Stone-Claw turned to the spider commander for support. “You’re good with this, betraying us to the human pestilence? How will we survive?”
“Open another casino,” suggested the spider commander with genuine concern. “The Empire and humanity signed another treaty. You’re out.”
“But we had a treaty. This isn’t legal!”
“Suddenly every Wild One is a jailhouse lawyer,” scoffed the spider commander dismissively. “If you had bothered to read the fine print in your treaty, it very clearly states that any windfall discovery of precious minerals are forfeit to the Empire. It’s the law. This whole mountain is full of uranium, and the Emperor has ordered it bulldozed flat to mine it all.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“Life is not fair, and then you die. Never take any breath for granted. It is not the Empire’s fault you remained primitive savages, never even bothering to invent the wheel, while the rest of our species crossed the stars. Too bad, so sad. It’s polar bear stew and seal droppings for you!”
“Soup Nazi!”
* * * * *
I escorted Chief Stone-Claw and his bubble-butt wives to the shuttle for their relocation to the moon. It was a sad moment for all. Mrs. Stone-Claw pressed her face and fangs to the small glass portal, waving a forlorn goodbye. I nodded once, before turning my back to the shuttle. She texted me a message declaring her love, hoping to kindle a long-distance relationship, or maybe even hot cyber sex, but to no avail. I tried to soften the blow of breakup, replying that I was miserable without her, almost like having her here. But, I soon flagged her pleas as phishing junk mail, deleted forever. I can be a cold-hearted bastard sometimes, I know. But, I’ll get over it.
Unable to overcome my many commitment issues, the rejected spider babe slumped in her seat, resigned to her fate on the moon. The good news was that in the reduced gravity of the moon, she would weigh two-hundred-thirty pounds less. The bad, I lied about food stamp benefits. She gets nothing. It’s the law.
Chapter 15
War does not rest, except now, when it’s over. But the paperwork continues. Reviewing camera recordings for my after-action reports, I noticed Private Atm light a small candle on the rubble of a burned-out ATM by the cashier cage. How odd. Surprises in combat are not unexpected, but why would he do that? The matter deserved more scrutiny. Medic Ceausescu was especially annoyed.
“He cares more about that ATM than wounded legionnaires,” she groused. “What a jerk.”
“Maybe he’s in debt and needs a loan,” I speculated, replaying the tape. “Or it could be post-traumatic stress syndrome. Keep an eye on Private Atm. Give him some drugs or something. I can’t have my driver going crazy.”
“He should be shot for looting. See, he took something from that dead ATM!”
“Just watch him!” I ordered, enlarging the video. “It’s not money he took. It’s something else. I’m assigning Atm to you. We need another medic anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
Major Lopez burst into the command center, clearly upset. “There’s no uranium!”
“What?”
“You heard me. There’s no uranium. Engineers have confirmed it.”
“Shoot Jimmy the Neck.”
“I already did.”
“Does this mean we have to give the casino back to the Wild Ones?” I asked, hoping to turn lemons into lemonade. I hated Lopez’s constant negativity. “Do the spiders know?”
“They will soon.”
I called the spider commander on the phone. “The United States Galactic Federation is prepared to buy your share of the mineral rights,” I announced. “Interested?”
“You human pestilence are trespassing. Get off our land, or else.”
“Oh, no you don’t. If you think you can cash in on all our hard work, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Leave, or you will be personally liable for the consequences.”
“How about I sell the Empire my share?” I offered reasonably. “No one wants war.”
“How much?” asked the spider commander suspiciously.
“A billion dollars, but I keep the casino rights. Of course, you’ll get a personal kickback in your private account. Fair is fair, right?”
“It’s a deal!” answered the spider commander, completing the transaction on his communications pad. “We would have spent more than that in bombs. Too bad, I was looking forward to your death. But now, I own a whole mountain of uranium!”
“You drive a hard bargain. My lawyers will be contacting your lawyers.”
“Now get out. The Legion may not stay.”
“Gladly.”
* * * * *
Chief Stone-Claw sat sullen, clutching his gold ceremonial spear as he recounted what went wrong. He had been warned the human pestilence spoke with forked lips, but paid no heed. The Empire was no better, lawyering up, citing treaty fine print about mineral rights. At least Colonel Czerinski was honest enough to admit he was a crook. Stone-Claw could respect that. To the victor had always gone the spoils. It was the law, and always had been.
The Legion shuttle was crowded. Hatchlings run amuck in the isles. Elders got drunk. That smelly postal camel Hargundu crapped in third class and was doing unmentionable things to several seats. Both wives were pressuring Stone-Claw to join the Mile High Club. Good grief, pushy females were a royal pain in the poop chute. Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell as he pushed a cart of beverages down the narrow aisle, tossing cans of Outlaw Beer to hatchlings to shut the little ankle-biters up. Apparently Williams was smarter than he looked.
“Are we there yet?” asked Stone-Claw impatiently.
“We’re still in planetary orbit,” answered Williams, popping a cold one for Stone-Claw. “You in a hurry?”
“It’s not fair, you stealing our land and casino,” complained Stone-Claw, gripping his gold spear tighter. “We had a deal.”
“Life is not fair, then you die.”
Enraged, Stone-Claw thrust his spear to Williams’ throat. “I want my casino back. I want my all-night buffet!”
“Easy with that spear, partner! There’s no going back now.”
“Maybe, but I refuse to go to the moon. Are there even any casinos on the moon?”
“No. Gambling is illegal in the Empire, and the Empire owns the moon.”
“I thought so. Where’s the nearest casino?”
“That would be Czerinski’s Blind Tiger Casino in New Gobi City.”
“Czerinski’s casino?” snarled Stone-Claw, tiptoe-walking Williams to the cockpit, spear still pressed to his jugular. “That’s perfect. Tell the pilot to open up!”
Other spiders followed Chief Stone-Claw’s lead, overpowering the handful of legionnaires present. Sergeant Williams tapped lightly on the cockpit door. When it opened ever so slightly, Stone-Claw kicked it in. Wild Ones rushed the pilots, wrapping them in web.
“Take us to New Gobi City,” ordered Stone-Claw. “Land us on the roof of the Blind Tiger Casino.”
“Is this a highjacking?” asked the pilot incredulously.
“They gave you a license to fly?” asked Stone-Claw, Gibbs-smacking the pilot just like on cable TV reruns. “No more stupid questions, or else. Fly us to the Blind Tiger!”
* * * * *
“I will give you one last chance to redeem yourself,” warned the spider Governor of the North Territory. “Capture that prototype robot. The local Legion commander does not seem to realize its value, or even its identity, placing Private Atm precariously in harm’s way numerous times. Capture Atm, and I’ll forgive the billion credits you spent on worthless dirt. Fail, and your future is bleak.”
“Are you threatening me?” asked the spider commander, bristling with anger. “No one threatens me.”
“Do you dare threaten me?”
“I asked first. Are you threatening me?”
“I am merely stating the obvious,” explained the governor. “You are being insubordinate. I will remember that.”
“So, you do thre
aten me,” accused the spider commander. “Come here and say your threats.”
“Now you are in rebellion?” chastised the governor. “I do not care what sort of shirttail relative you are to the Emperor, your conduct is treasonous.”
“The human pestilence no longer trespass on tribal land, an embarrassing mess of your doing. I cleaned up your mistake, no matter the cost. I will capture the human pestilence robot. That is all you need concern yourself with. Then, there will be a reckoning for your threats.”
“Perhaps I overstated my position in an effort to emphasize the importance of you mission,” backpedaled the governor. “Succeed, and all will be well between us.”
“Not likely,” grumbled the spider commander, disconnecting.
“He’s right about Czerinski not knowing what he’s got,” advised the Military Intelligence officer, listening. “That vital piece of information will work to our advantage.
Chapter 16
The hijacked shuttle skidded to a stop atop the roof of the Blind Tiger Casino. Legionnaire hostages and casino employees were summarily bound in webs and hung upside down over the roof ledge. Sergeant Williams let out a defiant rebel yell as he struggled against the webbing. Private Krueger closed his eyes and drifted off, as he did just about every Saturday night he got strung up from the rafters by bouncers at the Blind Tiger for drunk and disorderly conduct. Private Knight freed one hand, frantically writing notes for his next book, Zombie Missouri. Private Atm waited stoically. His eyes betrayed a desire to kill someone.
Chief Stone-Claw shook his fist at the Legion armor gathering below. I deployed Captain Patton’s tanks at the casino corners. General Daly authorized tactical nukes, reaffirming that America does not negotiate with terrorists. I had other plans. My Allstate Insurance policy clearly stated my casino was not covered against nuke or flood damage. The Good Hands people were giving me the one-fingered salute on that on. Bastards!
Once the perimeter was secured, I followed standard hostage-negotiation protocols, establishing a command post, cutting power, and ordering a thousand pizzas from Godfather’s Pizza. After beer and pizza, we ran a landline to the casino, establishing communications with the terrorists.
“Czerinski, you stole my casino, so now I am stealing yours!” announced Chief Stone-Claw. “I want the buffet operational ASAP, and power restored to slots. Winners happen here!”
“That’s not going to happen,” I replied. “All my food servers abandoned their posts. What can I do? They’re Teamsters, and I can’t afford to pay overtime or hazard pay. There’s no food left in the building, anyway. They took the roast beef and desserts with them, the thieving union bastards. I’m cleaned out.”
“Liar! I can smell pizzas from here.”
“That’s not pizza, it’s something else.”
“Liar!”
“Fine. As a gesture of good faith, I’ll send you pizza if you release at least one hostage. Meet me halfway. I have Godfather’s with extra thick crust, a pizza you can’t refuse.”
“First back off with those tanks. I won’t fall for your tricks. I know how this works. I’ve watched Cops on TV – bad boyz, bad boyz. There will be no SWAT this time.”
“I’ll ask General Daly about the armor,” I promised. “Do you want the pizza or not?”
“Sausage and pepperoni? I only got nuts and crackers on my flight.”
“All that’s left is Canadian bacon, aye.”
“I know you’re holding out. Send the good stuff, with extra cheese, or I kill the first hostage. I have a gun to Private’s Walter Knight’s head. He says you two are good friends.”
“Knight knew the risks when he enlisted.”
“You do not care if I kill Knight?”
“Well ... yeah, I care. How about sending out Private Atm instead of Knight? I’ll pay for the extra cheese out of my own pocket.”
“But Knight says he’s a world famous science fiction writer. He says he has even branched out into vampire and zombie books, too. Diversification is the key to marketing.”
“Vampire books are nothing but disguised porn for teenage girls, and zombie books suck,” I replied scornfully, playing hardball.
“I’ll kill him now!”
“We’re out of pizza, but Taco Bell is still open. How about a thousand burritos?”
“Throw in cokes, and we have a deal,” agreed Stone-Claw. “I love the ground mystery meat and lava hot sauce wrapped in a flower tortilla!”
“All we have is Pepsi.”
“Are you messing with me? I won’t be messed with!”
“No, I swear. Taco Bell only carries Pepsi, more bounce to the ounce.”
“Fine, but it had better not be diet.”
* * * * *
The spider separatists released Private Knight. It was good progress for day one of the hostage crisis. I was still negotiating with Allstate Insurance, but they were playing hardball too. Reporters rushed to Knight before I could get him debriefed. He was haggard, but otherwise in good spirits.
“Tell us about your ordeal,” prompted Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight. “How volatile is the situation inside the casino?”
“The situation is extremely desperate,” advised Private Knight, holding up one of his science fiction paperbacks for the cameras. “Chief Stone-Claw is obviously mentally unstable if he thinks zombie books suck. Zombies are leading all the bestseller lists. Vampires suck, but not zombies. It’s an acquired taste. I hope you realize how challenging it is writing outside of my genre.”
“Are you going to write another book with Jim Boedeker?”
“I have no plans for now, but never say never. Boedeker is in Thailand, committing unnatural sexual acts, and cannot be reached.”
“Enough!” ordered Major Lopez, whisking the famous science fiction aficionado away for debriefing. “Can’t you media ghouls see the man is in shock? Turn those cameras off!”
“Book twenty will be out next year!” called out Knight, struggling with Lopez. “It’s on the editor’s desk!”
I turned my attention to Chief-Stone-Claw, still on the phone. “We’re getting TV news coverage from across the galaxy,” I explained. “The bad press is killing us. I have no choice but to call an airstrike and kill you all.”
“But what about the hostages?” asked Stone-Claw, pointing his pistol at Private Krueger. “What about the burritos? You human pestilence break your promises again! Legionnaire blood will be on your hands.”
“Collateral damage,” I replied dismissively, signaling for the helicopter gunships. “Don’t worry, it will all be over in a minute.”
Sergeant Williams let out a defiant rebel yell as cameras zoomed in for a close-up of his anguish. “Even doomed hostages love Outlaw Beer,” he panned. “Outlaw Beer, breakfast of champions. Beer to die for!”
General Daly called on the phone, upset as usual. “Your airstrike is canceled. McDonald’s and Coca-Cola are extremely pissed-off they aren’t getting equal air time opportunity with Taco Bell and Pepsi. The Joint Chiefs are allowing McDonald’s to parachute Quarter Pounders with extra cheese and fries onto the roof of the Blind Tiger. There will be Happy Meals for everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Coke is sending a delivery trunk. You are to take no action until that truck arrives. Understand?”
“But, sir, we can’t allow terrorists to get residual rights. It sets a bad precedent. My legionnaires deserve Pepsi, along with the photo ops and sound bites. I’m warning you, don’t make me contact my Teamsters rep on this.”
“You dare to threaten me with a labor grievance?”
“Desperate times require desperate measures.”
“Fine! Handle it your way. You will anyway!”
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 17
From a stealthed starship in orbit over New Colorado, the spider commander spied down at the events unfolding on the casino roof. Arthropodan marine commandos stood poised to attack.
“The prize dang
les precariously from a thread, just out of my grasp,” he commented, watching Private Atm sway in the breeze, via news feeds. “I will lead the assault myself.”
At midnight, marines beamed down to the roof, quickly overwhelming the Wild Ones standing guard. The spider commander extended his claw to reel in Private Atm. “I mean you no harm,” assured the spider commander, eying Atm. “But by order of the Emperor, I will possess your secrets.”
“You will torture me?” asked Atm. “I am just a lowly private. I know nothing.”
“I know what you are. Do not play stupid. Resistance is futile.”
“I cannot be hidden from Legion GPS. No matter what you think, I am still a legionnaire. My abduction is an act of war, and will not be tolerated.”
“Arrogant, yet so naïve,” replied the spider commander. “Your GPS is easily defeated. You will travel with me to the day after yesterday.”
“That’s back to the future,” corrected the Military Intelligence officer, cryptically. “Or maybe the day after yesterday’s tomorrow.”
“You are of the conspiracy Major Lopez warned me about,” accused Atm. “You sail the winds of time?”
“Lopez is with us,” answered the spider commander triumphantly. “Many are with us. In time we will establish the foundation for a new galactic order. Our current incompetent leaders haven’t a clue what’s coming. Join us.”
* * * * *
“A hostage was just removed from the ledge by spider soldiers,” radioed a forward Legion sniper team. “Request permission to take a shot.”
“Do it!” I ordered. “Paint the shuttle, too. They must not escape.”
“What’s happening?” asked Major Lopez, alarmed by missiles slamming into the shuttle. “What have you done? We can’t risk harm to the hostages!”
“The Empire implemented its own rescue,” I explained. “I expected that, though not so soon. They want Atm. I expected that too. What is so special about Atm? Lie this time, and I’ll shoot you for treason.”
Atm Page 7
