Chapter 16
The Bear President, deftly sensing diplomatic relations with Ursidae’s nearest and most important neighbors were deteriorating, invited delegations from both the United States Galactic Federation and Arthropodan Empire to the Presidential Mansion for a clothing-optional formal ball. I showed up stag in dress uniform. Ambassador Yamashita and Lulu arrived fashionably late. The Ambassador wore a black tux. Lulu was stunning in a black low-cut evening gown.
The Arthropodan Ambassador hired a date from the Yab Yum Club. Also desperate for a date, the spider commander brought his ex-wife Amanda. Major Desert-Sting brought three dates, females from the Scorpion City National Guard secretarial pool. My son Joey Junior, not to be outdone, sported a bleach-blond bear on his arm. The floozy was all paws, and Joey Junior ate up the attention. I was not a happy parent about the spectacle.
“I thought I raised you smarter than that,” I admonished. “Blonds are nothing but trouble.”
“Whatever, Pops. I’m an adult now. I’ll do as I please.”
“Private, you’re in the Legion now. Do not call me Pops again, or I will send you to the barracks early.”
“Whatever, sir!” replied Joey Junior, saluting as he took the blond Bigfoot out for a waltz. “I’m feeling lucky tonight!”
“Whatever, indeed!” I fumed, scoring a free drink from the bar.
The bears were doing a sort of slow nonstop waltz square dance. Some participants dropped out to rest, but the kaleidoscope of fur continued. The pace quickened as the evening wore on. Dancers often switched partners in the chaos, but somehow most eventually found their original dates. Joey Junior seemed to be having a good time.
“Care to dance?” asked a big red furry bear suddenly blocking my view.
“Oh, hell, no!” I answered. “I’m not even drunk enough to do that.”
“You will be soon,” growled Big Red, almost dislocating my shoulder as she pulled me out onto the dance floor. “The midnight hour approaches. You do not want to miss the grand finale.”
“What do I care?” I asked, being whisked about the floor like a rag doll. “Stop leading. Tell me you’re a female!”
“Silly human,” gushed Big Red, nipping me on the neck. “We will be partners at midnight.”
The dancing increased to a frenzied pace as midnight got near. Bear waiters padded back and forth with drinks as guests rushed out to dance. Even the Bear President entered the fray with the First Bear.
At midnight trumpets sounded, starting the chaos. Some dancers separated to find their dates, but most began mating with whomever they found themselves with. I should have known. It was the ‘Fucking Bears’ video from the space probe all over again, except this time I was an unwitting participant. Bear medics pushed gurneys up and over the humping masses to render first aid to bears foolish enough to try to mate with scorpion secretaries. Even I’m not that stupid, usually.
Ambassador Yamashita immediately got into an argument with Lulu about duty and expectations of diplomats and their spouses. It seemed Lulu did not want to mate with anyone, not even her husband. Yamashita was willing to hook up with a rough-looking grizzly sort, but Lulu was using a high heel shoe to fight off the advances of a bear general. No matter how pervasive, Yamashita’s ‘when in Rome’ argument did not fly.
Amanda pushed the spider commander away and was happily mating with as many giant hairballs as she could. What a slut. The Arthropodan Ambassador, seeing a chance for a diplomatic coup over the human pestilence, gulped his drink and joined in. The Ambassador was crushed between two female bears in heat, dying horribly. Seeing the carnage, the spider commander fired several shots in the ceiling as he fled out the front door. What a pussy.
Me? Being a celebrity and Hero of the Legion, the paparazzi and news media zoomed in for a close-up scoop. Next to me, General Daly waved to the cameras, hoping for good press as he fornicated with the First Bear. Legionnaires from the security detail joined in. I drew my sidearm.
“Czerinski, you candy ass!” taunted General Daly. “Your country needs those lasers. I expect you to do your duty for humanity, for America, and for world peace, God damn it! Hoorah!”
Oh what the hell, I thought, holstering my sidearm. You only die several times. I fondled several of Big Red’s boobs, making the nipples hard. I started getting into it, even giving all those nipples some tongue action. Big Red was getting into it, too, turning and bending over, inviting me for some ‘bear style’ sex. I eagerly joined Big Red in an erotic rhythm.
However, as I gulped another drink, I staggered, causing us both to fall sideways. Knowing cameras were on us, I did not miss a stroke. We continued, still on our sides. For world peace. Actually, it was quite comfortable. I could have gone at it all night in that position.
We made galactic history, inventing a new sexual position, dubbed by the press as the ‘lazy bear.’ Across the galaxy ‘lazy bear’ parties broke out in clubs and dance halls. Uptight liberal Democrats in Congress called for my court marshal, for conduct unbecoming an officer, but were ignored by the Republican majority because of national security concerns. Dems are always weak on defense issues.
The CIA took note, incorporating my lazy bear technique into protocol manuals for first contact with aliens. I was awarded the Distinguished Intelligence Cross for valor above and beyond the call of duty, and for exploring new worlds, boldly going where no man has gone before. Hoorah!
###
~BONUS SHORT STORIES~
Agent Smith
by Walter Knight
FBI Special Agent Smith drove to Tonapah, Nevada, to investigate the arson of a Burger King fast food restaurant under construction. Initial reports from the Nye County Sheriff’s Office stated that a single laser-like hole was found burned through the outside menu sign. This first hole lined up perfectly with a second set of holes melted through the Burger King main building. An X-Files case? Maybe, in light of recent top secret mobilization of the military at nearby Area 51, and a similar arson attack found on the database from New Gobi City on planet New Colorado.
At the very least, Agent Smith intended to ask a few questions. He met Sheriff’s Deputy Art Bell at McDonald’s fine food restaurant located across the street from the arson. Two days later, the Burger King rubble had already been bulldozed.
“You’re mistaken,” advised Deputy Bell, producing a copy of the original investigative report. “I don’t know how these conspiracy theory rumors get started, but that burger King was destroyed by a gasoline type accelerant poured at the front door. I am sorry you wasted your time coming all this way on a wild goose chase.”
“I see,” replied Agent Smith, disappointed. “You were the first on the scene?”
“Deputy Alan Boatwright was first to respond. Boat had a heart attack yesterday. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tonapah is a small community where everyone knows everybody. Our loss is a real shock.”
“I guess there isn’t much for me to do,” lamented Agent Smith, shaking hands as he got up to leave. “I suppose talking to the fire department would be a pointless.”
Deputy Bell handed Smith a copy of the fire chief’s report. “Not really. There are no leads. It’s an insurance problem now.”
“Will Burger King rebuild?”
“No, Burger King changed their mind. Too bad, so sad. I love their flame-broiled burgers.”
“Okay, I’m out of here,” announced Agent Smith, turning to leave, then stopping. “One last question. Has there been anything else odd or out of the ordinary in town? Anything at all?”
“Nope. The only excitement in Nye County is the gold strike over in the ghost town of Belmont. Most everyone is looking to get jobs out there. Maybe me, too.”
“Right. Thank you for your time.”
* * * * *
Agent Smith drove to the newly constructed corporate headquarters of Iron Mike Mining, located in the boom town of Belmont. The place bustled with activity. Huge ore truc
ks rumbled down the dirt streets to the open pit mine north of town. CEO Iron Mike greeted Agent Smith at the front door, personally escorting him to his office.
“What can I do for the FBI?” asked Iron Mike, nervously. “I assure you I’ve paid the IRS their extortion taxes and obtained all the necessary permits to mine and possess gold.”
“I am not sure,” answered Agent Smith. “Do you maybe use laser beams to mine, or know anything about laser beams?” he asked, not expecting much of an answer, but taking a wild shot in the dark. “Are you into aliens and UFOs like everyone else out here by Area 51 seems to be?”
“No! I exercise my right to remain silent from your persecution. I know nothing about lasers or space bears.”
“Bears? Who said anything about bears?”
“Whatever! I’m calling my attorney. If I’m not under arrest, get out!”
“Lying to a federal agent is Obstruction of Justice, a felony,” warned Agent Smith. “I am going to turn your life upside down until I find out what you’re hiding.”
“I have nothing more to say!”
* * * * *
When Agent smith returned to his car, it had been squashed flat by a giant ore truck. The hit and run perpetrator left a note stuck through the radio antenna. ‘Sorry about your car. Too bad, so sad. Welcome to the Kingdom of Nye.’
###
Johnny Black Escapes
by Walter Knight
Johnny Black, ex-soldier, ex-baseball player, and now vampire fugitive escaped from Area 51, fled south to the familiarity of southern Arizona where he grew up. The lovely cactus desert looked the same as always, a tough land for interlopers, but paradise for natives and tourists with money.
Money is always an issue, even for vampires, especially for homeless fugitive vampires. There is a lot of money in Arizona, but it’s guarded behind gates, walls, and security cameras. Ha! Try to film Johnny Black? It can’t be done!
However, there is another kind of money in Arizona. New money. Drug money. Money flash-floods through like an arroyo on its way south, profits from the drugs bound north. Mortal fools can’t get enough drugs. As if their lives weren’t short enough without addling their brains on drugs.
First things first. Johnny needed shelter from the day. He walked along the electrified Nogales border fence, checking out the abandoned ‘ghost’ houses facing south. An electrified fence, that was another thing new, along with landmines. The landmines were small devices, just barely big enough to blow off a foot, but they deterred armatures from crossing.
This section of West Nogales was dark, the lights having long ago been sniped out from across the fence, but that suited Johnny fine. The dark suited Johnny when hunting prey. It was not long before Johnny found what he was looking for, fools undeserving to add to humanity’s gene pool.
Two men driving a pickup truck backed up to the fence on the Mexican side. They quickly erected a catapult, soon launching tightly packed marijuana bundles up and over the fence. A lone man on the American side gathered the bundles, strapping them to shoulders and waist. So loaded with treasure, the man stumbled away to one of the ghost houses. Johnny followed.
“Who’s there?” shouted the man, drawing his nine-millimeter automatic and lighting up the room with a flashlight. “Go away or I’ll shoot! This is my house tonight!”
Johnny studied the man from his perch on the ceiling. He could smell the man’s fear. The fool even crossed himself, thinking that might save him. Ha! Superstitious Catholic! Johnny crept down the wall.
The man fired several shots at shadows. A cold sensation came over him as be backed into a corner, gun still raised. Johnny’s fangs tore into the man, decapitating his head. The fool was dead before his body hit the floor. Immediately the man’s cell phone rang, undoubtedly his two friends hearing the shots, concerned about the packages. No matter.
Johnny ripped open a package, pulling out a clump of tightly packed marijuana. Damn, no rolling papers! He searched through the man’s pockets. Booyah! At least the fool came prepared. Johnny quickly rolled his own and lit up. Freedom, that’s what it smells like, mused Johnny, relaxing for the first time since escaping. The phone rang again. Johnny smashed the phone like a bug.
Starving, Johnny dined heartily on his victim. He stuck the automatic in his belt and searched the carcass again, this time finding a roll of twenties wrapped in a rubber band. Sweet. Even vampires need money. It’s as good as cash.
Johnny searched the house. Long abandoned, it was littered with debris and broken glass. Rats scurried away with each step. He smelled urine and feces everywhere. Lowly humans deserve their fate, Johnny told himself. See how they live!
Johnny scooped up the man’s body and flew across the border. His buddies in the pickup hadn’t gone far. Johnny dropped the carcass from a thousand feet. It crashed through their windshield with devastating effect, crashing the truck and killing both drug traffickers.
Why did I do that? Johnny asked himself. “Because I can!”
Johnny returned to the ghost house. He tore up the floor, then burrowed into the ground like vermin. The tunnel went straight down, then veered sharply to the back yard for escape if need be. He carefully pulled debris and plywood over his new lair before drifting off into a sound sleep. This was just temporary. No self-respecting vampire lives in a hole in the ground. Johnny would soon rent a nice crib, get minions, and be a player on the border. Life was cheap on the border. That also suited Johnny just fine.
* * * * *
When Johnny woke the next night, he found the broken door to the ghost house had been nailed shut. Yellow police tape warned trespassers to stay out. Damn! The marijuana packs were gone. More disturbing, Johnny caught the scent of a dog and humans in the house. The police had searched the house, but not found his hole. That was a close one.
Johnny took flight out of town. Once safely away, he took a leisurely hike up Sycamore Canyon north of Nogales, enjoying being one with nature. Bats fluttered by in the darkness. An owl hooted from a mesquite tree. Coyotes howled in the distance. Frogs croaked in the stream. Johnny ate a frog. Yum, yum. It was kind of spicy, but tasted a bit like chicken.
It upset Johnny that the creek was littered with garbage, plastic bottles, and clothes from illegal immigrants sneaking across the border. It was hard to commune with nature when nature looked like a trash dump. Johnny ate another frog to console himself. After a few miles walking, he came upon an old homestead, not much left but some adobe walls. A past campfire had blacked one corner.
Johnny could sense violence in this place. Ghosts still screamed their outrage. Life must have been hard on the frontier, back in the day, and did not end well for many. Nothing’s changed, he lamented. Life is tough, then you get your head torn off and sucked dry. Or scalped, like what happened here. Too bad, so sad.
Johnny dived for the cover of the mesquite. The distinct buzz of a drone in the air flashed him back to his days in the military. But it wasn’t a drone. What the hell? It was an ultralight lumbering north with several hundred pounds of drugs. It doesn’t get better.
Johnny followed the drone at a discrete distance all the way to an abandoned cotton field south of Tucson, where the pilot dumped his load and turned south back to Mexico. Invisible in the moonless sky, Johnny circled, watching people quickly gather the bundles to a waiting van.
The ingenuity of these desperate humans was fascinating. Johnny ignored the ultralight at first, but then it veered sharply to the west. Odd. It should be doing a bee-line for Mexico. He followed to investigate. The ultralight followed a roadway until passing the Tucson Mountains, then landed in a small field. Another van waited. Men quickly loaded more packages, then the ultralight took off southbound again. Yes!
Johnny swooped down on the pilot, greedily tearing into his neck. Blood splattered back across the wings as they spiraled down, crashing into the arms of a tall saguaro cactus. Plastic wrapped packages were strewn everywhere. The pilot’s distorted body sprawled grotesquely pinned
across the saguaro. Johnny ripped open a package. It was money, bundled one hundred dollars bills, as good as cash.
A cell phone chimed from up in the saguaro, norteno music on the breeze. Johnny gathered the packages. It was too much for one vampire to carry, but still he tried. He buried most of the treasure nearby, determined to come back for it later, after buying a mansion somewhere. A mansion, with a basement, and a swimming pool, and a four-car garage for his Porsches. That’s the ticket! This millionaire vampire is gonna be stylin’! And a horse. Cowboy vampires needed at least one horse, maybe two or three. Can vampires swim? wondered Johnny. He didn’t think so. Fuck the pool. He’d get a fountain.
* * * * *
Johnny Black returned to area 51. His wife Anita was still locked up inside those bunkers, and her parents would literally give him hell if he didn’t get her out. Oddly, the base was all lit up. Military vehicles were racing through the desert sagebrush looking for something. Helicopters shined spotlights downward, searching in a grid pattern. Had they detected his flight on radar? Johnny didn’t think so. Those fools weren’t looking in the air.
He flew closer to listen in. The soldiers talked of a remote-control runaway dune buggy that escaped from Area 51. Stupid GI’s. How do you lose an oversized toy like that? I’ll bet that’s one expensive piece of equipment.
Johnny circled in a big arc around the base, finally locating the fleeing vehicle as it tried to hide among some rundown buildings miles from the base. Johnny listened intently as he heard the talking dune buggy tell its story to an old grizzled prospector named Iron Mike. Interesting. Johnny would make these two an offer they could not refused. They would enlist to get Anita back, maybe even become his minions. No hurry. What was that? The dune buggy had a laser? It just gets better. I’ll run this state before I’m through, Johnny promised himself. And I’ll get Anita back if I have to declare war to do it.
First Contact Page 10