Embassy War

by Walter Knight

  I adjusted my translation device and gave him a drink from my canteen. The water just poured through, dripping down the pole and making a mess. Spider reporters raced alongside the convoy, microphones extended, trying to get interviews.

  “Colonel Czerinski!” shouted a spider reporter babe. “General Lopez has all but stated he intends to run for your human pestilence presidency. Rumors abound about how you would fit into his administration. Will The Butcher of New Colorado be the next Secretary of War for El Caníbal?”

  “We have not eaten the scorpion ambassador yet,” I answered, checking my pad for the status of the wager. Time was ticking toward a deadline of midnight.

  “But you admit you might be interested in serving in the next human pestilence administration?” asked the reporter.

  “No comment!”

  The armored car hit a bump in the road, jostling the pole. It slipped from my hands. The ambassador’s head went flying. The reporter’s car swerved, but struck the ambassador’s head as it bounced off the pavement. The ambassador stuck to the front grill of the reporter’s car. We stopped, and I pried him off. This time the scorpion ambassador was truly dead. The spider reporter babe thrust a microphone in my face. “Colonel Czerinski, do you still intend to eat the ambassador? Will you make road kill stew? Mystery meat surprise pie? Does scorpion taste like chicken? Inquiring minds want to know.”

  I scooped the scorpion ambassador’s broken remains from the pavement. “Care to join me for dinner and a movie?” I asked, feeling myself slipping over to the Dark Side. “And some wine?”

  “For an exclusive scoop?” she asked, seductively. “You betcha.”

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  Chapter 10

  The Scorpion Queen beamed to the Arthropodan capital with her Royal Entourage. General Lopez and I met Her Majesty at the spaceport. We laid out the red carpet, complete with honor guard and band. Even the Spider Emperor and Queen Rainbow were present. The queens kissed on the cheeks, mandibles twitching.

  After exchanging pleasantries, the Scorpion Queen announced, “In special deference to the peculiar sensitivities of our human allies, I have ordered by Royal Decree a one month moratorium on the consumption of Mantidae at all McDonald’s, Taco Bells, and Kentucky Fried Mantidae fine dining restaurants on our home world and colonies.”

  “Your gesture is much appreciated,” replied General Lopez pleasantly. He took the Queen’s claw, bowed, and kissed it.

  “My, aren’t you quite the charmer,” gushed the Scorpion Queen. “Might you join me later for more private diplomatic discussions? Rumor has it, general, that you may the next president.”

  “My schedule is full,” advised General Lopez, crossing himself and backing away. “But my aide, Colonel Czerinski, has my full confidence to negotiate agreements. He will be glad to meet with you any time and any place.”

  “Yes, Czerinski and I have met,” said the Scorpion Queen, eying me with suspicion. “He used to be your ambassador to the Scorpion Kingdom.”

  I nodded, and saluted. The Queen turned away, ignoring me, placing her claw on General Lopez’s arm as we walked down the red carpet. “To demonstrate continuing goodwill, I propose a friendly sporting event between our two nations,” she suggested. “I heard you have been engaging in basketball diplomacy with the spiders. We too are enamored with the basketball craze, and brought our national team. I propose a friendly game against you humans.”

  “We just fought a war, and now you want us to play games?” asked General Lopez incredulously. He eyed Private Skyhook Johnson holding the flag, towering over the honor guard. Johnson scowled back, upset I was wearing his diamond stud.

  “I expect TV coverage to go intergalactic,” added the Scorpion Queen. “Basketball diplomacy will reach new heights.”

  “That’s a great idea,” agreed General Lopez. “The Legion will try to throw together a team. Because of such short notice, I’m afraid we won’t be all that good. But, in the interest of galactic peace, I accept your challenge. Care to place a wager?”

  * * * * *

  I sat in my burned-out office, in casual conversation with Death – wrong in so many ways. “As a test of loyalty, you will shoot the Scorpion Queen at tonight’s game,” demanded the Grim Reaper. “No I won’t,” I insisted. “I don’t do suicide missions.” “It is suicide to refuse.” “Are you trying to start a war?” I asked. “What do you hope to gain? What’s your angle? Is starting a war a means to grab souls?” “I have big plans for you Czerinski, and for the galaxy. But first, I must know for certain I can trust you to obey my commands, no matter what.”

  “How about I set a bomb? It’s less personal that way.” “All murder is personal. You will use your pistol to kill her in front of everyone.” “You can trust that I will kill you at the first opportunity.” “That’s the spirit!” exclaimed the Grim Reaper, gleefully patting me on the shoulder. His touch was ice cold. “Don’t worry, I will protect you. See you at the game.” The Grim Reaper faded through the wall.

  Sergeant Green entered my office. “I heard.”

  “We will only get one chance to cheat Death,” I commented, tugging at the stud on my ear. Its weight was irritating. “God help us.”

  “Are you really going to kill the Scorpion Queen?”

  “Probably. Who cares? She has it coming, anyway.”

  * * * * *

  The gym was packed. Private Skyhook Johnson led the Legion team to a big halftime lead. It really was not much of a contest. Legion players just tossed the ball to the rim, and Skyhook dunked it. Scorpions were quick, but their claws were not made for passing and dribbling. And, scorpions can’t jump. I talked to the players in the locker room just before the start of the second half.

  “Keep the score down,” I suggested. “Let the scorpions think they have a chance. That way we can make money on a rematch.” “I want my stud back,” responded Skyhook, glaring. “That’s my stud.” “Not now. I have something special I want you to do. That routine with the bucket of water. I want you to douse the Queen.” “And get thrown in jail again? You must be crazy. No way.” “That was not a request,” I replied. “It was an order. Don’t worry, I have your back. I talked to the Queen. She knows it’s just a gag and has agreed to go along as part of our basketball diplomacy.”

  On that note, I led the team out on to the court. We gathered in a circle, hands extended to the middle, and gave a cheer. “Legion rules!”

  Soon Skyhook was squabbling with the referee over a foul. Skyhook went for the bucket of water, chasing the ref along the perimeter of the court. I stood directly in back of the Queen’s entourage and bodyguards, as amused as everyone else at what we all knew was going to happen. The ref ducked down, and Skyhook let the bucket of water fly.

  Actually, it was red paint. I saw to that earlier. No one expected that. Alert bodyguards to the front immediately raised plastic riot shields. The Scorpion Queen was saved, as planned. However, the red paint splattered everywhere, creating the perfect distraction. I drew my sidearm, and shot the Scorpion Queen twice in the back of the head before fleeing through the chaos and confusion of the crowd.

  * * * * *

  Scorpion generals brushed past servants into the King’s inner sanctum, intent on waking His Majesty. The King needed to be told of the disaster. Command decisions needed to be made. The future of the Scorpion Kingdom was at stake.

  “Your Majesty, I apologize for interrupting your sleep,” advised the Chief of the General Staff. “But Her Majesty the Queen has been assassinated by the humans.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the Scorpion King, methodically rubbing the sleep from each of his ten eyes. “You can verify that?” “I saw the assassination myself on TV. It was during the basketball game at the human embassy on Arthropoda.” “Did our National Team win? I had money on that game.” “No, Your Majesty.” “Damn!” exclaimed the King, slamming a claw on his nightstand, now fully awake. “You are right! We must take action at once!” “You will or
der the fleet to attack?” asked the general. “No, you fool! We are getting better basketball players for our national team. Don’t you know the Olympics is only two years away? Even if we have to recruit aliens from the colonies, I want to see improvement, or else!”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I want players who can jump! How about some of those wasp-like creatures we conquered, that taste so good. They have excellent muscle tone. Some of them must be athletic enough to keep up with those humans one-on-one. Tell me we did not eat them all.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” repeated the general. “There are a few wasps left. But what about our beloved Queen? Her Majesty’s tragic murder may have dire galactic consequences of epic proportions. Our space fleets and armies are mobilizing, waiting for your orders to attack and destroy the humans.”

  “Attack the United States Galactic Federation?” asked the Scorpion King. “Are you out of your fucking mind? What if we lost? I can always get a new Queen, but how am I going to get a new Kingdom?”

  “Our national honor demands a decisive response,” insisted the general. “It is poor precedent not to send a strong message to the humans and the rest of the galaxy that murdering royalty will not be tolerated. Our new stealth starships are just now coming online. We are ready as ever for the humans.”

  “Quite right,” replied the Scorpion King, after giving the matter some thought. “We can’t allow royalty to be abused. Summon the American Ambassador to file a formal protest of this outrage!”

  “With all due respect, your Majesty, a formal protest is not enough. It is a matter of national honor. We need to send a stronger message.”

  “We will deal with national honor in the time-honored traditional way,” advised the Scorpion King. “When the Ambassador arrives, eat him!”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Barbecued?” “Must I micro-manage everything? Handle it!” “Yes, Your Majesty.” “You are absolutely sure the Queen is dead?” asked the Scorpion King, hesitation in his voice. “I want to see the video.” The general replayed the assassination on his pad. There was not doubt the Queen was dead, and the humans were responsible. It was that legionnaire Colonel Czerinski, causing problems as usual. A real trouble maker, remembered the Scorpion King. The full implications of the dastardly deed were becoming more evident to His Majesty.

  “You know what this means?” asked the Scorpion King, pointing at the screen. “This means I can stay out as long as I want! It means I can drink as much as I want. It means I can have group sex in the street with as many loyal subjects as I desire!”

  “Not in the streets,” advised the general. “Think about what the intergalactic tabloids would say and print.”

  “Bunch of alien busybodies is what they are,” groused the Scorpion King. “I do not care what inquiring minds want to know. Call 1-8-PARTY-BABES right now. I want Scorpions Gone Wild party babes summoned to the Palace as soon as possible. I want group sex now!”

  “I love that show, but what about Czerinski and the humans?” asked the general.

  “Czerinski can get his own females!” fumed the Scorpion King. “I heard about that pervert. Did you know there is video of Czerinski on the Galactic Database, having sex with spiders? The degenerate bastard!”

  “Your Majesty, if we are not going to go to war with the USGF, we need to at least demand the arrest and extradition of Colonel Czerinski. Justice demands Czerinski be brought here to our home world, tried, and publicly executed. His death should be as slow and painful as possible.”

  “Quite right,” agreed the Scorpion King, again. “And then we eat Czerinski!”

  * * * * *

  Death met me again in my burned out office. The room still smelled of smoke. I sat at my desk, emotionally drained and tired to the bone. Bones! The Grim Reaper loomed over me, menacingly waving his scythe.

  “You passed my little test,” he started. “Good job! I knew you could do it.”

  “Happy now?” I asked. “I removed the large diamond stud from my ear. It seemed heavier as of late, and the pull on my ear was annoying. I placed it on my desk.

  “I am ecstatic,” replied the Grim Reaper, eyes fixated on Skyhook’s diamond stud. “I have big plans for you, Czerinski.”

  “What are you? You are obviously humanoid, so your origin must be Old Earth. But, you are inexplicably held together by what? Some sort of gravitational field? Is there hidden technology keeping you together? Or maybe camouflage, or illusion?”

  “I am the all-powerful, omnipotent Grim Reaper. I do no need your puny human technology for my power. The Force is with me!”

  “What?”

  “I always wanted to say that,” replied the Grim Reaper with a shrug. He sat on the rickety burned chair in front of my desk, crossing his boney legs. “Great movie, Star Wars. What I am is beyond your comprehension!”

  “Yet you want something from me. What? Stop playing around and come out with it, or I will embrace death and be done with you once and for all. I’m tired. I am not afraid to die.”

  “Do not threaten me,” warned the Grim Reaper. “You are mentally unstable. But, no matter. You will help me anyway. Or else.”

  The Grim Reaper placed a small computer chip on my desk. As he drew away, he scooped up the diamond stud, clutching it firmly in a boney fist.

  “You will tell me the secrets of that piece of silicon, and build me a device.”

  “I thought you had no use for our puny human technology,” I commented, picking up the small chip and swiping it on my communications pad. “I see a schematic, and strange symbols. What is this?”

  “Alien technology from that Hopper starship you destroyed at Caldera Lake,” explained the Grim Reaper. “Yes, you know what I want now. You will build me a time machine.”

  “Starting a war between the USGF and the Scorpion Kingdom isn’t enough? Now you want to mess with time? Ha! Hell will freeze over before I do that.”

  “You will be surprised what Hell looks like,” threatened the Grim Reaper, prodding me with his scythe. “You cannot possibly appreciate how painful it is, until you arrive. You think I am bluffing?”

  “I am going to Hell?” I asked. “Is that for certain?” “Yes. The only question is when.” “Okay, I get the picture. Why do you want to time travel?” “I need a vacation,” sighed the Grim Reaper. “Didn’t you ever want to go back to a simpler time and place? If you want, I will take you back with me. Any date and time you want. Think of all the sports bets you could win. You will be rich.”

  “That’s it? All you want is a break from collecting souls? You are not going to mess with destiny, cause paradoxes, and destroy the universe and free world as we know it?”

  “Maybe a little,” conceded the Grim Reaper. “I have to have my fun. But, I will do nothing that need concern you.”

  “Do you really think I am so morally bankrupt that I would help a psycho-bones like you run amuck through time?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” replied the Grim Reaper, attaching the diamond stud to his ear hole.

  “Give me back that stud.”

  “I am tired of your games. Stop your stalling. You will build that device, or I will impale you alive through your anus with my scythe, for all eternity.”

  “Keep the stud. I don’t like it anyway.”

  I reached into my pants pocket and pressed the button on a small detonator. A small CIA-manufactured explosive attached to the stud blew the Grim Reaper’s head off. The skull rolled like a chipped bowling ball across the room to a corner. The headless skeleton flailed about, searching blind for its head. I kicked its femur, snapping it in two. The Headless One finally crashed to the floor.

  Sergeant Green burst through the door. He picked up the scythe, shaking it triumphantly overhead.

  “We did it!” he exclaimed. “We cheated Death. The Grim Reaper is dead!”

  I stood over the skull, contemplating my next move. Was it really dead? There was no way to be certain. I stomped the smiling skull into splinte
rs with my boots. Sergeant Green did the same to the rest of the skeleton. The entire incident was recorded by numerous security cameras placed about my office. I swept up the debris into a dustpan and poured Thanatos’s remains down a toilet in an adjacent room. Scattered powder formed the image of a face in the water. Maybe it was just my imagination. I examined closer.

  “You cannot kill me so easily!” boomed the Grim Reaper’s voice from deep in the toilet bowl and pipes. “I’ll be back!”

  I flushed. The voice gurgled as it swirled, sank, and faded away.

  “Hasta la vista, baby!” I replied, closing the lid.

  “Punk,” added Sergeant Green, lighting up a cigar and flicking a few ashes in the bowl. “Eat shit!”

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  Chapter 11

  United States Galactic Federation Ambassador Maxwell Hobbs arrived at the Scorpion Royal Court to receive a formal complaint about the Foreign Legion shooting Her Majesty the Queen. The details had been worked out earlier by the CIA and the Scorpion Intelligence Chief, and this public ceremony would make it official. Reporters stood by. The Scorpion King sat upon his thrown, sternly gazing down at the puny human representative. He knew Hobbs, a sneaky ex-CIA spy. An aide presented Hobbs a sealed scroll.

  “It is all there,” advised the Scorpion King. “Czerinski shot my beloved Queen, we are pissed off about it, forgive most of you, and demand three billion American dollars compensation for insult to the Kingdom, loss of consortium, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  “That is outrageous,” replied Ambassador Hobbs. “Do you think three billion American dollars just grows on trees? Two billion dollars is as high as I can go, and I feel like I am being robbed.”