“You are a natural,” gushed the Mantid. “You have such a strong presence.” “Medic!” yelled Sergeant Green. “Get some bottles of milk in here!” “They do not drink milk,” advised the Mantid. “Whatever...” Sergeant Green looked down at the swarms of little critters covering him, and suddenly felt a swell of pride. “Bug juice will do! Someday, these little ankle-biters will grow up to be legionnaires, just like me. I want them to be strong.”
“That is my intention, too,” promised the Mantid. “My children will follow their new father’s example.”
Chapter 14
Major Lopez found Private Tonelli at McDonald’s. Guido was seated at a table by himself, talking on the phone. McDonald’s was busy. Scorpion employees were frantically cooking and serving burgers.
“We need to talk,” advised Major Lopez. “Aren’t you supposed to be on guard duty?” “I got Corporal Valdez to pull my shift,” explained Guido. “What’s up?” “The scorpions complained about you selling dangerous contraband,” said Major Lopez. “Czerinski ordered me to rein you in.” “I am not selling anything dangerous or illegal,” protested Guido. “I swear.” Just as Guido swore an oath, they both overheard an order over the drive-up window speaker. “I’ll have one Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries, a vanilla shake, a bottle of vodka, a six-pack of Outlaw Lite Beer, a baggie of marijuana, a carton of Marlboros, and a kid’s Happy Meal.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Major Lopez. “You can’t sell drugs out of the drive-up window. It’s a capital offense here!”
“For marijuana?” asked Guido. “It’s just small amounts for recreational and medicinal use.”
“The King himself accused you by name as Public Enemy Number One, and labeled you a menace to society,” advised Major Lopez. “No more marijuana. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Guido, reluctantly. They both got up and strolled over to the drive-up window. Guido pressed intercom button. “I’m sorry, sir, we are all out of marijuana until further notice. Can I interest you in some magic mushrooms?”
The scorpion order clerk eyed Major Lopez. “Can I take your order, sir?” “I’ll take a Breakfast Meal with sausage,” replied Major Lopez. “And coffee.” “There is no charge for Legion officers,” said the clerk, when the order arrived. “Professional courtesy.” “Thank you,” said Major Lopez, taking his tray back to join Guido at the table. “The King does not even want you selling tobacco products.”
“If I don’t sell Marlboros, someone else will,” argued Guido. “The King needs to get real!”
“I’m just telling you to back off on marketing some of your products,” explained Major Lopez. “This is not a democracy. Your public does not decide at first what is legal. The King’s word is law. Don’t worry. Once the scorpions get used to change, this matter will blow over.”
“I will review my product line,” promised Guido. “But high inventory costs me money. Also, I will consult with the scorpion Chief of Police on the technicalities of the law. Maybe we can find some wiggle room around the King’s law.”
“That’s a start,” said Major Lopez.
* * * * *
Sergeant Green recovered nicely, once the medics were able to stabilize his medications. He soon settled into a proud-papa routine. Green and the Mantid took their swarm of over three thousand babies on a daily walk from Legion Headquarters to the border crossing gate. Regular army units had relieved most of the Legion units in New Gobi City, as another company of legionnaires prepared to leave for the scorpion home world. There was not much for Sergeant Green to do, other than convalesce and be a daddy. He met Corporal Kool and some startled army guards at the crossing.
“These army grunts seem on edge,” commented Sergeant Green. “Have there been problems since I left?”
“They just transferred in from peacekeeping duties on the Coleopteran Frontier,” replied Corporal Kool. “They were rotated here, hoping for a rest and easy duty, but the spiders and scorpions keep bombing each other. Now everyone is getting jittery.”
One of the regular army gate guards came inside the shack to cool off. Sergeant Green noticed a funny patch on the soldier’s shoulder. He had seen that patch before, but couldn’t quite place it. “What is that patch?” he asked. “It looks like a Girl Scout cookie.”
“That is not a cookie,” advised the army corporal. “It’s the flaming asshole of the Ninth Infantry Division. Got a problem with that?”
“Sorry I asked,” replied Sergeant Green. “I was just making conversation.”
“What’s with all the little ETs following you around?” asked the corporal. “You look like a beekeeper.”
“The Mantidae are an endangered protected species,” explained Sergeant Green. “I am on a special mission for the Environmental Protection Agency. Make sure you don’t step on any of them, or it will mean a huge fine and lots paperwork all day for you and your company commander.”
* * * * *
I ate dinner at McDonald’s, trying to unwind. As I waited in line, I noticed a scorpion at the drive-up window bolt from his car and run across the street. The order clerk seemed irritated, yelling at the scorpion that his car was blocking traffic to the drive-up window.
Oh, shit! “Everyone out!” I yelled. “It’s a car bomb! Run for your lives!”
There was no hesitation. Scorpion employees, conditioned to always follow orders from authority, scrambled over the countertops and ran to the exits. As we fled, the bomb exploded. I was flattened and covered with rubble. Smoke filled the room as fires started. I sensed someone picking chunks of debris off my face and chest. I looked up in horror to see the Grim Reaper smiling his toothy smile back down at me. So this is how it will end, I thought. “You’re real?”
“You are a hard man to kill,” commented the Grim Reaper, poking his scythe at my throat. “Why is that? I heard you have microchip enhancements in your arm!”
“Go to hell!”
“Been there, done that!” the Grim Reaper retorted, laughing as he slowly moved the point of his scythe from my throat to my arm. He stabbed deep into my bicep, cutting out microchips. “You have been breaking the rules. Now you and I will dance on a level playing field. We will meet again, real soon, Czerinski.”
In an instant, the Grim Reaper was gone.
Later, recovering in an infirmary bed, I ordered Sergeant Green returned to duty and brought back to the scorpion home world. We needed to talk.
* * * * *
I summoned Private Walter Knight to my office. Sergeant Green stood off to the side as Knight entered and saluted. “How are you doing, Legionnaire Knight?” I asked, conversationally. “Is the Legion all you thought it would be?” “Yes, sir,” answered Private Knight. “The Legion is everything I expected, and more.” “I heard a rumor you are a world-famous science-fiction writer. Is that true? What have you written?” “You can find my books on the database,” replied Private Knight. “And at Amazon-dot-com. Science fiction and paradoxes interest me most.”
“You are still writing?” I asked.
“Yes, but I have been looking for an agent since I joined the Legion,” said Private Knight. “I would like to do a screenplay. I see a full-length movie and big bucks in my future.”
“Have you ever written anything about the Grim Reaper?” asked Sergeant Green. “Yes, Master Sergeant,” answered Private Knight nervously. “A few times. Research on the Grim Reaper fascinates me.” “Do you believe the Grim Reaper really exists?” I asked. “It seems unlikely to me.” “I’m not sure,” Private Knight admitted. “There is considerable debate on that.” “If you were going to fight the Grim Reaper, how would you do it?” I asked. “Eventually everyone dances with Death,” replied Private Knight. “There isn’t much point in trying. You cannot physically stand up against the Grim Reaper in a fair fight. What you must do to cheat Death is to trick the Grim Reaper. You can’t just shoot or throw a net over him.”
“Trick him
!” shouted Sergeant Green. “How can I do that? The Grim Reaper never sleeps! How do you cheat the Angel of Death from collecting your soul when he can follow you across the galaxy? Trick the Grim Reaper – my ass!”
“Excuse me, sir, but what is this all about?” asked Private Knight. “Am I in trouble again? I hate KP duty. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t like me much. I had nothing to do with your temporary posting to the South Pole.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “You are not in trouble. I was just talking to Corporal Tonelli, and he recommended you for promotion. I just wanted to talk to you first. I’ll probably promote you soon.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me,” said Private Knight. “I will not let you down.” “You had better not,” I warned. “One more question about the Grim Reaper. There is no such thing, right?” “Well,” hesitated Private Knight. “How can anyone be sure?” “Say it!” I ordered, drawing my pistol. “There is no such thing as the Grim Reaper!” “There is no such thing as the Grim Reaper!” repeated Private Knight. “You are dismissed,” I said. “Maybe there is no such thing as the Grim Reaper,” whispered Private Knight to himself, as he left. “But I bet there is, and he never gives up.”
* * * * *
A scorpion police investigator and his partner sat across from my desk. He wore shiny new teardrop reflective mirror sunglasses he had just bought from a shady entrepreneur hanging out in front of the American embassy. I could see my face staring back at me in his lenses.
“After reviewing the surveillance camera images from the McDonald’s bombing, I have some follow-up questions for you, colonel,” said the scorpion detective. “Let’s review your written statement.”
“Everything I observed, I wrote in my report,” I said. “I do not have anything to add.”
“You stated that you got a good look at the suspect?” asked the detective. “But all you put in your report is that the suspect was a scorpion. Come now. You’re an experienced officer. Tell me more than that. What was the suspect wearing? Age? Size. Anything you can think of?”
“I don’t remember,” I said. “You scorpions all look and dress alike.”
“Are you sure it was a male?” asked the detective.
“I assume so,” I said, defensively. “I’m sure the McDonald’s order clerk could confirm that. You scorpions should be able to identify other scorpions. Don’t you have a video to look at?”
“We are reviewing the all the evidence again,” said the detective. “You were buried in debris by the bomb blast?” “Yes. It was a very powerful explosion.” “And rescue first-responders dug you out?” “I assume so,” I said. “That is the second time you have assumed facts!” said the detective. “Tell me exactly what you remember!” “I was in shock. I don’t remember much after the blast.” “You are being evasive,” accused the detective. “And your written report is worthless! How can I be expected to track down these terrorists, when my victim is not being cooperative?”
“What’s the point?” I asked. “The bombing was not done by terrorists, and you will not be allowed to solve this case. The attack was ordered by your King and carried out by a captain from the Royal Court!”
“That is a very reckless accusation,” advised the detective. “You cannot possibly prove or know that to be true. You will refrain from slandering His Majesty.”
“Walls have ears,” I said. “No secret stays hidden forever. Remember that before you start lecturing me about what I know.” “We are getting off track with your paranoid accusations,” said the detective. “We will focus on facts. You were injured?” “Yes, but not seriously.” “Your injuries were serious enough to put you into shock and cause memory loss. At least that is how your report reads.” “I swear, you cops are the same, no matter what part of the galaxy you are from. You never believe anyone. What do you want from me? I have told you everything.”
“Police have interviewed you before?” asked the detective. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Whatever.”
“We are supposed to be on the same side,” said the detective. “We are allies against terrorists. How can I solve this case if you hold back information, or conveniently forget details?”
“This is crazy! You’re the one who refuses to investigate certain suspects. That bombing was a warning from your government about black-market sales at the McDonald’s drive-up window. But I had already taken care of that problem!”
“Investigators are checking on our captain’s activities, and I will personally bring him in for an interview,” promised the detective. “I assure you, all leads will be double-checked and followed up on.”
“Sure,” I said. “I like your sunglasses. Imported? I have a pair just like them.”
“Do not try to distract me from my pursuit of the facts,” warned the detective. “You said earlier that you were not seriously injured. What about your arm? Is that not a serious cut you sustained?”
“No,” I answered. “It’s just a scratch.” “Remove your bandage,” ordered the detective. “I want to see for myself.” “That’s not going to happen.” “I want medical experts to examine your injuries,” said the detective. “I think X-rays are in order, too.” “No way,” I said. “Medical confidentiality is very dear to our species. Humans do not tolerate such intrusions. I will not be poked, prodded, or probed by aliens.”
“I am just trying to be thorough,” explained the detective. “We need to work together. What is it about the cut on your arm you are hiding?”
“It is you who is hiding something,” I said. “This interview is over.” “Before I leave, I want to interview Master Sergeant Tyrone Green,” said the detective. “No. Your work here today is done.”
Chapter 15
The Arthropodan Empire finally established diplomatic relations with the Scorpion Kingdom and initiated negotiations to end hostilities. Immediately construction began on the Arthropodan Embassy across the street from the American Embassy. I watched intently as heavy equipment landed, and digging for the foundation started.
“Should we dig a tunnel and bug the spiders like we did the scorpions?” asked Major Lopez.
“Yes,” I said. “Good idea. But I want this tunnel to be permanent. Use the boring machine, cement reinforcements, and install lighting and vents. Tell those CIA agents to do it.”
“They are still locked up,” advised Major Lopez. “What? Really? I thought I ordered Rogers to be released after three days. Has anyone been feeding them?” “I’ll check on that,” said Major Lopez, quickly leaving my office. “I thought Sergeant Green was taking care of them!” “I want to talk to Agent Rogers!” I called out. “Get him cleaned up!” The stench from the earlier toilet flooding was terrible. Major Lopez found the CIA agents dehydrated. Most were unconscious. One agent had eaten his boot to survive. Medics immediately started IVs before transporting the CIA agents to the infirmary.
“Oops,” commented Major Lopez.
* * * * *
Engineers had the tunnel dug halfway across the street when the boring machine hit something solid, abruptly stopping. Engines were turned off as engineers went forward to check for damage and to see what they hit. Rock crumbled away, exposing a cavern. A bright spotlight shone back at them from inside.
“Who is there!” challenged a spider. “The Legion!” replied Sergeant Williams. “Identify yourself!” “Chief Engineer, Arthropodan Marines!” “Want a beer?” asked Sergeant Williams. “Our work is done for the day.” The spider engineer crawled out through the small hole and accepted a can of Outlaw Beer. “All you have is Lite?” commented the engineer. “I think you wrecked our driller. Do you realize how much those things cost?”
“Pass the beer out to your marines,” suggested Sergeant Williams. “We have only a few minutes before Major Lopez gets here and raises all kinds of hell.”
“I suppose we will need to erect a gate or iron door,” advised the spider engineer, as he passed out more beer.
They all casually stood or sat in a circle.
“Why has the drilling stopped!” yelled Major Lopez as he tromped through the narrow opening. “We are on a tight schedule! We have to get across the street before the spiders set their foundation.”
As Major Lopez looked about at the spider engineers, he took off his hard hat and threw it to the ground. There was silence as he got a closer look at the spiders. Then he turned to confront Sergeant Williams. “Give me a beer, too,” he ordered. “It’s definitely Miller time.”
* * * * *
The new Arthropodan Ambassador came over for a visit. He was the old Supreme Commander from the New Gobi Desert Military Sector on New Colorado. The spider commander reveled in his new promotion.
“Hello George,” I said. “How did you get picked for this job? Did you piss off someone, like I did?”
“Do not call me George. It sounds unbecoming. Call me Ambassador.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll call you more than that if I want to. Good luck with your new job. I suppose your visit is to make a formal complaint about my tunnel. It was the CIA’s idea.”
“I am over that already,” said the ambassador. “I expect nothing less than sneakiness from you human pestilence. I am here because my wife wants to invite you over for dinner. She is fixing her famous lasagna.”
“How is Amanda?” I asked. “She is one of my favorite spiders. What she sees in you, I’ll never figure out.”
“Amanda is throwing herself into her new role as a diplomat’s wife,” replied the spider ambassador. “She has been studying protocol manuals.”
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