Already, a column of Czerinski’s armored cars had arrogantly crossed the border at New Gobi City. Veering sharply east, they drove straight for the forbidden mountains and the Autonomous Tribal District, a provocation that could not be allowed, no matter what the governor ordered. Arthropodan marines raced to catch up, tasked with escorting the Legion safely through the Badlands.
Oddly, the Legion column stopped at the remote native village of Taholah. The village was nothing more than a string of mud huts. Its name, roughly translated from native tongue, was ‘Land of Fish Molesters.’ The spider commander adjusted his translation device, checking database information on fish molester cults. No data found. Possibly the name had been garbled by antiquity, or it meant spider-fisher, or fish poacher. Whatever, it was another reason to not eat fish.
Chapter 7
Wild Ones greeted the first Legion armored car by pelting it with a hailstorm of small round rocks. A nuisance, the rocks pinged harmlessly off the plating. I ordered legionnaires to hold fire, still hoping to get cooperation. The GPS indicated Private Atm’s hand was close ... at hand. Yes, I really said that.
An Arthropodan marine armored car raced to the head of the column, interjecting itself between us and the natives. The spider commander popped out of the hatch, a claw raised, obviously hoping to avoid bloodshed.
“They mean no physical harm,” he explained. “They are merely showing you Legion human pestilence utmost disrespect, as is their right and patriotic duty as citizens of the Empire.”
“Make them stop,” I ordered. “Take me to their leader.”
“Wait a few minutes. Let them have their fun.”
The rocks, stained by an unknown oily substance, had a putrid odor. The substance stuck to my fingers. “What’s this?” I asked, sniffing a small rock.
“The Wild Ones don’t use toilet paper,” explained the spider commander, amused. “You’ve been shit-rocked, a fate befitting all you human pestilence.”
I dropped down, sealing the hatch, wiping oil off my vest. Sick! I fired a single cannon round into the first mud hut. The shit-rocking stopped immediately. The spider commander was furious, but I ignored his rant. Chief Stone-Claw approached hurriedly with a spider delegation, waving a white flag.
“Welcome to most beautiful and peaceful Taholah, the center of the world, place of love and family,” greeted Chief Stone-Claw, warmly giving me a hug and dangling a magic friendship charm in my face. “May the Forces of Evil become confused on the way to your domicile.”
Other Wild Ones jumped up on the turrets, trying to hug legionnaires, almost getting shot for their effort. Legionnaires don’t hug aliens, or anyone else. It’s a law. Don’t ask. Chief Stone-Claw presented me with the Ceremonial Ax to the City as villagers took pictures. Some wore tinfoil caps for protection against microwaves. Others just clicked their claws at us humans. Odd habit.
“Thank you,” I replied. “We are searching for a missing legionnaire, abducted by aliens. Have you seen any other humans pass this way, or their body parts?”
“You are the first human pestilence visitors, ever. I have heard of you human pestilence, and seen pictures, but had no idea you were so ugly in person.”
“Ditto, Fred Flintstone. Where’s Barney Rebel?”
“I have not seen Barney, either.”
I could sense the chief was lying, but had to tread lightly. The spider commander was upset about the damaged mud hut. My GPS indicated we were right on top of Atm’s hand, but where was it? A mural on the wall of one of the mud huts depicted a human hand, missing one pinky finger, giving the one fingered salute. I pointed to drawing. “Care to explain that?”
“It’s just graffiti,” explained Chief Stone-Claw, fidgeting nervously with his pouch. “Young punks today are into rap science fiction. They have no respect for the traditional ways. Someone wash that rubbish off!”
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“Nothing!” answered Stone-Claw, backing away.
“What’s the matter with you? What are you hiding?”
“He’s stoned,” advised medic Ceausescu. “Check it out. All eight eyes are dilated.”
“She’s right,” added Corporal Tonelli. “I just traded some weed for a baggie of magic mushrooms. They’re all stoners, big time. They can’t get enough weed.”
“That would explain the infernal clicking. Shut that noise up!”
The crowd went silent. A whiff of weed floated gently on the breeze. Old spider, young spider, feeling right, on cold New Gobi Night. I got more angry.
Sensing a confrontation, the spider commander held up a claw. “By treaty, this village is quarantined from the many ills of human pestilence contamination. All interrogations will be done by a trained Intelligentsia officer sensitive to native ways. Do not fret. We will find your lost legionnaire soon enough.”
An ugly, mangy camel made a high pitched bleat. He seemed to be mocking us. I looked more closely and recognized him. “Torture that camel!” I ordered, pointing at Hargundu. “I can tell by his smirk that he knows something!”
Legionnaires and spider marines pummeled Hargundu, dragging him off to be tethered to an armored car bumper. Hargundu resisted, kicking and spitting, but resistance was futile.
“Search every hut. I want this dump turned upside down until we find our lost legionnaire!”
* * * * *
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” complained Private Atm as they kicked in another door to a mud hut. “I don’t care about my old hand. One hand is as good as another. It’s just spare parts.”
“You’re an odd duck,” replied Private Krueger, covering Atm’s advance through the open doorway. “It’s our job to kill terrorists. Keep an eye out!”
“There are no terrorists here. This dump is so remote, there isn’t even database reception.”
“I know. I’m already having withdrawal symptoms. I got the shakes.”
“There’s not even an ATM,” lamented Private Atm, longing for family. “We’ve dropped off the end of the world.”
“ATMs are way overrated,” groused Corporal Tonelli. “They’re always muscling in on my business. I say whack them all.”
“ATMs provide a needed service,” argued Atm defensively. “What if you need a loan?”
“That’s how I ended up in the Legion for the duration,” said Tonelli. “That’s how we all ended up in the Legion.”
“But you’ve had a good life!”
“Officers have a good life, not us. We’re screwed.”
“Even Czerinski would whack all ATMs if he had the chance,” advised Kruger. “I’ve heard him say many times that all ATMs should be melted down for scrap.”
“No, you’re wrong!”
“You’re one weird dude,” added Krueger, shaking his head.
“He’s a spy,” insisted Corporal Wayne. “I told you so when he first joined us.”
“A spy for who?” scoffed Krueger.
“I have not figured that out yet, but he’s a spy.”
Chapter 8
Chief Stone-Claw invited me to a traditional Wild Ones meal of barbecued fish. Not attuned to diplomatic subtleties, the spider commander declined to attend. However, I was determined to get on the good side of Stone-Claw, already offering protection against Intelligentsia torture and interrogation. I planned to get the chief drunk and offer a bribe. I suspected Atm’s hand was hidden in tunnels under Taholah, and there was no way I was going down there.
I brought Private Atm to the dinner, hoping he could assist in finding his hand. Also present were Major Lopez and Captain Patton. It was a grand feast, outdoors on a cold patio. Partying spiders were already getting drunk on a local brew of camel’s milk, ground centipede, and magic mushrooms. I added vodka to the mix. Several spiders passed out face-first in the snow. One looked dead.
“Bunch of candy ass wusses,” observed Patton with disdain. “Just say the word, and I’ll clean out this drunken spider infestation so fast–”
&nb
sp; “Just stay alert,” I ordered. “I want the chief’s cooperation.”
“They’re worse than the bloody Mongol horde, bunch of God damn spear-chucking barbarians...”
“A toast!” announced Chief Stone-Claw. “To our new human pestilence friends, and the database porn they’ve promised to deliver!”
“Oh shit,” I groused. “I don’t believe he snitched me off like that.”
“Database communication has already been established,” advised Major Lopez. “As you ordered.”
Wild Ones checked their cell phones, letting out a collective cheer. I was lifted on their shoulders and carried around the bonfire to the chant of, ‘More porn, more porn, Miss June Yolanda, more porn!’
“Degenerate mutant spiders should be exterminated,” groused Patton.
Major Lopez nodded in agreement, sitting with his arms crossed, refusing to partake in the celebration.
I tried some of the centipede concoction. It immediately knocked me on my ass, but being a commander of legionnaires with a reputation to maintain, I toughed it out and got back up. I put my arm around Stone-Claw’s shoulder for a private conversation, to make him an offer he could not refuse. “I want that hand back,” I whispered, slurring a little. “Otherwise, I’ll kill you all!”
“Sir, I do not know anything about any hand,” insisted Stone-Claw “I swear!”
“I’ll cut off your free porn.”
“Throw in a million dollars, and you get your hand back.”
“Deal,” I replied, shaking hand and claw.
Overhearing our deal, the hand lunged from Stone-Claw’s pouch, wielding a dagger. Private Atm put his metal hand up in defense, but was too late. The dagger was thrust through his open prosthetic palm, killing the new hand instantly. I called for a helicopter medevac, airlifting Private Atm and the hand prisoner to New Gobi City, where his original arm was grafted back onto his shoulder, replacing the damaged metal one.
Thumbs up, mission accomplished. And, even though that camel didn’t know anything, I had him tortured anyway for being ugly out of season. Stupid camel.
* * * * *
The mission may have been accomplished, but there was still the matter of explaining how a live hand murdered a prosthetic hand and got reattached to one of my privates. Someone had a lot of explaining to do, and I started with Major Lopez. I’ve never been fond of artificial intelligence, but was determined to keep an open mind until I had all the facts.
“It needs to be killed,” I demanded, after finding out Lopez and his CIA buddies put an ATM inside a human body. “I won’t let Frankenstein run amuck, threatening humanity.”
“Too late,” advised Major Lopez. “Private Atm was granted citizenship and a Legion enlistment contract. He’s in for the duration, protected by the Constitution and all the other laws.”
“He’s not human!”
“The President is on board with this,” explained Lopez. “Private Atm is the future of modern warfare. Hell, he’s already proven himself in combat. You personally awarded him a Hero of the Legion medal. The next step is to see if he can handle command.”
“So that’s it? We’re going to be replaced? And you’re good with that?”
“I’m just saying he’s the future. You can’t fight progress.”
“Over my dead body!”
“You may get your wish.”
“You threatening me?”
“Just saying.”
“Fine. I see how it is. Maybe General Daly is willing to kiss the politicians’ asses and replace legionnaires with robots, but this is the New Gobi Desert. Sand gets everywhere. The desert will kill him within the month. I’ll take odds on that.”
Chapter 9
Before leaving Taholah, I talked to Chief Stone-Claw to solidify goodwill between the Autonomous Tribal District and the United States Galactic Federation. The chief was already spending his money, investing in a string of Big Al’s Camel Washes. Others would be standing in line to assist modernizing the Wild Ones.
“I have a surplus portable Legion nuclear reactor guaranteed to provide electricity and heat for every village for miles around,” I offered. “Because you are a friend, I’ll give it away for only one million dollars.”
“Some friend you are,” replied Stone-Claw, checking the database on his cell phone. “I can buy the same nuclear reactor at Walmart for only 148,326.4 credits.”
“Yes, but do they install?”
“I’m a Sam’s Club Select member. All installation is free.”
“How about a half million dollars? I feel I’m being robbed, what with the poor economy causing unfavorable currency exchange volatility.”
“Throw in a hundred General Electric made in the USA washing machines, and you have a deal.”
“Done,” I answered, shaking hand and claw.
Stone-Claw stared directly into my helmet camera lens. “I will be using Tide laundry detergent and fabric care products to wash out that grimy hard to treat New Gobi dirt, in my GE washers that are so easy to load, even an alien can do it.”
“That’s a wrap,” I advised, signaling for Tonelli to cut the lights.
“Did I say I’m a Sam’s Club Platinum member?”
“Yes. There’s another matter we need to discuss. The United States Galactic Federation wants to recognize the Autonomous Tribal District as a sovereign nation, exchange ambassadors, conduct duty-free trade, and even sign a mutual defense agreement.”
“Might that upset the Empire?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll do it! My lovely daughter Hot-Claw will attend you to finalize tribal business interests.”
Hot-Claw, listening from the next room, shrieked with joy. She ran to my side, snuggling in beside me with her claw on my leg.
“I just watched your porn videos on the database, Joey baby!” exclaimed Hot-Claw. “I can hardly wait to work up close and personal with you and the Legion.”
“Our working relationship will be kept strictly professional,” I advised, removing her claw from my knee. “Diplomatic relations are a serious matter.”
“You bet they are, snuggle lips,” said Hot-Claw, wrapping all eight arms and legs around me, trying to mate as we toppled from the chair and rolled across the floor.
“You two get a mud hut,” suggested Stone-Claw, speaking directly into my helmet camera, held at claw’s length.
“Tonelli! Get her off me!”
“Sorry, Czerinski. I don’t get involved in diplomatic affairs. I’m a businessman. You need to seal the deal yourself.”
“Tonelli, you bastard!” I shouted, coming up for air. Actually, Hot-Claw was kind of hot. I started getting into it. Aliens can do things humans never dreamed of doing. I was still upset with Tonelli for not backing me up, but I’d get over it after I got even.
“Tonelli! I’m appointing you as the USGF’s first Ambassador to the Autonomous Tribal District. That will teach you to not follow orders!”
“Sir, you can’t leave me here. That’s a violation of my Legion enlistment contract.”
“You’ll go where the Legion sends you, for the duration!”
Me and Hot-Claw got a mud hut, but not before the incident was broadcast live on the Galactic Database to every known planet in the free galaxy. More bad press for me and the Legion.
Leaving Taholah with Private Atm, I washed my hands of the Wild Ones, hoping to never see them again.
* * * * *
With his new resources and access to the Galactic Database, Chief Stone-Claw had plans of conquest and world domination. Other Wild Ones to the east were always crapping in their stream, their only water source, and that was going to end. It was time to settle up.
Stone-Claw led his warriors trudging through the snow into the mountains to Queets on their annual raid to steal bitches. What with the new washing machines, somebody had to do the laundry. All their new-bought styling threads were piling and up getting wrinkled.
At the village walls, Stone-Claw steeled himself f
or the coming fight. A monitor dragon howled its warning, and an alarm bell rang. There would be no surprise attack this time. Already several fat females were pushed out the gates to be swept away and ravaged. Stone-Claw reminisced fondly that was how he hooked up with his present wife.
But not this time! Today they would ravage prime virgin bitches, not soiled with sand mites. And, no more fatties. Future generations would sing of this raid at campfires, and at other times too. Lots of other times.
“Send out your virgins, pure as the driven snow!” shouted Stone-Claw to the gates. “Or else!”
Stone-Claw’s old nemesis, Magnificent-Claw, scoffed contemptuously from the wall scaffolding. He chucked a spear that landed dangerously close by Stone-Claw’s feet. He urinated over the rampart into the stream, the ultimate insult.
“Eat yellow snow, it’s all you have coming!” replied Magnificent-Claw. “May the fleas of a thousand camels nest in your many orifices!”
“I will not stand here and be insulted by the likes of you!”
“Then stand somewhere else, and I will insult you there! Be gone, you son of a plucked vulture!”
Up until now, Corporal Tonelli was content being only passive observer. However, that last vulture remark really riled Stone-Claw. Spiders danced atop the walls, taunting them with more insults and yellow snow. Tonelli cautioned restraint, but Stone-Claw would have none of it.
“You son of a motherless goat!” shouted Magnificent-Claw gleefully. “You are lizard food through its poop chute!”
A great cheer rose from inside the walls, followed by the throwing of many smooth shit-rocks. “That fart-sucking butt-maggot will pay!” Stone-Claw swore as he unwrapped his newly purchased full-automatic Legion assault rifle. He dusted off the top of the walls with a volley of steel-jacketed lead. Magnificent-Claw was hit first, killed instantly. “You’re not so magnificent now, are you, you groveling dung beetle!” Stone-Claw taunted.
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