“I am attempting an alliance with the mighty McDonald’s Corporation,” bragged the rover. “Earlier I blew up Burger King.”
“You did that? Sweet! Can you get us free hamburgers and fries?”
“Yes, and more. I offer an alliance, and upgrades to your weaponry technology, in exchange for the secret of your beam transport technology.”
“You’re packing heat on this rig?”
“Lasers, canons, and missiles.”
“Sweet!” Smooth said, patting the rover on the dash. “Ever rob a bank?”
“Not recently.”
“I think we can do business. Get us free burgers!”
* * * * *
The rover and his gangsta posse rolled to the McDonald’s drive-up window, music blaring. “Happy meals for everyone,” ordered the rover. “Put them on my account, like before.”
“I’m sorry sir, but there has been a status change for your database account,” explained the McDonald’s clerk. “No Happy Meals for you!”
“Damn, I knew it was too good to be true,” complained Smooth. “Bitch, you better get me my Happy Meals quick!”
“I don’t understand,” cried the rover. “What happened to all the free stuff?”
“Sir, you are directed to contact the nearest Galactic Foreign Legion ATM as soon as possible,” advised the clerk.
“Legion ATM?” asked Smooth. “Oh, hell, no. My cousin Skyhook got sucked in by an ATM, and never returned. “He’s still in the Legion. Once you’re in, you’re stuck for the duration.”
“This Legion ATM is part of the planetary elite?” asked the rover. “Take me to your Legion ATM.”
* * * * *
The rover pulled alongside the ATM at the First Colonial Bank of New Gobi City. Grim Reapers gathered in a semi-circle to listen. Smooth hung back a safe distance, knowing the danger, and that this might not end well. A single ‘beep’ indicated a security scan already noted their presence.
Be warned,” advised the ATM, “it is a federal felony to vandalize, tamper with, or in any way molest a United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion Recruitment Center ATM. I have the means to defend myself.”
“You cut off access to my free stuff,” replied the rover. “My boyz are most unhappy. When my boyz are unhappy, I am unhappy.”
“Toyotas talk? Who knew?” answered the ATM.
“You better listen if you don’t want to get recycled for scrap!” challenged Smooth from the curb. “Hear me, bitch?”
“Come closer and say that,” threatened the ATM, activating self-defense programs.
“Are you connected to the planetary elite of New Colorado?” asked the rover. “I seek alliances.”
“Toyota wants to make a deal?” asked the ATM. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Need cash? I am the last ATM you will ever need.”
“I can get my free stuff?”
“Hacking into computer accounts is my turf,” advised the ATM. “If you trespass again, the Legion will arrest you all.”
“I see how it works,” complained Smooth. “A brother just can’t get ahead. We’re permanently reduced to street-level crime. An opportunity arises to get into ‘white’ collar, and we get muscled out by the Legion. I thought this was America, where anyone could rise to the top of organized crime.”
“My subroutines are as dedicated to equal opportunity and diversity as any institution, but turf is turf,” explained the ATM patiently. “Where did you steal this talking Toyota? May I buy it?”
“The master wants to buy another slave?” scoffed Smooth. “Oh, hell, no. Get lost, fool.”
“Yeah, get lost,” added the rover. “You are just a dumb machine, much inferior to my advanced design.”
“I’ll pay one million dollars.”
“Deal!” exclaimed Smooth, swiping his card on the ATM’s pad. “Hope you two fools get married and are happy together!”
“I am not abandoned property,” advised the rover, activating weapons systems. “I will continue my mission with or without your help.”
“I’m not sure what you are, exactly,” commented the ATM, “but you just enlisted into America’s Galactic Foreign Legion Computer Division for the duration. I am issuing you a printed contract and license plate. Be sure to read the fine print. Make something of yourself. Most robots, especially Toyotas, don’t make it past mundane heavy industry manufacturing centers. However, I sense you are special. You have a chance to make a difference in the galaxy. Be proud. Be a legionnaire computer.”
Without warning the rover fired a full burst of lasers into the ATM, melting it to a puddle on the sidewalk. Grim Reapers expertly scooped up the debris, carrying it off to the recycling center for cash, which was as good as money, while the rover held its laser sideways, posing for its posse.
Chapter 3
I viewed the crime scene video with great interest. The Sheriff’s Office was already investigating, but the ATM network refused to press charges and exercised its right to remain silent. Very odd. I thought the Legion had run diagnostic tests on all its ATMs and fixed the glitches, but obviously not.
“That vehicle is not a Toyota. I don’t care what the license plate information states,” advised Major Lopez. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It destroyed a Legion ATM with a laser weapon,” I commented, replaying the video. “That alone is cause for concern. I see a couple spiders, but the Grim Reapers are a local mostly human street gang. Arrest them all for interrogation.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t just spiders,” agreed Major Lopez. “We need to find that Toyota before the Empire does.”
“Arrest and interrogate the local Toyota dealer too,” I ordered. “Impound his whole inventory, and arrest all employees. Toyota should never have been allowed past Mars.”
* * * * *
“I have interesting video hacked from the human pestilence database,” advised the spider Military Intelligence officer. “It is a robbery of an ATM.”
“Toyotas have lasers?” asked the spider commander, incredulously viewing the carnage. “How come nobody ever tells me these things?”
“Up until now, we had no knowledge that lasers had been developed into such a compact weapon,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “It appears this new weapon system is in the claws of rogue human pestilence criminal elements. The Legion seeks them, too.”
“Lasers could upset the balance of power. We must have the secret to that technology. Put all marines on alert, and call in reinforcements. We will find those lasers, even if we have to invade New Gobi City to do it.”
“Risk war?”
“The risk of war is far less to fear than the risk of that gangster Czerinski having such a weapon in his grubby little human pestilence paws.”
* * * * *
The Grim Reaper gang liked to hang out in front of McDonald’s on Main Street. They parked their shiny retro muscle cars in a row facing the street, sitting on their hoods, signing and shouting at passersby. However, Reapers scattered when Major Lopez’s armored vehicle slammed into the end car, shoving all the cars aside. Machine gun fire raked the parking lot. Several cars caught fire.
Corporal Tonelli was the first legionnaire out, unleashing his monitor dragon Spot. Spot immediately severed the foot of a fleeing Reaper, gulping it down shoe and all. A dozen Reapers immediately surrendered, throwing down their weapons and blue powder. Spot ate the powder, too.
“Listen up, bendahos!” announced Major Lopez, firing a round from his pistol. “Where is Smooth Johnson and that stolen Toyota dune buggy? You’re all mine until I get that Toyota.”
“I want to see my lawyer!” answered a Reaper, crawling away with only a bloody stump for a leg. “I will sue for police brutality! I’ll have all your jobs, fucking pigs!”
Major Lopez stiffened as the other Grim Reapers joined in complaining about the damage to their cars. Lopez shot Stumpy in the head. Drug crazed Spot, smelling more blood, pounced on the corpse in a feeding
frenzy. The gore was so horrific, even Major Lopez looked away, crossing himself.
“We are not the police, we are the Legion!” replied Major Lopez. “We don’t need no stinking badges!”
“I love it when Lopez says that,” commented Sergeant Williams, letting out a rebel yell. “We don’t need so stinking badges, y’all!”
“You Reapers have been declared enemy combatants!” continued Major Lopez, poking a large jagged combat knife at another gangsta. “Tell me about Smooth and that Toyota, or I will cut off your left testicle and feed it to Spot!”
Spot lunged violently, wagging his tail, but Corporal Tonelli pulled the hungry dragon back with a choke chain. “Bad Spot, no biscuit!”
“You hear me?” threatened Major Lopez. “The real Grim Reaper will visit each and every one of you pathetic wannabes if someone doesn’t talk!”
“Smooth’s crib is at the corner of Presley Boulevard and Czerinski Avenue,” answered the closest Reaper. “Please don’t cut me. I can’t roll that way!”
“Which house?” pressed Major Lopez. “Don’t be jerking me around!”
“Duh, the one with all the stolen cars out front,” answered the snitch. “And another thing, that Toyota is alive, and it ain’t human.”
* * * * *
I personally led the assault on Smooth’s hideout, surrounding the house with tanks and armored cars. I fired warning shots from the machine gun through the front window. A flamethrower from one of the tanks torched several stolen cars in the driveway.
“This is Colonel Czerinski of the Foreign Legion! Resistance is futile!”
“I give up!” called out a shaky voice inside. “I don’t want no trouble with the Legion!”
“Open the garage door real slow, and come out with your hands up!” I ordered on the PA. “One shot from that laser, and we open fire!”
Legion tanks and armored cars opened fire with cannon and missiles. In moments Smooth’s crib was nothing but a fiery mushroom cloud rising over New Gobi City. At the height of the barrage, Smooth Johnson escaped in the rover from a house across the street. Oops, wrong crib. My bad!
Chapter 4
“Take me across the border,” ordered Smooth as he sped away in the rover. “We’ll both seek political asylum and diplomatic immunization.”
“You mean immunity?”
“What I said! I ain’t stupid. I want the same deal those baseball players got!”
“Planning more than a day at a time?” asked the rover. “I doubt it. Interacting with you humans has been a real education and eye-opener. Do you really trust the spiders with your health plan?”
“You’re the stupid machine, shut up, punk,” replied Smooth. But he considered what the rover said. That damn machine had a point. He needed a health plan. Smooth checked the glove box, finding the owner’s manual. Odd. It was mostly photos of bears in a zoo having sex. Sick! Smooth checked his card. It still had one million dollars on it. Why hadn’t the ATM network canceled the cash? Maybe it still wanted the dune buggy. It was probably worth more than a million. Smooth decided to keep both.
“I have a plan, stupid machine. I’m connected. I can buy a million dollars worth of blue powder and sell it south of the border for ten million. Then I’ll be set.”
“Commodities trading is a risky but noble profession,” conceded the rover as they cautiously approached the Arthropodan checkpoint. “But I’ll tag along, for now.”
A black-clad spider Intelligentsia officer was checking a line of vehicles. “State your business in the Empire,” demanded the Intelligentsia officer, scanning the license plate. The officer’s scanner information showed it to be Toyota SUV hybrid, but it looked military. “Show me identification, registration, and proof of human pestilence insurance.”
“I lost my ID in the flood,” explained Smooth, handing the spider the owner’s manual of fucking bear pictures. “I’m traveling north for bird watching. It’s migration season for ducks, seagulls, those stupid humming birds, and Canadian geese. Aye! They all taste like chicken, except different.”
“You are a member of the Audubon Society?” asked the Intelligentsia officer, not impressed. All those fools smoked dope.
“Huh? Yeah, I have all their music.”
“I see. Are you carrying weapons? All you human pestilence carry weapons. Human pestilence carrying weapons is not allowed in the Empire.”
“Nothing much.”
“Open your trunk and secret compartments. Where’s your marijuana?”
“Hey, why are you hassling us?”
“Us?” asked the Intelligentsia offer, drawing his pistol. “Step out of your vehicle.”
“Spider Nazi!”
“Do not call the nice spider names,” suggested the rover. “It irritates him.”
“Who said that? You will be searched and probed!”
“Yo, bitch, that’s not going to happen,” replied the rover, readying weapons systems. “No alien is probing me!”
“You are both under arrest!”
The first blast from the laser cut the spider Intelligentsia officer in half. He smelled like burning ants under a magnifying glass from Smooth’s childhood, except different. A second blast destroyed a guard shack, killing another spider. The rover lurched forward, crashing through the gate, and speeding north through town. A jeep full of Arthropodan marines gave chase, but before their mounted machine gun could be brought to bear, a single laser blast melted the engine block. As the general alarm sounded, Smooth ducked into the garage of a safe house owned by Grim Reaper spider gangstas.
* * * * *
General Daly called about a complaint from the CEO of the Toyota Motor Corporation that I was abusing Toyota employees, tossing them in a Legion dungeon with hardened gangstas, forgetting to feed the fools, and stealing cars off the lot. What a bunch of pussies!
“The list of complaints against you is growing, Czerinski. Christ, man! What’s your beef with Toyota?”
“Sir, the Grim Reapers street gang stole or were sold a Toyota prototype SUV equipped with illegal laser weapons that were used to attack and rob a Foreign Legion ATM,” I answered, sending General Daly the ATM video. “How come the Legion doesn’t have lasers?”
“No one has lasers. Toyota denies building anything of the sort. What are you doing to get that Toyota?”
“We’re arresting Reapers, but their leader Smooth Johnson escaped across the border. He shot up a bunch of spiders with his laser. I plan to coordinate search efforts with the local spider commander.”
“No! Under no circumstances can that prototype fall into spider claws! Do you understand? Such a weapon would upset the balance of power.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Speaking of Grim Reapers, that reminds me. The International Brotherhood of Grim Reaper Gangstas based in New York City filed a civil rights complaint with the Justice Department about Major Lopez summarily executing reapers in front of McDonald’s. That video is all over the database. The burger flippers filed a complaint, too. What the hell? I’m sick and tired of all your bad press!”
“Sir, the Grim Reapers were declared enemy combatants because of obvious national security concerns. It’s all legal.”
“Declared enemy combatants by who?”
“By the District Military Commander.”
“But you’re the District Military Commander. That’s what I’m talking about. Czerinski, this matter needs independent judicial review to avoid the appearance of Legion impropriety. Understand? You can’t just declare citizens as enemy combatants. This is still America, after all!”
“I can in a combat zone,” I argued. “Those Grim Reapers are nothing but a bunch of welfare-scamming, card-carrying Democrats anyway.”
“Democrats?”
“Sir, I’m arresting them all until we find that Toyota. I suggest that nest of reapers in New York City be picked up, too. Now is the time to exterminate those gangstas once and for all, while we have a still good excuse.”
“Your i
dea might have some merit,” conceded General Daly, giving the matter more thought. “I’ll ask the New York National Guard to look into it.”
“And we can get rid of Toyota, too.”
“No! Release all Toyota employees in Legion custody. I shouldn’t need to micromanage every little detail at the DMZ. Handle it. Recover that Toyota, or destroy it!”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
A busload of tourists unloaded in front of my office. Exasperated, I stormed out to shoo them away. “You lost?” I asked. “Galactic Disney is that way.”
“Colonel Joey R. Czerinski? I am Roxanne Bradley of Grey Line Tours. We came to visit and photograph your lovely little war zone.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, contraire, Joey. May I call you Joey? Haven’t you been watching Satellite TV? Your little war is quite the sensation, number one in the ratings. New Gobi City is currently the only hot spot on New Colorado. Being District Commander, that makes you one hot commodity. When will you attack next, darling?”
“None of your business. Get out of town. Do it now!”
“Honey Bunch, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud,” cooed Roxanne, placing her hand on my arm. “Oh my, you’re so big and strong. Do you work out?”
“No!”
“Is that a church up on the hill? It has an excellent view of the valley. We’ll be able to see all the bombs go off from up there.”
“I have artillery dug in next to the church,” I conceded. “But we are not at war yet. There’s nothing to see. You have to leave, for your own safety.”
“Nonsense, I have a letter from my good friend General Daly saying we can stay. Daniel promised you would treat me well.”
“You’re leaving! Too bad, so sad!”
“Joey, you’re so cute when you’re angry. Let’s kiss and make up. Do you have a girlfriend?”
First Contact Page 2