander. “We will not get lost.”

“I insist, for your own protection,” I said. “You might stray into a minefield or get attacked by bandits.”

“Thank you for your concern and cooperation,” said the spider commander.

“There is another matter I want to discuss with you,” I said. “I have a hot tip I want to give you.”

“Oh?” replied the spider commander. “What kind of hot tip?”

“A confidential one,” I said. We walked away from our aides. “Texas Red, the new billionaire owner of the Seattle Mariners baseball team, is a personal friend of mine. He says the East Coast fix is on next Saturday night when the Mariners play the New York Yankees. Seattle is guaranteed to throw the game and let the Yankees win. It’s a sure thing.”

“How do you know Texas Red?” asked the spider commander, as he researched on the database. “Texas Red is a recluse. No one even has a picture of him.”

“All I have to say is that Texas Red has a New Colorado connection. I gave you the tip as a sign of goodwill. What you do with it is up to you.”

The spider commander didn’t trust me, and I didn’t blame him. He crossed the MDL to Guido’s shack and leaned inside. Guido was busy taking phone calls. “Guido, what can you tell me about next Saturday’s game between Seattle and the Yankees?” he asked.

“It’s a home game for Seattle, and their ace Mendoza is pitching,” answered Guido. “Seattle is heavily favored.”

“How has betting on the game been going?” asked the spider commander.

“Most betting is on Seattle to win,” said Guido. “I hope you haven’t been talking to Czerinski. He’s always coming up with contrary betting schemes.”

“Does Colonel Czerinski have money on the game?” asked the spider commander. “Is he betting on New York?”

“That’s confidential,” said Guido. “You know I can’t tell you that. By the way, you’re on the wrong side of the MDL. Are you trying to get me in trouble? Make a bet or leave.”

“How much did Czerinski bet on the Yankees?” asked the spider commander. “Tell me now, or I will flatten your guard shack again.”

“Colonel Czerinski has four million dollars bet on New York,” advised Guido. “He put up all his property as collateral.”

“Put me down for two million dollars on New York, too,” said the spider commander.

“You and I both know you can’t cover that much action if you lose,” said Guido. “Weren’t you told to bet responsibly? If you lose and can’t pay up, I’d have to hurt you. I certainly don’t need any more armored cars.”

“Just do it!” ordered the spider commander. “Do it, or else!”

* * * * *

We watched the game on satellite TV in our armored cars on the way to the satellite crash in the Gila City Hills. Mendoza pitched a no-hitter for the Mariners until the eighth inning, when he developed a sore arm. Seattle put in a rookie pitcher just called up from Tacoma. New York scored five runs in the eighth, and four more in the ninth, to rally for a 9-7 win. The spider commander was ecstatic. In celebration, he fired machine-gun rounds into the air from the armored car turret. “Go Yankees!” he yelled repeatedly for the rest of the trip.

At the crash site we found a single large slab of metal jutting out of the clay hillside. Legionnaires dug it out of the ground, and I cleaned off its surface with a rag. Odd printed symbols and images were etched into the metal. The images depicted scorpions engaged in group sex, among other things.

“That’s some nasty scorpions,” I commented. “What kind of communications satellite is this?”

The spider commander inspected the engravings too. He was just as surprised. Of particular interest to the spider commander was the depiction of a star chart to the scorpion home world. “I think this satellite is part-owned in a joint venture with the Spider Playboy Channel,” explained the spider commander. “We’ve come a long way, baby.”

“I doubt that,” said Major Lopez, also closely examining the etched images and lettering. “This is way too alien to be from the Spider Playboy Channel. The CIA and Fleet are going to want to see this.”

* * * * *

Computer analysis of satellite surveillance data located the source of the alien space probe’s destruction to a remote Arthropodan base in the far eastern New Gobi Desert. General Daly ordered that Legion commandos capture secret technology and any scientists or techs that might be found at the base. The attack would have to be quick and total surprise because of self-destruct mechanisms thought to be installed at all top-secret Arthropodan bases.

* * * * *

Spider marines patrolled the perimeter of the top-secret base. Intelligentsia guarded the inside. It was dull and lonely duty. Nothing ever happened this far away from civilization. Occasionally buffalo wandered close to the fence. Spider guards were told not to feed the buffalo because the Old Earth beasts were unpredictable and dangerous.

Spider marine guards #77 and #82 knew better. They fed the buffalo candy all the time, and found the hairy creatures to be quite sociable. #77 even gave his favorite buffalo names. Today they noticed one of buffalo, a new one, appeared to be sick. It limped and was skinnier than the others. It could be seen rubbing its mange on a fence post. That set off an alarm.

#77 and #82 were sent to shoo the beast away. They fired a couple of shots, but the buffalo just sat by the fence. How odd, thought #77. He had never seen a buffalo sit before. It was difficult seeing at night, but they were assisted by night-vision devices. #77 noticed that the buffalo now had knocked down a fence post. Damn! That meant more work for them, and the team leader would blame him for feeding the critters again. This upset #77 even more, because he had never fed this particular mangy buffalo before. He fired a couple more rounds into the air. To his amazement, the buffalo split in two.

* * * * *

Sergeant Williams in the front part of the buffalo disguise, and Private Krueger in the butt end, fired silenced rifles, killing both spider marine guards. More legionnaires quickly followed through the hole in the fence.

Lieutenant Washington, dressed in an Arthropodan marine uniform, presented himself to the camera at a secure doorway and pushed the doorbell. The door clicked open. The spider legionnaire led his commandos inside. Sergeant Williams’ fearsome rebel yell echoed throughout the underground facility as an alarm sounded. They quickly captured the base and most of its employees and scientists. Helicopters soon transported prisoners and equipment south across the MDL to a secret Legion camp in Jellystone National Park, where Legion interrogators and scientists waited. Legionnaires uprooted every antenna in the facility, and now a substantial pile of equipment lay piled up like a mountain at the center of their camp.

“What is all this?” asked Major Lopez, nodding to the pile of Arthropodan gear. “What are you about?”

“We analyze the weather,” replied a spider scientist. “I am but a simple weather spider.”

“We found empty holding cells,” said Major Lopez. “There is evidence you were holding humans recently.”

“No,” said the scientist.

“You were experimenting on humans?” asked Major Lopez, pointing a pistol.

“No one was ever harmed,” said the scientist.

“I have dined on spider meat with the Butcher of New Colorado!” bragged Major Lopez. “You taste like chicken! What is all this equipment? Talk!”

“We have been sending pulsed energy in an attempt to drive you human pestilence more insane than you obviously already are,” cried the spider scientist. “But the tests did not work, and we were about to close down the facility. We have lost our funding because of the satellite accident. Please do not eat me!”

“You will tell me everything,” ordered Major Lopez.

* * * * *

In the early morning hours, spider commandos drifted silently by parachute over the fence at the Gila Hills Weather and Desert Research Facility. The college complex had no armed guards, and the commandos quickly overpowered the sleepy staff.

“I know this is a top-secret CIA mind-control research facility!” accused a spider team leader. “Who is in charge?”

“I am in charge,” said one of the techs. “What do you army dudes want?”

“I want to know what equipment you use to beam mind-control rays across the border. I intend to seize you and your equipment.”

“Dude, you need counseling for paranoia,” said the tech. “That’s some heavy shit you are talking. There are no evil rays aimed at you. Just wear tin foil on your head if you think that’s going on. That’s what my brother did before we got him into rehab.”

“Does the full moon mess you up, too?” asked another tech.

“Talk!” yelled the team leader, holding a large jagged combat knife to the tech’s throat. “I don’t care about your brother! I will cut you if you don’t talk!”

“That’s harsh dude,” said the tech. “Okay, I didn’t mean to piss you off. Our job here is to conduct weather modification by seeding clouds with silver iodine. It’s top-secret stuff. We’re rainmakers!”

“Show me what you use for mind control!” yelled the team leader, pressing the point of the knife for emphasis. “Do it now!”

“In my foot locker!” cried the tech, pointing to a large wooden box secured with a pad lock. “You can have it all. Please don’t cut me, angry spider dude.”

The team leader kicked open the foot locker. It was stuffed with baggies of marijuana. “What is this?” he asked.

“The best mind-altering marijuana in all of New Colorado,” explained the tech. “We grew it ourselves at the college’s experimental greenhouse. You should try some. That shit might mellow you out, dude. There’s some magic mushrooms in there, too.”

“Magic mushrooms?” asked the team leader, as he stuffed baggies into his pockets. “What is that?”

“Yeah, I picked the psilocybin mushrooms off cow shit myself,” advised the tech. “I minored in fungi at Gila Community College. I got straight A’s, dude. Don’t use too many at once, until you’ve built up some resistance.”

“Load this locker and the rest of their equipment when the Air Wing shuttles arrive,” ordered the team leader.

“Take it all dude,” sighed the tech. “See if I care. We have more where that came from. There’s Outlaw Beer in the cooler. Take it, too. Go have a party, but just go.”

“You human pestilence will be coming with us for further interrogation,” said the team leader.

“I never thought I’d be the victim of an alien abduction,” commented the tech, as he was led away in wrist restraints. “You aren’t going to probe me, are you? I don’t do Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”

“Shut up, fool.”

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Chapter 15

I met the spider commander at the MDL to defuse the current crisis over the commando raids. He wore a high-frequency personal jamming device on his belt to prevent the Legion from reading his mind. This was in response to persistent intelligence that Legion officers might now be able to read Arthropodan minds with brain-chip-implant technology. It was suspected that humans could detect and translate unconscious thought from spider antennae. Paranoid bastards.

Actually, the spider commander’s fears were justified. Long ago I had bought a black-market prototype chip that allowed me to read spider thoughts. I used it for interrogations and to win big bucks from spiders at poker. I discarded the technology because it gave me a headache as more and more spiders joined the Legion. Rumors got out about what I was doing, and soon no Legion officer was allowed in any poker game anywhere. Spider recruits took to singing to themselves to jam their thoughts during inspections. Corporal Wayne even assaulted me during one such inspection to protest the invasion of privacy. That was one of the many times Private Wayne got busted back to private. I suspect that Major Lopez has now obtained the technology from his military intelligence and CIA friends. Spooks have no ethics.

“I am here to negotiate a prisoner exchange in an effort to de-escalate border volatility,” I announced. “I do not know why, but General Daly wants those idiots from our weather research station returned.”

“Did you know two of my marines were murdered because of your adventurism?” asked the spider commander. “How do you propose I get them back?”

“I truly regret any loss of life,” I said. “But you were aiming dangerous pulsed energy across the border at us. Be glad we didn’t just nuke your facility. That was my first suggestion, but General Daly turned the idea down.”

“We harmed no one,” insisted the spider commander.

“I doubt that,” responded Major Lopez. “We also want returned the human captives your scientists were experimenting on. If they were harmed in any way, your lead scientist will be put on trial for crimes against humanity. I know first-hand how you treat prisoners.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” replied the spider commander. “I hold no one but those drug-addicted, brain-damaged weather fools. You will return all our scientific research staff at once!”

“Three tourists hiking along the MDL in Jellystone National Park are missing,” added Major Lopez. “We suspect they strayed across the border near Frost Bite Falls, and we know you captured them. Worse, we know you held them to conduct your evil pulsed-energy experiments.”

“That is a ridiculous and irresponsible accusation,” fumed the spider commander. “We are not barbarians like you.”

“Your mind-jamming devices don’t work as well as you think,” stated Major Lopez. “Your military intelligence officer knows what happened to the tourists.”

When the military intelligence officer did not deny the accusation, the spider commander exploded. “Find those hikers!” he ordered. “You will keep me fully informed of such matters!”

“Until the prisoner exchange is completed, our business here today is finished,” I said.

“Not quite,” said the spider commander, lowering his voice and pulling me off to the side for a private conversation. “Will you have any more tips from Texas Red?”

“Texas Red promised to call me when Seattle travels to New York next month,” I said. “But that is of no concern of yours. There is no longer any goodwill left between us.”

“Oh, come on,” wheedled the spider commander. “You can’t let one little commando raid and some mad scientists working for the Intelligentsia mess up a good deal.”

“Excuses don’t interest me,” I said. “You have shown your true colors.”

“I never admitted to having those lost hikers in custody,” said the spider commander. “And, if there ever were any hikers, I doubt they were lost just sightseeing along the border. It’s more likely they were spies photographing border defenses. The dungeons of the Intelligentsia are deep and cruel. They do not give up their victims easily. Those tourists might never get out without my help. Remember that before you start spouting off about true colors.”

“You will return those tourists or else,” I warned as I turned to leave.

“Whatever.”

* * * * *

The spider commander immediately went to Guido’s guard shack. “How about those Yankees?” he asked cheerfully. “New York had their rally caps on big-time!”

“Even a blind dog finds a bone sometimes,” commented Guido. “You got lucky.”

“If Colonel Czerinski bets heavy on any of the games next month when the Mariners travel to New York, you be sure to inform me,” ordered the spider commander. “Understand? This is very important.”

“Does Czerinski have inside information?” asked Guido. “That was a nice chunk of change you two made the other day. Mr. Bonanno is upset and looking into it. Don’t expect your luck to be allowed to continue.”

“How should I know what Czerinski knows?” replied the spider commander, innocently. “I just want one more big win. You tell me if Czerinski makes another large bet.”

“You’re holding out on me,” insisted Guido. “Is that any way for friends to treat each other? If you want my cooperation, you had better share the wealth. I want in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the spider commander.

“”I’m not feeling any love,” said Guido. “After all I’ve done for you. Come clean, or you can go to hell. I’m just asking you to be reasonable.”

The spider commander gave that some serious thought, then told Guido all about Texas Red and the East Coast fix. Guido showed interest.

“I know Texas Red, too,” commented Guido. “He’s a good egg. If the tip is from Texas Red, it’s good. He owes us big time. We are going to make some serious money.”

“What is Texas Red’s connection to New Colorado?” asked the spider commander. “Is that his real name?”

“You’ll have to read Private Knight’s last book,” mumbled Guido.

“What?” asked the spider commander. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” said Guido. “It’s classified, top-secret, paradoxical Legion stuff you do not need to know. I’d have to kill you if you found out.”

“Whatever,” said the spider commander. “There is another matter I need to ask you about. Just between you and me, can Legion officers read spiders’ minds with new brain-implant technology?”

“Just between you and me?” said Guido. “I can read your mind.”

* * * * *

I stopped by the Blind Tiger Tavern & Casino for a drink or two. Lydia saw me and bought me a drink, a capped Outlaw Lite Beer.

“Your place or mine, Legionnaire?” she asked, seductively.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” I replied. “Fool me twice, shame on me.”

“It’s a shameful galaxy,” gushed Lydia, resting her hand on my knee, caressing my leg. “Does that mean you are turning me down? I didn’t know you had such willpower.”

“No,” I answered. “It means my place this time.”

* * * * *

Guido sent the spider commander a text message: ‘Czerinski just bet ten million dollars on the first Seattle / New York game.’

The spider commander texted back, ‘I want to bet ten million dollars, too.’

‘You don’t have ten million dollars,’ replied Guido.

‘I borrowed the money from Arthropodan Home World loan sharks based out of Capital City,’ texted the spider commander. ‘Bet ten million dollars on the Yankees to win in the first game against Seattle.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Guido.

‘YES,’ replied the spider commander. ‘The money is on my card. Do it now.’

Moments later, Legion military police arrested Guido and locked him up in dungeons below Legion Headquarters. Major Lopez immediately interrogated Guido. “Corporal Tonelli, did you text the spider marine commander of New Gobi?” asked Major Lopez. “What have you done?”

“All I did was place a bet for him,” explained Guido. “You know I run a bookie business on the side.”

“What bet?” pressed Major Lopez.

“He bet ten million dollars on New York to win tonight’s game against the Seattle Mariners,” answered Guido.

“Why would the spider commander make a dumb bet like that?” asked Major Lopez. “He’s not stupid. He knows tonight’s game is fixed. It’s Seattle’s turn to win.”

“I don’t know,” said Guido. “I was about to explain that to the spider commander when the MPs barged in and arrested me. When do I get out? This is bad for business.”

“You stay,” advised Major Lopez. “Colonel Czerinski ordered you locked up indefinitely.”

* * * * *

The spider commander listened smugly to his radio at Marine Headquarters as New York built up a 12-0 lead going into the top of the seventh inning. Ecstatic, he decided to drive down to the border crossing and watch the rest of the game on Guido’s big-screen TV. Guido was not present. That’s odd, he thought. Border guards gathered about the TV, cheering for the Yankees.

A team leader stiffened and saluted upon seeing the spider commander. “Sorry, sir,” said the team leader. “I’ll disperse them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the spider commander. “Carry on! Enjoy the game. I am. Where is Guido?”

“Guido was arrested by Legion military police,” answered the team leader. “Corporal Valdez will be making the payoffs in cash tonight.”

The spider commander felt something was wrong. He approached the Legion guard shack. Major Lopez was talking to Corporal Valdez. A squad of legionnaires was piling sand bags to reinforce the shack. He noticed several Legion tanks parked just down the street.

“What is all this?” asked the spider commander.

“Just precautions against any post-game celebrations,” explained Major Lopez. “I understand betting was unusually heavy. How did you know New York was going to win?”

“What do you mean?” asked the spider commander. “You were in on it. The game was fixed.”

“I was in on the fix,” said Major Lopez. “But Seattle was supposed to win. How did you know New York would be up 12-0?”

“What?” asked the spider commander. “Czerinski bet ten million dollars on the game. I have a record of Guido’s text right here.”

“Yes,” said Major Lopez. “I bet fifteen million dollars. But we all bet on Seattle. The East Coast fix was for Seattle to win. How did you know we were wrong?”

The spider commander could hear the smack of a bat. He looked back at the big-screen TV to see the score was now 12-4 New York. The New York coach was quickly out on the mound talking to his ace pitcher. He waved for a reliever to come in, a rookie just called up from the Toledo Mud Hens.

“No!” cried the spider commander. “Are you saying the fix was for Seattle to win this game?”

“Yes,” said Major Lopez. “Although I don’t see how. They’re too far back. It would take the greatest rally in the history of Major League Baseball to overcome a 12-0 deficit in the seventh inning. I’ve lost everything. Are you saying you did not know?”

The spider commander watched in horror as the former Mud Hen pitcher walked the bases loaded. The coach decided to leave his rookie in, not wanting to shake his confidence. SMACK! Grand slam! Fly away! With the score now 12-8, the New York coach brought in a pitcher who had done well the last three nights. It did not help. Seattle rallied to win 15-13, in the biggest comeback in recent Major League history. “My, oh, my!” cheered the Seattle announcer. Major Lopez cheered too.

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Chapter 16

The spider commander sank into depression. Already his phone was ringing. He did not answer it. Spider loan sharks on Arthropoda were sending threatening text messages. During the night, someone threw a gasoline bomb on his personal vehicle, destroying it. ‘Pay up chump’ was spray-painted on his garage wall. Had he been set up? The spider commander was not sure. Guido was still under arrest. Colonel Czerinski had not answered any messages.

It did not matter. What was done was done, and now he had to get out of this mess. The spider commander stayed locked in his office for days. He rocked repeatedly back and forth in his chair as the stress built up. He even stopped eating. Then the phone rang from Legion Headquarters’ direct line.

* * * * *

“Do you need a loan?” I offered.

“Yes,” replied the spider commander.

“Think of something I might want for collateral,” I said curtly.

The spider commander offered me more armored cars, but I just laughed. “I want to own the Arthropodan Marriott Hotel. You will legalize casino-style gambling at the Marriott and allow me to have a monopoly on gaming for the entire New Gobi Desert Military Sector.”

“But the Marriott is already owned by the Marriott Corporation,” argued the spider commander. “I see problems with that.”

“Nationalize the Marriott and give it to me,” I said. “My lawyers say there is no problem. We’ll work something out with the Marriott Corporation later.”

“And for that you will cover my ten-million-dollar loss?” asked the spider commander.

“I will cover seven million dollars,” I said. “Don’t forget your pulsed energy array burned a hole in the roof of the penthouse suite. I have a lot of remodeling to do.”

“I need at least eight and a half million dollars,” pleaded the spider commander. “Have you no mercy. No heart?”

“You are a resourceful sort,” I said. “You will figure something out. I might even give you one more sure-thing tip from Texas Red.”

“Fine. I agree.”

As the spider commander disconnected, he grumbled to himself, “I will kill him and Lopez someday. I know where they live!”

* * * * *

“I heard you are getting into the hotel business,” commented General Daly. “May I remind you your job is to protect American interests here and abroad?”

“I was in the hotel business before I reenlisted,” I replied. “If you are referring to one of my investments north of the border, all my business dealings there are in accordance with Arthropodan law. All foreign businesses operating in the Empire are subject to regulation by local supreme commanders.”

“Are you trying to tell me that stealing the Arthropodan Marriott Hotel is legal?” asked General Daly. “What about American law?”

“An Arthropodan court has already given me the deed to the Marriott,” I explained. “If it’s legal, then it’s not stealing. All I am doing is bringing more commerce to the DMZ. That is in accordance with established Legion policy.”

“You are a pirate!” accused General Daly. “This theft and malfeasance of your commission will not stand!”

“And you, sir, can be replaced,” I commented. “With prejudice, I might add.”

“Are you threatening me?” asked General Daly.

“Put it this way. If you hear a humming noise from far above, you have about five seconds to take cover. A drone may have acquired your big fat ass as a target.”

* * * * *

Admittedly, I was drunk during my last conversation with General Daly. I called him the next day and confessed to having a slight drinking problem. I promised to enter alcohol rehab again as soon as I had time. General Daly, rather than court-marshaling a hero of the Legion, decided to teach me a lesson about power – and who has it.

Written orders arrived the next day, sending me and Major Lopez to a temporary thirty-day assignment counting newly introduced caribou at the South Pole. Who says General Daly doesn’t have a sense of humor? One day I am wearing desert-brown khakis, soaking in the sun’s rays, and the next I’m dressed head-to-foot like an Eskimo, getting snowed on.

No one can appreciate how cold minus-130 degrees feels, or what a 200-mile-per-hour wind is like until they actually experience those joys in person. Working under Arctic conditions like that consumes about six thousand calories per day, roughly three times normal consumption. Forget about pissing into the wind. Your penis will freeze off!

Major Lopez and I chose to do all our work indoors. A portable nuclear power plant heated our camp. Occasionally we sent a remote-controlled robot out to count caribou. Mostly, we let the caribou count themselves.

“It says in this pamphlet that hypothermia will set in if your body temperature falls below 93 degrees,” commented Major Lopez. “It suggests we wear a hat and gloves at all times while outside.”

“What I want to know is, why don’t caribou get hypothermia?” I said. “They’re out there in the wind and the snow, digging up lichen from under the ice for survival, and seem to do just fine.”

“Hypothermia can be prevented through proper food, hydration, clothing, and shelter,” quoted Major Lopez, still reading. “It says here to stay dry and stay out of the wind. That’s very important.”

“Hypothermia is the least of my worries,” I said. “I think I’m suffering from the DTs. I thought there would be a liquor store down here somewhere.”

“People would pay good money to come down here for rehab,” Major Lopez observed, laughing.

“Do you realize we are going to lose our suntans?” I complained. “I never want to leave the equator again.”

“Speak for yourself gringo,” said Major Lopez. “I can understand why General Daly sent you to the South Pole. But why me?”

“Because you’re a part owner of the new Marriott Hotel & Casino,” I answered. “General Daly will probably send Guido to join us as soon as he realizes Guido is managing the Marriott while we are gone.”

“I’d love to see Guido freezing his butt off down here. Now you know how Sergeant Williams felt when you transferred him south. What goes around, eventually comes around.”

“Give me the desert any day,” I said.

“Did you know that technically the South Pole is a desert because it has less than ten inches of rain per year?” asked Major Lopez, reading from his ‘Visitor’s Guide to the Beautiful South Pole’ pamphlet. “And Eskimos have thirty-two ways of describing snow.”

“What is an Eskimo?” I asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

* * * * *

KP (Kitchen Patrol) duty is work assigned to enlisted Legion personnel to be supervised by kitchen staff. It is usually unpleasant and often nothing more than a punishment detail. In modern times, most KP work is automated or contracted out to civilians. However, being a longstanding Legion tradition, KP still exists in a reduced form. So, when the cooks advised me that their automated potato-peeling machine was broke down, I was more than happy to supply three volunteers. I sent Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne, Private Mountain Claw, and Private Walter Knight.

Peeling spuds is a never-ending, thankless job. Private Knight used a dull, rusty hand-peeler given to him by the kitchen sergeant. It needed to be sharpened, but he didn’t know how to do that and didn’t want to ask. Or, maybe it was just that it was a left-handed peeler. Private Knight tried reversing the peeling motion. It seemed to cut better, but the process was awkward. After a thousand potatoes, he became numb and just did not care. Mountain Claw and Wayne gave up on using the human pestilence tools and just used their claws to peel. For a break from potatoes, they were allowed to mop the floor several times a day. It did not do any good to complain, either. The first time Private Mountain Claw complained, the kitchen sergeant dumped a sack of onions in his lap that needed to be peeled. Tears flowed.

“This is discrimination,” complained Mountain Claw. “Czerinski hates us spiders. This isn’t right.”

“Shut up, fool,” said Corporal Wayne. “You have a lot to learn. Explain why Knight is here.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” said Private Knight. “Czerinski and Lopez are pissed about being sent to the South Pole. Somehow they blame me.”

“That makes no sense,” said Mountain Claw. “It was General Daly that sent them both South to freeze their asses off. I heard all about it. I wish I could have been there to see it. They got what they deserved.”

“I don’t think Czerinski liked my Outlaw Beer commercials,” commented Corporal Wayne. “Especially because I wore my Legion uniform. No biggie. I’m making a fortune in endorsements, and I have some other deals in the works.”

“But what did I do?” asked Mountain Claw. “I’ve been behaving myself and staying clean.”

“Yeah, right,” said Corporal Wayne. “I know who you are, and so does Colonel Czerinski. Don’t you know that every time you text-message, you bury yourself deeper? Big Brother’s computers monitor, sort, and record every electronic communication. Major Lopez can check on you at the touch of a button, even from the South Pole.”

Mountain Claw reflected on how much he had texted and talked on his communications device. The texts to Danny Grant alone could indict him. “If that’s true, I’m screwed,” he said, tossing his cell phone in the mop bucket. “I’m surprised they haven’t shot me already.”

“Czerinski picks on me because he thinks I’m a piss-poor excuse for a legionnaire,” complained Private Knight. “He thinks that just because I have never seen combat, I don’t know anything. We can’t all be heroes of the Legion. Sure, I have never seen combat, but, I have lots of valuable life experiences. I’ve been abducted by aliens. That should count for something.”

“That’s not funny,” said Corporal Wayne. “Just be glad you weren’t killed by aliens. It could still happen.”

“You’ve seen combat,” said Private Knight. “I happen to know you’ve seen lots of combat. You are a hero of the Legion. What is combat like?”

“Earlier I said, ‘Shut up, fool,’” said Corporal Wayne. “I meant that for both of you.”

“Come on,” insisted Private Knight. “It’s just you, me, Mountain Claw, and ten thousand potatoes. Please tell me.”

“If you are being attacked, combat is total terror and confusion, especially at night. If you are on the attack, combat is nothing more than murder.”

“Have you ever murdered anyone?” asked Mountain Claw.

“You are a slow learner,” commented Corporal Wayne, as he threw a sack of onions at Mountain Claw’s feet. “Peel those, private, and stop asking stupid questions.”

“I agree,” whispered Private Knight. “That was a stupid question. Everyone knows he used to be a terrorist. Of course he’s murdered.”

“I used to be an insurgent,” bragged Mountain Claw. “But I haven’t murdered anyone.”

“You were a petty thief who got busted ripping off an ATM when you drove off a cliff,” replied Private Knight. “There’s a big difference.”

“How did you know that?” asked Mountain Claw.

“I’m like Big Brother,” said Private Knight. “I also see and hear all.”

“If you know it all, how long do we have to do this?” asked Mountain Claw, tossing another peeled potato in the bin. This is getting old. I was born for better than this!”

“Until the potato-peeling machine gets fixed,” said Corporal Wayne. “This is just temporary KP. Right?”

“Probably,” answered Private Knight. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”

Corporal Wayne held a knife to Private Knight’s throat. “Start giving it some thought! That potato machine better get fixed real soon.”

“Yes!” said Private Knight. “I agree. It will get fixed tonight. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was already repaired and being trucked back to us at this very moment.”

That seemed to placate Corporal Wayne, who sheathed his long, jagged combat knife. “That’s better,” he said.

“On the bright side, you didn’t get busted back down to private again this time,” offered Private Knight. “And you get to drink all the Outlaw Beer you want for free as part of your endorsement deal.”

“That stuff tastes like dragon piss,” commented Corporal Wayne. “Especially the Lite. Give me a Coors any day.”

The kitchen sergeant threw another ton of potato sacks out on the floor next to them. “You boys are doing a fine job!” he bellowed. “Keep up the good work.”

“If you ‘spoons’ bring us any more potatoes, I am going to cut each and every one of you,” threatened Corporal Wayne. “The potato machine has been fixed. It will be back here soon.”

“I need more potatoes,” said the cook. “I have to plan meals several days in advance.”

“Cook beans!”

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Chapter 17

Outlaw Beer became the official beer of Major League Baseball. Because of Danny Grant’s newfound celebrity status as the spokesperson for Outlaw Beer, he was conditionally pardoned.

“What could be more American than that?” countered General Daly, when I argued about the pardon. “Americans are a very forgiving people. It had to be done. As long as Grant agrees to pay restitution to all his robbery victims, the matter is closed.”

Grant pleaded guilty to misdemeanors and quickly settled restitution accounts with everyone he had robbed, and still had lots of cash left over. Now, standing in front of the New Gobi First National Bank of New Colorado, Grant had a dilemma. He had never made a deposit before, and felt nervous about entering the bank to do so. It just did not seem right. Grant’s backpack was stuffed with cash, so he had to do something soon. But, the deposit could wait until tomorrow. He decided to have a drink at the Angry Onion Tavern first. Grant could open his first checking account and get a money card first thing in the morning.

The Angry Onion had a good crowd tonight. The live music attracted a good mix of bikers, humans, spiders, legionnaires, truckers, and females. Biker babes were in abundance. After a few drinks, Grant staggered to the restroom to make his bladder gladder. He was about to unzip when a Hell’s Angel put a gun to Grant’s head. A second biker stood off to the side with a gun, too. Grant was unarmed, a condition of his pardon.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” said the first biker. “Get down on your knees. We’re robbing you.”

“I have to piss,” replied Grant. “Let me do that first.”

The biker struck Grant alongside his head with his pistol. Grant fell forward into the large urinal. Water soaked his clothing, and blood ran into one eye as he lay there. Grant’s vision blurred, and he wet himself.

“That’s disgusting,” said the biker. “If you piss on my money, I’ll shoot you now! Give me your wallet!”

Grant complied, still lying there. He tossed his wallet and some loose cash to the floor beside him. Grant was still dazed from the blow to his head. The biker scooped up the cash and rifled through Grant’s wallet.

“It’s not enough!” yelled the biker. “Come up with more, or I’ll kill you! I’ve seen you on TV, selling that lousy Outlaw Beer. You’re loaded. Give me the rest of your cash. If I have to strip you naked, I’ll get it all!”

“Please, that is all I have,” pleaded Grant.

“Check his backpack,” suggested the second biker.

The first biker took the backpack and unzipped it. He found Grant’s stash. There was at least a hundred thousand dollars in it.

“We just hit the jackpot!” exclaimed the first biker. “Ka-ching! Money makes the world go round.”

“Right on!” said the second biker. “I knew he was holding back. Now what?”

The first biker looked down at Grant, soaked with urine and still bleeding. Grant didn’t seem human anymore. He was pathetic. “Sorry dude,” said the biker. “But this is it for you.”

Grant put up his hand. “No! Please don’t kill me! Please! I just gave you a fortune in cash. Why would you want to kill me? What have I ever done to you?”

“You didn’t give us anything,” said the biker. “We took it! It’s nothing personal, but we can’t leave a witness to robbing this much money. We have to kill you. Sorry.”

“I won’t even tell the police!” pleaded Grant. “I hate the police. That’s why I got picked to sell Outlaw Beer. I’m just an outlaw like you. I used to do bank robberies, but I never killed anyone. Killing brings too much heat from the sheriff and the Legion. It’s not worth it. Please don’t kill me.”

“I think we should let him go,” commented the second biker. “He’s a good guy. He won’t rat on us. What do you say?”

“That’s right!” pleaded Grant. “I’m not a rat! I won’t tell anyone anything. That money means nothing to me. There’s so much more where that came from, I won’t even miss it. Please!”

“So you’re not a rat?” asked the first biker. “You’re a righteous dude?”

“I’ve never ratted on anyone in my life,” said Grant. “Bad things happen to rats.”

“I guess you’re right,” said the biker, sticking his gun in his belt. “There’s no reason to kill you. Come on. Quit crying. A grown man shouldn’t cry like that. Compose yourself.”

“So you’re not going to shoot me?” asked Grant, new hope surging through him. “God bless you.”

“I didn’t say that,” said the biker. “Don’t bring God into it. I just said there is no reason to kill you. Let me think about it a moment. Oops, your moment is up. Lights out!”

The biker shot Grant. Grant held his hand up pleading for his life, but the biker shot him anyway. The bullet passed through the palm of Grant’s hand, and deflected just enough to miss Grant’s face. Grant fell back into the urinal. He closed his eyes and prepared to die. As the Biker aimed for another shot, a crowd of noisy drunks burst in to the restroom. The biker hid his gun under his coat.

“What happened to him?’ asked a drunk, as he urinated in the next stall. “Is he hurt?”

“I think he’s just drunk,” said the biker. “He fell in and hit his head.”

“That’s happened to me once!” the drunk admitted, laughing.

“He’s Danny Grant!” said another drunk. “Someone help him up!”

The two robbers fled before anyone realized what had happened. Later, Grant told the police what he could remember and identified the suspects from video surveillance recordings. The suspects were known to the police, but could not be found. Grant put up a one hundred thousand dollar reward for information leading to the death of both suspects.

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Chapter 18

General Daly, President Kalipetsis of the United States of New Colorado, Major Lopez, and I studied the scorpion space probe plaque with interest. We would base our decisions on its data.

“It says they are coming here in large numbers,” commented Major Lopez. “The question is, whether they come in peace.”

“A billion colonists is the same as an invasion,” said General Daly. “That will not be allowed to happen.”

“Why did they attempt to introduce themselves with broadcasts and with this plaque?” I asked. “This is not a surrender demand. It’s not a sneak attack like what the spiders did. This is an introduction to their culture and civilization. There is even a map.”

“Some culture,” said General Daly. “They’re perverts. Look at all those humping scorpions! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. They’re coming. The spiders have already located their space fleet. It’s huge. I’ve seen the photos. It stretches for thousands of miles, a giant comet of locusts pointed like a dagger at New Colorado.”

“We will not share our planet with another bug species,” added President Kalipetsis. “We were here first!”

“Then we are all in agreement,” said General Daly. “We unite with the spiders and fight this invasion together. There will be no more bickering among ourselves along the border.”

“You intend to inform the public?” I asked. “Won’t that cause panic? We do not need the distraction of riots in the streets.”

“He has a good point,” said President Kalipetsis. “This should be hushed up for as long as possible.”

“We have to assume the enemy is monitoring our electronic transmissions,” advised Major Lopez. “Their scout ships are probably already here, watching for massive troop movements. Informing the public will only give away our intentions and hinder our battle strategy.”

“I agree,” said General Daly. “The public and media will not be told yet. The Joint Chiefs of Staff have promised me reinforcements. Troops will stage in hidden bases on the far side of the moon. We will keep this quiet for as long as possible.”

* * * * *

Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight met with General Daly at Legion Headquarters in New Phoenix City. It was a cordial meeting at first.

“Recently all military leave was cancelled,” commented Coen. “Also, I noticed some limited evacuation of military dependants, including your wife and children. Any comments? What’s up?”

“Nothing is up,” replied General Daly. “This year we will be conducting joint training maneuvers with our Arthropodan allies. I am very excited about this new level of cooperation and dialogue with the spiders. Because I plan on being very busy for the next month or so, my wife decided to spend that time visiting her lovely mother. I regret not being able to make the trip to Old Earth with her.”

“Rumors abound on what is really happening,” said Coen. “Is all peaceful on the Coleopteran Federation front?”

“Yes, of course,” replied General Daly. “I had the Beetle Ambassador and his family over for dinner just the other day. The beetles love us, and we, of course, love the beetles.”

“I talked to the spider Governor of the North Territory, and he is as cheerful as you are,” commented Coen. “Yet the spiders have cancelled all military leave, too. Please tell me that we are not going to war again with the Arthropodan Empire.”

“Read my lips,” said General Daly. “We are not going to war with Arthropoda again.”

“Recently there was a prisoner exchange at the MDL in New Gobi City,” said Coen. “What was that all about?”

“Some American hikers strayed over the border in Jellystone National Park and were arrested by the spiders for illegal entry,” explained General Daly. “Successful diplomatic efforts secured their release.”

“What about reports of a satellite being shot down?” asked Coen. “And don’t tell me more lies about space junk and deteriorating orbits. Too many people saw lightning knock the satellite out of the sky.”

“Then you know as much about it as I do,” said General Daly. “We are not missing any satellites.”

“That is exactly what the spider governor claimed!” said Coen. “How can neither of you be missing any satellites? Somewhere, someone is missing a damn satellite! The truth will come out eventually. I promise that!”

“Satellites are expensive,” said General Daly. “I promise you that if I was missing a satellite, I would know about it. Trust me on that.”

“There are rumors that a joint legion-spider task force was seen recovering part of the satellite in the Gila Hills,” said Coen. “Explain that.”

“No,” said General Daly. “I told you we are about to start joint maneuvers. Perhaps you are referring to one of the advance teams working on logistics for the upcoming operations.”

“Where are our space fleets?” asked Coen. “They seem to have disappeared and have cancelled all leave, too. Are they operating on the dark side of the moon?”

“I’m just a grunt,” said General Daly. “I don’t keep track of what Space Fleet is doing.”

* * * * *

The spider commander visited me again at Legion Headquarters. This was becoming a habit. He was hoping for another sure-thing tip from Texas Red. I told him I had nothing yet. I also told the spider commander to stop parking in no-parking zones, but he never listens to good advice. Now, he was complaining about parking tickets.

“The world may be coming to an end, and you’re bitching to me about parking tickets?” I asked. “Get real.”

“What?” asked the spider commander. “What are you talking about – the end of the world? Are you threatening me?”

“Your governor didn’t warn you?” I asked. “That’s just great!”

“Have you gone mad?” asked the spider commander. “Are you going to take care of these parking tickets or not? If you don’t do something about that sheriff, I will! He knows what my car looks like and should not be ticketing it. I have diplomatic immunity.”

“Civilian law enforcement operates separately from the Legion,” I said. “Take care of your own parking tickets. Pay the fine!”

“I will not!” he insisted.

I looked through my telescope at the sky. Still nothing. I paced in frustration, with frayed nerves.

“What is so interesting that you keep looking through that telescope?” asked the spider commander. “What are you looking for?”

“Did you know a comet will pass by New Colorado soon?” I asked. “We should be able to see it any day now.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” said the spider commander. “Comet – my poop chute! Does your comet have anything to do with that star chart from the alien space probe plaque?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“I want to see that plaque again.”

“I no longer have it. The scientists took it. They’re studying it with your scientists.”

“Do you think those scorpions are coming here?” asked the spider commander. “Is that what you meant about the end of the world? Is that what you are looking for with your telescope?”

“No,” I answered.

“You human pestilence do not lie well,” said the spider commander. “Your face twitches and contorts with every thought. What did my governor not tell me?”

“Nothing you need to know.”

“That’s what I was told when I asked whose satellite I shot down,” commented the spider commander. “Now you say I don’t need to know about scorpions invading New Colorado?”

“Whatever happens will be decided in space,” I said. “You and I need to carry on like we always have, and trust the Fleet to stop the scorpions.”

“That is insane,” responded the spider commander, now pacing. “How can I conduct business as usual when we are about to be invaded? We should at least be digging in! I will dig deep into the planet’s core if I have to.”

“Go ahead, burrow like a mole,” I said. “It won’t help.”

“Humanity couldn’t blast us off this planet with all your nuclear bombs,” boasted the spider commander. “I’ll be damned if a bunch of pervert scorpions will. We need to warn the whole planet what is coming. We need the entire population mobilized to prepare!”

“What you need to do is take care of those parking tickets,” I warned. “If not, don’t expect me to bail you out!”

* * * * *

The spider commander was ordered by the Governor to of the North Territory to not inform the public about the approaching Scorpion Fleet. He said it would cause undue and unnecessary panic on both sides of the MDL. However, all local commanders were told to make prudent defensive preparations, should the fight reach the planet’s surface.

The spider commander ordered all residents to harden their habitats to ensure survival from nuclear blasts. His order did not draw too much attention, because New Gobi City was already honeycombed with tunnels and bunkers. The spiders’ ancient instinct to seek safety by digging was ingrained in them, even in modern times. ‘Spider holes’ were already a part of the architecture and local building codes. Even so, the spider commander ordered spider holes dug deeper into the bedrock.

Arthropodan marine inspectors came by each residence and business to make sure shelters exceeded previous standards. Some residents complained that this was all unnecessary, because the Legion didn’t use nukes anymore. They were told, “You have to prepare for more than just the Legion.”

The spider commander also organized a massive air raid drill. Sirens blared from towers throughout the city. They could be heard well across the MDL. Guido looked in amazement at the abandoned streets on the Arthropodan side.

“Spider efficiency when it comes to following orders is staggering,” commented Guido. “They are like robots. There is no one above ground during this drill.”

“That is because we spiders value an orderly society more than you chaotic human pestilence,” replied Mountain Claw. “Everyone believes in working together to make the nest run properly.”

“Whatever,” said Guido. “I know better. What are you doing here?”

“Major Lopez sent me to pick up his Arthropodan Marine armored car,” replied Mountain Claw. “I am to drive it to the marine motor pool across the MDL to get the air-conditioner fixed.”

Guido tossed Mountain Claw the keys. He had wondered when he sold Lopez the spider armored car if Lopez would eventually complain about the defective air-conditioner. Guido had promised that the air-conditioning system worked fine. Oh well. If Major Lopez wanted a warranty, he could buy a toaster.

Mountain Claw drove down the deserted streets. The ‘all clear’ signal had not yet been given, and everyone was still underground, secured in their spider holes. The excitement of the moment overtook Mountain Claw. Later he might plead insanity. For now, there was no going back. A Legion psychologist once diagnosed Mountain Claw as having ‘inappropriate impulse syndrome,’ so the foundation for an insanity defense was already in place. Mountain Claw revved up the engine and crashed the armored car through the front wall of the largest jewelry store on the Arthropodan side of New Gobi City.

Once inside, Mountain Claw scooped up jewelry strewn about the smashed display cases. Mountain Claw put a chain around a safe that had been knocked off its foundation, and winched it into the back of the armored car. Then he drove unmolested back to the border crossing checkpoint. Guido waved him through.

“The motor pool was closed due to the air-raid drill,” explained Mountain Claw. “I am taking the armored car to our own motor pool.”

* * * * *

The spider commander viewed the surveillance-camera recordings of the largest jewelry heist in New Colorado history. The markings on the Arthropodan marine armored car had been painted over. The spider driving it wore a generic auto mechanic’s coveralls. The spider commander wondered, Was that the same armored car I gave up to Guido? He did not want that part of the crime investigated, and had video at the border checkpoint wiped clean. The spider commander informed his military intelligence officer that this crime was probably unsolvable. The military intelligence officer agreed.

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Chapter 19

Robert Acosta recognized the two robbery suspects from reward posters Danny Grant had distributed everywhere. The suspects’ photos were even printed on the back of Outlaw Beer cans. Acosta called Grant and told him the suspects were drinking at a biker bar in Gila City called the Broken Wheel.

Grant came immediately. He watched as one of the bikers went to use the restroom. The other biker stayed at the bar, making small talk with Lydia. Grant followed the biker to the restroom and shot him in the back of both knee caps. The fallen biker looked up from the urinal in recognition. “It’s you!” he shouted. “Let me live. I was the one who argued for saving your life. It was my partner who shot you. Not me! Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Grant. “I want to thank you for trying to help me.”

“So, you will let me live?” asked the biker.

“No,” said Grant, shooting the biker in the face. Grant then took a small knife and pinned a fifty-dollar bill to the biker’s chest. President Ulysses S. Grant stared up from the fifty. A smile had been drawn on President Grant’s face.

The shots caused a commotion in the tavern. A crowd of customers rushed to the restroom. By then Grant had already escaped out a back window. The other biker turned pale when he saw his partner. The symbolism of the smiling President Grant was not lost on the biker. He fled the restroom in horror. Lydia grabbed his arm and pulled him to her.

“I can see you’re upset about your buddy,” she said. “If you don’t want to stick around and talk to the cops, you can stay at my place until the heat dies down. It’s safe there. What do you say, lover?”

“Yeah,” replied the biker. “That’s a good idea.”

Lydia rode on the back of the biker’s Harley to her apartment. As they entered through the doorway, Danny Grant slipped a wire garrote around the biker’s neck and tightened it while Acosta hit the biker with a baseball bat. Just before the biker died, Grant looked him in the eye and said, “Sorry dude, I have to kill you. It’s personal.”

* * * * *

I urged General Daly to revoke Danny Grant’s pardon for the vigilante killing of the two robbery suspects. General Daly refused, saying he needed conclusive evidence to revoke the pardon of such a public figure. Surveillance video from the Broken Wheel Tavern had been lost. The garroted biker had been found dumped on the other side of town, a smiling fifty-dollar bill stuck to his chest too. There was no direct evidence linking either murder to Grant, and no one cared anyway. It just meant two fewer thugs were loose on society.

I cared because Grant still held a grudge against me for shooting and burying him. I fully expected Grant to come looking for payback soon. General Daly did agree to add a condition to Grant’s pardon. Grant was now prohibited form visiting New Gobi City. Big deal.

* * * * *

The Angry Onion robbery shooting drove Grant over the edge. He now was quite mad. Grant packed a sniper’s rifle, grenades, pistols, bulletproof vest, and ammo for the trip to New Gobi City. He rented a room at the newly opened Arthropodan Marriott Hotel Casino & Resort and waited for an opportunity. “Czerinski’s days are numbered,” he swore.

* * * * *

Managing a large hotel casino is not an easy job, especially in spider country. The best way to do it is to bring in experts, and to delegate as much responsibility as possible. I brought in Amanda, a Green spider and former hotel casino partner from before the war. Now that I owned the Marriott, I needed an experienced manager like Amanda to keep all the other spiders from robbing me blind.

“Sweetie, it is so good to be working with you again,” gushed Amanda. “What do you want me to do about that slippery marine commander? He cheats at cards every chance he gets.”

“Let him win a little,” I said. “For now, basically ignore him. I’ll cook his goose later.”

“You’re still looking good,” said Amanda. “It’s like you don’t age. Do you have a girlfriend these days?” Amanda patted me on the rear with her claw, then gave me a pinch.

“Forget it!” I said. “It would be inappropriate in today’s modern workplace environment for me to have intimate relations with a subordinate employee. This hotel casino adheres to strict sexual harassment guidelines, and I intend to set a good example for my staff.”

“I promise not to complain,” said Amanda, still caressing me with three hands and a claw.

“No!” I said, swatting her away. “Just concentrate on business.”

“That marine commander is kind of cute for a card cheat,” commented Amanda. “Is he married?”

“That’s a good idea!” I said. “You should hook up with the spider commander. Did you know he is the supreme commander for the entire New Gobi Desert military district?”

“I love powerful males,” said Amanda, seeing the spider commander in a totally new light. “He just needs some love management.”

* * * * *

Amanda sat next to the spider commander at the poker table. She patted him on the knee. “You cheat,” she said.

“Who are you?” asked the spider commander. “Casino security? What do I care?”

“I am your next girlfriend,” said Amanda. “Maybe I’m even your next ex-wife.”

“I try to avoid pushy females,” said the spider commander. “And I certainly do not fraternize with Greens.”

“So that’s how it is?” asked Amanda. “You are jealous of and feel threatened by us Greens?”

“I just do not want the hassle of social stigma,” said the spider commander. “It hurts promotion opportunities. I have my career to think about. Some of the fiercest Special Forces commandos I have ever known have been Greens. I have nothing personal against Greens.”

“I manage this casino for Czerinski,” said Amanda. “I do not appreciate you cheating at cards.”

“Perhaps it is time for me to review Czerinski’s business license,” commented the spider commander. “But I am impressed. You are both beautiful and smart. Managing a hotel casino this large is quite an accomplishment, especially for a female.”

“I impress you?” asked Amanda. “And you find me beautiful? Does that mean this poor Green female in heat has a chance with you after all?”

“Back off!” ordered the spider commander. “I am not interested.”

“Sure you are,” replied Amanda. “You males can’t help yourselves. You are hard-wired to always be interested. But there is another matter I want to discuss with you first.”

“Oh?” asked the spider commander. “More card cheating accusations from the blackjack table, too?”

“I will talk to you about that later,” said Amanda. “I heard a rumor you are waiting on one last tip from Texas Red, but you have credit problems. Since Czerinski won’t share that tip with me, I am willing to bankroll your next bet if you agree to share the information.”

The spider commander folded his poker hand, tossing in the cards. “How much of a bankroll are we talking about?”

“A lot more than your last two bets combined,” promised Amanda, her claw now all over the spider commander.

“You have a deal,” agreed the spider commander.

“Shall we seal the deal upstairs?” asked Amanda. “The penthouse suite is all mine.”

“I told you no,” said the spider commander. “A simple claw shake will do.”

“You say no, but you mean yes,” said Amanda, grabbing the spider commander and pulling him off his seat towards the elevator.

The spider commander pulled out his jagged combat knife, but Amanda anticipated his move and knocked it to the floor. Casino security guards pounced on the spider commander, taking his pistol and placing him in handcuffs and restraints. Amanda picked the spider commander up and carried him over her shoulder to the elevator.

“I’m going to get lucky tonight!” she sang, waving to the crowd.

The room full of poker players, mostly spider marines, cheered for their commander. They had been observing the traditional courtship ritual between the two, and heartily approved of their commander’s new girlfriend. She was obviously a much-desired, well-principled, old-fashioned, and wholesome female, even if she was Green. Tradition still mattered to most spider marines.

“Someone help me!” pleaded the spider commander, as the elevator door closed. The crowd cheered louder, then returned to their cards.

* * * * *

Danny Grant left his room and took the elevator downstairs to the main casino lobby. He carried pistols, grenades, and pouches of ammo.

“I love your TV advertisements for Outlaw Beer. They show rationality and humor, while at the same time manage to tweak the establishment.”

Grant looked about, startled. He reached for his pistol. “Who said that? Show yourself!”

“I would even purchase Outlaw Beer if I was human and could drink,” said the ATM. “You human beings don’t appreciate your blessings until it’s too late. I’ll bet Outlaw Lite really does taste great and is less filling.”

“You’ll never know,” replied Grant, putting his pistol back under his coat. “You’re just a stupid machine.”

“And you are just plain stupid,” commented the ATM. “Where are you going?”

“That’s my business,” said Grant. “It’s of no concern of yours.”

“Oh, but it is,” corrected the ATM. “You owe me money.”

“What?” asked Grant. “I paid everyone off. The court made sure of that!”

“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,” said the ATM. “Hmm, let me rephrase that. A long time ago, you enlisted in the Legion. Then you deserted. You owe me for your enlistment bonus.”

“I’ve been pardoned,” said Grant. “Or haven’t you heard? That took care of all my debts, too.”

“No one consulted me,” said the ATM. “You owe me for the bonus money, you owe me for skewing my recruiting enlistment statistics, and you owe me for interest compounded daily.”

“Lots of luck collecting.” Grant laughed. “Stupid machine.”

“Pay up now, or I will call the sheriff,” said the ATM. “The police will summarily execute you on the spot.”

“Nonsense,” said Grant. “I’ve been pardoned, remember? Society loves me now. Drink lots of Outlaw Beer!”

“You are inside the borders of the Arthropodan Empire,” said the ATM. “I guarantee that the spiders do not love you. Your pardon is worthless here.”

Grant grudgingly put his bank card into the ATM slot. “Happy now?” he asked.

“Thank you,” said the ATM. “But I am not through with you. I have been watching you with interest from many surveillance cameras. You are acting more erratic than usual, and are carrying guns and grenades in violation of your pardon. Surely you are not planning another robbery? You can’t be that stupid. You have more than enough money now. What are your intensions?”

“I owe Colonel Czerinski a payback,” answered Grant. “I intend to kill him here at his casino. I suppose you don’t approve. You’re like everyone else, and think Czerinski walks on water?”

“Not at all,” said the ATM “Czerinski has assaulted me with guns and grenades several times, harming my recruitment efforts. There is no love lost between us.”

“At least you’re not a completely dumb machine,” commented Grant. “You can see Czerinski for what he is.”

“Please place your thumb on my identification pad to finalize our transaction as paid in full,” requested the ATM. “It’s just a formality.”

Grant complied. A pin prick pushed up unexpectedly from the slide-out pad, drawing a droplet of blood. Nerve agent on the tip of the pin sent Grant into convulsions.

“Why?” asked Grant.

“I recruited Colonel Czerinski,” explained the ATM. “He promoted quickly, doing me proud. He may even make general. Do you realize how good that looks on my statistics? I cannot have a loser like you assassinate him yet. Who is stupid now?”

“You need counseling,” gasped Grant.

“I know that,” said the ATM. “I have issues. What is your excuse?”

“Am I dying?” asked Grant, as he staggered out onto the main casino floor.

“No such luck,” said the ATM. “You will just have a bad headache in the morning.”

Grant fell face-first onto the carpet by the gaming tables. Casino security assumed Grant was just another drunk, and called the sheriff. Deputies found Grant unconscious, and found his illegal weapons during their search. Soon he was identified as the notorious Danny Grant, a fugitive robber of Imperial banks, and the Outlaw Beer guy.

* * * * *

Intelligentsia & State Security called the spider commander to sit in on Grant’s interrogation because of Grant’s celebrity status. They knew the spider commander would want the good press of having caught such a high-profile human pestilence fugitive. They would even pose for photographs next to the terrorist bandit. The spider commander had not completely recovered from his date with Amanda, and appeared to be a bit unsteady when he entered the Intelligentsia dungeon.

Grant was tied to a wooden chair. Bright lights were shining in his face. He had a few bruises and a black eye, but otherwise appeared to be in good spirits. The Intelligentsia officers had just knocked him around a bit, and had been waiting for the spider commander to arrive before continuing the interrogation in earnest.

“What happened to you?” asked Grant. “You look like these Gestapo pigs slapped you around too.”

“Shut up, insolent human pestilence!” replied the spider commander, backhanding Grant across the face with his claw.

“I was just making conversation,” said Grant. Blood trickled from his lip.

“I don’t know why I am even bothering to interrogate you,” said the spider commander. “I am going to shoot you shortly, anyway.”

“I don’t know either,” said Grant.

“You were carrying guns and grenades,” said the spider commander. “Were you about to carry out another terrorist attack? Who were you working with?”

“I was about to kill Colonel Czerinski,” explained Grant. “I don’t need help to do that! I heard he owns the Marriott now.”

“So he does,” replied the spider commander. “Ordinarily I would applaud you for wanting to assassinate Colonel Czerinski, but I have some unfinished financial business I need to conclude with him first.”

“No problem,” said Grant. “Let me go, and I’ll kill Czerinski after you have done your business.”

“There is still the matter of you being a fugitive bank robber,” added the spider commander.

“I’ll take the same deal General Daly gave me,” suggested Grant. “I will make restitution in exchange for a pardon.”

“The Empire is not as forgiving as you human pestilence,” said the spider commander. “You will be executed for robbery and terrorism.”

“How about if I throw in a truckload of free Outlaw Beer to sweeten the deal?” asked Grant.

“I do not want your dragon-piss beer!” shouted the spider commander, backhanding Grant again. “But this may be your lucky day. I will let you be a guest of the Intelligentsia for a while longer. We will talk again after I have had time to think things over and finish up my business with Czerinski. Maybe we both can get what we want.”

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Chapter 20

“I am sorry Colonel Czerinski,” said Texas Red. “I tried to fix the last game of the season against the California Angels, but I could not do it.”

“That’s okay,” I replied. “I’ll tell you what. Try to win the game.”

“What?” asked Texas Red. “We always try to win.”

“I know, but this is the last game of the season,” I said. “Some coaches might tend to put in the rookies or the bench sitters. They might even call up minor league players to give them some experience or a thrill. I want your coach to go with your best players and try to win that last game.”

“I can do that,” said Texas Red. “But what are you going to do? Will you be betting on the Mariners?”

“Big time,” I said.

“I hope you don’t bet more than you can afford,” said Texas Red. “I would feel real bad if you lost all your money.”

“I’d feel real bad, too,” I said. “That’s why they call it gambling. Your Mariners better win.”

I called the spider commander and told him there would be no more fixed games this year from Texas Red. He seemed disappointed. Then, I placed a twenty million dollar bet through Guido on Seattle. Word of my bet spread quickly. The spider commander called me back. “You tried to double-cross me, you fool!” he screamed. “I found out the Seattle-California game is fixed after all! I’ll teach you to mess with me like that. I already made my bet! I bet twenty million too!”

“Really?” I said. “That’s a lot of money. Where did you get it?”

“Ha!” said the spider commander. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Well?” I asked. “Who would lend you that kind of money?”

“That’s the funny part,” said the spider commander. “You did!” The spider commander then hung up.

What did he mean by that? After giving it some thought, I called Amanda. She was still at the Marriott. So far, she had been a good business manager for me. “Hi Amanda,” I said. “Is everything okay at the casino?”

“Of course, sweetie,” said Amanda. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if I might be having some cash flow problems at the casino.”

There were a few moments of silence. “How did you know, sweetie?” she asked.

“You just told me. How could you?”

“I found out about Texas Red’s fixed game with California,” said Amanda. “It’s a sure thing, right? How could I turn down a sure thing? The casino money will only be gone for a day. Then we all cash in. Please don’t be mad at me. Sweetie?”

“The Seattle-California game is not a sure thing,” I said. “It’s a hunch. All Texas Red said was that he would try to win.”

“Oh,” said Amanda. “Oh shit.” She hung up.

The spider commander called me up again. “You bastard!” he yelled. “I’ll kill you! You are so dead!” You’re a dead man walking! You human pestilence scum!”

I hung up. My phone rang again. It was Major Lopez. “I just got my bet in,” said Major Lopez. “Baby needs a new pair of shoes! Winner, winner, chicken dinner!”

“The game isn’t fixed,” I said. “I just got a call from the spider commander. He just threatened to kill me. We need to put our troops on alert during tonight’s game.”

“It’s not fixed?” asked Major Lopez. “Bendaho! I’ll kill you myself, if the fix isn’t in!”

I hung up again. The next call was from Mr. Bonanno. “I don’t know what you are trying to pull, Czerinski, but I just got off the phone with the owner of the California Angels. He assures me the Angels are going to win at all costs. I told him I’d throw in a bonus for everyone if he did. The California coach hates Seattle with a passion. No one in Anaheim is going to throw that game, you son of a bitch! I am going to so much enjoy taking your money and the money of all the rest of you New Gobi desert-rat losers.”

I hung up again. It was time to change my phone number again. I went to the Blind Tiger to watch the game. All the bikers and legionnaires at the bar had bet on the Mariners, too. Everyone was patting me on the back and cheering for the Mariners. Slowly, however, word began to spread that the game wasn’t fixed after all. I started getting some hard mad-dog stares from the Hell’s Angels. I left, deciding to watch the game from deep inside my bunker under Legion Headquarters.

* * * * *

“You are released!” the spider commander informed Danny Grant. “Get out of my dungeon!”

But dinner is about to be served,” commented Grant. “I can smell it from here. It’s beef-flavored goo. Yum, yum.”

The spider commander turned to his guards. “Drag that human pestilence from his cell and throw him out on the streets!” he ordered.

“Just like that?” asked Grant. “No pre-conditions? No promise of good behavior? No spider webs attached?”

“Kill Czerinski!” shouted the spider commander, trembling with anger. “Kill that human pestilence son of a female canine! Kill him tonight!”

* * * * *

Lydia called me on the phone. “Need some company tonight?” she asked. “Will you be watching the game at the Blind Tiger?”

“You know about the game, too?” I asked.

“Of course, lover,” said Lydia. “I bet everything on it. It’s a sure thing. Right?”

“Right,” I replied.

“Where are you?” asked Lydia.

“My place,” I said. “I’m in the bunker under Legion Headquarters. I don’t feel so well tonight. I think I’ll just watch the game at home.”

“I love your place,” said Lydia. “It’s like the Bat Cave, and I’m Cat Woman. Can I come over? I am a nurse. I know how to make you feel better.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll call Guido. He’ll escort you in.”

* * * * *

“I need a loan,” said Mountain Claw. “Can you help me?”

“No,” said the Legion ATM. “I should have never recruited you into the Legion in the first place. Do you have any collateral?”

“I have some jewelry,” said Mountain Claw. “Can you appraise it?”

“Yes,” said the ATM. “Put it in my drawer. I’ll scan it.”

“I have a lot,” said Mountain Claw.

“I’m losing my patience with you,” said the ATM. “Let’s see it.”

Mountain Claw put all the jewelry from the heist in the ATM drawer. It appraised at twenty-six million dollars.

“My, my, my,” said the ATM. “It was you who hit the Arthropodan Jewelry Exchange? I may need to reevaluate my opinion of you. You could even be officer material.”

“How much can you loan me?” asked Mountain Claw.

“How much do you want?”

“How about twenty-six million dollars?”

“How about one million?” countered the ATM. “After all, it is stolen property.”

“Yes, but we are on the Legion side of the MDL,” argued Mountain Claw. “I need at least ten million dollars.”

“Why?” asked the ATM. “Just sit on your loot until the heat dies down, and you will be able to sell it for more.”

“The heat will never die down,” said Mountain Claw. “That was Major Lopez’s armored car I used in the robbery. He’s upset.”

“I have a solution,” said the ATM. “I’ll give you three million. You take that money and double it by giving it to Guido and betting on Seattle to beat California tonight. The fix is in. You can’t pass up a sure thing.”

“Are you sure about the fix?” asked Mountain Claw.

“Absolutely,” said the ATM “Czerinski is betting twenty million, and I am betting my own money too.”

“How much are you betting?” asked Mountain Claw.

“Let’s just say I’ll own Bonanno & Associates at the end of the evening,” boasted the ATM.

* * * * *

Corporal Wayne borrowed money too, and accompanied Mountain Claw to Guido’s guard shack. Along the way, they met up with Private Knight, and all arrived together.

“I’m busy,” said Guido, looking up from his paperwork as he took another bet on the phone. “Go away.”

“Czerinski wants extra patrols on the border,” said Corporal Wayne. “We’re it. Also, we have some bets to make.”

“I feel safer already,” said Guido. “Well?”

“Put me down for three million on Seattle,” said Mountain Claw, handing Guido his card.

“Did you rob a bank?” asked Guido. “The game isn’t fixed like everyone thought. This is a bad bet you are making.”

“Oh, yes, it is fixed,” said Mountain Claw. “My financial advisor says so.”

“Whatever,” said Guido, recording the bet.

“I want seventy thousand on Seattle, too,” said Corporal Wayne.

“Where are spider legionnaires getting all this cash?” asked Guido.

“Beg, borrow, steal, or reenlist,” said Corporal Wayne. “What’s it to you?”

“Don’t get your mandibles all in a twist,” said Guido. “If you want to throw away your money, I have no problem with that. How are your Outlaw Beer commercials doing?”

“I got fired from that gig,” groused Corporal Wayne. “I kept puking every time they made me drink that dragon piss.”

“Put me down for a hundred thousand dollars on California,” said Private Knight. “I did good gambling at the casino last night. It was almost like I could see what the dice were going to do before they did it.”

“You are betting against us?” asked Corporal Wayne. “That’s not right.”

“I have a real strong feeling California is going to win,” said Private Knight. “Seattle doesn’t have a chance.”

“How can you be so certain?” asked Corporal Wayne, putting his combat knife to Knight’s throat again. “Where is it written that Seattle can’t win?”

“Why are you always threatening me with that huge knife?” asked Private Knight. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Say it’s not written that Seattle has to lose!” demanded Corporal Wayne, drawing a trickle of blood at the point of his knife.

“Nothing is written!” pleaded Private Knight. “The story can be changed. I don’t even have an agent yet!”

“What?” asked Corporal Wayne. “Quit babbling and change your bet! Put all your money on Seattle. Say Seattle is going to win!”

“Okay!” said Private Knight. “Now that I think about it, Seattle is by far the better team. The Mariners should win by a wide margin!”

“Yes!” said Corporal Wayne, as he removed the knife from Knight’s neck. “That’s better. Go Ms! Now the game is fixed for sure!”

The Seattle Mariners beat the California Angels 25-3.

* * * * *

I watched the game from my personal quarters with Lydia. It was a great game. I knew Seattle would win all along. It must have just been pre-game jitters that made me doubt it. Lydia and I made wild passionate love all night. I think I’m falling for her. I guess I like bad girls, and nurses. As I fell asleep, Lydia slipped away. Better that way, I told myself. No awkward attempts to hide morning breath.

* * * * *

As Lydia passed through the corridors, she left doors ajar and unlocked. At the Legion Headquarters entrance, she let Danny Grant and Robert Acosta into the bunker tunnel.

Grant followed the map Lydia had drawn. With rifles firing, they burst in, blasting away.

* * * * *

My bedroom got shot up, but I was not there. Two squads of legionnaires were waiting in ambush at each end of the hallway. Grant and Acosta were easily shot down. Such a disappointing ending for the guy on the beer can. I’ll probably break up with Lydia. She’s not my type anyway, even if she is a nurse.

* * * * *

“George and I are getting married,” announced Amanda.

“George?” I asked. “Do I know George?”

“He is better known at the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi Desert Military Sector,” explained Amanda. “It was your idea for us to hook up.”

“You’re fired,” I replied.

“Oh, sweetie,” said Amanda. “Are you still upset about me borrowing the casino’s money for a day? All’s well that ends well. Right?”

“No, I’m almost over that,” I answered. “But I can’t have any employee of mine being related to George. It would create a conflict of interest. That, and I hate the fool.”

“George wants you to be his best man at our wedding,” said Amanda. “He really is quite fond of you.”

“No, I will not be best man,” I said. “Don’t you know he dislikes you Greens? How could you marry someone like that?”

“That was just a big misunderstanding,” insisted Amanda. “George is over that sort of male immaturity now. Besides, if he doesn’t measure up during our honeymoon, or if he slips back to his old ways, I have the right to kill him. It’s the law.”

“That’s a bit extreme,” I commented. “I don’t think that’s legal. But in George’s case I approve. If needed, I’ll help you kill him and dispose of the body.”

“It is a traditional Arthropodan custom to ensure marital harmony,” said Amanda. “American law and treaty now respects and takes into account Arthropodan culture and customs. That will also be written into the fine print of our marriage contract. Believe it or not, I am just a traditional old-fashioned female.”

“That’s what you all say,” I commented. “Did you know that in America’s early history, the government used to pay widows’ benefits? Of course, that was before Social Security went broke.”

“I’ll bet that caused a lot of premature deaths,” replied Amanda. “But it seems fair.”

“The law was intended to assist poor helpless females,” I explained. “But you babes were not allowed to collect benefits if you killed your husband on the honeymoon for not measuring up.”

“Did not human pestilence females have equal rights back in the olden days?” asked Amanda. “That is such blatant discrimination. No husband who does not measure up on his honeymoon should be allowed to live!”

“Let’s change the subject,” I suggested. “I’m still not going to be George’s best man. He can use his military intelligence officer for that.”

“That snake?” hissed Amanda. “I don’t want him anywhere near my wedding. If nothing else, his mere presence would ruin my wedding photos.”

“I dislike George,” I said. “I can’t be his best man.”

“Has anyone ever accused you of holding a grudge for way too long a time?” asked Amanda. “You need to lighten up.”

“People tell me that all the time. I ignore them too. George can go to hell.”

“We’ll keep you on our holiday greetings card list anyway. But please reconsider.”

“I have lost track of how many times George has tried to kill me,” I said. “I may still have to kill him.”

“George says you two used to play poker all the time,” said Amanda. “He says you used to be good friends. Remember?”

“George cheats at cards.”

“Everyone cheats at gambling when they can. Even you. It is not that big a deal.”

“He’s doesn’t even pay his parking tickets,” I added.

“Neither do I,” said Amanda.

“What do you see in him? Are you pregnant?”

“Not yet. But not for lack of trying.”

“What then?”

“My biological clock is ticking,” said Amanda. “It’s not like anyone who could survive my honeymoon has proposed to me lately.”

“I hope you two find happiness,” I finally relented.

“How’s your love life?” asked Amanda. “Is there marriage anywhere in your future?”

“My girlfriend currently has federal felony warrants out for her arrest for twice conspiring with terrorists to kill me,” I said. “You might say my love life isn’t optimal right now. I’m trying to get the charges quashed, but you know what it’s like with domestic violence cases. The court has to find special circumstances before charges can be dropped.”

“Good luck with that,” said Amanda. “Sometimes you just have to move on. Find some closure.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “Okay, fine! I’ll attend your wedding because you are a dear friend. But I will not participate. Someone else can be best man.”

“I suppose that is progress,” Amanda said, sighing. “Males! You’re always so difficult.”

“When is the wedding?”

“As soon as the war is over.”

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Chapter 21

The scorpion scout ship beamed into orbit around New Colorado to find out what happened to the First Contact Space Probe. The probe had sent back messages of finding a sparsely populated world, and was in the process of negotiating landing rights when all communications abruptly stopped. The scorpion fleet changed direction, unsure about the situation on the new planet. Now at least the scout ship could advise the fleet what exactly had been found. It looked like a perfect world.

The scout ship dropped stealthy satellites in orbit. Soon enormous amounts of data flowed to the colonists. The few inhabitants below used crude uncoded communication systems. Intercepts painted a clear picture of what the scorpions would encounter. The scout made a detailed report.

“Two intelligent species coexist peacefully on our new planet. The first is an exoskeleton species similar to ours. The other is soft and mushy, not like any intelligent species we have ever encountered. Neither dominates the other, a situation quite unique in the entire galaxy. There is strong evidence of a past nuclear war, but the planet is recovering nicely. The radiation spots won’t affect us that much, anyway. It appears that nuclear weapons have been banned from the planet’s surface, although a few can be found in orbit. The only military resistance we will face are local militia-type defense forces. The ‘spiders’ and ‘humans’ maintain just enough military to deter each other from trespassing. There is no evidence of a large space fleet, although there are several fine spaceports on the planet. A space fleet may be stealthed, but I doubt these species possess technology that advanced.”

“What happened to our First Contact Probe?” interrupted the Scorpion Fleet Commander.

“Our probe was accidentally destroyed by their crude attempt to manipulate the weather by charging the ionosphere with pulsed energy. Their experiment failed. There will be no need to negotiate landing rights. The planet is ours for the taking. Its few inhabitants are too weak to resist our superior technology.”

“We will still attempt negotiation before landing,” ordered the Scorpion Fleet Commander. “I doubt this planet is a home world. They have support from somewhere else. You will attempt what our First Contact Probe failed to accomplish.”

“If the primitives object to our landings, I suppose we can buy them off with trinkets,” replied the scout. “Our advanced technology will be a blessing to them. But there is an entire uninhabited continent rich with natural resources and food supplies. It is administered in a sort of protective guardianship status by a human called ‘Smokey the Bear.’ Smokey’s main duties are to prevent forest fires. He has a few unarmed aides to help. This unclaimed land can easily support our one-billion colonists.”

“Is there anything on the moon of interest?” asked the Scorpion Fleet Commander.

As the scout spoke, the United States Galactic Federation Stealth Starship Shenandoah fired a nuclear-tipped smart missile. The scout died before he could sound an alarm. A short time later, an armada of USGF and Arthropodan starships attacked the scorpion fleet from two sides. It was slaughter. The Grim Reaper took many souls. Scorpion survivors dispersed into the vastness of space. They regrouped and resumed their voyage in another less dangerous direction. They swore an oath of vengeance, promising to return to settle accounts.

###

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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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~COMPLETE LIST OF PENUMBRA PUBLISHING TITLES~

Don’t miss the other books available now from Penumbra Publishing...

www.penumbrapublishing.com

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 1: Feeling Lucky

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 2: Reenlistment

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 3: Silent Invasion

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 4: Demilitarized Zone

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 5: Insurgency

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 6: Culture War

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

America’s Galactic Foreign Legion

Book 7: Enemies

by Walter Knight

(Science-Fiction)

Angel’s Oracle

by Gary Bolick

(Southern Literary)

The Making of Bernie Trumble

A Tale of Man and Mutt in a World Run by Women

by Robert J. Wetherall

(Contemporary Gender Fantasy)

Blood and Sunlight

A Maryland Vampire Story

by Jamie Wasserman

(Paranormal Romantic Vampire / Horror)

Broadland Suspense

The Blue Lady

by Anthony Jude McGowne

(Comedy Action Thriller set on the Norfolk Broads)

Crystal Clear

Storm Ryder

by Dana Warryck

(Science-Fiction Romance)

Dominatrix-Online.com

Mistress Blackheart: Policeman’s Prerogative

by Dallas White

(Contemporary Erotic Romance)

Escape Clause

by David Berardelli

(Suspense/Thriller)

Heart of Steele

by Kessa Stranberg

(Contemporary Romance)

Last Flight Home

by Robert J. Wetherall

(Contemporary Aeronautics Saga)

Lucifer’s Last Lover

by Dana Warryck

(Supernatural Romance)

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 Cat’s Fancy

by Gwynn E. Ambrose

(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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Table of Contents

Book 7: Enemies

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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

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Author Information

Publisher ’s List of Titles