Peacekeepers (14 page)

* * * * *

A bulldozer was brought from the Scorpion City National Guard to flatten Secret-Sting’s mom’s house. She watched from the back on a Legion Armored car as the dozer did its work.

“I do not know anything about terrorists,” insisted Secret-Sting’s mom.

“How do you explain the tunnel under your kitchen sink?” asked Lieutenant Perkins. “It leads directly to Legion Headquarters where Secret-Sting planned a terrorist attack!”

“Oh, that is nonsense,” replied Secret-Sting’s mom. “The boys have always dug under the house. It is what boys do. They mean no harm; they just like to dig. What is the big deal? They’re good boys.”

“Are you saying you have no knowledge of your sons’ terrorist activities?” asked lieutenant Perkins. “No!” insisted Secret-Sting’s mom. “They are not terrorists! Where am I going to live now?” “In jail,” advised Sergeant Wayne. “That is where you belong for giving birth to vermin.” More irate than ever, Secret-Sting’s mom broke loose and stabbed at Sergeant Wayne with her tail, just missing him with a sting. Sergeant Wayne drew his large jagged combat knife and cut off her stinger with one clean slice.

“Ouch!” she screamed. “Help! Rape! They are brutalizing me! Help me, please!”

Scorpion onlookers had gathered to watch the spectacle of the house demolition. Now several scorpions were yelling at the legionnaires. Even the Scorpion National Guard troopers seemed upset.

“They cut off her tail!” yelled a scorpion onlooker. “That is unbelievable! Did you see that?”

“Let her go!” shouted another scorpion.

The crowd pressed forward. The first rock thrown crashed into the armored car windshield. Another rock hit Lieutenant Perkins on the side of his helmet. He went down. A bullet pinged off the armored car. A bottle firebomb exploded against the side of the armored car. Flames mostly spread on the sidewalk. Legionnaires fired shots into the air. The crowd backed off a little. Then a sniper’s bullet hit Corporal Camacho in the chest. Legionnaires fired into the crowd and threw grenades. Sergeant Wayne fired from the machine gun turret. What would be known later as the Scorpion City Riot had just begun.

* * * * *

“What in the hell are you doing?” asked General Daly. “Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard says your legionnaires started a riot that won’t stop, and that you invited Arthropodan marines to come across the border and shoot up the town. Is that true?”

“Those spiders are peacekeepers,” I said. “The peacekeeper thing was your idea.”

“It wasn’t my idea to put blue helmets on spiders!” shouted General Daly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“This isn’t working,” I said. “Our peacekeeping mission is flawed. To have peace you need a winner and a loser. There will be no peace if both sides want to get at each other, and have not yet realized that fighting and war is bad for the tourist industry.”

“To hell with the tourists,” said General Daly. “Get those spiders back across the border!”

“The Legion should pull out of the entire Scorpion Valley, and not come back until they build a Marriott Hotel, and the radiation levels go down enough for the buffalo to roam. Do you realize I lost all my hair?”

“It’s not my fault you forgot to take your anti radiation pills!” said General Daly. “What do buffalo have to do with anything?”

“The Scorpion Colony was built on what used to be Jellystone National Park. Remember? It got bombed out of existence in the last war. Speaking of bombing, if this rioting does not stop, I will use the
P. Paulson
Battle Support Cruiser to restore order.”

* * * * *

My armored car patrolled slowly down the main boulevard of Scorpion City, followed by an Arthropodan marine armored car, both painted turquoise blue. Our spotlights sought out targets in the dark alleyways. The dawn to dusk curfew was being enforced with a shoot-on-sight policy.

“Movement to the right!” advised Sergeant Green. It was a scorpion pushing a shopping cart of tennis shoes and Christmas tree lights. The machine gunner in the Arthropodan armored car behind us got him with just one burst.

We continued our slow patrol. At Pizza Hut we stopped at the front door. The windows were boarded up and the lights out. I honked my horn insistently. Finally the front door opened. “What do you want?” asked the scorpion owner.

“Twenty extra large pepperoni and sausage pizzas to go,” I said. “Put it on my tab.”

“We are closed for the riot!” said the owner. “Go away! I have no electricity.”

“We will hook up the generator from the armored car,” I suggested. Sergeant Green was already unraveling the cable. Soon the lights were on and the ovens heating. My personal phone rang.

“Can we come over?” asked the voice on the line. “Who is this?” I asked. “I live next door. Can we come over for Pizza? It has been days since we have been able to leave our house.” “How did you get my number?” I asked. “No one is supposed to have this number.” “It was written above the urinal at Walmart. It said call the Legion for a good time, but I knew it was just a prank. Everyone knows it was just Desert-Sting being mean.”

“I’ll get him for that,” I promised. “Fine! Call in your order to go first, and don’t loiter. There is a riot going on, and this is serious business!”

As soon as I disconnected, my phone rang again. It was another Pizza Hut customer. He was coming over, too. I handed my phone to Sergeant Green. He got a call from the manager of the Taco Bell across the street. The manager wanted electricity, too. I ordered the spider marines to set up their generator at Taco Bell.

“But I do not like Mexican food,” complained the spider marine sergeant commanding the armored car. “It is too spicy for my taste.”

“Get over there!” I ordered, again. “Do what you are told!” “No wonder the scorpions rioted,” grumbled the spider sergeant. “That human pestilence major is a tyrant.” “All officers are the same,” agreed a corporal. “It does not matter which species.” My phone rang again. “Another hungry scorpion?” I asked. “No,” answered Sergeant Green. “It’s some pervert looking for a good time. I’m getting a trace so we can call in an air strike from the
P. Paulson
.”

Customers started lining up at the takeout windows at both restaurants. I was forced to suspend the shoot-on-sight policy for curfew violators. That upset Sergeant Wayne, but he gets upset at every little thing, anyway. I think that spider suffers from road rage, too. The riot tapered off to just a few crowds gathering to stay warm and watch buildings burn. The next day the riot ended. I sent a chain gang of arrestees to Walmart to clean up riot debris and scrub off restroom graffiti. The
P. Paulson
bombed a house next to Walmart that I traced from a phone call.

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Chapter 16

Mountain Storm did not show up for civil court. His spider attorney sat patiently at the plaintiff’s table, prepared to proceed without him. I stood by the judge’s bench. “How was your vacation, Your Honor?” I asked. “Did you catch any fish?”

“Lots,” said the scorpion judge. “Come over tonight. I will fix you some.” “No thank you,” I replied. “I try to stay away from you scorpions at feeding time. I don’t want to end up being hors d’oeuvres.” “I will send a package of mountain trout to your office,” promised the judge. “What is this lawsuit all about?” “Mountain Storm is suing because I bombed his bunker complex up on that hill where all the new condos went up,” I explained. “He has no room to complain. He is a terrorist. Everyone knows that. It is my job to bomb him.”

“That sounds reasonable,” agreed the scorpion judge. “I have no jurisdiction over injuries that occur inside the Empire. I will dismiss this garbage.”

“I was hoping Mountain Storm would show up,” I said. “I intend to shoot him on sight.”

“Now hold on,” said the scorpion judge. “I just had new carpet installed. I will find you in contempt of court if you ruin my brand new carpet.”

“I will be careful,” I promised. “I’m a good shot.”

It was past time to start. Mountain Storm texted his attorney he would not show. The attorney then addressed the Court. “Your honor, plaintiff Mountain Storm regrets he could not be here today because whenever he leaves his home, the Legion attempts his assassination by bombing. I petition the Court for a temporary injunction prohibiting such grievous harassment. I also ask for a continuance. Plaintiff promises to be prompt next time.”

“Case is dismissed,” announced the scorpion judge. “Get the hell out of here and stop wasting my time with such frivolity.”

“Your Honor, this is a grave injustice!” The spider attorney pointed his claw at me. “That human pestilence is trying to kill my client!”

The spider attorney became even more agitated when I gave him the one-fingered salute. Frustrated, the spider attorney pounded on his table, accidentally knocking over his triple shot of Starbucks coffee. The scorpion judge looked on in horror as drip by slow drip, the coffee found its way to the new carpet. The spider attorney tried to sop it up, but only succeeded in spreading the coffee about more, and dribbling more onto the carpet.

“Stop what you are doing!” shouted the scorpion judge, pounding his gavel. “Bailiff! Assist that idiot before he ruins my entire carpet!”

“It is just a cheap shag,” commented the spider attorney, as he continued to dab at the coffee with a napkin. “My door mat is of better quality than this trailer park deck carpet.”

“You are in contempt of court!” announced the scorpion judge. “Deputies, seize him. Put this scoundrel in irons! Take him to the county jail immediately, before he causes more damage to the courthouse!”

Scorpion sheriff’s deputies pounced on the hapless spider attorney. He tried to flee by throwing a law book as he dodged between deputies. One of the deputies stung the attorney on the shoulder, causing instant paralysis. “I will file a complaint with the Bar Association for ethics violations and judicial misconduct,” threatened the spider attorney, before he passed out.

“We don’t have to cancel the banquet after all,” commented the scorpion judge. “Not now that we have a new guest of honor. Hot damn!”

“That is not a good idea,” I said. “He’s a lawyer. He will be missed.”

“I do not tell you how to run the Legion,” replied the scorpion judge, testily. “You will not tell me how to conduct my court!”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I answered, contritely. “I don’t know what came over me. It was temporary insanity, I think. Sorry about that, Your Honor.”

“That is quite alright,” replied the scorpion judge. “I am still sending you that package of trout. In fact, I think I will send an extra package. Suddenly I am not all that hungry for fish. That is all I ate on vacation, and frankly, I could use a rest from it. I should take you to my secret fishing hole sometime. You would love it.”

“I would like that, Your Honor,” I said. “Anytime you want, we will take one of my Legion shuttles. It’s a whole lot faster than driving.”

“That is an outstanding idea!” exclaimed the scorpion judge. “Let’s go next weekend! Are you free next weekend?”

“Actually, Your Honor, I think I have a surprise inspection of the dungeon next weekend,” I backtracked. “We’ve been getting a lot of prisoner complaints lately.”

“Nonsense,” said the scorpion judge. “Sergeant Green can take care of that!”

“Yes, Your Honor. Next weekend is fine. As long as no one starts a war or anything, I am free next weekend.”

* * * * *

I assisted the scorpion judge load his fishing supplies onto a Legion shuttle. He brought no fishing poles, lines, nets, hooks, or bait. Instead, we loaded a large generator and cables. The judge intended to electrocute the fish! He brought his entire family, including his wife, three sons, two daughters, and a niece.

“My niece is quite a looker, don’t you think?” asked the scorpion judge.

“The mere sight of that lovely creature terrifies me to no end,” I replied. “Keep her away from me.”

“Ha! You humans have such an odd sense of humor!” said the scorpion judge, slapping me on the back with his claw. “Pleasant-Sting seems sweet on you. She says she has seen your database videos. What does she mean by that?”

“Nothing important,” I answered. “I am always in the news for Legion-related activities. I get a lot of bad press, but it’s all politics. You know how it is. FNN isn’t really fair and balanced. That creep Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight hates me. He is always painting me in a bad light. I should sue him for slander.”

“If that Coen character ever comes before my court, I’ll fix his wagon for you,” promised the scorpion judge. “See if I don’t! The difficult job you legionnaires do out here on the Frontier is too often taken for granted.”

“Thanks, Your Honor. I appreciate the sentiment. You are right. The press has no understanding of what we do out here on the Frontier.”