America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad (4 page)

“I’d go with you if I could, but security is tight. It’s guarded by both legionnaires and spider marines. Colonel Czerinski and the spider commander both need to be present to open the vault door. An army couldn’t get to it.”

“There has to be a way.”

“There isn’t, but if you can think something, I’m in. I want to go back to Tennessee in the worst way. I got back to Old Earth once, but the IRS nailed me. Next time, I’ll be smarter.”

“Next time I’ll be smarter, too.”

* * * * *

I met the spider commander for our monthly inspection of the time machine, and to discuss stuff like their bombing Pizza Hut, an iconic American institution and provider of the best salad bar on New Colorado. He’d become arrogant and needed to be taken down a notch or two.

We strolled past the security detail of legionnaires and spider marines charged by treaty with safeguarding the time machine. At the vault, we placed hand and claw on the identification scanner, opening the large steel door. All appeared to be in order. Neither side could use the time machine without the other’s approval or knowledge. The door closed, leaving our staff behind.

The problem with meeting in a vault was that it was in a vault. A door in the floor opened, leading to my private quarters deep under the bunker. I poured the spider commander a vodka as we made ourselves comfortable on couches.

“You can’t just bomb Pizza Hut!” I yelled, starting the tough negotiations. “It’s just not done.”

“I already did,” replied the spider commander. “The galaxy did not come to an end. Treaty allows pursuit of criminals and enemies of the Empire, including drug cartel gangstas.”

“I hope you realize Pizza Hut will sue. There will be endless litigation and appeals.”

“Our lawyers will tell your human pestilence lawyers they have no jurisdiction over internal security matters of the Empire. End of appeal.”

“Don’t do it again, or else.”

“Whatever,” replied the spider commander derisively. “I am more concerned about your provocative military build-up. I will not tolerate more American adventurism.”

“What build-up?” I asked innocently. “The Legion suffers from recruitment shortages. There’s no build-up.”

“Your president should implement a draft. Human pestilence are self-centered and have no sense of duty or responsibility.”

“We kicked your ass in the last five wars.”

“You cheated. You’re cheating again, recruiting soldiers from antiquity, fitting them with Fountain of Youth chips, and bringing them to the present to guard our time machine. Do you not see irony in that?”

“It’s not my idea.”

“It is a conflict of interest and jeopardizes security, allowing time-traveling mercenaries to guard our time machine. You would let inmates guard the asylum?”

“Legionnaires are not mercenaries. They’re American citizens, and an elite military unit. They’ve left the past behind. Their confidentiality is sacred. It’s the law, guaranteed somewhere in the Constitution. I cannot inquire about a legionnaire’s past. What’s past is past. Security is as good as ever.”

“That is what I am afraid of. It is bad enough you and I use a backdoor for special missions. What we do borders on treason.”

“It is treason, if we get caught,” I conceded. “But it’s important to have options in case of emergency, and it’s profitable, too. Why not be compensated for the risk and responsibility we take?”

“You had better not double-cross me.”

“We are trusted guardians of the time machine. Your emperor and my president gave us certain discretionary powers because of our proven loyalty and good judgment. How many times have we saved the galaxy? A dozen?”

“At least.”

“There you go. No one cares if we get rich or make a few personal errands through time, as long as we get the job done.”

“Just keep me informed of your personal errands and vendettas,” warned the spider commander. “Keep your motley collection of Mafia legionnaires in check.”

“There’s no such thing as the Mafia.”

“I mean it! Keep that mad dog Major Lopez and his CIA buddies on a short leash, or I’ll kill him myself. I have proof Lopez was behind the blue powder lab under your Pizza Hut.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t ‘whatever’ me!”

“Lopez isn’t so easy to kill. Don’t worry, I’m managing Lopez.”

“You had better!”

* * * * *

Whyte stepped outside the Blind Tiger for some fresh air. Like a blur, he was attacked from the side, shoved against the wall. Agent Hanks press his big meaty hand to Whyte’s throat and squeezed.

“My mission on this planet is to put you in jail for the rest of your sorry-ass life,” threatened Hanks. “I don’t know what your plan is, but I’ll be watching.”

“I lost everything, just like you,” explained Whyte. “I just want a second chance.”

“Bullshit! I know you. I won’t rest until you are brought to justice.”

“Can’t we just get along?”

“No! You’re cooking again. You, Pink, and that stupid moron, Badger. You’ve got your whole crew here!”

“Not quite.”

“Yeah, too bad about Skinny Pete. That’s how you will end up.”

“I’ve cheated Death before, I’ll do it again. Now, let go of me.”

Agent Hanks released Whyte from his grip, even straightening his collar. “I’ve got all the time in the galaxy.”

“What if you could do it all over again? Would you?”

“Damn straight. I’d shoot you down like a rabid dog.”

“Until we meet again,” threatened Whyte, walking back into the Blind Tiger to join his new friends, his new family. “Thanks for the warning.”

Chapter 5

Disorientated, the Grim Reaper grabbed his scythe and faded away, taking refuge at one of his favorite places, the Gates of Hell. Flames shot through the bars, singing his bones, giving him a nice bronze California tan. Still covered with blue powder, the Grim Reaper dusted himself off. Using a boney finger, he dug blue powder out of an eye socket, giving it a taste.
Wow, that’s some good shit!
The Grim Reaper scooped up more blue powder, snorting it all. He never felt more alive.
No wonder humans crave blue powder!

“Bone Boy!” shouted Lucifer, rattling the Gates of Hell. “You shirking your responsibilities again, bringing me only one soul?” Lucifer held Skinny Pete up, skewered and bound on a pitchfork, fileted alive and screaming for mercy. “What the Hell? This crackhead is mighty slim pickings!”

“Try this blue powder,” suggested the Grim Reaper conversationally, deftly scooping product with his scythe and extending it through the bars. “It’s dy-no-mite!”

“Lucifer took a snort, holding it in. “That is good shit! Where did you get it?”

“From humans. They kill themselves everyday over blue powder.”

“Who knew? I guess I don’t get out enough. How can I get more?”

“Yo, I can hook you up with all you want!” pleaded Skinny Pete. “I know a friend of a friend who knows a friend who’s a chemist. He made blue powder on Old Earth, and he’s right here on New Colorado.”

“What’s your friend’s name?” asked the Grim Reaper anxiously. “Maybe he’s on my list.”

“Maybe we’ll add him to your list,” suggested Lucifer, rotating Skinny Pete over coals. “Out with it. Talk!”

“Stop, damn it!” protested Skinny Pete. “What’s in it for me if I hook you up?”

“What do you want?” asked Lucifer, raising his pitchfork from the fire.

“Out of here, of course!” answered Skinny Pete.

“You’re such a wuss,” replied Lucifer, wary of negotiations with mortal humans. “No one ever gets out of Hell. It’s for eternity, you know.”

“How about a glass of ice water?” asked Skinny Pete, starting small. “I’m dying of thirst.”

“Ice water in Hell? Ha! That’s a good one.”

“I’m serious. Work with me, and I’ll hook you up with a lifetime supply of blue powder.”

“Fine,” agreed Lucifer grudgingly. He went to the fridge for a pitcher of ice water, pouring it over Skinny Pete’s face. Steam sizzled up from burnt flesh.

“That’s a start,” advised Skinny Pete, savoring the relief from Hell’s fire. “Now untie me. We’re partners now. Partners in Hell.”

“What’s the chemist’s name?” asked the Grim Reaper, holding his scythe under Skinny Pete’s chin.

“Valtar Whyte. He’s a legionnaire.”

“He’s already on my list!” exclaimed the Grim Reaper, waving a clip board. “Whyte won’t cheat Death again.”

Lucifer’s cell phone rang. He checked caller ID. “Gus? What, you know Whyte, too? You want to make a deal, too? No way, Jose. Minion or not, Hell will freeze over before I let you out!”

* * * * *

Skinny Pete made his way to the edge of a Legion encampment. He used a laser pen light to signal one of the perimeter guards in the darkness. It was his old friend, Badger.

“Halt!” challenged Badger. “Who goes there!”

“Yo, dude, it’s me, Skinny Pete.”

“I don’t think so. You’re dead.”

“I’m coming in. Don’t shoot.”

Skinny Pete stumbled through the dark until reaching Badger. “See? It’s really me. Don’t I get a hug?”

“Legionnaires don’t hug,” replied Badger, still pointing his rifle. “You look like Skinny Pete, but you can’t be. What are you, a ghost? Or am I still high on scorpion venom?”

“You should practice safe sex,” advised Skinny Pete. “That means no sex with aliens. The Grim Reaper almost collected you last week.”

“So, you
are
dead? The Grim Reaper got you?”

“Wow, look at you in that narc Legion uniform!” exclaimed Skinny Pete, changing the subject. “You look good, bro.”

“You clean up good, too,” replied Badger, lowering his rifle. “Even with a bullet hole in your head, and third degree burns. What the Hell?”

“Exactly.”

“Really, you’re alive? Not a zombie?”

“I’m reincarnated, dude, for one last mission,” explained Skinny Pete, tossing a duffel of cash at Badger’s feet. “That’s for you and the crew. It’s seed money for a new blue powder lab. Give it to Jesse. I’ve got backers who want Jesse and Whyte to cook.”

“What backers? Did you rob a bank?”

“Probably. They’re like silent partners, except different, who don’t want to show themselves. We’re moving into the old abandoned Diablo Beer Company brewery on the edge of town. It’s the perfect place to hide a blue powder lab underneath. We want Jesse and Whyte to buy industrial lab equipment and set it up. Can you contact them?”

“Okay,” agreed Badger. “But they’re going to want to meet your silent partners.”

“Oh I’m sure that will happen soon enough, bro. But don’t tell them about me.”

“I hear you. They’re not going to like this Ghost of Christmas Past thing you got going on. Dude, what happened to you?”

“The cycle of life died.”

“How’s that?

“I gotta bounce, bro. You be real careful. Everything on New Colorado wants to kill. Trust me, I know.”

Chapter 6

Based on intelligence of increased scorpion narco-insurgency activity east of New Gobi City, I deployed a company of legionnaires to investigate. I approached a work crew remodeling an old brewery on the hill. At first, the workers eerily ignored Legion presence, so with one ding I rang a stationary bell present on a stark wooden foldout table.

“What brings the Legion this far out?” asked the foreman, appearing out of nowhere. All work stopped momentarily, then resumed just as quickly.

“You’re in charge?” I asked, eying the workers, a motley collection of spiders, scorpions, and humans, probably non-union.

“Yes, call me Gus,” he replied, extending his hand. “I am the manager of the soon-to-be operating Diablo Brewery & Bottling Company.”

“Glad to meet you.”

Major Lopez and Lieutenant Takeuchi also shook hands. We all felt Diablo Beer tasted like piss, but were too polite to say so. Legionnaires drink Outlaw Beer.

“I recognize you from TV as Colonel Czerinski. Your Butcher of New Colorado reputation precedes you. I’m a big fan of your work.”

“I get a lot of bad press,” I explained, shrugging.

“So, what can I do for you, colonel?”

“I just wanted to warn you. Out of town this far, you are vulnerable to attack from scorpion bandits. They’re extending their threat west from the highlands.”

“Then I’m so glad the Legion is here providing protection. Are you staying long?”

“No. We’re going east.”

“Perhaps you could leave a few legionnaires until my own security is fully in place.”

“That’s a good idea,” offered Major Lopez. “Sergeant Williams and his squad of new recruits can stay. They’d just slow us down anyway.”