Both trackers followed the scent of the scorpion sergeant. As they approached, he burrowed into the ground. A helicopter landed with more legionnaires to help with containment. The foreman’s dog excitedly barked and dug into the recently disturbed soft ground. Guido’s dragon hissed and kept a wary eye on the large Rottweiler. The scorpion dug deeper into the sand.
The legionnaires backed away, forming a perimeter around the large mole-hole-type mound. Major Lopez stuck a tube through the soft ground and forced gas into the ground. This had no noticeable effect. The legionnaires widened their perimeter, then called for an air strike. A helicopter gunship dropped a bunker-busting bomb on the mound of dirt. The legionnaires took cover as the explosion rained dirt and sage brush debris down on them.
The blast concussed the scorpion sergeant. He surfaced, grabbing private Camacho by the leg, and pulling him under. Guido grabbed Camacho to save him. As Guido pulled, the scorpion’s claw surfaced just briefly. The monitor dragon and the Rottweiler immediately pounced on the exposed claw, ripping it apart. Seriously wounded, the scorpion sergeant burrowed back under the ground.
The legionnaires quickly dispersed into a circle, and called in another air strike. This time the scorpion sergeant did not get far enough under the ground. Mortally wounded from the explosion, he lay stunned. The Rottweiler and dragon dug frantically at the bottom of the crater. Both smelled blood. Finally reaching the scorpion sergeant, the dragon snapped at the Rottweiler, not wanting to share its meal. Guido pulled Spot back on his leash as legionnaires fired their assault rifles into the scorpion’s corpse. Later the dragon and the Rottweiler were allowed to share their prize.
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Chapter 7
“From the Halls of Montezuma,” hummed the Scorpion Queen, happily content.
“What?” asked the King. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing, dear,” replied the Queen. “I was just humming a little ditty I heard during my captivity at the hands of those big beastly humans.”
“That must have been quite a trying experience,” commented the King. “But you seem to have held up well.”
“My old chassis can still take a pounding,” bragged the Queen. “I’m like that little battery-powered rabbit on human satellite TV.”
“Huh?” asked the King, alarmed “They did not brutalize you, did they?”
“Those marines were a little bit rough at times, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle,” answered the Queen. “I could have lasted days longer if you had not rescued me so quickly.”
“It will be good to see diplomatic relations return to normal,” the King said, sighing.
“What about our ambassador on New Colorado?” asked the Queen. “I heard he and his whole staff wandered out into the desert and got themselves lost.”
“It is true,” said the King. “Our Special Forces led the ambassador to a safe spot and told him to stay put, but now we have lost all communications with both.”
“You should not have landed commandos in the first place,” advised the Queen. “It will only antagonize the humans and the spiders.”
“Both need to be kept off balance,” commented the King. “Besides, we need to demonstrate to all that we are willing to forcefully protect the rights of scorpion colonists living on New Colorado.”
“Perhaps we should make a royal visit to our lost colony,” suggested the Queen. “Maybe a few patriotic speeches can accomplish what your Special Forces skulking about in the sage brush hills cannot.”
“That is a good idea!” exclaimed the King. “I am sending you. Start packing.”
“To the shores of Tripoli,” the Queen began humming again. “We fight our country’s battles, on the air, on land, and sea. Da, da, da, da, we love those United States Marines!”
“Enough with the human tunes!” complained the King. “I hate that rap music those humans listen to so much. It rots the brain with addiction, causes hearing loss, and is very unwholesome and full of vulgarities and violence. I will ban rap music from the Kingdom by Royal Decree!”
“Party pooper,” replied the Queen, still humming as she left to start packing.
* * * * *
The scorpion lieutenant studied a small insect larva called an ant lion, also known as a doodlebug. According to the galactic database, the ant lion was a ferocious creature, waiting at the bottom of a self-constructed cone pit until an unsuspecting bug or worm happened to fall in. The ant lion would then toss rocks at its victim as it tried to escape. As the bug fell back down the sides of the cone, the ant lion would then pull it under the sand with wicked pincers and suck out its victim’s bodily juices, then flip the dry husk out of the pit.
The scorpion lieutenant recognized the ant lion as a truly magnificent desert creature – except that it was no larger than a finger claw. No wonder humans do not respect exoskeleton species, thought the scorpion lieutenant. On Old Earth, all exoskeleton life is this small and insignificant, no matter how fierce and deadly. But across the galaxy, it is humans that are insignificant. Every other sentient species has an exoskeleton and breathes high oxygen content. We have been warring with our distant cousins when we should have been exterminating the human pestilence. Yes, that is what the spiders call humanity. Human pestilence. They are right, too! Humanity is a pestilence spreading across the galaxy like vermin found in sewers. And the humans are getting stronger.
The scorpion lieutenant gazed across the desert expanse separating him from Major Lopez’s hacienda. Our King does not understand that humanity not only conquers planets, but conquers minds, too. The King is blind to the threat because he isn’t here on New Colorado. The King is safe in his palace. But I have seen with my own eyes the once proud scorpion race working for paltry wages to build a Walmart.
The scorpion lieutenant stabbed his combat knife in the sandy dirt, then glowered at the vast farming enterprise sitting proudly in the distance. Major Lopez sits in comfort in his grand hacienda, scheming ways to cut costs and buy more robotics so that he can eliminate scorpion labor entirely. We are nothing but dirt under his fingernails. Maybe I cannot stop humanity’s march across the galaxy, but I will kill Major Lopez tonight. He stabbed the ground again to drive home his vow.
* * * * *
“The Scorpion Queen wants to visit New Colorado to socialize,” General Daly announced over speaker phone. “But the only humans she knows here are you and Major Lopez. And she expressed a desire to visit Lopez’s fruit farm.”
“He calls it a hacienda,” I corrected. “There are still bandits in that part of the New Gobi. Lopez killed a bandit just today, after his foreman was murdered. And Her Majesty’s ambassador is still lost out there somewhere. I suggest the Queen stay at the Marriott Hotel in New Phoenix. The New Gobi Desert is too dangerous.”
“She will be bringing her personal body guards,” advised General Daly.
“I hope they are not the same incompetents Major Lopez defeated when he took her hostage,” I added.
“I’m sure some have been replaced,” replied General Daly. “Goodwill is built by establishing face-to-face relationships. The Queen wants you two to make introductions in a socially relaxed setting. She feels the Scorpion Kingdom, the USGF, and the Arthropodan Empire are less likely to go to war or engage in adventurism and pointless aggression if our leaders personally know each other. If the royal visit goes well, it may pave the way for a follow-up visit to Old Earth to meet the President.”
“The Queen is a pervert,” interrupted Major Lopez, who was in my office, listening on the speaker phone. “She damn near wore out a whole company of our best marines at the embassy. I do not want her in my house. It would be a sin!”
“He has got a point,” I agreed. “Major Lopez should not be forced to entertain unwanted guests at his hacienda, especially if they violate his moral sensibilities.”
“Ha!” exclaimed General Daly. “I am being preached to by a man who is a database intergalactic interspecies porn star?”
“Sir, those videos were made against my will,” I protested. “I was under the influence of scorpion venom. I almost died!”
“You are the biggest pervert in the Legion,” accused General Daly. “The psychological profile in your personnel file proves it! And your sidekick is the biggest crook in the Legion! The two of you deserve that pain-in-the-ass Queen. You will escort Her Majesty anywhere she wants to go, and you will make sure she is kept happy. That is an order!”
“Sidekick?” objected Major Lopez. “It’s not my fault that bendaho keeps getting promoted over me!”
“But, general, sir,” I protested, ignoring Lopez, “we will be moving thousands of buffalo next week away from the radioactive hot spots. I don’t have time to be babysitting tourists.”
“Make time!” ordered General Daly. “Hell, take the Queen on your buffalo drive if you have to. She’s probably never seen a buffalo. I’ll bet she might get a real kick out of riding something that big between her legs. Ha ha!”
“That’s sick,” commented Major Lopez, crossing himself as General Daly ended the call.
I shook my head, trying to get the picture of the Queen riding a buffalo out of my mind. “You should see the video Ambassador Yamashita provided me of the Queen and that company of marines,” I added. “We might have some serious blackmail material if negotiations get bogged down. The King would not be happy. The CIA already has a copy.”
* * * * *
The scorpion lieutenant and his two remaining scouts slipped unnoticed into the hacienda compound from nearby orange groves. Busy workers paid them no mind. Everyone was hard at work sprucing up the place for the Queen’s visit. Every building was being painted white with red trim.
The new foreman handed the scorpion lieutenant a paint brush as he passed by. The three scorpion scouts immediately joined the painters. Not only was splashing paint on themselves while painting the barn a good disguise, but their morale was lifted at the prospect of a royal visit.
There was also excitement about the large buffalo herd expected to pass through on its way south. The scorpion lieutenant volunteered for the buffalo drive. Rumor was that both Colonel Czerinski and Major Lopez would be participating in the buffalo drive. The prospect of being able to kill them both together was too good to pass up.
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Chapter 8
The Scorpion Queen was greeted by heads of state at the spaceport in New Phoenix. Dignitaries included United States Galactic Federation Military Governor General Daly, United States of New Colorado President Kalipetsis, the Arthropodan Governor of the North Territory, the Prime Minister of the Free Spider State, and Major Desert-Sting as the newly appointed Military Governor of the USGF Autonomous District of Scorpion City. And, of course, the media was present. I was there in the official capacity of security, overseeing a Legion detail.
“Your Majesty, I am Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight, broadcasting live from New Phoenix. On this momentous occasion, what is your first impression of New Colorado?”
“I hope my visit will mark the first of many milestones that unite our diverse cultures,” replied the Queen. “So far, I love New Colorado. It is nice and dry. I love the smell of sage brush in the morning.”
“How soon will it be before you visit Scorpion City?” asked Coen. “Isn’t it true the main purpose for your visit is to ensure the civil rights of fellow scorpions living under USGF rule?”
“It is only natural that I am interested in the well being of our Lost Colony,” advised the Queen. “The bond of species is still strong between us, even though we are separated by many light years.”
“Lost Colony?” asked USNC President Kalipetsis. “Nonsense! The Kingdom has lost nothing. That colony was never yours. They are now Americans, and they are free of you!”
“Do not ever interrupt me again, human,” warned the Queen. “Many residents living in the Scorpion City colony hold duel citizenship. The Scorpion Kingdom rightfully extends its protection to them all.”
“Does that mean you have concerns about abuse of scorpions by the Legion?” asked Coen.
“In regard to the Legion, some of my best alien friends are legionnaires and marines,” replied the Queen. “Although I have concerns about some local commanders, I believe my relationship with the Legion is positive. In fact, I am looking forward to my first stop of this visit to Major Lopez’s quaint tree farm.”
“It’s a huge hacienda of many diverse crops and orchards that extends for miles in every direction,” interrupted Major Lopez. “My hacienda is not a tree farm.”
“Your Majesty, are you aware that Major Lopez obtained title to his properties long before land was made available to the general public?” asked Coen. “Only the expired statute of limitations prevents his prosecution for malfeasance of office based on insider information regarding water rights.”
“I am not concerned with your petty local political squabbles,” advised the Queen. “Major Lopez is a Hero of the Legion, and that is all I need to know. You will keep your questions civil, or I will kiss you with my sting.”
“I apologize, your Majesty,” replied Coen, nervously. “Is it not a bit awkward being a guest of the same legionnaire who just recently held you hostage during an intense standoff at the Arthropodan Embassy?”
“No one has ever restricted my movement or freedom,” advised the Queen, testily waving her stinger at Coen. “I was a guest of the USGF Ambassador’s wife Lulu, who was graciously granted temporary living quarters by the Arthropodan Ambassador after that unfortunate incident that destroyed the USGF Embassy. I might add, it was a splendid visit.”
“Yes,” advised Coen. “Database video from surveillance cameras of your visit tends to corroborate your assertion.”
‘I was not aware of any video of my visit to Lulu’s,” commented the Queen, taking a swipe at Coen with her stinger, but missing. “You will be advised to remember your place.”
“Isn’t it a bit unusual for a head of state on such an important and historic visit to be spending her first night at an obscure farmhouse in the middle of the desert?”
“I do not intend to just meet with the rich and powerful,” responded the Queen. “My visit is also a fact-finding trip in which I intend to rub claws with the poor and inconsequential. A farm has roots in the soil, and you cannot get much lower than that.”
“So, you intend to get out and meet the people?” asked Coen. “That is very laudable.”
“Let us see the Arthropodan Emperor top that!” exclaimed the Queen. “He probably never even left the Marriott Hotel on his last visit.”
“The Emperor married a local female,” advised the spider governor. “No one is more rooted to his subjects on New Colorado than the Emperor!”
“Whatever,” replied the Queen. “Does the Emperor know how much a crate of oranges costs? Do you?”
“What?” asked the spider governor, stymied by the odd question. “I cannot be expected to keep track of local produce price fluctuations!”
“I did not think so,” said the Queen, dismissively. “I have also been invited to participate in a buffalo roundup. I understand that the buffalo are of important economic and historic consequence to humanity, and that it is necessary to move them away from radioactive hot spots caused by spider bombing. Of course, I admit my assistance in saving this important American icon will be mostly symbolic, but my sentiment is pure and heartfelt.”
“I am surprised by the depth of your knowledge and obvious diplomatic experience,” gushed Coen. “Might you be the true power behind the Scorpion Kingdom throne?”
“Of course I am,” replied the Queen. “If you want to get things done right, let a female do it first.”
The audience burst into applause. A female reporter nudged Coen to the side. “Your Majesty,” said Elizabeth Thayer of CNN, “don’t you feel there would be less war if there was less testosterone leadership at the top?”
“Most certainly,” agreed the Queen. “Males have their speci
al uses at times, but these boys are always playing with their guns and competing to see who has the biggest. Honestly, I think their egos are the start of most wars.”
“Men can be such slow learners,” agreed Ms. Thayer.
The audience burst into applause again, this time giving the Queen a standing ovation. Phil Coen pushed Ms. Thayer aside and stuck his microphone in the Queen’s face, accidentally bumping a mandible. “Your Majesty, does the King plan to visit Old Earth soon?” asked Coen. “Are you snubbing the Arthropodan Empire with these overtures to the USGF?”
The Queen stung Phil Coen on the shoulder, sending him into spasms. EMTs immediately responded, carrying him away to the hospital. Desert-Sting stepped up to the microphone. “No one is allowed to jostle Her Majesty so rudely,” explained Desert-Sting. “Coen should have known better.”
“I am sure Coen will recover,” advised Ms. Thayer. “What other stops are on the royal itinerary?”
“I will be visiting all four political sovereignties on New Colorado,” advised the Queen. “Security concerns prevent me from giving out exact details, but I am interested in visiting industrial sites, including oil production, mining, and transportation hubs. I also intend to visit your lovely national parks and explore the vast wild uninhabited parts of New Colorado. Preserving the ecology of untouched ecosystems is of particular interest to me. I also want to shop at Walmart and to dine at KFC and Taco Bell. We already have a lovely McDonald’s on our home world, and I just love ethnic human food.”
“There are reports of scorpion Special Forces having landed near Scorpion City, attempting to contact or supply the insurgency,” advised a spider reporter. “If that is true, isn’t your talk of establishing and maintaining good relations with your neighbors a bit disingenuous?”
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