The Ark

by Walter Knight

  “There’s no such thing as the Mafia,” advised General Lopez. “Bomb the spiders now!”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” I suggested. “The spider commander sent a message about you concerning Corporal Ceausescu. He wants you to drop charges, and to apologize.”

  “Ceausescu!” shouted General Lopez. “I want her arrested. Why have you been dragging your feet on that? I’ve heard she’s practically living with the spider commander. She’s turned traitor on top of everything else!”

  “She’s our only medic,” I advised.

  “That’s no excuse,” advised General Lopez. “I’ll get you another medic. I want her in chains!”

  “The spider commander says you spilled the beans about the buried alien ship,” I said, commenting on the commander’s message. “He says he’ll keep quiet about your treason if you drop charges against Ceausescu, and make a public apology for calling her a puta. Otherwise, he will post a video of your brief interrogation on the Galactic Database.”

  “No one will blame me for giving information under torture,” explained General Lopez. “Those spiders burned my ear off, and threatened to do worse!”

  “I understand and sympathize,” I said. “However, you also made false written reports about your interrogation when you were debriefed. Why risk your new promotion? We all know you’re a Hero of the Legion. Just let it be.”

  “The whole incident was your fault for handing me over to the spiders in the first place!” fumed General Lopez. “Fine! Let Ceausescu go! You are all conspiring against me!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This isn’t over!” advised General Lopez. “I want someone to go to jail before I leave. Arrest Jimmy The Neck for criminal conspiracy in that plot with the Cable Guy to infest the New Memphis Belle and the surrounding property with cable TV. The Legion needs to make an example of that wise guy.”

  “Sir, we can’t arrest Jimmy The Neck. Jimmy is tight with the same Teamsters who are digging our tunnel. Now, more than ever, getting to the alien shipwreck quickly is a priority. We can’t risk Jimmy The Neck ordering a strike or work slowdown.”

  “Kill Jimmy The Neck and make it look like an accident,” insisted General Lopez. “Destroy the evidence by letting the crocs eat him. I heard you almost threw Jimmy The Neck to the crocs this weekend anyway.”

  “That was then, this is now,” I explained. “Don’t worry, sir. Jimmy The Neck will fall hard, soon enough. Wise guys like that always do. I heard a rumor Stanford University is going to whack him. They’re really upset about the Belle being taller than Harrah’s. A Stanford heavy-hitter is already in town doing Harrah’s dirty work.”

  “Be careful,” advised General Lopez. “Those Stanford folks can get nasty, especially their band. I’ll see what I can do to get you another company of legionnaires if things heat up. And the way things are developing, it looks like that might happen sooner than later.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Before leaving for New Phoenix, General Lopez assembled the entire Caldera City Legion garrison for a public apology to Corporal Ceausescu.

  “Officers and men, gentlemen and ladies, I feel deep regret for recently insulting the fine moral character of medic Corporal Elena Ceausescu. A combat-proven Hero of the Legion, Corporal Ceausescu has served with distinction in many campaigns. I know that for a fact, because I have served with Elena since we were both recruits. Perhaps familiarity and combat bonding caused my reckless comment about her moral character, but that is no excuse. I publicly apologize to Corporal Ceausescu, whom we all know is as pure as the driven snow. As a token of my heartfelt appreciation of her dedication to duty, I present Elena Ceausescu these long overdue sergeant stripes.”

  General Lopez personally pinned the stripes to Ceausescu’s collar, shook her hand, and returned her salute.

  “You can take that crack about ‘pure as the driven snow’ and shove it up your ass, Lopez,” whispered Ceausescu, as General Lopez gave her a parting hug.

  General Lopez stiffened, forced a smile, and waved to the cheering troops. Not staying for the party, General Lopez abruptly boarded his shuttle for New Phoenix.

  back to top

  Chapter 8

  Jimmy The Neck visited his long time acquaintance, Corporal Guido Tonelli, at the border crossing. “Who do you like for the Super Bowl?” he asked. “I’m taking the Seahawks to crush Tennessee.”

  “I’m not talking to you, Jimmy,” groused Guido. “Ever since you built the Belle, my sports betting action has fallen way off. I’ve been reduced to dealing in stolen property.”

  “Oh?” asked Jimmy The Neck. “What are you complaining about? You still get all the spider action, and they’re big compulsive gamblers. The spider commander won’t let me build a casino on the other side yet. He thinks gambling corrupts morals. Ha! That’s a good one. Aliens with morals! What kind of merchandise are you hawking?”

  “I have a slightly used spider torture kit, batteries included,” advised Guido, handing it over. “Careful with the electrodes, you don’t know where they’ve been. I only just acquired this apparatus. It’s genuine Arthropodan Intelligentsia war surplus.”

  “I heard about you finding a torture kit after that shootout with terrorists the other day,” commented Jimmy The Neck, examining the tangle of wires.

  “That shootout was just a big misunderstanding,” explained Guido. “The UPS driver was trying to smuggle the torture kit across the border.”

  “You’re skimming off UPS deliveries?” asked Jimmy The Neck. “That’s a pretty good racket. Say, this torture kit has a bunch of burn marks on it and some stains. It’s obviously used and in poor shape. I couldn’t give you more than three hundred dollars for it.”

  “It’s worth six thousand,” advised Guido. “Why do you insult me with an offer of three hundred?”

  “I thought we were friends,” said Jimmy The Neck, feigning injury and affront to his reputation. “You would rob a friend of six thousand dollars? One thousand dollars is as high as I can go, and that is only because we have a history. We are friends.”

  “With friends like you, who needs enemies?” protested Guido. “You would deny me any profit at all? I have a lot of overhead and expenses dealing in stolen property, now that you have ruined my sports book. Five thousand is the lowest I can go. Czerinski wants his cut, too. The Toe has his hands in all the action these days.”

  “I’ll give you fifteen hundred,” offered Jimmy The Neck. “I only offer that much because I value continued goodwill between us.”

  “Don’t be so tight,” chided Guido. “This torture kit will pay for itself in no time. With all that money you’re making at the Belle, why are you jerking me around? Four thousand. That’s the absolute lowest I can go without impugning my reputation. If word gets out I’m going soft with old friends, I will be haggled out of business!”

  “Did you say the batteries are included?” asked Jimmy The Neck, as he activated the apparatus. Sparks flew across the room from one of the electrodes. A small piece of ear lobe stuck to the wall. “These electrodes need to be cleaned off. It’s disgusting! I’ll give you twenty-five hundred, cash on the spot.”

  “Sold!” answered Guido, grabbing the bills. “You’ve made a fine investment. When word get out you bought a torture kit, no one will mess with you ever again. Your reputation as a bad-ass dude will increase threefold.”

  * * * * *

  I called for volunteers, hoping to address the medic shortage in house. I doubted General Lopez would send us another medic in a timely manner. When no one stepped forward to volunteer, I appointed Private Walter Knight. He protested profusely. “But sir, I can’t stand the sight of blood, or any other bodily fluids,” insisted Private Knight. “I’m a sympathetic vomiter, and hate needles. I refuse to do CPR. I’d make a terrible medic!”

  “You’re already a terrible legionnaire,” I said. “So, there won’t be much of a change in expectations. This is you chance to advance i
n rank. Think of all the free drugs you’ll get. It’s about time you stepped up and accepted more responsibility.”

  “You’re going to promote me to corporal?” asked Private Knight.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” I promised. “You still have to go to medic school and learn how to patch people up. In the meantime, contact Sergeant Ceausescu and learn all you can. On-the-job training is invaluable. Don’t bother arguing, my decision is final.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Private Knight.

  Knight angrily wrote a few comments in his note pad, as was his constant habit. Fool! “Are you still writing a book?” I asked. “Did you ever find a publisher?”

  “Yes,” replied Private Knight, proudly. “Penumbra Publishing has committed to publishing all my books. Their Pulitzer winning staff and great marketing department guarantees sales, even out here on the Frontier.”

  “Whatever. I’ve never heard of Penumbra. Good luck with that. Just make sure your main characters have happy endings. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Private Knight. “I will make sure my main character gets exactly what he deserves.” Knight turned and trudged away, fuming, “He will be slowly torn apart and eaten by crocs.”

  I shook my head and concerned myself with the next order of business.

  * * * * *

  The spider commander visited the border crossing to place a Super Bowl wager with Guido. He intended to go ‘all in’ on the Tennessee Titans over Seattle. The spread was just too great for Seattle to overcome, he reasoned.

  The spider commander, usually upbeat when placing a bet, looked about the border area in dismay. Evidence of human pestilence trespass abounded. During the night, juvenile human pestilence gangs had sneaked across the border and spray-painted their cryptic graffiti on the sides of walls and buildings. The spider commander scanned the messages with his translator, but their meaning remained secret. He suspected the human pestilence were merely scribbling like babies most of the time.

  It galled the spider commander that apparently the human pestilence could cross the border at will to commit their vandalism. But worse, this cultural aberration was being copied by Arthropodans, maybe even marines. In clear Arthropodan script, someone had printed on a border barrier, ‘Caldera sucks.’

  “Paint that over,” ordered the spider commander. “In fact, paint over all the graffiti. It’s unsightly.”

  “What’s the point?” asked a spider team leader. “Human pestilence kids will just sneak across during the night and spray-paint new tags.”

  “Why do they do it?” asked the spider commander.

  “The tags claim turf and establish dominance,” advised the team leader. “Certain symbols are used for bragging rights.”

  “This side of the border is the Emperor’s turf!” shouted the spider commander. “Shoot to kill any trespassers caught defiling Imperial property!”

  “But, sir, they’re only kids,” explained the spider team leader. “The Legion would be very upset if we starting shooting their mischievous youth every time they stray across the border. It would cause an incident.”

  “Do I care?” asked the spider commander. “Do not question my orders!”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a crashing noise in the back room of the guard shack. The spider commander reached for his pistol. “What is that?”

  “Last night we captured a new type of human pestilence beast,” answered the spider commander. “It’s quite cute and friendly.”

  The spider commander cautiously opened the backroom door and peered in. “I’ve seen those before,” he advised, looking at the animal covered in black and white fur. “It is a cat! They’re useless critters, good only for hunting other small Old Earth pestilence, and serving as pet food for larger animals held in captivity. Cats spend most of their time sleeping and scratching the furniture.”

  “That is not a cat,” replied the team leader. “It’s as friendly and playful as a cat, but it does not purr.”

  “So it’s an unhappy cat.” The spider commander cautiously scanned the creature. “It looks harmless enough, but the database cannot make positive identification. Maybe the problem is the poor lighting. Bring that vermin out into the sunlight for closer examination.”

  The spider team leader picked up the creature, scratching affectionately under its chin. It responded by rubbing against the spider’s claw, demanding more attention.

  “It wants to be scratched because all Old Earth vermin carry fleas and parasites,” warned the spider commander. “Be careful. It would be disastrous if plague made the interspecies jump from that Old Earth vermin. Remember that memo we got about alien parasites?”

  “That memo was about interspecies dating,” scoffed the team leader. ‘That’s something you’re more familiar with than I am. I am not going to mate with this little fellow.”

  “Just be careful,” ordered the spider commander, irritated. “Don’t let it bite you.”

  “I am not afraid,” replied the team leader, handing the creature to his commander. “Here, pet it. It’s quite friendly.”

  The spider commander recoiled at the touch of the disgusting furry critter, knocking it away. The black vermin, with a white strip running down its broad back, fell to the ground, aimed its butt at the spider commander, and sprayed with full effect. The spider commander fell back from the guard shack. His eyes stung from the overpowering smell. He fled across the border to Guido’s guard shack. “Help!” he cried. “Your vermin sprayed me with deadly chemicals! I need an antidote quickly!”

  Guido held a handkerchief over his face for protection from the smell. “You got sprayed by a skunk. Go away!”

  “Is it fatal?” asked the spider commander, desperately. “Will I die?”

  “Yes, it’s fatal,” replied Guido. “There is no cure. Go home and die in peace before you contaminate the rest of us. Go now, or I will shoot!”

  The spider commander staggered back across the border, trying not to inhale any more deadly skunk fumes. “Medic, medic!” he cried. Soon an ambulance arrived, summoned by radio. The medics were not too happy about the smell. “Take me to the infirmary at once!” ordered the spider commander. “I’m dying!” “You’re not getting in my ambulance,” advised a medic. “You smell of skunk.” The spider commander drew his pistol and aimed at the medic. “I’m giving you a direct order! Transport me to the infirmary at once! This is a matter of life and death!”

  Soon they were en route, code-three. Spider medics hung on the outside of the ambulance to avoid the smell. At the infirmary, doctors saved the spider commander. Per Intergalactic Database instructions, the spider commander was given an emergency decontamination bath in ‘lava taco sauce’ from the new Taco Bell restaurant. Catsup would have worked just as well, but the spider commander wanted to use extra strength Old Earth decontamination agents.

  * * * * *

  When I got up this morning, I felt an irresistible urge to go swimming in Caldera Lake. I walked to the shore, humming a tune from antiquity and singing along with what lyrics I could recall. “I have my toes in the swamp, my ass in the sand, not worried about crocs, got a beer in my hand! Life is good today, life is good today.”

  However, as a precaution I detailed a squad of heavily armed legionnaires to stand by, watching for crocs. Soon, tourists noticed my frolicking in the water and joined me. Even the spider commander came out to gawk.

  “I hope a croc gets you Czerinski!” he shouted. “It would serve you right!”

  “What’s that smell?” I asked. “You smell like skunk. Perhaps you should come in and bathe, too! The water is warm and soothing. Or are you chicken?”

  “Go to Hell!” replied the spider commander. “I know better than to swim in that Old Earth vermin-infested swamp! Those crocs should be exterminated, along with the rest of you human pestilence!”

  “Don’t let Ceausescu hear you talking like that!” I warned. “‘Human pestilence is politically incorrect.’ She’ll kic
k your butt!”

  “All my females are well behaved and submissive,” replied the spider commander, in a bit lower voice. He glanced back at his geodesic dome, obviously hoping Elena was still sound asleep. “I’ll speak my mind as I please! I’m the male!”

  “Whatever! Keep telling yourself that! Someday you might even believe it!”

  The water was so refreshing. I could not fathom why it had been so long since my last swim. Then a croc got one of the tourists. Chomp! Everyone scrambled to shore as legionnaires fired their rifles into the water at the slightest ripple or floating twig. Some fool even threw a grenade. It was probably Krueger.

  “What were you thinking?” asked Master Sergeant Green, handing me a towel. “You know better than to swim with those crocs! Have you gone crazy?”

  “Temporary insanity,” I explained. “But I’m over it now. Put Private Knight back on KP duty immediately.” “Why?” asked Sergeant Green. “What did that fool do this time?” “I want you to keep an eye on Knight. That’s all the reason I need.” “Yes, sir!”

  * * * * *

  Spider commandos crawled out through their tunnel to the future home site of Caldera City’s latest Walmart Super Store. Upon exiting the tunnel, spider commandos immediately fanned out and established a secure perimeter. Darkness hid their positions, but caution was prudent, especially on a mission behind enemy lines.

  The spider commander watched with great interest images from the commandos’ helmet cameras. A spider team leader spray painted ‘Czerinski sucks’ on Walmart’s front façade. Below that, he painted ‘Arthropodan marines rule.’

  “Congratulations sir,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “Mission accomplished!”