Cemetery City

by Walter Knight

  “You’re just prejudiced against me because our first meeting years ago didn’t go so well,” I argued. “I have changed and matured a lot since then. I hardly even drink anymore, except on weekends and holidays and special occasions.”

  “Private Wayne told me that last night his best friend, a Private Krueger, was stung while fondling a female scorpion’s tail at the Blue Lizard Tavern,” advised Captain Percy. “Has Private Krueger recovered?”

  “Not yet. You would think that by now Krueger would be immune to scorpion venom, but he remains in a hallucinatory coma.”

  “That is just another instance of your reckless example causing harm to those under your command,” commented Captain Percy. “You’re a pervert. I’ve seen all your database videos several times, so don’t deny it. The University of Mars even uses your videos as an example of debauchery in a class on deviant behavior.”

  “You can’t blame me for Krueger’s poor decisions. It is well documented that I have counseled Krueger about consequences for his actions. That’s why he’s always on KP duty or punishment detail. I think Krueger learned a valuable lesson last night. Sometimes these young legionnaires just have to learn the hard way.”

  * * * * *

  When Private Krueger came out of his coma, Sergeant Green visited him at the infirmary. Krueger was recovering nicely, spending the day in bed relaxing and watching the Lakers stomp the Knicks at the new fabulous Forum.

  “This is a sweet setup you have here, what with nurses waiting on you, and eating in bed watching TV all day,” groused Sergeant Green. “You probably got stung on purpose just to get out of punishment detail. The good news is, I have plenty of work saved up and waiting for when you are discharged. The only reason I don’t lock you up for public drunkenness is we haven’t built a jail yet.”

  “That’s awfully cold hearted,” responded Private Krueger. “I could have died. Her venom was extra strong. When I was hallucinating I think I almost talked to God.”

  “When you die, you won’t be going in that direction,” commented Sergeant Green. “It will be hot-hot-hot where you go.”

  “I heard Wayne found a girlfriend,” commented Private Krueger. “That’s great. Major Czerinski promised he would consider me for promotion to corporal if we found Wayne a babe.”

  “Czerinski considered your promotion,” replied Sergeant Green. “It was denied! He considered taking you off work detail. That was denied, too. You still display poor judgment.”

  “Poor judgment? What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means you’re a fool! What were you thinking, copping a feel on a scorpion’s tail? Do you have a death wish?” “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” “You need to settle down,” advised Sergeant Green. “You’re married. If Dawn finds out about this, she will surely kill you. There’s a recruitment shortage these days, and I can’t afford to be losing legionnaires to domestic squabbles, even if they’re idiots like you.”

  “Thank you for your concern, sergeant,” replied Private Krueger. “You’re like the father I never had. It’s heartwarming.”

  “Nobody likes a smart ass. Reject my sage advice at your peril. After you’re discharged, report to the kitchen for KP duty.”

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  Chapter 4

  The spider commander visited Guido’s guard shack to gloat and place another sports wager. “Congratulations on your big Lakers win,” commented Guido. “How did you know the Lakers would beat the spread so handily?” “I got a hot tip from Hell,” replied the spider commander, chuckling to himself. “Where is Private Camacho?” “You mean his brain imprint memorial?” asked Guido. “That psychiatrist who interviewed Wayne made a complaint against Camacho for getting fresh, so Czerinski transferred him out.”

  “Transferred him out to where?” asked the spider commander, desperately wanting another sports bet tip. “Has Czerinski no respect for the dead?”

  “Camacho was probably sent to the cemetery,” advised Guido. “That’s where we keep our tombstones.”

  * * * * *

  Pepper, a special agent for the Arthropodan Intelligentsia State Security, briefed the spider commander and the on-site Military Intelligence officer about revelations she obtained from Private Wayne during her undercover encounter with him.

  “As you suspected, the human pestilence are up to no good,” advised Pepper. “You were wise to alert us so that we could investigate surreptitiously.”

  “What have you found out?” the Military Intelligence officer asked.

  “The human pestilence are mining rare metals of the type used in technology. The lost cemetery is a ruse. There were never colonists buried here. The Legion snuck in bodies and coffins for the purpose of stealing title to our land with false claims.”

  “I knew it!” replied the spider commander, pounding his claw on his desk. “I also talked to Private Wayne,” said the Military Intelligence officer. “I think he can be lured into defecting.” “Wayne will not defect,” advised Pepper. “He is not the traitorous type. He will remain loyal to the Legion.” “Wayne became a traitor when he joined the Legion,” the spider commander pointed out. “He should be killed!” “That task will be completed when I am finished getting as much information out of him as I can. Also, I have orders to see that the Legion brain imprint memorial tombstone of Private Hector Camacho be relocated to a secure area. It has been moved from the human pestilence front gate to somewhere in their fake cemetery.”

  “Why?” asked the spider commander. “What do you want from a dead legionnaire?”

  “The imprint memorial may contain valuable military intelligence. That is all you need to know.”

  * * * * *

  Private Krueger brought Camacho’s brain imprint memorial to the mess hall kitchen. Krueger was bored peeling thousands of potatoes, and wanted someone to talk to.

  “I thought after I died I would never draw KP duty again,” complained Camacho. “Oh well, I guess this beats being in a dusty hot cemetery full of strangers. All those tombstones are so old. There are no decent imprints I can hook up with. What’s up with all those damn lizards? They shit everywhere, and are ruining my social life. Can’t we get an exterminator after them?”

  “The Blue Lizard is a protected species,” advised Private Krueger. “We are not allowed to even step on them. I miss you, man. It’s good having you around.”

  “Move on,” said Camacho. “You’re more depressed than me, and I’m dead. I’m the one who hasn’t interfaced with anyone since leaving Scorpion City.”

  “You want to get laid?” asked Private Krueger, incredulously. “I suppose I could take you to the Blue Lizard Tavern. You might get lucky. Some of the babes get really drunk on the weekends.”

  “Bro, that would be fantastic!” replied Camacho, now excited. “I knew I could depend on my friends to cheer me up. You’re a real lifesaver.”

  * * * * *

  “Did you know Private Hector Camacho?” asked Pepper as she walked with Private Wayne to the Blue Lizard Tavern. “Yes, I knew him,” answered Private Wayne. “He died in the Scorpion City riots.” “Was he a friend?” asked Pepper. “He was okay for a human pestilence,” admitted Private Wayne. “When Camacho first joined the Legion, he was worthless, but he learned how to be a legionnaire. He learned how to kill.”

  “I met his imprint memorial at the checkpoint guard house,” said Pepper.

  “I apologize for anything uncouth Camacho might have said to you. That pervert thinks he can say anything and get away with it, just because he’s dead.”

  “Camacho did seem a bit randy for someone who is dead,” commented Pepper. “But I never expected you legionnaires to be choirboys. I know you are certainly not a choirboy.”

  “Why did you ask me about Camacho?”

  “I liked Camacho,” explained Pepper, innocently. “Guido told me Camacho got in trouble and was moved out to the main cemetery. I thought Camacho might be lonely out there, and if he was a friend of yours, we might visit to cheer
him up. Besides, I think cemeteries at night are romantic. Don’t you?”

  “Anywhere is romantic if you are with me,” replied Private Wayne. “Krueger took Camacho to the kitchen for KP duty. I think Krueger wants to cheer Camacho up, too, and will drag him to the Blue Lizard Tavern when he gets off duty.”

  “Good,” said Pepper. “We’ll all drink a toast to Camacho, and to staying out of cemeteries.”

  “Sometime later I need you to meet my commanding officer, Major Czerinski,” suggested Private Wayne. “I told him about you, and he wants to meet and talk to you.”

  “The Butcher of New Colorado wants to talk to me?” asked Pepper. “No, I’ll pass on that. Am I in trouble?”

  “No,” replied Private Wayne. “It would just be a social visit. Czerinski thinks sometimes I get crazy, just because I occasionally cut fools who irritate me. He thinks me having a girlfriend will calm me down.”

  “How sweet,” gushed Pepper, giving Wayne a hug and kiss. “Is that what I am? Your girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” said Private Wayne, between kisses. “Most definitely.” They walked claw in claw silently the rest of the way to the Blue Lizard Tavern.

  * * * * *

  Private Wayne sent me a text message advising that if I still wanted to meet Pepper, they were at the Blue Lizard Tavern. He warned that Pepper was not inclined to meet me because of my xenophobe reputation.

  I drove my Legion armored car to the Blue Lizard, parking in the handicapped zone out front. I placed a handicapped sign on the dash, legally issued to myself, by myself, because of my missing toe. Sometimes I still have a slight limp.

  Inside I found Camacho’s imprint propped up on the bar. A line of females of several species waited for their turn to blissfully interface with Camacho. If Captain Percy had seen this, she would call it another example of tolerating debauchery – and she would probably be right. Private Wayne and his new girlfriend Pepper were snuggled at a corner table in the back. I joined them.

  “You must be the beautiful Pepper I have been hearing so much about,” I said. “I am so glad to finally meet you.” “Hello, Major Czerinski,” she replied. “Do you work here in Cemetery City?” I asked. “Not yet,” said Pepper. “I only just arrived.” “Maybe I can help you obtain a job,” I suggested. “I know everyone, and issue all needed permits. I’m also the Mayor of Cemetery City.”

  “Thank you,” said Pepper. “But, I already have something lined up.” “May I see your identification?” I asked. “I do not have an ID.” “Why not?” “I lost it in the flood,” she explained. “Are you a citizen of the USGF?” “No,” answered Pepper. “I am a citizen of the Empire. Is that a problem?” “Only if you are a spy,” I commented. “This is not USGF territory,” advised Pepper. “It is Imperial. How can I be a spy in my own land? It is you who trespass.” “Let’s not talk politics,” interrupted Private Wayne. “Both of you be nice, or else.” The tavern’s PA system interrupted our deteriorating conversation. “Would the owner of a full-sized desert brown Legion armored command vehicle parked in the handicapped zone please contact security out front immediately? The spider Teamsters business agent chained to the back bumper needs critical medical care, and is causing a disturbance! Nine-one-one had been called for an aid car.”

  “Excuse me, but I have to go,” I said. “Pepper, it has been an absolute delight meeting you. I sincerely hope you are not an Arthropodan spy, because if you are, I will shoot you. Private Wayne, if indeed she is a spy, and you have told her anything top secret, I will shoot you, too.”

  * * * * *

  I had forgotten about Mr. Kennworth chained to my armored car. The spider Teamster was mangled up a bit under the rear bumper. A crowd had gathered to gawk, and were not happy. I unchained Mr. Kennworth and stepped aside for the EMTs.

  “I’ll get you for this!” threatened Mr. Kennworth as he was loaded onto a gurney. “I’ll file an unfair labor practice charge against you. This is assault. You’re in big trouble. You have violated all of my Constitutional rights!”

  “Why was he chained to your bumper?” asked a drunk spider biker. “This is more Legion abuse. You think you can do whatever you want. We’re tired of it!” Other drunks grumbled in agreement, pressing in to hear my answer.

  “I think he was one of those ecology protesters from the junior college complaining about the Legion running over and squishing Blue Lizards!” I shouted back. “I guess he chained himself to the bumper in protest, and I didn’t see him! Sorry! It’s all over now! I’m paying for a round of free drinks inside!”

  “Oh,” said the biker. “Why didn’t you say he was a fool? To hell with those Blue Lizards!”

  Everyone was immediately happy, slapping me on the back like long-lost friends. Word spread like wildfire. “Free drinks on the Legion! Czerinski is rich, buying all night!” I just gave the bartender my card. Private Wayne and Pepper slipped out a side door.

  * * * * *

  The small red dot painted on the tip of Pepper’s claw was not just more exotic body art. It was a specially developed Intelligentsia nerve agent. One scratch, and Private Wayne would die. However, Pepper and Wayne kissed good night and parted without lethal contact. Pepper had another more pressing matter to attend to. The murder of Private Wayne could wait.

  Long after closing time, Pepper and several Arthropodan commandos broke into the Blue Lizard Tavern and stole Private Camacho, whose imprint memorial had been left behind on the bar. Pepper easily disabled Camacho’s alarm system as they carried him off.

  “Help!” cried Camacho. “I am being abducted by aliens! Help! Don’t let them probe me!”

  “Shut up, fool,” ordered Pepper. “Or I’ll gut your insides and grind your memory chips to dust!”

  “You are threatening to kill me?” asked Camacho. “Sorry, but you’re too late. Been there, done that! Why are you abducting me? I’m not an ATM. I have no money.”

  “I don’t know,” answered Pepper. “The marine commander ordered you brought to him for interrogation. I suppose he wants to pry valuable Legion secrets from your memory. What valuable Legion secrets would a foolish dead Legionnaire private like you possess?”

  “The Lakers will beat the spread against the Jazz tomorrow night?” speculated Camacho.

  “I risked my life so the commander could get a gambling tip?” asked Pepper. “How do you know the Lakers will beat the spread?”

  “Networking,” explained Camacho. “It’s all about networking. I have connections. The dead always hear things the living overlook and take for granted. Are you turning me over to the spider commander? Please don’t. He will torture me. I have a low threshold of pain. Can’t we make a deal?”

  “I think I will wait until after the Lakers/Jazz game,” advised Pepper. “At least until after I place a large bet with Guido on the Lakers. They had better win, or you will die twice.”

  “Would you like to interface sometime? I think you’re hot.”

  “No!”

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  Chapter 5

  Portable nuclear reactors provided adequate electrical power for Cemetery City. A nuclear reactor also provided power for the recently installed smelter used to refine ore concentrate into the valuable rare metals so desired by the USGF. The timing for bringing the smelter online could not have been better. Half way to the border, Arthropodan marines stopped dump trucks loaded with ore and ordered drivers to dump their loads, continue south, and not return. The spiders also brought in tanks and other armored reinforcements. They seemed upset about something.

  “What do you mean dump my load?” asked Jimmy Huffman, an agitated dump truck driver. “Are you crazy? Interfering with a Teamsters contract will get you in big trouble. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  “Human pestilence go home!” shouted a spider marine team leader, waving another empty truck through the checkpoint. “Don’t come back!”

  “What is this all about?” asked Huffman, getting out of his truck to confront the s
pider. “This is just worthless rock from the bunker project. Do you realize how many workers are going to be out of a job because of you?”

  “I do not care about human pestilence jobs,” advised the spider marine. “You are trespassing. Leave. Do it now.”

  “You can go to Hell!” shouted Huffman, shoving the spider marine.

  Other truck drivers honked their horns. Several spider marines fired warning shots. A spider marine struck Huffman in the head with a rifle butt. Huffman was arrested, and his truck impounded. The other drivers got the hint and dumped their loads.

  * * * * *

  An Arthropodan marine tank wrecker dragged a large metal block and deposited it next to Guido’s guard shack. Newly crushed, it still leaked liquids.

  “What is this?” asked Guido. “That smelly eyesore is blocking my view of the beautiful Blue Rock Valley countryside. Have you filled out an environmental impact statement?”

  “It used to be a dump truck,” answered the wrecker driver. “Let this be a lesson to any dump truck driver causing problems at the checkpoint.”

  “Get your trash out of here or I’ll arrest you for littering,” threatened Guido. “Who do you think you are?” “Don’t shoot the messenger, Guido,” replied the wrecker driver. “I’m just doing my job.” “That’s a bit extreme,” commented Guido. “Do you realize how much one of those dump trucks costs?” “No,” answered the wrecker driver. “How much?” “I don’t know,” replied Guido. “But I’ll bet it’s a lot. Alright, fine! You’ve made your point. Now push this block of trash off to the side.”