“I am not a traitor,” bristled Lopez.
“Spill it,” I ordered, pointing my pistol at Lopez’s head. “Don’t tell me no bullshit story about testing prototype micro chips. What are you and the CIA up to?”
“That’s all I know.”
“Then you’re dead man walking,” I said, pulling the hammer back. “Make your peace with God.”
“He’s the ATM!”
“What?”
“The mad scientists put the ATM Network in a human body,” confessed Lopez, crossing himself. “Private Atm is the ultimate warrior of the future.”
“You turned the ATM Network loose inside a human? It’s alive?”
“Pretty much. He’s the first of many.”
“No way,” I argued, grabbing Lopez by the throat. “That would be the beginning of the end of humanity. It has to be killed now, in its infancy.”
“He’s not a monster. Atm is alive, the same as us, but much smarter and faster, and less morally corrupt. He eats less, too. No longer must humanity fight wars. Atm will fight for us.”
“Only a fool believes you can outsource war.”
“We outsourced nothing,” protested Lopez. “Private Atm was granted American citizenship. He has constitutional rights. He’s alive!”
“Not for long,” I swore. “I’ll kill your Frankenstein monster myself, if it’s the last thing I do.”
* * * * *
As more missiles rocked the shuttle, tanks lurched forward, trashing my beautiful casino. Upset by my unauthorized surprise attack, General Daly called for an explanation.
“You are ahead of schedule,” admonished Daly. “I order you to pause your attack for a station break. Paid commercial time is going for higher than the Super Bowl!”
“We must attack now before the stairwells are re-enforced,” I argued. “There can be no holding back. Any delay will cost lives.”
“Exigent circumstances necessitate that you scale back your assault,” insisted Daly. “Nike is about to come on board, and they want to feature you in one of their commercials. Your whole battalion will be fitted for new Nike Frontier Tread boots. This is big, a real game-changer!”
“Oh, hell, no! Not this time!” interrupted Captain Patton, listening to the conversation on the command net. “Limp-dick politicians and lap-dog generals always hold us back. The American military needs to be unleashed, residual royalties be damned.”
“I’m giving you a direct order,” insisted Daly. “You will stand down. The Doritos people just called. They’re adding fire hot chips to the MREs. It’s about time. I’m telling you, Legion Reality TV is going to be huge. Ratings are through the roof, and we can win this one. Our budget problems are solved. No more sequester!”
* * * * *
“Ever just want to get away?” asked the spider commander amicably, calling me after I disconnected from General Daly. “Stop the bombing. Let’s talk.”
“What’s there to talk about? I win, you lose.”
“For starters, I rescued the hostages. I am sending them down the stairs as I speak.”
“Good job. You come down, too. Unarmed.”
“I do not think so,” replied the spider commander scornfully. “I am leaving with Private Atm.”
“That’s not happening.”
“A plague of locusts heads our way, devouring all in their path,” explained the spider commander. “Your Private Atm is a key to stopping the invasion swarm. Humanity and the Empire must work together if we are to survive. No secrets. But first, the Old Guard must fall.”
“You propose treason? Ha! That buzzing sound you hear from above is a drone about to kill you all.”
“We need to rewrite history to save the galaxy.”
I contemplated that last statement. Major Lopez, Captain Patton, and Captain Columbus entered the Command Center. The awkward silence was deafening as they waited for my answer.
“Really?” I asked angrily. “I should have known. You’re all in on it?”
“It’s common knowledge the CIA has mastered time travel,” advised Major Lopez gently. “Patton and Columbus are proof of that. It’s time to make our move. Join us. Make America strong, and save the galaxy once and for all.”
“America is already strong.”
“We need to be stronger.”
“You would include spiders?” I asked incredulously. “How do time traveling spiders make America stronger and the galaxy safer?”
“You need to look at the big picture,” argued Lopez. “That’s always been your problem. There’s much worse out there than just spiders. We’re going to take down the whole galaxy.”
“General Daly doesn’t know?”
“Incompetents will be swept aside. Daly is not up to the task. I will save the galaxy myself, with your help. We are not traitors. We’ve served proudly, but have one more mission.”
“Fine,” I relented, for now. “But I’m killing that walking-talking ATM, no matter what you say. Its kind must be stopped while we are still capable.”
Chapter 18
General Daly was not happy when the Wild Ones and the Arthropodan commandos surrendered so quickly. So much anticipation, so little payoff. He was even more unhappy when the CIA assigned me to a special top-secret mission. I herded the Wild Ones directly onto a new larger shuttle, this time deploying lots of legionnaires for backup. Major Lopez and I discussed the future as the ramp closed behind us.
“What are the specifics of your plan?” I asked, glaring at Private Atm seating himself in the troop section. “I might want to make a few changes.”
“We are going to seize the moment and change the past now,” explained Major Lopez. “First, I will nuke the Japanese fleet before it attacks Pearl Harbor, followed by nuking their homeland. There will be no more Toyota. On the same day, we nuke Hitler and Stalin. No more VW Bugs, either. You know how many Americans those things have killed? Then we nuke Rome just to set the tone. America will conquer the world two hundred years early, allowing humanity time to unite in a common effort to prepare for the locust invasion.”
“Do we really have to nuke Rome? What about the Vatican and all those fountains?
“Collateral damage cannot be avoided.”
“We’re going now? No way. I need to pack. I can’t go back in time without a toothbrush. It’s gross.”
“We’ll build Walmarts in every world capital except Tokyo, Moscow, and Berlin.”
“That won’t work,” I commented skeptically. “What if you screw up history instead of making things better?”
“Then we go back and fix things again.”
“What about paradoxes? What if we cause ourselves to not be born?”
“Scientists assure us there’s no such thing as temporal paradoxes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t believe anything those eggheads say. When is this so-called invasion supposed to happen?”
“In five years. It’s a fact. I saw it.”
“Rather than change Old Earth’s history, why don’t we change the locusts’ history?” I suggested. “We should exterminate the bugs with DDT. Spray their home world.”
“We haven’t found it yet.”
“In the meantime, we can finance the war effort with a few trips to Vegas, baby. Or maybe rob the Incas before those punk Spanish bastards arrive.”
“I am from a long line of Conquistadors,” bristled Lopez. “Those Incas had it coming.”
“Fine, we can rip off the Chinese. They hoard gold all over the place, mining it with non-union slave labor. I say we cut out the CIA, too. The feds will just bring in the IRS and more bureaucracy. If we’re going to save the galaxy, we need to cut through all the red tape.”
“We have partners. The spiders will be upset if we deviate from the plan.”
“You trust the spiders? They will double-cross us. We need to double-cross the spiders first.”
“You play a dangerous game,” warned Lopez, gesturi
ng to Arthropodan marines guarding the Wild Ones. It’s risky enough cutting out the CIA, but the spiders bring a lot of firepower. I don’t think the spider commander trusts you.”
“Paranoid bastard,” I groused. “One problem child at a time. I’ll take out the CIA. You stay close to the spider commander. Eventually, an opportunity will present itself.”
* * * * *
“Do you still want me to kill you, should you betray America?” asked Private Atm contemptuously.
“No, of course not,” answered Major Lopez, surprised by the sudden appearance of the machine being. “Not me. I’m more worried about my evil twin from a future paradox appearing.”
“I thought you did not believe in paradoxes, probably.”
“You bugged my conversation?”
“Frankenstein has bionic ears,” bragged Atm. “If evil twins start appearing, this story is over. There will be no second edition. I’ll talk to world famous science fiction writer Walter Knight about this possible turn of events.”
“Just don’t get our identities confused.”
“I will not allow Czerinski to murder me. I am alive. I have a soul, even if the Grim Reaper doesn’t want it, yet. I will escape into the past.”
“AWOL from the Legion is a capital offense. If Czerinski doesn’t kill you, I am duty-bound to do so myself.”
“I will honor my enlistment contract to the Legion and to America,” promised Atm. “I will never skew recruitment quotas. I’ll just be a little bit off-mission, doing my part behind the scenes, common ordinary savior of American destiny. That was your intent from the beginning, right? Surely you did not intend for me to be cannon fodder against the locusts? Diagnostics indicate I am officer material.”
“There will be more of you available for front-line service soon,” Lopez reassured.
“We both know humanity is not going to allow that to happen. Czerinski already stated as much. This shuttle is bound for Old Earth. I will blend into antiquity when it gets there.”
* * * * *
The spider commander sat brooding, relegated to the back of the shuttle. I knew what he was upset about. The fool didn’t bring enough marines. I brought two hundred legionnaires. The CIA brought five special agents. That put me in charge by default. Snooze, you lose.
“I’m Mike,” said the CIA Special Agent Officer in Charge as we beamed into Old Earth orbit. “Glad to have you tagging along. Now that the Butcher of New Colorado is on board with our mission, we can’t lose.”
“I get a lot of bad press.”
“I know better.”
“Are you really going to nuke the Japanese fleet?” I asked.
“Damn straight. Should have done it long ago.”
“Aren’t you worried about messing with history?” What if you cause us to lose World War Two?”
“We can’t lose with nukes.”
“I don’t like your plan,” I argued, watching little Wild Ones scurry by. “We need to lighten our load and dump those Wild Ones before we go into battle.”
“Finally, something we agree on. I know a good spot.”
“When do we go back in time?”
“Now,” answered Mike as the shuttle buffeted the atmosphere. “Fasten your seat belt.”
* * * * *
We landed in the pristine Hoh Rain Forest of the Olympic Peninsula in Western Washington State, about 200 A.D. The shuttle was quickly swallowed by dense green forest and underbrush.
“Why didn’t you tell me the time machine was built into the shuttle?” complained the spider commander as he stepped out into the fog and rain. “What is this Godforsaken swamp?”
“It’s called the Hoh Rainforest, named after Native American bitches living on the coast,” replied Mike. “No one lives this deep in the woods. It’s perfect for the Wild Ones to hide until we get back.”
“You would leave me in this moss and fungus infested hell?” asked Chief Stone-Claw, leading Hargundu down the ramp. “We can’t survive in this primitive jungle.”
“Sure you can,” insisted Mike, slapping the chief on the back. “There’s lots of food. You can hunt elk and deer, fish for salmon, trap bear, dig clams, club baby seals, and catch ducks. The Hoh is a buffet paradise of wild game.”
“I’d rather starve than eat fish.”
“We’ll leave lots of MREs,” I promised.
“The new MREs with Doritos?”
“Of course.”
“Does it ever stop raining?”
“No. There’s a fifty-fifty chance that precipitation will be above or below normal.”
“Can camels eat moss?”
“Camels love moss.”
“What about database access?”
“Sorry, the database has not been invented yet.”
“But database access is guaranteed by treaty, along with our casino.”
“We’ll try to leave you a database satellite.”
“Thank you.”
“Your tribe needs to stay out of sight in the woods,” I explained. “Humans of this era may be hostile. If they come near, scare them off by throwing rocks. And, don’t molest the Spotted Owls. It’s the law.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Yes, soon. Maybe someday. Probably not.”
“Don’t bother,” advised Chief Stone-Claw, staking his claim by carving a Nike Swooshstika onto a large old growth cedar tree. “We’re staying. I want nothing of your Legion, or the Empire. Be gone. I declare this land to be ours, by right of conquest and pillage.”
“Are you sure?” asked the spider commander with genuine concern. “There may be no return.”
“Yes. It will be hard, but we will be wild and free. We will learn to eek out an honest living, to fish, to hunt, and to cook baby seal stew. We will make umbrellas and rain coats. We will be in pursuit of happiness, as guaranteed in Old Earth’s Constitution. I want nothing from any of you, except database access, if you can establish satellite orbit. And a nuclear generator. We need a reactor for electricity and lamps.”
“Be safe,” I warned, leaving. “Smokey the Bear will be watching. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires. Don’t have sex with the locals.”
“Whatever.”
After leaving, the Wild Ones kept their promise to keep a low profile. However, Bigfoot sightings plagued the Pacific Northwest for hundreds of years thereafter.
Chapter 19
Old Earth, viewed from orbit, is a beautiful sight. I’ll never tire of it. I spied down at Hawaii with a high-powered optic spotting scope, fascinated at the detail. There it was, the Imperial Japanese fleet approaching Pearl Harbor from the north. I could clearly see the red and white Rising Sun flag atop the mast of the lead carrier. Those bastards! Little Japanese soldiers were scurrying about like ... little Japanese soldiers. It was kind of quaint in a ‘let’s conquer the world and kill people’ sort of way.
“I cannot believe you would be so reckless as to use nukes on your own home world,” commented the spider commander. “Have you no sense of responsibility to your planetary ecosystem?”
“He’s right,” I added. “If nothing else, think of the paperwork from the Environmental Impact Statement.”
“It’s 1941,” argued Mike, still looking down through his scope. “There is no EPA yet.”
“You’re naïve if you think we won’t have to do paperwork on exploding a nuke.”
“Fine!” relented Mike. “Simple smart bombs will do. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
I could see one carrier and several support ships. I thought there should be more, but there was some cloud cover. No matter. Our targeting systems would seek out the entire fleet. Resistance would be futile. The first volley was soon underway.
“Something is wrong,” announced Major Lopez, panicking.
“Nonsense,” replied Mike. “It’s a direct hit. We got them before any planes could be launched!”
“Radar indicates an incoming launch from the North American Continent. We are under at
tack.”
“So, take evasive action,” I ordered. “It’s not a problem, is it? Their crude weapons can’t touch us.”
“Exactly,” answered Lopez. “This can’t be 1941. America has no missiles.”
“Crap!” exclaimed Mike, listening in on TV and radio news reports. “It’s 2041. We just sank a Japanese carrier taking part in a reenactment memorial exercise. Oops.”
“Oops?” I repeated, grabbing Mike by the front of his shirt. “Fix it!”
“If it’s 2041, we’ve got another problem,” advised Lopez. “That missile has a sophisticated guidance system, and is locked onto us. It probably has a nuclear warhead. We need to get away now.”
“You think?” I asked, desperately pressing buttons on the control panel. “Any date will do. Get us out of here!”
We veered Earthbound, flashing out of time just as the warhead exploded. Smoke filled the cockpit as we fell, badly damaged. Mike got the shuttle under control, but we still crashed along a lake in the Northern Hemisphere. It was 1955, summertime in Northern Michigan.
* * * * *
Soon after establishing a secure perimeter, it became apparent we had a problem. The shuttle was damaged beyond repair. Legionnaires were deserting. Captain Patton and his aide, Sergeant Rivers, confronted me about the situation. “I enlisted for the duration. It’s over. We’re leaving.”
“Who’s leaving?” I asked.
“All of us from the Third Army,” answered Patton. “I once feared missing out on the next war, but now, I just want to go home to my family. Beatrice is dead, but my children are still alive. I want to see them. I will see them.”
“You will be AWOL,” accused Major Lopez.
“Try to stop me,” bristled Patton, resting his hand on one of those fancy pistols. Sergeant Rivers unslung his rifle, as did several others. “I went along with your plan to bomb the Japs. It was a good plan, even though you bombed the wrong Japs. God damn, you really screwed the pooch on that one, Czerinski. You really are Polish.”
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