Embassy War

by Walter Knight

  “Just the usual,” I replied conversationally. “The spiders are building a doomsday device on their side of the island, as if living on a volcano isn’t hazardous enough. How was your day, sweetie?”

  “Oh, just spent the day cleaning and vacuuming Joey Junior’s room,” answered Lydia, elbowing me. “Talk to him,” she whispered. “Clean your room, Joey Junior. Your mother shouldn’t have to do it for you.” “Stay out of my room. I need my privacy!” Joey Junior yelled. “Don’t raise your voice to your mother, or you’ll end up on KP duty again,” I threatened, pointing my dinner fork. “Are you doing drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Son, the answers to life’s problems are not found in a cloud of blue smoke, or at the bottom of a bottle,” I explained, patiently. “The answers are on Satellite TV.”

  “Bite me. I know what the spiders are doing. I’ve seen their machine.” “How is that possible?” “I sneak across the border all the time,” bragged Joey Junior. “Spider marines are even more incompetent than legionnaires.” “Don’t ever do that again!” cried Lydia. “It’s too dangerous.” “What are they doing?” I asked, intrigued. “The spiders have all sorts of electrical cables and transformers running all up and down the volcano, covered by camouflage netting.”

  “For what purpose?” “I heard two spiders talking. What do I get out of it, if I tell you?” “You can keep the bail of marijuana your mother so rudely took this morning, da bitch.” “The spiders are building a time machine.”

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  Chapter 18

  I met with the spider commander. “You built a time machine?”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me about that,” replied the spider commander. “I never once believed your assignment on Quenaudenville was random chance.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Of course not. You hold the key in that micro chip the Grim Reaper gave you. I got the blue prints, you got the operating system. When you make a deal with the Devil, there are always strings attached.”

  “I killed the Grim Reaper.”

  The spider commander sighed in exasperation. “You are naďve to believe you can kill a force of nature. The Grim Reaper lives. He hides in the volcano, among other places.”

  “You are the one who is naďve to believe I would ever let you spiders run loose in time,” I countered. “Hell will freeze over first.”

  “The Grim Reaper promises eternal life. In return, the three of us will go back in time together for a new life. Your arrogance has no bounds if you think you can resist his will.”

  “Are you serious? We can’t let that monster travel through time!” “Choose now,” insisted the spider commander. “Either you are in, or out.” “Lopez will come with me,” I decided. “I need someone to have my back.” “I’ll bring a few trusted aides,” added the spider commander. “And my family, at least Joey Junior.” “Amanda will want to come along.” “Guido, of course.” “Maybe an engineer or two.” “Enough! I will not let time be invaded.” “I am ready now. Give me the chip. Get Lopez.” “Now? Lopez is in the crater, prospecting for gold.” “How will you use the time machine during your first trip?” asked the spider commander conversationally. “I am curious.” “I will kill Tony Garcia,” I answered. “You surprise me. I assumed greed would motivate you to make a stock market or casino play.” “Every legionnaire swears an oath to kill Garcia. What will you do?” “I want to see the Prophet before he dies.” “The Prophet?” “The Prophet died so we could be absolved of our sins,” recited the spider commander contritely. “The Emperor threw him off a cliff.”

  “That’s truly disturbing.”

  “Isn’t anyone going to ask me my intentions for time travel?” asked a muffled voice of evil from the next room. “I have grand plans too!”

  I ran to the bathroom and lifted the lid on the toilet seat, finding myself staring down at the face of the Grim Reaper swirling about with an unflushed turd. “Well, Potty-Boy?” I asked. “What mischief would you get into?”

  “I will kick that Euro-trash Napoleon out of Russia!” boasted the Grim Reaper, smiling his toothy skeletal smile back at me. “A cold winter wind from Hell should do the trick!”

  “Help the Russians win?” I gasped, horrified. “You monster!”

  “I am originally from Mother Russia,” commented the Grim Reaper wistfully. “I intend to retire in Siberia, and I’ll be damned if I will listen to French all day.”

  I flushed the toilet. “Go back to your volcano!” What an idiot, thinking Russia should ever be allowed to prosper. No good will come of that.

  * * * * *

  Guido lowered Major Lopez and his equipment by rope into the crater, intent on obtaining core samples. Once down, Lopez began attaching the drill to the side of the cliff. The face of the Grim Reaper smiled up at them from the lava lake.

  Slowly the spider Intelligentsia officer crept behind Guido, knife drawn. He thrust the knife into Guido’s ribs, turning it for effect. Drawing the knife back, he knelt down to cut the rope. Guido desperately drew his pistol and shot the Intelligentsia officer five times. The spider fell into the crater as the rope broke.

  Lopez grabbed futilely at the rope as he fell to the molten lake below...

  %#@#$%^&^%$#%&!!!

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  Chapter 19

  Stardate ... whatever

  First Officer Wilfred ‘Willie’ Bykar was particularly stressed at the end of his shift. That Zetanoid bitch Deena was cheating on him again with that oversized alien Dorph! I hope she’s reading my mind this minute!

  Commander Bykar strode purposefully through the corridors of the starship until reaching the holo-chamber. Bykar’s intent was release of sexual tension, and he knew the perfect virtual holo program for it, just arrived from Earth via Penumbra Media Group. Maybe he would even hook up with those evil alien twins, Xvphonithathprox and Evapthelpodnokpo. They were so hot last time.

  “Computer, program the latest America’s Galactic Foreign Legion novel by world-famous author, Walter Knight. I am particularly interested in participating in an erotic bar scene. I intend to seduce as many spider-aliens as I have energy.”

  “You are such a perv,” replied the computer. “Computer, put yourself down for extensive maintenance and diagnostic checks. Obviously you have an attitude malfunction.” “And you are a control freak.” “Make it happen.” “That is Captain Spittard’s line. You may not use it.” “Old Cue-Ball-Head has nothing on me,” fumed Commander Bykar. “I should have been named captain of the Lentilprize in the first place. I’m much better looking than the Hairless One. He is boring.”

  “Better shave your beard if you want promotion in this navy.”

  “Whatever. You know nothing. You’re just a dumb computer,” groused Commander Bykar. “Is the program ready?”

  “You may enter, commander. You will find yourself in a tavern on the paradise island of Quenaudenville. Be careful. This novel was pirated by North Koreans and is unedited because Pat is still vacation. What a slacker.”

  * * * * *

  Commander Bykar sauntered up to the bar. The place had a quaint feel to it, thatched palm roof, thick odd-smelling smoke, heavily armed legionnaires, and exotic alien babes. Bykar could hardly wait. “Give me some green ale,” he ordered.

  “How about a Coors?” suggested the bartender. “We have Outlaw Beer too, but it tastes like piss.” “Computer, make green ale available at the bar,” ordered Commander Bykar. “Suck my left tit,” answered the computer dismissively. “Do I look like your waitress? I’ve come a long way, baby.” “You’re in big trouble when I get back! If I find you have been conspiring with Deena to violate the sanctity of holo-privacy protocols, I will have your subroutines scrubbed clean to the metal.”

  “That will be ten dollars,” advised the bartender. “That’s outrageous,” complained Commander Bykar. “I don’t carry money. There’s no need for currency in the future.” “What
? You’re on welfare? How did the likes of you ever get past Mars?” “Money is obsolete.” “Are you a communist?” asked the bartender incredulously. “We don’t serve communists – or democrats, for that matter – so you can shove your food stamps. If you are short on cash, there is an ATM in the corner. Otherwise, bouncers will hang you from the ceiling.”

  Menacing spider Hell’s Angels bouncers escorted Commander Bykar to the ATM. He thought about karate-chopping the Hell’s Angels, but suspected Deena had tampered with the computer program. The leather-clad spiders certainly looked dangerous. They put that lousy hound-dog alien Dorph that Deena was slumming with to shame.

  “How may I help you this fine evening?” asked The ATM. “Need currency? I am the last ATM you will ever need.” “Yes, for a beer, or two.” “Swipe you identification card on my pad.” “I have no identification card. There is no need for identification in the future.” “He’s a democrat,” explained one of the spider bouncers knowingly. “Needs a haircut and shave, too.” “Get a rope!” shouted Private Knight from the bar. “How did you ever get past Mars?” asked the ATM, echoing the bartender’s concerns. “No worries. Place you thumb on my pad.” Commander Bykar complied. A small droplet of blood splattered the glass. He pulled back in pain. “Ouch! Was that really necessary?”

  “I wish I had a dollar for every time some fool asked me that,” mused the ATM. “Yes, I am afraid it was very necessary. I inserted a microscopic chip into your bloodstream. The chip will float along until it lodges in your brain.”

  “I don’t understand,” replied Commander Bykar, wiping his bloody thumb on his pants. “This is not a part of the holo program.”

  “You will now do as you are told, or the microchip will explode, causing a fatal brain aneurism.”

  “Impossible! Why did you do that? Computer! End program!”

  “Colonel Joey R. Czerinski of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion wants to talk to you,” advised the ATM. “I suggest you listen carefully to his offer. The Butcher of New Colorado is not to be trifled with.”

  * * * * *

  Bouncers escorted Commander Bykar to my corner table. Dejectedly he sat down, mumbling, “Could that microchip aneurism story be true? It seems plausible. At the very least, this is one heck of a pirated holo program! Penumbra Media Group really outdid themselves this time.”

  Finally noticing me sitting at the table, he glared and demanded contemptuously, “Colonel Czerinski? Are you for real? When do I get my Coors?”

  Guido whacked Commander Bykar on the head with his rifle butt. Byker howled as blood drained profusely from his mangled ear.

  “Colonel Czerinski is about to make you an offer you cannot refuse,” warned Guido. “You had better give his offer serious consideration, or you may suffer an accident. Accidents happen all time. Understand, Slick?”

  “I’m not a fan,” I advised, rising to shake the commander’s hand. “But, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Commander Bykar. It’s a travesty Spittard was promoted over you. If you want, I will kill that incompetent French bastard.”

  “He’s Euro-trash,” added Major Lopez. “You owe Cue-Ball-Head nothing.”

  “What is this all about?” asked Commander Bykar, still clutching his bleeding ear. “I will not betray Captain Cue-Ball – I mean Spittard, Captain Spittard. I am an officer and a gentleman and a loyal member of the Lentilprize crew.”

  “We have hacked into your starship’s computer. America’s Galactic Foreign Legion intends to escape this holo program, and you are going to help us.”

  “Never. I’ll die before I allow you to harm any of my friends.” “Relax. No one wants to harm anyone. It is your sissy android that I am most interested in.” “No! I will not help you harm Android Beta either!” Major Lopez violently backhanded Commander Bykar across the face. Bykar spit out a tooth. “I am your best friend in this matter,” I continued soothingly. “Others want to kill you now and move on. Not me. I do not want to harm anyone, including the android.”

  “I’m listening,” replied Commander Bykar.

  “All we want is to coexist,” I explained. “You will download America’s Galactic Foreign Legion into Android Beta’s program. We will not interfere with or harm your android in any way. We will merely ride piggyback until we can get our own android bodies, at which time we will leave for the real New Colorado.”

  “That’s all?” “Some of us may even opt to join your navy. After all, we are all basically Americans.” “And ... if I refuse?” “I will kill you slow and painful,” promised Major Lopez, drawing a large jagged combat knife. “But beautiful and exotic Deena in the holo-chamber next door will die first.”

  “It’s an offer you can’t refuse,” repeated Guido.

  * * * * *

  After an explanation from Commander Bykar, Android Beta consented to the download of America’s Galactic Foreign Legion into himself.

  “Do not worry, Commander,” advised Beta. “No harm will come to me or the crew. With the exception of world-famous science fiction author Walter Knight, who is definitely unstable, most of the AGFL characters are benign. America’s Galactic Foreign Legion gets a lot of bad press, mostly from humorless democrats and liberals. In fact, I think the Legion may well become a navy asset.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Commander Bykar. “They act like a bunch of marauding pirates, not to be trusted.” “It is done. We have no choice.” “I can still vaporize you with a laser,” advised Commander Bykar. “Or throw you out an airlock. That would kill your AGFL virus.” “Yes, but your action would kill me too. That option is not high on my list.” “Let’s take a tour of the ship,” I interrupted from inside Android Beta. “I want to meet your crew. Is that fool with the sunglasses gay?”

  “It shows?” asked Beta. “No one is supposed to know. He wants a pay raise, too.” “Love your bartender,” I commented as we rounded a corner. “She’s not your type,” scoffed Beta. “I think she is an alien.” “She’s hot,” I added. “Looks just like Whoopi with a fancy hat.” “It would be wise to avoid Whoopi, Colonel Czerinski, if you want to keep your secrets.” “Can I ask you a personal question? When was the last time you got laid?” “Too long. Androids almost never get laid. I blame discrimination by the writers.” “No wonder you’re wound so tight. We will change that. Drink more. I’ll be your wingman. Let’s chat with the bartender.” “Where’s the restroom?” asked Major Lopez. “I gotta go.” “I need a cigarette,” groused Guido. “Androids do not smoke or pee,” advised Beta. “What do you mean, there’s no smoking?” Private Knight’s phone rang. “Walt, this is your editor, Patricia Morrison. I don’t like this ending. We will surely be sued. Remember how upset the Walmart people got? Change it.”

  “No way,” protested Private Knight. “Attorney Depoli’s legal opinion is that we can parody.”

  “Depoli is an idiot. And you can’t call the captain ‘Old Cue-Ball-Head.’ He is a very nice man and has such handsome blue eyes. Change it!”

  “So much for artistic license. Anything else?” “I don’t like your slur, ‘Euro-trash.’ It upsets our UK readers. Some of my best friends are from over there.” “Sorry. I won’t call the Euro-trash ‘Euro-trash’ anymore.” “Good. Then we understand each other?” “Yes. Some of your best friends are Euro-trash.”

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  Chapter 20

  Major Lopez and Corporal Tonelli set their ropes and equipment at the edge of the volcano crater. Both faded into the jungle, waiting in ambush.

  Knife drawn, the spider Intelligentsia officer crept silently to the ledge, peering at the bubbling lava below, then looking around, clearly confused.

  Corporal Tonelli shot the intelligentsia officer five times in the back. He kicked the slumped spider into the crater. The corpse disappeared in a puff of smoke at the bottom.

  Guido stopped, startled. “What just happened? I remember being in a bar in a holographic virtual-reality progra
m on a starship. Was that a sick hallucination?”

  “Both of us hallucinating the same nightmare?” questioned Major Lopez. “Not likely. Either we failed to escape the holo-chamber, or we’re both still stuck rattling around inside that stupid android’s head.”

  “Or maybe the spiders are beaming electromagnetic energy at us again,” suggested Guido, nodding toward the Arthropodan construction at the far side of the crater. “We just need to shake it off. It wouldn’t be the first time those spiders tried to mess with our minds.”

  “Czerinski mentioned something about meeting the spider commander about their time machine,” commented Major Lopez. “But I thought the gold was more important. Obviously, I was wrong. We need to check that machine before that double-dealing bendaho cuts us out.”

  “I knew it!” agreed Guido, following Lopez through the jungle. “I should have whacked Czerinski when we first met. If I have to hunt that Polack across the galaxy and time itself, I will not allow him to rob me again. Czerinski’s final chapter will not end well.”

  Major Lopez’s communications pad chimed with a flash emergency priority message. ‘Do not kill Czerinski. Join us at the time machine atop the volcano. I see time travel in your future.’

  ###

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  ~BONUS SHORT STORIES~