America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky (10 page)

“
I hope we can put that
unfortunate incident behind us, and that you and I can come to an
understanding that will prevent future confrontations while you are
in custody. I am prepared to grant you certain freedoms and
privileges in exchange for your word of honor that you will not
attempt to escape or initiate any act of violence. Can we come to
that understanding?” asked #15.

“
No. #14 murdered my friends
and cut off my hand. I am not the forgiving type. I will kill #14
if given the chance. Also, there is the not so small matter of us
still being at war. It is my duty to attempt escape and to cause
you inconvenience.”

“
You almost did kill #14,
and that should be enough for you,” said #15. “Also, the war
situation has changed. A truce is in effect, and negotiations are
taking place as we speak. All members of your platoon and your hand
were safely returned to the Seventh Fleet as a result of a prisoner
exchange. And, #14 did not murder anyone. Sergeant Lopez, the last
time I saw him, was recovering nicely from his
injuries.”

“
And Private Ceausescu?” I
asked. “You don’t call what happened to her murder?”

“
The female? Nothing
happened to the female. Initially we separated her from the others
to prevent uncontrolled mating. We believed she was in heat. But
she was returned to human custody along with the
others.”

“
I was told she was eaten,”
I said. “She is fine?”

“
Of course she is fine.
Listen, we do not eat prisoners of war,” hissed #15. “So, there is
no reason for revenge. All your mates are safe. It’s all water
under the ground. So now, do we have an agreement? No escape
attempts or acts of violence for as long as you are in
custody?”

“
And how long will I be in
custody? I want out of here, too,” I said.

“
You stay,” said #15,
abruptly, changing his pleasant tone. “You were the commanding
officer of a military unit that committed atrocities. A war crimes
investigation is ongoing.”

“
I did nothing wrong,” I
insisted.

“
That may be. But I doubt
it. Anyway, the matter will be decided at a level higher than you
or me. In the meantime it is important for you and me to come to an
agreement about your custody. I ask again, do we have that
agreement?”

“
I could kill you right now,
before the guards outside the door could get back in here to save
you,” I threatened, leaning closer to #15. “But I won’t. You seem
like a reasonable, intelligent officer, and I like you. At least
you are not like that brutal incompetent, #14. You don’t abuse
helpless prisoners in your custody. How did #14 ever outrank a
superior officer such as yourself?”

“
#14 has better family
connections,” replied #15 curtly.

“
That is unfair. We have the
same injustices in the Legion. Before I give my word, I need
certain assurances.”

“
Have I not been forthcoming
enough?” asked #15.

“
Understand, since I have
been in your custody I had my hand chopped off, was nearly beaten
to death, had my second in command shot in the chest, my third in
command strung up and left upside down, and was told that a female
prisoner of war was eaten. I want certain assurances, and I want
them in writing along with a transcript of this conversation
attached as a letter of intent and interpretation.”

“
Agreed,” said #15. “Of
course certain irrelevant comments about #14 will be edited out of
the transcripts.”

“
I will not be tortured,
abused, threatened, starved, denied proper medical care, denied
freedom of religion, or given drugs against my will?” I
clarified.

“
Of course, those conditions
are given,” said #15. “Didn’t I already agree to fair
treatment?”

“
Okay, I agree to be on my
best behavior while in your custody at this hospital,” I said. “By
the way, where exactly is this hospital?”

“
You are in a secret
underground base on the innermost moon of the planet you call New
Colorado. I believe you call this moon New Denver. The terms of our
contract are now binding under penalty of summary execution if you
violate any part of said terms.”

“
Clever of you to slip that
last part in,” I said. “Doesn’t matter. I will be good. How about
returning my personal property to me?”

“
No. Your backpack is being
held as evidence. It had the body parts of infants in
it.”

“
That reminds me. How about
some decent food? This goo in a tube you have been feeding me is
getting real old.”

“
If field rations are good
enough for our imperial troops, they are good enough for
you.”

“
Oh don’t give me that.
You’re beginning to sound just like #14, Old Claw Up the Poop
Chute. I thought we were friends. Or, at least that we had an
understanding. You just agreed to not starve me. These food tubes
aren’t enough for me to live on. I know you have better. I saw one
of your troops in the field eating a sandwich. That sandwich was
not goo in a tube. So give me a sandwich, too. I’m not asking for
more than what you are giving your own soldiers. I’m just asking
for you to be reasonable. I know you have captured human food. I’ve
seen your soldiers eating and drinking looted supplies. And you had
a thousand civilian humans in custody. Don’t tell me all you fed
them was food in a tube.”

“
I will look in to it,” said
#15, shifting uncomfortably. “I am not promising you
anything.”

“
That’s all I ask,” I said.
“That you be reasonable and try to improve my food so I don’t
starve. Also, I had more property than what was inside my backpack.
I had many personal items inside pockets, in my uniform, and in
another tote sack. I even had some religious items that I
need.”

“
I will look into it. No
promises,” said #15.

“
Please do look into it.
Remember, we have an agreement. I’m living up to my end of it. I
should get something in return. I haven’t seen any of the freedoms
and privileges you promised yet. And I want my combat
knife.”

“
Absolutely not,” stated
#15. “Your kind has already demonstrated how dangerous you can be
with a clawed weapon.”

“
I’ll tell you what. You can
keep my combat knife as a trophy of war. It’s my gift to you. All I
want is the knuckle sized ruby in the handle. It has sentimental
value to me,” I explained.

“
I’ll look in to it,” said
#15. And then he left.

A few hours later, he returned with a couple
guards carrying my property. The items were spread out on the floor
in front of me. “Together we will sort through what you may or may
not have,” #15 said.

There were a few knickknacks: dice, deck of
cards, pens, pins, coins, wallet, watch, uniform, and mess kit. #15
let me have these items without discussion. My credit &
identification card had been seized pending a computer data
investigation of stored electronic communications, and would be
returned later. The ruby from my combat knife was given to me.
There really wasn’t much left to argue about except the bottle of
vodka and a baggie of marijuana.

“
What do you mean I
can’t
have the vodka and the marijuana?” I
protested.

“
Research indicates the
vodka is used to cause intoxication and often produces aggressive
behavior in humans. The marijuana is possibly a dangerous narcotic
that is just as bad as the vodka. Also, the marijuana is illegal in
your world, and will probably soon be made illegal in our world as
well. So, your claim to the marijuana is weak. You may not have
either,” said #15.

“
It is interesting you call
the vodka and marijuana dangerous or illegal, because I took both
items from one of your soldiers. The vodka is legal in both our
worlds, so it should be allowed. The vodka reminds me of home, and
it will help me eat the unpalatable goo tube food you are forcing
on me. And the marijuana? It helps me to commune with God. Would
you interfere with my simple religious rituals? Check the
transcripts of our contract. You specifically agreed not to
interfere with my simple religious practices.”

“
Perhaps the matter requires
more research,” conceded #15, taking the vodka and marijuana with
him.

* * * * *

The next day, detention unit
guard #96 returned the marijuana and vodka. The vodka had been
placed into a plastic jug. I guess there was some concern I might
break the bottle and fashion a weapon out of it.
Yeah right.

It was #96’s job to watch me. He watched me
very well. Too well, I might add. #96 stayed in the room with me
for up to twenty-four hours straight, never showing signs of
fatigue and never moving. He would not talk to me or even
acknowledge that he understood anything I said. I complained to #15
that I thought he had ordered the guards no not talk to me. #15
denied it, saying the guards hated me for being the butcher that I
am, and that I was lucky that one of them didn’t decide to slit my
throat during the night. That didn’t make me sleep well. It was bad
enough having a huge spider lording over me in the dark, not
knowing whether the spider might inclined to commit murder, slit my
throat, drink my blood, or do whatever else spiders do when they
are pissed off. So today I tried a different tack.

“
#15 says he ordered you to
not talk to me because you are so stupid you would probably get
yourself into trouble or give away state secrets. #15 says you will
always be a private because of your stupidity and because you come
from a long line of stupid, politically unconnected ancestors that
should not be allowed to breed or add to the gene pool in any way,
shape, or form. Personally, I think you do your job very well, and
that #15 is just another arrogant snobbish officer who got promoted
because he paid money for his rank to another incompetent corrupt
arrogant officer. He puts you down because he feels threatened by
soldiers who do their job well, and that is why he marks your
evaluations as poor.” I then took a chocolate donut from a package
of looted human food and offered it to #96.

“
Thank you,” said #96,
accepting the donut. “You’re right. #15 is an asshole.”

We got along fine after that. I already knew
the spiders loved vodka and marijuana, but I didn’t know they had a
sweet tooth, too. And they loved to gamble. Gambling for recreation
was ingrained into them. They were all compulsive gamblers. I
taught #96 how to play craps, blackjack, and poker. He grasped the
games quickly and won almost every game of cards. Spiders cheat at
cards every chance they get. At least, this one did. With three
hands and a claw, he could whip those cards about in a blur. I was
already working with a handicap, having only one hand, but I’d been
doing this sort of thing for many years, so I wasn’t as bad off as
I let on. I allowed #96 to think he was getting one over on me. Of
course, we were just playing for fun, because I had no spider
money.

I asked #96 if he wanted to buy my ruby. I
told him I wanted some money of my own so I could buy things. I
said I might be here for a while, so it was only fair I should be
able to make myself comfortable. I asked #96 if he thought my ruby
might be worth anything on his home world.

#96 examined the ruby with great interest.
“Not really. It’s practically worthless. We have so many rubies. I
could maybe give you 300 credits, but I feel you would be cheating
me. I would only give you that much because you are a friend and I
enjoy your company and your donuts,” said #96.

“
I’ll sell it to you for
1,000 credits,” I replied. “I need some gambling money
too.”

“
You would just lose it to
me, you gamble so poorly,” said #96.

“
That’s not your problem,
it’s mine,” I replied.

“
1,000 credits? No way. I
won’t even discuss it with you.” #96 tossed the ruby back at me as
if it was so much trash. He then gave me the silent
treatment.

“
How about 700 credits?” I
asked some time later.

“
You have a deal,” said #96,
laying down 700 credits and snatching my ruby.

“
Want to play some craps?” I
asked.

* * * * *

#96 couldn’t believe his good fortune. Not
only had this dumb human just sold him a ruby worth 5,000 credits
for only 700 credits, but now the human wanted to lose that 700
credits back to him.

Some time later, the human lost 100 credits
playing craps before getting mad and quitting. When #96 got
relieved, he told the story to #97 of the Detention Guard. They
both had a good laugh about the hapless human pestilence.

* * * * *

Now #97 was guarding me. Like #96 before, #97
had nothing to say. After a few hours I started playing with my
dice. I looked up at #97 watching me and said, “I’d invite you to a
game of chance, but #96 said not to ask you because you are a
snitch and a candy-ass religious puritan, and he didn’t want me to
get into trouble. #96 also said you were a lousy gambler and it
wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of you. So, I’m not going to ask
you to gamble for real money. You want to throw dice or play cards
for fun? How about for match heads?” I asked.

“
I think that #96 just wants
to take all your money for himself,” said #97 gruffly. “That greedy
bastard.”