The Ark

by Walter Knight

“I swear all you people are crazy,” replied Sergeant Green. “Poking around in dark croc holes proves it. Where did you say you’re from again?”

  “Tennessee,” answered Sergeant Williams. “Erwin, Tennessee.”

  “That’s right,” said Sergeant Green. “I almost forgot. You told me about Erwin a long time ago. They lynched an elephant in Erwin. Only in the South. I’ve been in Tennessee. There’s no alligators anywhere in the state.”

  “That is what most people think,” replied Sergeant Williams, “just before the gators get them! A lot of swimming holes have gators and snapping turtles.”

  Sergeant Williams cautiously poked the long stick into the hole, then slapped the water. Inside the den, the croc surfaced. Only its yellow eyes were visible in the darkness, illuminated by Green’s spotlight.

  Sergeant Green panicked, wildly firing his rifle on full automatic at the croc over Williams’ shoulder. The croc lunged as Williams dropped his stick and raised the sledge hammer. A single bullet pinged off the metal as Williams brought the hammer down.

  The hammer struck the croc solid on the side of its head, but slid off its wet armor. Several bullets also struck the croc, but it chomped down hard on Sergeant Williams’ torso as he fell back, dragged under. Sergeant Green fired more bullets into the crock as it submerged into the muddy water.

  Blood drifted up to the water’s surface, followed by the dead croc and Sergeant Williams. Unhurt but shaken, Williams was saved by his flack jacket. He let out a triumphant rebel yell. Unsheathing a large jagged combat knife, Williams slit the upturned croc’s throat, just to make sure it was dead.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” shouted Sergeant Williams. “See! I told you I knew what I was doing. I know how to hunt crocs!”

  “Czerinski wanted that croc alive,” advised Sergeant Green. “It’s dead!”

  “You’re the one who shot it!” replied Sergeant Williams. “Colonel Czerinski will have to settle for croc stew. I’ll cook it myself, just like back home.”

  “I knew you didn’t know anything about catching crocs,” scoffed Sergeant Green. “I should have known better than to follow you anywhere. Never again. That crock could have eaten us both! What made you think you could knock out a croc with a sledge hammer?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” answered Sergeant Williams, shrugging off Green’s derisive commentary. “The score is now Legion one, crocs zero!”

  “Were you born this stupid?” asked Sergeant Green, losing his temper. “Or do you work to get this way?” “Don’t ever call me stupid!” replied Sergeant Williams. “Why not?” asked Sergeant Green. “Only a fool would wade into a big-ass croc hole, hoping to knock one out with a hammer!” Sergeant Williams wadded over to the boat and lifted the front out of the water, tipping Green overboard. “Help!” cried Sergeant Green, flopping about in the water. “I can’t swim!” “Stand up!” replied Sergeant Williams. “It’s not that deep!” Sergeant Green continued to flail helplessly in the water. Williams heard the sound of rustling in bushes on shore, followed by the splash of crocs entering the water. He grabbed Green by the collar and pulled him to shore before they both became a meal.

  * * * * *

  Master Sergeant Green demanded Sergeant Williams be busted down to private, claiming assault. I trashed his report and told both sergeants I would bust them to privates for insubordination if they did not bring me a live croc soon.

  The next day, Green and Williams got me my live croc. They snuck up on a small baby crock found napping in the morning sun along the lake shore. They threw a net and ropes over the croc, while a squad of legionnaires dog piled on top. Fantastic! I had big plans for that croc.

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  Chapter 4

  The spiders began plopping down prefab geodesic domes at a torrid pace along Main Street of their old camp. Spider-hole bunkers under each foundation were already in place. The spider commander happily moved into his new air conditioned home. Soon, a small boomtown sprouted up from desert dunes along Caldera Lake to support the ever-growing Arthropodan military presence. Starbucks Coffee promised to be up in a week. It’s about time, thought the spider commander. Finally, we’re bringing civilization to this croc-infested wasteland!

  * * * * *

  Under the cover of darkness, Sergeant Williams, and Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne, an ex-Arthropodan marine turned legionnaire, cautiously paddled a small raft across Caldera Lake. Once ashore, they crept up to the spider commander’s new beachfront geodesic dome. Sergeant Williams attached cable to the rear of the spider commander’s powerful armored command car. Corporal Wayne attached the same cable to the dome’s aluminum foundation beams.

  Cable secured to both vehicle and domicile, Corporal Wayne hot-wired the armored car and gunned the engine. With a loud crash they pulled the dome off its foundation and dragged it at high speed down Main Street toward the border checkpoint and the safety of Guido’s guard shack.

  * * * * *

  The spider commander woke to the sound of his phone. “Sir! You are being abducted by human pestilence!” advised a team leader at the checkpoint. “Should we shoot?”

  “Yes!” ordered the spider commander, noticing the bumpy ride. “Kill all the human pestilence!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Machine gun bullets raked the geodesic dome. The spider commander ducked down under his bed. “You fools!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot me! Cease fire at once!”

  The bouncing dome came to an abrupt halt. The spider commander cautiously got out of bed and took a first step. His legs were still wobbly, unsure of their footing. It was as if a quake had just ended; nothing was certain. The team leader had spoken of human pestilence treachery, so the spider commander peeked out a window. Legionnaires kicked in the front door, rifles aimed.

  * * * * *

  “You are our prisoner!” I announced. “Get used to it fast!”

  “You cannot possibly expect to get away with abducting a high-ranking Arthropodan officer,” replied the spider commander. “This is an outrage! I’ll have Imperial Warrants of Arrest issued for war crimes if I am not released immediately!”

  “And I’ll have you charged with crimes against humanity,” I responded. “You owe me money!”

  “That is nonsense,” said the spider commander. “Your ransom plot will fail!”

  “Your commandos blew up my mine and destroyed engineering equipment,” I added, checking an itemized list. “You owe the Legion over a million dollars, not including our costs for time and labor.” I handed him a bill with the exact amount. “I pride myself on being reasonable, so you can pay the bill with your ID Card. I’ll even take VISA Platinum.”

  “Reasonable human pestilence?” mocked the spider commander. “Ha! There is no such thing! Go to Hell!”

  “I thought you might be stubborn,” I commented, motioning to Sergeant Williams standing at the front door. He opened the door, then stepped back.

  Corporal Wayne entered, dragging my captured croc by a leash. The croc snapped and lunged, scattering legionnaires and causing the spider commander to jump up on to his bed. The spider commander reflexively clutched at his claw stub, a vivid reminder of his last croc encounter.

  “Keep your pet monster from Old Earth away from me!” shouted the spider commander. “Is that your plan, to torture extortion money out of me? I am not afraid of death. I will do my duty!”

  “Let the gator eat him,” advised Corporal Wayne, trying to pull back on the leash. The croc focused on the spider commander, pulling on its leash.

  “It’s a croc,” corrected Sergeant Williams. “Gators are smaller and nicer.”

  “Traitor!” accused the spider commander, hissing at Corporal Wayne. “No self respecting member of our species would join the Legion.”

  “His name is Wally Gator,” advised Corporal Wayne. “And he is real hungry.” “Wally Gator is an alligator in a cartoon,” insisted Sergeant Williams. “You said Wally was a croc,” replied Corporal Way
ne, getting irritated. “This one is a croc,” explained Sergeant Williams. “But Wally Gator was an American alligator. You can’t name a croc Wally Gator.” “I already have!” insisted Corporal Wayne. “This croc is Wally. He likes his name, and I do, too.” “Enough!” I ordered. I turned to the spider commander. “Wally Gator will eat you unless you pay the money you owe for the damage your terrorist commandos caused to my mine.”

  “It’s a croc,” replied the spider commander, staring warily down from the bed. “You can’t fool me!”

  Furious, I grabbed Wally’s leash and jerked the croc up on to the bed. It lunged again, snapping off the spider commander’s knee. The croc fell back to the floor, contently crunching on the exoskeleton segment.

  “You savages!” shrieked the spider commander, holding tight to his knee. The segmented joint quickly bled out, leaving the spider commander with a gaping hole in his leg, and excruciating pain.

  “Pay up or I’ll let Wally Gator eat you piece by piece all night long,” I threatened, tugging on the croc’s leash. “He’s still hungry. You spindly leg didn’t even come close to satisfying Wally.”

  “You Mafia ghouls!” shouted the spider commander. “I want my knee back!” “Forget it,” replied Sergeant Green, glancing uneasily at Wally. “Get your mama to get your knee back.” “Give him back the damn knee!” I ordered, nodding at the croc. Corporal Wayne kicked Wally in the gut, causing the croc to hiss and drop the knee. Wally snapped back at Wayne, earning another kick. Sergeant Williams deftly kicked the knee like a soccer ball up onto the bed. The spider commander caught it, examining the lost joint for damage. Legionnaire medic Elena Ceausescu tossed the spider commander a roll of duct tape.

  “Thank you dear,” said the spider commander, calmer now. He fitted the knee back into place and secured it by wrapping his joint in duct tape. “At least not all of you human pestilence are without some compassion.”

  “There’s not enough duct tape on the planet to hold you together if I sic Wally on you again,” I threatened. “Do you want to lose another piece of leg?”

  “Fine, you win!” exclaimed the spider commander. “I do not want to die. There is no future in that. I want my house and armored car returned. You owe me for the damage you caused.”

  “That’s all collateral damage included in the debt-collection process,” I explained. “You get nothing! And I’m keeping the house.” “American gangsters!” replied the spider commander, swiping his card on my pad. “I will be avenged.” “You can walk home,” I said. “I’ll have your armored car towed to the border later.” “Sir, may I keep Wally?” asked Corporal Wayne. The big spider legionnaire patted Wally Gator on the snout. The croc hissed and snapped back.

  “Why?” I asked. “He’s a too aggressive to be a company mascot. Are you sentimental about Wally?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Corporal Wayne. “This croc is special. He’s intelligent. See the smart bumps on his forehead? We have bonded.”

  “Whatever,” I replied. “Take the gator.”

  “Croc,” insisted Corporal Wayne. He motioned to Sergeant Williams. Together, they ushered Wally out the door.

  “Can you believe that?” I asked, quite amused. “I would have never thought Wayne would take a pet, or show such love and sentimental affection toward an Old Earth critter. It just goes to show the shrink had it all wrong about Wayne.”

  “Bonding sentimental love, my ass!” responded Sergeant Green. “I know those two. They’re going to eat Wally! Sir, it doesn’t seem right. You should do something. Save Wally!”

  “If that’s true, there’s nothing I can do,” I said, shrugging. “Crocs are too dumb to save.”

  The next night Wayne and Williams built a bonfire. Wally was skewered on a spit, and barbecued. Yum, yum. The whole company dined on croc steaks.

  * * * * *

  Escorted by medic Ceausescu, the spider commander limped back to the border checkpoint. As they walked and his knee deteriorated, the spider commander leaned heavily on Ceausescu for support.

  “Sir, would you like a pain killer?” she asked. “No, thank you,” replied the spider commander. “My knee is coming off again. I may need more of your magical duct tape.” “I have plenty,” advised Corporal Ceausescu. “You can keep a roll.” “You are so kind,” commented the spider commander. “You are also very hot to the touch. You human pestilence females must be at least fifteen degrees hotter than us.”

  “Possibly,” replied Corporal Ceausescu, uncomfortably. “Your heat is very soothing,” he added. “It could almost be described as sensual.” “Oh?” asked Corporal Ceausescu. “Don’t get any ideas.” “How do you feel about the interspecies dating issue that plagues our younger enlisted troops out here on the lonely Frontier?” asked the spider commander.

  “I’m against it!” answered Corporal Ceausescu, removing the spider commander’s healing half claw from her shoulder and one of his hands from her rear. “I think you are recovering nicely from your injuries.”

  “I agree,” advised the spider commander, seeming embarrassed that he had even remotely toyed with such randy thoughts. “You are a most sensible human pestilence female. Commanders and non-commissioned officers like us need to set a proper example for our young soldiers.”

  “I try,” advised Corporal Ceausescu.

  “From a purely scientific viewpoint, I am curious to know if rumors are true that a human pestilence female in her prime, such as yourself, has at least fifty erogenous zones, many of which can be activated at the same time?” asked the spider commander. His exoskeleton began to vibrate as he placed a hand on Corporal Ceausescu’s rear again.

  “Oh, I hope so,” replied Corporal Ceausescu, day dreaming. She lost her concentration for a moment as pleasure pulsed through her thighs. Stumbling, she brought herself back to reality. Immediately she slapped the commander’s claw away. “Get across the border before I shoot you for trespassing,” ordered Corporal Ceausescu, as they arrived at Guido’s guard shack. “You perv!”

  “Before I enlisted in the Arthropodan marines, I studied at the university to be a research scientist,” commented the spider commander. “I am still committed to the scientific method.”

  “Research this!” advised Corporal Ceausescu, giving the spider commander a shove and the one-fingered salute. “I am not going to be your next project!”

  * * * * *

  “Now that you are safe and returned to our side of the border, shall I order a retaliatory strike?” asked the spider Military Intelligence officer, as waiting medics gathered around their commander. Medics expertly used super glue and quick-drying putty to patch the spider commander’s injuries. Soon the knee was secured, and holes plugged.

  “Your timing sucks,” advised the spider commander. “I was just about to pry valuable military intelligence from that human pestilence medic.”

  “Is that what you were doing? Attempting to pump her for information?”

  “Exactly,” insisted the spider commander.

  “If you consider a retaliatory air strike too provocative, I can order Czerinski sniped,” suggested the Military Intelligence officer. “His own superiors will not be upset if we kill him.”

  “I will exact my revenge soon enough,” promised the spider commander. “But revenge is best served cold.” “Cold?” asked the Military Intelligence officer. “Yes, with salad and Thousand Island Dressing.” “That is very deep and philosophical, sir,” replied the Military Intelligence officer, confused. “What are my orders, sir?” “Shut up! I will pick my place and time to avenge this humiliation. Czerinski will pay, slow and painful.”

  * * * * *

  Legion Headquarters sent me a copy of the ‘New Colorado Croc Protection Act.’ An attached memo ordered me to personally serve the spider commander a copy and discuss the importance of croc habitat protection in the closed ecosystem of Caldera Lake. I tossed the copy to Sergeant Green, who threw it back at me. Corporal Ceausescu snatched the paperwork in mid air.

&
nbsp; “I’ll do it,” she offered. “I’ll personally serve a copy on the spider commander.” “Why?” I asked. “You volunteering for anything is way off your baseline.” “I could use the exercise,” explained Corporal Ceausescu, defensively. “My butt is getting a little fat.” “That’s true,” commented Sergeant Green. “Just a little.” “Shut up!” replied Corporal Ceausescu. “I like your butt that way,” apologized Sergeant Green. “You have a fine, well-rounded butt. A few extra pounds on an older woman is sexy.”

  “It’s a sturdy butt,” I added, trying to be helpful. “It’s a good Legion butt, useful for holding down tent corners during dust storms.”

  “Screw both of you!” replied Corporal Ceausescu, giving the one-fingered salute as she left. “Male pigs!” “Discipline is getting lax around here,” I commented, after Ceausescu was gone. “Someone should address that issue.” “Tell me about it,” advised Sergeant Green.”Don’t look at me. You started it!” “She’s your girlfriend,” I countered. “On and off,” he corrected. “You’re the Master Sergeant. Keep her under control.” “She carries an assault rifle. I’m not telling her anything.”

  * * * * *

  The spider commander was pleasantly surprised when Corporal Ceausescu appeared at his office door. His new geodesic dome had just been completed, and things were shaping up to be a nice day. The spider commander tossed aside his paperwork and addressed his Military Intelligence officer. “Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day,” he ordered. “I’ll be in an important conference.”