Cemetery City

by Walter Knight

  “Great stuff,” commented the spider commander, relaxing and accepting a second glass. “Do not think you have distracted me from my mission! I will get to the bottom of your trespass and treachery before I leave Blue Rock Valley!”

  We left the command tent, passing a stack of coffins, approaching a group of legionnaires taking a break from the hot sun. “You, there!” said the Spider Commander. “Did you just dig these coffins up? Where did they come from?”

  “None of your business,” replied Private Krueger. “Are you the lizard killer I heard about from Guido? You disgust me. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Order this human pestilence to talk to me,” requested the spider commander, turning to me. “I demand cooperation for my investigation. Remember, you are all trespassing on the Arthropodan Empire and are all subject to our laws.”

  “Krueger, I order you to cooperate,” I said.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Private Krueger, giving the spider commander the one-fingered salute. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where did all these bones and coffins come from?’ asked the spider commander. “Do not tell me they came from here. There are not enough holes dug for that. This is a fraud!”

  “So, you confess to running over Blue Lizards?” asked Private Krueger.

  “I confess to nothing,” shouted the spider commander. “It is you who will confess!”

  “Guido found a Blue Lizard foot squished into your tire treads,” accused Private Krueger. “You’re guilty. I can see it in your beady little eyes, all eight of them!”

  “Is this legionnaire retarded or what?” asked the spider commander, turning to me.

  “Quite possible,” I conceded. “Standards have been modified because peacetime recruitment has fallen off since the economy picked up.”

  The spider commander noticed another legionnaire, a fellow spider. “Traitor!” he exclaimed, pointing at Sergeant Wayne. “You! What do you have to say for yourself? You are assisting the human pestilence in this fraud?”

  Sergeant John Iwo Jima Wayne, one of the most decorated and worst-tempered spider legionnaires in my command, put down the coffin he was carrying and addressed the spider commander. “You accuse me of deceit before I even say a word?” He drew a large jagged combat knife and neatly sliced off the tip of the spider commander’s claw.

  Legionnaires swarmed on Sergeant Wayne, dragging him away from the spider commander. The spider commander staggered back to his armored car, still clutching his bleeding claw.

  “Someone build a jail and put Sergeant Wayne in it!” I ordered. “I am so sorry. Your claw will grow back won’t it? I hope this unfortunate incident will not in any way affect ongoing negotiations or the warm and friendly relations enjoyed between our two nations. Still friends?”

  “You all will pay for this outrage!” shouted the spider commander, as his armored car carried him back to the checkpoint. “This is war!”

  “I think he’s upset,” I commented. I turned to Sergeant Wayne as he was being dragged away. “You’re busted back down to private again! What were you thinking? What was I thinking, making you a sergeant?”

  * * * * *

  We dug in and braced for an expected spider attack that did not come. Instead, the spider commander’s Military Intelligence officer sent me a note, saying, ‘Major Czerinski: My commander regrets the earlier incident and the flaring of tempers. Your legionnaire, true to his Arthropodan roots, was adequately provoked into action and should not be blamed for responding as he did. My commander also realizes you wear a metal prosthetic hand and toe, and that, in comparison, his slight injury and the temporary loss of his claw tip is nothing to your losses. Further inspections will continue until we determine the true intent of your trespass in Blue Rock.’

  I crumpled the note with my metal hand. “We have just begun to butt heads,” I commented out loud. I sent helmet camera video footage to Channel Five World News Tonight, showing Blue Lizard parts being scraped off the spider commander’s tires by Corporal Tonelli. I also sent video of the spider commander’s confrontation with Sergeant Wayne, describing it as an unfortunate cultural misunderstanding between fellow spiders, but evidence of frayed tempers. The video also showed the stacks of coffins in the background. I then sent a top-secret message to Legion Headquarters, suggesting our scientists investigate the possibility of protecting a rare snail species rumored to dwell in the Blue Rock Valley.

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  Chapter 2

  Teamsters business agent Carlos O’Neil and his spider associate Mr. Kennworth watched with interest as legionnaires poured the cement foundation at the new Walmart site. Mr. Kennworth approached the sole spider legionnaire at the site.

  * * * * *

  Private Wayne looked up from smoothing the freshly poured concrete with his claw and found two large figures casting shadows over his work. “Good afternoon, legionnaire,” the spider individual of the pair greeted. “This is Carlos O’Neil, my associate, and I am called Mr. Kennworth. We are business reps for the Teamsters Union.” The spider sported wraparound sunglasses like his comrade’s – except that his were specially made to cover his eight eyes like a face shield. Despite the unbearable desert heat, he and his human associate wore suits and ties. “Brother,” Mr. Kennworth advised, “do you not realize your scab activities are putting Teamsters out of work and hurting their families?”

  “I am not your brother. I am Private John Iwo Jima Wayne of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion,” announced Private Wayne. “Do you not realize the danger you risk, talking trash out here on the Frontier?”

  Wayne tried to ignore these two idiots, but they would not go away. He continued to smooth the concrete surface with his claw. Suddenly, a Blue Lizard scampered across the smooth surface, leaving tracks. SPLAT! Private Wayne swatted the lizard with his claw, leaving tiny bubbles in the wet cement. He looked up, annoyed that the two teamsters still loitered nearby. “What do you fools want? I am busy. I follow orders. Get away from me now!”

  “Better listen,” warned Private Krueger, slopping more cement over the bubbles. “Wayne’s had a bad week.” “What was that creature you just killed?” asked Mr. Kennworth. “It was a Blue Lizard,” answered Private Wayne. “We are overrun with the vermin. They’re worse than you.” “It is not you scabs we are upset most with,” advised O’Neil. “You are merely another example of the workers being exploited by the bosses. Where do I find the officer in charge of this scab project?”

  “That would be Major Czerinski,” answered Private Wayne, pointing to the command tent. “He is also the Mayor of Cemetery City. Czerinski will be so happy to deal with you fools.”

  * * * * *

  A man and a spider wearing business suits knocked on my tent door and entered. Several Blue Lizards snuck in the tent and started running amuck. Master Sergeant Green drew his pistol, aiming at the spider. I drew my pistol and shot two Blue Lizards.

  “Is it Legion policy to threaten or shoot spiders on sight?” asked the spider, raising his two front arms. “I haven’t shot you yet,” threatened Sergeant Green. “Who are you?” “I am Mr. Kennworth, and this is my associate, Carlos O’Neil. We are Teamsters business agents checking on the Walmart site.” “Union thugs way out here?” commented Sergeant Green. “I am truly amazed at how you punks get around.” “Close that door before any more of those damn Blue Lizards get in,” I ordered, shooting a third lizard. “Why here? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”

  “That Walmart is being built with scab labor,” advised O’Neil. “That will not be tolerated.”

  “I’ll decide what will or will not be tolerated,” I replied. “Not you.”

  “The Teamsters will post informational pickets if this disgrace continues,” announced O’Neil. “Truck deliveries will stop. Drivers will not cross our picket lines.”

  “There are national security issues at play here that I cannot discuss with you,” I said. “It is vital that this con
struction project and others proceed as quickly as possible.”

  “You are using unskilled legionnaires as scabs,” continued Mr. Kennworth. “That is not wise. I just saw a big spider legionnaire bury a Blue Lizard in the foundation. That is a building code violation. I can bring in teamster workers who will make sure the job is done right.”

  “Since when do mobsters object to pests being buried in cement?” I scoffed.

  “We are not mobsters,” advised Mr. Kennworth, getting more animated. “Organized labor is a time-honored institution from Old Earth. Do not insult us again.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I can build your Walmart faster and with fewer accidents,” insisted Mr. Kennworth. “If you use scab labor, accidents are sure to happen.”

  “I see. That sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. Fortunately for you, I have an unlimited budget to play with. I surely do not want accidents to hold up construction. Fine! Bring in your workers. See if I care. But I want that Walmart up pronto! I want the McDonald’s up, too. Do you know how long it has been since I had a good cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate shake?”

  “We don’t work weekends,” interjected O’Neil. “We don’t work holidays, including Columbus Day, or during deer or elk season. Sorry, it’s in our by-laws.”

  “I am authorized to pay overtime. Okay?” “You have a deal,” replied O’Neil. We all shook hands and claws. “Good,” I said, smiling. “Don’t ever threaten me again. Accidents can happen to you, too, especially out here on the Frontier.”

  * * * * *

  I ordered a chain-link fence with concertina razor wire erected around as much of Cemetery City as I could claim before Arthropodan marines arrived to establish perimeter positions. All Arthropodan travel to the American zone was restricted to Guido’s main entrance gate. The spiders built their own checkpoint. A sign at the Arthropodan guard shack read, ‘Welcome to the Arthropodan Empire. Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again. Have a nice day.’

  Congress passed full funding for the Blue Rock National Cemetery, but negotiations with the spiders over ownership of the land bogged down. Miners arrived and began digging. Tunnels were disguised as Legion bunkers. Legion patrols kept the road to Cemetery City open for dump trucks hauling ore, but the spiders threatened a blockade. I hastily ordered construction of an air strip so emergency supplies could be flown in over the blockade. Housing construction increased as more miners, cemetery workers, construction workers, and families arrived.

  Arthropodan marines toured Cemetery City to assert their sovereignty claims over the whole valley. The spiders advised they had the right to inspect and monitor progress on the cemetery restoration project. All spider movement through the American Zone was restricted by Legion escort and limited to two vehicles at a time. The spider commander confronted me at my office tent about the increased construction.

  “You are supposed to be exhuming bodies for identification and transport,” complained the spider commander. “Instead, coffins are stacked everywhere, and I suspect you are bringing in more human pestilence bodies and bones. New housing units, a Walmart, and a McDonald’s are under construction. It appears you intend to stay forever! Don’t you know you are trespassing? You may not stay!”

  “Neither of us has any control over ongoing negotiations in New Phoenix,” I replied, reasonably. “In the meantime, we need to be comfortable. It takes a lot of employees to run a National Cemetery. All those workers need a place to live, and places to shop and eat. It’s a human thing, and I have Teamsters to keep happy now.”

  “Is that so?” asked the spider commander, raising his voice in anger. “You are concerned about workers’ comfort? Ha! Explain why there is no Starbucks. I will tell you why! It is because you know my marines are isolated out there in the middle of nowhere, suffering from serious coffee withdrawal! Do you have any idea how long it has been since I have had a triple shot latte? Too long! I demand you construct a Starbucks immediately. My marines are getting jittery without their java in the morning. I am not sure just how long I can prevent an incident if this outrage continues!”

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked. Master Sergeant Green held me back. “If you threaten me again, I’ll cut off more than just the tip of your claw next time!”

  “Call it what you want,” said the spider commander. “You will bring in a Starbucks, or else!”

  “I don’t even have my own office built,” I complained. “We shifted priorities because you threatened to blockade the highway. The Teamsters keep coming up with new holidays and changing work schedules. Those damn lizards get in the way of heavy equipment. Maybe I could speed construction of a Starbucks if you guaranteed safe passage along the highway.”

  “Highway?” asked the spider commander. “That dirt road?”

  “We’re paving it,” I explained. “Taco Bell is scheduled next for construction. We already have the electrical and plumbing in. I could use that lot for a Starbucks if that will make you happy – but the Taco Bell people will be real pissed off about it.”

  “Mexican food is too spicy anyway,” hissed the spider commander. “Research shows the beans cause gas. It’s settled! You build the Starbucks now, and I won’t block highway construction.”

  The spider commander and his Military Intelligence officer stormed out.

  * * * * *

  “You sure told him, but good,” commented the Military Intelligence officer. “I saw fear in Czerinski’s beady little eyes.”

  “Sometimes a firm claw is needed when dealing with uppity human pestilence,” advised the spider commander. “You need to show them who is the boss right from the start.”

  “You certainly did that,” agreed the Military Intelligence officer, sucking up.

  “Human pestilence are like inattentive children,” explained the spider commander. “They constantly need firm guidance to prevent them from running amuck. All I did was remind Czerinski he is still inside the Empire, and he had better behave and do as he is told – or else!”

  When the spider commander and the Military Intelligence officer got to their armored car they noticed a side door ajar. Blue Lizards inside were racing about, trying frantically to escape. Lizards slammed against the inside windows leaving bloody blue smears. Lizard guano was everywhere. The spider commander looked around, irritated, and saw Privates Wayne and Krueger sitting some distance away, snickering. He steamed with anger over their obvious prank. “Get those blue vermin out!” ordered the spider commander. “Next time, make sure the doors are locked. And clean up this mess!”

  “I swear I locked the doors!” insisted the Military Intelligence officer.

  * * * * *

  I sent the spider commander a text message advising that construction on the new Starbucks was delayed due to the discovery of rare and endangered Blue Snails at the site. ‘Scientists are being rushed in to investigate. I am advised that the Blue Snail is most active at dawn when dew covers the desert grass and rocks. Please advise your troops to be careful where you step during the early morning hours, as the Blue Snail is very delicate and fragile. Your cooperation in this matter is much appreciated.’

  The spider commander sent the following text message reply, ‘You can shove your Blue Snails up your poop chute for all I care! I am calling in an air strike on those slimy disgusting snails if you don’t get moving on building that Starbucks immediately!’

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  Chapter 3

  The spider commander arrived at the main checkpoint for his daily inspection of Cemetery City. Corporal Tonelli was absent from his post. In his place was a small metal tombstone. Taped to the tombstone was a note that said, ‘I went to the command tent. I will be back in about twenty minutes. Press button on tombstone if you need help. Guido.’

  The spider commander pressed the button. “Hello, is anyone there?” “Good morning sir. Guido will be right back. Are you here to place a bet on the Knicks/Lakers game?” “Maybe,” answered the spider commander. “Wh
at are you, a computer?” “I am a brain imprint memorial for Private Hector Camacho. I volunteered for temporary assignment to Cemetery City because I have prior experience with cemeteries, and to be with my Legion buddies.”

  “You’re dead?” asked the spider commander. “I am talking to a computer? You are not real?” “I feel real,” commented Private Camacho. “But yes, you are right. I was killed by a sniper.” “Sorry about that. No hard feelings?” “There is no reason for you to be sorry, sir,” replied Camacho. “Your troops didn’t kill me. I was shot by a scorpion sniper during the Scorpion City riots. In fact, I like you spiders. Some of my best dead friends are spiders. We have formed quite a network of imprints, and it’s growing every day.”

  “It feels macabre to be talking to a dead legionnaire,” commented the spider commander. “Tell me, when you died, were you visited by ghosts or angels? Did the Grim Reaper come a calling? Did you see a bright light at the end of a tunnel?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Why not?” pressed the spider commander. “Did the Grim Reaper take you? Did you meet Death face to face?”

  “Why are you asking such questions?” asked Camacho. “There is only one way to meet the Grim Reaper. When your time is up, he comes for you.”

  “Some of our scientists claim to have caught the Grim Reaper on video, but I am skeptical.” “I met him. I told Death I wasn’t ready to go.” “But Death took you anyway?” asked the spider commander. “Did you not struggle or resist?” “A sniper shot me in the chest,” explained Camacho. “I had no choice but to be led away. You will have no choice either when it is your time.”