Allies

by Walter Knight

  “Can we bail out?” asked the XO. He fired off a quick email to the sheriff. “No,” replied the scorpion commander. “We have no money left, anyway.” “The sheriff just texted back, ‘LOL.’” The XO accessed an ATM. “You are in jail?” asked the ATM. “Put your hand on the pad for identification.” The XO complied. “Can you bail us out?” he asked. “You are a scorpion?” asked the ATM. “Sorry, but no amount of money can bail you out if there are national security concerns. You were charged with being an undesirable on New Colorado. Besides, I am a United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion Recruitment ATM. I cannot give you an enlistment bonus because scorpions are not allowed to enlist into the Legion.”

  “That is not right,” said the scorpion commander, also touching his claw to the pad for identification. “We are USGF citizens.”

  “Oh?” asked the ATM. “That may be true, but your citizenship is conditional on successful completion of good behavior probation. Obviously you failed your probation. Are you requesting amnesty?”

  “Yes,” said the scorpion commander. “This could be complicated,” said the ATM. “Scorpions don’t have names. You need a name to join the Legion. It’s tradition.” “We have something better than names,” said the scorpion commander. “We have Social Security numbers!” “Good point,” commented the ATM. “Enter you Social Security numbers into your communications pad for further identification and processing. I’ll give your enlistment requests some thought.”

  “Do we really want to enlist in the Legion?” whispered the XO. “The USGF might be at war with our home world soon.”

  “The answer is yes, if the only alternative is to rot in jail until we are executed or murdered,” whispered back the scorpion commander.

  “I have excellent hearing,” advised the ATM. “And, I have good news. Amnesty is available to qualified applicants who make full disclosure of their criminal activities and can pass an extensive background check. I am doing that background check now. I see you two have been arrested before. You boys have been busy little scorpions. I suggest you forget about enlistment. The Legion does not want you.”

  “You don’t want us because we are scorpions?” asked the scorpion commander, angrily. “That is vile and illegal discrimination. I won’t stand for it!”

  “Do you wish to file an appeal?” asked the ATM.

  “Yes!” they both answered, placing their claws on the pad again to begin the appeal process.

  “Your appeal has been duly filed and noted,” advised the ATM. “An administrative law judge is currently reviewing your case. Oh, my! Look at that! You have both won your appeals. It appears I was hasty in my earlier opinion. Hostilities on the frontier are imminent, and enlistment restrictions are fluid. Welcome to the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. Serve proudly and make something of yourselves. Submit your names.”

  “What?” asked the XO. “We just enlisted?” “Submit your names, or I will select names for you,” said the ATM. “I warn you, the complaint rate is high for names I select.” “Desert-Sting,” said the XO. “Star-Sting,” added the scorpion commander. “I will send your IDs and release paperwork to the sheriff,” advised the ATM. “You both are to report immediately to Master Sergeant Green at Legion Headquarters in Scorpion City. Failure to report is a capital offense, so do not lollygag.”

  “Have we been scammed?” asked Star-Sting.

  “By a machine?” asked Desert-Sting. “It’s not possible. Computers never lie. They’re too stupid. Everything looks legal to me.”

  “Do not look so glum,” said the ATM. “The good news is, because of your extensive prior military and supervisory experience, you both are eligible for a substantial enlistment bonus upon completing basic training.”

  “What if we are asked to fight against our home world?” asked Star-Sting. “I won’t do it.”

  “The Legion will not ask you to do anything,” said the ATM. “You will go where ever you are ordered to go. Experience this unique opportunity to see the galaxy. The Legion will give you fun, travel, and adventure. Make the best of it! Make something of yourselves.”

  “I’ve already seen the galaxy,” griped Desert-Sting.

  * * * * *

  “What do you mean, they were released?” I asked when I arrived at the county jail to interrogate the scorpion commander. “I ordered those two scorpions held, pending investigation.”

  “I received written orders from Legion Headquarters on Mars, releasing both the spider commander and his XO,” said the sheriff, waving the paperwork at me. “Don’t blame me if there was a mix-up.”

  “That’s impossible!” I snatched the papers and read them. “This has got to be a forgery. You had better find them and get them back, or I’ll appoint a new sheriff for Scorpion City!”

  I looked down at my communications pad. It was beeping. Sergeant Green had just sent me a frantic emergency message: ‘Two scorpions just arrived at Legion Headquarters with enlistment orders! Whose idea was this? We have no uniforms that fit. What do I do about their tails? Rip a hole in spider fatigues? What a cluster this is! Do something.’

  * * * * *

  “First spiders, now you scorpions!” complained Sergeant Green, still reading their enlistment orders in disbelief. “The Legion is really going downhill now!”

  “We are highly trained, experienced, competent soldiers,” insisted Star-Sting. “You will stop berating us.”

  “Competent?” asked Sergeant Green. “I suppose that’s why you lost the war? Even those dumb-ass spiders kicked your butts.”

  “Your technology surprised us,” argued Desert-Sting. “This uniform does not fit. It was designed for spiders. I will not wear any uniform that was made to be worn by spiders!”

  “Private, do not raise your voice at me!” shouted Sergeant Green. “You will wear whatever uniform I tell you to wear! You’re in the Legion now!”

  “Joining the Legion didn’t suddenly cause me to lose my hearing,” commented Desert-Sting. “It is you who talks loudly.”

  “I am a master sergeant!” shouted Green. “It is my job to make sure pea-brained recruits like you can hear and understand orders! Now take these boots and uniforms and get dressed! Do you understand that?”

  Desert-Sting tensed and waved his stinger about, but followed Star-Sting to a wooden bench where they changed clothes and boxed their personal property as instructed.

  “I’m keeping my communications pad!” added Desert-Sting, defiantly. “Sergeant Williams issued this pad to me. When do we eat?”

  Sergeant Green had already moved on. “Where are you from!” shouted Green at another hapless recruit, this one a human. “Georgia? You must be from Georgia! I’ll bet you got them long arms from picking Georgia peaches off fruit trees! You from Georgia?”

  “Mars,” insisted the new recruit. “I’ve never even been to Georgia.”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me!” shouted Master Sergeant Green. “The Legion is really going downhill, now that they’re letting in recruits from Georgia! The Grim Reaper is going to take us all, if this is the best the Legion can do!”

  Chapter 9

  I assigned Privates Star-Sting and Desert-Sting to the main border crossing at New Gobi City. I told Corporal Guido Tonelli to teach them everything they needed to know. I hoped assigning the scorpions away from Scorpion City would keep them out of trouble and be less of a distraction.

  “Whenever I am on the phone, it will be your job to check drivers and trucks for terrorists and contraband,” advised Guido. “Bar-code scan all IDs and vehicles.”

  “But you are always on the phone,” pointed out Private Star-Sting. “Does your supervisor know you are running a sports bookie business on the side?”

  “What are you?” asked Guido. “A trouble maker? Of course I am always on the phone. It’s the playoffs! So get to work, private.”

  “I can’t believe these humans defeated us,” groused Star-Sting. “They a
re corrupt, slothful, and neglectful of their duties.”

  “Perhaps we should be paying more attention to Guido’s phone calls,” suggested Desert-Sting. “He seems to be making a lot of money.”

  “Guido skims off each bet,” commented Star-Sting. “He makes money no matter who wins or loses. I have watched several football games on the database. The players swarm all about. I can’t make much sense out of it. Basketball is even worse. How can we make money betting on games we know so little about?”

  “Simple,” answered Desert-Sting. “All we have to do is hire experts to advise us on how to bet.”

  “Obviously the easy money is in the bookie end of the gambling business,” observed Star-Sting. “I will ask Guido if we can do bookie work for him.”

  “Why would Guido want to share his profits with us?” asked Desert-Sting. “We are nothing to him.”

  “We could establish a monopoly on scorpion betting,” suggested Star-Sting. “Right now, no scorpions are gambling. That will change, the longer we are exposed to American culture. We scorpions are a huge undeveloped market Guido can’t touch without first making a deal with us.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Star-Sting, as he inspected the first truck. It was a Hostess Twinkie truck. He popped several Twinkies in his mouth as he searched the truck. “This tastes really good. I think they are almost pure sugar.”

  “Hey!” complained the truck driver. “You scorpions can’t just eat my deliveries.”

  “Would you rather I ate you?” asked Desert-Sting. “I’m used to live prey. All the Legion feeds me is MREs, and I’m real hungry.”

  “Eat all you want,” replied the trucker, nervously backing away. “But I am filing a complaint with my Teamsters rep.”

  “Colonel Czerinski assigned us to border crossing duty to humble and humiliate us,” commented Star-Sting, ignoring the Teamster and moving on to the next truck. It had Doritos chips. “But his plan will backfire. Learn as much as you can about these humans. It will help us later.”

  Desert-Sting searched the full length of a trailer full of Starbucks coffee. He filled his duffel bag full of packaged boutique coffee beans. As he finished, Desert-Sting smelled blue powder cocaine hidden in secret compartments. He ripped off a side panel and pulled out a packet of cocaine, and tossed it to Guido. “This appears to be contraband,” advised Desert-Sting. “Should I arrest the driver?”

  “Usually we just shoot drug dealers,” joked Guido. “But I’ll call the sheriff.”

  Desert-Sting walked up to the truck cab and shot the driver dead. Immediately Guido came running out of his guard shack waving his arms. “What have you done? Why did you shoot him?”

  “You told me you usually shoot drug dealers,” answered Desert-Sting. “I did what you told me to do. There’s less paperwork that way.”

  “I told you I was calling the sheriff!” said Guido. “You’re in big trouble. I was just joking about shooting drug dealers. There’s even more paperwork now. Even the Twinkie defense won’t get you off the hook for this one.”

  “Oh,” replied Desert-Sting. “Do you want me to get rid of the body? It will only take a minute.” “What you are going to do?” asked Guido. “Eat him?” “Yes!” answered both scorpions, both now very animated. Maybe it was the sugar they had consumed earlier. “No!” insisted Guido. “Eating humans is illegal.” “How about spiders?” asked Desert-Sting. “I heard Colonel Czerinski eats spiders all the time.” “That’s just bad press,” explained Guido, looking closer at the dead smuggler and shaking his head. “What a mess. You may not eat anyone without permission!”

  * * * * *

  “What is this?” yelled the spider commander across the MDL. He was in the area inspecting his troops. “You are now a private in the Legion? That is quite a comedown from Supreme Fleet Commander. Have you no pride or self-respect?”

  “I am just the first of thousands of scorpions who will soon join the Legion,” responded Star-Sting. “This rank is just temporary.”

  “Sure it is,” needled the spider commander. “The human pestilence have made you two their slaves, again. How’s the fruit picking business doing?”

  “Why are you here?” asked Star-Sting. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing really,” gloated the spider commander. “It was a nice day, and I was feeling good, so I came down to the crossing just to laugh at you two. What was the sheriff doing down here earlier? I heard a trucker got shot. Are you doing the Legion’s dirty work already?”

  “I executed a criminal,” replied Desert-Sting. “How would you like to be next?”

  “I could have you both sniped any time I wanted,” commented the spider commander. “You are very exposed, working out here by the gate.”

  “Our deaths would be avenged with your blood,” responded Star-Sting. “Remember that, spider.” “We want our MIAs returned!” added Desert-Sting. “They will be avenged.” “Whatever,” said the spider commander. As he left, he gave the one-fingered salute over his shoulder. “Yeah you better leave if you know what’s good for you!” said Desert-Sting, wanting to get in the last word but not understanding the one-fingered salute. Instead he used Guido’s Italian arm-fist gesture. “Up yours!”

  That night a scorpion commando tunneled across the MDL and planted a bomb next to Arthropodan Marine Headquarters in New Gobi City. The scorpion commando was shot and killed by spider marines as he fled. The resulting blast blew out a wall and shattered windows at the spider commander’s office.

  The next day I transferred my two scorpion privates from border crossing duty to Quartermaster duties. I wanted them somewhere safe to prevent their being sniped in retaliation. The spider commander was still very upset about his office being bombed. I ordered Star-Sting to coordinate equipment purchases needed for new scorpion legionnaire recruits. Legion Headquarters on Mars was now pushing scorpion recruitment big time. I ordered uniforms be customized to fit their tail stingers.

  Guido wrote a creative incident report about the border crossing shooting. Desert-Sting ended up being awarded the Citation of Merit for an outstanding drug bust that ended in a self-defense use of deadly force. The Teamsters Union filed complaints about rude and threatening Twinkie-eating scorpion legionnaires at the New Gobi City border crossing, but their complaints were ignored for being unfounded and absurd. Everyone knows scorpions don’t eat Twinkies! Ever see a fat scorpion?

  * * * * *

  Months after hostilities on Asteroid XYP had ended, the scorpion lieutenant still remained. He was now the only scorpion left behind.

  After planting explosives that destroyed the Legion troop transport Moon Demon, he fled for his life down his tunnel. He looked up to see the black-faced legionnaire staring back down at him. The scorpion lieutenant ran through a side tunnel as shots were fired and grenades exploded behind him. He kept running, then burrowed into a new tunnel. Soon afterward, the humans flushed the tunnels with nerve agent, killing anyone foolish enough to stay and fight.

  The hit-and-run attacks relied on quickness and stealth. The scorpion lieutenant remained buried in his tunnel, waiting for his next opportunity to attack the Legion again. When the Fleet Commander came on the radio and ordered surrender, the lieutenant was shocked. We are winning! The surprise attacks had been a success. He refused to surrender.

  The abandoned shell of the Moon Demon was his new home. A Legion salvage team had come and gone, stripping the Moon Demon of any useful equipment. Only the hull was left. The scorpion lieutenant survived on MREs the legionnaires left scattered about. The distasteful MREs were worse than the worms he found and ate in the tunnels.

  Alone and marooned, it was obvious to the scorpion lieutenant that the spiders had not left Asteroid XYP. He could observe a constant stream of shuttles in orbit, landing on the far side of the asteroid. Once a day at dusk the scorpion lieutenant broadcast a radio distress call. He had no illusions about his tenuous situation, but still hoped for a rescue. There had to be othe
r survivors. No matter what, he would not surrender. Finally he got a response.

  “This is Legion Military Intelligence Officer Major Lopez. Who are you? Are there others?”

  The scorpion lieutenant refused to answer, fearing he’d give away his location.

  “Most of your mates have been granted USGF citizenship and allowed to colonize on New Colorado,” advised Major Lopez. “Your fleet has been destroyed. Surrender, and I will repatriate you to New Colorado, too.”

  Still no answer.

  “Scorpions captured by the spiders are still being held on the far side of Asteroid XYP,” advised Major Lopez. “You will get much better treatment if you surrender to the Legion.”

  “Will the spiders also release their prisoners to New Colorado?” asked the scorpion lieutenant finally.

  “I am glad you are talking to us,” replied Major Lopez. “Will you surrender now?”

  “Why are my mates still being held by the spiders?” asked the scorpion lieutenant. “Will they be repatriated to New Colorado, too?”

  “Negotiations are pending,” explained Major Lopez. “These matters take time. We will send a rescue team for you. Meet us at the abandoned ship, Moon Demon.”

  “I will not be there,” advised the scorpion lieutenant. “I refuse to surrender. My place is with my mates.”

  “Stay on the line,” requested Major Lopez. “I will put your Supreme Fleet Commander on the radio to you. He wants you to surrender and be brought safely to New Colorado.”

  “That incompetent fool?” asked the scorpion lieutenant. “He is no longer my commander. I am through talking to the enemy!”