* * * * *
Sergeant Philpot woke up strapped to a cold stainless steel table. Bright lights caused him to squint as he looked up at a team of spider surgical specialists from the New Gobi City Advanced Institute of Veterinary Medicine.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Philpot. “I’ve been abducted by aliens! Please don’t probe me!”
“When was your last inoculation against furunculous?” asked the lead doctor. “Do you have a history of chronic staphylococcus infection?”
“I am a legionnaire!” cried Philpot. “I’ve been inoculated against everything!” “Where is your identification?” asked an Intelligentsia officer standing off to the side. “You admit you are an illegal alien?” “I was abducted by aliens! If I’m north of the border I don’t know how I got here!” “Can you prove you are a legionnaire?” pressed the Intelligentsia officer. “I am Food Management Sergeant Willard Philpot of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion! I don’t know what happened to my uniform and identification, but there is an ID chip imbedded in my ass!”
“Why are his foot claws so gnarly and disgustingly deformed?” asked the Intelligentsia officer, peering closer over the shoulders of the medical team. “Are the human pestilence so uncouth they never manicure their toe claws?”
“Those vicious toe claws are an evolutionary throw back to primitive times not so long ago when the ancient human pestilence climbed palm trees seeking the elusive coconut,” explained the lead surgeon, always eager to show off his extensive knowledge of primitive cultures and species. “See how the feet can wrap around a tree trunk while the claws can dig into the bark for traction, allowing the human pestilence to shimmy up the palm?”
“Oh,” replied the Intelligentsia officer, nodding knowingly. “That explains why the human pestilence plant those damned palm trees everywhere they infest. It’s a food source.”
“Have you ever suffered from foot rot?” asked another vet, this one scraping a skin tissue sample from between Philpot’s toes. “The frunk may have spread to your feet.”
“It certainly smells like it,” commented the lead surgeon. “Human pestilence smell bad enough as it is without being infected. This is terrible. Flip the human pestilence over on his stomach.”
“No!” yelled Philpot, struggling against his restraints.
“Resistance is futile,” advised the Intelligentsia officer. “I always wanted to say that.”
In short order, Sergeant Philpot’s bare exposed butt faced the bright lights and scrutiny of the veterinary specialists. The lead surgeon lowered the pull-down lamp with attached magnification lens for a closer examination. “See how the localized accumulation of interconnected puss in carbuncle networks swells, causing this ulcerative pre-lesion. This warm red puss-filled lump is tender to the touch.” To prove his point, the lead surgeon poked Philpot with a scalpel.
“Ouch!” complained Philpot. “I demand to be released and treated by Legion doctors! You are all incompetent fools!”
“Incompetent, you say?” scoffed the lead surgeon. “To be thorough, we contacted your medical specialists on the database. Want to know what their response was? ‘Put a band-aid on it!’ Who appears to be incompetent now?”
“Help!” shouted Philpot, struggling against his restraints again. “Help! Someone save me! They’re crazy mad scientists!”
“Give him a sedative,” ordered the lead surgeon. “Upon closer examination, I am afraid we are going to have to go in! Prepare the human pestilence for cryosurgery. His anal furunculous has obvious perianal sinus. Pluck all suspect follicles as a precaution against further infection.
* * * * *
After extensive exploratory surgery lasting for hours, a tiny Legion identification chip was removed from Sergeant Philpot’s buttocks. Spider Intelligentsia and State Security Police promptly escorted Sergeant Philpot across the border checkpoint, along with a letter apologizing for any inconvenience that might have been caused by possible misunderstandings, and a warning to always carry identification when visiting the Empire.
“Live long and prosper,” said the Intelligentsia officer as he pushed Sergeant Philpot across the border. “What?” asked Philpot. “I always wanted to say that too,” explained the Intelligentsia officer. “Have a nice day, and do not return to the Empire.”
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Chapter 10
Our entire battalion deployed to New Gobi City because of rising radiation levels in Scorpion City. Terrorists exploded another nuke, this time on the spider side of the border. Radiation sickness was a constant problem. Even here in New Gobi City we took daily doses of anti-radiation pills.
Sergeant Philpot reported to Colonel Czerinski that I had been on punishment KP duty long enough, and that he wanted to be rid of both me and Pierce. Czerinski transferred me to the border crossing checkpoint to work with Corporal Guido Tonelli.
I found Corporal Tonelli to be an interesting fellow, once I got to know him better. He ran a sports betting bookie business from his guard shack. That meant Pierce and I had to do most of the checking and searching of trucks ourselves because Guido was always busy on the phone. It was football playoff season again, and Guido was constantly taking bets from spider marines because sports betting was still illegal in the Arthropodan Empire. It was rumored that Guido was connected, as in Mafia connected, but Guido insisted there was no such thing as the Mafia. He resented the insinuation and said talk of Mafia conspiracies was nothing more than an anti-Italian slur.
I had no interest in sports betting, but Guido said every Saturday night there was a big poker game at the Blind Tiger Tavern and Casino in New Gobi City. The place was owned by Colonel Czerinski. Imagine that.
I convinced Guido to bankroll me for the game. It took my best sales pitch, but I finally wowed him with a letter of recommendation from General Lopez. Besides, Guido knew that if I lost his money, I would repay him by making another delivery for Lopez.
“I’ll break both your thumbs if you lose my money,” warned Guido. “General Lopez’s trust in you only goes so far.”
I shrugged. “I’m a salesman. I read people’s faces. It’s how I know when to close the big deal. I can tell what cards a player holds by the look in his eyes.”
“That’s all good and fine with humans,” commented Guido. “But spiders have eight eyes, and they’re stoic as all Hell behind their exoskeleton masks. How are you going to read a spider’s face?”
“Their antennae and mandibles twitch, and are in constant motion,” I explained. “But it doesn’t matter. Poker is a human game. No spider is going to beat me in our own game. Over my dead body will I let that happen to me!”
“Exactly,” threatened Guido. “Make sure you watch the spider players closely. They’re compulsive cheaters, and with all those extra hands and claws, they can whip those cards around at the speed of light.”
“Thanks for the heads up. Don’t worry, I’ll be watching them close.”
* * * * *
Already seated at the poker table were Colonel Czerinski and several spiders. They had been waiting especially just for me. I recognized the spider commander as one of the players. Great. Would he recognize me?
“This is the pro we have been waiting for?” asked the spider commander, laughing. “He’s nothing. I am going to make easy money tonight!”
“It is always good to see new fish at the table,” added a spider sitting next to the commander. “Take off your sunglasses! Shades are banned by house rules to prevent cheating by you human pestilence.”
“I know him!” exclaimed the spider commander as I removed my sunglasses. “Oh, this is going to be too good!” “I know you too,” I replied. “Who is your friend?” “Scar Face,” answered the spider friend. “I am in the import/export business.” “You’re a drug dealer?” I asked as we shook hand to claw. “You a cop?” asked Scar Face, pulling back his claw. “Crisp is one of my legionnaires,” advised Colonel Czerinski, v
ouching for my character. “He’s a private in the Legion, and a thief!” accused the spider commander. “If it is not nailed down, that human pestilence will steal it. Where did you get enough money to play with us? Did you rob a bank?”
“I also do some import/export business on the side,” I bragged, trying to keep up with their bravado. “Business is good.” “What kind of merchandise do you move?” asked Scar Face. “I sincerely hope you are not thinking of moving in on my territory.” “Oranges,” I replied innocently. “He drives for General Lopez,” explained Colonel Czerinski. “Oh,” said Scar Face. “Be careful of that Lopez.” “Can we play already?” asked the spider commander impatiently. “Where have you played poker?” asked Scar Face, in no hurry to start. “How come I have not heard of you? Are you from New Memphis?”
“Nowhere really,” I replied. “I’ve played in a few pick-up games at college, and I play on the database. I stopped playing for a while because my dad insisted gambling is evil.”
“Your father is wise,” advised Scar Face. “You should listen to him. So why don’t you? Why are you playing poker instead of following your father’s example?”
“I look at things differently since joining the Legion,” I explained as I sat down. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in the Legion, do as the legionnaires do.”
Scar Face checked the database on his notepad. “Rome, the Eternal City, seat of the Papacy, famed decadent capital of ancient Imperial Old Earth, burned down several times, nuked once, and invaded by the Americans twice. “This is interesting. Rome is the possible origin of pizza!”
“Rome invented pizza?” asked Colonel Czerinski doubtfully. “I learn something new every day! No wonder Roman legions conquered all the known world.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Scar Face. “We will all do as the Romans do tonight, and gorge ourselves on pizza! Someone call Pizza Hut, I’m buying!”
Once everyone’s order was taken, we started our game of Texas hold ’em. To my relief, a pretty female human house dealer dealt the cards, preventing double dealing by the spiders.
“Finally we can play cards!” complained the spider commander, obviously anticipating making money this hand.
I pushed out ten thousand dollars. Everyone else followed suit. Damn! After ‘the turn’ flopped queen, ten, and ace, I went all in. Two spiders folded, sensing my strong hand.
Scar Face glanced again at his cards, then looked squarely at me, noticing my right eyelid twitching involuntarily.
“I’ll match your paltry all-in, human pestilence,” advised Scar Face as he tossed a few of his larger chips in the pot. “You have nothing! I knew this was going to be easy, but not this easy!”
Colonel Czerinski didn’t even bother to look at his cards again before matching my all-in. The spider commander matched the bet too.
“You lose all my money on the first hand, and you’re dead, salesman!” shouted Guido from the gallery.
“It’s in the bag!” I shouted back.
“Really?” exclaimed Guido, leaping over a barrier and pushing past security. He reached in his coat pocket and tossed a bundle of large bills big enough to choke a monitor dragon. “Bet that on ‘the turn.’ It’s one hundred thousand dollars!”
“That’s cheating!” responded the spider commander, rising from his seat and shoving Guido away. “That human pestilence already went all in! He can’t bump up the bet now!”
I kept focused on Scar Face, making sure he didn’t palm a card during the commotion. He stared back. “Shut up!” snarled Scar Face at the spider commander. “You always fold when the big money gets thrown in. If the human pestilence wants to throw good money after bad, let him!”
“Watch how you speak to me, you filthy smuggler,” warned the spider commander. “Or else!”
“Or else what?” asked Scar Face defiantly. “You had better mind your manners, soldier boy!”
“Enough!” interrupted Colonel Czerinski as the dealer flipped a two on the turn. “The bet will be allowed. Who is going to match his bet?”
“Yes!” answered Scar Face, as he slowly pushed a pile of chips forward to match mine, all the while staring at my face, watching for the telltale twitch of my eye.
My right eye stopped twitching, and I smiled. Scar Face abruptly halted the slide of his chips forward, just before they reached the center, and pulled them back. “You’re holding an ace?” asked Scar Face. My eyelid twitched ever so slightly, answering his question. “Damn it!”
“He holds nothing!” advised the spider commander, trying to convince himself and others. “He should not have been allowed to go all-in twice! It is against the rules!”
“I go big, or I go home,” I bragged. “That’s how I roll.” Scar Face folded, slapping his cards on the table. “This is not right!” exclaimed the spider commander, also folding. “I have another hundred thousand if he doesn’t fold!” yelled Guido. “Colonel Czerinski looked at his cards. “You better have a fucking ace,” he swore as he threw in his cards. I tossed my cards to the dealer and scooped in the pot with both hands. Colonel Czerinski intercepted my cards, flipping them over for all to see. “Five and seven!” he yelled angrily. The crowd gasped, then cheered wildly at my bluff. Czerinski lunged across the table and grabbed me by the throat, choking me hard. The lunatic’s own security pulled him off me.
The spider commander slammed his immense claw on the table, scattering chips. “He was bluffing! I knew it!”
“You’re going to play like that all night?” shouted Czerinski as he was pulled away by security. “Screw this! I’m not playing against a crazy man! I quit for the night!”
“Coward,” accused Scar Face, laughing. “He just got lucky. I am staying. I want my money back. I want Guido’s money too!” “Who bankrolled you?” asked Colonel Czerinski. “Was it Guido all along?” “Of course,” I replied, smiling my best salesman smile. “Why am I not surprised,” commented Colonel Czerinski. “Private Crisp is a ringer!” “The night is still young,” advised Scar Face calmly. “One hand means nothing.” Guido grabbed me by the sleeve. “They’ve got millions. Take it all,” he whispered. “Get that greasy little Mafioso out of here!” ordered Scar Face, pointing at Guido. Security closed in from all directions. “There’s no such thing as the Mafia!” shouted Guido as he was chased back into the gallery. “You will pay for that slur on my ancestry, you bug!”
When order was restored, play resumed. My eyelid immediately began twitching again. The two spiders at the end of the table nodded knowingly at Scar Face, who turned to look intently at my eye. “It means nothing!” groused Scar Face. “His eyelid always twitches!”
“That’s what you get for taking my sunglasses,” I groused. I limped into the hand holding a queen and a ten of hearts. The dealer flopped a jack of hearts, a three of hearts, and a nine of spades. Confident I could draw one more heart in three tries, I raised my bet. So did everyone else. The turn was a three of spades. I went all in again. Everyone folded except the spider commander, who matched my quarter-of-a-million-dollar bet. The next card up was an ace of hearts. I got my straight draw, beating the commander’s pair of jacks.
“No bluffing that time, but you still just got lucky!” commented the spider commander. “If my bad luck continues, I will be forced to raise taxes on the peasantry again. They get real irritated when I do that, and you will be to blame!”
“Just do not raise my taxes again,” complained Scar Face. “But I agree, Mr. Crisp’s luck cannot hold. We still have just barely started. Rome was not burned during just two hands of poker, or even in one night.”
As if on cue, Pizza Hut arrived with our pepperoni and sausage extra cheese pizzas. I tipped the delivery boy enough to make his year. To get Guido off my back, I offered to pay him back in full, plus the Mafia rate in interest. Guido refused, saying he was all in for a cut of the action, and nothing had changed. “You can take these chumps!” cheered Guido, from the gallery.
Colone
l Czerinski came back to the table with more cash. He seemed in an especially foul mood. “When this game is over, you might find yourself transferred to a South Pole weather station, counting penguins,” he warned. “Too bad there’s nowhere down there to spend all your money!”
“If he gets that far,” threatened Scar Face. “You better not be cheating!” “I want Crisp searched,” demanded Colonel Czerinski. “Guido never backs anyone unless they’re a sure thing.” “That’s a good idea!” agreed the spider commander. “Strip search him! No one is that lucky.” “I have no problem with that,” I commented. “As long as everyone else is searched too.” “No one is strip-searching me,” announced Scar Face. “My clothes stay on. Just play cards!” The dealer dealt Colonel Czerinski a card from the bottom of the deck. It was quick, but I noticed. I immediately folded my two pair as Czerinski raised his bet. He looked at me and frowned. Czerinski took a large bundle of cash from the spiders that hand.
“I want a new dealer,” I announced. “This one is bad luck.” “Only for us,” griped one of the spiders. “You human pestilence seem to be doing fine. Maybe a change would do me good.” Scar Face nodded. Czerinski just shrugged. “I don’t care,” advised Colonel Czerinski, still giving me a hard look. “We have lots of dealers here at the Blind Tiger. We even have spider dealers, if that will make you feel better.”
The new dealer was a spider female. “Hello boys,” she said pleasantly. “My name is Amanda.”
Salesman From Mars Page 8
