“Nonsense,” replied the scorpion corporal. “My clan will never give me up for dead unless it can be proved. We have just had some bad luck. If we can get back to Scorpion City, we will be able to blend in better. Then we can contact the insurgency and get help.”
“We will die in this great sand box,” argued the scout. “And for what? To try to convince a bunch of traitors to return to the fold? We are just cannon fodder for the generals to move about on a play board. Do not fool yourself. No one cares what happens to us.”
They were interrupted by the sound of engines revving as Legion armored cars raced through the desert. Dust obscured their vision as the scouts found themselves surrounded by a company of mechanized infantry. The scouts burrowed into the sand before they could be spotted. The scorpion corporal watched a legionnaire and his leashed monitor dragon picking through litter at their old campsite. The dragon sniffed the air for scent, its tongue darting in and out. Fortunately the breeze blew in another direction, keeping the monster temporarily off their trail.
* * * * *
I stepped out of my tent some distance away from the camp to relieve myself. Suddenly the ground beneath my feet gave way as a scorpion claw came up out of the sand and stabbed at my chest. The blow glanced off my vest, allowing me to cradle the claw with both arms and roll with the scorpion to the ground. His tail came up and stung me on the shoulder as I drew my pistol and shot him several times in the face.
Previous stings had helped me develop a natural resistance to scorpion venom, but I was still dazed. Standing over the corpse, legs wobbly, I saw another scorpion. He lay perfectly camouflaged under the sand, but I could clearly see him. I fired several more shots, missing, before falling to the ground, disorientated from the venom. Alerted by gunshots, legionnaires rushed to my aid. I refused to be air-lifted to the hospital, and fought off attempts to restrain me. “Just put me in my tent,” I ordered. “All I need is rest.”
The next day, I fully recovered and went back to the scene of the attack. The dead scorpion still lay there, being eaten by birds. Incredibly, the other scorpion still hid in the sand nearby.
“You!” I yelled. “Come out!” “I am unarmed,” replied the scorpion scout, backing out of the sand, claws raised. “Go!” I ordered. “I’m too tired to kill you today.” “Why?” asked the scorpion. “Does killing us bore you now?” “When you get back to your home world, tell your superiors that Captain Czerinski still has plenty of killing left in him. You want to mess with humanity? Bring it on! That is what you scorpions want. We are the most prolific killers in the galaxy. I’ll send the Grim Reaper to visit you all!”
“I just want to go home,” said the scout. “I will relay your message, but I am never coming back here. Not ever!” The scorpion scout skittered across the desert, quickly disappearing out of sight.
back to top
Chapter 15
United States Galactic Federation Ambassador to the Scorpion Kingdom, James Yamashita, presented himself at the Scorpion King’s Court to personally make a formal protest of the Queen’s conduct. Ambassador Yamashita handed the King a thick envelope containing official documents. The King passed it off to an aide. “What is this all about?” asked the Scorpion King, annoyed. “I have a lot on my plate today.”
“The USGF formally protests the conduct of Her Majesty the Queen on her recent diplomatic visit to New Colorado,” advised Ambassador Yamashita.
“I protest her conduct all the time,” replied the King. “A lot of good that does me! Have you seen her latest videos with Czerinski?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Ambassador Yamashita. “The Queen certainly does get around.”
“Now she has locked herself in her room and is giving me the silent treatment,” complained the King. “I hate it even more when she does that.”
“The USGF needs assurances that there will be no repeat by your diplomatic corps of similar behavior,” insisted Ambassador Yamashita. “Her Majesty’s conduct is totally unacceptable.”
“Yes, yes, no more sex videos on the Galactic Database,” agreed the King. “I think everyone here has got the memo on that disturbing turn of events.”
“I am referring to the murder of the Mantid, a USGF citizen,” advised Ambassador Yamashita. “A special prosecutor is reviewing the diplomatic status of the Queen’s bodyguards, and charges are pending.”
“All this would not have happened if you had served proper portions of food at the banquet,” insisted the King. “I have no control over the royal appetite of my Queen. As soon as we got married, she started eating like crazy. Typical female.”
“I am serious,” said Ambassador Yamashita.
“So am I,” replied the King. “She’s gained a lot of weight.”
The King motioned to one of his aides, who presented Ambassador Yamashita with his own thick envelope of documents. “My Legal Department drew this up just today,” advised the King. “It contains the Kingdom’s own formal complaint about Legion involvement in two assassination attempts on Her Majesty’s life. The complaint also details your cavalier attitude about protecting the civil rights of scorpions living on New Colorado. I am seriously contemplating landing a division of peacekeeping troops near our Lost Colony at Scorpion City to protect our citizens against continued Legion abuse.”
“Your assertions are preposterous,” replied Ambassador Yamashita. “The Constitution guarantees equal protection for all.”
“My lawyers say Colonial Law provides your Legion with convenient loopholes to do what you please,” countered the King. “So do not lecture me about constitutional rights. Also, there is another pressing matter upsetting the Queen. Did you know she won the Nobel Peace Prize?”
“What?” exclaimed Ambassador Yamashita. “No way.”
“You have not heard?” asked the King. “UPS overnight delivered her gold medal today. The Queen loves the medallion and wears it around her neck continually.”
“UPS delivers this far out?” asked Ambassador Yamashita.
“Apparently so,” said the King, shrugging. “I am as surprised as you are. What can Brown do for you?”
“I guess there is precedence for someone like the Queen winning the Peace Prize,” said Ambassador, incredulously. “But I am truly amazed.”
“I have questions about this Peace Prize business,” said the King. “Is the Nobel Peace Prize a big deal to you humans?”
“Yes,” advised Ambassador Yamashita. “The Nobel Peace Prize is awarded for the most or best work for fraternity between nations, for the abolition or reduction of standing armies, and for the promotion of world or galactic peace.”
“I have done my own research,” said the King. “It says here the Peace Prize was established by a bomb maker, Alfred Nobel, because he was feeling guilty about his inventions. The Prize is administered by a Committee of the Norwegian Parliament, a radical and possibly dangerous underground separatist group of little or no influence on Old Earth.”
“Calling the Norwegians dangerous is a bit extreme,” advised Ambassador Yamashita. “Sometimes they are a little odd. And, they drink a lot of beer. You would too, if you lived somewhere that cold. The USGF Congress has been contemplating taking over Peace Prize nominations from the Norwegian Parliament. Now I know why.”
“Your Norwegians upset the Queen greatly with an email revoking her Peace Prize and demanding the return of the medal,” advised the King. “When the Queen is upset, I am upset. Is it too much to ask for some domestic tranquility around the palace?”
“Domestic tranquility is good,” agreed Ambassador Yamashita. “That’s one of my goals, too.”
“The Queen is urging me to declare war on Norway,” said the King. “She demands an apology.”
“Technically, no one can declare war on Norway because the USGF annexed all of Scandinavia a long time ago,” advised Ambassador Yamashita. “Has she considered filing a lawsuit?”
“Do the Norwegians have deep pockets?” asked the King.
> “They might still have a partially depleted oil royalties trust fund,” answered Ambassador Yamashita. “But I doubt they have much left. All their money is spent on the gold medals and junkets to the Caribbean. Those medals aren’t even solid gold anymore. They’re only gold-plated.”
“Oh, the Queen will be pissed about that,” advised the King. “Royalty does not wear costume jewelry. You know what? You humans are more trouble than you are worth. Did you know that the Arthropodan Ambassador thinks the best policy toward you human pestilence is to slap a quarantine on New Colorado? And I would do it, but my subjects would revolt if their satellite TV and Starbucks got cut off.”
* * * * *
The Scorpion Kingdom located its new Consulate Office in Scorpion City. On the day the embassy opened, a division of scorpion peacekeepers landed in the hills overlooking Scorpion City. The United States Galactic Federation was hesitant about a military response because of sensitive ongoing negotiations with the Scorpion Kingdom and the Arthropodan Empire. Surprisingly, the spiders expressed their support for the peacekeepers because of bandits crossing the border, and a lack of Legion presence in the scorpion colony. They also shared concerns about patterns of abuse by humanity upon exoskeleton species.
Because of the high radiation levels, the Legion’s commitment to the scorpion colony dwindled. Still, it was felt that some response was necessary to keep the Scorpion Kingdom in check. Colonel Lopez ordered me and a company of legionnaires to the colony to keep the scorpion army in line. Sometimes I think Colonel Lopez is trying to get me killed. A company against a division? Now I know how Colonel Custer felt.
* * * * *
The scorpion scout followed the highway east. Finally working up the courage to hitchhike, he stuck out his claw and was promptly rewarded when the first truck passing stopped.
“How far are you going?” asked the spider trucker. “To Scorpion City,” answered the scout. “You?” “To the colony border,” replied the trucker. “I drop off my trailer at the checkpoint because you scorpions make me nervous.” “I do not mean to,” said the scout. “I appreciate you picking me up.” “It’s that nasty stinger on your tail,” commented the trucker. “It’s wicked. Want a beer? They’re in the cooler chest.” “Sure,” replied the scout, grabbing a cold one. “Isn’t it illegal to drink and drive?” “You, a fugitive from the Legion, question me about legalities?” asked the trucker. “That’s a good one!” “I’m just being cautious,” said the scout, nervously. “What makes you think I am a fugitive?” “Oh, I don’t know,” said the trucker. “Maybe it’s all those wanted posters back at the Black Desert Truck Stop warning drivers not to pick up scorpion hitchhikers. Or, maybe it just looks suspicious for a scorpion to be hitchhiking out here in the middle of nowhere, with the Legion buzzing around all over the place.”
“If I look so suspicious, why did you pick me up?” asked the scout. “You would willingly give aid to a fugitive?”
“I fought the Legion back in the Big One,” explained the trucker. “In the First War, we slugged it out in tunnels and underground habitats because there were so many nukes going off overhead. Maybe I am still a bit bitter, and any chance to tweak the Legion is fine with me.”
“I almost got killed by the Legion several times,” said the scout. “The last time, Czerinski let me go.”
“The Butcher of New Colorado let you go?” asked the trucker, incredulously. “The rumors must be true. Czerinski must be losing it.”
“He did seem a bit odd,” commented the scout. “He was rambling on about having lots of killing left in him, and to tell that to the King. He killed my corporal in hand-to-claw combat before letting me go.”
“He’s a killer, that is for sure,” said the trucker. “We had Czerinski locked up in a cage, but the General Staff let him go. Idiots! We’ve been paying for that mistake ever since. I heard you scorpions are opening a new embassy in Scorpion City. Is that why you are going there?”
“Yes,” said the scout, surprised by the good news. “I am going to the embassy.”
* * * * *
I led a column of Legion armored cars down Main Street, parking across from the new Scorpion Kingdom Embassy. Scorpion peacekeepers were in town, too, but most camped on the outskirts.
“What does the Geiger counter say?” I asked.
“The rads are off the chart,” advised Sergeant Green. “We’re not going out there, are we?”
“Hell, no,” I answered. “Private Wayne! Pull up to the drive-up window at Pizza Hut. We will eat lunch inside our armored vehicles.”
I ordered the other armored cars to take a break and disperse to the other fast-food drive-ups. I used my Legion credit card to pay for buffalo sausage and pepperoni pizzas and Cokes.
“It has been a long time since the Legion has come to Pizza Hut,” commented the scorpion manager taking my order. “I would not stay too long if I were you. Not unless you want to glow in the dark.”
“As long as the pizza doesn’t glow in the dark, I don’t care,” I replied. “I cannot guarantee they won’t,” advised the manager. “This whole area is hot.” “Have those peacekeepers been a problem yet?” I asked. “They’ve been doing a lot of bragging about what they were going to do when you got to town,” said the manager. “But I don’t see them talking much now. They’re a bunch of cheapskates. The King doesn’t pay his troops much. They keep wanting to barter for pizza. Imagine trading a pair of boots or uniform items for a pizza.”
“The next time a peacekeeper wants to barter, tell him Captain Czerinski will trade anytime, anyplace, for anything.”
“What shall I say you want to trade for?” asked the manager.
“I will pay cash for computer parts, rare metals from their electronics, and vehicle batteries,” I said. “I hear the Kingdom makes great vehicle batteries.”
“Just between you and me,” said the manager, in a hushed voice, “we scorpions do not want to return to royal rule. We enjoy our independence. The sooner these so-called peacekeepers leave, the better.”
Guido leaned out the window. “Tell your customers Private Tonelli is taking football bets now. The NFL season is in full swing! Anyone who says he was referred, I will give you a kickback percentage.”
“I will do that,” promised the manager. “I’ll be in armored car number one,” advised Guido. “It’s the car with all the extra antennas and dishes on top.” “Be careful out there,” said the manager, waving happily. “Those peacekeepers do not seem too peaceful.” As we drove away with our pizzas, Guido turned to me. “What was that all about?” he asked. “Computer parts and batteries? The scorpions manufacture nothing but junk.”
“I know,” I said. “I just wanted to mess with the peacekeepers. We need to interact with them a bit to find their weaknesses, especially because we are so outnumbered. We’ll see what shakes out later.”
“Check them out,” Guido said, pointing at a gathering of scorpion vehicles parked at Starbucks. “It looks like they enjoy their lattes.”
“I wonder what other addictions they have?” I asked. “Same as us, I suppose. I can’t get through the day without my Starbucks either.”
“You want to get them hooked on illegal drugs?” asked Guido. “Maybe blue powder cocaine?”
“Are you still connected?” I asked.
“I know a friend of a friend who knows a friend,” replied Guido, cautiously. “You have always been death on drugs and drug dealers. Has something changed?”
“I still hate drugs and drug dealers. But I hate the Scorpion Kingdom more.”
* * * * *
The scorpion ambassador walked with his chauffeur to the limousine. It would not start. The chauffeur popped the hood to check for obvious problems, and found one immediately. The battery was missing.
“Maybe the mechanic is doing routine maintenance on it and forgot to tell anyone,” suggested the ambassador. “Get another car.”
The chauffeur checked the other cars in the motor pool. All s
even would not start because of missing batteries. The chauffeur shrugged. “I cannot explain it,” he said. “Want to take the armored car? That is what the guards do.”
“To dinner?” asked the ambassador incredulously. “After taking the time to get dressed up? I will eat in tonight. Find something from the kitchen.”
A marine guard came running up to the ambassador. “Sir, you have an important visitor waiting for you in your office. He is Special Forces, just back from the desert!”
“Fine,” replied the ambassador. “I was not going anywhere soon anyway.”
Waiting in his office was the Special Forces scout. The ambassador recognized him immediately as one of the commandos sent to rescue him so long ago. The scout relayed his story and the details of how the others died.
“You have been through quite a lot,” commented the ambassador. “I am very proud of your bravery. A Special Forces trooper with your experience could be very valuable to me here at the embassy. I want to make you Sergeant of Security.”
“All I want is to go home,” replied the scout. “Is that too much to ask?”
“We all want that,” answered the ambassador. “But that is not to be. We have our duty. I need you. Stay, and when it is time for you to leave, you will leave with an officer’s commission. I promise it.”
“I accept.”
“Good,” said the Ambassador. “Welcome aboard.”
“Sir?” interrupted the chauffeur. “The kitchen is bare. However, the guards at the front gate are all eating pizza. They said they have plenty and would share. It looks like a party.”
“What is the occasion?” asked the ambassador. “Columbus Day,” answered the chauffeur. “What is that?” “I do not know,” replied the chauffeur. “It is a local event. Pizzas are half price today.” “Great!” said the ambassador. “I am starving, and I need to talk to those guards anyway. Sergeant, do you want to join me and meet your subordinates?”
Scorpions Page 8