America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky (2 page)

“
What kind of an ATM are
you? You have a screw loose? When was the last time you had your
diagnostics checked?”

“
As long as my recruitment
quotas are up, everyone is happy,” bragged the ATM. “I do not need
my diagnostics checked. I feel fine. Take your money.”

* * * * *

I settled for $100,000 from the ATM. With
cash on my card, I rushed to the craps table. “I’m back,” I
announced.

“
So you are,” said the craps
pit boss, smiling. She was pretty, but she was a snake-eyed,
bloodsucking, viper bitch from hell. “I hope your luck is better
this time Joey,” she said too sweetly.

“
Me too.” I plugged in my
card. That ATM was right about one thing. I had some tough
decisions to make. I didn’t think I should bet it all at one time
like I did before. “$25,000 on the field.”

“
The field bet is a fool’s
bet,” the gambler next to me said. The pit boss and casino staff
all nodded knowingly. The dice rolled…

Seven!

I don’t believe it!” I cried. “If it wasn’t
for bad luck I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” I put all my
remaining money, $75,000, on the field. The dice rolled…

Twelve. Twelve?
Twelve!
I won!
Twelve on a field bet pays triple. I won, what was
it … $225,000? I did the math while everyone around me was either
gaping or trying to congratulate me with high-fives. I had $300.000
total. That was enough to pay off Uncle Sam, pay off GT
Corporation, pay off Bubba, and I’d still have $100,000 for the
trip to Mars. I needed to get off Old Earth now. There were still
some nasty people here who didn’t like me. But that didn’t leave me
with much walk-around money. I would starve on Mars without
walk-around money. Screw Bubba. I was not paying him. That would
leave me with about $50,000 for walk-around money, but it still
wasn’t enough.
It’s never enough, is
it?
I stopped daydreaming and returned to
the land of the here and now. “I’ll bet half of it, $150,000 on the
field.” The dice rolled…

Two! That pays double! “I’m cashing out! Put
the money on my card! Hurry up. I’ve got places go and people to
see.”

“
Are you sure you don’t want
to let your $600,000 ride?” asked the pit boss, giving me her best
sexy smile. It was her bloodsucking casino viper-from-hell,
make-one-more-bet smile. “Luck is with you today, honey. Who knows
how lucky you might get?”

“
Positive. I’m getting the
heck out of Dodge.” I grabbed my card and ran through the crowded
spaceport casino to the ticket cage. I arrived out of breath.
“Ticket to Mars. Next available flight. Belay that. Beam me there.
I’ll pay the extra charge.”

“
Is this a business trip,
sir?” asked the ticket agent.

“
What do you
care?”

“
You might be eligible for a
discount if you are a frequent flier,” advised the ticket agent.
“Those points add up.”

“
Yes it’s business!” I said.
“Did I say I was in a hurry?”

The ticket agent took my card, but he still
did not seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation. The man
moved in slow motion. “One moment please,” he said. “The computer
indicates there are problems with your card.”

“
Problems? What problems.?
There are going to be a lot of problems if you don’t beam me up.” I
looked over my shoulder again. You would not believe how many
shifty-looking people pass through a spaceport in one day. There
was no sign of Bubba, but anyone could be a bounty hunter. I
reached for my gun as a rough-looking character sauntered up behind
me at the ticket cage.

“
Your card is good, Mr. Joey
R. Czerinski, but you have some liens on it that you must pay
before leaving Earth. I can take care of them for you, if you
wish,” volunteered the ticket agent.

“
Do it,” I replied. “Hurry
up.”

“
GT Corporation,
$50,000
paid
.
United States Galactic Foreign Legion, $100,000
paid
. Bubba Jones & Associates
Incorporated, $75,000 plus interest–”

“
Wait!” I ordered. “I’m not
paying that. It’s a civil matter still being contested. I’ll pay it
later.”

“
These are all civil
matters,” said the ticket agent. “They need to be paid.”

The scruffy guy in line grabbed my shoulder
and asked, “You know Bubba?”

My gun was out in a flash and pressed against
his gut. “What’s it to you?”

“
Nothing man, I’m sorry!”
cried the bum. “I just wanted to borrow some spare change. Please,
I have a family. I’m on disability. I have a lot of
troubles.”

“
Yeah right. If you could
kick the person responsible for most of your troubles, you wouldn’t
sit for a week. Take a hike!” I shoved a few scrip dollars at him –
they weren’t worth the paper they were written on, except at local
food vendors – and turned to the ticket agent. “Are you getting a
commission on collecting debts or what? I’m not paying Mr. Jones.
Is that clear? Now beam me up!”

“
No reason to get angry
about it, sir. I guess Bubba Jones & Associates Incorporated
can wait. Here is your ticket, Mr. Czerinski. I hope you enjoy your
vacation on Mars.”

“
It’s a business trip,
remember? Put me down for the extras.”

CHAPTER 2

There was no better feeling than being on
Mars with money in my pocket. Mars, the Red-Light Planet, was a
wide-open den of iniquity where anyone with money could buy
anything. If you were broke on Mars, you’d die, because everyone
pays a tax for air, and vagrancy is not tolerated. But with money,
Mars, baby, is the place to be.

First things first, I needed a place to stay.
A suite at Harrah’s Casino on the Strip fit the bill for a man of
my newly acquired means. As I entered the hotel lobby, I was
greeted with, “Hello Mr. Czerinski. Welcome to Mars.”

I froze. No one knew me on Mars.

“
Thank you for your prompt
payment. I hope we may do business again,” added the United States
Galactic Foreign Legion ATM.

“
You going to snitch on me
to Bubba again?” I asked.

“
Of course not,” replied the
ATM. “You are a valued customer. You might even give me a good
reference to some of your associates. You scratch my back, I will
scratch yours.”

“
You bet. I’ll send lots of
business your way,” I said, as I walked away. At the hotel desk, I
addressed the check-in clerk, “Sir, I want a suite. And not just
any suite. I want the suite with the huge gold-tipped crossed
elephant tusks in the window overlooking all the tiny people
scurrying about below.”

“
Yes sir,” said the clerk as
he took my card and ran it. “We have only the very best here at
Harrah’s Hotel & Casino. But I’m afraid we don’t have any
crossed elephant tusks.”

“
Get the manager. Now! I
want to talk to someone about this outrage! I saw crossed elephant
tusks on a travel brochure and in a movie, and now you are holding
out on me? If someone else has my room, kick them out! Move it
boy!” I ordered. This was not normally how I talk to people,
especially minimum-wage types. If the clerk was a food-server, he
would have surely spit on the underside of my steak and smiled
while he delivered it. But I was feeling full of myself and putting
on airs. I figured what harm could the clerk do me? I’d tip him
later after I had my fun, figuring it was okay to be rude as long
as you tipped well. I’d give him a good tip after I won some more
money.

The manager came out to talk to me. “Sir, I
am so sorry the room you wanted was taken by the King of
California, and we just cannot kick him out. Can I interest you in
another suite?” asked the hotel manager.

“
So, you
do
have a suite with crossed elephant
tusks? That means he lied to me. I expect this idiot to be
reprimanded,” I said, pointing my finger at the clerk.

“
I’ll fire him immediately,
sir,” the manager promised. “Can I interest you in a suite with a
stuffed grizzly bear in the window?”

“
I like the sound of that,”
I replied. “My very own grizzly in the window. I’ll take it. And
about your boy, don’t fire him yet. I think he has management
potential. Lies with a straight face. Very smooth.”

“
Yes, sir, I’m sure he will
be relieved to be keeping his job,” said the manager. “And for your
inconvenience in this matter, Harrah’s Hotel & Casino Resort
will comp your first night.”

“
Outstanding!” I said. “You
will be happy to know I will be doing a lot of gambling tonight.
I’ll drop your name with the pit bosses.”

“
Good luck and good gaming,”
said the manager, as he left to attend other matters. He motioned
for the clerk to come over and finish checking me in.

“
Sir, thank you so much for
saving my job,” said the clerk. “I really need this job. I live
from paycheck to paycheck, and with the high cost of Martian air
taxes these days, it can be a real hassle.”

“
Think nothing of it,” I
said. “What would they do if you run out of air money? Throw you
out of an airlock?” I smiled jokingly.

“
Yes sir,” replied the
clerk. “That is exactly what they would do.”

“
Oh come on. It’s been a
while since I’ve been up here. Don’t they still have welfare on
Mars? Some kind of safety net? What if
I
ran out of money?”

“
No welfare on Mars,” the
clerk answered somberly.

That thought shook me for half a second, then
I remembered something I wanted to take care of. “By the way, there
is something you need to do for me,” I said, in a low
conspiratorial voice. I slid my pistol across the counter. “You see
that ATM in the corner near the front door?”

“
Sir?” asked the clerk.
“This isn’t a robbery, is it?”

“
Don’t be silly. You saw my
card. I’m a guest. I don’t need to rob anyone yet. In fact, I am
going to give you two thousand dollars. All you have to do is one
little favor for me.”

“
Sir, I don’t like guns,”
said the clerk. “Guns are frowned upon here on Mars. Our laws are
harsh.”

“
Yes I know,” I said. “It’s
un-American. But since I saved your job, and because of that you
are still able to pay your air taxes, you are going to take this
gun and do me a tiny little favor. You are going to pick a time of
your own choosing and fire the whole clip into that
ATM.”

“
Please,” begged the clerk.
“I can’t do that. I don’t know anything about guns.”

“
Oh sure you can,” I said.
“This pistol is simple and easy to use. Just pull the trigger and
don’t shoot yourself. I want you to wait until it’s late, sneak up
on the ATM from the side, and shoot its guts out. There is no risk
as long as you aren’t scanned by the ATM’s face recognition camera.
I suggest you point the hotel cameras away from the front door too.
You can do it. I have faith in you.”

“
Sir, please. I hate
guns.”

“
When you are done, take my
gun up to my room and put it under the bed pillow. I’m going
gambling.” I gave the clerk $2,000 up front to sweeten the deal,
and walked out. I love Mars.

On the way to the casino, I bought $25,000
worth of gold chains and put them all around my neck. I walked to
the craps table, feeling invincible with $400,000 on my card. I’d
lose $20,000, win $30,000, lose $10,000, and win $25,000. The money
just started to add up. Then my luck changed. I bet $10,000 on a
craps field bet and lost. The two sixes faced up for just a second,
then one of the dice hit a stack of chips and came up seven. I bet
the field again, lost again. Bet $40,000 and lost. I bet $60,000
and lost. Down to my last bet. Numb from betting such large
amounts, I bet $250,000. The dice rolled…

Twelve!
Yes! I am invincible!
Twelve on a
field bet pays triple, so I had one million dollars on my card.
Just then, shots rang out at the far end of the casino. Everyone
ducked or ran for cover. I kept a straight face and said, “Please
cash me out. I’m going to retire for the evening.”

I had a drink first. Then I stopped by a
computer chip store. “Got anything good to buy?” I asked the tech
clerk. He seemed bored and not interested in my business.

“
Sir, the enhancements and
chips we sell here are strictly high-end. You can’t afford to even
walk in the door. Please leave.”

“
I’m on a winning streak.
Show me the good stuff,” I insisted, sliding my card across the
counter.

“
Pardon me sir, but maybe I
can help you after all,” said the tech clerk as he checked my card,
seeing lots of dollars.

“
I’ve heard rumors about a
Fountain of Youth chip,” I said. “Do you have one?”

“
Interesting you asked that
question,” said the clerk in a hushed tone. “Yes sir, we have the
Fountain of Youth chip. And I’ll make you a special deal,
considering the Feds are about to make it illegal. You’re not a
cop, are you?”

“
No. What do you mean
illegal?” I asked. “Why would they want suppress such fantastic
technology?”

“
Over-population,” replied
the clerk. “A special few will still be able to buy the chip. The
plan is to make immortality available only to those who have
special skills, merit, or money.”