America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War (11 page)

“Back off, or I’ll bring down a tornado!” I shouted. “Or maybe even a sharknado!”

The spider commander quickly checked the Galactic Database for sharknadoes. Sure enough, sharknadoes pummel Los Angeles on Old Earth all the time. “If even one toothy fish drops from the sky, I will not hesitate to blow you away with tactical nukes!” responded the spider commander forcefully. “Do you think I am bluffing, human pestilence punk? Are you feeling lucky? Maybe I have a nuke, maybe I don’t. Make my day!”

Stalling for time, I left Private Knight to negotiate while I led legionnaires and hostages through the tunnel. “I want pizza and safe passage out, or I’ll kill Old-Claw and his entire family!” demanded Private Knight, a seasoned negotiator. “There will be no
Star Pawns
, no syndication, no top ten TV ratings!”

“Bastards!” grumbled the spider commander. “Launch the nuke. No pizza for you!”

* * * * *

The nuke destroyed Star Pawn, and suburbs of North New Gobi City. Depressed about the loss of his pawn shop, and syndication rights, and feeling broke, Old-Claw put the rights to my corpse up for bid on eBay. Bidding was robust, so he put Private Knight’s corpse on the bidding block, too.

We fled deeper into the catacombs under New Gobi City. My communications pad rang. It was the spider commander, checking to see if I was still alive.

“Somehow I knew you would still be alive,” said the spider commander cheerfully. “Circumstances have changed. I propose a truce.”

“You’re no longer trying to kill me?” I asked warily. “I don’t believe you.”

“You are questioning my credibility? I was just following orders. Now, I have new orders. The Imperial Family has a confidential medical problem that the Emperor himself wants to discuss with Medic Ceausescu. Please put the fair Elena on the line.”

“Why Ceausescu?”

“The Emperor was watching
Star Pawns
before I nuked the dump. He was impressed with the patchwork she did on Little-Claw. I trust Medic Ceausescu is still alive? The Emperor is on the line.”

“One moment, I’ll check,” I replied, handing my communications pad to Ceausescu with a shrug.

“Your Majesty?” asked medic Ceausescu tentatively. “I’ve never spoke to royalty before. This is quite an honor. How is Queen Rainbow?”

“I prefer the Queen not be a part of this conversation,” admonished the Emperor gruffly. “A member of the royal family got an Old Earth invasive pest called a gerbil lodged up his poop-chute.”

“Oh?”

“I need you to talk my medical staff through the procedure for removing the beast.”

“How could this happen?”

“I do not know. It was a one-in-a-million chance occurrence. I am banning all recreational gerbils from the Empire!”

“Is the gerbil still alive?” inquired Ceausescu delicately.

“Yes, it’s very much alive. I can hear it.”

“Have its claws been removed?”

“Claws? Oh hell!”

“Stay calm,” continued Ceausescu soothingly. “If you panic, the gerbil might claw and chew its way through your intestines and out your penis.”

“I am staying calm!”

“Is there only one gerbil?”

“Is two at a time even possible?”

“Gerbils run in packs,” warned Ceausescu. “Are drugs involved?”

“The gerbil might be covered with a psychoactive substance.”

“Blue powder?”

“Yes.”

“What a putz,” Ceausescu grumbled with a sigh. “Males of all species are such pigs.”

“Now, see here. How do I get this ungodly vermin out of my rectal passageway?”

“First, obtain a butt-light.”

“Did you say a Bud Light?” asked the Emperor incredulously. “The King of Beers?”

“No, an LED butt-light. They’re on sale on Amazon.com for situations just like yours. Try to buy a new butt-light. Used ones stink. Duct tape the butt-light to your poop-chute entrance. Turn off all room lights and turn on the butt-light. Lie still on your stomach. The gerbil will see the light at the end of the tunnel, and hopefully will come out. Play reassuring gerbil-friendly music. I suggest Disney themes such as ‘It’s a Small World After All’ and the ‘Mickey Mouse Song.’ You know, M-I-C, K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E! Mickey Mouse, Mickey Mouse!”

“Stop. I get it.”

“Disney music is also available at Amazon.com. Mention my name, and you get a Legion discount.”

“Thank you very much, Medic Ceausescu. The Imperial Family is in your debt. I grant you and Colonel Czerinski safe passage across the DMZ. Czerinski’s crimes against the galaxy are pardoned for now, as long as Old-Claw and his idiot family are returned safely.”

“They will be,” I assured, listening. “Feel free to call upon the Legion or me personally at any time, should gerbils invade your inner sanctum again.”

“Not likely, we are enemies forever!” replied the Emperor. “I expect diplomacy to prevail, and this medical situation to be kept confidential. It’s the law.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m sure keeping drug-crazed butt-crawling gerbils a secret is covered by diplomatic protocol somewhere. I think it’s even in the Constitution.”

“Exactly. Do not let world-famous science fiction writer Walter Knight get wind of this matter, either. That long-beaked human pestilence snitch would put me in his next book if he found out. His pulp fiction sci-fi trash is out of control. I am banning all Knight’s books from the Empire.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I don’t blame you. How Private Knight’s books ever got past Mars is beyond me. Don’t worry. In the Legion, we don’t ask, don’t tell about gerbils.”

“Good. Also, I applaud you for keeping alien artifacts from the evil clutches of drug dealers. I expect you to comply with provisions of the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty, and allow joint inspection of the alien artifacts in your custody. Your President, General Daly, and my district commander are already on board with my request for full disclosure. Do you understand, Colonel?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Chapter 15

I used a GPS microchip embedded long ago to track Hargundu, the AWOL Legion camel. Hargundu traveled to the eastern foothills, trying to blend in with a herd of wild burros. When I caught up, I tried to make friends by offering apple slices and carrots, but some camels hold a grudge forever. I had Medic Ceausescu give Hargundu an examination.

Hargundu loved the attention, nuzzling her like a lost puppy. Ceausescu gave Hargundu a haircut, filed his hooves, vaccinated for whipworms, sprayed for sand mites, provided vitamins, and brushed his teeth. He was a new camel.

“Listen up,” I said, beginning the interrogation when Ceausescu finished. “Technically, I should shoot you for desertion, but that would be too good for you. Lead me to the lost alien starship, and I’ll give you an honorable discharge. Refuse, and I’ll castrate you – no more discharges of any kind for you.”

Hargundu just stared like a dumb camel. I knew he was sandbagging; he understands English perfectly. I called his bluff, retrieving a pair of castration cutters from my pouch. That got his attention. Hargundu brayed and kicked as he strained against his tether.

“Don’t worry, Hargundu, you’ll be okay when the pain stops. Burros find circumcision sexy.”

Hargundu gave a mighty lunge, snapping the tether from its post. He ran like the wind into the night. Not a problem. I would be tracking that pervert Bactrian by satellite GPS until he led me to the crash site. I had time on my side.

* * * * *

“I heard you’re retiring,” said CIA Agent Casey conversationally as he worked the controls of a drone following Hargundu. “That’s good.”

“What’s so good about it?” I asked.

“You’ve had a long career. You and the galaxy deserve a rest.”

“We’ll see. I’m still in for the duration.”

“I think I can manage following one camel without your help. I’ll make a phone call. You will be cashiered, retired by the end of the week, sipping margaritas on a beach in Old Earth Mexico.”

“Really?”

“What’s the point of being a CIA officer if I can’t do a pal a favor?”

“You are not my pal, and I don’t need favors,” I snapped, feeling surly about the cashiered remark. “No thanks. I’ll retire on my own schedule.”

“I think you should retire now. Take Major Lopez with you.”

“Why.”

“Just looking at the big picture. New Colorado doesn’t need cowboys anymore.”

“I need air,” I said, stepping outside my command car. Major Lopez stepped out, too. “What was that about?”

“
Bendaho
,” replied Major Lopez. “Politics and jealousy, but everyone can be replaced, even us. We’re both rich. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“I don’t like being told to get out of town.”

“Before sundown?”

“Exactly.”

“Pride rears its ugly head.” Major Lopez sighed. “Who would have thought you to be a lifer back when we first met?”

“We’ve made a difference, haven’t we? For the better? I’m serious. How many times have we saved the galaxy from aliens and Democrats?”

“I’m serious, too. Get out while the getting is good. Don’t wait until they sic the IRS on us both.”

“Is that what this is all about?” I asked, upset. “They think we’re crooks or something?”

“New Colorado is no longer the Wild West. There’s a Starbucks on every corner. Even blue powder is on the decline. I don’t think America needs a foreign legion anymore.”

“We’re being replaced by the Army? No way I’m letting that happen.”

“Probably the Marine Corps,” lamented Major Lopez. “We’re going to be replaced by jarheads”

“If that happens, the galaxy is doomed.”

* * * * *

Disguised in donkey skins, Blue-Claw crept silently into the donkey camp where Hargundu snuggled in for the night with his favorite donkey. When Hargundu whispered to donkeys, they whispered back. Contented snores filled the air. Using a small probe, Blue-Claw injected another tracking chip into the sleeping camel’s buttocks.

Ouch!
Hargundu hadn’t been probed by aliens in a long while. He liked it. Hargundu rolled over amorously, only to have his intentions deflated by Blue-Claw’s taser. Reflexively, Hargundu kicked Blue-Claw through the goal posts of life.

Blue-Claw’s world went black, as did his concussed nightmare dream of camel and donkey love. He got into it a little bit. That’s how dreams are. It was mostly a nightmare. No need for counseling. He’d kill that camel slow and painful when he woke up. Red sky at morning found Blue-Claw wandering aimlessly through the sagebrush, smoking a cigarette and scratching sand mites out of every nook, cranny, and orifice of his exoskeleton.

* * * * *

Hargundu fled the familiarity of his burro brothers for the eastern mountains. Even paranoid camels have enemies. He plodded along tirelessly, like camels do, tirelessly following a narrowing crevasse until he came to the shelter of a hidden cave. It was a dank, musty place, smelling of earwigs.

As Hargundu entered, he was ambushed by the spider commander. Arthropodan marines lassoed Hargundu, brutally bringing him to the ground. Resistance was futile. The spider commander connected a prototype neural imager into Hargundu’s frontal lobe.

The beauty of the neural imager was that images do not lie. It takes two to lie; one to lie, and one to listen. It’s not a lie if the liar believes the lie, or if there is a picture. It’s technical.

Instantly Hargundu’s visual history was downloaded and relayed by satellite to Intelligentsia Headquarters for analysis. It was a gruesome orgy of donkey-horse-sheep-elk-moose-groundhog sex that made even the most seasoned interrogator turn away. There was even an unidentified human pestilence legionnaire officer wielding a sword during the heat of passion. Intelligentsia interns downloaded the Old Earth invasive beast porn and posted it on the Galactic Database, where it was almost as popular as the Emperor’s Lost Gerbil Tapes. More important, there was no evidence that the sicko camel had knowledge of an alien starship crash.

Chapter 16

The Legion stopped tracking Hargundu when New Phoenix Mayor Richard Fimbres requested assistance containing riots on the Eastside. Already, two Starbucks and a McDonald’s were torched.
Burn baby burn.
Tweakers suffering from blue powder withdrawal protested the recent lack of supply. Crack-hoes were too sober to face the day. The Legion and the Scorpion City National Guard deployed immediately.

I ordered an airstrike. Shuttles carpet-bombed the main streets with MREs, hoping the evil toxic packets would provide enough chemicals for a temporary fix. Even the most hardened junkies wouldn’t touch the spaghetti and meatballs surprise.