Embassy War (15 page)

* * * * *

After an explanation from Commander Bykar, Android Beta consented to the download of
America’s Galactic Foreign Legion
into himself.

“Do not worry, Commander,” advised Beta. “No harm will come to me or the crew. With the exception of world-famous science fiction author Walter Knight, who is definitely unstable, most of the AGFL characters are benign.
America’s Galactic Foreign Legion
gets a lot of bad press, mostly from humorless democrats and liberals. In fact, I think the Legion may well become a navy asset.”

“Are you sure?” asked Commander Bykar. “They act like a bunch of marauding pirates, not to be trusted.” “It is done. We have no choice.” “I can still vaporize you with a laser,” advised Commander Bykar. “Or throw you out an airlock. That would kill your AGFL virus.” “Yes, but your action would kill me too. That option is not high on my list.” “Let’s take a tour of the ship,” I interrupted from inside Android Beta. “I want to meet your crew. Is that fool with the sunglasses gay?”

“It shows?” asked Beta. “No one is supposed to know. He wants a pay raise, too.” “Love your bartender,” I commented as we rounded a corner. “She’s not your type,” scoffed Beta. “I think she is an alien.” “She’s hot,” I added. “Looks just like Whoopi with a fancy hat.” “It would be wise to avoid Whoopi, Colonel Czerinski, if you want to keep your secrets.” “Can I ask you a personal question? When was the last time you got laid?” “Too long. Androids almost never get laid. I blame discrimination by the writers.” “No wonder you’re wound so tight. We will change that. Drink more. I’ll be your wingman. Let’s chat with the bartender.” “Where’s the restroom?” asked Major Lopez. “I gotta go.” “I need a cigarette,” groused Guido. “Androids do not smoke or pee,” advised Beta. “What do you mean, there’s no smoking?” Private Knight’s phone rang. “Walt, this is your editor, Patricia Morrison. I don’t like this ending. We will surely be sued. Remember how upset the Walmart people got? Change it.”

“No way,” protested Private Knight. “Attorney Depoli’s legal opinion is that we can parody.”

“Depoli is an idiot. And you can’t call the captain ‘Old Cue-Ball-Head.’ He is a very nice man and has such handsome blue eyes. Change it!”

“So much for artistic license. Anything else?” “I don’t like your slur, ‘Euro-trash.’ It upsets our UK readers. Some of my best friends are from over there.” “Sorry. I won’t call the Euro-trash ‘Euro-trash’ anymore.” “Good. Then we understand each other?” “Yes. Some of your best friends are Euro-trash.”
 

%#@#$%^&^%$#%&!!!

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Chapter 20

Major Lopez and Corporal Tonelli set their ropes and equipment at the edge of the volcano crater. Both faded into the jungle, waiting in ambush.

Knife drawn, the spider Intelligentsia officer crept silently to the ledge, peering at the bubbling lava below, then looking around, clearly confused.

Corporal Tonelli shot the intelligentsia officer five times in the back. He kicked the slumped spider into the crater. The corpse disappeared in a puff of smoke at the bottom.

Guido stopped, startled. “What just happened? I remember being in a bar in a holographic virtual-reality program on a starship. Was that a sick hallucination?”

“Both of us hallucinating the same nightmare?” questioned Major Lopez. “Not likely. Either we failed to escape the holo-chamber, or we’re both still stuck rattling around inside that stupid android’s head.”

“Or maybe the spiders are beaming electromagnetic energy at us again,” suggested Guido, nodding toward the Arthropodan construction at the far side of the crater. “We just need to shake it off. It wouldn’t be the first time those spiders tried to mess with our minds.”

“Czerinski mentioned something about meeting the spider commander about their time machine,” commented Major Lopez. “But I thought the gold was more important. Obviously, I was wrong. We need to check that machine before that double-dealing
bendaho
cuts us out.”

“I knew it!” agreed Guido, following Lopez through the jungle. “I should have whacked Czerinski when we first met. If I have to hunt that Polack across the galaxy and time itself, I will not allow him to rob me again. Czerinski’s final chapter will not end well.”

Major Lopez’s communications pad chimed with a flash emergency priority message. ‘Do not kill Czerinski. Join us at the time machine atop the volcano. I see time travel in your future.’

###

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~BONUS SHORT STORIES~

Heaven’s Gate

by Walter Knight

I drifted swiftly toward the bright light as the intense atomic flash killed me. Finding myself at Heaven’s Pearly Gates was totally unexpected. Clouds parted, and the opulent voice of God blared from above. “Joey R. Czerinski? What in Heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“There must be a bureaucratic foul-up,” I speculated. “I’m as shocked as you, Lord.”

God frowned as he double-checked his list, suspecting another clerical error. Good help was hard to find ever since the Grim Reaper went missing. “What is your middle name?”

“You’re God. I thought you knew everything.” “I created everything. I do not know everything!” “Where are my friends?” I asked, looking about. “Shouldn’t I be greeted by my loved ones?” “You have no loved ones,” replied God. “Most of your legionnaires will be joining you shortly. However, I am still sorting out how you got this far. You might have a guardian angel.”

“Oh? That’s news to me. I’ll tell you what. If I can’t crash this country club, just send me to Arizona. That’s as close to Heaven as I need.”

“Ha! Only a select few Catholics are allowed to sneak across the fence into Arizona.”

“Is Walter Knight in Heaven?” I asked, angrily. “This is all his fault.”

“Walter Knight?” scoffed God, incredulously. “The world-famous science fiction writer? Oh, hell, no. I sent that fool somewhere hot, hot, hot, along with your buddy, Sergeant Tyrone Green.”

“Good riddance to Knight. He was about to write another book. His characters are so unlikable.”

The Gates of Heaven swung open. Out walked Lieutenant Valerie Smith, USMC, wearing crisp combat fatigues and boots. “Welcome aboard, Joey,” greeted Valerie. “Surprised to get to Heaven? There are a lot more old soldiers like you here than most expect. Even Private Hector Camacho made it in.”

“Are you the real Valerie?” I asked, uncertain about our past relationship. “You look good. Do you work out?”

“Shut up.”

“Are there casinos in Heaven?” I continued, giving Valerie a polite hug and kiss as my doubts increased about this nightmare being real.

“No.” “Can I build a casino?” “No. Don’t push your luck.” “How about sex?” “It would not be Heaven without sex,” answered Valerie seductively. “What is your middle name? Inquiring minds still want to know.”

“I can’t believe Sergeant Green isn’t getting in. Green was the best of us.” “I know. There’s a rumor from Finisterra that God is still upset at Tyrone for calling him a cracker.” “No one should hold a grudge that long. That’s messed up.” “I filed a grievance on Tyrone’s behalf,” explained Valerie. “His case is going to binding arbitration. Attorney Depoli arrived just in time to help. We’re so short on lawyers up here. Also, the NAACP is filing a Friend of God brief.”

“They got in?” I clinched my fists as a dark thought crossed my mind “The spiders nuked us. Are there any of those damn spiders in Heaven? There had better not be.” I reflexively reached for my sidearm.
Damn!
It was missing, but I was comforted that my boot knife remained hidden.

“No honey, you need to set aside your petty Earthly prejudices,” cautioned Valerie, glancing up. God was still frowning, intently checking his list. “Of course there are spiders in Heaven. Even a few scorpions got in somehow. A word of warning: questionable cases like yours have to pass a test.”

“I figured out the problem!” interrupted God. “There are two Joey R. Czerinskis. Who knew? It is Joey Junior that should be joining us today. Not you. Go back!”

“No!” I pleaded, dropping to my knees. “I’ll stay. I’ll take Joey Junior’s place. Please! He is too young to die!”

“You passed. Enter.”

* * * * *

“What a dump,” I commented as Valerie led me to Heaven. “Where’s the latrine? Don’t make me do the pee-pee dance.” “Do not be irreverent,” replied Valerie. “It is a miracle you even got in.” “I’m starving. Is there a McDonald’s?” “No, sweetie.” “That will change, once the rest of the battalion gets here. I’ll see to that. I bet there’s no Taco Bell either.” “Sorry, no.” “Is Guido going to be joining us?” “Yes, soon.” “What about his dragon, Spot?” “No, dear. Bloodthirsty killer monitor dragons are against the rules.” “How about dogs?” “All dogs go to Heaven.” “So this is how it ends? No McDonald’s, no Taco Bell, no KFC, no Walmart, no Teamsters. Tell me those fools aren’t running the place.”

“God runs Heaven. There is no Teamsters closed shop.” “Was that ever put to a vote?” “This is not America. It’s Heaven, inspired by the glory of God. Go with the flow, Joey, or you will get kicked out for heresy.” “Fine, for now.” I looked around the place, then grumbled, “God, why did you create man in Your image, then leave us alone in a universe surrounded by bugs?”

“Adversity builds character,” a voice boomed suddenly, seeming to come from everywhere. “Deal with it.”

###

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Arming Santa

by Walter Knight

General Daly personally inspected the latest air-to-air heat seeking red-tipped ‘Rudolph’ missiles installed on Santa’s sleigh, along with Willy Wonka Vulcan Gatling guns.

We’re going to kick some serious scorpion booty,” said the lead elf with a smirk. “Resistance to Christmas will be futile.”

“Santa is a stubborn old fool,” remarked General Daly, shaking his head. “The Legion would gladly provide escort to the Scorpion Kingdom and back, but will Santa listen? No! As usual, Fat-Boy insists on going solo. At least this extra firepower will help even the odds. He might even survive.”

“Santa believes in a traditional Christmas,” explained the elf. “Magic Dust has always powered the sleigh safely on its appointed rounds.”

“This year the mission is too dangerous,” warned General Daly. “The future of Christmas cannot be left to Magic Dust. Hell, for Christ’s sake, the stuff is invisible. How reliable can it be?”

“Ho, ho, ho!” boomed Santa as he entered the launch bay of the
T. Roosevelt
Space Weapons Transport Platform, slapping General Daly affectionately on the back. “I appreciate your concern, general, but Rudolph is an experienced, tested, and capable navigator. He has not failed me yet, knock on wood.”

“Rudolph is getting old,” argued General Daly. “And he snorts way too much of that Magic Dust. What the hell is in that stuff, anyway?”

“I’ll take Magic Dust over your technology any day,” scoffed Santa, patting Rudolph affectionately on the snout, examining the reindeer’s glazed eyes. “Stoned again, and it’s not even Christmas. Bad reindeer, no biscuit.”

“Satellite surveillance indicates the scorpions have beefed up their planetary defense systems with stealth fighter interceptors. This will be no milk and cookies run.”

Santa ignored Daly’s paranoid rantings as he assisted the elves hitching the reindeer. Rudolph confidently took the lead, anxiously kicking up his hooves. Daly and the elves donned sunglasses for protection against the red glare.

“If it gets hairy up there, don’t hesitate to use your missiles,” insisted General Daly. “That’s what they’re there for. Fire your Rudolphs right down their damn chimneys!”

“Only presents, peace, and goodwill to all go down the chimneys,” admonished Santa cheerfully. “Ho, ho, ho! How would it look if instead of delivering new Kindles, Nooks, Androids, and iPhones, we blasted little scorpion hatchlings? Bad. Real bad. That’s how.”

“What a load of happy horseshit,” grumbled General Daly. “Peace on you, and your Kindles and Nooks.”

“Peace on me?”

“If you take a hit, press the red button,” whispered General Daly, seriously. “We cannot risk your capture, or the loss of the secret sleigh technology.”

“Red button?”

“It will nuke the scorpion bastards while they sleep. Ha! Should have done that a long time ago instead of all this namby-pamby meals-on-wheels delivering-presents bullshit. The galaxy would be a safer place this holiday season!”