Peacekeepers (11 page)

“The day after?” I asked. “I might me hung over,” explained Secret-Sting. “I hate loud noises when I’m hung over.” “Hunting season for buffalo lasts for two weeks after,” I commented. “Can the truce extend until then?” “Okay fine.”
 

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Chapter 12

Retired Arthropodan marine sergeant Dragon King filed for the Office of Regional Governor of the Eastern District. Polls indicated that Dragon King and Mountain Storm were even among registered voters. Dragon King’s organization focused on registering as many first-time voters as possible. Naturally, he concentrated his efforts on the military and ex-military communities. Alarmed by the polls, Mountain Storm agreed to a TV debate to bolster his sagging campaign.

A neutral moderator began the questioning. “Candidates, what is your position on how to resolve increasing tension on the border at Scorpion City?” he asked.

“We need to establish direct lines of communication between regional commanders to coordinate anti-terrorist efforts on both sides of the border,” answered Dragon King. “That way the terrorists and bandits will have nowhere to hide.”

“My opponent is an idiot,” advised Mountain Storm. “What kind of made up name is Dragon King? Lizard Turd would be a more appropriate name. Do you want to fight? I will fight you any place any time!”

Dragon King stood up at his table and threw a pitcher of ice water at Mountain Storm. “I cannot believe anyone would vote for a terrorist thug like you!” replied Dragon King. “You belong in prison or at the end of a rope!”

“You want a piece of me?” shouted Mountain Storm, still dripping with water. “I’m right here!”

Dragon King made a subtle claw motion signal toward the audience. A military monitor dragon broke its leash and leapt at Mountain Storm, tearing off an arm. Security officers pulled the dragon off as it lunged for the throat. Dragon King made another claw signal, and the dragon quickly retreated under Dragon King’s table where it curled up at his feet, munching on the yummy arm.

“This debate is over,” announced Dragon King. “I declare myself the winner! My vanquished opponent can wheel himself back home to his hill in a shopping cart for all I care. That fool is finished!”

The audience roared their applause. Preprinted ‘Dragon King’ signs waved back and forth for the TV cameras. Spider political reporter and commentator-analyst Cable Eye pushed forward and asked, “Can Dragon King declare himself the winner by default merely because his pet dragon ate part of Mountain Storm for lunch? After all, arms do grow back.”

“It is more complicated than that,” advised the moderator. “But I am sure most agree Mountain Storm needs to rebound quickly from his humiliation to stop Dragon King’s momentum, or he is finished. Voters will not tolerate perceived weakness in their regional governor during these trying times.”

“Our instant electronic polling data indicates Dragon King’s approval rating has jumped to over seventy-five percent,” added Cable Eye. “That suggests an insurmountable lead. What do you think about Mountain Storm’s risky tactic to resort to name-calling. I thought the tactic of calling Dragon King ‘Lizard Turd’ was is bad taste.”

“Bad taste or not, Mountain Storm certainly wrote a check his ass could not cash,” replied the moderator. Let’s watch with our viewers a slow-motion replay of Mountain Storm’s arm coming off with just one snap of the monitor’s powerful jaws. My, oh my, look at that!”

“That was truly terrifying,” commented Cable Eye. “Can we see that again? Please turn up the sound for our viewers at home. As a last resort, might Mountain Storm hope to garner some sort of sympathy vote? That was almost as painful to watch as I’m sure it was being on the receiving end of those teeth.”

“There is no evidence of a sympathy backlash yet,” commented the moderator, checking the poles on his computer. “Dragon King’s approval numbers just rose to an all time high of eighty-seven percent. Endorsements are rolling in, too. Dragon King already had most of the military vote. Now several animal rights organizations are endorsing his candidacy, including the Humane Society and the Audubon Society. It seems he is popular on both sides of the border.”

“Email comments are streaming in,” advised Cable Eye. “Desert Snail from Jellystone writes that the monitor dragon should be taken to the vet to make sure it did not contract a social disease from Mountain Storm.”

“Oh, that was bad,” said the moderator. “Betty in Scorpion Valley writes that obviously Mountain Storm hates all animals. That dragon would not have attacked if Mountain Storm had not provoked him with his hostility.”

“Are there any favorable emails?” asked Cable Eye. “We want to be fair and balanced.”

“Buffalo Poacher writes from the New Gobi City Prison, ‘I can’t wait for Mountain Storm to join us. That punk is going to be my bitch!’”

“Is that a favorable comment?” asked Cable Eye.

“I am not sure,” replied the moderator. “What does Buffalo Poacher mean by
bitch
? Is that Old Earth prison lingo? I think I will need to get an upgrade for my translator box if we are going to take any more emails from the Big House.”

* * * * *

Arthropodan Imperial News Service:

Results from the hotly contested election in the Eastern Region near Jellystone are finally in. It appears ex-terrorist and bandit leader Mountain Storm has pulled off a surprising upset of populist frontrunner and ex-marine sergeant Dragon King. Mountain Sting led a victory parade to the Governor’s Mansion, waving to supporters with his good arms and stump.

Of about a half million votes cast, Mountain storm received 682,432 to Dragon King’s mere 325,401. Embarrassed by the loss, and suffering from a case of sour grapes, Dragon King is already crying foul and alleging ballot-counting irregularities. However, it appears the margin of error is not close enough to justify the expense of a recount.

All election results are required to be certified by the Emperor. It is rumored that His Majesty does not think Mountain Storm is fit for office. Whether the Emperor’s low opinion of Mountain Storm will affect the certification process remains to be seen. Democracy advocates feel Imperial meddling in election vote outcomes would set a bad precedent.

* * * * *

A week later, the Emperor declared the election invalid due to obvious ballot fraud. He appointed Dragon King Provisional Regional Governor until a new election could be organized. A source at the Palace suggested the Emperor might ask for neutral peacekeepers already serving along the border to supervise the next election. This was thought to be the only fair solution to an already tainted election process.

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Chapter 13

General Daly talked to me on the monitor. “The Emperor has been in close communications with the President again,” said the general. “You know what that means?”

“We’re screwed?” I asked.

“It means we have a mission,” explained General Daly. “That’s what we live for!”

“That means
I’m
screwed,” I repeated. “Right?”

“Are you being a smart-ass?” asked General Daly. “I can’t stand smart-asses.” “Me either,” I replied. “They should all be rounded up and sent here.” “Don’t mock me, Czerinski,” warned General Daly. “Where is your blue helmet? Didn’t I talk to you about that earlier?” “It got squashed by a Toyota. I have been wearing a blue baseball cap instead.” “It’s not the same,” insisted General Daly. “I want my peacekeepers to look professional.” “Sir, in the New Gobi Desert, it’s a hundred degrees in the winter. Wearing a helmet will fry my brain.” “Oh, well, we don’t want that, do we?” asked General Daly. “Your brain is already halfway fried. Let me see your blue cap.” “I reached in my desk drawer and tried to flash my cap too fast for Daly to get a good look. “See?” “That is a Yankees baseball cap! It clashes with your Legion uniform and looks tacky!” “Fine. Did you say you called about a mission?” “I will get to that in a minute,” said General Daly. “Don’t try to sidetrack me! Colonel Lopez thinks you should paint your armored cars blue, too. I agree. It would look sharp and identify you more readily as peacekeepers.”

“Remind me to kick Lopez’s butt,” I said. “Blue armored cars will scare the hell out of the insurgents. I can see them trembling now.”

“I warned you about being a smart-ass,” said General Daly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, about your mission. It seems the spiders have mucked up their local election for regional governor, and it’s causing some difficulties. The Emperor suggested that impartial peacekeepers guard and escort the ballot boxes, and assist in counting during the next election to be held shortly. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Why me?” I asked. “You think I am impartial?”

“You and your legionnaires have more experience with those spiders than anyone else,” explained General Daly. “Your special relationship and appreciation of Arthropodan culture will help make for a smooth transition into democracy.”

“Sir, I hate spiders,” I argued. “They are the enemy. When they first came to New Colorado, they attempted genocide against humanity. Nothing has changed. They are still the same species. I don’t give a damn about their elections. I say let them fight it out among themselves. That way there may be a lot fewer of them for us to have to kill later.”

“That’s nonsense!” said General Daly. “The spiders are allies now. Besides, they
have
changed. No species that eats at McDonald’s and Pizza Hut can be the enemy of democracy and the American Way. Did you know the Yankees are about to put a spider in their starting rotation? I am more concerned about your scorpions rebelling and stabbing us in the back. Lopez is still pissed off about the Scorpion City National Guard shooting him down!”

“I don’t like scorpions either,” I said. “But you still play poker and drink with both spiders and scorpions on Saturday nights. I know all about your addictions.” “I am going to kill Mountain Storm if it’s the last thing I do,” I promised. “I have no problem with that. Just don’t kill him until after he loses the election. Or make it look like Dragon King did it. We need to make this democracy thing work. Democracy will solidify the Arthropodan Empire’s status as a dependable ally of the USGF and as a responsible member of the galaxy of nations.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Two more things,” added General Daly. “Commensurate with your additional duties, the President ordered me to promote you to major. So, I guess I have to follow orders.”

“Thank you for your confidence,” I replied. “I feel better now.”

“Also, to back you up, we are sending you a brand new space battle support cruiser to replace that rusty bucket of bolts, the
T. Roosevelt
. The
T. Roosevelt
is so old, it is amazing it hasn’t fallen from orbit by now.”

“The
T. Roosevelt
Space Weapons Platform has been a good friend in the sky for a long time,” I said. “I will miss the
T. Roosevelt
.”

“Anyway, the USGF Battle Support Cruiser
P. Paulson
will make its maiden voyage to New Colorado, shortly,” commented General Daly. “The
P. Paulson’s
firepower is awesome. It will be a nice addition to our capabilities on New Colorado.”

* * * * *

The Battle Support Cruiser
P. Paulson
beamed into orbit over the New Gobi Desert. Against million-to-one odds, it smashed into an antennae tower atop the
T. Roosevelt
as it appeared in orbit. The near disaster was unsettling for both crews.

“Who the hell is piloting that thing?” radioed the commander of the
T. Roosevelt
. “Are you drunk? I should come onboard and punch you out!”

“Punch me?” asked Captain G. Hawn, commander of the
P. Paulson
. “Go ahead and try! I don’t see what you are complaining about. Your ship is so old, it was about to fall apart anyway. I would be doing the fleet a service by crunching it up into a little ball and recycling it for beer cans. You are relieved. Go home! You are no longer needed.”

“We’ll be back!”

“Up yours!”