First Contact (9 page)

“
You get nothing. I haven’t eaten in days.”

“
What? I’m starving. When is lunch?”

“
Ha! We’re on the menu.”

As if on cue, two scorpion jailers came down the stairs, noisily clanking their keys. One jailer banged his nightstick on the bars.
“Heads white meat, tails dark,” he announced, flipping a quarter high into the air and catching it. “Heads!”

Gore threw a wooden food dish and liquid at the scorpions as they rushed the cell, stinging Gore into submission and dragging him away.

“Hey!” shouted Smooth, rattling the bars. “I want my phone call! When can I post bail?”

“
You will see the judge soon enough,” answered a jailer, smirking lewdly. “Then you will be toast!”

“
I love human toast,” remarked the other scorpion. “Tastes crunchy like Chick-fil-A.”

“
Personally, I prefer KFC’s original recipe,” advised his partner. “If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.”

“
I’ll sue! I’ll have your jobs! Hey! You hear me? I have constitutional rights!”

* * * * *

Scorpion City Superior Court was crowded with hooligan defendants from the New Gobi 1000 celebration. I was present with Legion attorney Eugene Depoli because during the post race melee, Private Walter Knight got arrested for possession of Yartsa without a permit, a capital offense in the Scorpion City Autonomous District, and all national parks.

“
Order in the Court!” announced the bailiff. “All stand! Here comes the Judge, the Honorable Hang ’em High Black-Sting presiding.”

Judge Hang
’em High Black-Sting suspiciously scanned the crowded courtroom for troublemakers and reporters. There was not much difference between the two, and someone was bound to be found in contempt of court and put on the menu before the day was out. Judge Black-Sting grinned form mandible to mandible when he spotted me, his old fishing buddy from back in the day.

“
Czerinski, old pal, old friend of mine! How is it hanging?” asked Black-Sting, amused at his own inside joke. “Congratulations on being the first human to win the New Gobi 1000. There goes the neighborhood!”

“
Speaking of hanging, Your Honor, I was hoping to prevent such an event,” I addressed the Court formally. “One of my legionnaires, Private Walter Knight, was arrested for possession of Yartsa without a permit. I understand possession of Yartsa with intent to traffic is a capital offense.”

“
Walter Knight, the world-famous science-fiction writer?” asked Judge Black-Sting.

“One and the same,” I replied, motioning to Private Knight seated in chains and iron ball at my side.

“I’d like to get an autographed collectors copy of Walter’s latest book.”

I nodded.
“Knight is sorry, and won’t do it again. He’s a good boy, basically, when not drunk, cheating at poker, or stealing worms. It’s not like Knight was smoking the bobo bush again, mon.”

“
Records show Knight has prior offenses, including poaching endangered blue lizards,” commented Judge Black-Sting, sternly reviewing the database and checking his translation device. “How does the miscreant Yartsa-dealer Knight plead?”

“
Guilty as sin,” announced attorney Depoli. “You can see the guilt in his narrow beady eyes. But there are mitigating factors. I blame Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and an addiction to database porn. Knight pleads diminished capacity, which can be readily corroborated by Amazon Kindle book reviews stating he writes no better than a moron with an IQ of 61.”

“
Yes, I’ve seen the reviews of Knight’s so-called science fiction,” agreed Judge Black-Sting, coming to a decision. “I cannot in good conscience condemn such a pathetic retarded want-to-be science-fiction writer to the gallows, in spite of the torturous sleepless nights he inflicted on so many readers across the galaxy. I fine Walter Knight fifty dollars. Do not ever do this sort of thing again. You hear me, boy?”

“
Yes, thank you, Your Honor,” answered Private Knight, contritely. “What do you mean, torturous sleepless nights?”

“
Shut up and get out of my court, you low-life poacher!” ordered Judge Black-Sting.

“
But I won those grubs fair and square in a poker game! Can’t I get them back?”

“
Next case!” shouted Judge Black-Sting as Sergeant Green roughly dragged world-famous science-fiction writer Walter Knight from the courtroom.

“
State versus Alonzo Gore et al,” announced the bailiff. “Gore and his conspirators appear to be a no show.”

“
They ate him!” interrupted Smooth Johnson, pulling on his chains. “The jailers ate Al Gore!”

“
Order in the court,” admonished Judge Black-Sting, pounding repeatedly with his gavel. “Nonsense! Jailers are not allowed to eat prisoners without a court order.”

“
I saw it!” argued Smooth desperately. “They flipped a coin and ate him. Gore was white meat!”

“
Is this Gore fool one of the human Democrats we saved for the barbecue?” asked Judge Black-Sting in a hushed tone. “Didn’t I order all those yummy Democrats cleared off the docket yesterday?”

“
Sorry, Your Honor,” answered the bailiff. “He must have slipped through. Probably did not have photo identification. Most Democrats do not.”

“
They ate the Democrat!” shouted Smooth. “He had matches keestered up his ass!”

“
Gag that noisy human,” ordered Black-Sting, reviewing the filing papers. “I might have known, another poacher. I find you in contempt of court for your scandalous disorderly conduct. I suppose you will be pleading diminished capacity, too?”

Smooth gagged on the smelly sock jailers duct taped into his mouth. Ha! Another use for duct tape. Smooth thrashed about in his seat, rattling his chains like a ghost. Attorney Depoli, feeling sorry for a fellow Homo
sapiens, rose to address the court.

“
Your Honor, young defendants like Mr. Smooth Johnson are most amendable to rehabilitation. Old Earth tradition allows for dese youts ruinin’ t’ings for demselves to be turned about by encouraging them to enlist in the military, rather than execution or wasteful languishing in prison. I propose deferred prosecution, subject to Mr. Johnson’s enlistment in the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, where he will receive the much needed positive mentoring his sorry excuse for a life has so sorely lacked. With the guidance of strong father figures like Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, Mr. Johnson will no longer be a mere pimple on the ass of society, but will be able to turn his life around and become a productive citizen.”

“
What a load of happy horse shit that is,” scoffed Judge Black-Sting. “I’m not letting Johnson go so easily. He’s on the menu!”

“
But the Legion could probably turn his miscreant behavior around,” I offered reluctantly. “I propose that whipping the defendant into shape be Sergeant Green’s next project. Johnson will either make the grade, or die fighting spiders. The New Gobi Desert is not forgiving of fools.”

“
I’ll do it!” shouted Smooth, ripping the sock from his mouth. “Do I get a signing bonus?”

Judge Black-Sting mulled over his decision.
“It is done!” he announced magnanimously. “Sentence is deferred. The defendant miscreant Smooth Johnson will enlist in the Legion for the duration, to fight those uncivilized prude spiders on the Frontier. This is your last chance, punk. Make something of yourself!”

“
One other thing,” I added. “Private Johnson owns a fancy racecar, the Toyota Pride, currently held in impound by the Scorpion City National Guard. May I indulge the Court to order the Toyota Pride forfeited to the Legion to help defer the cost of Johnson’s basic training and rehabilitation? The Legion is not some charity house for wayward youts,” I added, copying Depoli’s Rastafarian legalese.

“
So ordered,” agreed Judge Black-Sting, pounding his gavel. “Czerinski gets the Toyota!”

“
I object!” shouted Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard. “It’s not a Toyota, but an illegal Daewoo somehow smuggled past Mars, probably by drug runners. Czerinski is a thief and conspires with his Legion cartel to steal the Toyota Pride.”

“
The Legion ATM System holds a one-million-dollar lien on the Toyota Pride,” shouted Depoli over the din. “It is settled law that the Legion gets first claim of possession.”

“
Order in the court!” admonished Judge Black-sting, pounding his gavel as the scorpion audience hissed their support for the National Guard. “The Court will not be intimidated by mob rule. Colonel Czerinski is a Hero of the Legion with impeccable credentials, and a good fishing buddy of mine. I will not have his Butcher of New Colorado reputation besmirched. Federal jurisdiction preempts the National Guard. Czerinski gets the hot racer Toyota Pride.”

“
Thank you, Your Honor.”

“
Colonel Czerinski, when court is adjourned, you are cordially invited to my home for a barbeque. We are having a big blowout to celebrate the conclusion of the New Gobi 1000, and I am making you the guest of honor. Bring the Toyota Pride. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“
Yes, Your Honor.”

Chapter 11

Legion armor patrolling again in the center of Scorpion City created quite a stir, but what can you do when a powerful federally
-appointed scorpion judge offers an invitation to a barbeque? You attend, no matter how dubious the menu, and hope not to become an entree.

Besides, I still might need help wrestling the Toyota Pride from the Scorpion City National Guard. The Scorpion City Autonomous Region is technically still part of the United States Galactic Federation, but sometimes needs reminding of that fact. General Daly was all for showing the flag and flexing Legion muscle in Scorpion City, as long as it was me and not him taking the risk. No matter, I had served here before.

Judge Black-Sting enthusiastically waved several claws as I arrived. The judge wore a full bib apron as he hovered over the grill, splashing more barbeque sauce on sizzling meatballs. The meatballs smelled truly delicious. We formally shook hands and claws.

“
Welcome, Czerinski!” exclaimed Judge Black-Sting, fanning smoke away from his eyes. “I call this my Democrat Meatball Surprise. Added to the spaghetti, it puts your Italian Mafia chefs to shame!”

“
Not likely,” scoffed Corporal Tonelli, overhearing the braggadocio. “Where’s the garlic and cheese?”

“
I am lactose intolerant,” advised Black-Sting, darkly pointing a tong at Tonelli. “That one is not welcome in my home. All you Mafia have sticky claws.”

“
You Mafia?” bristled Corporal Tonelli.

“
Enough!” I ordered, shooing Guido away. “Go to the National Guard Armory and check on the Toyota Pride. Bring it here.”

“
Yes, sir,” replied Corporal Tonelli. “I’m not hungry anyway. What’s he mean, Democrat Meatball Surprise?”

“
I don’t want to know,” I answered, shrugging. “The sauce is probably just magic mushrooms.”

“
It is quite tasty,” interjected Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne, popping a couple meatballs in his mouth directly off the grill. “The white meat tastes like chicken.”

“
Get away, you scurrilous spider!” ordered Judge Black-Sting, taking a swipe at Wayne with a spatula. “Wait your turn like everyone else!”

Judge Black-Stink heaped a healthy portion of meatballs and sauce onto my platter of spaghetti. My mouth watered at the sight, but still, not willing to go over to the Dark Side this early in the party, I slipped the meal to Corporal Tonelli
’s monitor dragon, Spot. Spot greedily licked the platter clean. Wagging his tail, the dragon followed me about, begging for more.

Judge Black-S
ting’s daughter, Pleasant-Sting, spied me from across the punch bowl. I tried to get away, but resistance was futile.

“
Joey! Sweet Cheeks! My hot fur ball lover! You are not still angry about your toe, are you?” she asked, seductively twitching her mandibles as she handed me a drink from the punch bowl. “Biting your toe off during our passion was an accident. So was swallowing. Please forgive me. I thought humans liked females who swallowed, but my database research was flawed.”

“
Get lost,” I replied, cautiously sliding my hand down to my sidearm.

“
Oh, come now,” giggled Pleasant-Sting. “You humans hold a grudge much too long. Drink up. Enjoy the party. Maybe later we can have some real fun.”

“
I’d rather eat Democrat Meatball Surprise than have so-called real fun with you,” I answered bluntly, gulping my drink. My world instantly blurred as I faltered on my feet. “What’s in this drink?”