Scorpions

by Walter Knight

  The Scorpion Queen, when asked about the release, said it was long overdue. “I told you so. Our peacekeepers were sent to Scorpion City to prevent Legion abuse, and I am gratified to hear they are accomplishing their job.”

  At last report, the released political prisoners were being debriefed at a remote resort asteroid somewhere deep inside the Scorpion Kingdom’s colonies.

  In other news, McDonald’s Corporation announced today Happy Meals will be half price anytime this week for all Nobel Peace Prize winners who show up with their medals. The new promotion is part of a galactic public relations blitz hoping to attract attention to the Scorpion Queen’s love of Big Macs and fries.

  Local weather will see temperatures dropping into the low nineties as a cold front sweeps across the New Gobi Desert. Everyone grab your coats.

  * * * * *

  The scorpion ambassador set up a catered soiree at the embassy and invited the scorpion peacekeeping general and me to attend. The ambassador hoped discussions between us would prevent future confrontations like the one at the Sheriff’s Office.

  “He thinks he outranks everyone in the room just because he is a general,” commented the ambassador. “But peacekeepers are not even in the chain of command. The general is always getting on my case for not being punctual, but he cannot even make it to dinner on time.”

  “I once heard the general say you were a pampered sissy who does not like leaving the comforts of your embassy,” I replied. “I don’t think the general realizes the extent of your responsibilities at the embassy.”

  “That pompous fool called me a sissy?” fumed the ambassador. “If that windbag of a general spent more time in the field, and less time dining at Starbucks, maybe we could get a handle on the out-of-control bandit situation along our border. The crime rate in Scorpion City is skyrocketing!”

  “I agree,” I said sympathetically. “But what can I do? A leader with his many addictions should not be stabbing a fine diplomat such as yourself in the back like he always does. It’s a disgrace.”

  When the general finally arrived, he was visibly upset. “I apologize, sirs, for my late arrival,” said the general. “When I finished my latte at Starbucks, my car would not start. Can you believe someone stole my car battery right there in the parking lot? They stole my music sound system and communications gear, too!”

  “See what I mean?” whispered the ambassador. “He practically lives at Starbucks.”

  “Yes, well, the first order of business should be addressing the drug problem,” said the general, taking charge of the meeting. He plopped a clear packet of blue synthetic cocaine powder on the table between us. “These are being sold to my troops by legionnaires! I want something done about it!”

  “I did not know our enlisted men fraternized,” I commented.

  “Obviously they do!” insisted the general.

  “Order your peacekeepers to stop using drugs,” I suggested. “Just say no! How are your troops going to keep the peace if they are always getting stoned?”

  “I am informed that a legionnaire named Guido is selling blue powder,” accused the general “What do you know of Guido and his activities?”

  “Guido?” I asked. “Is that his first name or last? It makes a difference. I don’t know any Guido.”

  “The database indicates that Guido is an Italian name,” said the scorpion general. “I have suspected all along that the Legion is riddled with Mafia infiltration. This incident only confirms our Military Intelligence assessment.”

  “Now, see here,” I argued. “There is no such thing as the Mafia. I have gone on record, and it is well documented, that I favor capital punishment for drug dealers. I do not tolerate drug use or dealing by legionnaires. The Legion has a zero-tolerance policy and drug testing system in place. I suggest you implement the same for your peacekeepers.”

  “All I know is that when the political prisoners were repatriated to our home world, illegal drugs were smuggled in with them. The King is rabid about the matter.”

  “And well His Majesty should be upset,” commented the ambassador. “You need to keep a tighter clamp on your wayward peacekeepers.”

  “How are the released political prisoners doing?’ I asked.

  “We are still working on a final solution to that mess,” said the general. “Most are receiving counseling for the emotional trauma caused by incarceration.”

  “Whatever,” I commented. “I want no mare incidents like the confrontation at the county jail,” said the ambassador. “That could have ended in tragedy.” “What would you know about tragedy?” snapped the general. “You never leave your embassy.” “The ambassador told me you never leave the Starbucks parking lot,” I added, trying to be helpful. “Is that true?” “Oh, yeah?” shouted the general. “I have patrolled every square mile of the colony, while you sit here on your soft poop chute, stuffing your face!”

  “Now, gentlemen,” I interrupted. “Can’t we all just get along? What are we going to do about out-of-control crime? You said your car battery was stolen.”

  “Serves him right!” mumbled the ambassador, not mollified one bit.

  “What did you say?” asked the general, standing up. “I can remember when you first arrived, asking me for spare car batteries because every car in your motor pool got ripped off. Ha!”

  “I am sure Captain Czerinski has a few spare scorpion-manufactured batteries at Legion Headquarters,” interjected the Sergeant of the Guard. “Isn’t it interesting how well-stocked Captain Czerinski keeps his warehouse?”

  “I have been meaning to talk to you about that,” said the general. “Is it possible stolen Kingdom equipment and property is ending up on your inventory? Perhaps this Guido character is involved in fencing stolen property, too?”

  “No way,” I replied. “The Legion possesses tons of your military surplus abandoned from the First Contact War. I can sell you as much as you need at very competitive prices. Just contact my aide, Private Tonelli.”

  “Is this Tonelli Italian?” asked the scorpion general suspiciously. “Tonelli certainly sounds Italian to me.”

  “I believe Tonelli is Spanish,” I answered. “Or maybe Yugoslavian. The Legion is such a melting pot, it is hard to get a handle on of all the names. The Legion believes in diversity. That’s our motto: Strength Through Diversity.”

  “I thought your motto was: Kill them all, let God sort them out,” scoffed Scorpion Sergeant of the Guard.

  “That is one of our other mottos,” I said. “We have several. Sergeant, don’t you have something better to do than annoy us? Why don’t you go make sure our cars aren’t broken into while we’re dining?”

  “The sergeant may stay,” said the ambassador. “He is my eyes and ears, an invaluable resource.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Just make sure you keep your pet dog on a short leash!”

  “Now it is I who must arbitrate your petty squabbles,” the general said, laughing as he held up a claw. “Why can’t we all just get along, indeed!”

  “I once saved this sergeant’s life when he was lost in the desert,” I commented. “But do you think he shows gratitude? No.”

  “Really?” asked the general. “I did not realize you two had a history. No wonder you like each other so much. Ha!”

  Dinner arrived, catered special from Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was well received. The Colonel’s culinary skills excelled again. After dinner, we settled in the library for drinks and more discussion.

  “The King wants a referendum vote on whether the Scorpion Colony should be annexed by the Kingdom,” announced the general. “Neutral Arthropodan observers have already been pledged by the Emperor to supervise the election.”

  “No!” I responded. “Calling for a referendum is a severe provocation, and will result in immediate Legion military intervention.”

  “Oh, come now,” argued the general. “It is you humans who are always so big on democracy. I would think you would be all for it. What are you afraid of? L
osing, like you did at New Disneyland? Besides, what do you care? This part of New Colorado is uninhabitable to humanity because of your irresponsible uncontrolled use of nuclear warfare.”

  “If the Kingdom wants to establish a claw-hold on New Colorado, it must be negotiated,” I advised. “You may not just vote yourselves in. We were here first! Which reminds me, it is about time to set a date for the withdrawal of all your scorpion peacekeepers. Now that political prisoners have been repatriated, you have overstayed your welcome and usefulness.”

  “Peacekeepers will always be needed to prevent the Legion’s well-documented pattern of abuse of exoskeleton species,” replied the scorpion general, dismissing all debate on the matter. “After all, you are the one known as the Butcher of New Colorado.”

  “He just gets bad press,” advised the Sergeant of the Guard.

  “I’m sure,” replied the general, hissing laughter. “There is nothing worse than bad press. Sometimes I think reporters should be periodically shot, just to thin their ranks and to ensure accuracy.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” I said, taking another drink. I was getting tipsy.

  “Remember, it has not been all that long since you bombed our embassy in New Phoenix,” the general pointed out. “And your long list of provocations and incidents with the spiders is infamous. So, the peacekeepers will stay. Anyway, our opinion does not matter. That type of policy is set at the top. The Queen will soon discuss the issue of expanded use of our peacekeepers when she visits your President on Old Earth.”

  back to top

  Chapter 17

  The Sheriff of Scorpion County greeted me with a civil paper, placing it in my hand. “You are served,” he announced loudly. “It could not happen to a nicer guy.”

  “What is this?’ I asked. “You are being sued,” answered the sheriff. “What do I care? Everyone knows you can’t sue a legionnaire. We are immune to civil liability.” “There is one exception,” advised the sheriff. “Paternity suits.” “Shit!” I said, reading the cover page. “It’s from Lydia.” “Who?” asked the sheriff. “She is not a local girl.” “No. She’s from Book Seven.” “Huh?” asked the sheriff. “Book what?” “Nothing,” I replied. “Never mind. She’s from New Gobi City. How am I going to deal with this when I’m out here on the edge of Hell playing with you scorpions?”

  “You scorpions?” repeated the sheriff. “Don’t be lumping us all together. I am actually on your side.”

  “Someday prove it,” I said, crumpling the summons and stuffing it in my pocket. “All I want is for something to go right for a change.”

  I walked over to the Legion mess hall to confront Private Walter Knight, who was still working KP duty. Whenever something went wrong, I blamed Private Knight. I don’t know why. He is like a bad luck charm.

  “Are you still writing that science fiction novel about the Legion?” I asked. “Find a publisher yet?” “I write every chance I get, sir,” replied Private Knight. “When do I get off KP duty?” “When my mood improves,” I said. “Which may be a while. Maybe even never! Did you know Lydia filed a paternity suit against me?” “So?” asked Private Knight. “Everyone should take responsibility for the care of their children, even you. What’s that got to do with me?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But someday I will find out.” “When is the kid due?” asked Private Knight. I uncrumpled the summons and read it closer. “Joey Junior is already born,” I said. “Well, I’ll be damned.” “Careful what you say or wish for,” warned Private Knight. “You have fatherly responsibilities now. Stay safe.”

  * * * * *

  “Five of the shortest legionnaires I have ever seen just arrived as replacements,” announced Sergeant Green, smiling. “They are waiting in your outer office.”

  Short, as in midgets?” I asked. “Short, as in Mantidae,” explained Sergeant Green. “What fool would send Mantidae to Scorpion City?” I asked. “Someone who wants to test your sense of humor,” advised Sergeant Green. “Colonel Lopez.” “Why am I not surprised? Send them in.” “They grow up so fast,” advised Sergeant Green, proudly. “The Mantid matriarch’s babies have finally come of age.” Five Mantidae marched in, wearing full camouflage battle gear. A couple had sagebrush stuck in the webbing of their helmets. Their rifles sported fixed bayonets. The Mantidae looked like little Japanese soldiers from the old World War II newsreels.

  “Sir!” shouted Private Jamal Green. “Squad of legionnaires reporting for duty as ordered, sir!” “At ease,” I said. “May I say it is an honor to be sent to your command, sir!” shouted Private Green, still stiff, even when at ease. “Did I ask you for a comment?” I shot back. “Sir! No, sir!” “I’ll bet you can’t wait to kill scorpions,” I commented. “Right?” “Sir! Yes sir!” they all chimed in. “All of you are to report for KP duty at the mess hall with Private Knight as soon as you are settled in,” I ordered. “You are all confined to barracks when off duty until I can figure out what to do with you. Dismissed.”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” they replied.

  * * * * *

  All five Mantidae slipped out of the barracks that evening after KP duties. They went straight to Pizza Hut and ordered pizza and Cokes.

  “You’re kidding,” commented the scorpion Pizza Hut Manager. “You better leave before more customers show up. Otherwise you may end up as topping on a pizza, instead of the buffalo pepperoni.”

  One of the Mantidae drew a Legion-issue curved Gurkha battle knife, causing the alarmed manager to jump back. However, instead of slicing the scorpion manager, the Mantid merely cut his pizza into quarters.

  “You say your customers will be coming in soon?” asked Private Green. “There is nothing I would enjoy more than to meet some of your scorpion customers.”

  “Do not say I did not warn you,” advised the manager. “I wash my claws of any responsibility if something bad happens.”

  “I guarantee something bad will happen,” commented Private Green, turning his back to the manager.

  * * * * *

  It did not take long. Six scorpion peacekeepers entered with a load of car batteries from supply, and ordered beers in trade. As they sidled up to the bar, a corporal noticed the Mantidae sitting off in a corner.

  “Look!” said the scorpion corporal. “We don’t need pizza to go with our beer. We have fresh Mantidae! Do you realize how long it’s been? I thought they were extinct!”

  “Careful,” warned the manager. “They are legionnaires, and they are carrying the wickedest knives I have ever seen.”

  “It will not matter,” scoffed the scorpion corporal, laughing. “Let the little Mantidae bring their knives to a sting fight. I’m having wild Mantid for dinner tonight.”

  “I said they are legionnaires,” warned the manager, again. He got on the phone to call Guido for help.

  The scorpion corporal waved off the manager for being a timid fool. His peacekeepers approached the Mantidae confidently as a group. As the corporal was about to speak, Private Green rose from his table, pointing a submachine gun. He fired at the scorpions, killing them all. In a flash, the Mantidae were upon the downed scorpions with knives drawn, carving up the bodies. A feeding frenzy followed.

  “After we leave,” said Private Green, looking up from his feast, “tell everyone you know what happened here tonight. Understand, scorpion?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the manager, fleeing out the back door with the rest of his employees.

  * * * * *

  The scorpion general stormed into my office at Legion Headquarters. “I just talked to that worthless traitor sheriff of yours, and he refused to do anything! Six of my peacekeepers were murdered by your legionnaires! I want this outrage avenged! I want justice!”

  “I have already reviewed the Pizza Hut surveillance video,” I replied. “It was self-defense. Your peacekeepers were trying to eat my legionnaires. We do not allow legionnaires to be eaten!”

  “Your Mantidae baited my peacekeepers into an ambush,” accused the ge
neral. “It was murder. They ate my troopers!”

  “It was good tactics,” I said dismissively. “Be glad there are only five Mantidae. I am giving serious thought to bringing in a whole brigade of Mantidae. I like their style. The little fellows make perfect light infantry, and they are just as resistant to radiation as you scorpions.”

  “You would not dare such a provocation,” replied the scorpion general, clearly upset. “Allowing those murderous Mantid vermin to run loose after this outrage would mean war! I would not be able to hold back my troops.”

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “You are more competent than that. Your troops are disciplined, and you will control them. My Mantidae are good-natured and orderly. Calling them murderous is a real stretch. They don’t like you scorpions, but I promise to control them, too.”

  “I want justice!” demanded the general.

  “Apparently the Mantidae want justice too, after your Queen ate their mother! Drop your complaint, or I will request more Mantid legionnaires. If you want war, we can begin here!”

  “Military Intelligence is right,” said the general. “You are insane!”

  “I’m sure we will both feel safer at night, knowing a brigade of Mantidae are on patrol in Scorpion City,” I said. “I can hardly wait to make it happen.”

  “That will not be necessary,” relented the general. “But do not think you have heard the last of this matter. You just be sure to keep those little Mantid fiends under control.”