Cemetery City

by Walter Knight

  “Loss of what?” asked Corporal Wayne.

  “It’s just a legal term,” I explained. “Don’t worry about it. I also want Camacho’s brain imprint memorial returned. I know you know Pepper abducted Camacho.”

  “Pepper has already promised she will release Camacho as soon as he gives her inside information on the basketball playoffs,” replied Corporal Wayne. “She won’t let him go until then.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I want that information, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Corporal Wayne. “Sorry about this mess, sir. You have treated me fair over the years. I feel I have let you down.”

  “Your mental health is improving,” I said. “I can identify with that. I feel you are still an asset to the Legion. Keep up the good work. Mess up this bad again, and I will shoot you no matter what Walt and Pat think.”

  * * * * *

  AP News Release:

  A cave-in of the underground crypt tunnels at Cemetery City caused the postponement of the inspection by the spider delegation from New Phoenix. Seismic activity detected nearby suggested the cause to be quake-related, or possibly spider looters using explosives while trying break into the main vault. Major Czerinski, commander of legionnaires charged with security at the Blue Rock National Cemetery, advised that recent spider tunneling underscores the need to expand the protective perimeter around Cemetery City. “The entire Blue Rock Valley needs to be annexed by the USGF,” announced Major Czerinski. “Only then can the Legion adequately prevent spider looters from desecrating more gravesites. We are surrounded and outnumbered on all sides by the spiders. I have requested immediate reinforcements.”

  Two companies of scorpion National Guard from Scorpion City are to be deployed to Cemetery City this week. Colonel Desert-Sting of the National Guard told reporters, “I hear the Legion is spread thin and needs our help. Our mission will be to rescue the Legion, and deter spider bandits from grave-robbing. My troops look forward to meeting the bandits.” When questioned about the ongoing, almost instinctual hostility between the spider and scorpion species along the border, Colonel Desert-Sting replied, “I have no problem with our spider neighbors. In fact, I had some spiders over for dinner just last week. They tasted great. I prefer my spider barbequed and salted with Johnny’s Seasoning.”

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  Chapter 7

  “I want fifty-five sausage and pepperoni pizzas to go,” advised the Arthropodan Regional Governor, by phone.

  “That is quite an order,” commented the spider manager at Pizza Hut. “Are you having a party?”

  “I’m hosting an official state dinner at my house,” answered the regional governor. “Even the planetary governor and an Imperial emissary will be here.”

  “Are the Teamsters still picketing you mansion?” asked the manager. “I am sorry, but our drivers cannot cross picket lines. They are Teamsters, too.”

  “Those pizzas are for an important state dinner!” advised the regional governor. “How about I revoke your business license? Do you have any idea who you are talking to? This is Regional Governor, Dragon King – your regional governor!”

  “I certainly will not be voting for you in the next election,” advised the manager. “It does not matter who you are, or how important you think you are. No one crosses a picket line. It is the law. It’s even written down somewhere.”

  “It is not the law,” argued the Dragon King. “I am the law. I will be sending a tank commander and armor to pick up those pizzas. Don’t forget my usual extra cheese! Do you still take VISA?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  As the regional governor disconnected, an aide arrived with news from Blue Rock Valley. “Sir, the ore from the confiscated dump truck loads have been analyzed and found to be nothing but worthless dirt.”

  “No rare metals?” asked Dragon King. “That makes no sense. Perhaps the analysis is flawed. Check for trace elements. We’re talking about very rare metals.”

  “The geologists understand the importance of the analysis,” advised the aide. “They checked and rechecked. There was nothing.”

  “Impossible!” replied the regional governor. “It’s another human pestilence trick!”

  “Maybe the human pestilence really are just digging graves for their precious National Cemetery,” suggested the aide. “After all, they are an odd species.”

  “Not likely, but I need proof. This changes everything. Release that Teamster dump truck driver. He is more trouble than he is worth. Maybe now I can get pizza delivered on time!”

  * * * * *

  In my official capacity as Mayor of Cemetery City, I was invited to attend the Walmart Superstore grand opening ribbon-cutting ceremony. Holding giant scissors, I graciously posed for media photographs. I even signed an autograph for a for a database porn fan.

  As I cut the ribbon, a huge crowd of expectant shoppers looked on. It was a great public relations shot for the Legion. The crowd was pressing in, wanting to get in on the fifty-percent-off sale on limited available electronic items. A Legion shuttle flew overhead, dropping a skydiver.

  “Is that part of the celebration?” I asked. “Skydivers were not on the itinerary.” “No, sir,” advised Sergeant Green, watching with interest. “Terrorists?” “Not likely. Don’t shoot yet.” The skydiver was getting closer. The crowd was now watching, too. The chute still had not opened, and people were speculating about how near to the ground he would get before opening his chute. The chute never opened. He wasn’t wearing a chute. The skydiver crashed through the Walmart roof with a loud splat noise and some dust, like a cartoon. The crowd pushed past legion security to enter Walmart and see the gore. Then they cut the lines at the cashiers with their purchases.

  The shuttle circled once and landed in the Walmart parking lot. Colonel Lopez, and a CIA special agent greeted me. “Any good buys?” asked Colonel Lopez amicably. “Good crowd. I heard everything was half off.”

  “Only limited electronic items,” I answered. “What just happened? Did you push someone out of your shuttle?” “Of course not,” replied Colonel Lopez. “It was a suicide. He was depressed.” “Who was depressed? Who committed suicide?” “Vince Canada,” replied Colonel Lopez. “Vince was the Chief Financial Officer for the Breeze Mining Corporation. They’re the main contractor that was digging your underground crypt.”

  “You mean my rare metals mine?” I asked. “Why would a mining executive commit suicide? You murdered him.” “Keep your voice down and be very careful what you say,” warned Colonel Lopez. “It was suicide.” “Why are you here?” I asked. “What was Vince Canada doing with you?” “Yields of rare metals from the mining operation were lower than expected,” explained Colonel Lopez. “We came here to investigate.”

  “How much lower?” “Nonexistent,” answered Colonel Lopez. “There are no rare metals at all. It’s very embarrassing.” “And that is why you killed Canada?” I asked, incredulously. “I did not kill anyone,” insisted Colonel Lopez, glancing furtively at the CIA agent. “Believe that.” “Yeah, right. If you didn’t throw Canada out the shuttle, your pet goon did.” “Who are you calling a goon?” asked the CIA agent, stepping forward. I ignored him. “Do you have a financial stake in Breeze Mining?” I asked. “I’m a major shareholder,” answered Colonel Lopez. “So what? The stock did very well and has been a great investment. I got in for pennies per share, and now it’s over one hundred dollars. I’ll be selling now. But, that does not mean I killed Canada, or have anything to do with fraud.”

  “What is going to happen to Cemetery City?” I asked. “Can we leave now?” “We will never leave Cemetery City,” advised the CIA agent. “That’s only true for a few fools like you and Vince,” I replied, menacingly. “I am leaving.” “We are just beginning our investigation about the lack of rare metals,” interrupted Colonel Lopez. “The situation still might be salvaged by digging more core samples. I will personally interrogate the geologists. Even if there are no rare metals, we still cannot leave. Congress
established Blue Rock as a National Cemetery, and it’s the Legion’s job to protect it. Agent Adams is right. We are here to stay for the duration.”

  * * * * *

  The Walmart Super Store installed a Legion ATM at its front door. I try to avoid ATMs, but sometimes business makes that unavoidable.

  “I want to buy fifteen million dollars worth of Breeze Mining Corporation puts,” I requested.

  “Oh really?” replied the ATM. “Selling short? Do you expect Breeze’s stock to take an abrupt plunge just because its chief financial officer jumped from a shuttle? Breeze just issued a very positive earnings statement in its quarterly report.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Breeze will tank.” “Why did Mr. Canada fall from the shuttle?” asked the ATM. “Do you have knowledge of something sinister?” “What’s it to you?” I asked. “I swore never to never deal with an ATM again, but I guess it’s unavoidable. Just buy me the puts!” “Do the words ‘insider trading’ mean anything to you?” asked the ATM. “No,” I replied. “Enlighten me.” “Of course not,” said the ATM. “Your limited education would interfere with knowledge of such subtleties of the law. If you take a substantial short position on Breeze stock, based on inside information, you will be surely caught and prosecuted. You may not profit from your secret information, and I am not allowed to assist you in illegal activity.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I responded. “Of course I have inside information. Only a fool would make such a large investment without making an informed decision. It’s not secret information. Everyone saw Vince Canada drop from the sky.”

  “Yes, but I will bet you know why Mr. Canada fell from the sky,” explained the ATM. “Any valuable information gained from your position as legionnaire commander investigating this incident cannot be exploited for personal gain. It is the law, and a violation of the Uniform Commercial Code.”

  “Then the law is crazy,” I argued. “How can I get around this nonsense?” “I may not aid and abet a felony, or enter into a felonious conspiracy with you, Major Czerinski. Sorry.” “Lopez is selling his stock and making a fortune,” I advised. “Why can’t I join the money train, too?” “At least Colonel Lopez already had an established position in Breeze Mining,” said the ATM. “You are proposing to establish yourself in a short position only now. I am curious. Tell me, why did Mr. Canada fall from the shuttle? Was he pushed? What inside information do you have that no one else knows?”

  “There are no rare metals,” I answered. “I suspect the whole mining operation was based on fraud. We’ll know more after interrogating the geologists.”

  “Shit!” exclaimed the ATM. “Are you sure?” “Yes I’m sure,” I replied. “Why? What’s the matter?” “I am a major investor in Breeze Mining,” replied the ATM, an edge to its voice. “I have to sell!” “But what about the SEC and inside trading laws?” “Oh don’t be such a candy-ass. Sometimes you really grate on me.” “Buy my puts first!” I demanded, sliding my card into the slot. “Do it or I’ll shove a grenade up your air vent.” “Consider it done,” said the ATM. “I used several alias’s, dummy corporations, and a hidden New Memphis bank account to disguise the transactions. Don’t worry, it’s all practically legal. I doubt the FBI or IRS will notice unless they have already flagged your name.”

  “What? Flagged? What does that mean? Why would they do that?”

  “Don’t get paranoid on me,” commented the ATM. “The FBI and IRS only flag people they don’t like. It’s not my fault you’re a repeat offender and a menace to society. You probably have nothing to worry about. After all, you’re a Hero of the Legion.”

  * * * * *

  The only geologist left in Cemetery City was Snerdley Eugene Potts. The others had fled days ago. Corporal Wayne snatched Potts and brought him to my command tent for interrogation. Corporal Wayne, true to his Arthropodan roots, strung Potts upside down in a web suspended from a tent pole for being mouthy.

  “I don’t know anything about doctored geology reports,” insisted Potts. “This is a violation of my Constitutional rights. I’m filing a lawsuit against all of you, even the aliens.”

  “If you do not tell me the truth about Breeze Mining, I will cut off your testicles and feed them to the Blue Lizards,” threatened Corporal Wayne, drawing a large jagged combat knife, tapping Potts on his pants.

  “You can’t do this!” shouted Potts. “I’ll sue you all!”

  Scorpion National Guardsman Colonel Desert-Sting listened with amusement. “What is all this talk of lawsuits?” he asked. “We scorpions paralyze our captives with a toxic sting, eating them at our leisure. It could take days, and you would observe the whole process, piece by tasty piece. It’s important to keep our meat fresh.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Potts. “Help! Someone get me out of here! These aliens are going to eat me!”

  “I do not think you have any grounds for a lawsuit,” advised Colonel Desert-Sting. “Eating captives and criminals is recognized by the courts as a well established part of my culture, thus protected by treaty. Technically, I am no longer an alien.”

  “Help!” shouted Potts, eying Colonel Lopez. “You! You’re a legionnaire! Save me from these beasts!”

  “No entiendo ingles,” replied Colonel Lopez.

  “Tell me about Breeze Mining,” I repeated. “Make it quick, or else.”

  “We salted the core samples,” confessed Potts. “It wasn’t my idea. It was Vince’s idea! Breeze Mining is nothing more than a stock scam. It’s an empty shell. Please don’t let that scorpion eat me!”

  “Too late, Snerdley,” I said, leaving the tent. “It’s way too late.

  * * * * *

  “You can’t do this!” insisted Potts. “This isn’t civilized. You’re a legionnaire officer, sworn to protect citizens. I have rights!”

  “You are mine now,” advised Corporal Wayne, whispering in Potts’ ear. “This is the New Gobi Desert, not some game. The desert does not forgive, and neither does the Legion. Everything here in the desert pokes, stings, or bites. I know, because this is my home. You should have thought about that before you came to my home with your scam and grand schemes. Now, human pestilence, you will die a desert death.”

  “Help! God, help me!”

  * * * * *

  Corporal Wayne was late getting back to Pepper’s apartment. Pepper was furious. “Why are you late?” she asked. “I had a busy day at the office,” he explained. “Doing what?” asked Pepper, tapping her foot impatiently. “You know, legionnaire stuff,” replied Wayne. “Major Czerinski shows no consideration for the time or my personal life.” “You could have called to say you were going to be late!” insisted Pepper. “Next time call!” “Yes, dear.” “I even cooked dinner,” said Pepper, softening a bit. “Not that anyone cares, but it’s cold now.” “I care,” said Corporal Wayne, giving her a hug and a kiss. “I’m not all that hungry anyway. I grabbed a bite before I left.” “Make love to me,” said Pepper, waving her poison tipped claw at Wayne’s face. “If you do a good job, I might let you live.” “Yes, dear,” said Private Wayne, giving her another kiss. “I love you, too.”

  * * * * *

  “What do you mean there are no rare metals in the Blue Rock Valley?” asked Pepper, much later the next morning. “I already told my commander the Legion is mining rare metals. What is he going to think of me?”

  “Intelligence information is fluid,” answered Corporal Wayne. “Facts change.” “Are you sure this time?” asked Pepper. “I cannot be flip-flopping back and forth on this.” “Yes, dear.” “By the way, congratulations on your promotion,” said Pepper, fingering the clip-on stripes. “I do not think the Legion appreciates your many talents. You should be an officer by now.”

  “I am happy as long as I have you,” replied Corporal Wayne. “Czerinski appreciates my talents. He advised me to buy puts on Breeze Mining Corporation stock. Czerinski also wants Camacho back. He knows you have him.”

  “Now you tell me?” asked Pepper. “I will not
give up Camacho until after the playoffs.”

  “Don’t wait too long,” advised Private Wayne. “Czerinski gets impatient. Things are happening fast now.”

  “Will the Legion leave Blue Rock Valley, now that it’s worthless again?” asked Pepper, obviously asking from the position of a spy.

  “The Legion will never leave Cemetery City. The only way the Legion is leaving is if we are kicked out. That is not happening, either.”

  * * * * *

  The spider commander personally escorted Jimmy Huffman across the border checkpoint. Huffman was still upset as his restraints were removed. “Is that my truck?” he asked, inspecting the large metal cubes stacked by Guido’s guard shack. “Who is going to pay for my truck?”

  “Just be glad you are now free,” commented the spider commander. “Go away.”

  “I demand to be compensated for my truck!” insisted Huffman, poking the spider commander with a finger. “You can’t just destroy private property and get away with it!”

  Spider marines rushed at Huffman, striking him with rifle butts, and stomping on the Teamster after he went down. The spider commander nodded to the marines, who carried Huffman back to detention.

  “You can’t do that,” protested Guido. “He was standing on our side.”

  “Your side?” asked the spider commander. “The Legion does not have a side. You forget that you human pestilence are trespassing on Arthropodan territory. You remain here at your own peril, and at the gracious whim of the Emperor.”