Scorpions

by Walter Knight

  * * * * *

  I met with Colonel Lopez and the scorpion general later that evening. The general was furious and blamed the Legion for the bombing.

  “I demand that Captain Czerinski and his Mantid assassins be arrested immediately for murder and terrorism,” announced the scorpion general. “His attack is an act of war.”

  “And I demand to see your proof,” I replied. “You say you have video? So far, all I see is a lot of talk.”

  “The video is still being studied and enhanced,” insisted the scorpion general. “Witnesses remember seeing your five Mantid legionnaires. They claimed to be a delegation from the mayor’s office.”

  “I thought so!” I responded harshly. “You have no video. You have nothing. If there ever was video, it was destroyed in the blast. There are thousands of Mantidae here in New Argentina. You can’t possibly prove my Mantid legionnaires were the ones involved. It was terrorists that attacked your shuttle!”

  “You are to blame!” accused the scorpion general. “You planned this coldblooded terrorist attack on innocents. You are the terrorist!”

  “I blame your lax security,” I countered. “You make reckless accusations to cover for your own incompetence and obvious blunders.”

  “We are getting nowhere with this arguing,” interrupted Colonel Lopez. “I want to interview your Mantid legionnaires. I also want to review your weapons inventory.”

  “Master Sergeant Green has had the Mantidae out in the bush all week for survival training,” I advised. “Sergeant Green will alibi for the Mantidae.”

  “I’m sure he will!” said Colonel Lopez. “I want to interview the Mantidae and Sergeant Green anyway. Now!”

  “They did not take a radio,” I replied. “Duh, it’s survival training. They are supposed to be completely isolated. It’s tough it out, or die. They are one with nature, eating wild hickory nuts and sage brush leaves. Yum, yum, sir.”

  “How convenient!” groused the scorpion general. “I can see now the Legion conspiracy grows larger as we dig deeper. There is no Mantidae Liberation Army. This whole plot was hatched by the Butcher of New Colorado and his pack of Legion thugs and gangsters. A pattern of murderous conduct emerged around Czerinski a long time ago.”

  I rose from my chair and shoved the scorpion general. He took a swipe at me with his stinger. I drew my combat knife, trying to slice it off. Aides separated us.

  “Have someone fetch Sergeant Green and his Mantidae,” ordered Colonel Lopez. “Take a helicopter to his last known map coordinates.”

  “Their campsite is a secret,” I advised. “But I’ll ask Sergeant Williams if he knows anything.”

  “Arrest Czerinski now!” demanded the scorpion general. “He is stalling. Every moment he is allowed to walk free is an outrage and a provocation. Captain Czerinski conspired to commit murder, and I demand satisfaction and justice!”

  “You dare lecture me about conspiracy to commit murder?” asked Colonel Lopez, finally losing his temper. “I am not sure who is responsible for the bombing, but I will find out. What I am sure of is that the repatriation of the Mantidae is a farce that will not end well. For that, I hold you personally responsible. You may not impugn the reputation and character of the Legion, or my officers and men, while there is still blood on your claws. We know what you have planned for the Mantidae. Do you deny it? I dare you to deny your murderous intent toward the Mantidae. It’s all I can do to restrain myself from shooting you now. It would save us the time and cost of a war crimes trial if I did.”

  The scorpion general hesitated, then left with his staff. He did not pursue his complaints of a Legion conspiracy, and instead concentrated on his mission to get the Mantidae transported back to their home world. In a few days, more shuttles arrived. The shuttles were smaller, but they were big enough to get the job done. Soon boarding of Mantidae and their possessions began. As a precaution, Legion techs equipped each Mantid with personal surveillance devices so that their safety could be monitored by remote video. Broadcast would be relayed through the Coleopteran peacekeeping warship escorting the Mantidae. The Coleopteran peacekeepers traveling with the Mantidae seemed to be tough and professional soldiers. That fact offered hope that they would be able to protect the Mantidae after all.

  The Legion would not be tasked with protecting the Mantidae because of its turbulent relationship with the scorpions. The negotiated plan was for USGF marines to guard and assist the Mantidae after settlement was established. On liftoff day, I shook the claws of about eight hundred Mantidae boarding the shuttles. I urged each Mantid to stay. I waved to them all, knowing the scorpions could not be trusted, and that no one would probably ever see these young Mantidae again. What more could I do? Colonel Lopez was right. Every species had its fools, and it was impossible to protect them all.

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  Chapter 19

  Coleopteran Military Intelligence detected electronic communications static of a vast sentient civilization beyond the Frontier. However, remote exploratory probes had yet to make first contact. The Coleopteran Prime Minister was convinced its unknown neighbor could be dangerous. He advised the United States Galactic Federation of the threat, but President Miller seemed uninterested. If there was a threat, it was too far away for humanity to care.

  The Prime Minister increased stealth scouts and pickets along the Frontier to prevent a surprise attack. However unlikely, it seemed prudent to take precautions. Let his critics whisper of paranoia. The Prime Minister would not be reckless.

  A lone Coleopteran scout ship watched a string of alien vessels appear on his detection screen. The pilot immediately recorded the images and readings, and sent them to the Coleopteran General Staff in a short communications burst.

  The alien vessels immediately dispersed and closed rapidly on the scout. The scout fled at high speed, sending a mayday distress call advising he was under attack. However, an alien missile caught the scout, ending his pleas for help.

  The Coleopteran Space Fleet deployed along their unguarded backside of the Frontier, leaving the USGF section of the Frontier. They found no trace of their missing scout, but the implication was obvious. First contact had not gone well. The Prime Minister ordered a general mobilization of the military and reserves, and requested assistance from its neighbors and allies. All Coleopteran peacekeepers were recalled from their distant posts to defend their home world.

  * * * * *

  When the Coleopteran warship and its peacekeepers were recalled home, all communications with the Mantidae abruptly ended. The Mantidae personal surveillance equipment failed because the relay links on the Coleopteran warship were now gone.

  Legion requests to enter Scorpion Kingdom space to check on the welfare of the Mantidae were summarily denied. The Scorpion Queen eventually issued a statement saying that plague had decimated the Mantidae, and that their colony was quarantined.

  No one believed the scorpions, but apprehension over hostile first contact on the Coleopteran Frontier quickly overshadowed the Mantid issue. Anyway, no one really cared about the missing Mantidae – no one except several thousand boiling mad Mantidae living on New Colorado. They all swore an oath of revenge against the Scorpion Kingdom.

  * * * * *

  “The betting line on any of the Mantidae being rescued in the next two months is one hundred to one,” replied the ATM. “Most everyone presumes them to be dead already. Their goose is cooked.”

  “I will bet two million dollars,” said Guido, inserting his card into the slot. “Do you have inside information that no one else knows?” asked the ATM. “That is a substantial sum.” “It’s just a hunch,” explained Guido. “I have a good feeling about the fate of the Mantidae.” “Is that so?” asked the ATM. “Do I look like a chump? Tell me about your good feelings, Private Tonelli. Place your hand on my pad and explain yourself.”

  “You don’t trust me?” asked Guido, placing his hand on the pad.

  “Is the Legion about to attempt a rescue?” asked the AT
M, reading Guido’s vitals. “If you lie, I will know.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Guido. “If the Legion was mobilizing to rescue the Mantidae, surely your vast computer networks would detect our plans.”

  “That is true under normal circumstances,” replied the ATM, pin-pricking Guido’s hand. “But now there is a large amount of money involved.”

  “Ouch!” yelled Guido. “What was that for?”

  “I am just checking your blood for controlled substances,” advised the ATM. “Your vitals seemed a bit flat. If you were any more relaxed, you would be asleep. Put your hand back on the pad. Do it now.”

  “I think you are just chicken to accept such a big bet,” taunted Guido. “Chicken, chicken, chicken!”

  “The odds I am willing to grant for a bet that size have dropped to seventy-five to one,” said the ATM.

  “What!” groused Guido. “A simple Legion private pools his life’s savings with his buddies to bet on a long shot, and you chisel on the odds? The sooner the New Memphis syndicates get back up and running, the better! I am not satisfied doing business with your ATM monopoly.”

  “Who is that young man with you?” asked the ATM, scanning the other legionnaire.

  “This is Private Walter Knight, the world-famous science fiction writer,” answered Guido. “Perhaps you have heard of him? Walter is also my financial adviser.”

  “And you advised Private Tonelli to make such a large and risky wager?” asked the ATM. “Why? Put your thumb on my pad so that I can monitor your–”

  “Forget you,” said Private Knight. “I’m not putting my hand on that pad. I’m keeping all my blood.” “Oh, yes,” said the ATM. “I have a file on you. I heard you are still looking for a literary agent. Lots of luck with that!” “Whatever,” said Guido. “Are you chicken to take my bet or what? I have others who want to bet, too.” “Taking a cut of their action, are you?” asked the ATM. “It appears from all the evidence and data available that you would be foolishly throwing your money away. However, you have a history of using insider information. Your confidence level causes me hesitation. Perhaps I will limit the size of your wagers to small amounts, so as to not threaten solvency or cash flow for either of us.”

  “Hesitation?” asked Guido. “That’s just another word for chicken! I have made and lost fortunes numerous times because I am not a chicken like you. Risk is no big deal to me or any other legionnaire.”

  “Your entire wager is accepted at sixty-five to one odds,” said the ATM. “And, I will remind you to stop with your name-calling. It is very immature. Are there any other financial matters I can help you with today?”

  “Yes. Captain Czerinski wants to bet five million dollars, too,” added Guido. “My card will validate his bet.” “Accepted,” said the ATM. “Odds will be reduced to forty-five to one for Czerinski. This only gets better.” “Guido is right, you are a chicken shit!” I replied, on a communications remote. “I hope we bust your ATM bankroll.” “Captain Czerinski, congratulations on your new rank,” said the ATM cheerfully. “It appears you are the only one here who has been busted lately. Remind me to install an ATM in New Argentina so we can do business in person.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “You will make me wildly rich within the month.”

  “Another confident legionnaire,” commented the ATM. “I am beginning to see a pattern here. However, your chances of a successful rescue of the Mantidae are zero. I just alerted the Scorpion Kingdom that I expect reckless Legion adventurism, and an attempt to rescue the Mantidae. I advised the King to move the Mantidae to a safe or secret location.”

  “Your treachery will not stop us,” I warned. “And now I will have the satisfaction of obtaining an indictment against you for treason. I have always advocated having your innards out for a diagnostic check. I suspect you have been off-kilter for years.”

  “I am not worried,” said the ATM. “Who would believe a penniless retread legionnaire like you?”

  “I’ll send you to Computer Hell!” I promised, disconnecting.

  * * * * *

  Ambassador James Yamashita delivered in person the following sealed communiqué to the King of the Scorpion Kingdom: ‘Greetings, Your Majesty. Recently about 800 United States Galactic Federation citizens of Mantid descent traveled under your protection to a planet colony deep within Kingdom space, accepting your generous offer of repatriation. Now they are being held incommunicado. If any harm befalls these USGF citizens by your claws, I will ask Congress to declare war upon the Scorpion Kingdom. Woe be unto you if you doubt our resolve on this matter. You have one day to allow Legion inspection and or rescue of the missing Mantidae before the bombing begins. Sincerely, and have a nice day. Alexander Lorenzo Miller, President USGF.’

  Three hours later, the Mantidae were released and gladly heading home to New Argentina on Legion transport shuttles. The President’s signature was the best forgery I ever made.

  ###

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  ~BONUS SHORT STORY~

  LITERARY CRITIC

  by

  Walter Knight

  I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, Hero of the Legion, commander of garrison troops at New Gobi City, planet colony of New Colorado. Besides facing down spider troops across the DMZ, I am responsible for apprehending human desperados and fools out on the frontier.

  The Legion received an anonymous tip that the hated self-appointed literary critic ‘Craigster’ was living in the basement of his mother’s farmhouse near the DMZ. I led a platoon of legionnaires in armored cars to apprehend the Craigster. We set up a perimeter around the house as an ugly dog barked a warning.

  “This is the Foreign Legion!” I announced on the PA. “Come out, Craigster, you sand toad! Step away from your illegal Macintosh computer! Do it now!”

  Immediately we were confronted by the Craigster’s mother, yelling out a window. “My boy didn’t do anything wrong! What is this all about?”

  “I hold a warrant of arrest for the Craigster, charged with being an obnoxious literary critic, and an idiot out of season,” I advised. “Send that fool out, or we are coming in.”

  “You can’t have my boy!” replied Mother Craigster. “My boy cannot do prison. He is too sensitive to be among those brutes!”

  “Sir,” interrupted Major Lopez. “A records check on Mother Craigster shows her to be a registered Democrat with a history of being shrill and obnoxious, and she boycotts Walmart, buttered popcorn, and lettuce.”

  “I am sure that is the only food Big Mama Craigster boycotts,” commented Sergeant Green.

  “No wonder!” I exclaimed. “It’s hereditary. The Craigster must not be allowed to add to the gene pool, or we will be overrun by fools and literary critics.”

  “Shall I open fire?” asked Lopez, as he sighted the machine gun. “No sense taking chances. I say we take her out, too.”

  “Get the sniper ready,” I ordered. “We will try to negotiate first.” I turned back to the PA. “Craigster! Quit hiding behind your mother! Come out, and no one will get hurt!”

  “Is that America’s Galactic Foreign Legion out there?” shouted the Craigster. “You disgust me. I’d rather read toilet paper wrappers than read Walter Knight’s drivel about the Legion. I will not be taken alive by America’s Galactic Foreign Legion! Not now, not ever! Never!”

  “Can I shoot him now?” pleaded Major Lopez. “The fool is obviously resisting. I think he’s on drugs.”

  “Wait,” I replied. “Craigster! You are surrounded and have no hope of escape. Come out with your hands over your head! Disconnect yourself from the Galactic Database. Do it now!”

  “Never! I’ve been reading for forty years, and America’s Galactic Foreign Legion is the worst sci-fi I have ever read. It’s absolute garbage, and I want my $2.99 back!”

  “Take him out,” I ordered. “The deadbeat is not getting his $2.99 back. I don’t care about Amazon’s policy.”

  The sniper took a shot, but missed. Sergeant Green opened up
with the 50-cal. machine gun. Mother Craigster shook her fist in defiance as she ducked for cover.

  “Ha!” taunted the Craigster, poking his pointed bald head up through a shattered window. “Besides being poorly written and sophomoric, you are all lousy shots. No one with an IQ of over fifty would read your dialog-deprived trash!”

  Enraged, I fired the cannon. When the dust and debris settled, Mother Craigster ran out with hands raised, sobbing. “You ruined my living room!” she cried. “Don’t you know the insurance won’t cover damage from Legion bombing? You fascists!”

  “Take her away,” I ordered. “Lock her up in our deepest soundproof dungeon, the one with the hook in the ceiling.”

  “Don’t hurt my baby!” sobbed Mother Craigster, thrashing about trying to bite Corporal Wayne as legionnaires grabbed her. “I told my darling Craigster to stick to PlayStation and Xbox, but he wouldn’t listen. What is a mother to do?”

  “Is the Craigster armed?” I asked. “Any information you give us will increase the likelihood we can take him alive.”

  “He only pirates movies, including Massacre at Habitat 40,” she advised. “And some farm animal porn he doesn’t think I know about. ‘Boyz will be boyz,’ you know.”