America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad (10 page)

“Stop!” ordered Corporal Wayne, positioning himself between Skyler and Goodman. “Who are you?”

“You haven’t seen me on TV?” asked Goodman, feigning angst. “Better call Saul! I’m the last attorney you will ever need.” Goodman took a step back, quietly sizing up Corporal Wayne, the first time ever speechless. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t F-bomb the alien,” whispered Flynn. “He’ll cut you bad.”

“Quite right,” agreed Goodman still smiling, handing Corporal Wayne his number on a matchbook. “If you need representation, Big Guy, I’ll file a writ of habeas corpus faster than you can say Star Trek or alien autopsy.”

“Is he coming, too?” asked Medic Ceausescu, raising her air gun hypo impatiently.

“Whoa, back off with that thing, Sugar Tits,” protested Goodman. “I almost never swap bodily fluids on the first date.”

“This shyster would never be allowed past Mars,” I answered dismissively. “We’ll just dump him in the Roswell desert, naked and probed, standard Air Force Blue Book cover-up procedure.”

“Probed? Let’s not be hasty. Just spit-balling here, but I can be useful as Skyler’s family attorney to make her transition to your Brave New World more palatable. It’s my legal opinion we all need to be on the same page. The Devil is in the details. Dumping me is a slippery slope. Come on, throw me a bone!”

“The less people we take, the less chance of paradoxes,” I explained. “The slime ball attorney stays. It’s the law.”

* * * * *

The shuttle beamed across the galaxy and time itself to New Colorado. In moments, the Whites – now Whytes – stepped off the ramp to New Gobi City. Legionnaires welcomed our return.

“This place looks just like New Mexico, except it’s different,” marveled Skyler, looking about. “What a dump.”

The Land of Enchantment it’s not,” greeted DEA Agent Hanks at the bottom of the ramp. “I hate to sound insensitive, but I can’t believe they let you scumbags past Mars.”

Chapter 15

The battalion deployed east to Scorpion City, our mission to keep the peace between spiders and scorpions along the border. The Arthropodan Empire, still chaffing about their defeat at Diablo, bombed the brewery with bunker-busting bombs as we left, destroying the blue powder lab. I texted a strong letter of protest. At Scorpion City, I drove my armored car to the drive-up window at McDonald’s. “I’ll have three thousand Big Macs and fries to go,” I ordered, swiping my card on the menu. “How’s the radiation levels these days?”

“High enough to kill most humans,” smirked the scorpion clerk. “You best go home. Don’t you know you’re not welcome here?”

“Someone needs to protect you sissy scorpions from the big bad spiders.”

“We had spider on the menu at Diablo. Is that where you traveled from?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are Colonel Czerinski, the famed Butcher of New Colorado?”

“I get a lot of bad press.”

“We love your body of work, human. But, you still need to leave.”

“Legionnaires go where they are ordered.”

When my Big Mac order arrived, I did a DNA scan on the meat, finding substantial traces of scorpion DNA in the secret sauce. I sent Sergeant Williams inside to investigate. He lined all scorpion employees in a row, taking DNA swabs for analysis. He found one match. It was the smirker who took my order.

Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell as legionnaires pummeled the mouthy scorpion clerk, placed him in restraints, and attached him to the front bumper of my armored car. No one spits or does other unmentionable things on my burger and gets away with it. Outside of town, I had the scorpion shot.

* * * * *

I met Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard for a briefing on the tense situation at the border. The spiders were massing armor and artillery. Drone flights were violating American airspace, upsetting the locals.

“Want a burger?” I offered conversationally. “If there is going to be war, it is important that we not fire the first shot. Understand?”

“One more provocation, and an entire army of National Guard is going to swarm north. Great burger, by the way. What’s that spicy taste, barbecue?”

“If I told you the secret sauce wouldn’t be a secret. The Legion is relieving your troops at the border crossing checkpoint to prevent incidents. You will pull back your armor and stop shooting at their drones.”

“Your policy of appeasement will not work,” warned Major Desert-Sting. “It’s nothing but folly.”

“You’re not seeing the big picture,” I explained patiently. “The Arthropodan Empire is an American ally. Scorpion City is an autonomous dominion of America. You best remember that.”

“Learn the hard way,” Major Desert-Sting warned with a sigh. “Spiders cannot be trusted.”

* * * * *

A favorite spider tactic to harass legionnaires along the DMZ was to send trained monitor dragons though the minefields and wire to attack sentries. Coal black, the lethal dragons were nearly invisible at night.

Private Pink sat at his post asleep. Private Badger wasn’t much more alert, leaning on a sandbag at the bunker window, rolling a marijuana cigarette. The stealthy dragon crept up to the window and leaped, jaws clamping hard on Badger’s arm. Badger punched the dragon on the snout as it thrashed back and forth, to no avail. “Help, get off me, bitch!” he shouted, as his arm was torn off at the shoulder.

The dragon fell back out the window as Badger collapsed to the floor, bleeding out. Pink woke, firing his rifle on full automatic into the darkness, but the dragon was gone. Instinctively, he applied direct pressure with his bare hands to stop the bleeding, saving Badger’s life. Toxic saliva already caused Badger to go into shock as legionnaires arrived, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

“What happened?” asked Sergeant Williams, applying bandages and tying a tourniquet. “Did you fall asleep, again?”

“It came out of nowhere, a giant dragon!”

“It came from the window,” corrected Sergeant Williams. “Was Badger asleep, too?”

“Oh, hell no,” answered Pink defensively. “Is Badger going to die?”

“Badger will be okay when the pain stops,” assured Sergeant Williams as Badger was carted away on a stretcher by medics. “Don’t worry. The Legion will fit him for a brand new metal arm and hand. He’ll be back with us in no time.”

“A dragon almost killed him. How does that happen in a sane world?”

“Let this be a lesson. Everything in the desert pokes, stings, or bites, conspiring to kill legionnaires.”

“Getting eaten by a dragon so wrong in so many ways!”

“The spiders sent that monitor dragon. Mark my words, Pink. The Legion will get payback for Badger. You will get payback.”

* * * * *

Private Pink fell dead tired inside his tent. Badger’s blood still stained his uniform. Slowly, a razor sharp scythe slit open the tent wall, allowing the Grim Reaper to silently enter. He lorded over Pink in all his menacing skeletal glory, tapping Pink with the tip of his blade. “Wake up, fool!”

“Get off me!” cried Pink, scrambling to the far corner. “I thought you were dead. I saw you die. I killed you myself!”

“Not so much, but you gave me a splitting headache. When will you legionnaires realize you can’t cheat Death? Every life comes with a death sentence. Everyone dances with me eventually.”

“Yo, what are you? Gay? I don’t dance with dudes.”

“I am not gay.”

“Gay.”

“Not!”

“Are!”

“Your duffel is full of blue powder,” continued the Grim Reaper testily. “Open it.”

“You came for a taste?” asked Pink smugly. “It will cost you big stacks.”

“I’m not using,” professed the Grim Reaper. “I’ve been in rehab. You know, ten steps and all that. God quit cold turkey. I do not want your blue powder for myself. I have a use for those poisoned packets you made.”

Pink stepped back, surprised.

“Ah, you didn’t think I knew about the poison? Stupid humans think you’re so clever.”

“It will still cost you. I’m not a charity, yo.”

The Grim Reaper produced a pouch holding an armadillo. Its hollow eyes sent a chill through Pink. He turned away. It was an Armadillo from Hell.

“Do you want revenge on the spiders for what they did to your friend Badger? Of course you do. I can help.”

“Why? What’s in it for you?”

“It’s what I do,” he explained, laughing. “Remember what I told you back on Old Earth: No half measures.”

* * * * *

Pink crouched at the edge of a minefield, duct-taping packets of poisoned blue powder to the Armadillo from Hell. Not going to say it. Oh, what the hell.
Ha! Another use for duct tape.

Pink watched the armadillo trot north through the concertina wire to the Arthropodan side. A shot rang out. Three sage camouflaged spider marines and a leashed dragon emerged from the brush. They greedily tore at the packets. Pink called through a communications pad taped to the shell. “Yo, spider bitches! Merry Christmas from humanity! Don’t snort it all at once!”

The last spider waved thanks before retreating with his buddies behind a ridge line. The blue powder was of the highest quality, clear crystal blue. It was ‘the bomb.’

* * * * *

The spider marines made a lot of money selling their windfall, but were all dead within a week. Even the monitor dragon died of a lethal dose. Hundreds of other spider marines died, too, including the unit’s Military Intelligence officer.

News of the blue powder terrorist attack was broadcast on the Galactic Database, garnering personal attention from both the President and the Arthropodan Emperor. DEA Agent Hanks was appointed to lead a joint human / spider drug task force to investigate the matter.

A Microsoft communications pad found on one of the dead spider marines enabled Agent Hanks to trace a call to legionnaire Jesse Pink. A recording of that call was recovered from NSA computer data storage. General Daly, Agent Hanks, the spider commander, an Arthropodan Intelligentsia officer, and I listened intently to Pink’s recorded message, ‘Yo, spider bitches! Merry Christmas from humanity! Don’t snort it all at once!’

“That babble proves nothing,” I argued reasonably. “Any recording can be faked. It’s circumstantial at best.”

“Not likely,” bristled the spider commander. “I demand your legionnaire be arrested and extradited for torture, trial, and execution.”

“That’s not happening. The Legion will conduct its own investigation into your drug deal gone bad.”

“I doubt Private Pink acted alone,” theorized Agent Hanks. “I know Pink. He’s not the brightest bulb in the garden. He might have been motivated by revenge for an attack on his friend Private Badger, by one of your giant pet lizards.”

“Arrest Pink, or I will,” threatened the spider commander. “The Emperor has expressed a personal interest in this case. This matter will be resolved.”

“Rest assured, Private Pink will be thoroughly interrogated,” promised General Daly. “I have already assigned Major Lopez to investigate. No stone will go unturned.”

“Stones?” asked the spider commander, adjusting his translation device. “What is this talk of rocks?”

“Minerals are my hobby,” offered Agent Hanks for no reason. “Minerals are like rocks and stones, except different.”

“I smell a cover-up!” accused the spider commander. “Neither Lopez nor Czerinski are to be trusted.”

“Are you questioning my credibility?” I asked, my feelings genuinely hurt. “My attorneys will contact your attorneys for slander.”

“Your corruption and malfeasance is public knowledge!”

“That does it! I’m calling Depoli now.”

“See where it gets you.”

“Maybe you and your staff should to be investigated,” I suggested. “I heard your Military Intelligence officer overdosed, along with the other junkies.”

“We’re getting off topic,” interrupted General Daly. “If Private Pink poisoned your drug-addled troops, I vow to get to the bottom of it.”

“You better!”

* * * * *

Agent Hanks went to interview and arrest Private Pink where his company was camped along the DMZ. He walked along rows of tents until finally stopped by Corporal Tu-Sting and several other surly scorpions. They surrounded Agent Hanks, preventing advance or retreat. He drew his pistol.

“A Mexican standoff?” asked Tu-Sting conversationally. “Personally, I think you’re outgunned.”

“Step aside,” ordered Agent Hanks. “I’m on official DEA business.”

“A Legion camp is a rough neighborhood,” cautioned Tu-Sting. “You don’t just stroll through here and expect to live. You should have brought an officer escort.”

“How’s your tail?” sneered Agent Hanks. “Remember what happened the last time you didn’t let fear and common sense hold you back?”

“I will get payback, human. Don’t think I won’t collect.”

“Let’s take this down a notch,” suggested Agent Hanks reasonably. “Which tent belongs to Private Pink?”

“No matter. Pink is exercising his right to remain silent. It’s the law, written somewhere in the Constitution.”

“If you don’t mind, I prefer to hear that directly from Private Pink.”

“But I do mind, Mr. DEA,” replied Tu-Sting. “Go back to your air-conditioned office in New Gobi City while you still can.”

“Pink!” shouted Agent Hanks. “I know you’re here! What are you afraid of? Come out!”

“It’s okay,” answered Private Pink, opening the flap of his tent. “Don’t kill him yet. I’ll talk to the scumbag narc.”

“Let’s discuss your situation inside the tent,” suggested Agent Hanks. “For privacy.”

“Oh, hell no,” refused Pink. “You’re not searching my domicile without a search warrant. Say what you have to say outside, then leave.”

“Look, Pink. I sympathize with your wanting revenge on the spiders for what they did to your bud, Badger, but mass murder is a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“You done?”

“If you think you’re going to continue manufacturing blue powder, I will personally put you in the ground.”

“I joined the Legion for a new start, just like everyone else. I’ve grown as a human being. This is harassment. You can’t touch me, and you know it. Bounce, bitch!”

“Did you know Colonel Czerinski brought Private Whyte’s family back from Old Earth?” asked Agent Hanks, playing his ace in the hole. “Set them up in a brand new crib in New Gobi City.”

“What?”

“Czerinski disrespected you big-time. You’re the real Hero of the Legion, not Whyte.”

“Good for Whyte. Don’t even try to play me against Whyte.”

“Do yourself a solid. Help me bust Czerinski for trafficking blue powder, and I’ll bring your loved ones back from Old Earth, too.”

“I’m no snitch.”

“Work with me. I can help you.”

“Everyone I love is dead. You had better leave, or you’ll be dead, too, bitch!”

“Wait!” ordered Tu-Sting. “You’re not leaving, Mr. DEA. Did you really think you could waltz in and out of a Legion camp with no consequences? You may have balls for trying it, but I’m going to cut them off.”

Agent Hanks clicked the microphone on his communications pad. A red laser dot appeared on Tu-Sting’s chest. “I think he’s got the whole picture now, Gomie,” spoke Agent Hanks. “DEA Agent Gomez up on the next hill has you sighted in. Go ahead, make my day. Feeling lucky, dirtbag?”

Tu-Sting’s stinger dripped with venom as it puffed up, straining against the duct tape. “Another time, human. This isn’t over.”

* * * * *

I arranged for Legion psychiatrist Captain Priscilla Percy to investigate Private Pink’s mental stability. She helped me years ago, and I turned out just fine. Pink lawyered up, but he had no choice about talking to the shrink. I wanted options explored because there was no way I was going to hand over a legionnaire to the spiders. It would set a bad precedent. Today Pink, tomorrow it could be me.

“Please be at ease, private,” began Captain Percy. “Everything we discuss today will be held strictly confidential. I am here to help you deal with the emotional roller coaster that comes with being a combat-tested Hero of the Legion. Trust me, Jesse. I am on your side.”

“Are you punking me? Yo, I’m fine. I’m not telling you anything.”

“No, you are not fine. You’re a mess!”

“You’re tripping.”

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder builds among legionnaires experiencing a wide range of emotions during short burst of time. Let me help you achieve a satisfactory happy ending to this stressful chapter in your life. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“I’m fine, but can I ask you some questions hypothetically?”

“No judgments. Everyone needs someone to talk to. The truth will set you free.”

“The truth will get me locked up.”

“Spill it, you little puss-filled zit!”

“Is killing an alien the same as killing humans?” asked Pink, getting to his emotional side. “Those bugs are sentient, right?”

“So, you did poison those spider marines?” pressed Captain Percy. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Spiders are like lice on the head of the galaxy.”

“So, it’s okay?”

“Sure. Kill as many as you want, as long as you don’t start a war. It’s the tourist season, you know.”

“Spiders talk just like us. They’re smart. Some even serve in the Legion. They love and have families.”

“You didn’t have sex with spiders, did you?”

“No way, but Badger had sex with a scorpion. I was scared, not nearly drunk enough.”

“That’s disgusting. He was no doubt contaminated by that pervert Czerinski’s influence. Wasn’t Badger the same legionnaire you saved from the dragon attack?”

“Yes. Badger is my best friend. I knew him from Albuquerque on Old Earth.”

“It’s Karma. Badger had sex with an alien, and bad things followed.”

“I might do a scorpion, if I was high enough, yo.”

“No! Only a degenerate would go over to that dark side. Do you want to go to Hell?”

“Whatever. I’ve already been told I’m going.”

“Your destiny is not set. You have free will.”

“I killed the hand of God, dissolved it in chemicals, and poured the syrup down a sewer drain,” explained Pink matter-of-factly. “I pretty much know I’m going to Hell for that one.”

“I see. Yes, you’re probably right. You are toast, you sacrilegious blasphemer.”

“Damn straight I’m right. When God finds out He’s going to be pissed. I’m good with it. People should pay for their sins.”

“Maybe God won’t find out.”

“The Grim Reaper will snitch me off when he gets out of rehab. I know it. That punk wouldn’t last a day in prison, yo.”

“Do you take prescription medication?”

“I self-medicate,” answered Pink uncomfortably. “Are you wearing a wire?”

“Blue powder?”

“No, I never touch the hard stuff. I just do gateway drugs.”

“Are you sure?”

“Take off your clothes, yo, to prove you aren’t wearing a wire.”

“This interview is over, you perv. I’m recommending you be discharged from the Legion for being a low-life mutant scum not fit to breathe the same air as civilized citizens of the galaxy. I hope you rot in Hell, you degenerate spawn of Satan.”

“Yo, that’s harsh. Are you wearing a wire?”

Chapter 16

“Now that the human pestilence have left, you are relieved of command,” informed the Intelligentsia officer, handing the spider commander written orders. “You are reassigned to moon shuttle transport. You have one week to take care of your affairs.”

“What?” asked the spider commander. “Why? I’m not finished here. Someone has to keep Czerinski from running amuck.”

“Need I state the obvious? You led marines to a humiliating defeat by scorpions behind enemy lines. But somehow you survived? Then your XO and over three hundred marines overdose from blue powder. You destroyed evidence by bombing the human pestilence lab without permission. The Emperor himself ordered you replaced. It’s about time.”

“We should have put a hot-shot in blue powder long ago,” fumed the spider commander. “Culling drug addicts only makes the Empire stronger.”

“You’re lucky you are not under arrest now.”

“I will not tolerate this attack on my career. Transport to the moon? What is that?”

“It’s only temporary, until you go to trial. Executing drug dealers is one thing. Allowing your marines to be poisoned is incompetence of the highest level.”

In a fit of anger, the spider commander reached for his pistol. The Intelligentsia officers quickly drew their weapons, too, expecting as much.
Pride. It’s the downfall of many.

“Do not make this any more unpleasant than it has to be. Go to your quarters, pack your gear, and get out. I’m running the DMZ now. If you ever even think about drawing a weapon on me again, I’ll gun you down, regardless of your shirttail relation to the Emperor. Understand?”