Soon afterwards, upset human farmers gathered at Legion Headquarters, demanding compensation for crop damages, and that the Legion do something about the spiders. They claimed the defoliant not only killed their crops, but caused a nasty skin rash. Many feared the chemicals would eventually cause cancer and birth defects. The TV crews interviewed every farmer before they finally went home. I feared there would be more incidents making the news.
* * * * *
In spite of intergalactic tension along the DMZ, my routine administrative duties needed attention, too. Master Sergeant Green brought Private Krueger to my office. “Sir, we have a problem,” announced Sergeant Green. “Private Krueger here wants to get married.”
“And you are here to get your commander’s permission?” I asked. “That is not a problem. While I agree Private Krueger is irresponsible, too young, too immature, way too bad-tempered, starts bar fights, and is a drunkard, I think marriage might be just what he needs to settle him down. Private Krueger, I knew your older brother. He was a good legionnaire. Because of that, I have always taken a special interest in you. Good luck with your marriage. Permission granted.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Private Krueger, sliding the Legion marriage certificate permission form across my desk for signature.
“This application is incomplete,” I commented, quickly scanning the paperwork. “Her name is Dawn? Does she have a middle and last name? Fill in the blanks, private. This application has to be completely filled out for security, identification, medical, and base housing purposes. And look at that. Dawn’s thumb print is a mess. Do this over. Sergeant Green, walk Private Krueger through the paperwork process, and then I’ll sign off on the marriage.”
“That is not a thumb print,” said Sergeant Green. “That is a claw print. Dawn is a spider.”
“What?” I asked, staring at Krueger in disbelief. “Why would you want to marry a spider?”
“I have to,” cried Private Krueger, now trembling. “I have no choice.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “She’s not pregnant is she? Is that even possible?” I checked the database on my notepad, looking for answers.
“No way,” said Major Lopez. “Spiders and humans are not compatible for breeding.”
“Actually it is possible,” said Private Krueger. “But it would require a medical procedure involving the implant of a donor egg and–”
“Stop!” I ordered. “I do not want to hear all the gory details. If she is not pregnant, then why do you feel you have to get married? You have free will! Are you in love with Dawn?”
“Not really,” said Private Krueger. “Dawn says she is an old-fashioned traditional female. She says custom and law require us to get married after having sex ten times.”
“That is ridiculous,” I said, counting on my fingers the number of drunken encounters I could still remember with spider females. I gave up, trembling at the thought. “You are a legionnaire. You are not bound by spider law or custom, especially south of the MDL. You are protected by human laws and by the USGF Constitution. No one can make you marry against your will.”
“But Dawn says if I refuse to marry her and make her an honest female, her reputation and honor will be forever sullied,” explained Private Krueger. “Dawn says she will be well within her rights to kill and eat me, and will be honor-bound and forced to do so. I believe her.”
“Eat you?” I asked. “Is that some kind of spider slang? What do you mean by ‘eat’?”
“I mean she will tear me apart with her fangs, suck my blood dry, and toss my husk aside,” cried Private Krueger. “Please sign the marriage certificate and let me marry Dawn. She scares the hell out of me.”
“This is why the Legion provides premarital counseling for its young enlisted men,” I commented. “I am sending you to talk to Pastor Jim. You may be required to bring Dawn, too.”
“That might upset her,” complained Private Krueger. “Dawn is not the church-going type.”
“If she loves you, she will go with you to see Pastor Jim,” I advised.
“But she won’t do it!” cried Private Krueger. “Churches weird her out.”
“This can’t get more weird,” commented Major Lopez.
“There are parameters you need to make clear at the beginning of any relationship,” I said. “You need to establish who will be the boss in your marriage. You need to wear the pants in this marriage. You need to lay down the law for Dawn. Otherwise, she will just walk all over you.”
“But she is bigger than me,” said Private Krueger. “And those fangs and her claw are vicious weapons. What do I do about them?”
“Never let females think size makes a difference,” advised Major Lopez. “If she refuses to go to church, just bitch-slap her. That’s what I would do.”
“That’s what I would do too,” I added, nodding in agreement.
“Maybe she’d listen to a full bird Legion colonel. Please talk to her, sir,” pleaded Private Krueger.
“Where can I find your lovely Dawn?”
“She hangs out at the Angry Onion Tavern,” said Private Krueger. “She’s a Hell’s Angels biker babe.”
“I see,” I said. “What does Dawn do for a living?”
“She’s a drug-dealing blue powder crack whore,” said Sergeant Green. “I wouldn’t talk to her alone.”
“This only gets better,” I said. “I thought you said Dawn was an old-fashioned traditional biker babe.”
“She is!” said Private Krueger. “Dawn has a heart of gold. But her temper and those big knives she carries scare the shit out of me. Especially when she’s been drinking. Please, sir, talk to her. I don’t really want to get married, but I will – to save my life.”
“Major Lopez, take a platoon of fully armed Legion commandos to the Angry Onion Tavern and arrest the fair biker babe Dawn,” I ordered. “Lock her up without bail at the county jail. Tell Dawn I’ll be by later to chat with her about counseling.”
* * * * *
Outside the Angry Onion Tavern, Major Lopez conferred with Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne. Major Lopez hoped the big tough and worldly spider legionnaire could provide some insight about how to deal with female spiders.
“Our females are aggressive during courtship,” explained Corporal Wayne. “But once happily married, they become quite submissive. Krueger just needs to stand up for himself. If he continues to be such a wimp, after marriage Dawn will surely kill him. He’ll become a midnight snack.”
“That is unacceptable,” said Major Lopez. “We cannot let spider biker babes eat legionnaires. It sets a bad precedent.”
“Private Krueger isn’t one of our better legionnaires anyway,” commented Corporal Wayne. “His death will be an acceptable loss.”
As Major Lopez and Corporal Wayne entered the Angry Onion Tavern, Private Krueger pointed to his fiancée. The petite Dawn was playing pool with some other Hell’s Angels. “There she is,” said Private Krueger. “Are you going to bitch-slap her now?”
“Shut up, or I’ll bitch-slap you,” answered Major Lopez, reassessing his tactics. “We need to handle this diplomatically. Females are very sensitive. They are less rational than males, and tend to take the slightest criticism personally. For your own safety, try not to upset her.”
“Be careful, sir,” warned Private Krueger. “She has a pool stick in her claw.”
“Dawn!” called out Major Lopez, smiling broadly. “I need to talk to you. Could you please step outside for a minute?”
“You must be friends of Willie,” said Dawn, rushing to wrap four loving arms around Private Krueger. “Is the major going to be your best man at our wedding? It’s a silly custom, but I’ll tolerate it, if it makes you happy, Willie.”
“The wedding is exactly what I want to talk to you about,” said Major Lopez. “Willie’s commanding officer, Colonel Czerinski, has not yet given permission for Private Krueger to get married. Colonel Czerinski has some concerns about your youth.”
“He be
tter give permission,” said Dawn. The tavern went silent as bikers gathered around, hoping to see a good fight. Several wagers were immediately placed on Dawn to kill Major Lopez. “If Czerinski doesn’t sign the wedding certificate, I’ll rip his off his head and poop down his neck! You had better talk to the colonel for us. We are so much in love, I can’t wait to get married!”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Major Lopez.
“You are a handsome hairball,” gushed Dawn, happy now. “I have a sister. Would you be interested in meeting her? She is gorgeous, and even has a real job.”
“Sorry,” said Major Lopez, crossing himself and sprinting for the door. “I’m catholic. It would be a sin!”
“Religious zealot!” shouted Dawn as the legionnaire commandos quickly followed Lopez out. “What a waste of a fine hunk of male human pestilence.”
* * * * *
“What in the hell are you doing up there in New Gobi City?” asked General Daniel Daley, speaking on the phone. “I have commanders all along the DMZ, but only you manage to shoot down unarmed spider aircraft! Are you trying to start another war?”
“No, sir,” I answered. “The helicopter was spraying poppy fields on our side of the DMZ.”
“So what?” asked General Daly. “Good riddance, if the spiders want to eradicate those poppies for us. The bottom line is, you shot down an unarmed aircraft in violation of our treaty, and now it’s all over the news and TV.”
“Sorry, sir,” I said. “We had a tip that the spiders were going to bomb the Free Colorado radio station.”
“And why in hell would the spiders want to do that?” asked General Daly. “I am sick and tired of all this bad press. It seems like every day it’s something new. Today I turn on the TV, and some poor broken-hearted spider girl is crying to the press that you won’t sign a marriage certificate allowing one of your legionnaires to marry her. Sign that certificate now! I don’t care if she is a spider.”
“But sir, Private Krueger does not want to marry her,” I explained. “He says she is coercing him.”
“Coercing him?” asked General Daly. “What kind of pansies do you have in your battalion? I do not want to hear his sad story. Sign that certificate. He’s getting married, and that’s an order!”
“How about I transfer Private Krueger to the South Pole?” I suggested.
“How about I transfer you both to the South Pole?” threatened General Daly. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself to subordinates, but already I find myself ordering you a third time to sign that marriage certificate. This could be the public-relations bonanza I’ve been looking for. In fact, I think it would be a nice touch for you to send a Legion honor guard to the wedding. Take a lot of pictures. With luck, we can get some good press out of this fiasco yet. You will handle that personally.”
“Not if Dawn eats Private Krueger on their honeymoon,” I argued. “What if that happens?”
“Then he will be AWOL and brought up on charges!” answered General Daly, slamming his hand down on his desk. “Spiders don’t eat humans. Although, I heard legionnaires under your command eat spiders. Is that true?”
“Those charges were dismissed at trial for lack of evidence. I have been ordered to not discuss the matter for reasons of national security.”
“I can see I need to read your personnel file closer. I’m sure it’s full of all kinds of interesting facts and tidbits. I am going to keep an eye on you!”
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Chapter 3
“The most destructive influence on Arthropodan culture may not be blue powder,” commented the spider governor. “I think human pestilence satellite TV does even more damage.”
“We can’t shoot down their satellites,” cautioned the spider commander of the New Gobi Desert sector. “That would cause a war.”
“Of course not,” agreed the governor. “But we can ban private ownership of all satellite dishes.”
“That would leave us with just the Imperial Cable TV Network,” said the spider commander. “Do you realize how boring that would be? The public would be driven to drink. I would be, too. Think about the effect mass liver disease would have on our culture.”
“Your argument fails to impress me,” said the governor. “I signed the new law today. Commanders will confiscate all satellite dishes and receivers in their sectors.”
“But sir, the World Series is tied at three games,” complained the spider commander. “We’ll miss the last game. Do you have any idea how much money has been bet on the Yankees? I don’t want to miss that game.”
“I’ve been so busy, I forgot all about the World Series,” conceded the governor. “Good point. Confiscate the satellite dishes next week.”
“What about pre-season football?” asked the spider commander. “Cable doesn’t carry the NFL either.”
“We all have to make sacrifices,” said the governor. “There is nothing I can do. The Emperor himself ordered the ban.”
“But all cable TV offers is soccer,” protested the spider commander. “Watching human pestilence Euro-trash riot at halftime is the only interesting part of the game.”
“Maybe we can get cable TV to carry local sporting events like high school or college football,” said the governor. “In the meantime, you have your orders.”
“I suppose I could watch the golf channel,” said the spider commander, slumping in his chair.
“That’s the spirit,” said the governor, before hanging up. “I knew I could depend on you.”
* * * * *
Just before the start of the final game of the World Series, the spider commander ordered pizza delivered from Pizza Hut to his office. However, Pizza Hut told him they could no longer deliver pizza because the Teamsters Union was on strike and would only make deliveries to the military if there was a national emergency.
“But this is an emergency,” insisted the spider commander. “The game is about to begin. I don’t even have hotdogs or buffalo wings.”
“Sorry, sir,” said the Pizza Hut employee. “No exceptions.”
“How about nachos?”
“No, sir.”
The spider commander slammed down the phone. Starving, he put a bag of popcorn into the microwave. He salivated at the thought of the extra butter and salt promised on the fine print of package. When the popcorn was ready, the spider commander plopped down on the couch to enjoy the game and have a beer.
“Go Yankees!” he shouted at the TV screen. Between innings, the spider commander gave some thought to the fears of cultural contamination. “Idiocy! The Emperor is afraid we are all becoming Americans. So what? The Empire should seize the best and discard the worst of the lands it conquers. That will make the Empire even stronger. There is nothing to fear! It’s under control.”
* * * * *
The Angry Onion Tavern was packed with customers watching the World Series on a big-screen TV. They dined on beer and hotdogs. There would have been even more customers watching, but the tavern was still off-limits to the Arthropodan military. The MDL painted down the middle of the tavern floor divided the noisy American side from the quieter Arthropodan side. It was a stark contrast.
Guido was still on duty at the border crossing, so he set up a satellite dish TV outside his guard shack and pointed it across the MDL for his spider guard friends. Spider border guards gathered to cheer for the Yankees. Guido accepted last-minute bets right up until the first pitch.
“It figures you spiders would be betting on the Evil Empire to win this game,” said Guido. “Go Boston!”
The rowdy crowd of spiders booed Guido and gave him the one-fingered salute. Everyone was having a good time rooting for the Yankees until late in the game when an Arthropodan marine team leader strode up to the MDL.
“What goes on here?” asked the team leader. “Is anyone bothering to patrol the border today?”
“Not on our side,” said Guido. “Since there’s no more truck traffic, there is nothing to do. We’re all just watching the World
Series.”
“What’s the score?” asked the team leader.
“Seven to five, New York in the seventh inning,” answered Guido. “But their pitcher is getting tired.”
“Yes!” said the team leader. “New York is money in the bank. Now everyone get back to work! Protecting the border from the human pestilence is a serious matter! Don’t you know there is a no-fraternization order in effect?”
The spider border guards dispersed until the team leader left. Then, most returned for the rest of the game. The Evil Empire (New York Yankees) won eight to seven in the tenth tie-breaker inning.
* * * * *
A large human carrying a pizza box entered the spider commander’s office and placed the pizza on the commander’s desk. He was accompanied by a small spider wearing sunglasses and a fedora.
“That smells like a pepperoni and sausage pizza with extra cheese,” commented the spider commander. “Poor timing, the game is over. Who are you?”
“I am Carlos O’Neil,” replied the large human. “I am the Teamsters business agent for local #107 here in New Gobi City. This is my associate, Mr. Kennworth. I heard you were refused delivery of a pizza, so I came by to make amends.”
The spider commander opened the pizza box slightly. It contained a delicious pizza and a bundle of cash. He quickly closed the box. “I’ll bet you want the border reopened.”
“We have trucks parked along the freeway for miles on both sides of the MDL,” said Carlos. “It would be nice.”
“And if I refuse?” asked the spider commander.
Mr. Kennworth opened the pizza box and removed a pizza slice with a long jagged knife. He ate the pizza delicately, savoring each bite. “That is not an option,” he explained.
Culture War Page 2