“Sorry, Guido,” said the wrecker driver. “My orders are to leave it here in front of your guard shack. Here it stays.”
“You will move this mess, or I’ll cut off your credit and bar you from betting on the playoffs,” threatened Guido. “I have a good tip on the Lakers over Utah you will miss out on, too.”
“Come on, Guido,” pleaded the wrecker driver. “We all have to follow orders, or else the officers get upset. I can’t move that metal. Call your own engineers to move it.”
“Fine!” relented Guido. “I’ll do that! But do not think I will forget that you could not do me one little favor. There is no goodwill anymore among you young punks!”
* * * * *
The Regional Spider Governor woke to the sound of truck air horns blaring outside the gates to the governor’s mansion. Teamster pickets chanted, “Free Jimmy, free Jimmy!”
“What is all that noise about?” asked the regional governor. “Can’t I sleep in just once without another crisis?”
“They are demanding the release of a Teamster arrested for assaulting a marine at a checkpoint,” advised an aide. “The dump truck driver was sneaking out a load of ore from Blue Rock.”
“A human pestilence assaulted one of my marines and is still alive?” asked the regional governor. “I remember, back in the day, we did not tolerate such bad behavior from the human pestilence. Take the human out and shoot him!”
“Sir, we cannot do that anymore,” cautioned the aide. “The Emperor ordered that the Blue Rock matter be resolved diplomatically. We do not need another incident during negotiations.”
“Those human pestilence are trespassing and trying to steal our land!” replied the regional governor. “Now we know why. They’re mining rare metals. I want all the tanks and infantry we can muster sent to Blue Rock. We will take the valley back by force, if necessary.”
* * * * *
The spider commander shot Guido a one-fingered salute as he passed the Legion checkpoint. The spider commander grinned smugly at seeing the squashed dump truck still sitting by Guido’s guard shack. Still upset, Guido gave the commander a traditional Italiano ‘up yours’ gesture as the spider commander passed by.
At my tent, the spider commander and his Military Intelligence officer checked in to review new problems and complaints. I showed them security camera images of Arthropodan marine commandos breaking into the Blue Lizard Tavern and stealing Private Camacho’s brain imprint memorial.
“That must have been a rogue operation,” explained the spider commander. “I did not authorize that mission, and I will investigate the matter. I do not have Camacho in my custody.”
“How did you know that imprint memorial was for Camacho?” I asked. “I remember Camacho’s memorial at the front gate,” answered the spider commander, innocently. “Why would you spiders want to steal Camacho in the first place?” “I am sure there is a reasonable explanation. I promise to find out what happened and assist in Camacho’s return.” “Fine,” I groused. “I also want Teamster truck driver Jimmy Huffman released. What is this?” I added. “Alien abduction week? I demand compensation paid for his squashed truck.”
“Impossible!” responded the spider commander. “That human pestilence assaulted a marine. He will be given a fair trial and executed. It is Imperial policy for the property of criminals and terrorists to be seized. Your Legion has the same policy. We will pay nothing for the truck!”
“The video of your commando burglars destroys your credibility,” I commented. “To avoid an escalation of incidents, I suggest Huffman be released.”
“Is that a threat?” asked the spider commander. “You should know better than that!”
Our conversation was interrupted by a loud metallic thud outside my tent. We rushed outside, expecting to see a serious traffic accident. Teamsters business agent Carlos O’Neil, operating a giant ore loader, was repeatedly smashing the spider commander’s armored car into the ground. O’Neil smiled and waved a one-fingered salute from the cab of the loader.
The spider commander drew his pistol, but was quickly restrained and disarmed by his Military Intelligence officer and Sergeant Green. He was escorted back across the checkpoint, still muttering incoherently about escalations and war and human pestilence trespassers.
O’Neil smashed the armored car into a metallic cube and placed it on top of the other metallic cube at Guido’s guard shack. A sign placed atop the new tower of metal read, ‘Free Jimmy!’
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Chapter 6
The Lakers beat the Jazz by seventeen points. From her temporary hideaway in the human pestilence zone, Pepper electronically collected her winnings from Guido. Now she contemplated her next wager as the playoffs approached. “I am impressed,” she complimented Camacho’s implant memorial. “Can you predict the correct outcome of sporting events every time?”
“No one can do that,” answered Camacho. “But I can come close.” “Do it again,” ordered Pepper. “I want to place a larger bet.” “I want a cut of today’s winnings, and I demand a cut of all future winnings,” Camacho bargained. “I will not do business with a dead human pestilence,” replied Pepper. “It would set a bad precedent. You will pick me a winner, or I will bury you under a sand dune and let you rust. Your innards will be the home to rodents and Blue Snails.”
“Maybe I’ll pick you a loser,” threatened Camacho. “How would you like that? I can’t be expected to do good work if there is no incentive. I want a cut of the action.”
“The dead have no use for money,” insisted Pepper. “What would you spend it on?”
“Maybe I’ll buy jewelry for my girlfriends,” said Camacho. “It’s none of your business what I do with my money. I’ll hire an assassin if you try to cheat me out of my cut. Release me immediately. I have friends who will whack you.”
“You are in no position to dictate terms,” advised Pepper. “You are my prisoner!”
“Surely we can work out a compromise,” suggested Camacho. “Are you sure you don’t want to interface? I’ll take a smaller cut, if you do. Tombstone love can be so hot and wild.”
“No! You are dead! Act like it!”
* * * * *
“Your commandos took Camacho’s imprint memorial,” accused the spider commander. “Where is Agent Pepper?”
“I am your Military Intelligence liaison officer,” answered the Military Intelligence officer. “I have no control over agents of Intelligentsia State Security. My information suggests Agent Pepper is staying somewhere in the human pestilence zone to complete her mission. You ordered the assassination of the traitor Wayne.”
“I want Camacho here now! Forget about that fool legionnaire. Killing him now would just cause another escalation of border incidents. Wayne can be killed at our leisure.”
“You ordered him killed now.”
“That was then. Now is now. The situation has changed. Cancel the order to kill Wayne. Instead, I want you to destroy Major Czerinski’s personal command car. I want the humiliation of what that human pestilence did to my armored car avenged!”
“Does it matter if Czerinski is still in his vehicle when it happens?” asked the Military Intelligence officer. “This could get messy.”
“Killing Czerinski would be acceptable collateral damage,” advised the spider commander, now upbeat. “How do you want it to happen? Something accidental, dramatic, or explosive?” “Surprise me! I don’t care. Just make it happen!”
* * * * *
Pepper pointed the poisoned tip of her claw menacingly close to Private Wayne’s eye. “I was ordered to kill you, traitor,” she said. “Do you have anything to say before you die?”
“I love you?” said Private Wayne, pathetically.
“Fortunately for you, my orders were changed,” advised Pepper. “It seems now that killing you would cause an intergalactic incident. I have my doubts about your newfound importance.”
“Besides causing an incident, killing me would be murder,” replied P
rivate Wayne. “Even if you were just following orders.” “There’s that, too.” she agreed. “You are a spy?” asked Private Wayne. “I knew it. Did you steal Camacho, too?” “Yes,” answered Pepper. “But don’t worry. He is in my closet.” “Can I come out?” yelled Camacho, listening to their conversation. “Please!” “No!” shouted Pepper. “Shut up and quit listening in, or I’ll duct tape a sock over your speaker.” “Wayne!” pleaded Camacho. “Get me out of here! She’s a spider commando from Hell!” “Pepper is my girlfriend, and we’re trying to work things out,” replied Private Wayne. “You’re putting a damper on the whole evening. We’ll discuss you coming out of the closet later!”
“Again you say I’m your girlfriend,” cooed Pepper. “Still? Even after knowing I am a spy?”
“That’s just a small detail,” insisted Private Wayne. “You’re not a bad spy are you?”
“I am a coldblooded killer,” advised Pepper, wiggling her poisoned claw tip back and forth in front of Wayne’s mandibles. “You still may not survive this evening. I have a new mission I want your help with.”
“In spite of my love for you, I am not a traitor,” insisted Private Wayne, pushing her away and getting up from the couch. “You insult my honor by expecting me to betray the Legion. I won’t do it!”
“Oh, I know you’re loyal and honorable, silly,” said Pepper. “That is why you are still alive. I do not want to harm such an honorable male. All I want is to blow up Czerinski’s armored car. He doesn’t even have to be in it. I’m not trying to kill Czerinski. It’s more of a practical joke between Czerinski and my commander. You know, tit for tat. My commander is upset about his squashed car. He just put in a new music surround-sound speaker system.”
“Is that all?” asked Private Wayne.
“Yes. I promise. It will just be a practical joke, with high explosives.”
“I have no problem blowing up Czerinski’s car,” replied Private Wayne. “It might even be fun seeing the expression on his face when it happens.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Pepper, giving him a big smooch. “Thank you, sweetie. I knew I could count on you.” “You have to return Camacho,” insisted Private Wayne. “Even though he’s dead, Camacho is still a fellow legionnaire.” “That can wait,” advised Pepper, seductively drawing Wayne close with four arms. “No it can’t!” yelled Camacho. “I want out of here!” “What’s your hurry?” asked Pepper. “If I return you now, they will just put you in that dusty hot cemetery all by yourself. You will have no one to talk to except Blue Lizards. What’s the fun in that? At least now you can talk to us, and keep up on gossip.”
“From this closet?” scoffed Camacho. “Sure, this is lots of fun.”
“I’ll even let you come out and watch TV,” promised Pepper, between kisses. “Just don’t make a nuisance of yourself. I want to borrow you for a few more weeks during the playoffs.”
“Maybe we should keep him locked up,” commented Private Wayne abruptly. “You haven’t been interfacing with Camacho have you? That dog will interface with anything that moves. He’s always been like that, especially when he has been drinking. Him and Krueger are like mixed peas in a pod.”
“No way,” replied Pepper, lovingly. “I already have a boyfriend.”
* * * * *
AP News Release:
The Foreign Legion released security camera video of Arthropodan marine commandos breaking into a Cemetery City building and stealing the brain imprint memorial of Private Hector Camacho. Camacho, a decorated Hero of the Legion, was killed during the Scorpion City riots.
Legion spokesperson Major Joey R. (The Toe) Czerinski advised he filed an official complaint with the local spider marine commander. The spider commander denies any involvement or knowledge of the theft, saying unknown rogue bandit spiders wearing stolen marine uniforms were obviously involved.
Major Czerinski remains skeptical. “I do not believe the commander’s spiders-gone-rogue explanation,” insisted Major Czerinski. “The Legion is increasing security measures to deter the spiders’ propensity to loot and souvenir-hunt among our loved one’s graves. An extensive underground crypt is being excavated to ensure the security of our fallen heroes. Repeated spider insensitivity on this matter will not be tolerated.”
In related news, spider negotiators accused the Legion of using the new crypt tunnels to disguise illegal mining of rare metals, and demanded entry into the underground area for inspection. USGF Ambassador and senior negotiator James Yamashita called the allegations preposterous. Yamashita stated that the spiders will not be allowed anywhere near hallowed ground because of their past bad behavior. “The recently released video of spider bandits and/or marines stealing a legionnaire’s brain imprint memorial is proof that, even after extensive negotiations, the spiders still cannot be trusted to respect human burial sites,” commented Ambassador Yamashita.
* * * * *
Delegations of USGF and Arthropodan negotiators were scheduled to land at Cemetery City for a joint investigative inspection of the crypt vaults. I was ordered to provide a Legion escort to prevent even the slightest possibility of spider vandalism and disrespect of the dead. After Private Wayne finished washing the armored car, I tossed him the keys so he could drive me to the air strip to pick up the delegation. He seemed hesitant.
“Sir, I thought you would not be going anywhere for the rest of the evening,” said Private Wayne. “Our work day is over.”
“A delegation from New Phoenix is arriving,” I replied. “Let’s go, I don’t want to be late.”
“The armored car isn’t running well these days,” advised Private Wayne. “I was going to drop it off at the motor pool for repairs. I’ll get another.”
“Nonsense. It runs fine.” “But, sir, I do not have a driver’s license,” advised Private Wayne. “I cannot drive. It would be illegal.” “Legalities never stopped you before. You’re a legionnaire. You do not need a driver’s license.” “What about insurance?” asked Private Wayne. “Quit stalling. Drive!”
* * * * *
We got to the air strip early. Private Wayne parked the armored car by the runway. We walked to the airport café for a snack and waited. Finally, the delegation’s shuttle arrived, parking next to my armored car. An explosion destroyed the armored car and seriously damaged the shuttle. Flames engulfed both. Shuttle passengers slid down plastic slides to safety as fire crews arrived. We ran out to help. I greeted a dirty and disheveled Ambassador Yamashita.
“It’s good to see you again sir,” I said. “Are you okay?” “No one is hurt,” advised Yamashita. “But that blast originated from your armored car. Care to explain?” “Terrorists,” I answered immediately. “They’re a curse on us all.” “Are there going to be any more surprises?” asked Yamashita. “I do not like surprises. Are any of the rumors I’ve been hearing true?”
“We have been illegally mining rare metals from the beginning,” I confessed. “The entire lost cemetery story is bullshit authorized by the President and Congress. They’ll probably deny that.”
“You are kidding, right?” asked Yamashita. “Why was I not told? I’m the chief negotiator!”
“No clue,” I said. “Plausible deniability?”
“I suppose,” replied Yamashita, watching the shuttle and armored car burn. “Blow it up. Blow it all up. We’ll tell the spiders there was a cave-in. Maybe we can blame spider terrorists. We can always dig out the crypt tunnels later.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As for the explosion of your armored car,” commented Yamashita. “Terrorists, my ass! Who did this?”
* * * * *
After the delegation was settled in to their hotel, I had a chat with Private Wayne. “How much money do you have left from the Outlaw Beer commercials in Book Seven, the McDonald’s commercials from Book Eight, and the fixed sporting events from Book Ten?” I asked.
“About twelve million dollars,” answered Private Wayne. “Outstanding,” I said. “I’m promoting you to corpora
l.” “Sir?” “My first impulse is to execute you with a bullet to the head for planting that bomb in my armored car,” I advised. “But, world-famous science fiction author Walter Knight and award-winning editor Pat Morrison both think you are too interesting a character to kill, yet. But don’t piss me off again. It could still happen at any moment.”
“I appreciate being valued, sir,” replied Corporal Wayne. “Is this a paradox?”
“Personally, I think you would be just as interesting dead and resurrected into a brain imprint memorial, like Camacho. The two of you could chase cemetery babes together for eternity.”
“Please, not that, sir. I have a steady girlfriend now. She’d kill me if I cheated on her.”
“Pepper?” I asked. “That spy has you wrapped around her little claw tip. I know Pepper is responsible for the bombing. Give me a good reason not to shoot her.”
“She’s too hot to kill,” advised Corporal Wayne. “Pepper is so hot, she could be a Playboy centerfold. Please let her go.” “That just seems wrong,” I commented. “She’s not even a blond.” “I will keep her in line,” insisted Corporal Wayne. “I promise.” “Sure you will. She’ll probably dust both of us.” “I will be careful,” promised Corporal Wayne. “I’ll think about it,” I replied. “You will pay the Legion a half million dollars to buy me a new armored car. You will also pay me two million dollars for pain, suffering, mental anguish, and loss of consortium.”
Cemetery City Page 5
