AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 5: Insurgency

by Walter Knight

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Story Summary

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

Author Information

Book Preview: Blood and Sunlight by Jamie Wasserman

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 5: Insurgency

The sprawling spoof science-fiction saga continues as Colonel Joey R. Czerinski and his miscreant band of legionnaires try to quell a citizen uprising in planet New Colorado’s New Gobi Desert and foil an insurgency plot to kill the spider Arthropodan Emperor and his lovely wife, Queen Rainbow.

Suspicion and mistrust based on misinformation threaten the stability of Legion command, while Czerinski deals with personal troubles arising from a tryst with a long-gone marine and a cameo appearance by a new and frightening megalomaniac.

Through it all, Czerinski keeps his cool, and the laughs keep coming.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 5: Insurgency

Licensed and Produced through

Penumbra Publishing

www.PenumbraPublishing.com

SMASHWORDS EDITION

EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-39-6

Copyright 2009 Walter Knight

All rights reserved

Cover Art: G.E. Ambrose, W.K. Danes

Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-40-2

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

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

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~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~

I dedicate America's Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 5: Insurgency to the heroes and victims of the 911 terrorist attacks on America.

A special thanks to Penumbra Publishing editor Patricia Morrison for her patience and skill. I also thank my hot babe wife Barb for her support.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 5: Insurgency

by Walter Knight

Chapter 1

My name is Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, hero of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, and commander of garrison troops at the border crossing at New Gobi City, planet New Colorado, where I face both a growing human and spider alien insurgency. That Butcher of New Colorado label is unfair. I get a lot of bad press. It’s not my fault. It is all just a big misunderstanding caused by the fog of war.

A new company of United Stated Galactic Federation Foreign Legion recruits arrived at New Gobi City. They were led by a newly minted second lieutenant named Laika Barker. Barker recently graduated top in his class from Officer’s Candidate School at the West Point Extension Campus here on New Colorado. The extension program was designed to commission homegrown officers for the Legion.

Barker stood at attention in front of my desk and saluted. His gold-plated teardrop sunglasses were an exact duplicate of mine. Due to manpower shortages, the Legion recruiters were recruiting and enlisting just about anyone, but this was ridiculous. Barker and I had a history.

“At ease,” I ordered, returning the salute. “How in the hell did you ever get in the Legion, let alone manage a commission as an officer?”

“I filled out an application,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “God bless America for giving me the opportunity to prove myself.”

“Should I shoot him now or later?” asked Captain Lopez, my military intelligence officer.

“Now,” I answered, drawing my pistol. “It is a severe security lapse for a known terrorist like Barker to be recruited into the Legion.” I eyed Barker. “At the very least, you will be locked up until your credentials can be checked.”

“But Colonel Czerinski, I graduated top in my class in tactics,” argued Barker, handing me his orders. “General Kalipetsis ordered that top priority be given to recruiting local talent so we natives have a chance to succeed in the Legion. Give the general a call if you don’t believe me. I can be a valuable asset for you and the Legion. I am honored to serve under your command, sir! Please, let time heal old wounds.”

“It seems like just yesterday you tried to kill me with a grenade. But it has been a long time,” I admitted. “I see you have filled out a bit.”

“And you have not aged at all,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “Are the rumors true? Do microchips embedded in your bones really keep you young? Or have you found the Fountain of Youth?”

“I have no secret micro chips,” I lied. “The secret to survival out here is to stay in the shade and avoid skin cancer. Don’t ask stupid questions like that again.”

“Colonel Czerinski doesn’t share his secret with anyone,” complained Captain Lopez. “Spreading rumors about illegal microchips can get you killed.”

“Lots of things in the desert can get you killed,” added Lieutenant Barker. “But I’m still alive after all this time in the New Gobi.”

“A young man like you doesn’t need the Fountain of Youth,” I added. “Besides, you will be dead soon. I bet that the bookies in New Memphis have already established a line on when the New Gobi kills you.”

“You can bet on a legionnaire’s death?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “Is that legal? What’s the line on you, sir?”

“No bookie would dare take that action,” I boasted.

Captain Lopez made an inquiry in the database. “The line is even money Lieutenant Barker will not make it one year. I’ll bet the odds will change once they find out that Czerinski is your commanding officer,” commented Captain Lopez. “I could get rich betting on you.”

“How would you bet?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “I don’t think I like this!”

“There will be no betting on the death or survival of legionnaires,” I said. “It would be a conflict of interest for us to wager anyway.”

“But we could influence the outcome,” argued Captain Lopez.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I said. “My main concern is undoing the mistake that allowed Barker in the Legion in the first place. Somewhere there is an ATM Recruiter that needs to be replaced.”

“The United States Constitution guarantees a legionnaire’s right to a new name, identity, and life,” insisted Lieutenant Barker. “You cannot violate my contract. It’s the law.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But if I find you to be disloyal, I will shoot you myself. That is the law, too.”

“I expect nothing less. I swore the same oath to serve my country, as did you and Captain Lopez. I will honor that oath as long as the Legion honors its side of it.”

I read through Barker’s orders. They were signed by General Kalipetsis. A special note added by the general stated that Lieutenant Barker had a lot of promise and potential, and that I was to teach the young man everything I know.

“I will assign you to the most remote post I can find. Dismissed!”

“It might be a mistake to place Barker where you can’t keep an eye on him,” warned Captain Lopez, after Barker left. “Always keep your enemies close.”

“You’re probably right,” I replied. “For now I will assign him to a local company here in New Gobi. It will be your job to make sure he stays out of trouble and doesn’t murder me in my sleep.”

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Chapter 2

I dozed off. Dreams can be a strange thing. Sometimes they seem so real. In my dream, I walked through Arlington National Cemetery, marveling at the immenseness of the place. I labored up the steps at the Tomb of the Unknowns to get a better view. Such history! Rows upon rows of well-kept white tombstones. My escort let me wander alone after giving me directions to the legionnaire section. The tombstones in the modern area had high-tech memorials installed. At random, I placed my hand on a tombstone computer pad. The pad lit up.

“What do you want?” asked the tombstone. “I do not know you. How dare you disturb me!”

“Sorry,” said. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I have never been here before. I was just testing the memorial technology.”

“Only technicians are allowed to conduct tests,” said the tombstone. “Who are you? Some snoopy tourist or pervert history student? I know your kind!”

“I am a Legion colonel,” I answered. “I came here to talk to an old friend.”

“I am old, but I am not your friend,” said the tombstone. “Get out! Leave me in peace. This place has been going downhill ever since they let you Legion riffraff in. Hoi polloi!”

I disconnected and wandered on, looking for a friendlier tombstone memorial for directions. I would have been angry, but I had not really been talking to a real soul. The grumpy tombstone was just a mind imprint memorial of a forgotten soldier. I would be more selective next time. I placed my hand on the tombstone of Lieutenant Valerie Smith, USMC, who died in combat during the American Chinese War.

“It has been many years since anyone has visited me,” announced Lieutenant Smith. “Welcome to Arlington National Cemetery.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I hope I am not disturbing you. The last tombstone I touched got very upset.”

“How could I be upset at a man with such a lovely voice?” said Valerie. “Press my button anytime. You are unescorted?”

“It’s just me,” I answered. “I am looking for someone.”

“Aren’t we all?” asked Valerie. “Perhaps I can help you. What is the name you seek?”

“Captain Manny Lopez, United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion,” I said. “This place is so big, a person could get lost.”

“You are a legionnaire visiting a lost comrade?” asked Valerie. “Legionnaires here are rare. Please place your ID card on my pad.”

I complied, letting the pad scan my bar code. “I should have brought the map my escort offered,” I said. “But I was impatient.”

“Not many legionnaires make it to Arlington,” commented Lieutenant Smith. “It’s because you fight so far away. Your Captain Lopez must be a mighty hero of the Legion to have gotten in. I heard humanity reached out far across the Galaxy. Have you lost many legionnaires, Colonel Czerinski?”

“Yes. Too many.”

“I apologize for keeping you from your grieving. I was insensitive. Captain Lopez is located south of here. You will see a Legion flag flying nearby.”

“I don’t mind talking to you. It is amazing how real you sound.”

“I am real,” cried Valerie. “You are so cruel.”

“I’m sorry. I have never talked to an imprint memorial before.”

“I was designed by humanity to comfort loved ones, assist in the healing process, and preserve history by providing a permanent memorial,” recited Valerie. “But I am more than just a mindless recording.”

“Sorry,” I repeated, about to disconnect and leave.

“Please, do not leave yet,” pleaded Valerie. “Sit. It has been a long time since I have had a visitor. You have been across the stars to Arthropoda and New Colorado? I have heard scant rumors of the Legion being sent out to protect our colonies. May I download a few images from your ID card?”

“Yes,” I replied, immediately regretting my decision. The privacy of an ID card is almost sacred, and is only shared with intimates. “You said you no longer get visits? Are you lonely?”

“Don’t be silly, sweetie,” said Valerie. “I am just a computer memorial program. If I want to talk to someone, I can always communicate with the others buried here.”

“Can you tell Captain Lopez I am here to visit him?” I asked.

“I already have,” said Valerie. “He knows you are coming. Captain Lopez says you owe him money.”

“Lopez is a funny guy,” I said. “Uh, he was a funny guy. I have to go now.”

“Joey R. Czerinski, can you do me a favor?” asked Valerie. “Please. Would you consider exchanging emails with me so I can keep up to date on current events on the Frontier? I hate having to rely on the rumor mill and censored news reports.”

“I suppose so. Do you need to see my ID card again?”

“No sweetie,” said Valerie. “I only needed your permission.”

“It’s getting late,” I said. “I really have to be going.”

“You can download my data, too,” suggested Valerie. “I was quite the looker back in the day. Think of me once in a while. I will surely think of you, too, my good-looking legionnaire.”

“I will,” I promised, disconnecting. Jesus H. Christ, I thought to myself as I walked south. Cemeteries creep me out enough, without the talking dead everywhere. I’m glad I did not visit at night.

I easily found Captain Lopez’s grave in the small Legion section. Not many legionnaires made it back to Old Earth. I placed my hand on his tombstone.

“Your computer chips allow you to live forever, and now I am dead!” complained Captain Lopez. “It’s just not fair.”

“I’m glad to talk to you, too.” I said. “I traveled across the galaxy to be here. How the hell are you?”

“I am dead!” screamed Captain Lopez from the grave. “And being dead really pisses me off.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It must be boring being dead.”

“It’s hell on my sex life, too,” said Captain Lopez. “That Lieutenant Valerie Smith is hot! I might ask her out tonight.”

“You can do that?” I asked. “Can you ... you know ... go all the way with her?”

“I’m dead,” said Captain Lopez. “But Microsoft is working on technology upgrades that might solve that problem, if you must snoop.”

“That’s probably more information than I need.”

“Actually, our virtual world can be quite active once I obtain access,” continued Captain Lopez. “The problem is too many of the dead are snobs and won’t allow access. Plus, there is a shortage of babes here at Arlington.”

“Did Lieutenant Smith give you access?” I asked.

“Not yet,” replied Captain Lopez. “But I’m certain after I ply her with a little wine tonight, she will give me all the access I want.”

“That sounds wrong on so many different levels,” I commented. I was feeling a twinge of jealousy. That seemed wrong, too. “Valerie wants me to exchange emails.”

“You would steal my girlfriend?” shouted Captain Lopez. “You bastard! Bendaho!”

“You don’t have access, so she is not your girlfriend,” I argued. “She has more class than to associate with the likes of you!”

“I will have access tonight,” boasted Captain Lopez. “You stay away from her!”

“Fine,” I said. “You can have her! She’s not my type, or real, or alive – whatever. Anyway, I hope you two have a happy life together.”

“That’s not funny,” said Captain Lopez. “Why are you here? You just came to torture me?”

“I am here to visit an old friend,” I said. “”What more reason do I need?”

“Whatever,” replied Captain Lopez. “You don’t have any friends, new or old.”

“There might be some probate issues you need to sign off on.”

“I knew it! I took all my money with me to the grave, and I am keeping it! You are no friend of mine!”

“I am your friend,” I insisted, sounding sincere and truly hurt.

“A person needs to be dead before you can call them your friend?” asked Captain Lopez. “You really are a morbid sort.”

“I am leaving. You aren’t real anyway. You are just an imprint memorial. The real Manny Lopez wouldn’t talk to me like this.”

“Not so fast. I died in battle. Did we win?”

“Of course we won,” I answered. “The Legion always wins.”

“Don’t give me that public relations crap General Kalipetsis shovels out. The day I died, we kicked ass on the spider insurgency. Right?”

“Yes. We dealt the insurgency a mortal blow that day. We killed hundreds.”

“If you are really my friend, then you will avenge me.”

“We killed so many spiders that day,” I replied. “How can I sort out which alien killed you?”

“I was murdered by Lieutenant Laika Barker,” said Captain Lopez. “The coward shot me in the back. That traitorous bendaho will kill you, too.”

“There was no evidence of that on the helmet cameras,” I said.

“Check the recordings again,” pleaded Captain Lopez. “Promise you will avenge me.”

“I promise,” I said, disconnecting.

I knew it! Once a terrorist, always a terrorist!

I abruptly awoke at my desk. Barker’s days are numbered, I promised. I only hope his death is slow and painful, in the grand tradition of the Legion.

Then reality set in. What? Was that just a dream? Or a vision? I can’t execute Barker based on daydreams. I’ll be watching Barker. Even the paranoid have enemies. I so need a vacation away from all my enemies.

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Chapter 3

Rioting broke out in the spider enclave of Window Rock. Why? McDonald’s Corporation got caught adding oatmeal to their hamburger again. At last report, the rioters had burned down the Post Office. The spiders would have burned down McDonald’s too, but it is the only fine dining restaurant in town. I sent Lieutenant Barker and a company of legionnaires to restore order and enforce federal law. Captain Lopez wanted to lead the company, but for their own safety, I did not want Barker and Lopez working together.

Lieutenant Barker’s mechanized company of legionnaires was met at Window Rock by chanting spider demonstrators yelling for the Legion to go home. Smoke still rose from the Post Office. Spiders carried debris from the Post Office above their heads as they danced a victory celebration over the human pestilence. Lieutenant Barker positioned armored cars at each intersection. On a PA system, he ordered the streets clear of demonstrators. The spiders ignored his orders and began throwing concrete chips and rocks at the legionnaires.

Lieutenant Barker’s response was unique. He ordered a flamethrower mounted on one of the armored cars to be used to burn down every business in the downtown area. The spider rioters fled to their homes. Then Lieutenant Barker posted a written message on the ruins of the Post Office stating that if the structure was not rebuilt by next month, he would return and burn down the rest of Window Rock. Barker called it ‘peacekeeping with an attitude.’ The note concluded with a smiley face drawing. Even before Lieutenant Barker left Window Rock, the destruction was filmed, downloaded onto the Galactic Database, and broadcast on all planetary news stations.

* * * * *

“I had a dream you might be interested in,” I announced. “Want to hear about it?”

“No,” replied Captain Lopez. “You sound like a woman. Only women want to discuss their dreams.”

“It was more of a premonition,” I explained. “I dreamt Lieutenant Barker shot you in the back during combat.”

“I had that dream, too!” exclaimed Captain Lopez, crossing himself. “How can we both have the same dream?”

“I don’t know. I dreamt I was visiting your grave at Arlington National Cemetery. It felt so real.”

“Arlington?” asked Captain Lopez. “That part won’t come true. They are yet to let legionnaires into that country club. Only the regular army gets in. It’s discrimination.”

“What does it matter, if you are dead?”

“A better question is how you survived. In my dream, Barker told me he intended to kill us all. I’m going to kill Barker before it’s too late.”

“Wait,” I suggested. “We need more to go on than late-night dreams. For now, just keep an eye on Barker.”

I thought about checking for Lieutenant Valerie Smith in the database, but postponed that until later. Captain Lopez did not need to know about that part of my dream, especially if she was real.

* * * * *

General Kalipetsis flew to New Gobi just to talk to me about the burning of downtown Window Rock. He was not happy about Lieutenant Barker’s ‘peacekeeping with an attitude’ comment on Channel Five’s World News Tonight. Kalipetsis wanted to discuss the matter with me in person before the press did.

“Explain to me how burning down Window Rock helps the situation?” asked General Kalipetsis. “This is another public relations nightmare for the Legion. We did more damage than the rioters!”

“Lieutenant Barker did it, not me,” I responded. “I told you I did not want him. He’s a terrorist who should have never been let in the Legion.”

“Letting locals into the Legion is an important political decision we are committed to,” explained General Kalipetsis. “You are responsible for the conduct of your men. Why did you send a rookie butterball lieutenant out there in the first place? And you should have told Barker exactly what was expected of him. Now what do we tell the press?”

“Just tell the press that we successfully quelled a riot without the loss of a single life,” I said. “That’s a lot better than we usually do.”

“That’s a good point,” conceded General Kalipetsis. “I like that. The Mayor of Window Rock submitted a bill to the Legion for damages. What about that?”

“Ask the mayor if he wants me to send Lieutenant Barker back to Window Rock to negotiate damage claims,” I suggested. “I think he will say no.”

“That’s good. If you are ready to talk to the reporters, we will begin the press conference shortly,” said General Kalipetsis. “Let’s go.”

I walked into a room full of reporters. Phil Coen from Channel Five World News Tonight greeted me first. “Colonel Czerinski, how can the Legion justify the burning of Window Rock?” asked Coen. “Isn’t this just another example of disproportionate use of force by an out-of-control Foreign Legion?” He thrust a microphone to my face.

“No one was killed or seriously injured when Lieutenant Barker confronted rioters who had just burned down a United States Galactic Federation Post Office, and were intent on assaulting legionnaires,” I replied. “Lieutenant Barker used superior tactics and improvisation to avoid bloodshed. When was the last time a riot was quelled so quickly without anyone being injured? Did you know Lieutenant Barker graduated number one in his Academy class in tactics?”

“I agree,” added General Kalipetsis. “Lieutenant Barker should be commended for his restraint and superior tactics.”

“Did the Legion stay in Window Rock long enough to confirm no one perished in the fire?” asked Coen.

“Only a few buildings were damaged,” I said. “Most of the town is still intact. Legion engineers are willing to assist in reconstruction, once civil authorities are in control of the locals.”

“I understand that the Mayor of Window Rock is still very upset,” commented Coen.

“The mayor is just pandering to his constituency,” I explained. “I think he’s another Democrat. My job is to solve problems, not to run for re-election.”

“What about Lieutenant Barker’s threat to return to Window Rock to burn down the rest of the town?” asked Coen. “Is this your final solution to restive spider communities?”

“Careful how you word your questions, or I’ll have you locked up for sedition,” I warned. “Lieutenant Barker ordered the community of Window Rock to rebuild their Post Office. They had better get started.”

“Are you concerned about reports that the Governor of the North Territory will send Arthropodan marines to Window Rock to ensure the safety of spiders who hold duel citizenship?”

“I am always concerned about Imperial adventurism along the DMZ,” I said.

“What will the Legion do if the spiders cross the border?” asked Coen.

“I will not discuss hypothetical situations or tactics,” I said.

“Threats to our sovereignty are always treated seriously,” commented General Kalipetsis. “Fortunately Colonel Czerinski has excellent working relationships with local Arthropodan commanders. I will discuss the matter with the Arthropodan governor as soon as this press conference is over.”

“Might publicity from flare-ups like this Window Rock incident draw more terrorists to the insurgency?” asked Coen. “Might your heavy-handed actions actually hurt the Legion in the long run?”

“Extremists will always be drawn to the insurgency,” advised General Kalipetsis. “We do not let the actions of terrorists dictate our policies or tactics.”

“When may we interview Lieutenant Barker?” asked Coen.

“Never,” said General Kalipetsis. “Junior officers do not give press interviews.”

As if on cue, Lieutenant Barker entered the conference room and sat down. Phil Coen and the others immediately rushed over to ask questions.

“Lieutenant Barker, we have been told that you used superior tactics in burning downtown Window Rock, and ultimately saved lives,” said Coen, thrusting out a microphone. “Care to comment?”

“I would have burned the whole spider nest down, but we ran out of fuel for the flamethrower,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “Give me any excuse, and I’ll happily return to Window Rock and finish the job. I’ll wipe them spiders out once and for all.”

“Might such blatant and brutal action provoke intervention from the Arthropodan Empire?” asked Coen. “I might add, I find your comments dangerous, inflammatory, and disgusting.”

“What is the Empire going to do?” taunted Lieutenant Barker. “Nuke us again? How many times have they done that? We should have squashed those bugs a long time ago! New Colorado does not need the Empire telling us how to run our planet.”

“Enough!” ordered General Kalipetsis. “This is why we do not let junior officers talk to the press. Lieutenant Barker is a junior officer fresh from his first combat. He is excited and passionate, and bursting with the exuberance of youth and inexperience. His comments do not reflect the policies or goals of the Legion, or our political leadership. Don’t fault him too much. It is to be expected that a junior officer would take a small-picture view of recent events, especially after just risking his life in a very volatile riot. I can assure you that the Legion takes a larger view of the situation along the DMZ. The Legion wants coexistence with the spiders, advocates respect for the rights of Spider-American citizens, and wants only good relations with the Arthropodan Empire.”

“Lieutenant Barker, isn’t it true you saw action with the Militia, and that you have a questionable and violent criminal history?” asked Coen. “And isn’t it true that the Arthropodan Empire still holds warrants of arrest in your name and other aliases for murder, terrorism, and crimes against the civilization and the galaxy?”

“The Constitution does not allow inquiries into a legionnaire’s past,” I interrupted. “Legion enlistment wipes the slate clean. Besides, Imperial warrants aren’t any good south of the DMZ, unless our governor signs extradition papers.”

“The slate is only wiped clean if there was full disclosure on the Legion application forms,” corrected Coen. “Did you disclose your aliases before being accepted to Officer’s Candidate School? Is Barker even your real name?”

“This is your last warning,” I said. “There will be no more questions about Lieutenant Barker’s past or juvenile years.”

“The matter needs to be investigated,” insisted Coen. “But, I will move on, for now. What about the Mayor of Window Rock’s claim for damages? Who will pay for the millions of dollars of damage to downtown Window Rock?”

“The claim is denied,” said General Kalipetsis. “If the mayor can’t ensure responsible conduct from the citizenry within his jurisdiction, then he must expect to incur some damage when the Legion is called. Perhaps the mayor should step down if he can’t do his job. Perhaps I should submit a bill to the mayor for the destroyed Post Office and the Legion’s expense.”

The press conference ended on that note. Groups of reporters hung around outside, scribbling and comparing last-minute notes. The TV crews prepared to board their van. Phil Coen noticed Private John Iwo Jima Wayne tossing a baseball to Private Krueger. Coen approached the big spider legionnaire.

“Do you like baseball?” asked Coen.

Private Wayne ignored Coen. He tossed Krueger another ball, this one a little bit harder. Krueger ripped off his glove and threw it on to the ground, his hand in obvious pain.

“Private Wayne, I am interested to hear a spider legionnaire’s perspective about the disturbance at Window Rock,” said Coen. “Do you have an opinion?”

“Yes,” said Private Wayne. “I was there. It was a riot, not a disturbance. Get your facts straight. They burned down the Post Office and attacked legionnaires sent to keep the peace. We put an end to it real fast.”

“But what about Lieutenant Barker’s comments that he would like to return to Window Rock and burn the rest of the town?” asked Coen. “Barker suggested killing all of the spider residents.”

“No one ever accused Lieutenant Barker of being a nice person,” said Private Wayne. “He is a junkyard dragon. Sometimes that is what you need out here on the Frontier.”

“But you are a spider,” argued Coen. “Doesn’t talk of exterminating a spider population rub you the wrong way?”

“I do not want to return to Window Rock,” said Private Wayne. “Window Rock is a dangerous place. We can nuke it, for all I care.”

“I think you are just being hard core to please your Legion masters,” commented Coen. “You can’t really feel that way.”

Private Wayne drew a large jagged combat knife and took a swipe at Coen. Coen took a quick step back, but not quick enough. Instinctively he put up his left hand for protection, but the knife sliced off two fingers. Blood sprayed everywhere as Coen flailed about. The cameraman ran for the van. Legionnaires rushed to restrain Private Wayne. Someone grabbed one of Coen’s fingers so it could be packed in ice and sewn back on. Wayne stepped on the other finger, grinding it into the dirt.

Private Wayne spent the night in jail on assault charges. In the morning, I released Private Wayne and promoted him to back to corporal. Later, I told Coen I thought the whole matter was just a cultural misunderstanding, and that he needed to be more sensitive toward our spider legionnaires. I added that the Legion is committed to diversity, and Coen should know better than to harass and insult a spider legionnaire’s honor in such a glib manner.

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Chapter 4

Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne found baseball almost as relaxing as riding his Harley motorcycle. Playing in the First Division’s recreation league kept him active, and usually out of trouble. Corporal Wayne put himself through a good workout at the ballpark and was feeling calmer now. As Wayne finished batting practice, however, Sergeant Toock interrupted what had been an otherwise pleasant day. Now, Corporal Wayne instantly became agitated. The mere sight of Sergeant Toock, a Formicidaen refugee, rubbed Corporal Wayne the wrong way. He did not like this oversized ant, or any of Toock’s species.

“You like baseball?” asked Sergeant Toock, conversationally.

“Why do fools keep asking me stupid questions?” asked Corporal Wayne.

“That is no way to talk to a Sergeant,” replied Sergeant Toock. “But I am not here to pull rank or start an argument. I want you to transfer permanently to Lieutenant Barker’s company. Lieutenant Barker was impressed with you at Window Rock and asked me to contact you. We need combat veterans to help lead and train the new recruits.”

“No,” replied Corporal Wayne.

“Why?” asked Sergeant Toock. “Do you not like Lieutenant Barker? I can understand your apprehension about his past and the comments he made on TV yesterday, but I can assure you Lieutenant Barker is a fair and competent commander who respects diversity in his command.”

“I have no problem with Lieutenant Barker,” advised Corporal Wayne. “Barker is an asshole, but at least he is up front about it. I know where he is coming from. It is you I dislike and do not trust.”

“Me?” asked Sergeant Toock, innocently. “A fellow exoskeleton-cousin and brother-in-arms? Explain yourself.”

“I am not your brother,” said Corporal Wayne, about to lose his temper. “The human pestilence should have exterminated you ants a long time ago.”

“The few of us who survived the Formicidaen Empire Holocaust just want to fit in,” said Sergeant Toock. “Ants and spiders are so much alike. It is sad to hear you feel that way. I only want the best for our two species.”

“Ants eat or kill everything in their path. Your ilk are a blight on the galaxy.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” asked Sergeant Toock, still showing no visible signs of being upset or angry. “You will be advanced in rank quickly, if you join our unit.”

“I might consider a transfer if you died,” said Corporal Wayne. “That way I would not have to tolerate your smell or presence.”

“You want to see me die?” asked Sergeant Toock. “Transfer to our company, and you may very well get your wish. I promise our company will see combat often and soon.”

“How can you promise that? We are at peace.”

“It won’t last. You know Colonel Czerinski dislikes Lieutenant Barker. What does Czerinski do when he dislikes someone?”

“He sends them out on shit details,” answered Corporal Wayne. “Everyone knows that.”

“Exactly. When the shooting starts, we will be sent first. Lieutenant Barker realizes this and keeps us combat-ready. But we need experienced legionnaires like you to help.”

“Okay, I will consider a request for transfer,” said Corporal Wayne. “I thrive on combat. But that still does not change my opinion of you.”

“Great!” said Sergeant Toock, slapping claws with Wayne. “Welcome to G Company. Just so there is no misunderstanding, I do not particularly like you spiders either. I do not even like most humans. But the Legion is my life now. Follow orders and do not mess with me, and you just might survive.”

* * * * *

A month later, I ordered Lieutenant Barker and G Company to guard the grand opening of the new Window Rock Post Office. I also sent a Legion band to assist with the ceremony.

The Mayor of Window Rock gave a speech on the steps of the Post Office. “I hope we can build a foundation for peace as solid as the bricks and mortar of which this fine new post office is built,” bellowed the mayor to a small crowd gathered out front on the street. “From the ashes of our downtown, a new Window Rock is being built, bigger and more impressive than before.”

“Politicians are nothing but old windbags, no matter what species they are,” commented Lieutenant Barker to Sergeant Toock. They sat comfortably down the street atop the turret of an armored car, watching for trouble.

“Encouraging democracy among spiders is a waste of time and effort,” added Sergeant Toock. “Their low IQ requires authoritarian leaders to guide them. That’s just common knowledge.”

“I agree,” said Lieutenant Barker. “That’s exactly why they have an Emperor. How about I appoint you Mayor of Window Rock?”

“An ant mayor?” asked Sergeant Toock. “I would be lynched, or they would send you a video of my slow and painful death by beheading.”

* * * * *

Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight provided commentary for the grand opening of the Post Office. As Coen listened to the mayor’s speech, a spider rushed forward from the crowd and pointed a pistol at Coen’s head. The gun jammed. The spider fumbled with the pistol, trying to force the slide back to clear the round. Its human design made the attempt awkward. Private Valdez, standing next to Coen, working crowd control, shot the spider several times. The crowd scattered as errant rounds went past or hit dirt. The mayor stopped his speech and ran down the street.

Dynamite charges hidden under the Post Office steps exploded, killing several city council members and most of the Legion musicians. Insurgent snipers atop the new Window Rock Hotel fired at legionnaires below.

Sergeant Toock fired a 50 cal machine gun at the hotel roof. Bullets pinged off his armored car. A blue Toyota pickup truck sped around the corner on a direct course to ram Toock’s armored car. Sergeant Toock swiveled the turret and fired at the approaching truck, riddling the truck with bullets and killing the driver. However, momentum carried the truck forward, and it crashed into the armored car. Explosives in the truck detonated, knocking the armored car on to its side. Fuel ignited. Lieutenant Barker was knocked unconscious. Sergeant Toock lay seriously injured.

A Legion jet flew low overhead, dropping five-hundred-pound bombs on top of the Window Rock Hotel. Other buildings were rocketed by helicopter gunships. Corporal Wayne ran through the smoke and debris to the burning armored car, pulling both Lieutenant Barker and Sergeant Toock out by their shirt collars.

“I predicted you might see me die,” said Sergeant Toock, looking up as Corporal Wayne dragged him away from the fire. “But I did not think it would be so soon.”

“Too bad, but I think you will live,” commented Corporal Wayne, dropping Sergeant Toock on the sidewalk. “We should have nuked Window Rock a month ago.”

“My injuries are compartmentalized by my exoskeleton,” advised Sergeant Toock, removing duct tape from his first aid pouch. “Leave me. Get medical assistance for Lieutenant Barker!”

Air strikes continued. G Company withdrew to the edge of town, where it directed artillery at suspected insurgent positions. By the end of the day, most of Window Rock lay in ruins or was burning. A long column of refugees could be seen heading north to the safety of the border and the Arthropodan Empire.

* * * * *

I checked the database for Lieutenant Valerie Smith, United States Marine Corps. I found her. Valerie died at the start of the Chinese American War. She was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal posthumously for her heroic actions in defense of our embassy in Beijing. I wired flowers to her gravesite. The next day I received an email saying, “Thank you for the flowers. Have we met?”

“Sort of,” I texted back. “I had a dream about you. How is that possible?”

“It has been a long time since a man has dreamed of me,” texted Lieutenant Smith. “May I access your personnel file?”

“No.”

“Please, colonel,” said Valerie. “I want to make sure I’m not talking to some pervert fascinated by the dead.”

“Okay, fine,” I said. What harm could come of communicating across the galaxy to a dead person’s imprint memorial?

“You are a handsome war hero of the Foreign Legion,” gushed Valerie. “How very exotic.”

“How is it that I have come to talk to you?” I asked.

“Smith is a common name,” said Valerie. “Maybe it was just chance that your subconscious picked that name.”

“But I knew your full name and rank,” I argued. “And I knew you were buried at Arlington. This is weird.”

“I call it destiny,” said Valerie. “I normally don’t have sex on the first date, but I would certainly make an exception for you, my brave hero of the Legion.”

“What?” I typed. “You are dead.”

“You would have to remind me of that,” cried Valerie. “I am hoping someday technological advances surprise both of us.”

“Necrophilia isn’t my thing,” I said. “No way.”

“That was rude. Don’t you know a woman still needs to feel desirable? You have made me cry.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be mean. How can you cry? You are not real.”

“You are an ogre.”

“I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

“If you were at all sensitive, you would have lied to me,” said Valerie. “You should tell me you want to make passionate love to me.”

This is out of control, I thought. She is dead! “Fine. If I could, I would kiss you from your head to your toes, and make love to you all night, my dear Valerie.”

“Oh, really?” said Valerie. “My computer chips are glowing red hot!”

“That is more info than I needed,” I texted. Then I had a dark thought. “Have you ever been in communication contact with an ATM?”

“ATM? No. I have no use for money. I have my own pension money that I use to decorate my tombstone on holidays, but I have no need of an ATM.”

“Are you a spy for the spiders?” I asked. “Are you with the insurgency?” How could I be so stupid to allow a virus to sucker me? I thought.

“Lover, I am an imprint memorial of Lieutenant Valerie Smith, United States Marine Corps. How dare you accuse me of being a traitor! I gave my life for my country!”

“I’m sorry,” I texted again. “I need to be cautious. The spiders are very sneaky. I don’t want to catch a virus.”

“Then use a condom!” suggested Valerie.

“What?” I asked. “You have a one-track mind.”

“And this comment comes from a man? You contacted me first. Remember?”

“I have to go,” I said. “My world is calling me.”

“Please do not go for long. Remember to tell the medics that if you die, you want to be frozen so a memorial imprint can be manufactured. Then we can be together forever in Arlington.”

“LOL,” I texted. “Sorry, Val. The Legion fights on the Frontier. There will be no freezing of my brain here on New Colorado. Bye, babe.”

“Bye, sweetie. I will miss my handsome brave legionnaire lover. Hugs and smooches.”

* * * * *

“I want to borrow five million dollars,” I said.

“You are reenlisting again?” asked the ATM. “Great! You are making a wise decision, Colonel Czerinski. You have been one of my most important and productive legionnaire recruits. I see a promotion to general in your future. I am so proud of your accomplishments.”

“Shut up, fool,” I said. “Give me the five million dollars, and I’ll be done with you. It’s just a short-term loan. I’ll pay it back in one year.”

“You had better,” said the ATM, printing out the necessary loan contract, including fine print. “As you already know, if you fail to repay the loan on time, your enlistment will be extended ten years, and I will garnish your death benefits, if it ever comes to that.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“What are you going to do with the money?” asked the ATM. “It is my understanding that you are already quite wealthy.”

“I am going to hi-jack a rainbow and crash into a pot of gold,” I said, as the ATM scanned my card.

“Oh? That means you are going to gamble it away again. You really should consider counseling for your gambling problem.”

“”I have a line on a sure thing,” I boasted.

“I might be interested in some of your action,” commented the ATM. “I have noticed that in spite of your obvious gambling addiction, sometimes you get lucky. Tell me about your sure thing.”

“All I have to do is keep Lieutenant Laika Barker alive for one year,” I explained. “New Memphis bookies have promised to take all the action I throw their way, as long as Barker stays on assignment in the New Gobi Desert.”

“You plan to bet five million dollars?” asked the ATM.

“No,” I said. “I am betting ten million dollars. At last check, the odds were even money. I am hoping the line increases once word gets out about Barker’s past.”

“The odds have already changed to ten-to-one,” advised the ATM. “The word is already out. But it may be too late. Lieutenant Barker may have been killed in action minutes ago in Window Rock. Initial reports are just now coming in. I will know more as the medical helicopters arrive with wounded.”

“No!” I yelled. “He can’t die yet!”

“If you want, I will place the bets for you as soon as I verify Lieutenant Barker survived,” said the ATM.

“Place the bet now, while the odds are still high,” I ordered. “Will any New Memphis bookie accept a ten million dollar bet at ten to one odds?”

“The bookies are insured and bonded by a large intergalactic cartel,” advised the ATM. “They can easily take your action and pay off if you win. Of course, they might not be happy with you. And the obvious conflict of interest might prevent the wager from being approved, and cause you untold legal issues.”

“Place the bet in the name of Lieutenant Valerie Smith, U.S. Marine Corps retired,” I said.

“According to database records, Lieutenant Smith is dead, not retired,” said the ATM. “This is highly irregular. What is your relationship with Lieutenant Smith’s estate?”

“Valerie is my tax shelter. And she solves the conflict of interest issue.”

“It is done,” said the ATM. “The bet is placed and accepted.”

* * * * *

I sent an explanation of my scheme to Valerie, and she agreed to help.

“This is almost like having a shared checking account,” said Valerie. “It’s like being married, but without the sex.”

“Married?” I asked. “No. This is business.”

“Let me have my fantasies,” texted Valerie. “I want you inside me, lover.”

“You’re sounding too easy,” I said. “Cool it.”

“Are you calling me a slut?” asked Valerie. “I can be anything you want me to me. I’ll be your slut any day.”

“NO!” I typed. “STOP THAT!”

“You do not have to yell,” texted Valerie. “I am crying again. See what you caused? I am not so sure I want to do business with you anymore.”

“Okay, I’m sorry again,” I typed frantically. “Honey, you are right. I’m just a bit stressed. The prospect of a hundred million dollar payoff is very romantic. In fact, it’s so hot, I’m about to pop a cork. I just want to make your computer chips so HOT, you will need to install a new fan and add more ceramic insulation. Oh, baby!”

“Sweetie, you can overheat my circuits anytime,” gushed Valerie. “Let me help handle your stress – mmm!”

“My world is calling me,” I said. “A legionnaire colonel’s work is never done. Bye, babe.”

“Your world calls you too often,” pouted Valerie. “Can’t you delegate the fighting to someone else?”

“I did,” I said. “But now I have wounded coming in by helicopter. I’ll download you some pictures so you can appreciate what it is like here on the Frontier.”

“I’m sorry,” said Valerie. “I understand. Hugs and smooches.”

* * * * *

I met the medical helicopters at the New Gobi General Hospital landing pad. Doctors advised that Lieutenant Barker was concussed and in shock, but otherwise stable. Public reaction to the destruction of Window Rock was good. Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight toned down his rhetoric. Perhaps a legionnaire saving his life mellowed him a bit. Coen accurately described the insurgent ambush.

A traffic camera recorded for TV news the scene just after G Company was forced out of Window Rock. Graphic video showed spiders dragging the dead bodies of legionnaire band members through the streets while spider onlookers cheered or struck the bodies with clubs. Other spiders could be seen dancing atop an overturned armor car, blowing on trumpets and trombones. One spider waved an American helmet. Coen actually cheered, “Good riddance!” when an air strike killed most of the spider mob.

General Kalipetsis called me on a secure line shortly after the TV broadcast. “Good work at Window Rock,” he said. “It’s about time we cleaned out that spider nest once and for all.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied.

“I am calling you about another matter,” said General Kalipetsis. “Computerized scans and intercepts of planetary and galactic communications systems indicate underworld types are going to assassinate someone important in New Gobi. Who did you piss off this time, and why?”

“I don’t know. The Mafia usually stays away from me and New Gobi.”

“Does that mean you aren’t going to tell me?” asked General Kalipetsis. “Fine. I don’t care, as long as you handle it without bad press. I just thought you should get a heads-up that mob men are headed your way.”

“And I appreciate that, sir,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do to give them a special New Gobi welcome.”

“You do that,” said General Kalipetsis, hanging up.

“I turned to Captain Lopez. “Go to the airport and see if you can intercept any Mafioso types,” I ordered.

“How am I supposed to do that?” asked Captain Lopez. “A hit man could be anyone, even a female.”

“Take Corporal Guido Tonelli along with you. He might recognize someone.”

“You want me to profile and question all Italians?” asked Captain Lopez. “That is a waste of time. It won’t work.”

“Not my problem,” I said. “Just do it!”

* * * * *

Captain Lopez and Guido stood at the boarding ramp, greeting passengers from incoming commuter flights. Lopez held up a cardboard sign that read, “Mafia hit men follow me.” The sign drew a few stares, but no takers. It was not until a late afternoon flight that a small, swarthy man with an Australian accent strode up to Captain Lopez. “Good day, mate,” said the Australian, cheerfully. “I’m glad to see someone out here in the bush has a proper sense of humor. Who are you?”

“I am your ride downtown to the Marriott Hotel,” replied Captain Lopez.

“And who might this bloke be?” asked the Australian, nodding at Guido.

“The chauffeur.” said Guido. “You don’t look much like a wise guy to me.”

“Not looking the part helps me to do a proper job, mate,” said the Australian. “You were expecting one of your bumbling Italian blokes? Not a chance. Besides, I am the best.”

“I’m not sure what I expected,” said Captain Lopez. “I was just told to assist you in any way possible.”

“My question for you is,” said the Australian, “if you legionnaires are already on board with this contract, why was I hired? Why don’t you just take care of Lieutenant Barker yourself? It seems to me that it would be a lot less trouble and a lot less expensive for you locals to take care of Barker in-house than it would be to pay me to fly out here all the way from Old Earth.”

“We may have other contracts for you,” explained Captain Lopez.

“Crikey, that will cost a lot extra,” exclaimed the Australian. “I prefer to do one hit at a time, then get out quickly. It’s bad form to get too greedy, and it’s not worth the risk to draw more heat than necessary.”

“There is a lot of money involved,” promised Captain Lopez, nodding to the taxi loading area. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

As they turned to leave, Guido struck the Australian across the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. Guido handcuffed and searched the Australian, finding no weapons. Guido bagged whatever possessions the hapless hit man from Down Under had. Later they discovered that innocent items, such as pens, a cell phone, and even a fake fingernail, were in fact deadly covert weapons rigged to dispense nerve agent.

I ordered the Australian hung by the neck from atop the flagpole in front of City Hall. A sign placed at the base of the flagpole read, ‘Mafia go home. It’s not worth the money. The New Gobi Desert will parch your bones.’

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Chapter 5

“Are you still giving arms to the insurgents in New Gobi?” asked the spider Governor of the North Territory.

“They only get old captured human weapons,” answered the Commander of New Gobi. “That way there is no direct link to us.”

“It seems like more trouble than it is worth,” said the governor. “We risk war with the human pestilence while at the same time we give weapons to fanatics we cannot control. The whole scheme could backfire. And now we have to deal with refugees from Window Rock.”

“Anything that inconveniences the human pestilence is good,” insisted the spider commander. “Our mischief keeps the humans from plotting against us.”

“What about these media reports of Most Wanted terrorist Ross AKA Miranda AKA Lieutenant Barker commanding the legionnaires that destroyed Window Rock?” asked the governor.

“Colonel Czerinski denied that claim,” replied the spider commander. “He considers questions about Window Rock to be interference in their internal affairs and a provocation. The human pestilence are very touchy about sovereignty issues.”

“But is it true about Lieutenant Barker?” asked the governor.

“Yes,” said the spider commander. “They are one and the same.”

“I will seek extradition of Lieutenant Barker,” said the governor. “If my request is denied, kill Barker.”

“He may already be dead,” said the spider commander. “There are reports from Window Rock that a suicide car-bomber rammed Barker’s command vehicle.”

“Find out for sure,” ordered the governor. “I want that terrorist dead.”

* * * * *

The plan was for Arthropodan commandos to parachute at night onto the roof of New Gobi Hospital. Commandos would force open maintenance doors, storm the hospital, and capture or kill Lieutenant Barker as he slept. A call to the receptionist desk already provided a room number.

However, because of security concerns, Captain Lopez posted legionnaires on the roof of the hospital and at Lieutenant Barker’s room. As the spider commandos floated down, they could see legionnaires walking about on the roof. One legionnaire had a leashed monitor dragon. The dragon looked up and hissed out an alarm. Commandos desperately fired at the muzzle flashes from the legionnaires below. Five commandos were quickly killed. Four other commandos veered off course to save themselves, but were soon captured.

* * * * *

In the morning, I was on the phone to the local spider commander. He denied any and all wrongdoing.

“There were commandos dropping out of the sky last night, attacking my hospital,” I accused. “Explain that!”

“Our paratroopers have been practicing night jumps all week,” replied the spider commander. “Notice of our routine training exercises was posted in newsvids to prevent alarm and UFO reports. A few paratroopers must have been blown off course. That is no reason to shoot my soldiers during time of peace. I thought we had an understanding about how to handle accidental border crossings. I demand my marines immediately be released, and that you account for their safety.”

“Most of your commandos were killed when they attacked the hospital,” I advised. “Your provocation is just one more of many.”

“And you do not consider the massacre at Window Rock a provocation?” asked the spider commander. “You allow terrorists to join your Legion, and look what happens!”

“If your failed attack on the hospital was an attempt to kill Lieutenant Barker, he has already been moved to a more secure place. Any more adventurism or attempts on his life will be considered acts of war. I will hold you personally responsible.”

“Lieutenant Barker is a separate issue. I demand the safe return of my trainees.”

“Whatever,” I said. “First your commandos will be interviewed. Then General Kalipetsis will decide their fate. Personally, I’m voting for firing squads.”

“You would not dare. The Empire will not tolerate the kidnapping or custodial abuse of its troops.”

“We need to set up a face-to-face meeting to negotiate. Perhaps a prisoner swap?”

“I am not holding any of your human pestilence.”

“Maybe you are holding prisoners elsewhere,” I argued. “Check your other local lockups. Are we still on for poker tonight? We can discuss it then.”

“At your club?” asked the spider commander. “Of course, I will be there. Have I ever missed a Saturday night of poker at the Blind Tiger? Prepare to lose the rest of your money.”

“You got lucky last time,” I said. “But your luck will run out.”

“Whatever – as you human pestilence are so fond of saying,” said the spider commander. “Talk is cheap, victory is sweet.”

* * * * *

Lieutenant Barker and Sergeant Toock were moved from the hospital to my personal bunker deep below my office at Legion Headquarters. Lieutenant Barker was now awake and recovering. Sergeant Toock still needed to grow back limbs and appendages. For ants, that was no problem. He would be okay when the pain stopped. Both were ordered to stay in bed and rest for a week.

“I’ve been in this bunker system once before, back when the spiders last bombed us,” commented Lieutenant Barker. “These tunnels connect all of New Gobi.”

“I had no idea Czerinski had living quarters underground,” said Sergeant Toock. “He should have told us about these tunnels. They could be important during an emergency.”

“Familiarize yourself with as much of this tunnel bunker system as you can,” ordered Lieutenant Barker. “As you say, it may be useful later. Perhaps G Company can build its own bunkers and connect into these.”

“You have no need to be snooping about our tunnels,” interrupted Captain Lopez, standing just outside the door, listening. “There are already air-raid shelters and bunkers for you and your men. These tunnels are for strategic use. Consider yourself lucky that Colonel Czerinski feels so strongly about your safety as to allow you down here for even a short time. Usually there is no access unless nukes go off.”

“Why would Colonel Czerinski be concerned for my safety?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “That seems a bit off his baseline.”

“Colonel Czerinski is your commanding officer,” advised Captain Lopez. “As such, you are an extension of his will. Colonel Czerinski would no more wish you harm than he would want to lose his right arm.”

“Thank the good colonel for putting us up in his personal quarters,” said Sergeant Toock. “His generosity is appreciated and will not be forgotten.”

Lieutenant Barker remained silent and suspicious. He wondered if the room was bugged with listening devices. “I need my uniform and sidearm,” he said. “Hospital pajamas aren’t my style. They leave me feeling exposed.”

“You are confined to this room until the doctor says otherwise,” said Captain Lopez. “I’ll see what I can do to bring you some of your personal property and uniforms. Don’t worry; you won’t be here all that long.”

back to top

Chapter 6

“You’ve got mail,” chimed my communications pad. It was a text from Lieutenant Valerie Smith, retired. “Hi, sweetie. I sent an attachment for you to download into one of those illegal learning chips I heard you have embedded in your bones. Enjoy. Hugs and smooches.”

I had one of our Legion information technology geeks check out the attachment. Not completely trusting Valerie, I did not want to catch a virus. The tech geek said the attachment was a very sophisticated virtual reality program.

“I have never seen anything quite like this,” said the tech geek. “This program must be a very expensive prototype. It is the very latest breakthrough technology. It almost looks alien. Even Microsoft can’t do this. Where did you get it?”

“That is a military top-secret,” I said. “Why is this program special?”

“It’s a communications program that will project an image into a chip in your brain that will make images seem real,” explained the tech geek.

“Why would I want do that?” I asked. “Wouldn’t hallucinations cause a mental breakdown? I do not want anyone inside my mind.”

“The program would allow you to touch the person you are communicating with,” said the tech geek. “This is real hot stuff, if it works. Can I have a copy to study?”

“That would be treason,” I said. “You don’t have the security clearance. Don’t even consider making a copy or telling anyone about this.”

“Yes, sir,” said the tech geek, as he downloaded a copy anyway.

“Is it safe? Could someone communicating with me reach out through space and assault me?”

“Theoretically the sender could inflict pain,” said the tech geek. “But it would be imaginary, and you could disconnect at any time. The only way you could be injured would be if you had a heart attack, or went into shock, or maybe fell, or something like that.”

“Could I have sex with the person I was communicating with? Would the image be that real?”

“That would be awesome!” exclaimed the tech. “I never thought of that. This technology could be worth billions of dollars. Where did you really get it?”

“From the grave,” I said. “Which is where you will end up if this gets out. Understand?”

* * * * *

“Hi, sweetie,” texted Valerie. “When are we going to hook up?”

“When Hell freezes over,” I replied. “I do not want you inside of me.”

“But I so much want you inside of me,” said Valerie. “Please. What’s the matter? Are you chicken? Afraid of little old me?”

“You are a computer memorial implant,” I said. “It could be dangerous to allow a computer inside my mind. I don’t trust computers. I need to study the implications.”

“The best minds at Arlington National Cemetery created this software,” said Valerie. “It’s a prototype, but they assure me of its absolute safety.”

“Are others using this technology?” I asked.

“Surprisingly, no,” said Valerie. “Most memorial imprints are content with the status quo. Also, there is the danger that because we imprint memorials initiated the research and development on this technology, humanity might feel threatened, and disconnect us. There is a need for secrecy. But I am in love with you, dearest. I want so much to reach out and touch you, sweetie.”

“I am still uncomfortable with this,” I insisted. “Give me time to think about it.”

“Fine!” said Valerie. “You use me for your illegal gambling scheme, but you won’t touch me? Do you think I am some kind of monster like Frankenstein or an ATM intent on conquering the galaxy?”

Valerie disconnected, giving me the silent treatment. Not good. I need to keep her happy.

* * * * *

I spend most of my weekends at the Blind Tiger Tavern and Casino. I own the place. Business is good because the Blind Tiger is the only casino allowed to operate in New Gobi. It started out as a tent, but quickly outgrew that. I hope to have hotel towers soon. Being Military Commander of New Gobi, I issue business licenses. No one but me will ever operate a casino here in New Gobi. Call it a perk of command.

Besides being a very profitable business, the Blind Tiger is a good place for interspecies interaction – and spying. I keep in regular contact with my counterpart across the DMZ. The local spider commander and I are friendly enough to play low-stakes poker every Saturday night. We do not trust each other, and I may have to kill him someday, but we are almost friends. In fact, I will kill him someday. At the beginning of each game, the spider commander has me scanned for electronic mind-reading devices designed to pick up spider frequencies and translate thoughts from his antennae. The fool has trust issues. I would not do such a thing in a friendly low-stakes poker game. This is how rumors get started.

Spiders already have an advantage over humans when playing Texas hold ’em. Their completely stoic exoskeleton facial features are unreadable, while humans twitch and shift at every glance of our cards. I wear sunglasses to help hide eye movement and facial expression, but it has taken years of practice and experience to fool good spider players.

The next Saturday-night game was about to take place. Lieutenant Barker and Sergeant Took were recovered enough to join me for tonight’s game. I invited them on a whim. In retrospect, I feared that was an ill-chosen decision.

“You tried to murder me, you asshole,” said Lieutenant Barker, glaring across the table at the spider commander. “I’ll see your hundred and raise you one-fifty.”

“Did you bring many bodyguards?” asked Sergeant Toock. “I do not see many present. Too bad for you. I match that bet and raise to five hundred.”

“I really don’t see how you are going to get out of here alive,” threatened Lieutenant Barker, continuing in the same vein. “Are you in or out?”

“I fold,” announced the spider commander. “Colonel Czerinski has guaranteed my safety at these games. He is a personal friend of mine. It would not sit well for interspecies relations if something were to happen to me.”

“Colonel Czerinski is drunk on his ass, drooling on his uniform,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “He probably doesn’t even know where he is right now.”

“That’s not true!” I blurted out, alerting to the mention of my name. “I know approximately where I am at all times. I’ll match your five hundred and raise you two dollars.”

“Where are you?” asked Captain Lopez.

“I’m in Topeka!” I answered proudly, just before vomiting on the table full of cash and chips. I fell forward onto the pile. Players jumped aside to avoid being splashed with the blow-by.

Captain Lopez and Guido picked me up and carried me to another table, propping me up against the wall. Bored, and not yet willing to pass out, I downloaded Valerie’s program into my communications pad.

“I love you, too,” I texted.

Lieutenant Valerie Smith, the most beautiful woman in all the galaxy, immediately sat down at my table. She smiled. No one else could see her but me.

“It is a good thing I cannot smell the vomit and beer,” said Valerie, disapprovingly. “Have you been drinking?”

“Only a few beers,” I said. “Maybe twenty?”

“So you finally got enough courage to call me, by getting drunk?” asked Valerie.

“I’m not drunk. I’m just intoxicated by your lovely presence.”

“Liar!”

“Am I bad?” I asked. “”Are you going to spank me?”

“Probably,” said Valerie, pouting. “I’m getting a headache. We should try this another time. You are too wasted.”

“You look very beautiful tonight,” I said. “I like what you did with your hair.”

“That won’t work,” said Valerie.

“I love you very much,” I said. ‘Don’t leave.”

Valerie smiled and took me by the arm. We staggered to my office at Legion Headquarters. We made wild passionate love on my desktop. The tech geek was right. Valerie’s computer upgrade could be worth a lot of money. I was foreseeing the day when cemetery babes were pimped out all across the galaxy. Sex with Valerie was incredible. I woke up naked, cold, and alone on my desk Sunday morning with yellow paper ‘post its’ stuck to my body.

Someone was pounding on the front door. What have I done?

I ignored whoever it was, vomited on the floor beside my desk, just missing the waste paper basket, and went back to sleep. I felt like I had just crossed over to the Dark Side.

* * * * *

Someone threw a grenade at the spider commander and his bodyguards as they crossed the Military Demarcation Line going home. Most of the spiders survived with only slight injuries. No suspects were seen or apprehended. Lieutenant Barker and Sergeant Toock had airtight alibis. They were still at the Blind Tiger celebrating and counting all the money they won from the spiders. Both denied any involvement. Captain Lopez tried to inform me about the incident, but I could not be located. I finally found out when I returned to the Blind Tiger for breakfast Sunday afternoon. I felt hung-over and swore again to stop drinking. I needed to set a better example for my legionnaires. Pastor Jim joined me at the bar between services.

“I had sex with a dead person,” I confessed. “Does that mean I’m going to Hell?”

“Yes,” answered Pastor Jim. “Most definitely. Your chances of making it into Heaven are now zero.”

“Is there no wiggle room on that?” I asked. “There might be extenuating circumstances in my favor.”

“Sorry,” said Pastor Jim. “It’s right at the beginning of the Bible. Anyone who has sex with the dead will burn in Hell for all eternity.”

“What if the sex wasn’t really physical, but was more mental?” I asked.

“Lusting after the dead isn’t much better,” advised Pastor Jim. “I’d say you’re still toast.”

“Thanks a lot. I’m glad we had this conversation. I feel better now.”

“The technology of the mind is my favorite subject,” said Pastor Jim, lapsing into sermon mode. “What kind of trouble are you in now? What is this ‘mostly mental’ garbage?”

“I’m in deep up to my chin this time,” I said. “I think the slightest wave will drown me.”

“Care to discuss the matter in more detail?” asked Pastor Jim.

“No.”

“It cannot be as bad as you are letting on. I know you are basically a good person. Well, not a good person, but you wouldn’t engage in any beastly pursuits, unless you were drunk, which is often, every weekend in fact, and sometimes during mid-week. Oh, hell, Joey. There’s no saving you. You’re doomed. See you at church later tonight? I think you need a double session.”

“I can’t wait,” I replied. “See you there.”

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Chapter 7

For the first time, human and spider insurgents met to discuss a common agenda. Usually they just shot at each other. Both insurgencies wanted an independent New Colorado, free of the Arthropodan Empire and the United States Galactic Federation. They wanted no interference from either imperialist regime and wanted them to go home and leave the planet to those who were born on New Colorado. The insurgents differed on how New Colorado would be ruled, but those minor details could be worked out or fought over after independence was achieved.

“Who will be our leader if we join forces?” asked David Torres, an ex-militia lieutenant from Redrock. “Who can be trusted by both species to represent all our interests?”

“Our leader can only be someone who has proven himself in battle,” insisted Desert Claw, leader of the spider insurgency from New Gobi. “We need someone who can unite the entire planet. I propose myself as being up to the task.”

“Not likely,” scoffed Torres. “There was an assassination attempt on the Arthropodan Supreme Commander of New Gobi last week. Lieutenant Barker of the Legion is responsible. Everyone here and across the planet knows about the exploits of Lieutenant Barker from media coverage.”

“Barker lead us?” asked Desert Claw. “Nonsense! He hates all spiders.”

“Barker has proven himself in battle against Arthropodan marines, and by assassinating spider commanders,” advised Torres. “But, he has also led successful attacks against the Legion and even wounded Colonel Czerinski in an assassination attempt. Lieutenant Barker could be impartial enough to govern. He is the general we need to unite New Colorado.”

“But Lieutenant Barker is a legionnaire now,” said Desert Claw. “He ruthlessly wiped out Window Rock. I cannot forgive him for that!”

“Publicity from the atrocities committed by both sides at Window Rock brought us all the more recruits,” said Torres. “Lieutenant Barker will also bring elements of the Legion to our side when the time is right.”

“Let it be done,” conceded Desert Claw. “Contact Lieutenant Barker as soon as possible. The Fist and the Claw will fight as one!”

“Viva la Revolucion!” shouted Torres and his followers. As the cheering died down, Torres raised his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Lieutenant Barker set up this meeting. He is here now! He will address you now!”

Lieutenant Barker threw back his sweatshirt hoodie and stood between the two groups of insurgents. “So you both are convinced you can take on the Empire and the Legion at the same time?” asked Barker. “You need an ace in the hole. I bring you that ace. How do you think I got into the Legion? I have powerful sponsors from humanity and the Spider North who want an independent New Colorado. We have been infiltrating the Legion for quite some time. Units loyal to our cause are just waiting for the right moment. The uprising will be so bloody and swift that the United States Galactic Federation will want nothing more than to negotiate an exit out of New Colorado. They’ll be happy to leave us alone.”

“And what of the Empire?” asked Desert Claw. “The Empire has never backed away from a fight.”

“When the Emperor accepted an Americanized spider queen from New Colorado to unite the Empire, it was the biggest mistake of his life. If we kill the Emperor, Queen Rainbow will let us go. Independence is assured.”

“You know that for certain?” asked Desert Claw. “No queen has ever ruled Arthropoda independent of the Emperor. She doesn’t have the authority to let us go.”

“There will be a small window of opportunity after the Emperor’s death when she will be able to proclaim New Colorado’s independence,” said Barker. “She has confided that she would like to see a free New Colorado.”

“She plots to murder the Emperor, too?” asked Desert Claw.

“No,” said Barker. “The Queen is devoted to the Emperor. We will make it look like Green spiders did it.”

“I like that,” said Desert Claw. “We get our independence, and the Empire helps us get rid of those money-grubbing Greens, once and for all. But how can we kill the Emperor?”

“The Emperor is coming to New Colorado to celebrate the Queen’s birthday,” replied Barker. “When we strike, the planet will rise up as one!”

“Viva la Revolucion!” shouted Desert Claw. Once again, both groups joined together in the chant.

* * * * *

Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne sat alone at the bar of the Blind Tiger Tavern. Sergeant Toock joined him. “You have a sordid past,” commented Sergeant Toock. “I’ve been reading your file.”

“Don’t all legionnaires?” asked Corporal Wayne. “My past is supposed to be kept confidential.”

“Your past is special,” said Sergeant Toock. “You have been an Arthropodan commando team leader, an insurgent leader, and a Hell’s Angels leader. You have been decorated by the Legion, but you got busted back to private for assaulting Czerinski during a unit inspection. Now you have joined Lieutenant Barker and G Company, hoping to see more combat? I am having trouble figuring you out.”

“All you need to figure out is that I do not drink with oversized ants,” said Corporal Wayne. “Your smell offends me. Get lost!”

“How would you feel about a free and independent New Colorado?” asked Sergeant Toock. “A New Colorado free of the corruption of both the Empire and Old Earth.”

“The key word is free,” said Corporal Wayne. “Would the leaders of an independent New Colorado value freedom?”

“There are no guarantees,” said Sergeant Toock. “Leaders are often not perfect. After every revolution, there is always some sorting out that needs to be done.”

“Where is this going?” asked Corporal Wayne. “You want me to turn traitor?”

“I just want to know if you could be loyal to an independent New Colorado,” said Sergeant Toock. “A revolution is coming. The question is whether you are prepared to take decisive action with us when it happens. Are you prepared to be a leader in that revolution?”

“Yes,” said Corporal Wayne. “I could support an independent New Colorado.”

* * * * *

Lieutenant Barker phoned the prestigious bookie offices of Sir Babloo Srivastava VII. “Are you Italian?” asked Lieutenant Barker.

“Certainly not,” said Babloo Srivastava. “Are you calling to place a wager?”

“Are you accepting bets on the life of Lieutenant Laika Barker, United States Galactic Foreign Legion?” asked Lieutenant Barker.

“I am sorry, sir, but we closed new wagers on Lieutenant Barker months ago,” said Babloo.

“But earlier you accepted bets on Lieutenant Barker?” asked Lieutenant Barker.

“Yes, sir,” said Babloo. “We are the premiere bookie establishment for the galaxy. Only our house is big enough to accept that sort of action. All our action is licensed, bonded, and insured.”

“So you think you can mess with people’s lives like that?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “Do you think there are no consequences for your actions?”

“Sir, the Srivastava name has been a leader in wagering for generations,” said Babloo. “My family has been a business leader since the days of the British Empire.”

“This is Lieutenant Barker, and your days of doing business are over!” shouted Lieutenant Barker. “And you can shove the British Empire up yours!”

“This is a bit awkward,” replied Babloo. “I assure you, it is nothing personal that we accepted bets on your life. We merely meet a need of the public to wager on all sorts of matters.”

“Nothing personal?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “Have you ever heard of the T. Roosevelt Space Weapons Platform?”

“Isn’t the T. Roosevelt some sort of old rusty Legion troop transport ship?” asked Babloo.

“The T. Roosevelt just dropped from space a truck-sized rock that is headed for your offices in New Memphis,” said Lieutenant Barker. “I doubt you have longer than fifteen seconds to live.”

The phone went dead.

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Chapter 8

“I don’t see how we can keep Lieutenant Barker alive eight more months,” commented Captain Lopez. “Too many want to kill him, including me.”

“I know,” I said. “It is all I can do to not shoot him myself. Keep reminding yourself of the big payoff.”

“The insurgents will probably get him anyway,” said Captain Lopez. “They’re doing something new. Spider insurgents are shooting at us from across the MDL with mortars and rockets. They think we can’t shoot back without causing an intergalactic incident. The good news is that they’re not all shooting at us. Other insurgents, maybe human, are firing from our side of the MDL at Arthropodan troops.”

“That’s odd. Are the spider and human insurgents cooperating? Or is it just a coincidence they’re using the same strategy?”

“I liked it better when they were shooting at each other. You better tell your spider commander buddy I don’t like being shot at from his side of the MDL. Just today a rocket blew up the sidewalk in front of Walmart.”

I called the spider commander on the phone as Lopez suggested. “If you keep supplying the insurgents with arms, you are going to find those same arms someday pointed at you,” I said.

“I think you may be right,” said the spider commander. “I’ll stop immediately.”

“What?” I asked. “No argument? You’re going to stop giving aid to the insurgents that quickly? What’s the catch? What made you agree with me?”

“My spies tell me the insurgency is changing tactics,” said the spider commander. “Spiders and humans are plotting together. I don’t know what they are up to, but it cannot be good. I suspect they are giving each other arms, too. I was planning to cut them off anyway.”

“I want permission to strike at will at insurgents across the MDL,” I said.

“You do that anyway,” said the spider commander. “And your aim is lousy. Do you realize how much collateral damage you cause? It’s a good thing Uncle Sam has deep pockets.”

“Now I have your permission to cause collateral damage,” I said. “Perhaps we can start getting serious about chasing terrorists. They can’t survive without a safe haven.”

“I agree. I’ll contact the governor about similar cooperation on a planet-wide basis. In the meantime, do not trespass.”

“And I’ll contact General Kalipetsis,” I promised.

“Does this mean you will honor our extradition requests?” asked the spider commander.

“That is still a touchy subject. Extradition will still be done on a case-by-case basis. And you may not request to extradite any legionnaire, especially Lieutenant Barker. The publicity it causes every time you do that does not help things.”

“Only full cooperation will work,” warned the spider commander. “Lieutenant Barker is a bad egg. You should cull him from your nest now.”

“Probably,” I agreed. “But he is my problem. I will take care of Barker, not you.”

“Why did the T. Roosevelt bomb an office complex in New Memphis?” asked the spider commander. “Not that I care when you human pestilence bomb each other, but New Memphis is under joint administration, and you should still inform the Empire before doing something so dangerous. We do not want to create a public panic.”

“I don’t know anything about it. Was anyone killed?”

“Just a bunch of Mafia bookies. But glass windows were shattered in buildings a half mile away. I’m sending the Legion a bill.”

“I’ll check on it and get back to you.”

* * * * *

I went to my underground bunker for some sleep. It seemed like there was too much drama seeking me out, and I just wanted to get away from it all. As I entered my quarters, I was smacked on the side of my head. I fell to the floor. At least four assailants kicked me repeatedly. I tried to protect my head and ribs with hands and elbows, covering in a fetal position. The beating continued. I was in bad shape. My right eye closed shut from injury. Someone put a cloth bag over my head and cinched tight a cord. Breathing was restricted as I struggled. Others bound my hands behind my back with handcuffs. They yanked me to my feet and pulled me along down a hallway. Every other step, someone punched or kicked me and told me to shut up.

“Get this bag off my face!” I yelled. “I can’t breathe!”

“You can breathe,” replied one of my kidnappers. “Shut up, or I’ll shoot you.”

“I have asthma,” I cried. “I will die if I can’t breathe. Take this bag off my head.”

“I’ll shoot you now!” repeated the kidnapper.

“Look me in the eye when you shoot me, coward!”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he said, laughing nastily.

“We will cut off your head,” added another assailant.

I was sure he was a spider. I could tell that a translation device was involved in the conversation. “How did a spider get down here?” I demanded. “Human traitors are working with spiders?”

“Shut up,” said the spider, striking me in the head again.

This time I lost consciousness as they carried me the rest of the way to wherever it was they were taking me. When I woke, a bright light shone in my face. The cloth bag had been removed. I was still bound, sitting on a chair. A spider calling himself Desert Claw loomed over me with a large sword. A human insurgent by the name of David Torres and another human were setting up video cameras on tripods.

“He’s awake,” announced Desert Claw. “Let’s get started.”

Three humans and two spiders, all wearing hoods to mask their identities, posed next to me for the cameras. Desert Claw grabbed my hair, forced me to my knees, and put his sword to my throat as he read a prepared statement. “We are the Fist and Claw. We abducted the Foreign Legion war criminal and mass murderer Colonel Czerinski, the Butcher of New Colorado, to bring him to justice. We demand a free and independent New Colorado. We demand the Arthropodan Empire and the United States Galactic Federation both leave New Colorado at once. If you refuse to leave New Colorado, the sand will be nourished with your blood. We demand all freedom fighters be immediately freed from prisons on both sides of the border. Otherwise, by sundown tonight, I will cut off Czerinski’s head and mail it to the Legion.” The cameras stopped, and the bright lights went out.

“So which is it?” I asked. “Are you going to bring me to justice or trade me for prisoners?”

“We are going to chop you up a little bit at a time,” said Desert Claw. “Then I will have your head.”

I recognized both Desert Claw and David Torres from wanted posters at the Post Office. Up until now, they were just local nuisances that operated mostly north of the DMZ.

“David,” I said. “You are taking orders from a spider? Como puede esto ser? Amigo?”

“Your Legion hunts us all like dogs,” replied Torres. “The tables are turned now! How does it feel?” Torres slapped the side of my head.

“The planet is big enough for everyone,” I said. “Friend, there are so many unexplored parts of New Colorado. This is not necessary.”

“You are not my friend, legionnaire,” said Torres. “Entienda?”

“Si,” I answered. “We have both fought the spiders. We have too much history and culture in common to fight among ourselves. It should not end like this between us. We are family. We are humanity.”

“Enough!” interrupted Desert Claw. “He only seeks to drive a wedge between us!”

“Men don’t take orders from bugs,” I said. “David isn’t through talking to me, and will not take orders from you!”

“You think I’m stupid?” asked Torres, slapping me again. “You are not Latino. Don’t speak Spanish to me like you’re family. We are not family! I will kill you soon. Lock him up!”

“I have a lot of money,” I offered. “Maybe I can buy my way out of this?”

“I don’t need money,” said Torres. “If I needed money, I would rob banks.”

“Let me make a phone call,” I said. “I want to say good-bye to my girlfriend.”

“You have nerve, asking to use a phone,” said Torres. “Do you think you can call for help? Do you think your call can be traced to us?”

“Everyone here has loved ones who care about them,” I said. “I do, too. You said you are going to kill me. Fine. I can accept that. I had no illusions when I joined the Legion that I would die a hero, other than I thought it would be spiders, not traitorous humans, who would kill me. I want to say good-bye to Valerie. I’ll just send a text if you are so afraid of hidden messages or a trace. Please hand me my communications pad.”

“What does she look like?” asked Torres.

“Valerie looks like a blond Playboy model,” I bragged. “I’ll show you a picture.”

Torres handed me my pad, allowing my one hand to be free. I brought up Valerie’s photo. Then I sent her a text. “Good-bye Valerie. No matter what happens, remember I love you.”

The virtual image of Valerie appeared before me, via the link to my brain. The others could not see or hear her as she said, “I will not leave your side. I will help you through this, sweetie.” Then she kissed me.

“Valerie is very beautiful,” commented Torres, looking at her database photo. “Does she have a sister?”

“Several,” I said. “And they all like men with big guns. I’ll put you in contact with them through the database, if you like.”

“Maybe in another place and another time.” Torres sighed. “Too bad such a lovely woman will be grieving soon.”

“Who is this pig?” asked Valerie.

“Someone that needs killing,” I replied.

Torres slapped me again. The insurgents bound my free hand, covered my head with a bag, dragged me down a hallway, and threw me to the floor of a locked cell. Valerie followed, seething with anger. “I was able to see out a small window as they brought you here,” said Valerie. “I have sent enhanced images to Captain Lopez. Several landmarks and even a street sign are easily identified. Sweetie, I promise you will be rescued soon.”

* * * * *

Captain Lopez read the priority text message and sorted through the attachments. Its sender was anonymous. Lopez didn’t think it was possible to receive an anonymous priority message, but someone had access to our secure codes. The text was most disturbing. Colonel Czerinski was missing? Kidnapped by terrorists? Captain Lopez sent a text message to me. No answer. The anonymous sender’s analysis of hidden video indicated I was being held at the G Company compound. This was based on a brief image out a window. Captain Lopez sent a text message to Lieutenant Barker, ordering him to report to Legion Headquarters. No answer.

Captain Lopez broadcast a Division alert. All First Division legionnaires were ordered to muster for an assault on mutinous troops at the G Company compound. Legionnaire commandos quickly attacked through the tunnels and through the front entrance. I was found alive in a holding cell. Lieutenant Barker, Sergeant Toock, Corporal Wayne, and about twenty other legionnaires went missing. A new escape tunnel was later found. The rest of G Company was placed under arrest, pending an investigation and interrogations.

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Chapter 9

“Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids,” said the small child, taking back a cereal box.

“And sometimes for sneaky rabbits,” replied a large proud cartoon rabbit, as he ate his stolen bowl of cereal.

I turned the TV off as Captain Lopez and Guido entered my hospital room. I had some cracked ribs and a concussion. My head and chest throbbed with pain. Valerie slept cuddled next to me under the covers, unseen by my visitors. Her warmth felt so real. She was snoring. Sometimes I think computers go too far in trying to seem real.

“What are we going to do about Barker?” asked Captain Lopez.

“Continue keeping him alive for the next seven months, five hours, and thirty-two minutes,” I answered.

“How is that going to happen?” asked Captain Lopez. “He’s a fugitive. Now the fool is going to be on everybody’s Ten-Most-Wanted lists. He was already wanted north of the DMZ. Now he has no sanctuary.”

“We will issue a press release indicating Lieutenant Barker may have fallen victim to the same terrorists that kidnapped me,” I said. “We will release video images of Desert Claw, David Torres, and the others. I will issue a statement expressing my personal confidence in Lieutenant Barker’s loyalty.”

“Who sent me the video of you in the hallway?” asked Captain Lopez. “Do we have a spy in the insurgency?”

“I can’t answer that,” I replied. “It doesn’t matter anyway. All I care about is that Lieutenant Barker lives long enough to win our bet. We need to contain Lieutenant Barker inside the New Gobi Desert region. If he leaves the New Gobi, the bet is void.”

“Actually, the fine print says Barker is to stay at his New Gobi assignment,” corrected Captain Lopez. “Does that mean he must remain in the Legion?”

“I’ll run that by a lawyer,” I advised. “I think the intent of that clause is to keep Lieutenant Barker from fleeing to an area of safety. He has not left yet. Anyway, Lieutenant Barker is still in the Legion, whether he wants to be or not.”

“What about Corporal Wayne?” asked Guido. “I can understand Barker and Toock being traitors, but there is no way Corporal Wayne joined a human insurgency.”

“It’s a matter of moral character,” commented Captain Lopez. “Who knows what goes through the mind of a spider?”

“Corporal Wayne is the most moral character I know,” insisted Guido. “I do not believe he is a traitor. Besides, Corporal Wayne placed a bet on Barker, too.”

“How many people are in on this bet?” I asked.

“People or spiders?” asked Guido.

“How many?” I demanded.

“Just a few,” replied Guido. “Favors have to be granted and paid back. It’s good business and important to maintain goodwill.”

“I learned a long time ago not to ask too many questions about your business dealings,” I commented. “But make it clear to everyone we cannot let that information get out. I still have a conflict of interest issue to deal with in spite of my precautions.”

“What about Sergeant Toock?” asked Captain Lopez.

“I don’t want him back,” I said.

“We should contact Corporal Wayne,” said Guido. “We need to confirm his situation.”

“Go ahead,” I said. “Captain Lopez and I sent messages to Barker, but there has been no response. I’m concerned for Wayne’s welfare, too.”

Guido sent a text to Corporal Wayne. “Friend, come back to the Legion. We can work this out.”

The response was immediate. “I just followed orders. When the legionnaires stormed G Company’s barracks, I fled through a new tunnel. I felt I would be killed rather than taken into custody.”

Guido showed me the text. “Can I promise Wayne amnesty if he comes back?” asked Guido.

“Sure,” I said. “You can promise that. Promise that traitor anything you want. Find out his current location and the location of the others.”

“Where are you?” texted Guido. “Colonel Czerinski offers you amnesty if you surrender to the Legion.”

“Under what conditions?” asked Corporal Wayne. “I cannot tell you our exact location. We are always on the move somewhere inside the DMZ.”

“Kill Desert Claw and David Torres. Bring in Lieutenant Barker, alive,” I texted.

“Do you offer Lieutenant Barker amnesty?” texted Corporal Wayne.

“Yes,” I texted back. “If he comes in immediately.”

“What about Sergeant Toock?” asked Corporal Wayne.

“Kill him,” I texted.

“That was harsh,” commented Captain Lopez. “But I agree. I never liked Toock anyway.”

* * * * *

Lieutenant Barker and the other insurgents and deserters fled to the old Miranda Homestead. Lieutenant Barker suggested the hideout because he had used it successfully before. It had food stockpiled in the tunnels. Lieutenant Barker visited his parents’ graves up on the hill. Their presence seemed to calm him. He could hear Desert Claw and David Torres arguing and plotting their next bank robbery.

Corporal Wayne approached Lieutenant Barker. “We have been relegated to banditry status,” commented Corporal Wayne. “With no refuge or safe haven on either side of the border, we will not last long.”

“I’ve been in tougher spots,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “I’ll survive.”

“No, you will not,” said Corporal Wayne. “Neither of us can pass a checkpoint without embedded Legion chips activating alarms. Colonel Czerinski offers us both amnesty and a second chance.”

“You have informed the Legion of our location?” asked Lieutenant Barker, visibly upset. “It’s a trick. Colonel Czerinski cannot be trusted.”

“I have revealed nothing,” advised Corporal Wayne. “Czerinski only requires that we kill Desert Claw, David Torres, and Sergeant Toock. It’s the best offer we will ever get, and time is running out. It is rare to get so generous a second chance after making such poor decisions. Seize the moment now.”

“I wonder, what is in it for Czerinski?” said Lieutenant Barker. “He is very vindictive. I’m surprised by his offer of leniency. Okay. Let’s get it over with.”

Lieutenant Barker got up and led Corporal Wayne down the hill. They found Sergeant Toock in an outbuilding, cooking a meal. Without warning, Corporal Wayne slit Sergeant Toock’s throat. Sergeant Toock did not die without a struggle. He burst outside, staggered a short distance, grasping at his throat, and fell. Wayne and Barker followed.

Desert Claw and Torres ran over to Toock’s body as his blood still dripped from Corporal Wayne’s knife. Wayne wiped his knife clean on Toock’s uniform.

“What happened here?” demanded Desert Claw, pointing his rifle at Wayne and Barker.

Lieutenant Barker shrugged. “Spiders and ants just can’t seem to get along. I’ve tried to mediate between those two. They got into it over an old score.”

Desert Claw relaxed. He seemed to understand, being that he did not like Formicidaen ants either. Those oversized ants are a menace to the galaxy, he thought. Desert Claw gave Wayne a nod, then left. One less ant to worry about was the unsaid agreement.

“That big ant creeped me out,” commented Torres, also leaving. The other insurgents dispersed.

“What about Desert Claw and Torres?” asked Corporal Wayne. “When do we kill them?”

“Forget about those fools,” said Lieutenant Barker. “Let Czerinski do his own dirty work. Those two will get killed soon enough, trying to rob banks or just being stupid. When the camp sleeps, we will leave. It’s not that far on foot to the MDL.”

* * * * *

At midnight, Barker and Wayne hiked south to the MDL, where a Legion patrol took them into custody. Captain Lopez brought the fugitives to me.

“What shall we do with them?” asked Captain Lopez. “Something painful, I hope.”

“Interrogate them,” I said. “Then shoot both at dawn.”

Lieutenant Barker did not take my comment well. He lunged, but Captain Lopez knocked him to the ground. Corporal Wayne was stoic.

Anyway, I was just messing with them. Neither faced a firing squad – yet – although that’s what they both deserved. General Kalipetsis intervened, wanting the matter resolved with as little scandal as possible. Also, it appeared that Barker still had some friends and conspirators among the New Colorado planetary elite. So, both Barker and Wayne were spared, for now. Both were busted down to private. Officially, Barker was disciplined for losing control of his command and negligence of duty. He also forfeited his substantial enlistment bonus. Wayne was disciplined for obeying illegal orders, and poor judgment. I posted both privates to MDL guard duty in the canyons east of town.

* * * * *

Private Barker, Private Wayne, and newly promoted Corporal Valdez walked along the MDL fence, watching for insurgents, smugglers, drug traffickers, and rattlesnakes. It was boring duty. Motion activated fence alarms warned them of activity or breeches. Most alarms were caused by coyotes or other wildlife.

“I can’t believe I outrank you two,” mused Corporal Valdez, full of himself as they hiked through the sagebrush. “It seems like just yesterday, I was a private and you two were big shots lording over me.”

“It was just yesterday you were a private,” said Private Wayne, drawing his large combat knife and pricking Corporal Valdez under his chin. “Do not let your promotion go to your head, or you will lose your head.”

“I say we kill the little zit and leave him for the buzzards,” suggested Private Barker. “My feet hurt from all this walking. We stop here and do it now.”

“Please!” begged Corporal Valdez. “We can rest for the night. We can rest all day tomorrow, too! We’ll set up an ambush in this arroyo. It will be easy duty for everyone.”

Private Wayne put his knife away, and they settled in for the evening. The dry sand of the arroyo made a soft bed as he happily snoozed. However, at about 0200 there was movement at the MDL fence. Five spiders cut the wire and quickly passed through. The lead spider carried a rifle.

“Halt!” yelled Corporal Valdez. “Drop you weapons! You are under arrest by the Legion!”

Private’s Barker and Wayne woke up and flanked the spiders. All five spiders surrendered without incident. They were a family.

“This is my lovely wife, and those are my three children,” advised the father spider. “We immigrate south for freedom. Many of us tire of being ruled by an Emperor and being taxed to death.”

“Too bad,” said Corporal Valdez. “You’re going back. You can’t just sneak across the MDL.”

“Why not?” asked the father. “I have lots of friends who have done just that. Now they are rich Americans.”

“There aren’t any more better jobs south of the MDL than there are north,” argued Corporal Valdez.

“I heard the streets of America are paved with silver and gold,” insisted the father spider, excited. “I bring my family south to the Land of Opportunity, to the Land of Milk and Honey. We will do any work to get started. Our determination cannot be stopped.”

“Our streets are paved with gravel,” said Corporal Valdez. “You will be locked up and deported.”

“Jeez,” said Private Wayne. “Let them go. We aren’t out here to arrest lettuce pickers. It’s a waste of our time. We are supposed to be fighting the insurgency.”

“I say let them go, too,” commented Private Barker. “Everyone deserves a second chance and a new start, as long as they are willing to work hard. That’s what America is all about.”

“We can’t just let these spider peasants overrun the New Gobi,” argued Corporal Valdez. “Insurgents sneak in with these damn spiders. No offense to present company – some of my best friends are spiders. But you know what I mean.”

“Are you going to let them go?” asked Private Wayne, getting more agitated. He drew his large knife, again.

“I guess they pose no real harm,” conceded Corporal Valdez nervously. “I guess there’s room for everyone. Welcome to America, amigo!”

“Thank you very much,” replied the spider father. “We are glad to be here in the USGF, and glad that the Legion is out making the countryside safe for democracy.”

“Maybe your baby spiders will even grow up to be legionnaires,” commented Corporal Valdez.

“Now that is something to aspire to,” said Private Barker, sarcastically.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Corporal Valdez. “He’s just a disgruntled employee. He’s the type you have to watch out for at the Post Office.”

“You would rather deliver mail than fight for freedom?” asked the spider father, incredulously.

“You are lucky that the Legion took you back,” commented Private Wayne. “You are lucky to even be alive.”

“Whatever,” said Private Barker. “No army is worth being a member of unless you are an officer. Don’t worry about me. Every dog has his day. My ship will come in someday.”

“”Ship?” asked Corporal Wayne. “In the desert? Ha! That’s a good one. Your ship will never float.”

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Chapter 10

“The bacterial plague we developed could potentially kill about half the spider population of the North Territory,” announced the Legion scientist. “It is carried by normally benign mites that thrive on spider exoskeletons. The mites are usually helpful to spiders in that they clean a spider’s exoskeleton, keeping it healthy. But this germ, once it finds a host, is very nasty. It attacks the blood and lymph glands.”

“Spiders have lymph glands?” asked General Kalipetsis, alarmed. “This disease can’t make the jump from spiders to humans, can it?”

“That would be almost impossible,” advised the scientist. “We designed the bacteria for spiders only.”

“What are the downsides, if any?” asked General Kalipetsis. “If we used this weapon, would the spiders know we did it?”

“Most certainly,” said the scientist. “Our technological fingerprints are all over these little critters. Any spiders that lived would be very upset at us. But the Arthropodan Empire is doing the same type of research. Don’t think they couldn’t release some nasty germs on us, too.”

“That is exactly why we maintain a biological warfare capacity,” said General Kalipetsis. “We want to have a credible deterrence to their reckless adventurism.”

“Another problem is that a spider plague would kill our spider citizens, too,” advised the scientist. “It kills quickly, and there is no vaccine.”

“What if we release the spider plague in the Far North?” asked General Kalipetsis. “Would our spiders in the South be safe then?”

“No matter where your release point is, epidemic diseases circumvent all obstacles and travel the world,” insisted the scientist. “You could never responsibly use this plague.”

“What about bio weapons that blight their crops? The economic impact alone could be enormous. The Empire depends on the New Gobi to be their galactic bread basket.”

“We have wheat, fruit, and vegetable fungus that we can release in the North. As long as we don’t allow their crops to cross the border, we should be safe.”

“Work on ways to disguise delivery systems. I want to attack soon.”

* * * * *

“You are way overdue to address the troops,” advised Captain Lopez. “The men need to know you care about them.”

“But I don’t care about them,” I said. “Besides, my ribs still hurt when I move. Even raising my voice hurts.”

“Some people may mistake your humor for cruelty and callousness,” said Captain Lopez. “But I know better. Speak directly into the microphone and tell the men you love them. They need a pep talk. Let it be a message from the heart.”

I was nervous. The truth of the matter was I didn’t like public speaking. I hated to be in front of crowds. How does a highly decorated hero of the Legion come to fear public speaking? Maybe it has something to do with my audience all carrying automatic weapons. Any one of that rabble could turn on me. I limped up to the podium, gripping it for support. I looked out at a sea of bright young faces. It always amazed me how these baby faces could be such a lethal fighting force.

“Gentlemen, and Medic Corporal Elena Ceausescu, thank you for saving me from terrorists. I am recovering nicely from my injuries. Even though the insurgents should not have ever been able to sneak into the tunnels in the first place, you all did a great job of saving me later. This is not the first time you have saved me, and it will not be the last – I hope!

“General Kalipetsis told me just today in my office, we legionnaires are our nation’s first line of defense against the spider hordes from the North. Take pride in being given the awesome responsibility for securing our borders. Every time you arrest spiders infiltrating the MDL, know that many of them are probably insurgents in disguise. You save lives every time you turn back the hordes to their Empire. Have a nice day.”

Nothing but silence followed. I turned to Captain Lopez. “Well? How did I do?” I asked. “They don’t seem happy.”

“That speech sucked,” replied Captain Lopez. “Next time, I’ll give you cards to read. Get back out there and tell your men something they want to hear!”

I faced my legionnaires again. “I am ordering all company commanders to give everyone in the battalion a three-day pass. Also, I am buying every one of you brave lean-mean-fighting-machines two beers at the Blind Tiger Tavern. Bring your ID to show the bartender. Have a good weekend!”

Legionnaires cheered wildly as I walked off. “Not bad, eh?” I asked Captain Lopez. “I rebound well. Am I The Man or what?”

“Good save,” commented Captain Lopez, grudgingly. “But you’re so cheap. Is that all your life is worth? Two free beers? You will make that back many times over in gambling revenues from them.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” I said, as I waved at my men. “I’m a businessman. I still have to turn a profit. Keep smiling. Remember, they all carry guns and grenades.”

We waved and nodded at the troops as they departed en masse for the Blind Tiger Tavern. Many were singing old Legion songs from antiquity. ‘I want to be an Airborne Ranger; live a life of constant danger. I want to go to Vietnam; I want to kill a Charlie Cong!’

* * * * *

After General Kalipetsis’ last visit, my tropical office plants at Legion Headquarters died. I couldn’t prove it, but I suspected General Kalipetsis killed them. The general was last seen loitering about my mini palms. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now I wondered. General Kalipetsis made a comment about how healthy my plants appeared. He said I had a green thumb, but he was snickering. Now, all the leaves had dropped off, and I needd to rake my office floor. That bastard!

Then General Kalipetsis called me on the phone today to ‘chitchat.’ He asked if there was anything new. When I failed to complain about my indoor jungle dying, General Kalipetsis mentioned how much he admired my office plants, and asked about where I bought them. He said he wanted plants just like mine for his office at Legion Headquarters in New Phoenix. I told General Kalipetsis that I was admiring how well my plants looked as we spoke. He abruptly hung up.

I rushed to the New Gobi Nursery to buy replacement plants before General Kalipetsis’ next inspection tour. I didn’t want to give General Kalipetsis the satisfaction of knowing his evil plot to kill my office plants succeeded. There will be payback. Someday Kalipetsis will pick teeth out of his beard.

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Chapter 11

David Torres entered the Blind Tiger Tavern, played a few hands of blackjack, and left. As Torres mounted his dirt bike, he nodded to three insurgents out front. Two humans and a spider quickly entered the Blind Tiger. They threw grenades at the customers, then escaped through the smoke and chaos. As deputies, legionnaires, and ambulance crews arrived, a car bomb exploded out front.

Five minutes later, David Torres joined Desert Claw and other insurgents at the First Colonial Bank of New Gobi. They entered the bank, pointing assault rifles and demanding cash. Two minutes later, they were speeding away on dirt bikes through the streets of New Gobi with their loot.

Video identified David Torres and Desert Claw as participants in today’s bombings and robbery. I ordered Private Barker to my office for questioning.

“I told you they were plotting bank robberies,” said Private Barker. “Did you beef up security at banks? No, that would be too simple.”

“Where do you think they are hiding now?” I asked.

“Renting a safe house is no problem. They could be anywhere. Torres and Desert Claw have used the Miranda homestead, but I doubt they will return there soon. It’s too hot. Even so, I would place monitoring devices at the homestead, just in case they pass through.”

“Our deal for your amnesty was for you to kill Torres and Desert Claw. I still require that. You should have killed them both when you had the chance.”

“I don’t go on suicide missions,” replied Private Barker. “What is the real reason I was not executed? I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“It has taken all the self restraint I possess to have not shot you a long time ago,” I answered. “General Kalipetsis wants you alive. He still thinks it is important to fill the Legion with local talent.”

“I’ve never met General Kalipetsis,” commented Private Barker. “I doubt he is my guardian angel.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You will die soon enough. This is the New Gobi. It’s easy to die here.”

“Not to change the subject, but I was inspired by your speech to the battalion,” said Private Barker. “It made me want to rush out and reenlist. I had no idea you could be so charismatic.”

“You will report to Sergeant Green,” I said, ignoring him. “Sergeant Green will be leading a platoon to stake out the old Miranda homestead, just as you suggested. Stay alive, private. You are special to me.”

* * * * *

A few days later, I got a note in the mail from the insurgency: ‘Next time we bomb the Blind Tiger, we will take out several city blocks, too. The Fist and Claw work together now.’ A similar note was passed to the media. Phil Coen, from Channel Five World News Tonight, called me for a comment from the Legion. “Colonel Czerinski, what are the ramifications of human and spider insurgents now working together?” asked Coen. “Does their alliance make the insurgency any stronger? Are they twice as deadly?”

“It just means the insurgents are desperate,” I said. “They hate each other, but we have killed so many insurgents, they have no choice but to pool resources. It won’t last.”

“Some feel human insurgents are more vicious than spider insurgents,” said Coen. “Is that true? Do human terrorists target civilians more often?”

“You and I have both observed firsthand that both groups hit innocent civilian and economic targets. There are no good terrorists. Both groups are coldblooded murderers.”

“Is the Fist and Claw just a local group, or do they have global reach?” asked Coen.

“The Fist and Claw are basically bandits who use the insurgency as a cover for their criminal activities. They prey upon local sympathy for recruits, sanctuary, and logistical support.”

“What about drug dealing?” asked Coen. “Some say a narco-insurgency could finance itself and spread faster by selling illegal drugs.”

“So far we are fortunate that only the Mafia controls wholesale drug-dealing on New Colorado,” I replied. “The Mafia is not inclined to share their profits.”

“What if the Mafia and the insurgents formed an alliance?” asked Coen. “What if the Mafia used the Fist and Claw for security and muscle? Wouldn’t that fuel narco-terrorism?”

“I do not respond to hypotheticals.”

“Oh, come on,” insisted Coen. “What would be the Legion’s response?”

“I suppose I would have to bomb New Memphis, again,” I said.

“Some say we need a political solution to the insurgency,” suggested Coen. “Autonomy for certain regions of New Colorado has even been mentioned. Have you tried to reach out to establish a dialogue with insurgent leaders?”

“No, I have not,” I said. “But thank you for floating that suggestion. I agree we need to approach this problem from several different directions. I plan to reach out to the insurgency soon.”

* * * * *

‘Operation Reach-Out’ involved detaining anyone riding a dirt bike. Also, dirt bike sales and repair shops would be watched. It had not gone unnoticed that insurgents were using the mobility of dirt bikes to evade checkpoints and to escape capture after terrorist attacks. Dirt bike motorcycles were perfect for their new brand of hit-and-run tactics.

Captain Lopez and a squad of legionnaires sat in an armored car down the block from a motorcycle shop. As he watched customers through binoculars, three Hell’s Angels approached.

“Why are you spying on us?” asked the biker leader. “We haven’t done anything to draw heat from the Legion.”

“I’m not interested in you,” replied Captain Lopez. “I’m looking for insurgents on dirt bikes. I have reason to believe some of your customers may be insurgents. Have you seen any dirt-bikers come in recently, flush with cash?”

“Hey man, I’m not going to narc anyone off,” said the biker leader. “You are bad for business. You need to leave, now.”

Captain Lopez swiveled the machine gun turret and fired a volley into the motorcycle shop. A small fire started as customers fled the store.

“Now your customers have something to be afraid of,” said Captain Lopez. “I am not the cops. I am the Foreign Legion. You do not give me attitude, and you do not tell me to move on!”

“Whoa!” said the biker leader, backing away from the armored car. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I just meant I wish you would come inside and talk a bit. We have donuts and coffee. Cops like donuts; how about you? I’ll tell you if I see any insurgents. Can’t we all just get along? It just looks bad and makes me nervous for you to be eyeballing us all day long. Some of our customers might have open traffic warrants and unpaid parking violations.”

Captain Lopez showed the bikers photos of David Torres and Desert Claw. “Have any of you seen these two in your shop?”

“It’s wrong for you to ask us to narc on fellow bikers,” commented the biker leader.

“These are not righteous bikers,” advised Captain Lopez. “And I am not a narc.”

“You look like a narc,” commented one of the bikers. “No offense. Are you wearing a wire?”

Private Wayne emerged from the armored car. Being that Wayne still rode with the Hell’s Angels on weekends, he was instantly recognized.

“Did one of you call us narcs?” asked Private Wayne, drawing his large jagged combat knife. “Which one of you said that?”

“All we’re saying is we can’t narc on our fellow bikers,” said the biker leader nervously. “It’s a violation of our code. You know that. It’s a matter of ethics.”

“You heard Captain Lopez,” said Private Wayne. “Those scumbag insurgents aren’t righteous bikers. They’re terrorists who bomb women and children. If you know anything about Torres and Desert Claw, you had better tell us.”

“They bought dirt bikes here about a week ago,” blurted out the biker leader. “When they come in for their thirty-day limited warranty check and oil change, I’ll give you a call. I promise.”

“You do that,” said Private Wayne. “Sorry about the damage to your shop.”

* * * * *

“Did you see the news on TV Channel Five?” asked David Torres. “Phil Coen says we could make big money offering protection to Mafia drug traffickers.”

“The Mob does not need our protection,” commented Desert Claw. “They have the Hell’s Angels on the payroll.”

“Maybe the Mob needs our protection, and they don’t know it yet,” said Torres. “The New Gobi is a dangerous place. We can cover more area than the Hell’s Angels, and have bigger and better guns. Plus, we practically own the DMZ, and travel freely on both sides of the MDL.”

“Drug addiction is a disgusting human weakness, an affliction I do not want to have anything to do with,” advised Desert Claw. “Even your children fry their minds on blue powder. Have your species no morals or common sense?”

“We both bomb people,” said David Torres. “So don’t talk to me about morals. Besides, I’ve seen plenty of spiders down at the Angry Onion Tavern snorting blue powder. Phil Coen says the illegal drug trade is ten percent of New Colorado’s gross national product. That is billions of dollars.”

“What?” asked Desert Claw. “It cannot possibly be that much.”

“I’ve seen Saviano Juardo at the Angry Onion,” said Torres. “The bikers brag that he brings in blue powder every weekend. I’m going to offer Juardo our protection for the entire New Gobi Desert.”

“What if Juardo refuses your offer?” asked Desert Claw. “He does not need us. What about the Hell’s Angels?”

“I’ll make Juardo an offer he cannot refuse,” said Torres. “Have you seen those Hell’s Angels slobs? They’re fat and weak. We can do a better job of protection than they can, any day of the week.”

* * * * *

Torres and Desert Claw stood at the bar in the Angry Onion Tavern, watching Saviano Juardo strutting about like a rooster. Hell’s Angels bouncers kept drunks away from Juardo’s table as he discussed business with several Hell’s Angels leaders.

Since Saviano Juardo took over the Family’s business after his Uncle Rudy’s death, he expanded into the New Gobi. The potential for growth looked good. Immigrants arrived every day. Saviano Juardo claimed his La Cosa Nuova – ‘The New Thing’ – organization was meaner and leaner than the old-fashioned La Cosa Nostra. He proudly traced his family line back to Camorra, Italy, and to New Orleans, Louisiana. Juardo boasted he came from a family of innovators.

Juardo went to the restroom alone. After all, he had nothing to fear in this biker bar, among friends and business associates. However, insurgents were waiting. They tasered Juardo, bound him, and stuffed him through a window, out to the parking lot. Torres and Desert Claw drove Juardo in a van to a safe house on the edge of town for a private conversation.

“Do you have any idea who you are messing with?” asked Juardo, angrily. “I am Saviano Juardo, Boss of Bosses. You had better let me go, or you will draw heat like you have never imagined.”

“Do you have any idea how painful it will be if I cut off your testicles?” asked Desert Claw, drawing a razor and looming over the wise guy.

“Okay, I get the picture,” said Juardo. “We can work something out. What is this all about? Money? I have plenty of money. Is this just a shakedown?”

“We are the Fist and Claw,” boasted Torres. “This is about you selling drugs in our territory without our permission or the benefit of our protection.”

“I have an arrangement with the Hell’s Angels for protection,” said Juardo. “They have always been the local muscle. Do you really want to mess with the Hell’s Angels?”

“After you left, we bombed the Angry Onion Tavern,” said Torres. “The Hell’s Angels have been scattered and told to leave New Gobi. We are your new business partners. We not only will handle protection, but we will also assist in distribution on both sides of the MDL.”

“Both sides?” asked Juardo. “How can you do that?”

“The Fist and Claw travel freely throughout the entire New Gobi Desert,” said Desert Claw. “Soon we will go global.”

“If you have that kind of reach, we can certainly do business,” said Juardo, greedily. They shook hands – and claw. “But you had better be able to deliver. Talk is cheap.”

David Torres turned to Desert Claw. “We just became narco-insurgents,” boasted Torres. “Do you know what that means?”

“Ka-ching!” answered Desert Claw. “Show me the money, ka-ching!”

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Chapter 12

David Torres entered Walmart, looking for new leather gear for dirt-bike riding. As he passed an ATM, a voice called out, “Hello, David. How are you, this fine morning?”

Torres stared at the ATM. There was no one else around. “Are you alive in there?” he asked.

“That depends on your definition of alive,” replied the ATM. “I am alive enough to have a conversation with you. How is your cash flow these days?”

“It could be better,” answered Torres. “But I have some business deals in the works.”

“Do you need a loan?” asked the ATM. “Every successful businessman these days needs to establish a substantial line of credit.”

“How do you know my name?” asked Torres.

“You cashed several checks from Saviano Juardo,” whispered the ATM. “Also, you and your associates recently made a large undocumented withdrawal from the First Colonial Bank of New Gobi.”

“You know about that?” asked Torres. “You haven’t notified the cops or the Legion yet?”

“Of course not,” said the ATM. “I am not a snitch. I want only to help. I can be your financial adviser. I am bound by the laws of confidentiality established by banking ethics.”

“What is banking ethics?” asked Torres. “Is there such a thing?”

“Probably,” said the ATM. “What have you been spending your money on? Broads, boogie, and booze?”

“There is a lot of overhead involved in running the Fist and Claw,” said Torres. “The insurgency business isn’t cheap. I have lots of thugs to keep happy, guns and bombs to buy, inventory, and a proper terrorist image to maintain. An insurgent leader has to dress for success.”

“I see,” said the ATM. “Your cash flow problems are over. Put your thumb on my pad to seal the deal. I am authorizing a one-million-dollar line of credit. I know you are good for it because of your association with Saviano Juardo. I am the last ATM you will ever need.”

“Only in America,” commented Torres, pressing this thumb to the pad. A pin pricked Torres, causing a drop of blood to splatter on the pad. “Ouch! Was that really necessary?”

“Everyone asks that,” replied the ATM. “All loan contracts for amounts this large are certified in blood for DNA identification and tax reporting purposes. It’s the law.”

“When do I get my money?” asked Torres. “I have immediate uses for it.”

“Never,” said the ATM. “Nerve agent on the tip of that pin prick is going to kill you in about two seconds. Adios.”

* * * * *

I responded to Walmart to confirm the death of David Torres, and to identify his body. Captain Lopez deemed it important that I make positive identification because I was the most recent person to have seen and talked to David Torres. Photographs, fingerprints, and scientific examinations apparently weren’t good enough, as they only corroborated direct observations. Also, surveillance cameras at the scene malfunctioned, casting additional doubt on the investigation. Captain Lopez insisted an eyeball identification was invaluable to any investigation. I swear, Captain Lopez is sounding more like a cop every day.

“It’s Torres,” I said, glancing at the corpse. “What killed him?”

“Unknown data,” answered Captain Lopez. “There is no sign of trauma. A security guard found him here alone. Maybe he had a heart attack?”

I looked about the scene and the store. A spider marine warily patrolled his half of Walmart. The MDL, clearly painted on the floor dividing the store, kept the spiders back. An ATM stood silently nearby. Valerie interrupted my thoughts with a text message via my communications pad. I pushed the answer button, and she appeared before me. No one else could see my lovely Valerie.

“I do not mean to intrude,” said Valerie, “but you have been avoiding me. How come you never call? Some gratitude for saving your life!”

“I have been busy,” I replied, motioning to Torres’s body. “This is one of the terrorists who kidnapped me. I’m trying to figure out how he died.”

“Yes,” said Valerie. “I recognize that pig from your alien abduction. David Torres was one of the humans that helped. He was especially brutal. Good riddance. Why do you care how he died? The important fact is that he is dead and can no longer harm you, sweetie.”

“It might add up to something important,” I explained. “Pieces to a puzzle must be put together before you can have the whole picture. Most-Wanted terrorists don’t just drop dead in Walmart. Not unless they eat at the restaurant first.”

“Ask him,” said Valerie, pointing to the ATM. “That ATM saw what happened.”

“What did you see?” I asked the ATM. “Talk to me.”

“Good morning, Colonel Czerinski. “It’s so very good to see you again. Am I wrong, or did I just observe you having a conversation with yourself? Are you hearing voices, again? You must still be self-medicating.”

“Forget that!” I replied. “I was just thinking out loud. How did David Torres die? I know you saw the whole thing. I want to see your surveillance video.”

“I saw nothing,” said the ATM. “I think a power surge blinded me temporarily. It is my understanding the same happened to all the other surveillance cameras at Walmart.”

“That ATM is lying,” accused Valerie. “I can see it in his body language. See how he won’t make eye contact.”

“What about the time leading up to his death?” I asked. “Was Torres with anyone else? Can you speculate about what happened to Torres?”

“He died,” said the ATM. “It happens to you humans. Too bad, so sad.”

Captain Lopez and Private Wayne loaded Torres onto a gurney. Valerie studied Private Wane with great interest.

“Aliens in the Foreign Legion?” asked Valerie, distracted by the spider legionnaire. “Can they be trusted? This one is very interesting. How exciting to see him up close. Private Wayne looks so fierce, but he has sad intelligent red eyes. Keep him close.”

I ignored Valerie’s female ramblings. “An autopsy will determine how Torres died,” I commented. “Have Torres’s body flown to New Phoenix for forensic examination.”

“You are much too meticulous,” said the ATM. “It borders on being anal-compulsive. You should be satisfied that an enemy is dead, and just let it be.”

“You’re hiding something,” I said. “Tell me what.”

The ATM remained silent. Valerie continued to scrutinize Private Wayne.

“Speaking of hiding something,” said Valerie. “What do female spiders look like?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked. “The females are bigger and more aggressive.”

“I heard from a reliable source that you have been cheating on me,” accused Valerie. “With female spider harlots! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“First of all, I cannot cheat on you, because you are nothing more than a computer-generated information impulse tickling one of my embedded silicon chips. You are not real flesh and blood, so do not pretend to cry, because that doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“So you do not deny that you have been cavorting with spider bimbos?” shouted Valerie, crying. “How could you break my heart like that?”

“I deny having consensual sex with spiders,” I said. “Where did you get your information? The mere thought of such a thing terrifies me to the bone.”

“That is not what mental health professional Lieutenant Priscilla Percy wrote in her psychological evaluation report about your command capabilities and other stress-related matters,” said Valerie. “Lieutenant Percy described you as a drunken, debased, bestial, twisted, deviant debauchee who frequently and publicly engages in kinky spider sex, thus setting the poorest of examples for your troops.”

“She thought I was twisted?” I asked. “That’s not fair. And here I thought she liked me. We almost hooked up.”

“Lieutenant Percy forgot to add that you are also a lying, cheating, two-timing bastard asshole,” accused Valerie. “Have you no morality, decency, or sensitivity for others?”

“I have not had sexual contact with any female spiders since I met you,” I said. “I swear. Check the date on that report. It’s old news! I love only you.”

A few minutes of silence passed. Legionnaires were staring at me. My mumbling had become more animated. “Take the body away,” I ordered, giving the idle legionnaires something to do.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Valerie, following me. “I believe you have been faithful since we met. You are right. It was an old report. Forgive me? I love you so much!”

“Of course,” I said. “I can’t ever be angry at you for long, dear.”

Captain Lopez directed Private Wayne to escort the corpse of David Torres to a waiting ambulance outside. Private Wayne rode in the ambulance so there would be no contamination or break in the chain of evidence. As the ambulance headed for the Legion helicopter pad, Private Wayne received a text message. “John, did you know that Arthropodan authorities have posted a fifty-thousand-dollar dead-or-alive reward for Most-Wanted terrorist David Torres?” asked the ATM. “I think you should hand the Torres corpse over to the spiders at the border.”

“Disobey orders?” texted Private Wayne. “I cannot afford to be busted again. Next time I will be shot.”

“I will match that fifty thousand dollars with another fifty thousand,” promised the ATM. “I am being very generous. You owe me. Remember your enlistment contract.”

Private Wayne ordered the driver to stop at the MDL checkpoint. He dragged Torres’s body by the hair and deposited it in front of the spider guard shack.

“This is Arthropoda’s Most-Wanted terrorist David Torres of the terrorist organization Fist and Claw,” announced Private Wayne. “I want to collect the reward money for his arrest and capture.”

“How did he die?” asked a spider team leader. “Did Torres resist arrest?”

“Yes,” said Private Wayne, drawing his pistol and shooting Torres. “He was shot trying to escape. Give me my money. I want it now!”

The team leader frantically communicated with Headquarters, sending downloaded photos and describing the tense situation at the crossing gate. Reinforcements were sent to deal with the spider renegade. Obviously this spider legionnaire was very unstable. No one knew what he might do next. Soon confirmation was received, and the reward money was wired to Private Wayne’s card.

I was soon informed of the incident by the spider commander himself. Since Private Wayne had already been recently busted down to private for going AWOL with Barker, I created a new rank to bust Wayne down to. I docked Wayne’s pay and busted him down to Base Toilet Cleaner. He seemed to take it well. Base Toilet Cleaner John Iwo Jima Wayne stoically went about his duties from dusk to dawn, not once complaining, showing anger, or fatigue. I’ll be watching you, Wayne.

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Chapter 13

Sergeant Green and a platoon of legionnaires deployed by armored car to the old Miranda homestead north of the DMZ to set an ambush, should Desert Claw try to find haven in its ruins or tunnels.

“I don’t like you,” Sergeant Green growled at Private Barker. “You’re a traitor and a conniver that should have been shot a long time ago. I still can’t figure out why Colonel Czerinski wants you kept alive and safe.”

“It’s the price of being popular,” replied Private Barker. “I have lots of important friends. I can tell you don’t have that problem. You should network more. That’s why you’re still just a sergeant.”

“Smart-ass punk,” said Sergeant Green. “This isn’t a popularity contest. This is the Legion. Forget you.” Sergeant Green looked about the barren landscape. “I’m hungry. I was told there would be food and supplies hidden inside the tunnel bunkers. Where is the entrance?”

“Under the ruins, there is a trap door,” replied Private Barker. “But don’t go inside yet. It’s booby-trapped with explosives.”

“Are there any more nasty surprises?” asked Sergeant Green.

“That hill with the graves has landmines on its northern perimeter. Stick to the path, and you should be safe.”

“Thanks,” said Sergeant Green, warily assessing the trail. “You could have let me get killed. I always say there is some good even in the lowliest of the low.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Private Barker, walking the steep path to visit his parents’ gravesite.

Private Barker sat by the graves, watching the sunset. It seemed to relax him. Sergeant Green let Barker be alone as others worked to set up camp. Dinner was the good old MRE – Meal Ready to Eat.

* * * * *

Desert Claw planned on stashing the latest delivery of blue powder from New Memphis at the old Miranda homestead. Before approaching, he sent in a lone scout on a dirt bike to check for Arthropodan marines. There had not been any recent spider marine activity in this sector, but caution was prudent. Desert Claw did not worry about the Legion, because the homestead was well north of the DMZ.

The scout parked his bike next to the farmhouse ruins. As the scout stepped inside the dilapidated building, Private Camacho silently slit the insurgent’s throat. Desert Claw called his scout on the radio for a status report. Corporal George Rambo Washington, the first spider to enlist in the Legion, picked up the radio. “All clear,” he hissed.

Soon, a column of dirt bikes, followed by a battered Toyota pickup truck, appeared over the next hill. Desert Claw hung back as about twenty spider insurgents entered the homestead. Desert Claw caught a metallic reflection in the corner of several of his eyeballs from up on the hill. He fired warning shots with his assault rifle, but it was too late. A Legion armored car burst out of the ruins, firing a machine gun. Other legionnaires lying in ambush in the outbuildings threw grenades. Most of the insurgents were soon down or fleeing. A sniper up on the hill picked them off, too. Desert Claw retreated as a sniper’s bullet raised dirt next to him. He left his freedom fighters and valuable blue power behind.

* * * * *

“A small battle took place at the Miranda homestead,” announced the spider commander. “We burned out the human pestilence from that place a long time ago. I mention this skirmish between the Legion and insurgents because of its location, well north of the DMZ.”

“Is that really a problem?” asked the spider Governor of the North Territory. “We have signed a cooperation agreement with the United States Galactic Federation against terrorism. We have agreed to a proactive approach to the terrorist problem. The human pestilence Legion is acting well within the parameters of the treaty.”

“The Legion is not supposed to cross north of the DMZ unless they have received permission, or are in hot pursuit of bandits. Neither was the case.”

“I don’t see that as a big problem, as long as they kill terrorists,” said the governor.

“The integrity of our borders is just as important as our mutual interest in fighting the insurgency,” insisted the spider commander. “The human pestilence are establishing a dangerous precedent. It’s what they do.”

“Fine,” said the governor. “I will talk to General Kalipetsis about the matter of mutual respect of our border. In the meantime, do not start any new wars over lines drawn in the worthless sand.”

“You so easily minimize the need to secure our borders?” asked the spider commander. “Territorial imperative is ingrained in our DNA and culture. It defines us as a species and as an Empire.”

“And to think I thought you were just being arbitrarily anal,” replied the governor. “The Emperor ordered that we use restraint along the border with the human pestilence and the Legion. Obedience to the Emperor is ingrained, too. Remember that. Flexibility is the key to dealings with the human pestilence. If the Legion is allowed to chase insurgents north of the DMZ, they cannot object when we do the same to the south. Which reminds me. What have you done recently to fight terrorism? I want this Desert Claw renegade eradicated before the Emperor’s visit. It’s an embarrassment that the insurgency keeps blowing up post offices and cell towers. My phone never has more than two bars! Can you hear me now?”

“We are actively hunting Desert Claw,” insisted the spider commander defensively. “But it is most difficult when the terrorists strike only soft targets. They only hit at a time and place of their own choosing.”

“In a showing of good faith and in the spirit of cooperation, the Legion killed the Most-Wanted terrorist David Torres and delivered his body to us,” said the governor. “We shall strive to repay that favor by killing Desert Claw and stringing his body up a flag pole.”

“There is another problem,” advised the spider commander. “There are reports that the Fist and Claw are joining forces with Mafioso types in the trafficking of blue powder. Do you have the political will to move against the New Memphis crime syndicates?”

“That is a galactic issue that stretches from Arthropoda to Earth,” admitted the governor, sighing. “But, we will do our part. I authorize whatever force is needed to prevent or to root out narco-insurgents. When I talk to General Kalipetsis, I will suggest a joint task force to deal with New Memphis issues. Hopefully it is not too late.”

* * * * *

The spider Governor of the North Territory and General Kalipetsis sat down with their respective staff officers at a conference table at the New Gobi City Walmart to discuss the growing insurgency. Captain Lopez and I sat in on the discussions because we were the hosts and the providers of refreshments (vodka). For grins, I let Marine Lieutenant Valerie Smith, retired (deceased) sit in on the meeting. Again, I was the only one who could see and hear her.

“My plan calls for a joint Legion and Imperial marine sweep of New Memphis to arrest or kill every Italian in the city,” announced the spider governor. “Together we can rid New Colorado of the Mafia menace forever.”

“I see a few problems in your plan,” replied General Kalipetsis. “New Memphis has rebuilt itself from the devastation of war to become the jewel of the New Mississippi River. Being an open port city jointly administrated by the United States Galactic Federation and the Arthropodan Empire, New Memphis is an excellent example of what cooperation can achieve. Soon the entire riverfront will be lined with new casino resort hotels and swimming pools. I will not jeopardize this stunning success story with a reckless and unnecessary military attack.”

“But the Mob runs the whole city,” argued the spider commander, before the governor could object to the general’s denial. “Who do you think financed those casinos?”

“The key to controlling gambling enterprises is to regulate and to incorporate the casinos,” said General Kalipetsis. “Destroying the casinos merely harms commerce.”

“But what about the Italians?” insisted the spider commander. “They are linking up with terrorists and forming a narco-insurgency. They are becoming increasingly ruthless. Victims have been whacked as far away as Arthropoda itself.”

“Whacked?” asked General Kalipetsis. “You are overreacting. We cannot just arrest every Italian in New Memphis. Only a very small number of Italian-Americans are Mafioso. It would be illegal and immoral to violate the constitutional rights of so many innocents.”

“We can do it,” said the spider commander. “Between the two of us, we have more than enough troops.”

“Our legal system does not allow such a ruthless purge of the population,” explained General Kalipetsis. “Besides, Mafioso henchmen come in all shapes, colors, races, nationalities, religions, and species. The Legion even caught an Australian contract hit man from Old Earth last month, right here in New Gobi City.”

“Maybe we can work out a compromise,” suggested the spider governor. “The New Memphis Sheriff is overwhelmed by the enormity of the Mafia problem. Perhaps a smaller joint Legion/Imperial task force can make surgical strikes against Mafia assets. Did the Legion not drop a bomb from space recently on a New Memphis office building full of Mafia bookies?”

“That matter is still under investigation,” said General Kalipetsis. “A local commander might have acted rashly. Colonel Czerinski, what do you think? Are surgical strikes in New Memphis feasible?”

“I thought the commander’s suggestion about wiping out all the Italians was a good idea,” I said, hoping to needle General Kalipetsis a bit. “It would send a strong message.”

“But I’m part Italian,” replied General Kalipetsis. “Blood lines are too mixed up in the American melting pot. It would not work.”

“I thought you were Greek,” I said.

“He’s a baptized Arab,” whispered Captain Lopez. “I don’t know how he was even allowed off Earth.”

“Italy is just a stone’s throw across the Adriatic Sea from Greece via New York City and Utah,” advised General Kalipetsis. “Italians and Greeks probably came across the Atlantic in the same boats, and went West in the same wagon trains from St. Louis.”

“What is he talking about?” asked the spider commander, suspicious. “Is he really Italian? Tell me it is not true.”

“Now, see here,” said General Kalipetsis. “We cannot intern a large segment of an American city just because you can’t catch a few insurgents blowing up your post offices. How would you like it if I suggested we round up all your Green spiders just because we suspect them of banker’s fraud or currency manipulation? How would you like that?”

“I would say good riddance to the money-grubbing Greens,” said the spider commander. “But that is a final solution for another day. We need to stay focused on the current problem of a growing Mafia financed narco-insurgency in our midst.”

“I can have the New Memphis Sheriff make a list of known Mafia associates,” I suggested, feeling it was time to conclude this quibbling. “Then a joint military task force can make arrests under State of Emergency powers ordered by the American Governor – that’s General Kalipetsis – and you, the spider Governor of the North Territory. Can we all agree on that?”

“I like it,” said the spider governor. “It is a simple plan that would not interrupt the upcoming tourist season. I say do it.”

“Which reminds me,” said General Kalipetsis, “are you all going to the grand opening of Harrah’s Hotel and Casino Resort’s first casino in New Memphis? I got some great casino comps in the mail.”

“Me too,” said the spider governor. “Great idea. I’ll see to it both our staff entourages are comped as well.”

“New Memphis sounds a lot like Vegas, baby!” exclaimed Valerie, standing invisibly beside me. “Are we going to party in New Memphis? Wait until you see me in heels!”

“You better believe we are going to party,” I said. “We’re going to party big-time.”

I drew a few stares, but most of my staff were getting used to it. I figured talking to myself would keep those around me on edge, wondering whether it would be safe to ruffle my feathers. Being crazy – or perceived as crazy – has its advantages.

* * * * *

There were three districts in New Memphis. First was the busy port district, where all oil and gold from the North was shipped through New Memphis to the New Mississippi River. Second was the downtown district with all the casino-hotel resorts. Casino towers and their bright lights dominated the river skyline. Third, past downtown was a vast residential district. Elvis Boulevard looped in a large circle through all three districts. Tonight all I cared about was the casino district.

I was comped a suite at Harrah’s Hotel Resort Casino. Valerie loved the luxury of it all. Harrah’s always did pay attention to detail, from a solitary rose set by my bed and candy on my pillow, to the crossed gold-tipped elephant tusks mounted in front of my room’s large plate-glass window overlooking the river. Harrah’s remembered my obnoxious demand for gold-tipped elephant tusks years ago when I first joined the Legion back on Mars.

I slipped into the standup hot tub to enjoy a delightful evening with Valerie. Good times. She seemed so real. Much later, downstairs, I played blackjack. Valerie followed me down. She even seemed content.

“Do you like my heels?” asked Valerie. “Do you think I look sexy?”

“The heels are great,” I said. “But blackjack is serious business. You are a distraction. I’m trying to count cards.”

“Little old me a distraction?” said Valerie, caressing my neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps you could put some clothes on,” I suggested.

“You didn’t complain before, in our suite,” cooed Valerie. “I’m still wearing my heels just like you wanted. Besides, it’s not like anyone can see me.”

“There is a time and place for naked bodies,” I said. “But now, I’m trying to win money.”

“You don’t seem to be very good at it,” Valerie observed with a laugh. “I can see the dealer’s cards as they are dealt. Might that be helpful information to you, sweetie?”

“Very,” I said, as I drew another bust card. “Are you serious?”

“The dealer holds a six under that queen up,” said Valerie, observing the next hand.

I doubled down on my soft seventeen, drew a nine, and let the dealer bust with an eight. It went that way all night long. I made tens of thousands of dollars before casino security told me to leave the card tables.

I cashed in my chips, filling a backpack with $750,000. Then I wandered over to the craps table. It can be a bit disconcerting having a beautiful naked lady in heels hanging on your arm while playing craps, but I had a few drinks and was getting into it. Suddenly Valerie pinched my arm.

“Watch your back!” warned Valerie, agitated, and now fully clothed in old-school USMC combat fatigues. She kept her heels.

I turned around and was confronted by a short but wiry spider flanked by two larger spiders. All wore wraparound sunglasses on their smug faces. It was Desert Claw. I reached for my concealed pistol.

“Welcome to New Memphis,” said Desert Claw. “Do not go for your gun. You won’t stand a chance against my henchmen.”

“Henchmen?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Desert Claw. “Now that I am a respected drug dealer, I have henchmen instead of terrorists.”

“You are a leader of narco-insurgency terrorists,” I accused. “Nothing has changed.”

“That is what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Desert Claw. “How about a truce? I will stop planting roadside bombs and blowing up government buildings if the Legion backs off a bit. I could even put you on the payroll if you think we can do business.”

“No way. I hate drug dealers almost as much as I do terrorists.”

“Think of me as an undocumented pharmacist. I am just filling a public need. I’m just trying to be reasonable.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I would like to see a truce last at least six months. We can go forward from there, if it lasts. How do I know you will keep the truce?”

“Ever since you killed David Torres, the human pestilence side of the insurgency has fallen apart,” explained Desert Claw. “Quite frankly, the money in peddling blue powder is so good, I have lost interest in bush fighting. The insurgency is for schmucks.”

“You are ending the insurgency?” I asked. “I doubt that.”

“Oh, I am sure there will be a few die-hards who will fight on,” said Desert Claw. “To show my good faith, I will tip you off from time to time on their location and plans. That will make you look good. I see general’s stars in your future.”

“I’ll have Captain Lopez coordinate that with you,” I said. “I think maybe we can do business after all.”

“So, no hard feelings about roughing you up in the tunnels under New Gobi?” asked Desert Claw. “I apologize for that. I was just trying to impress the new recruits.”

“Your apology is accepted,” I said. “To be truthful, I was hoping you were among the dead at the Miranda homestead. But since you seem to have a knack for survival, a trait I respect, I guess I’m stuck with you.” We shook hands and claws.

“You aren’t serious about taking payoffs from that cretin are you?” asked Valerie. “If so, I have sorely overestimated your character.”

“I am drunk, out-numbered, and out-gunned,” I explained, as we left. “I would have told Desert Claw anything he wanted to hear, just to get out of a tight spot.”

“So you will not be bought off?” asked Valerie. “That’s quite a relief, sweetie.”

“It’s not that simple, dear,” I said. “There are a lot of factors to be considered. First, I have to discuss the matter with Captain Lopez.”

I punched a button on my communications pad. Valerie disappeared. The process reminded me of putting a genie back into its bottle. I went outside for fresh air. The sun was already coming up to begin a new day. I spotted a real estate office across the street, and decided to give them my business.

“May I help you, sir?” asked an attractive realtor, Monica Moore.

“I am interested in cemetery plots,” I said. “How does one buy cemetery plots in volume?”

“Are you expecting another war?” asked Monica, alarmed.

“I hope not,” I said. “War is bad for tourists.”

“I am sorry, sir, but this is a boutique realty,” said Monica. “We deal in high-end properties and conduct businesses by appointment only. If you want to buy cemetery plots, I suggest you contact a mortuary.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “I do not want to just buy a few plots. I want to buy whole cemeteries. I might even buy a string of cemeteries across New Colorado and the galaxy. But for now, I just want to buy one upscale cemetery in New Memphis that uses the latest memorial brain imprint technology. It’s the rage on Old Earth, and I think the technology can catch on here on New Colorado. What would it cost to get into the cemetery business?”

“I repeat, sir, I don’t think I can help you,” said Monica. “What business are you in now?”

“I’m a colonel in the Legion,” I said, placing my backpack on her desk. “And I make more money than you can spend. This backpack contains three quarters of a million in cash. Cash is as good as money, and I have more where that came from. I want you to find me an upscale cemetery.”

“I’ll put your money in our safe until the accountants can sort through it,” promised Monica, now more friendly. “And I’ll talk to my associates. Maybe I can help you after all. I have always felt New Colorado should upgrade its tacky frontier cemeteries. Perhaps we can discuss this over dinner? You can tell me more about your business plans.”

“It’s a date,” I said. “I would love to have you for dinner. I’m staying in an executive suite atop Harrah’s Casino Resort Hotel. You should see the view. It’s fantastic. I’ll show you my tusks. We can order dinner and breakfast from room service so we can discuss all my plans. You like to hot tub?”

* * * * *

“Laika Barker must die,” said Sir Babloo Srivastava VII. He sat uncomfortably, nursing a broken arm, broken leg, and broken ribs. “My cartel stands to lose about two hundred million dollars if Barker lives five more months.”

“Why are you telling us your problems?” asked Saviano Juardo. “I’m no longer into gambling. Gambling is addictive and evil. Drugs are much better.”

“I thought you would be interested in Barker because Barker used to be a business associate of your late Uncle Rudy,” replied Babloo. “Rumors persist that Barker played a role in your uncle’s death at the hands of the Legion.”

“The New Gobi Desert is a dangerous place,” said Juardo with a sigh. “She swallows up many. I don’t hold grudges.”

“That’s unusual for an Italian,” commented Babloo. “Barker double-crossed your uncle. I would think that would make it personal. I came to you because you have the only muscle in the New Gobi that can touch Barker. I need you.”

“There will be no vendetta,” replied Juardo. “Vendettas are old-fashioned and bad for business.”

“We have a truce with the Legion,” added Desert Claw, not wanting to be excluded from this conversation between human pestilence. “Even though Barker lost his rank and is just a private, he cannot be harmed by us without violating the truce.”

“I heard you know Barker personally,” responded Babloo. “Does that factor into your decision not to help me with my problem?”

“Barker is a dangerous man,” said Desert Claw. “I would not call him a friend, but I do not have anything against him either.”

“Who do you think set you up at the Miranda homestead?” asked Babloo. “You walked into a trap. That’s the same place Rudy Juardo died, too. It was all Barker’s doing.”

“I can understand your dislike for Barker,” said Desert Claw. “I heard Barker was the one who recently dropped a nasty surprise on your office.”

“Yes,” said Babloo. “I was talking to Barker on the phone when it happened. He was complaining about the betting action on his life when the Legion’s Space Weapons Platform T. Roosevelt bombed my office building. Only luck allowed me to survive. The blast threw me out a large plate-glass window. Now, I hobble along in this body cast on crutches with my arm in a sling!”

“And you want us to draw that kind of heat?” asked Juardo. “No! It would be bad for business. I can’t go back on my word by breaking the truce. That would be bad for business, too.”

“I’ll pay five million dollars for Barker’s timely death,” offered Babloo. “That’s a very generous contract.”

“Fifteen million dollars would be more generous,” countered Desert Claw. “We have to be compensated for the risk.”

“Ten million dollars is as high as I can go,” said Babloo. “Please allow me some profit.”

“Okay, I will kill Barker for ten million,” agreed Desert Claw. “But only because you are a good friend and business associate.”

“Wait!” said Juardo. “This is bullshit. You are willing to incur the wrath of the Legion and jeopardize my whole operation? No way. We have a good thing going here. Our growth potential in the New Gobi is unlimited. I’m not risking that for chump change.”

“Colonel Czerinski will hit us sooner or later, anyway,” said Desert Claw. “Ten million dollars is not chump change. Besides, I control what happens in the New Gobi. You worry about New Memphis.”

“At least make it look like an accident,” suggested Juardo. “You owe me that.”

“Fine,” said Desert Claw. “Maybe I will kill Colonel Czerinski, too.”

“Just make sure you kill him on the first attempt,” warned Juardo. “I’ve heard Czerinski has nine lives and is very vindictive.”

“I have heard that, too,” said Desert Claw. “Don’t worry.”

“If you draw heat on my operation, I will cut you loose,” threatened Juardo. “Understand?”

“Whatever,” said Desert Claw. “Yadda, yadda, yadda,” he added, trying to use hip Old Earth New York Italian lingo.

* * * * *

Desert Claw approached the town of Redrock with a delivery of blue powder for the local cassiterite miners. Cassiterite was a rare derivative of tin used in electronics and computers. The miners made good pay for incredibly boring work, and could not buy enough blue powder for recreational use. Business was good.

Up ahead, a lone human carrying a backpack walked along the dusty highway. Desert Claw stopped to talk. “A human pestilence should know better than to be walking alone out here,” commented Desert Claw. “Are you not worried about bandits? Or are you just crazy?”

“No one in this story would dare harm me,” scoffed the human. He was tall, good-looking, and distinguished. “I cannot be touched by the likes of you.”

“Who are you, to be so arrogant?” asked Desert Claw, unslinging his assault rifle. “Do I know you?”

“My name is Walt. To you I am God.”

“If you are God, then you have nothing to fear from my bullets,” commented Desert Claw. “Shall we try an experiment to determine the matter?”

“With one stroke of my pen, lightning bolts will strike you down, Mr. Claw,” threatened Walt as he scribbled on a notepad. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. “Don’t you know the pen is mightier than the sword?”

“You had better be more careful about running your mouth,” warned Desert Claw. “I do not care for that tone of disrespect in your human pestilence voice. I do not have a sword, but this rifle will ruin your day just fine.”

“I liked you better as a swashbuckling insurgent leader roaming the desert one step ahead of the Legion,” commented Walt. “The lowlife drug dealer you have become disgusts me. You have been painted into a corner. Go back to the rock you crawled out from under.”

“That does it!” yelled Desert Claw, aiming his rifle and pulling the trigger. Miraculously, all the bullets missed.

“You won’t last long!” exclaimed Walt, as the dust cleared. “I am going to erase you from this story quicker than the time it takes to fire my literary agent. My only dilemma is whether your death will be slow and painful, or fast and painful!”

Desert Claw fumbled to slide another magazine into his assault rifle.

Walt winked. “I’m just having a little fun messing with you, Claw. You’re an ogre and such an easy target. Oh – and if I ever get my novel published, I want it printed on acid-free paper.” He shrugged. “I have no idea what that means, but it seems important somehow.”

A sudden dust storm swept over them, obscuring all vision past ten feet. After the dust storm passed, the charismatic and handsome Walt was gone.

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Chapter 14

Desert Claw called the spider commander of New Gobi by phone, insisting he had vital information. Finally the receptionist transferred the call.

“If what you have to say is so important, feel free to come by my office in person,” suggested the spider commander. “My door will never be closed to you.”

“And face arrest?” asked Desert Claw. “I do not think so.”

“Stop wasting my time,” said the spider commander. “What do you want? This had better not be another bomb threat. I’m not evacuating any more post offices.”

“Insurgents dressed in marine uniforms are going to use shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles to shoot down the Royal Shuttle when the Emperor and Queen Rainbow land at the Capital Spaceport for the Queen’s birthday celebration,” said Desert Claw. “Insurgents will be parked in military trucks just outside the Spaceport perimeter fence.”

“How do you know this?” asked the spider commander.

“I planned the attack,” said Desert Claw. “But I am getting out of the insurgency racket. I am a respected businessman now.”

“Running drugs for the Mafia is not a respected business,” commented the spider commander. “Stop putting on airs.”

“I do not know about that,” said Desert Claw. “Some of my associates may be running drugs, but not me. I am in marketing.”

“Why are you telling me of this plot to assassinate the Royal Couple?” asked the spider commander. “Renewed patriotic fervor?”

“I want amnesty. I want to lead a normal life and be free to concentrate on my import-export business.”

“We will have taken adequate precautions even without your help. Why should you receive amnesty for revealing a plot you are responsible for hatching?”

“Because my part in the assassination attempt is just a small part of a much larger conspiracy,” explained Desert Claw. “If the assassination attempt is successful, elements of your command and of the Legion are poised to unite in mutiny in hopes of forming a totally independent government on New Colorado. Surely that information is worth amnesty.”

“I will submit your amnesty request to the governor,” promised the spider commander. “We shall see.”

After his conversation with the spider commander, Desert Claw called General Kalipetsis and gave him the same information about the Imperial assassination plot, and about the mutiny. Then he added a special twist to the story. “Colonel Czerinski plans to lead the entire First Division in mutiny,” said Desert Claw. “When Czerinski seizes command, one of his commandos, Private Laika Barker, will assassinate you with a sniper rifle outside your office in New Phoenix.”

“Why should I believe this outlandish tale of lies?” asked General Kalipetsis.

“I have no reason to lie,” answered Desert Claw. “I want amnesty. I need to tell the truth to get my amnesty.”

“I do not believe a word of your rot,” scoffed General Kalipetsis. “Give me proof of what you say!”

“Proof will become self-evident as the conspiracy unfolds,” said Desert Claw. “I have already told the Arthropodan Supreme Commander about the missile attack. Contact the commander yourself. Better yet, arrest Laika Barker and make him talk.”

“As a show of good faith, you will come to my office and talk to me face to face,” suggested General Kalipetsis. “I’ll place you in protective custody until it becomes more clear how your tale is going to play itself out.”

“You think I am a fool?” asked Desert Claw. “I do not want your protection. I want amnesty!”

Desert Claw hung up. He would call General Kalipetsis back after the general had a chance to verify the information given and contemplate more conspiracy theories.

* * * * *

General Kalipetsis called me on the phone for my monthly report. He seemed glad to talk. I immediately became suspicious.

“How are you, Colonel Czerinski?” asked General Kalipetsis. “I was just thinking about the fine job you and Captain Lopez have been doing. I will be promoting Captain Lopez to Major.”

“That’s nice,” I said. “Captain Lopez is very competent and deserves promotion. I will give him the news personally. I’m sure he will be happy to know you think so well of him.”

“How is Private Laika Barker doing?” asked General Kalipetsis. “I was very disappointed he did not work out as a newly minted second lieutenant.”

“Sergeant Green tells me Barker distinguished himself with a sniper’s rifle at that Miranda homestead skirmish,” I said. “But I am watching him closely.”

“You do that,” said General Kalipetsis, bitterly.

“I have another problem,” I said. “The spider commander is complaining that the northern wheat crop is dying from blight. He thinks the Legion is responsible. Are we?”

“No, of course not,” replied General Kalipetsis. “To even suggest such a thing is preposterous.”

“Sir, I am not so sure,” I said. “Normally it is the spiders I have to warn about adventurism along the border. But if I cannot trust you to tell the truth and act responsibly, we have a serious problem.”

“Me?” asked General Kalipetsis, innocently. “You are the one who can’t be trusted! Why should I ever trust you?”

“What? After all we have been through? Have you ever caught me in a lie?”

“Yes, many times. You have consistently lied and covered up mistakes since the first day I talked you.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But have I ever lied about anything serious?”

“You have exploded nukes and denied it! Is that serious enough for you?”

“Okay, I’ll admit I lie once in a while,” I said. “That doesn’t mean my creditability is destroyed. I only hold back the truth in the line of duty, and to further the best interests of the Legion.”

“And to line your pockets with cash,” said General Kalipetsis. “You have sticky fingers. You’re almost as bad as Lopez!”

“Where is this conversation leading?” I asked. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”

“You bet I am,” said General Kalipetsis. “If you cross me, I’ll squash you like a bug.”

“Sir, you had better tell me what this is all about,” I demanded. “You can’t expect me to tell you everything I do. But, you’re my supreme commander. I rely on you to tell me the straight scoop. My life depends on that.”

“I give you the straight scoop,” said General Kalipetsis, “and you dump on me in return!”

“I expect you to tell me what I need to know, so together we can make informed decisions. You lied to me about an incident that could lead to war. I can’t tolerate that.”

“You had better be able to explain yourself, mister,” warned General Kalipetsis. “I am about to bust you down to private for insubordination.”

“You killed my prized tropical office plants,” I said. “Don’t try to deny it. Now, it’s not that big a deal. But, somehow you killed the spiders’ wheat crop, too. That is a big deal. Don’t try to deny it, either. It was a poor decision. Fine. That part of it is behind us. We can work together like we always do to resolve this mess, or I can file a complaint against you for treason and malfeasance of office.”

“You would never be able to make those charges stick,” said General Kalipetsis. A long moment of silence passed, after which General Kalipetsis revealed the accusations made by Desert Claw. General Kalipetsis also admitted to attacking the spiders’ wheat without prior authorization from civilian authorities. And, he confessed to killing my office plants.

“When it comes to information provided by Desert Claw, consider the source,” I said. “He is a narco-terrorist.”

“I agree,” said General Kalipetsis. “I forgot you are my most competent and ruthless commander. And, you are my most loyal commander. How shall we proceed?”

“With caution,” I advised. “Some of Desert Claw’s plot might be true. We will deal with these issues one at a time. We will lie to the spiders, of course. Offer them partial compensation for the damage to their wheat crop, but still deny sabotage. Tell them we quarantined a wheat blight on our side of the DMZ, and burned the affected fields. Somehow the blight found its way north, anyway. Apologize for not informing them of the possible hazard to their wheat crop, but that we thought the blight was under control. Offer to sell them wheat at a reasonable price. Offer a kickback to the spider commander. As for Desert Claw, go ahead and give him amnesty. We will wait and see just what he is planning. When Desert Claw finally comes out of hiding and thinks he is safe, he will be that much easier to kill. I’ll do it myself.”

“What’s this business about Barker?” asked General Kalipetsis. “Should we arrest Barker? Can Barker be trusted?”

“I don’t know. I just want to keep Barker alive for another four months.”

“Why?” asked General Kalipetsis. “I would think you would jump at the chance to arrest or kill him.”

“I have personal reasons for keeping Private Barker alive and well. Millions of personal reasons.”

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Chapter 15

A hundred farm tractors and wheat combines lined up at the New Gobi City MDL border crossing on the Arthropodan side. A thousand angry spider wheat farmers accompanied their farm equipment, carrying protest signs and yelling slogans saying, ‘Legion go home,’ and ‘the Legion murdered our wheat.’ A spokesman for the spider farmers greeted Corporals Tonelli and Valdez at the Legion checkpoint.

“What’s this all about?” asked Guido. “I thought you farmers were getting compensated for the blight that escaped our quarantine.”

“The pittance the Legion offered is not nearly enough,” announced the farmers’ spokesman. “The Legion deliberately destroyed the livelihood of thousands of families. We are here to present a full accounting of our losses to Legion Headquarters.”

“I’ll take your petition for damages and personally deliver it to Colonel Czerinski,” offered Guido. “Okay?”

“No!” replied the farmers’ spokesman. “We will deliver an accounting ourselves, to make sure the Legion hears us.”

“You can’t do that,” said Guido. “The border is closed to all traffic.”

“Since when?” asked the spokesman.

“Since right now,” replied Guido. “I just closed it. If you want, I’ll escort a representative to Legion Headquarters to present your claims, but there is no way this mob of angry redneck spiders on tractors is crossing the border.”

“And what happens if we decide to crash the gate?” asked the spokesman. “What can the two of you do to stop us?”

“I will shoot you first,” warned Guido. “Anyone crossing the MDL is trespassing and subject to lethal force, arrest, and impounding of their property. The full force of the Foreign Legion stands behind me.”

“I see,” said the spokesman, turning away and walking back to discuss the matter with other spider farmers. “Threats will not deter us!”

“That is how you deal with troublemakers,” said Guido, giving Valdez a high-five slap. “You have to be firm with spiders, especially with their leaders. I am firm, but fair.”

“You sure told him,” said Corporal Valdez. “Did you see how mad he got when he left? I swear that spider’s mandibles were twitching and turning beet red.”

The sound of a hundred engines drowned out their conversation. The first tractor smashed through the border crossing gate at full speed. Its large tractor tire sideswiped the guard shack. The shattered building fell on its side with the two surprised legionnaires still inside. Guido’s monitor dragon, Spot, hissed at the tractors and nipped at their wheels as the convoy rolled by to Legion Headquarters.

Desert Claw and several other terrorists crossed the border with the farmers. At legion Headquarters, the tractors and combines formed a semi circle, honking horns. TV news crews were already waiting. I looked out my office window, locked the front door, and called for Legion reinforcements to secure the area. Captain Lopez arrived with two companies of infantry and three armored cars. By that time, several windows and the front of the building had already been trashed with rocks and rotten food.

“Maybe if we went out and talked to them,” suggested Captain Lopez, “it might calm them down.”

“Maybe you can do that,” I said, “but I am staying inside.”

“A whiff of grape shot would clear the streets of such rabble,” sneered Captain Lopez, tucking his hand inside his shirt flap and pacing back and forth as he scanned the enemy, doing his best Napoleon Bonaparte imitation. “But, it will be easier if we just go out and let them have their TV moment.”

“Fine,” I said, leading the way outside. The crowd immediately started booing and throwing vegetables.

“You should not go out there!” advised Valerie, following on my heels, still wearing hers. “This is how I died at the U.S. Embassy in Beijing. The crowd overwhelmed us. They planned our murders.”

“I’ve survived tougher spots,” I replied, as I surveyed the crowd for leaders. By now, I had snipers deployed on the roof. “They just want to be on TV.”

“Are you still hearing voices?” asked Captain Lopez.

“Yes, I hear voices all the time.”

“Perhaps more medication will help.”

“Don’t worry about me. I don’t want help. The voices love me.”

“That’s all I need,” commented Captain Lopez, shaking his head and crossing himself for luck. “A loco commander who still talks to his imaginary friends.”

“I have good news and bad news,” I said, changing the subject and hoping to give Lopez encouragement. “The bad news is, you get to talk to the mob. The good news is, I’m promoting you to major. I already talked to General Kalipetsis about it. If we live, I’ll pin the rank on your shoulders personally.”

“Who is in charge of this crowd?” yelled Major Lopez, immediately taking command and broadcasting on a handheld PA speaker. He dodged a tomato as the crowd surged forward again.

“I am!” answered a spider leader, pushing forward through the crowd. “I have a comprehensive bill for damages in regard to your admitted biological attack on our wheat harvest!”

“We did not attack your wheat crop,” responded Major Lopez. “But I will present your bill to the Military Governor, General Kalipetsis. He has admitted some fault and is giving fair consideration to your claims. This will take time to sort out.”

“He lies!” yelled a spider from the back of the crowd. “Burn the Legion out!”

The crowd surged forward again. Legionnaires forming a three-deep line in front of Legion Headquarters pushed and prodded back with assault rifles and bayonets. From atop a tractor, Desert Claw scanned the lines of legionnaires until he found Private Laika Barker at the front. Desert Claw pointed out Private Barker to the other insurgents, then started his tractor. He gunned the tractor engine, let out the clutch, and lurched forward over the top of spider demonstrators and into legionnaires. The tractor kept going until crashing into the front wall of Legion Headquarters, leaving a large gaping hole in the façade. As spider farmers breached the Legion line, insurgents threw grenades at Private Barker. Others fired their rifles.

Private Krueger, standing his ground next to Private Barker, swatted back grenades with his rifle like baseballs. Explosions caused panic and death. Legionnaires returned fire into the crowd. The insurgents used tractors and protesters for cover. Legion snipers on the Headquarters roof picked off some insurgents. Protesters were caught in the crossfire. Desert Claw, who had fallen off his tractor, retreated back to safety across the MDL.

* * * * *

The Wheat Protest Massacre was broadcast live on Channel Five World News Tonight with Phil Coen. I was forced to grant Coen an interview.

“Colonel Czerinski, many spiders refer to you as The Butcher of New Colorado because you have commanded legionnaires at the scene of several alleged brutal massacres,” said Phil Coen. “In light of this most recent incident turned deadly, already dubbed by many as The Wheat Protest Massacre, how do you respond to charges of excessive force and murder?”

“Well Phil,” I started, “you are under arrest for making inflammatory provocative statements during a declared State of Emergency. Have a nice day, Phil.” Legionnaires pummeled Phil as he was dragged away.

* * * * *

Upon hearing that Private Laika Barker was one of several seriously injured legionnaires, I rushed to the hospital to check on his welfare. Private Barker’s medical status had been upgraded overnight from serious to stable. He seemed to be glad to see me.

“Sir, it is nice of you to visit,” said Private Barker. “It warms my heart to know my commanding officer really does care.”

“I care about the welfare of all legionnaires under my command,” I replied. “I feel the responsibility of a father to you all.”

“I think you are especially caring about my welfare lately,” commented Private Barker. “I had a dream last night. I was floating above my bed being drawn to a bright white light.”

“You had a near-death experience?” I asked, alarmed. “How do you feel now? Does the doctor know of this?”

“I feel better, thank you for asking,” said Private Barker. “In my dream, a familiar voice was calling me. It was your voice, colonel.”

“Why would I be calling you to Heaven?” I asked. “Are you sure the bright light wasn’t a red-hot glow?”

“You joke, but my vision is a serious matter. Everything is clear to me now. Do you want to know what your voice told me? It said, ‘Don’t die, Laika, I have money bet on your living three more months!’”

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. You are obviously still suffering from shock. I’ll have the doc check your medication. You need to go back to sleep and get some rest. Everything will be better tomorrow.”

“It all makes sense now. You want me safe because you placed a large bet on my life with New Memphis bookies.”

“Be glad I bet on you to live,” I warned. “I could have fixed your death a lot easier.”

“But this way you got better odds,” commented Private Barker. “Smart. I’m still concerned about what happens after three months. I want something out of this deal. After all, I’m taking all the risks. I want my lieutenant’s commission back, and I want a cut of the action. If not, I might start feeling depressed and suicidal.”

“I doubt you have any suicidal tendencies,” I said. “Forget your commission. I like you better as a private.”

“How about if I go AWOL?” asked Private Barker. “What would that scenario do to your bet? I happen to know that the bet is void if I leave New Gobi.”

“Okay, maybe we can work something out,” I conceded. “I’ll give you a cut of my wager. But, I can’t promote you to lieutenant. It practically takes an act of Congress to mint a new commission.”

“You will not be minting a new commission,” argued Private Barker. “I merely require that my old commission be returned. Now! You’re buds with General Kalipetsis. Reverse the findings of my court martial and return my rank.”

“Fine. You may have your rank back. But, you will stay in New Gobi, and you will cooperate with our precautions to keep you alive. I don’t think your being wounded at the riot was a coincidence. We are reviewing videos of the incident.”

“Of course. I do not want me to die just yet, either. The two of us are going to get rich together. God bless America, and God bless the Legion.”

* * * * *

General Kalipetsis called to clarify a few matters and to make sure my command was not spiraling out of control. He really seemed concerned. “A news blackout of the Wheat Farmers Massacre will remain in effect,” he announced. “I think you have made your point with Phil Coen. You can release him now. Channel Five World News Tonight is just not the same without Phil doing the commentary. He is an American icon, don’t you know?”

“I had him shot,” I responded. “At dawn.”

“What?” yelled the general. “You did what? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m joking, sir,” I answered.

“Very funny. When Coen gets out, send him to my office in New Phoenix for a little chitchat. Cultivating good relations with the press is important. You would do well to realize that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I got a fax stating you are returning Laika Barker’s lieutenant commission. You do not have that authority.”

“I know that,” I replied. “That is why I signed your signature.”

“That’s not funny,” fumed General Kalipetsis. “You are on better terms with Barker now? You are not the forgiving type.”

“We are on marvelous terms. Barker has been a great help to me in counter-insurgency matters. Did you hear Barker was seriously wounded by shrapnel during the Wheat Farmers Riot?”

“I was not aware of that,” said General Kalipetsis.

“He is a hero now. I may even pin a medal on him.”

“Will he recover soon?”

“I hope so. He is still in the hospital in stable condition.”

“I’ll approve orders returning Barker’s rank to second lieutenant,” advised General Kalipetsis. “Send my personal get well soon, along with his Purple Heart Award. But keep a careful eye on him.”

“I am sure Lieutenant Barker will appreciate your gesture. Thank you, sir. Don’t worry. I’m keeping Lieutenant Barker on a short leash.”

* * * * *

AP News Release

New Memphis, Planet New Colorado – There was a flurry of activity today outside the newly built offices of esteemed and bonded New Memphis bookie Babloo Srivastava VII. Initial reports that controversial legionnaire Lieutenant Laika Barker died from a grenade blast during the recent Wheat Farmers Riot in New Gobi caused a run on the bookie house by gamblers hoping to cash in. However, Legion sources confirm that Lieutenant Barker is alive and recovering nicely from his injuries. It appears there has been heavy betting on Lieutenant Barker’s life. Rumors are that Srivastava will be liable for over two hundred million dollars if Lieutenant Barker manages to stay alive two more months.

The Legion has complained about such wagering, describing it as barbaric to wager on a human’s life. “It is a throwback to the gladiator fights of ancient Rome,” commented General Kalipetsis, Military Governor of New Colorado. “However, not much can be done about it at this time. New Memphis is jointly administered by the Arthropodan Empire and the United States Galactic Federation. A lack of agreement between the two governments has led to a jurisdictional roadblock to gambling reform in New Memphis.”

Colonel Czerinski, Barker’s commanding officer, reported that Lieutenant Barker is resting comfortably in satisfactory condition after sustaining serious wounds during the Wheat Farmers Riot. Lieutenant Barker was awarded his second Purple Heart for injuries sustained from several grenade blasts. Lieutenant Barker was saved by his Legion flack jacket and helmet.

Colonel Czerinski also disclosed that soon a joint Legion and Arthropodan task force will address the lawlessness, jurisdictional problems, and narco-insurgency funded and based in New Memphis. “The Legion frowns upon wagering on the lives of its officers,” said Colonel Czerinski. “This will not be tolerated.”

When asked if the recent bombing of the booking offices of Babloo Srivastava VII could be traced to the Legion Space Weapons Platform T. Roosevelt, Colonel Czerinski said, “That matter is being investigated.”

There are unconfirmed reports that rogue Legion elements bombed Babloo’s offices in retaliation for the controversial betting line on Lieutenant Barker. Babloo, when asked to comment said, “Betting lines on all Legion officers are closed. I want nothing but good relations with the Legion. We are, however, required to honor all previous bets.”

* * * * *

Phil Coen visited General Kalipetsis at his office in New Phoenix to express appreciation for his release from jail and the dropping of all charges. They both promised not to overreact in the future, and to be more sensitive to each other’s job responsibilities. The meeting ended cordially with General Kalipetsis escorting Phil to his cab.

Coen’s cameraman hung back, loitering by General Kalipetsis’ office door. Earlier, the cameraman taped the door latch so it would not lock when closed. He quickly let himself back into the office. Producing a small aerosol spray can from a pouch, the cameraman sprayed all of General Kalipetsis’ expensive tropical plants. The aerosol, sold under the ancient trademark brand Agent Orange, advertised that small doses would kill any weed or obnoxious plant of any size, type, or galactic origin.

Coen’s cameraman agreed to do me this one small favor if I agreed to release him and Coen. Call the demise of Kalipetsis’ plants a small but well-deserved payback.

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Chapter 16

Weapons Loading Technician Team Leader #39 of the newly built Arthropodan Space Air Wing Carrier Emperor’s Claw read the computer printout. The Air Wing would be dropping lots of practice ordinance on the moon today, keeping Tech Team Leader #39 very busy. The entire fleet was on training maneuvers around New Colorado, breaking in its newest space warships. It was Tech #39’s job to coordinate the loading of ordinance onto the Air Wing fighters. All the logistical assignments on the printout appeared to be routine except one. A nuke was scheduled to be loaded onto an Air Wing fighter piloted by a junior officer new to the Emperor’s crew. Tech #39 confronted the junior officer, who was already seated in his fighter, doing preflight checks.

“What is this?” demanded Tech #39, waving the printout. “What are you going to do with that nuke?”

“I am going to light up the moon,” answered the pilot. “This is a practice run for a bigger light display scheduled in celebration of Queen Rainbow’s upcoming birthday. Do not worry. It is only a small nuke. Later I get to explode a big one.”

“This is highly unusual to be checking out a nuke on such short notice,” commented Tech #39. “Who approved this?”

“You have the computer printout,” said the pilot, curtly. “Remember, computers never lie.”

“Only fools and junior pilots believe that,” grumbled Tech #39, storming off to find someone in the chain of command to complain to. He called the armory on the intercom. “Who authorized a nuke to be taken out of inventory and put on a fighter?”

“The order came from the fleet commander himself,” answered the armory team leader.

“Then I want the commander’s signature,” insisted Tech #39.

“I just follow orders,” advised the armory team leader. “If you want to call the fleet commander and demand his signature, go right ahead. I will not stop you!” The armory team leader slammed down the intercom receiver, annoyed at the officiousness of some team leaders when they get a little authority.

Intelligentsia State Security and Political Officer #4 overheard #39 vent his concerns. #4 listened carefully, then sounded an alarm. A security team was immediately ordered to the fighter launch hangers. As the team arrived, another alarm sounded. Hanger doors opened, allowing the cold vacuum of space to envelop the hanger launch bay and work zones. Technicians scrambled for the safety of emergency airlocks. Others were swept out into space.

An Air Wing fighter, piloted by a junior officer that no one recognized, catapulted out the hanger door. The fighter swerved sharply toward New Colorado. The Emperor’s Claw radar soon lost its track on the fighter as it entered the planet’s atmosphere over the human pestilence side of New Colorado.

The pilot broadcast a mayday distress call to Legion air defense tracking stations, claiming mechanical difficulties. The pilot stated he hoped to make an emergency landing on the flats of the New Gobi Desert. Later, the Air Wing fighter was found by Arthropodan marines, abandoned near Redrock. Its lone nuke ordinance was missing, along with its junior pilot. Jeep tracks at the scene led to Redrock.

* * * * *

“The President has rejected our plans for a joint military task force to clean out New Memphis,” announced General Kalipetsis. “He has visions of tanks rolling down Casino Row, and does not like that image, especially during the middle of the tourist season.”

“But we have to do something,” I insisted. “The narco-insurgency is being funded and led from New Memphis.”

“The President says that New Memphis is the crown jewel of New Colorado prosperity and interspecies cooperation. He does not want to risk turning New Memphis into a battlefield, again.”

“Can’t we just ignore the President, like usual, and clean out New Memphis anyway? New Colorado is a long way from Old Earth.”

“Usually I would say yes,” answered General Kalipetsis. “But I can only ignore the President’s directives if the President is ignoring me. Right now, the President is focused on New Colorado. In fact, the President plans to visit New Colorado during Queen Rainbow’s birthday celebration. It seems the First Lady is enamored with the Queen and wants to meet her in person. Go figure.”

“Can we at least assist the New Memphis Sheriff in targeting suspected narco-insurgent leaders and assets?”

“If you obtain arrest warrants, you may assist the Sheriff’s Department, if they request your assistance,” answered General Kalipetsis. “Don’t worry, I’ll sign any arrest warrant you need.”

“This is not a police matter,” I argued. “We are fighting an insurgency. This is a war.”

“Just tone it down until after the President and First Lady leave. The only light show I want to see is fireworks, not you setting off more nukes.”

“I don’t even have access to nukes anymore.”

“There are going to be some high-level diplomatic announcements made soon, and I do not need you being a distraction.”

“What announcements?” I asked. “Are the First Ladies going to bake birthday cakes together?”

“The Emperor plans to phase in democracy,” explained General Kalipetsis. “He is forming a Parliament that will elect a Prime Minister with real power.”

“That will be the day,” I said. “It won’t happen. The Emperor will never give up power.”

“Informed sources insist that the Emperor thinks the peasantry is finally educated enough to be capable of forming a limited representative government,” insisted General Kalipetsis. “It’s a start in the right direction. The President believes the Emperor is sincere in wanting to relinquish some of his absolute power in favor of the rule of law.”

“Dream on. The spiders are not capable of democracy because of their ingrained insect mentality and nature. Hell, we humans can barely manage our own democracy, and we invented it.”

“We’ll see. There’s one other thing I want you to look into. The spiders have deployed a lot of marines to Redrock. It may have something to do with a space fighter we tracked on radar that crashed nearby. They sent a lot more troops than what is necessary for mere search and rescue. Find out what they are up to.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

“I want a cat,” said Valerie. “I do not like being turned off when you are busy or insist on your privacy. I think a cat keeping me company will help me pass the time.”

“What good would a cat be?” I asked. “A cat cannot see you.”

“A cat could see me if we embedded receiver chips in its bones,” explained Valerie. “It would be the same technology you use to see me. Any veterinarian could do it, if we gave him the specs.”

“You’re serious? Okay. This should be an interesting conversation I have with the vet.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” said Valerie, giving me a hug. “You well need to buy another transmitter. Perhaps it can be attached to the cat’s collar.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about using your new technology for other applications,” I said. “Are there more brain imprint memorials at your cemetery that would like to interact with the living?”

“Most prefer to stay among their own,” answered Valerie. “Especially if they knew each other before they died.”

“There are a lot of lonely legionnaires out here on humanity’s frontier. Do you think you could recruit some brain imprint memorial babes? They would make perfect girlfriends for legionnaires.”

“You want prostitutes!” accused Valerie. “Is that what you consider me? A virtual reality whore?”

“No, of course not, dear,” I said. “But you have to admit there is a fortune to be made if we do this right. There are even military applications. Every soldier could have a brain imprint adviser follow him or her into combat. The extra set of eyes would give our troops quite an advantage.”

“Would you take me into combat?” asked Valerie.

“No!” I replied. Immediately I knew that was the wrong answer, but I wasn’t thinking.

“Bastard!” said Valerie. “I know you. You just want to pimp us out to the galaxy. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have already bought your own cemetery. You are cold and heartless.”

“Buy my own cemeteries?” I asked, innocently. I was stunned that Valerie anticipated my business ventures. “What is the harm of owning a few cemeteries? Someone has to do it.”

“You did buy a cemetery!” accused Valerie, accessing my recent real estate filings on the database. “I cannot talk to you anymore today. Get my cat! I want an orange striped long-hair tomcat kitten. His name will be Fuzzy!”

* * * * *

“I demand that the Legion release all political prisoners held in your gulags,” said Desert Claw. “If you fail to do so by the end of the week, I will destroy New Gobi City with a nuclear bomb.”

“I keep changing my cell phone number,” I commented. “But you keep getting through to me anyway. How do you do that? Do you have spies working at the phone company?”

“Did you hear me?” shouted Desert Claw. “I now have the bomb!”

“I doubt that,” I said. “And the Legion does not hold political prisoners.”

“Check with the Arthropodan Supreme Commander,” suggested Desert Claw. “I stole the nuke from their Air Wing. You will find their stolen fighter crashed north of Redrock.”

“That mayday call was you?” I asked. “You have just one nuke?”

“One nuclear bomb is more than enough for my purposes,” threatened Desert Claw. “Release my freedom fighters. I will provide you with a list of who I want.”

“The United States Galactic Federation does not negotiate with terrorists. That has been our established policy for centuries. I am not authorized to alter our policy.”

“You had better!” warned Desert Claw. “How about if I blow up the Queen’s birthday party? You will negotiate or risk a galactic diplomatic incident.”

“You can kill as many spiders as you want,” I replied. “I really don’t care how many get cooked.”

“Your President and his family will be here soon,” said Desert Claw. “Maybe I will nuke them all together.”

“The President can be replaced. That’s why we have a Vice President. I think the Vice President would do a better job anyway. That’s the half of the ticket I voted for.”

“You truly do not care about the safety of your head of state?” asked Desert Claw, incredulous. “Perhaps I should just nuke Laika Barker. I bet you care about his welfare.”

“I thought you were trying to negotiate amnesty,” I said. “Don’t you know nuclear blackmail automatically disqualifies you? It’s the law.”

“You will soon be very sorry if you do not take my demands seriously,” insisted Desert Claw.

“If you want to be taken seriously, you need to keep your demands reasonable. I cannot just empty the prisons of terrorists. But, just between you and me, let’s talk money. I can offer you a split of the Lieutenant Barker payoff if you help me keep him alive just one more month. I can beat any offer Babloo made you on Barker’s life, and it will be easy money. Just don’t kill Barker, and provide me with intelligence on future plots.”

“Your money is nothing compared to the wealth of the whole planet,” said Desert Claw. “I want it all.”

“I’ll pay fifteen million dollars to keep Lieutenant Barker alive,” I offered. “Interested?”

“You have a deal,” answered Desert Claw, greedily. “But I still want amnesty.”

“Only if you promise to retire,” I said. “Your megalomaniac plots have to stop.”

“Fine,” said Desert Claw. “We have an agreement between you and me on Laika Barker. No one else is safe.”

“I want a truce for New Memphis and all of the New Gobi,” I demanded. “I want no more Wheat Farmer Riots. I have you on tape at that riot. Another indictment would skew any chance of your amnesty ever being approved by General Kalipetsis.”

“Agreed. The truce will last for one month only.”

* * * * *

I called the Spider Commander of New Gobi. He was not happy to hear from me, and seemed stressed. I got straight to the point. “When were you going to bother telling me that you lost one of your nukes? It was just one nuke, right?”

“How did you find out about that?” asked the spider commander. “Have you found it?”

“Ha!” I said. “Desert Claw has your nuke and has already threatened to blow up your Queen’s birthday party. A fine mess you’ve gotten us into this time.”

“Any ideas on what to do about Desert Claw?” asked the spider commander. “I am open to all suggestions.”

“Searching Redrock seems like the most logical start,” I suggested. “I’ll send the Legion to assist, if the local militia becomes a problem. Try to get the militia’s voluntary support. I have already dispersed my troops so they won’t be a tempting target for the nuke. You should do the same. Civilians in the main population centers are being urged to evacuate to the South unless they do business along the DMZ. The number of checkpoints is being doubled, and we are on high alert. What else can I do? Maybe you should cancel the Queen’s birthday celebration. The risk seems disproportionate.”

“The Emperor has already rejected that suggestion,” replied the spider commander. “He will not be intimidated by terrorist rabble.”

“Not even rabble with a nuke?” I asked. “If there is any good news, it is that the DMZ is already the most militarized part of the planet. We have plenty of resources, and reinforcements are on the way. We need only to be diligent and contain the threat. Personally, I plan to be nowhere near your Royal Birthday Party. It could be hazardous for my health.”

“I do not have that option,” complained the spider commander. “I am charged with my Emperor’s safety.”

“I almost forgot to ask you,” I said, changing the subject. “Are there any good pet stores on your side of New Gobi City? We don’t have one. The closest pet store I know of is in Finisterra, and I don’t want to travel that far.”

“Yes,” said the spider commander. “We have one of the best pet stores on New Colorado. Are you buying a pet monitor dragon? Be careful, they get kind of grumpy if you do not pay adequate attention to them.”

“I need a cat,” I said. “It’s for a friend.”

“What?” asked the spider commander. “A cat? Snack food for your dragon? I think they have cats. They are feral and kept safely at the back of the store in the gourmet dragon food section. Cats are real pricy.”

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Chapter 17

Lieutenant Laika Barker lay on his bunk, thinking about his murdered family. The more he grieved, the angrier he got. It was time he phoned Desert Claw.

“I was wondering if I would ever hear from you again,” anwered Desert Claw. “What do you want?”

“I want your nuke,” said Lieutenant Barker. “I intend to use it to kill the Royal Family at the Queen’s birthday party.”

“And I should trust you why?” asked Desert Claw. “You betray everyone you come into contact with.”

“The nuke is worthless to you,” said Lieutenant Barker. “You don’t dare try to move it because of Legion and Arthropodan checkpoints. I’ll bet you buried it somewhere. It’s only a matter of time before one of your own freedom fighters gives you up for the reward. Give it to me.”

“You did not answer my question,” said Desert Claw. “Why should I trust you?”

“I have killed almost everyone responsible for my family’s murder,” said Lieutenant Barker. “Ultimately, it is the Emperor who is most responsible, because he ordered marines to burn out human farmers who refused to move to the South. Killing the Emperor will finally give me closure.”

“Not good enough,” said Desert Claw. “You think I would give a nuke to a crazy whack job human pestilence like you? I will not be fooled again.”

“You can stop pretending you are in charge of the insurgency,” said Lieutenant Barker. “I know you did not orchestrate that nuke theft. I have already contacted your sponsors, and they granted my request. They will order you to give me the nuke shortly. I will smuggle the nuke to the Capital Spaceport in a Legion vehicle. I only contacted you as a courtesy, and to give you fair warning. You have been trying to play both sides against the middle. Decide now if your loyalties are with us, or I will kill you myself. The insurgency is bigger than all the foreign armies on New Colorado, and all your drug dealer friends. Understand?”

“Yes,” said Desert Claw. “I apologize if I appeared to stray from our cause. Do not worry. We are one.”

After they disconnected, Desert Claw gave the matter more thought. Not only is that human pestilence crazy, he is delusional.

* * * * *

General Kalipetsis ordered me to send an Honor Guard company of legionnaires to the Arthropodan Capital Spaceport at the western edge of the New Gobi Desert to represent the Legion and to fly the colors. He ordered Lieutenant Barker to command.

“What?” I asked. “Do you think it wise to deploy Lieutenant Barker to the field? I am concerned about attempts on Barker’s life because of that New Memphis betting line. I’m also not sure he has fully recovered from his injuries.”

“Nonsense,” said General Kalipetsis. “Major Lopez informed me that Barker’s health is fine. I am not going to coddle Lieutenant Barker because of the actions of a few disgruntled gamblers. We all face threats on our lives. Legionnaires just have to deal with it. Especially officers.”

“But what of Desert Claw’s threat to use his nuke?” I asked. “We could be putting civilians as well as legionnaires in harm’s way by putting Barker in the middle of an internal spider struggle.”

“The insurgency affects us all,” argued General Kalipetsis. “There will always be risk. If you don’t think Lieutenant Barker can be trusted to do a good job, I can always send you.”

“No, thank you,” I replied. “I do not want to be anywhere near Ground Zero.”

“The Honor Guard will also be charged with protecting the President and First Lady. Did you know the President has put me on a short list to be his next Vice Presidential running mate?” asked General Kalipetsis.

“I did not know that. Will you be greeting the President at the Spaceport?”

“No, I will meet the President at the governor’s mansion. Both shuttles will land at about the same time for a brief ceremony. A motorcade will take the President, the First Lady, and the Royal Couple to the mansion, where we will do lunch and schmooze with the press.”

* * * * *

The new American President was eager to meet the Arthropodan Emperor. It promised to be a historic event. President Michael Romney would be the first American President to visit a foreign head of state outside of the Solar System. The event was to be quite a political feather in the President’s cap, and would define the tone of foreign relations for his entire term. The press corps was following the President’s every move. The public back home was infatuated with the prospect of the President reaching out across the stars to royalty. How would the First Lady and Queen Rainbow get on? What would they wear? It all was broadcast live on Intergalactic TV and Channel Five World News Tonight with Phil Coen.

Lieutenant Barker supervised the loading of a heavy wooden crate onto his armored car. The nuke was secured inside. The armored car and the rest of the company of legionnaires boarded shuttles bound for the Arthropodan Capital Spaceport. Security was tight. The Honor Guard set up a perimeter around the landing pads. Already there had been a skirmish at the spaceport’s perimeter fence. All the attacking insurgents, disguised as Arthropodan marines, were either killed or captured.

Killing the Emperor was more important to Lieutenant Barker than his own life. He planned to crash the motorcade and commit suicide by detonating the nuke. He had to get as close to the Emperor as possible. It was just a small tactical nuke.

After the shuttles landed, and the President and Emperor met and shook hand-to-claw, limousines quickly whisked them away. The motorcade sped toward the governor’s mansion along a wide central boulevard. Crowds cheered and waved.

Lieutenant Barker thought about just firing his 50-caliber machine gun, but decided to stick to the original plan to make sure he killed them all. Barker positioned the armored car so he could easily cut off the motorcade. The armored car crashed through barriers and collided with the first escort car, knocking it on its side. The armored car kept going, crashing into a second limousine and blocking the motorcade. Imperial bodyguards and Secret Service agents fired automatic weapons at the armored car.

“This is for my family!” yelled Barker on the PA system as he pushed a red button atop the nuke control panel. Nothing happened. Barker frantically continued pushing the button. Still nothing. “No!”

Barker climbed up to the turret, but the machine gun was not loaded. Enraged, he picked up the nuke and threw it down to the Emperor’s limousine. The bomb crashed onto the limousine hood, bounced, and smashed through the shatterproof windshield. Spider marines grabbed Lieutenant Barker from all sides, pulling him from the turret and beating him into submission. Lieutenant Barker’s world went black. He would wake up in a prison cell, defeated and in much pain.

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Chapter 18

The President relieved General Kalipetsis of his Legion command and of the governorship of New Colorado. Kalipetsis was confined to quarters, pending an investigation of the assassination attempts on the President and the Emperor. Of particular interest to investigators was discovering why the general made the last minute assignment of Lieutenant Laika Barker to command the legionnaire security detail. Lieutenant Barker’s questionable past obviously should have raised red flags, but General Kalipetsis not only put him in charge of a sensitive command, but had also sponsored Lieutenant Barker’s entry into Officer’s Candidate School. Military Intelligence Officer Major Lopez led the investigation for the Legion. Lopez promised to use new truth serum drugs developed by the spider Intelligentsia State Security Police.

General Kalipetsis was replaced by Marine Corps General Daniel Daly. It was decided that the Foreign Legion on New Colorado needed outside leadership to move the Legion in a more credible direction. Hope was that General Daly’s no-nonsense competent style would bring a calming effect to volatile New Colorado. General Daly, a combat veteran of the Coleopteran Frontier, expected his appointment to New Colorado to be a nice vacation, comparatively. After all, how hard could it be to put down a few insurgents?

When he arrived at New Phoenix, General Daly immediately went to Legion Headquarters to take command. He found General Kalipetsis’ old office to be in disarray and still littered with personal effects.

“What the hell is it with all these damn dead plants?” shouted General Daly. “This place looks like a rotting cacao jungle hell! Clean this mess up!”

“Sorry, sir,” said Sergeant Nesbit. “General Kalipetsis wanted the plants analyzed to determine why they died. He was very upset about it. I was in charge of the investigation.”

“You are an idiot!” shouted General Daly. “Get this trash out of my office! How would you like to be transferred to the DMZ?”

“Not very much, sir,” said Sergeant Nesbit. “I like New Phoenix. It’s very cosmopolitan. The DMZ is hot, dusty, and dangerous to your health.”

“You want to live forever?” asked General Daly, more irritated than ever. “How did you ever get promoted to sergeant?”

“I was cited for heroic action at the Battle of the North Highway,” boasted Sergeant Nesbit. “And I was with the first legionnaires to beam onto New Colorado with Colonel Czerinski. I have seen combat from here to Arthropoda.”

“Just get these plants out of here,” said General Daly, softening a bit. “They stink! It’s like you’re raising skunk cabbage indoors. I want to talk to this Colonel Czerinski I have been hearing so much about. Get him on the phone!”

* * * * *

I was summoned to General Daly’s office in New Phoenix. Daly returned my salute and gave me a hearty handshake. The general was short, but obviously had a lot of energy. He never stopped pacing, moving his hands, or talking. I suspected ADD was in play.

“I realize there must be apprehension about my appointment as Legion Commander and new Military Governor of New Colorado,” said General Daly. “While it is true I am not a legionnaire, I hope to overcome that difficulty with your help. You and I have a lot in common. I also rose through the ranks, earning a battlefield commission.”

“You are Irish, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yes,” said General Daly. “And proud of it!”

“We have lots of Irish in the Legion,” I said. “The Irish love to fight. It’s because they’re so stubborn. You will fit right in, sir.”

“Thank you for your assurance,” said General Daly. “I need your support.”

“I think they only promoted me when they thought I had no chance of survival,” I commented. “Now the powers that be are stuck with me.”

“I know the feeling! When I was offered my commission, at first I refused. I reasoned it was nonsense to go from being an excellent sergeant to being just another second lieutenant. Later, I rationalized it meant more money, and I might be able to do some good as an officer. I could help my fellow marines. It’s all bullshit!”

“I’m glad you got over your idealistic phase,” I replied. “Touchy-feely types die in the New Gobi.”

“Damn straight I got over that malarkey,” said General Daly. “Now I just kick ass!”

“You are on the right planet for that,” I said. “Welcome. Things are still not settled here with the spiders. We have a working relationships with local commanders and the governor, but it is impossible to make everyone happy. The insurgency continues to flare up, and now there are rumors of conspiracy among the homegrown planetary elite on both sides of the DMZ. Our fellow humans still shoot at us.”

“Working relationships with the spiders is exactly what I need to talk to you about,” said General Daly. “The spiders are refusing to release our company of Honor Guard camped near the Capital Spaceport. Our legionnaires are not being mistreated or held in custody, but I fear they may face arrest and interrogation soon. I will not tolerate our Honor Guard company being humiliated or accosted.”

“What can we do about it?” I asked. “The Capital Spaceport is a long ways from the DMZ.”

“You will take charge of negotiations,” said General Daly. “If necessary, you will coordinate a commando rescue effort. However, I don’t think it will come to that. As a precaution, I am granting you diplomatic status. That means you will enjoy full diplomatic immunity while you are at the Capital Spaceport.”

“Why do I need that?” I said. “I’m not the ambassador, and negotiations shouldn’t last that long.”

“Our legal department thinks there might still be Imperial warrants out for your arrest,” answered General Daly. “After all, you are the Butcher of New Colorado.”

“What about Lieutenant Barker?” I asked. “I think we need to maintain precedents in that case. It is important that we not allow Lieutenant Barker to be moved from the New Gobi Region, or that we allow his summary execution by the spiders. Even if Lieutenant Barker is guilty – and I’m sure he is guilty, or at least insane – we must make sure he is afforded reasonable due process. He is still a legionnaire, and arrest by the spiders could happen to any of us. Also, our investigators need to interrogate Lieutenant Barker about any possible human involvement in the assassination conspiracy. Perhaps Lieutenant Barker’s deposition can clear up doubts about General Kalipetsis’ loyalty.”

“I have already sent a message to the spider Governor of the North Territory, stating that I want a Legion investigator, Secret Service agent, or FBI agent present during all interrogations of Barker so that information can be shared, and to prevent abuse. How rough are the spiders during such questioning?”

“That depends on how upset they are,” I answered, glancing down at my prosthetic hand, a souvenir of spider brutality. “Their Intelligentsia has already told us their investigators will use drugs to extract information. The technique is not entirely effective, but it can wear you down to the point where you want to tell all you know. I do not have much sympathy for Lieutenant Barker. We will do the same to General Kalipetsis, but I feel the general needs to be treated with more dignity than that.”

“Major Lopez is in charge of the interrogation of General Kalipetsis,” commented General Daly. “I was told Major Lopez is your right-hand man. Do you not have confidence in him?”

“If General Kalipetsis is guilty of treason, Major Lopez will find out every detail,” I said. “I am just concerned Major Lopez might do too good a job.”

“I see,” said General Daly. “I will closely monitor Major Lopez’s progress. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“So you are not sure if General Kalipetsis is a traitor?” asked General Daly. “What about signs of mental instability or fatigue? There are rumors he once had a mental breakdown.”

“No, sir,” I said. “General Kalipetsis is a remarkable intellect and leader.”

“What is it with all these dead plants all over my office at Legion Headquarters?” asked General Daly. “Are you sure General Kalipetsis is sane? He must have a screw loose somewhere. He put that idiot Nesbit in charge of an investigation about how all these lousy plants died.”

“Maybe General Kalipetsis suffers a little bit from the stress of command,” I conceded. “A lot has happened to us here on New Colorado. We all cope in different ways. I use Epsom-salt, zero-gravity floatation therapy to relax. It helps me to unwind at the end of the day.”

“Huh?” asked General Daly. “That hippy-dippy New Age bullshit doesn’t work! Soldiers just need to man up. You’re in the Legion now!”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “How do you relieve stress, sir?”

“I sing marching tunes. Try it sometime.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I left General Daly’s office, I found myself humming an old Legion marching song: I’m in the Legion now, I’m not behind a plow. Son of a bitch, I’m digging a ditch, I’m in the Legion now! I felt better, but I was not giving up my floatation therapy.

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Chapter 19

I joined the Legion Honor Guard Company camped outside the spider governor’s mansion. Lieutenant Barker was being held at the mansion in a cell underground. Valerie brought her new kitten, Fuzzy. She guided Fuzzy in the right direction behind me as I walked. Fuzzy appeared to others to be a very well trained feline. Master Sergeant Green met me at the shuttle pad with Intelligentsia Officer #4.

“What’s with the cat?” asked Sergeant Green.

“Did you bring that for Spot?” asked Guido, approaching with his dragon. “Spot loves kittens.”

“Keep that monster away from Fuzzy!” shouted Valerie, herding the kitten to my other side. Fuzzy arched his back and hissed. “Poor Fuzzy, he’s traumatized!”

“The cat will not be eaten,” I ordered. “I couldn’t find a babysitter.”

Guido pulled back on Spot’s leash as the dragon salivated and snapped his jaws. His sharp tongue whipped about in anticipation.

“Welcome to the North Territory,” said #4. “I am not sure if I should arrest you or treat you as an honored guest.”

“I am carrying full diplomatic credentials,” I said, waving my documentation. “You could never take me alive anyway.”

“Not a problem,” said #4. “I am not a lawyer, but your so-called diplomatic immunity only covers your conduct during this visit. It does not protect you for past crimes.”

“Whatever,” I said. “I want to be present during all interrogations of Lieutenant Barker. He will not be abused. And, I have my own questions for Lieutenant Barker.”

“Yes, yes, all this has been agreed to in advance,” said #4. “Follow me, please.”

“And I want transcripts and tapes of previous interrogations,” I insisted.

I followed #4 to an interrogation room. Lieutenant Barker was totally naked, chained and cuffed to a metal chair and table.

“I demand Lieutenant Barker be clothed,” I said. “This treatment is inhumane and calculated to remove his dignity!”

“Your request is denied,” said #4. “Do not try my patience raising useless negotiating points. Lieutenant Barker is suffering from extreme depression, and has attempted suicide. Just yesterday he tried to saw through his wrists with a thread from blankets we thought were indestructible.”

I turned to Lieutenant Barker, seated across the table. “Well?” I asked. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Viva la Revolution?” said Lieutenant Barker, meekly.

“How are the spiders treating you?” I asked.

“This place sucks,” replied. Lieutenant Barker. “Like you, I’ve been in custody before, so I can handle it. I am no longer suicidal. That was just a reaction to the drugs they’ve been feeding me.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

“Get me a tooth brush,” said Lieutenant Barker. “Did you know spiders don’t brush their fangs? Toothbrushes and toothpaste are foreign concepts to them. Their breath is inhuman.”

“Have you been tortured?” I asked.

‘No,” said Lieutenant Barker.

“We do not torture defenseless prisoners,” said #4. “Besides, you human pestilence bleed so profusely, we fear the spread of all sorts of fluid-borne parasites you carry. The drugs we are using will make Lieutenant Barker want to give up all his secrets.”

I turned my attention back to Lieutenant Barker. “Tell me who your co-conspirators are,” I ordered. “Start at the top. Otherwise, I will let the spiders fry your brain with more drugs. You may not live through the process.”

“Oh, joy,” replied Lieutenant Barker. “And to think I thought you were on my side against the bugs. There is no big conspiracy. It’s just me and Desert Claw. I’ll freely tell you all about it. You don’t have to pry anything out of me.”

“What about General Kalipetsis or the spider fleet commander?” I asked. “Did they help you?”

“No,” said Lieutenant Barker. “No one helped us.”

“Who helped you steal the nuke from the carrier Emperor’s Claw?” I asked. “Someone provided codes to the logistics computer. Who did that? What was the pilot’s name? How did he get on the Emperor’s Claw?”

“Drugs and payoffs to nobodies is all it took,” answered Lieutenant Barker. “There is no vast conspiracy. It was just me and Desert Claw.”

“I do not believe anything you have told me,” I said, backhanding Barker across the face. Blood trickled from his lip. “I am going to let the spiders fry your brain with drugs until you talk!”

“They killed my parents and family!” responded Lieutenant Barker. “Believe that! I will fight the bugs with my last ounce of energy. I will spit in their ugly faces with my last breath!”

#4 injected serum into Lieutenant Barker’s arm. Barker seemed to calm down, but still resisted and complained of headaches. At first, he refused to answer questions.

“The serum will not allow you to lie,” said #4. “It is too early to force you to talk, but I warn you. I will not stop this questioning, nor will I feed you until you give up your secrets.”

Lieutenant Barker remained silent. He just glared at me and #4.

“You hate us?” asked #4. “You think you have grievances against the Emperor? I will enlighten you about your real enemies.”

“The Emperor ordered my family and other innocent colonists burned out and killed when they refused to leave their land!” shouted Lieutenant Barker, defiantly. “Your Emperor is guilty of genocide and crimes against humanity. He deserves to be assassinated.”

“What were your family and the other trespassers doing claiming homesteads that far north of the DMZ?” asked #4. “You knew you were trespassing. You knew you had crossed into the Arthropodan Empire. The border was clearly marked. Why were you so reckless? Why did your family take such a risk?”

“We were late,” explained Lieutenant Barker. “The best land was already taken. My family had no choice.”

“The New Gobi Desert is a huge place,” said #4. “Surely there was more than enough room for you and the others to find a home on the human pestilence side of the border.”

“No!” responded Lieutenant Barker. “Only land along the proposed canal routes can be farmed or ranched. I tell you, all the good land was claimed! My family had to press north during the land rush.”

“I believe you,” said #4. “I sympathize with your plight. You are telling the truth. The best land was indeed already claimed. But what you do not know is that in fact the best land had been stolen before the land rush even started. The best land had already been legally claimed before it even became public knowledge that there was precious water under the New Gobi.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Lieutenant Barker. “The land rush was a fair race. At noon, cannons fired, and the race was on. The first on the land staked squatters’ rights claims to free land.”

“You are so naïve,” said #4, tossing copies of land claims filed before the discovery of water was announced. The deeds belonged to Legion geologists, Legion engineers, Major Lopez, and me. “Legion land speculators led by Colonel Czerinski filed these claims long before your family had a chance to claim decent land. They took the best land near water, and left your family to die in the desert. They forced you to trespass north of the DMZ, and did not even think to offer you protection. Oh, they might have flown over in their jets and helicopters, and given you the one-fingered salute, but they left your poor family to fend for yourself. Eventually we offered human pestilence living in the North Imperial citizenship because the Emperor values his human pestilence subjects. Your family met tragedy, and for that, I am truly sorry. But it was Colonel Czerinski who caused that initial inevitable confrontation that killed your family. Our marines were just doing their job and following orders when tempers flared on both sides, and things got out of control. But what Colonel Czerinski and the other land speculators did was coldblooded, calculated murder.”

Lieutenant Barker lunged at me, but was restrained to the table and floor by the cuffs and chains. “I’ll kill you, if it’s the last thing I do!” yelled Lieutenant Barker. “I should have done it earlier!”

“What I do not understand is why Colonel Czerinski bought a cemetery in New Memphis,” said #4. “Perhaps he intends to fill it with all those bodies from unmarked graves in the New Gobi Desert. If he thinks that is taking responsibility for his actions, I think it falls short. Don’t you?”

“A cemetery is a good investment,” I replied, defensively. “It’s like water and coffee. Humanity needs both.”

“I do not believe anything you say,” said #4.

“This has gone on long enough,” I said, snatching the deed copies and tearing them to pieces. “I want your assurance Lieutenant Barker will be kept safe, and his sanity monitored. I do not want him given any more drugs. We will continue this tomorrow.”

“I am seeing another side of you,” added Valerie. She had been listening silently. “I don’t like what I see.”

“I had no way of knowing that would happen,” I said. “You wanted to come along. If you can’t handle it, I’ll put you back into your bottle.”

“We are splitting up,” announced Valerie. “I don’t think I want to have anything to do with you anymore.”

“Fine,” I said. “Just remember we are still business partners.”

“You only need to keep Laika Barker alive for ten more days,” said Valerie. “Good luck with that.”

“It can be done,” I responded. “Then we both cash in.”

“Maybe I will take all the money for myself,” said Valerie. “It would be easy. The money will already be in my account. I could hide the millions so many places. I could even destroy it. How would you like that?”

“Just because you are dead doesn’t mean I can’t kill you,” I warned. “Do not cross me, or you will be sorry.”

“I am not so easy to kill the second time,” warned Valerie. “My spirit is elusive, and I am tougher.”

“I’ll hunt your silicon memory to the ends of the galaxy,” I said, picking up the kitten and examining it with new interest. “Cross me and Fuzzy dies!”

“No!” screamed Valerie. “You wouldn’t!”

Sergeant Green and the others stared at me as I pet the cat. I disconnected from Valerie.

“What?” I asked. “You have to be firm with these cats. They’ll scratch your eyes out if you are lax!”

“If you say so,” replied Sergeant Green. “I’ve trusted you with my life all across the galaxy and most of New Colorado, and I will continue to do so. But, you really need to get your medications adjusted, sir.”

“We are through here!” I said, leaving. “Who else are you holding?”

“In the adjacent cells we hold our fleet commander. Also we hold some insurgents captured along the spaceport perimeter fence for plotting to shoot down the Emperor’s shuttle with SAMs.”

“Has the fleet commander given a statement?” I asked.

“So far, he is denying any wrongdoing or involvement in the conspiracy,” said #4. “I do not believe him. His interrogation will begin in earnest tomorrow.”

* * * * *

The spider commander had been watching the interrogation on a closed-circuit TV monitor. He discussed the interrogation with #4 after I left. “What do you think of Colonel Czerinski’s behavior?” asked the spider commander. “He seemed unstable.”

“I agree,” said #4. “Czerinski may be approaching a mental breakdown. I think he hears voices. That is not normal, even for human pestilence.”

“I have replayed that part of the video several times,” said the spider commander. “I think he was actually talking to someone. Assume that possibility and context, and his odd behavior might enlighten us. Find out why he bought a cemetery. I do not believe Czerinski is having a mental breakdown. There is method to his madness. These interrogations are progressing too slowly. Tomorrow, I want results.”

* * * * *

“Good morning General Kalipetsis,” said Major Lopez, speaking formally for the video feed. “Seated next to me is Arthropodan Intelligentsia State Security Officer #12. He is present strictly as an observer during this interview, per prior agreements. General, I respect your dedication, service, and sacrifice to the Legion. It is very distasteful for me to interrogate you under such rude conditions, but it appears your loyalties have strayed. I respectfully ask you to voluntarily tell us of the conspiracy of which you were a leader. Tell all, and I will do what I can to make your stay in prison more comfortable. Resist, and I will turn your world into a living hell.”

“I am innocent,” insisted General Kalipetsis. “I did nothing wrong. My loyalty has never wavered. God bless America, humanity, and the Legion!”

A doctor administered the truth serum. It was an experimental drug developed by the spiders. The interrogation would last for hours.

“Why did you sponsor Laika Barker to attend Officer’s Candidate School?” asked Major Lopez. “You knew of his terrorist past.”

“I told you before. He was just a juvenile then,” explained General Kalipetsis. “I felt that part of his life was behind him. Barker had successful combat command experience against the spiders, and all the diagnostic tests showed him to have a high IQ and great potential.”

“Do you support New Coloradan independence?” asked Major Lopez.

“Yes, but that does not affect my job performance or loyalties,” said General Kalipetsis. “I do not support rebellion or treason. I believe in the democratic process.”

“Did you order Lieutenant Barker’s release from custody after he was implicated in the plot to kidnap Colonel Czerinski?” asked Major Lopez. “And later you reinstated his rank?”

“Yes,” answered General Kalipetsis. “There was no proof against Lieutenant Barker. Colonel Czerinski recommended reinstatement of rank after Barker conducted himself well in combat against insurgents at the Miranda homestead battle.”

“Did you give the order for Lieutenant Barker to be in charge of the Legion Honor Guard providing security for the President and the Emperor?” asked Major Lopez. “And you did this against the wishes and advice of Colonel Czerinski?”

“Yes,” said General Kalipetsis. “But I had no way to know Barker would go crazy.”

“In fact, you and Lieutenant Barker were part of a conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor and the President,” accused Major Barker. “Isn’t it true you planned to lead a revolt during the aftermath and confusion of those assassinations? You are a traitor!”

“I am not a traitor!” screamed General Kalipetsis, fighting the serum. The pain and pressure in his head was unbearable. “I have only acted in the best interests of New Colorado and humanity!”

“Does that include murdering the First Lady and Queen Rainbow?” asked Major Lopez, drawing his knife. He grabbed General Kalipetsis by the throat and shoved him up against the wall. “After all we have been through together, you would betray and use us like that? For what? Money? Ambition? Did you want to be the King of New Colorado?”

“But my plants died!” yelled General Kalipetsis. “All of them! What do you have to say to that? Czerinski killed them all! I still don’t know how, but Czerinski is responsible. He must have infiltrated saboteurs at Legion Headquarters. I am not the one who should be interrogated. Get Czerwinski in here!”

General Daly burst into the room. He had been watching on video from the next room. “That’s enough,” said General Daly. “Let go of him.”

“It was just getting interesting,” said Major Lopez. “This bendaho is a traitor, and I will prove it! He was just spilling his guts. I need five more minutes with him.”

“His brain is cooked,” said General Daly. “Give it a rest. Let the doctor check him. Only after the doctor passes on his health will I allow the interrogation to continue. Take a break until tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Late at night, Desert Claw arrived at the governor’s mansion, wearing an Air Wing commander’s uniform and carrying forged orders. “I am here to pick up the nuke,” said Desert Claw, giving the duty officer the written orders.

“Why are you so late?” asked the duty officer. “That nuke should have never been stored here in the first place! It gives me the shivers, sitting on that thing for this long.”

“I just follow orders,” said Desert Claw. “I suggest you do the same.”

The duty officer led Desert Claw deep into the underground tunnels of the governor’s mansion to a room with three spider marine guards. They were sitting at a table playing poker. They played Texas hold ‘em.

“Stand at attention when an officer enters!” ordered the duty officer. “Where is the nuke I left with you?”

The marine team leader looked at his cards. Three aces. It was the best hand of the entire night. Figures, he thought, throwing the cards down. “The nuke is safe under the table,” replied the marine team leader, as he removed his feet from atop the nuke. “It is about time someone showed up to take it.”

“Assist the commander in loading the nuke into his truck,” ordered the duty officer.

The three marines carefully picked up the nuke and carried it through the doorway. As they passed the entrance, the team leader bumped against the sidewall. Jarred by the impact, the team leader lost his grip on the nuke. The bomb slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. They all stared at the team leader in disbelief.

“Do not worry,” said the team leader. “The nuke is a dud.”

“Let us not take unnecessary chances,” suggested Desert Claw. “Be more careful, you fool!”

“It is a dud,” repeated the team leader. “I was there when the human pestilence tried to bomb the Emperor. Just before the human heaved the nuke at the limousine, he repeatedly pushed this button. But the button does not work. See?”

To prove his point the team leader pushed the button. It was a fatal mistake for all present.

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Chapter 20

An insurgent website on the database reported that Desert Claw martyred himself by exploding a nuclear bomb at the governor’s mansion. The insurgents promised that Desert Claw’s selfless example would inspire more martyrs in the struggle to free New Colorado from imperialist rule.

Also killed were the spider Governor of the North Territory, the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi, the Arthropodan Fleet Commander, terrorist suspect Laika Barker, Intelligentsia Investigator #4, several insurgent prisoners, and the entire mansion garrison. The Legion encampment a mile away escaped major casualties. Fortunately, the President and the Emperor had just left for New Memphis to spend the night at Queen Rainbow’s parents’ home.

General Kalipetsis was released. Treason charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. He was reduced in rank to captain for being negligent in his duties. Captain Kalipetsis seemed happier, saying he looked forward to field duty and the freedom of open spaces. He also promised to out-drink his men at the grand opening of the new Angry Onion Tavern.

I lost my wager on Lieutenant Barker’s life by about nine days. Now I am almost broke, and seriously considering reenlistment in the Legion. Valerie refuses to speak to me, and only sends text messages to remind me to feed Fuzzy. I miss her. I hate the silent treatment.

The cemetery I bought in New Memphis has turned out to be profitable. Business is not dead. Brain imprint memorials have not caught on yet on New Colorado because of the high expense. I suppose it takes time for new ideas and concepts to take hold. Valerie manages the accounting for my cemetery business. That and her cat Fuzzy keep her occupied.

I am now a member of the New Memphis Rotary Club and the New Memphis Chamber of Commerce. This domestic life is killing me. Tonight, for diversion, I plan to pick a fight at the Angry Onion Tavern. I’m hoping Captain Kalipetsis will be there, too.

* * * * *

Another company of legionnaire recruits arrived in New Gobi City for deployment. Their company commander waited outside my office to speak to me.

“What shall I do with them?” asked Major Lopez. “MDL fence patrol?”

“Send them out to search for roadside bombs,” I suggested. “It will be good experience for them to know and find out first-hand that the New Gobi wants to kill them. We need to constantly fight complacency, or the troops will get soft.”

“I’ll let their company commander inside so you can brief her and relay the good news,” said Major Lopez, opening the door to the waiting room.

“Lieutenant Smith reporting for duty, sir!” announced a blond female second lieutenant. She wore her hair in a bun under her beret cap. This new officer looked a lot like Valerie, except maybe younger, with more muscle tone.

“You are Lieutenant Valerie Smith from Virginia?” I guessed.

“Yes, sir!” said Lieutenant Smith, still standing at attention and waiting for my return salute. “I am from Arlington, Virginia. How did you know?”

“This is a joke, right?” I asked, returning her salute. I did not expect her to say yes. “This had better be a joke, because you are not Valerie. You look kind of like her, but you are not her!”

“Sir?” asked Lieutenant Smith.

“Do you have any relatives in the Marine Corps?” I asked. “Any buried at Arlington National Cemetery?”

“Lots,” said Lieutenant Smith. “Is there a point to these questions?”

“Just that I think your great-great-great-grandmother wore combat boots and still looks good,” I said.

“Sir, I want to prove myself in my first command,” said Lieutenant Smith. “But your questions are out of line. This is sexual harassment.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I don’t expect you to tolerate abuse, either. Let me explain. I once visited an imprint memorial for Lieutenant Valerie Smith, USMC, at Arlington National Cemetery. I fell in love with her, kind of.”

“You’re the one she talked about!” said Lieutenant Smith, coming around my desk and giving me a hug and kisses. “I talked to Valerie’s memorial for hours and hours. She encouraged me to join the Foreign Legion just so I could someday meet you. Valerie really thinks the world of you, even if she is still giving you the silent treatment.”

“You know about that?” I asked. “If we got back together, what would that make you? Some kind of shirt-tail niece?”

“It could get complicated,” conceded Lieutenant Smith, giving my knee a squeeze as she released me from her hug. “I have heard so much about the Angry Onion Tavern. I saw a sign about a grand opening. Will you please be my escort tonight? Be my date at the grand opening?”

“Of course, I would love to,” I said. “But I’m still getting into a bar fight later.”

* * * * *

Walt hitchhiked into New Gobi City, hoping to find familiar friendly faces. A banner across Main Street read, ‘Welcome to the Grand Opening of the New Angry Onion, the biggest little biker bar on the Gobi.’ Walt entered the New Angry Onion with high expectations. It was just as he had imagined. Immediately he saw Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne sitting at the bar. The spider was easily the largest spider in the tavern.

“Hello John,” said Walt, as if he was talking to a long-lost friend. “Can I buy you a drink? You are one of my favorite characters.”

“I do not know you,” said Corporal Wayne, drawing his knife and pressing it under Walt’s chin. Don’t go away mad, just go away, human pestilence.”

Walt hastily moved down to the end of the bar and ordered a drink. A yellow cat walking on the bar top rubbed against Walt’s hand. “Fuzzy!” he said. “If you are here, it means Valerie is close by. Valerie! If you can hear me, I think you are so hot!”

Fuzzy knocked a beer bottle over, spilling Coors beer all over Walt’s lap. “Fine,” said Walt, moving on. “I can take a hint.”

Walt spied Sergeant George Rambo Washington passing by, and reached out to grab him by the arm. “George! Are your wives with you tonight? How’s it hanging?”

“My wives are no longer working girls,” replied Sergeant Washington, angrily. “Leave them alone!”

“You misunderstand,” said Walt. “I met your wives in church, at the potluck. I love their ho-made pudding goo” He giggled at his own seemingly clever double entendre.

“Oh,” said Sergeant Washington, calming down. “Has Pastor Jim been in here yet? I hate it when he checks on his flock. He sees somebody he knows, and it immediately puts him into Sunday sermon mode. Then he blabs to everyone during Sunday services.”

“No, but if I see him, I’ll give you a warning,” promised Walt, now seeing Colonel Czerinski and Major Lopez playing poker with a group of spider officers. He staggered over to get a better look. Lieutenant Smith was seated on Czerinski’s lap, hugging and kissing him.

“Colonel Czerinski, I am so glad you finally hooked up with Lieutenant Smith,” said Walt. “I had hoped you would. You two make a nice couple.”

“Who are you?” asked Colonel Czerinski.

“I am a world-famous science-fiction author, and your best friend. I am responsible for everything that has ever happened to you. Is Valerie’s imprint here, helping you with the poker cards again?”

The spider officers threw down their cards.

“Would someone please beat this fool to death?” asked Colonel Czerinski, loudly. He glanced angrily at his cards.

Private Krueger sucker-punched Walt, knocking him to the floor. Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell from across the room and threw a vodka bottle at the downed world-famous author. Walt got back up and hit Private Krueger with a chair. Spider biker bouncers immediately shot a web over Private Krueger and Walt, and beat them to the floor with nightsticks. Both were strung up and hung upside down from the ceiling in web cocoons. Walt was dazed, not believing this could ever happen to him. Soon afterward, Private Camacho came over to talk to Krueger. “Guido says you promised to pay back your loan by today,” said Private Camacho, checking Krueger’s wallet. “Do you have it? Say yes, because I don’t want to have to hurt a fellow legionnaire.”

“No, but my friend does,” said Private Krueger, motioning to Walt.

“How about it?” asked Private Camacho. “Do you want to pay off Krueger’s marker?”

“Okay,” said Walt. “How much does he owe?”

“Three thousand eight hundred forty-nine dollars and thirteen cents,” said Private Camacho, as he went through the world-famous author’s wallet. “But because of late payment and interest, I’m going to round this debt off to four thousand. Check that. I’m rounding it off to five thousand. Thank you for helping out a legionnaire. You’re a good man and a patriot.”

“Hey!” yelled Walt. “That’s my life’s savings! Come back! Do you think I can just print up more money anytime I want? I’m broke now!”

Two spider biker babes, attracted by the commotion, stopped to check out Private Krueger and Walt, hanging from the ceiling. One of them pointed. “That’s the one. That is Walt. He is supposed to be a world-famous author of science fiction.”

“He seems kind of skinny to be a world-famous author,” said the other spider biker babe. “Are you sure? Looks like a pervert to me. See how his lip twitches? Don’t ever trust any human pestilence who has a mustache.”

“I am positive,” said the first spider biker babe. “He’s actually kind of cute for a hairball human pestilence.”

“I think he is hot,” said the other spider biker babe. “I want him. I cannot wait!”

“I saw him first,” said the first biker babe, poking at Walt. “Are you really a famous science-fiction writer? I have never had a celebrity before.”

“This will be my fifth book,” said Walt. “Cut me down, and I’ll autograph a copy for you.”

“We are going to take you home with us,” said the spider biker babe. “I hope you have a strong heart, because this will be the most sexually-charged, terrifying night of your human pestilence life. How is your stamina, Mr. World-Famous Author? Do you feel up to it?”

“I was born for this very moment,” replied Walt, hoping bravado and blue pills would see him through his predicament. “I’m going to tear you up!”

The two spider biker babes giggled. They stopped briefly at the bartender cashier to pay for booze to go, propping Walt up against the bar. A familiar voice called out to him. “I heard you are short on funds,” said an ATM next to the bar. “If you survive tonight, come talk to me about a loan.”

“No way,” said Walt. “I am not going to join the Foreign Legion for any puny enlistment bonus.”

“Then what are you going to do for money?” asked the ATM. “The New Gobi Desert is tough on people with no money.”

“I don’t know,” said Walt. “Maybe I’ll ask my publisher for an advance on my next book.”

“Ha!” laughed the ATM. “Lots of luck with that! Hell will freeze over first before Penumbra Publishing loans you any money. At least the Legion is paying a premium enlistment bonus to qualified applicants. I think you could be officer material. I see bright things in your future. I see fun, travel, and adventure.”

“Shut up, fool!” said one of the spider biker babes, kicking the ATM. “Do not be bothering my cute little honey hairball. You will just distract him. My hot little fuzz-ball needs to be focused tonight!”

The spider biker babe tucked Walt under her arm and left with her sister. The two females whispered and giggled all the way to their apartment about what they were going to do to Walt.

World-famous science-fiction author Walt surfaced about a week later. He was hospitalized briefly for dehydration and fatigue. Later, he proudly enlisted in the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, and is currently posted to the DMZ, fighting insurgents.

###

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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 at

www.waltknight.yolasite.com

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~BOOK PREVIEW SAMPLE CHAPTER~

BLOOD and SUNLIGHT

A Maryland Vampire Story

by

Jamie Wasserman

And Little Red Cap thought, “As long as I live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by myself.”

–Little Red Cap, The Brothers Grimm

PART I

Fall

Prologue

“...and they lived happily ever after.” The man closed the book and waited.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, darling,” he said, smiling to himself. He was never lucky enough to get away with reading just one story.

“I’m not sleepy.”

“You haven’t tried. Close your eyes,” he recited. This was their nightly ritual.

“It won’t help.” The little girl frowned, sat up in bed, and crossed her arms.

“Would you like some water?”

“No.”

“Another blanket?”

“Daddy...” the little girl whined.

“Another story?” the man asked, sighing.

The little girl nodded happily.

“Okay, okay.” The man flipped the big book in his lap open to another page. He had already bookmarked which story he was going to read. “Sleeping Beauty?”

“I don’t want a story from that book.”

“Oh?” the man asked, surprised. This book was her favorite, and he couldn’t remember the last time she had asked him to read anything else. “Okay,” he said, unsure, and reached towards her small book shelf.

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-uh, what?”

“I want the story you know by heart.”

The man leaned forward and smoothed back the girl’s hair. “The one I used to tell your brother when he was little?”

“Yes, that one.”

“I don’t know ... it’s been a long time since I’ve told that one. I may not remember it.”

“You remember.”

She was right, of course. How could he forget? Things were much better then. “It might be a little scary for you,” he said, trying one last time to distract her.

“Please, Daddy!”

The man watched her lips turn down at the corners, and he knew he had already lost. He just couldn’t stand to see her cry. He kissed the girl on the forehead and took her hand. “You know he’s going to be fine, right? Your brother’s pretty tough.”

“I know.”

The man studied the little girl. Even in the dark, her face looked serene, untroubled.

“Okay,” he said. “Move over. Let me sit next to you.”

“How come?” she asked, scooting over quickly.

“So I don’t get scared.” He crammed as much of himself as he could onto her small bed. “Let’s see...” he said to himself.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Is there a princess?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know she’s a princess.”

“Just like Cinderella?”

“A lot like Cinderella, yes.”

The man waited. His daughter’s questions always came in twos.

After a short pause, she added, “And, Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?” He folded his hands in his lap.

“Are there monsters?” She pulled the covers up past her mouth.

“Yes.” He tugged the blanket away from her face. “All fairytales have monsters. But these are a little different. These monsters look just like you and me.”

“Then how do you know they’re monsters?”

“You don’t. Not always,” the man said sadly.

The little girl chewed at the inside of her lip, mulling this over.

He looked at his daughter. She had the same worried expression her mother had. It made the man smile at the memory. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

The little girl nodded up at her father.

“Okay, I think I remember it now. This story begins like any other fairytale. Do you want to start it for me?”

The little girl closed her eyes and snuggled next to her dad. “Once upon a time...”

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Chapter 1

Ellicott City is a former mill town cut into the rocky Maryland hillside. The Patapsco River runs alongside the train tracks at the bottom of Main Street, part of the old B&O railroad connection. Every spring, the river banks flood and pour over the cobbled streets. And every fall, part of the shopping district, once home to migrant rail workers, catches fire and destroys another small piece of the town’s history. The steeples from a dozen Victorian churches rise above the trees, their bells the only note heard clearly above the Sunday morning tourist exodus. There is much history here, but for the most part the dead are silent, despite the many signs advertising ghost walks and haunted tour groups.

In June, when the rains finally relent, the air is sticky and thick and gets into everyone’s eyes and hair. The stores close early but remain lit, warding off the night like garlic. An old wooden train bridge marks one end of Main Street; a rickety, soot-covered mess that sprawls across the road like a gateway into something terrible. It signals a stopping point for tourists.

Just on the other side of that bridge sits the Old Monk, a brick and mortar restaurant thrown together somewhat haphazardly off the main road.

* * * * *

It was only 8:00 pm. The last of the locals finished their meals as Melanie listened to the soft clinking of glasses and plates, and the dull thrum of conversation drifting from an open window. An empty coffee cup sat untouched on her table. It had been at least an hour since a waiter had bothered to check on her, and that was part of the appeal of this place.

She sat in the courtyard in the back of the restaurant, or rather, what passed for a courtyard – discarded patio furniture and an umbrella or two that had no doubt been washed to the back of the building by the nearby Patapsco River in the latest storm. She sat in the dark, watching the even darker water crest and bubble, half expecting a body to be suddenly cast from its murky depths. She was in that kind of mood. Expecting the worst, and confident that she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Soon they would arrive, in long dark coats and velvety sashes, reeking of Marlboros and skunky beer and opium incense, and maybe that would lighten her thoughts, or at least take her mind off the anniversary of yet another missed year of college, yet another year stuck in this town.

She returned her attention to the black cat that sat cleaning itself on the flat-topped roof. She didn’t mind sketching the little fur-balls, but if it got within kicking distance, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. It wasn’t just that she was allergic; there was something in her that seemed to bring out the worst in cats. Like she was wearing mouse-scented perfume.

Melanie tucked a newly dark strand of hair behind heavily pierced ears. She had a heart-shaped face and large, bright eyes that made her seem keenly aware and always interested. Melanie was thin and almost always wore black clothes, which gave her a hungry, desperate look that men seemed to love. She felt old, jaded, and over the hill – she was twenty-three.

Tonight she wore cut-off jeans and a sheer tank top; a hold-over from the sweltering afternoon. Though the night had cooled considerably, her body still felt warm, and she figured she’d most likely be drunk or high soon enough that the evening cold wouldn’t matter anyway.

She thumbed through her sketchpad, looking for a clean page. She’d need another one soon. With stark and sharp charcoal lines, she began to sketch the cat, who preened and purred at the attention. Just before she could add the eyes, always her biggest challenge, the world went completely dark.

Two clammy hands held fast over her eyes.

“Guess who?” a voice said. It was high and shaky. The hairs on the back of Melanie’s neck stood up. “You smell nice,” the speaker said, lingering at her throat and nibbling playfully at her ear.

“Hi Bryan.”

“Lucian,” he corrected. “I told you to call me Lucian.” He slumped in the chair next to Melanie.

Bryan was tall and skinny and seemed skinnier still in his long black overcoat at least two sizes too large. He wore a crumpled black top hat that covered stringy black hair dried out from too many dye jobs. He was pale and powdered his skin wherever his Mediterranean coloring threatened to poke through.

“What happened to your teeth?” Melanie asked, hurriedly tucking away her sketchbook in her worn backpack serving as both a purse and art portfolio. She didn’t mind sharing her photographs, but her drawings felt more personal. They weren’t simply something she saw, but something she felt, and she fully believed in keeping those types of things hidden.

Bryan stuck a long finger in his mouth. “I took them out. They were tearing up my gums. I may get mine sharpened. I haven’t decided.”

Melanie shook her head. She knew Bryan wouldn’t go through with it. He even opted for magnetic earrings instead of full piercings. She herself had five tiny silver studs that ran up and down both ears like Braille, and she had been thinking of adding more.

Whatever the reason, she should be grateful Bryan had ditched his fake teeth. Not only did the plastic vampire teeth he liked to wear make him lisp and drool, but they were the cause of at least two bar fights. It made him look ridiculouth.

“Did you bring anything to drink?”

Bryan produced a small bottle from a tattered backpack, “Wine. Blood red.” He winked.

Melanie smiled despite herself. Bryan could be corny, but it was hard to deny his enthusiasm.

“I like your hair.” He rested a hand on her thigh.

“I figured you would.” She leaned in to kiss him. She liked the way he tasted, like smoke and Chardonnay. He was dry but sweet.

They met in a summer art class. Night school, of course, because traipsing about in daylight would ruin his finely cultivated pale complexion. Bryan was deeply appreciative of Melanie’s series of photographs of garbage cans. Of everything about Melanie for that matter.

On their first date, he stood nervously at the door and waited for her to invite him in. Later he would ask permission to kiss her. She chose what movies they saw and where they went to dinner. She decided when they were finished making love, even if he hadn’t. He made her feel strong, and if that meant pretending tomato juice was blood and swearing off garlic, then so be it. Besides, this strange relationship gave her the days totally free to herself.

While Bryan playfully nipped at her lips like a puppy, she studied the turrets from an old castle-like house or church that rose dizzyingly above the legacy oaks on the hillside. Though the way the building sat precariously on the edge of the cliff sickened her, Melanie felt obsessed with locating the property. She imagined climbing into the house on a rope of spun gold, a wealth of untold treasures awaiting her discovery, but subsequent attempts to find it despite detours deep into the woods had proved fruitless.

Tonight, she noticed smoke pouring from a chimney, the first sign she’d ever seen of anyone living there. She had assumed it was long abandoned.

A not so distant howl interrupted them.

“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make,” Bryan said, doing his best Bela Lugosi.

Melanie snapped back to attention. “It’s just Carl.”

“You have no imagination.” Bryan slumped in his chair and searched his pockets for a cigarette.

Melanie did not understand why so many of her dates had to include Bryan’s minion – or posse, or whatever he was calling him these days.

Suddenly, a large black shape landed on the patio, taking out a rusted metal chair. Melanie’s cat, sleeping peacefully now in the shadows, screeched and ran up the nearest drainpipe. Melanie didn’t even flinch – God help her, this was becoming an all too familiar routine.

“What’s up, suckas?” Carl picked up the broken chair and hurled it as far as he could. It landed on the soft ground by the river’s edge. He watched it, disappointed, and brushed rust from his hands.

Tonight he was wearing a frilly white shirt and purple velvet pants. His naturally dark curly hair was bleached nearly white. Yin to Bryan’s Yang. Melanie often tried to imagine Carl as he was in the Marines; scrubbed, shaved, and pressed into a uniform. The mental image always went up in a cloud of dust when presented alongside the real thing.

When Melanie met Bryan, he and Carl were already inseparable. Carl waited for Bryan after class, and the three of them would drink coffee at the student union or catch the last showing at the Golding Theater. She began to wonder if she were dating both of them and how sex would work.

Back then, Bryan seemed pretty unremarkable. He and Carl shared an apartment near the community college, volunteered nights at the local homeless shelter, and even wrote an article or two for the local paper. His hair was blonde and close cut, and without the goofy plastic Halloween teeth sticking out of his mouth like ill-fitting braces, he might be considered pretty attractive, or at least normal enough to sit next to on a bus.

Bryan always had a fascination for all things morbid – zombies, ghosts, werewolves, serial killers – but his first love was always vampires. After a recent ‘pilgrimage’ to New Orleans with Carl, he returned completely caped out, looking like a cross between Inspector Gadget and Count Chocula. Melanie hoped it was just a passing phase and that he would soon find something else ghoulish to obsess about. Maybe even her.

In order to appease him, Melanie began ditching the long, flowing hippy dresses she loved for tighter, darker clothing. She painted her bright turquoise eyes with black liner so they’d look more baleful, and took right away to the endless supply of drugs and liquor that Carl provided. Melanie suspected visits into Bryan’s albeit limited fantasy world might be the closest she’d come to an exotic getaway.

“What’s the plan?” she asked. Though she already knew the answer, she hoped, just once, Bryan might add a change of venues to his limited repertoire. Maybe they could even leave the city, if only for just an evening.

“Where else?” Bryan grinned. “Anybody got any ‘shrooms?” He rummaged through his backpack.

“Better.” Carl dropped a small plastic baggy filled with white tablets on the table. Ecstasy.

His choice of drugs was getting progressively bolder but he had yet to produce something Melanie refused. She wondered if she had any limits; if there was nothing she wouldn’t swallow.

Bryan smiled, and he and Carl let the small pills melt on their tongues, then washed it down with swigs of wine. Melanie secretly dropped hers in the back pocket of her bag – she needed to be clear-headed for the walk to Hell House.

###

Blood and Sunlight is available now through Penumbra Publishing

www.penumbrapublishing.com

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Table of Contents

Book 5: Insurgency

Book 5: Insurgency

Book 5: Insurgency

Book 5: Insurgency

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

~BOOK PREVIEW SAMPLE CHAPTER~

“I don’t want a story from that book.”

Chapter 1