The Queen adjusted her translation box, checking for a clearer definition for the word ‘disingenuous.’ “Have I been insulted?” asked the Queen, turning to her aides. “By a spider?”
Scorpion bodyguards rushed forward to attack and kill the spider reporter. Legionnaires intervened, arresting the reporter and carting him off to jail for his own protection.
I felt the need to defuse the situation and stepped up to the microphone. “Cultural differences sometimes mar first contact between species,” I advised. “We should not interject rumor and speculation into this historical royal visit. I believe some level of responsible self-imposed censorship and restraint by the press is in order to prevent diplomatic incidents during these trying times. We just ended a war, and we do not need to start another.”
“Thank you, Colonel Czerinski,” added the Queen. “The Legion has had its share of first contact issues, but excellent leaders like you and Major Lopez always seem to prevail with sound judgment and advice.”
“The Butcher of New Colorado has sound judgment?” asked the spider governor. “What a joke! Czerinski is a certifiable nutcase!” “Arrest that fool!” I ordered. “You cannot arrest me,” advised the spider governor. “As a head of state attending a diplomatic function, I have legal immunity!” “He’s right,” advised Major Lopez. “You can’t arrest the governor.” “Fine!” I said, frustrated. “Then impound his limousine. Do it now! He can walk home, for all I care. There will be no more provocative outbursts. This meeting with the press is over!”
“I will decide when it’s over,” advised the Queen, calmly. “Where is my missing ambassador? Is he still lost, wandering about the desert like Moses?”
“You are familiar with the Bible?” asked Major Lopez, crossing himself and touching his necklace supporting a Saint Christopher medal.
“Of course,” answered the Queen. “Religious tolerance is an important pillar of royal rule. With the help of your Galactic Database, I have spent much time studying and familiarizing myself with all aspects of your culture. I have a near perfect memory, too.”
“Will you be attending religious services with Major Lopez?” asked Ms. Thayer. “How do you practice your religion?”
“In private,” replied the Queen. “Colonel Czerinski is correct that this meeting of the press has extended a bit over schedule. I now tire of it. Call it jet lag. It is time to move on to Major Lopez’s house. Excuse me, I mean his hacienda. I am sure everyone noticed earlier the good major is very sensitive about that. I enjoy tweaking him with my comments about his quaint tree farm. Never let it be said that we aliens do not have a sense of humor.”
Once again the audience gave Her Majesty a standing ovation. The Queen waved to the TV cameras as she left in her armored limousine. The reporters chased after, hoping for one more sound bite.
“Will you boycott Walmart?” shouted Ms. Thayer.
* * * * *
Major Lopez proudly escorted the Queen and the spider governor about his hacienda. “Did you know one of your scorpion generals threatened to bomb my home?” asked Major Lopez. “Now, why would anyone want to destroy such a lovely garden of fruit groves and vegetables? By the way, I know where he lives.”
“I will look into that for you,” promised the Queen. “You actually eat these apples and oranges? How boring to the taste buds.”
“They are extremely sweet,” commented the spider governor. “The oranges especially will give you a sugar rush.”
“Why are you here?” asked the Queen, pointedly addressing the spider governor. “You do not seem the type to visit orange groves or to go on buffalo roundups. After our little tiff, I did not expect to be socializing with you anytime soon.”
“The Emperor saw the press conference on satellite TV,” explained the spider governor, contritely. “He’s pissed at me. He says I was rude and caused an unnecessary diplomatic flap. Now I’m being punished. The Emperor forced me to volunteer for the buffalo drive. I apologize for my indiscretion.”
“I am sorry I got you into trouble,” replied the Queen, trying to be diplomatic. “That was not my intent. Your Emperor sounds like a wise ruler. I want to meet him personally soon.”
“What is your intent?” asked the spider governor suspiciously. “To play the human pestilence against us?” “Well, yes,” said the Queen. “Isn’t that what diplomacy is all about?” “I underestimated Your Majesty,” commented the spider governor. “You are not just another pretty face.” “Governor, I will not be seduced by your flattery,” advised the Queen. “Thank you anyway, but do not even think about it. On this trip, I am keeping my charms to myself, especially with all those damn surveillance cameras everywhere.”
“Anything you say,” replied the spider governor as they walked past newly painted warehouses. One large building was locked with chains and had an armed guard in front. “What’s in there?”
“Robotics,” answered Major Lopez. “I had one escape recently. They’re very expensive, and even more difficult to assemble. I cannot afford to have my robotics wandering off, being a nuisance.”
“Your robots are alive?” asked the Queen.
“No,” answered Major Lopez. “They are only simple farm machines. Actually, I am more concerned about theft. There are still bandits in this area.”
“Do you mean insurgents?” asked the Queen. “Freedom fighters?”
“I mean scorpion Special Forces commandos committing acts of terrorism,” replied Major Lopez bluntly. “You should know. You sent them.”
“How dare you talk to me that way!” said the Queen, confronting Lopez. Her stinger whipped about, showing her agitation.
“This is not a press conference, and I am not some reporter you can intimidate,” advised Major Lopez. “Try to sting me, and I will shoot you between the eyes.”
“And to think I got into trouble for just arguing,” needled the spider governor. “You just threatened a head of state.”
“I do not like you spiders, and I dislike scorpions even more,” said Major Lopez. “As long as you both realize that and can deal with it, we will get along just fine. My foreman will settle you for the night. In your rooms you will find cowboy hats, blue jeans, and a video on how to ride a horse and herd buffalo. Good luck with that. The buffalo drive begins in two days. Get lots of rest. You both have free run of my hacienda until then. Do not wander off into the desert. It’s dangerous out there. Everything in the New Gobi Desert bites, pokes, and stings.”
“Are all you legionnaires so cheery?” asked the Queen.
“Wait until Colonel Czerinski gets here,” advised Major Lopez. “Czerinski is worse. He not only is paranoid, but he’ll shoot you for free.”
“More threats?” asked the Queen. “It is very unbecoming for a host to threaten honored guests.”
“Colonel Czerinski deserves his Butcher of New Colorado reputation,” added the spider governor. “It’s not all just bad press.”
“Pull your Special Forces troops off our planet and accept that that New Colorado is ours,” replied Major Lopez. “We were here first. Otherwise, there will be problems.”
“That was the King’s idea,” the Queen said, sighing. “I warned him it might upset diplomatic relations. I apologize. I will talk to His Majesty about it again, this time more forcefully. Friends now? Perhaps the King would be more amicable on that issue if you found my lost ambassador safe and sound.”
“We are still searching,” advised Major Lopez. “But sometimes the desert just swallows up intruders.”
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Chapter 9
The scorpion ambassador and his military attaché sat perched on a rock in the shade of a mesquite tree, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice. About twenty embassy staff and marines gathered around, sensing an important decision was about to me made. “We have maintained radio silence at the request of our Special Forces lieutenant long enough,” advised the ambassador. “We no longer jeopardize his clandestine operations. Being that we have not h
eard from him in weeks, I am assuming the good lieutenant has been captured or killed. Either way, our fate is now in our claws, and I have decided to take action by sending a distress message on our radio. As my decision may risk all of your lives, does anyone here have any comments or objections?”
“Our orders were to stay put,” advised a scorpion corporal. “It was not a request. Those orders were given because of events happening that we are not privy to. I have no intention of being captured and tortured by the Legion merely because you are bored and long for a swim at the Marriott Hotel pool. I certainly will not surrender.”
“You will pay dearly for your insolence,” threatened the scorpion ambassador. “I will not forget you.”
“The desert is no place to be making threats,” warned the corporal. “It is you who still may not survive this ordeal. I can live off the land.”
“Enough!” ordered the military attaché, pressing the transmit button and sending the distress signal. “You will all see that we have nothing to fear. The diplomatic crisis is over by now.”
“The Legion bombed our embassy from space last time,” argued the marine corporal. “You were wrong then, and you are wrong now.”
“See?” said the ambassador. “Nothing bad is happening. We already have an acknowledgement signal. Help will be sent soon.”
The ground seemed to shake with the sound of a far off rumble. It sounded like thunder or artillery. Over the next hill a great cloud of dust rose from the desert floor. Birds and insects took flight ahead of the dust storm.
“What is that?” asked the ambassador. “Is it a quake? I think something is coming this way. It sounds like the end of the world just beyond that hill.”
“Take cover in groups among the rocks!” ordered the military attaché, as the first buffalo crested the hill. “It’s a stampede of beasts!”
Thousands of wild crazed buffalo, spurred on by whooping and yelling cowboys of several species, charged directly at the ambassador and his staff. Several scorpion marines fired their rifles. Some staff could not find adequate cover and were trampled or gored. The ambassador and his military attaché survived by clinging to the mesquite tree. After the dust cleared, they were greeted by Her Majesty from atop a horse.
“Mr. Ambassador, your vacation is over. You will kindly join me on this buffalo drive. We need all the help we can get. Tonight you will view an instructional video on how to ride horses and herd buffalo. I hope you like baked beans. We are roughing it, just like the aliens did in the Old West on Earth. Isn’t this great?”
“Are buffalo edible?” asked the scorpion ambassador. “I am starving!”
“Sorry, but these buffalo are a protected species,” answered the Queen. “They are Smokey the Bear’s personal pets.”
* * * * *
That night, the spiders, scorpions, and legionnaires segregated into groups around their campfires. The Queen wandered from her campfire to the legionnaire fire and addressed Guido. “Private Tonelli, am I to understand from talking to my staff that you are the person to contact about making a small wager on the World Series?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Guido. “I suggest you bet on the prohibitive perennial favorite, the Seattle Mariners.”
“Thank you for your advice, but I am quite capable of doing my own research and making selections.” The Queen handed Guido her card. “I will bet on the Mets and take the points.”
Guido recorded the wager and texted it to New Memphis. The Queen sat on a log next to the fire, near where I was sitting.
“Colonel Czerinski, care to share a blanket with me by the fire?” asked the Queen amicably. “The desert gets unexpectedly chilly at night.”
“No, thank you,” I replied. “I do not want to cause you a royal scandal. Cameras are everywhere these days.”
“I am well aware of the speed in which the database transmits information and images across the galaxy,” advised the Queen as she draped the blanket around my shoulders and snuggled next to me. “My official royal photographer is filming us as I speak. The images he disseminates will be carefully edited to show proper trail drive comradeship by the fire at the end of a hard day. It will be innocent enough. Besides, neither of our reputations can get any worse.”
“Ah, you are right about that,” I replied, looking about at the legionnaires already whispering. “I think the real scandal will be how we did nothing but sit here. Want some beer and vodka?”
“This is much better than going to war,” commented the Queen as she gulped her drink and looked up at the stars. She gave me a pat and squeeze on the leg under the blanket. “Don’t you think so, too?”
“That depends on how drunk I get, and whether I get stung again,” I replied, getting up. “I suffered severe hallucinations the last time I got stung. The medics assure me that I am developing a resistance to your venom.”
“Meet me inside the armored car at midnight,” whispered the Queen, as she abruptly left.
“Oh, what the hell,” I said to myself, nodding yes. “You only die once.”
* * * * *
The scorpion lieutenant silently followed Major Lopez through the darkness and sagebrush. Major Lopez seemed to be fixated on the armored car parked at the perimeter of the humans’ camp. Perhaps he was checking sentries. The lieutenant pulled the pin on a grenade, preparing to throw. The camp Rottweiler began barking at the lieutenant. The lieutenant slunk back into the darkness. Just as well, he thought. It would be better to kill both Lopez and Czerinski in one blast. He reinserted the pin into the grenade.
The lieutenant walked back to the camp fire. He had yet to make his presence known to Her Majesty, preferring to pass himself off as just another laborer. Besides, the Queen seemed cozy with Lopez and Czerinski, and would probably not approve of their murders. He supposed the diplomacy was going well. That was someone else’s concern. This was personal. And that idiot ambassador would be of no help, either. The lieutenant resolved to kill Lopez and Czerinski sometime during the buffalo drive, no matter what the diplomats decided.
* * * * *
We drove the buffalo south along a canal. Buffalo will eat almost anything that grows in the desert or anywhere else. They are not particular about eating thistles or weeds. But, they need water. Also, I figured the canal would be a good barrier to keep the herd from drifting off course.
Piece of cake! This cowboy stuff is easy. The video explained most of what we needed to know. The medics still kept busy because there was nothing in the video about what to do about our saddle-sore butts. I preferred riding a motorcycle, but loud noises piss off and spook the buffalo. They are bad tempered.
Just when I thought all was going right for me in the world, I fell from my horse, unconscious from fever. A medic shuttle air-lifted me to a hospital in New Gobi City, where I lay in a coma. Using a brain implant communication device, the doctor updated me on my serious condition. “Do not be alarmed. I am Dr. Trevino, and you are unconscious but talking to me with the aid of a brain communications implant.”
“I have been in a coma before,” I said. “What happened? Did someone shoot me?”
“You have very elevated white blood cell counts,” advised Dr. Trevino. “Eventually your leukocytosis overwhelmed your body, and you collapsed.”
“Speak English, doc,” I said. “What is the matter with me?”
“Your elevated white blood cell count was caused by an attack on your red blood cells by bacteria containing scorpion DNA,” explained Dr. Trevino. “It’s the damnedest thing I have ever seen. It’s like you are being eaten alive by tiny microscopic scorpions. I’m pretty excited about the discovery. Czerinski’s Disease will surely make it into all the medical journals. Any idea how you caught this bug?”
“Not a clue, doc.” “The pathogens were probably blood-borne,” advised Dr. Trevino. “I suspect you had intimate contact with a scorpion to catch it.” “It is well documented in my medical files that I was stung during a scorpion attack,” I replied
. “Perhaps that explains it.” “Maybe,” said Dr. Trevino, doubtfully. “We are running blood tests on other legionnaires who survived scorpion stings during combat. So far you are the only human afflicted with Czerinski’s Disease.”
“Quit calling it that!” I said. “Am I going to die? At least tell me I’m going to wake up someday.”
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Trevino. “This is all new ground we are exploring. This is truly a case for the Galactic Medical Journal! I could be looking at the Nobel Prize for Medicine for making this discovery. Of course, my cause would be helped immensely if I could cure you.”
“What exactly are you doing to fix me?” I asked. “Anything?”
“I have put you on an intensive regimen of potent IV antibiotics,” advised Dr. Trevino. “But the little buggers keep mutating. Have you ever had sex with a scorpion?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You also have a very nasty rash,” advised Dr. Trevino. “It might just be a reaction to the antibiotics, but I don’t think so. The rash is green and appears to have spread out from your genitals.”
“Oh, just shoot me!” I said. “Okay, I admit it! I had sex with a scorpion. Are you happy now? Go ahead and put it all in your medical journals. I just don’t care anymore! This can’t get any worse.”
“I don’t suppose you can identify which scorpion in particular that you had intimate relations with?” asked Dr. Trevino. “I assume it was a female?”
“It was the Scorpion Queen!”
“That might make my inquiries a bit more complicated,” commented Dr. Trevino, awkwardly. “I hate politics. But, I will attempt to make discreet requests for information from scorpion doctors via the database.”
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