“What?” asked the spider commander. “I do not want some rookie fool making a mess of this interrogation! This is a Legion general I have in custody. General Lopez is a seasoned officer who has withstood capture and interrogation before. I need an experienced torturer! I want drugs expertly applied to pry the truth out of Lopez!”
“Drugs are out of the question,” advised the Intelligentsia. “It looks like that is another memo you did not bother to read. The Empire signed a new treaty with the USGF, outlawing drug interrogations during peacetime.”
“I demand action on my request!” shouted the spider commander. “Or heads will roll!”
“Sir, if you don’t want our cadet, the best I can do is send you one of our complete torture kits. It comes with detailed, easy-to-read, step-by-step, illustrated instructions even a marine officer like you can understand. Batteries are not included, but I assume you have electricity out there at Cat Shit Lake? By the way, I’m not finding your location on my computer map.”
“Yes, we have electricity, from our nuclear generators,” replied the spider commander. “And it’s Caldera Lake, you moron!”
“Good,” said the Intelligentsia officer, sounding relieved to finally have a resolution. “I’ll mail the kit you.”
“What do you mean, mail?” asked the spider commander. “That will take way too long! The Legion is demanding Lopez’s immediate release. Their commandos are massing at Guido’s guard shack as I speak.”
“Who is Guido?” asked the Intelligentsia officer.
“He’s a human pestilence bookie!” replied the spider commander, exasperated. “He says the Seahawks are going all the way to win the Super Bowl again.”
“I see,” advised the Intelligentsia officer. “I’ll make a note to bet on Seattle. And this Guido thinks Seattle can beat the spread in their first playoff game?”
“What about my torture kit?” asked the spider commander.
“I will have your torture kit sent by UPS special overnight delivery,” advised the Intelligentsia officer. “There, are you happy now?” In a lower tone, he said to someone, “What a whiner this guy is.”
“I heard that!” said the spider commander. “So, what about Seattle beating the spread?” asked the Intelligentsia officer. The spider commander disconnected his phone with a slam.
* * * * *
The spider commander woke early the next morning to the sound of a UPS driver honking his horn outside the commander’s new geodesic dome. The spider commander peered out a viewport, scanning the human pestilence lettering on the truck’s side, which read ‘United Parcel Service – What can Brown do for you?’ “It’s about time!” the spider commander groused, opening the door to his dome.
“Sir, you need to sign for your torture kit,” advised the human pestilence driver, handing the spider commander a clipboard-style pad. “This is the first torture kit I have ever delivered. Can I buy one of these out of a catalogue?”
“How do I know you haven’t pilfered parts from my torture kit?” asked the spider commander, eying the human pestilence suspiciously.
“Sir, don’t dawdle,” advised the UPS driver. “I’m on the clock.”
“Fine!” said the spider commander, scratching his signature on the electronic pad. He tore into the sealed packaging.
“My wife and I could use one of those torture kits,” commented the UPS driver. “You know, to spice things up in the bedroom. I hate being spanked all the time. That gets old quick.”
“Get out of here, you human pestilence pervert!” shouted the spider commander, as he pulled wires and electrodes out of the box. “That’s what you get for being bad!”
“Can you show me how it works?”
“You are trespassing! These torture kits are top-secret Intelligentsia stuff that would require technical knowledge beyond your simple capacity!”
“How about if I buy the torture kit when you’re finished with it?” begged the UPS driver.
“How much?” asked the spider commander, his interest perking as he adjusted the easy to apply clamps and electrodes. The damn thing is way too complicated.
“Five thousand,” offered the UPS driver. “Credits?” “Dollars!” “You insult me!” advised the spider commander. “I’ll take nothing less than ten thousand dollars.” “Seven thousand, five hundred dollars,” offered the UPS driver. “I should have just stolen the torture kit before I got here, but I’m an honest man.”
“Deal!” advised the spider commander. “You human pestilence are such chumps when it comes to tough haggling. I would have sold this Intelligentsia war surplus piece of junk for three hundred dollars!”
* * * * *
The Military Intelligence officer had already began interrogating General Lopez by the time the spider commander arrived with the torture kit and instructions. Wires hung from the box as he carried the electrical apparatus.
General Lopez was not being cooperative. He screamed as the spider commander entered the infirmary. Lopez was strapped to a bed, surrounded by medics, thrashing about in obvious pain.
“Good!” said the spider commander, cheerfully. “Thank you for softening him up for me. This should be easy. Human pestilence have such a low threshold of pain.”
“Sir, the medics were merely removing the magic duct tape from his head wound,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “We would not start the torture without you.”
“They’re pulling my hairs out by the roots!” complained General Lopez. “My left eyebrow is missing! Your medics are incompetent savages!”
The spider commander frowned, mandibles twitching. The room smelled strongly of dirty socks. “Hair loss will be the least of your worries,” warned the spider commander as he deliberately set each item of torture equipment out on the table by Lopez’s bed. He reviewed the instructions again. “I want General Lopez stripped naked and strapped to a cold metal table!”
“Sir, we do not have any metal tables,” replied the Military Intelligence officer. “How about a cold wooden table?” “It would not be the same,” said the spider commander, sulking as he read the directions again. “A cold wooden table might give Lopez splinters,” suggested the Military Intelligence officer. “That would be most uncomfortable.” “I like that!” exclaimed the spider commander, his mood brightening. “You’re supposed to follow the directions to the letter,” advised one of the medics. “Don’t you know you will be dealing with high-voltage electricity? Someone might get hurt.”
“Of course someone will get hurt! And it will be Lopez!” replied the spider commander. “That is the point of torture. Why should I care if Lopez gets splinters?”
“I care!” shouted General Lopez.
“Learn the hard way,” commented the medic, as a large wood table was wheeled in to the room.
“This is barbaric!” Lopez ranted. “And you call yourselves a civilized sentient species? You roaches should be stomped out of existence! I’ll have you all up on war crimes charges!”
Spider guards seized General Lopez, stripped him of all clothing, and strapped him to the wooden table. The spider commander lorded over Lopez menacingly, holding electrodes in each hand, and the written picture instructions in a third hand. The Military Intelligence officer plugged in the extension cord, connecting the metal voltage regulator box. Nothing happened. The needle flickered once.
“Do I have power?” asked the spider commander, glancing accusingly at this Military Intelligence officer. “Can’t you even plug it in right? Why do I have to do everything myself?”
The spider commander touched one of the electrodes to the wooden table. Still nothing happened. Then he licked the end of the electrode, and – zap! The spider commander jolted back a couple steps. “It is working now,” he announced, a bit unsteady.
“Did that hurt sir?” asked the Military Intelligence officer. “It looked painful.”
The spider commander tried to conceal his painful mistake with a calm demeanor, but his anger at the incompetenc
e around him was rising.
“I told you so,” commented the medic. “That’s what happens when you don’t follow the directions.”
“Shut up, both of you!” ordered the spider commander as he attached electrodes to General Lopez’s ear lobes. “Crank up the juice!”
General Lopez strained against his cloth restraints as the Military Intelligence officer adjusted the voltage. Lopez’s hair on his scalp straightened to comic proportions as he screamed.
“Why does the Legion dig tunnels at Caldera Lake?” asked the spider commander, finally beginning the interrogation. “Save yourself from much pain by telling me what I want to know.”
“Screw you, spider!” answered General Lopez.
The spider commander shoved the Military Intelligence officer out of the way and turned the voltage up all the way. “This is for calling sweet Elena a puta!” There was a loud pop and a spark followed by blue smoke and the smell of foul human pestilence flesh sizzling. When the blue haze cleared, General Lopez screamed in pain.
The spider commander inspected the apparatus for damage. An electrode had come loose, and Lopez was missing an ear lobe. Also, Lopez’s gold tooth cap had popped out. A spider guard picked up the gold tooth cap and slipped it into a pouch. The same guard also examined the smoldering ear lobe. He ate it. “Yum-yum, it tastes like chicken,” he said.
“Something went wrong!” complained the spider commander, tossing the written instructions at the Military Intelligence officer. “Lopez should be in much more pain. This is nothing!”
“I’m in plenty of pain!” shouted General Lopez. “You bendaho!”
“Ah, I see the problem now,” commented the Military Intelligence officer, as he reviewed the step-by-step picture instructions. “You were reading the spider page. You need to read the human pestilence page. It says right here to attach the electrodes to ‘each testicle,’ not his ‘ear receptacles.’”
“No!” shouted General Lopez.
“Really?” asked the spider commander, squeamishly. “That seems a bit barbaric. Is that even legal?”
“By treaty, testicle voltage is still allowed during peace time interrogation of criminals,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “Lopez is a trespasser. Our only other alternative is water submersion in Caldera Lake.”
“Too gruesome,” advised the spider commander, dismissively, trying to ignore the phantom pain that flashed through his newly regenerated claw appendage. “Besides, there are too many crocs in that swamp to contend with. Let’s fry his testicles.”
The spider commander attached electrode clamps to General Lopez’s testicle sack. “I do not enjoy torturing you, human pestilence,” he advised. “To do this hurts me as much as it does you. I feel your pain.”
“Bullshit!” replied General Lopez. “I’ll talk! It’s an alien space ship buried deep under the sand! It’s very old!”
“The Legion is here to dig up a shipwreck?” asked the spider commander, hand now on the controls again. “You lie! I’ll burn your testicles off if you don’t tell be the truth! What is so special about this shipwreck? Talk!”
“Seismic tests show that the spacecraft is huge,” explained General Lopez. “It’s almost a mile long.”
The spider guards gasped, followed by silence. “It is an ark?” asked the Military Intelligence officer. “An ark like the one in the Old Scriptures? Only an arc could be that large.”
“That’s nonsense,” snapped the spider commander. “Only hatchlings and fools believe myths propagated by ignorant peasants and the naďve.”
“What would you know of scriptures?” asked General Lopez, reflexively trying to cross himself in the Catholic manner. “You have heard of Noah and the Great Flood?”
“All the beasts were gathered in two’s and placed on a great vessel to save them when God cleansed Arthropoda of sin by causing months of rain and flood,” recited the Military Intelligence officer. “That was written a long time ago.”
“It is a myth told to scare children on campouts around the fire,” dismissed the spider commander. “There has never been that much water on Arthropoda. Our planet has always been dry and arid. There is no ark here, but I will concede there might be long-lost alien technology buried at Caldera Lake. That prize will be mine. I will seize my prize for the glory of the Emperor and Arthropoda!”
“Great,” commented General Lopez. “Aliens searching for lost alien technology? That’s a good one. You punks! Let me go! You will pay for what you did to my ear!”
“Shut up, fool!” ordered the spider commander, turning up the juice.
* * * * *
The UPS driver could not wait to experiment with his newly acquired ‘torture kit.’ As he drove his truck toward home he attached electrodes to various body parts, including inside his trousers. With power from the cigarette lighter plug-in, he adjusted the current ever so slightly, so as to not injure himself. Gentle pulsing electricity tingled over his body. The driver found the experience arousing, in an I’m-bad-punish-me sort of way. His dominatrix wife would love her new present!
The UPS driver continued to daydream as he blissfully drove along. The border checkpoint appeared, bringing him abruptly back to the here and now. A spider guard nonchalantly waved him through, lifting the weighted gate arm. However, the legionnaire at the next gate held up his hand for the driver to stop.
“What did you deliver to the spider zone?” asked Corporal Tonelli. “A torture kit to the spider commander,” replied the UPS driver. “He’s a real head case.” “Anything else?” asked Corporal Tonelli. “No.” “Are you carrying any fruits or vegetables?” “No.” “Sir, would you please step out of your vehicle?” ordered Corporal Tonelli. “Why?” asked the USP driver, agitated. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” He began attempting to disconnect wiring without the legionnaire noticing, while throwing an orange under the seat.
“Your truck will be searched,” advised Corporal Tonelli. “It’s just a routine spot-check for produce.”
“This is harassment!” replied the UPS driver.
Corporal Tonelli peered in the driver’s side window to get a closer look at what the driver was fidgeting with. He saw the wires running out of the driver’s pants, and from under his shirt. Corporal Tonelli unslung his sub-machine gun as he jumped back from the truck to sound the alarm.
“Suicide bomber!”
Legionnaire and spider guards alike took cover behind berms as Corporal Tonelli fired his sub-machine gun into the UPS truck The other guards followed suit, riddling the truck with bullets.
The UPS driver dived to the floor, crawling amongst the packages for cover. Debris from ruined special delivery packages rained down upon him. A cuckoo clock chimed and died. More bullets passed overhead as a wicked jolt of electricity sparked from the driver’s pants, causing a small fire. The driver ripped off his pants and electrodes, screaming in pain. Finally the shooting subsided. A small fire, what was left of his pants, continued in the corner. The driver coughed as smoke hung in the air.
“Help! I surrender! You can search the truck! I’m sorry! You can have the orange! My apple too! My wife packed my lunch, the bitch!”
“Come out slowly,” ordered Corporal Tonelli, on the PA system from his guard shack. “Keep your hands where we can see them!”
By now the UPS driver was completely naked, having shed his clothes to avoid fire and electrocution. He exited the truck with his hands held high in the air. A lonely electrode wire hung clipped to a nipple as the driver gingerly walked barefoot away from the truck, ordered to a prone safe position.
* * * * *
I was dozing at my desk, having a vivid nightmare that I could not sleep. I finally woke from General Daly calling on the phone, wide awake, but still tired.
“I received a complaint from United Parcel Service that Guido shot up one of their UPS trucks,” advised General Daly. “Care to explain that?”
“The driver had wires wrapped around his penis protruding out his pants,�
�� I replied. “Nipple clamps, too. Guido suspected the pervert was a suicide bomber. If Guido erred, it was on the side of caution.”
“That sounds truly disturbing,” commented General Daly. “Sorry I asked. Obviously standards at UPS are getting lax. ‘What can Brown do for you,’ indeed.”
“We get a lot of nuts passing through, out here in the desert,” I explained. “I think the sun half bakes their brains.”
“Tell Guido I want to place three thousand dollars on the Seahawks to beat the spread in their first playoff game,” said General Daly. “Do you have any news on General Lopez? The General Staff won’t let me retire until Lopez is ready to take my place, and it’s pissing me off.”
“Give me armor and air support, and I’ll get Lopez back today,” I promised. “I’ll drive the spiders completely from Caldera.”
“No!” ordered General Daly. “You will negotiate General Lopez’s release. It is your fault Lopez is in spider custody in the first place. I will have your ass if Lopez is not safely returned! It’s all on you!”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about our tunnel?” asked General Daly. “How hard can it be to dig a simple tunnel, damn it?”
“The item we’re looking for is buried under miles of sand dunes,” I explained, uncomfortable talking about top-secret sensitive information on the phone. “We are constantly having to reinforce the walls. That takes time and meticulous skill.”
“We don’t have time!” advised General Daly. “If Lopez spills the beans on our project, the spiders will be digging doubly fast. I’m relying on you to get there first!”
“Yes, sir.”
The Ark Page 5
