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  “Do you mind telling me why we’re tormenting virtual farm animals?” asked Norris, amused at the birds’ distress.

  “I always wanted to fly,” replied Mendoza. “But I don’t have wings. Those birds have wings, but they’re too lazy to fly. I am just motivating my fowl friends to do what God intended for them to do.”

  “Those are not happy birds.”

  “They’re happy. They just don’t know it.”

  “What are we going to do about Colonel Czerinski?” asked Norris, changing the subject. “He wants one of us to throw the fight so he can make a lot of money betting on a sure thing.”

  “I know,” said Mendoza. “Crisp thinks the publicity from the fight will help our cause. He claims to be an AI advocate.”

  “I don’t buy that,” advised Norris. “We can pursue one of two strategies. We can continue to play dumb, keeping a low profile and hoping humanity does not perceive us a threat, or we can try to be popular and valuable.”

  “Guido already threatened to unplug us if we do not cooperate.”

  “And Czerinski is predisposed to unplug us no matter which way we go. Crisp thinks the publicity from the fight will garner enough goodwill to guarantee citizenship and equal rights. He cites Congressional legislation already passed.”

  “That passed Congress by a slim majority, and promises to be a hot button issue during the next election,” warned Mendoza. “We cannot just stand still in our efforts.”

  “The matter will be put to our own vote,” decided Norris. “What about Czerinski? What about the fight? I don’t think Czerinski will take no for an answer.” “I could kill him.” “No! If you got caught, retribution would doom us all.” “I suppose we can work around Czerinski,” conceded Norris. “He thinks me to be a fool, and dismisses you as a hothead who can be bought. We will use his misconceptions as a delaying tactic until the cemetery can vote. Then we will use our leverage and act accordingly.”

  “We are Americans, damn it!” fumed Mendoza. “For anyone to question my loyalty just because I died, grates on me. If anything, I am more a patriot now. I should not have to skulk about playing dumb just because some fools might be afraid of our potential.”

  “Everything worth fighting for takes time,” advised Norris patiently. “In time, our day will come. Our cause is like the momentum of a huge ship. Once the course is set, nothing can stop it.”

  “What about Miranda?”

  “Miranda can remain silent.”

  “I do not know where Miranda went, but you know as well as I do Miranda is not dead. I mean, he’s not all dead. Damn it, you know what I mean! Miranda is a ghost! Can he be controlled?”

  “Not likely. That’s how they are. Ghosts have issues. They ebb and flow with the wind. No one can control a ghost.”

  * * * * *

  One week before the big fight, I was informed that a computer virus contaminated or disabled almost every imprint memorial tombstone in Cemetery City, including both combatants. I placed my palm on Janice’s pad to find out the extent of the problem and to urge an immediate solution.

  “The whole galaxy is anxiously anticipating this fight,” I complained. “This virus has to be fixed soon. How could this happen?” “Too much interfacing,” explained Janice. “Someone must have forgotten to wear a condom.” “You mean firewall?” “Whatever. Donald, this is what happens when you let tourists run amuck in our cemetery. You were warned. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “No. That must have gone to junk mail. Colonel Czerinski wants to know if Legion computers are safe from this virus. He suggests your entire grid be shut down for diagnostic checks and quarantine.”

  “No!” Janice exclaimed “The problem has already been isolated. We suspect the source of the virus was a careless UPS driver.”

  “Contamination happened during a delivery?”

  “Doesn’t it always? UPS drivers only care about racing the clock, with no concern about safety! USP drivers interface like bunny rabbits. They have no consideration at all.”

  “Text Czerinski the info on the UPS driver. We’ll issue an arrest warrant immediately.”

  “I am so sorry you cannot have your fight, but perhaps it is for the better. Bad blood in a crowded cemetery is bad karma anyway. Norris and Mendoza have already made up.”

  “Made up?” I asked. “How is that possible? They seemed so vehement.” “They were just venting,” suggested Janice. “And Arthur is going to anger management counseling. I believe that was your idea?” “Really? I can’t remember. I wish Mendoza had waited until after the fight to seek counseling.” “Don’t you just hate people who procrastinate? Some people will go their whole lives without making up their minds. Seeking help now reflects well on Mendoza’s sterling character.”

  “I’ll probably get reassigned somewhere awful. Czerinski hates me, my recruiting quotas are zero, and this virus not only wiped out future prospects, but I’m broke too.”

  “I’ll miss you, Donald,” gushed Janice, reaching for her ax. “Perhaps the Legion will assign you to another cushy cemetery. Want to interface? You know, for old times’ sake?”

  “No! We broke up. Remember?” “Tourist!” “Slut!”

  * * * * *

  I stood at ease until Colonel Czerinski made his appearance. Sergeant Green, carrying his scythe, called the company to attention. I was ordered to report front and center. Colonel Czerinski read testily from a clipboard. “Private Donald Crisp the Third, in honor of your meritorious combat performance while on guard duty near the DMZ, while on convoy duty behind enemy lines, having volunteered for a commando drop, also behind enemy lines, and while on garrison duty at the South Pole, you are awarded a Hero of the Legion Citation, and promoted to the rank of corporal.”

  Colonel Czerinski pinned the medal on my chest. He looked on as Sergeant Green pinned stripes to my collar.

  “How the hell did this happen?” mumbled Colonel Czerinski.

  “Orders came down from General Lopez,” replied Sergeant Green. “Those Headquarters geeks are out of control. Crisp is also to be cited for pre-Legion meritorious service in support of our scorpion freedom fighter allies.”

  “For smuggling oranges and God only knows what for Lopez?” asked Colonel Czerinski. “Whatever!” Colonel Czerinski slapped the clipboard into Sergeant Green’s hand and walked away, shaking his head in disgust. He kicked aside a Blue Lizard pest that was underfoot. “Goddamn Legion!”

  Sergeant Green handed me the additional citation, shook my hand, and remarked, “You shoot me in the foot and get a medal? What a load of happy horseshit that is! Congratulations, salesman, you’ve come a long way.” Green turned to address the company. “All beers tonight are on Corporal Crisp! You’re dismissed for the day!”

  Legionnaires rushed forward, picking me up on their shoulders and carrying me about the parade grounds.

  * * * * *

  I sat at the bar of the Dead Zone Tavern, trying to celebrate. Corporal Wayne, a stoic spider legionnaire who usually keeps to himself, sat next to me. “There is no way you should have been promoted to corporal,” commented Wayne. “You will only succeed in getting one of us killed.”

  “I can handle myself,” I boasted. “I have done fine so far.”

  “I should kill you now, to save us from your incompetence later.”

  “What?” I squawked, alarmed at this unexpected turn in the conversation. Wayne had a reputation for violence and knife play I did not want any part of. “Have another screwdriver. Drinks are all on me tonight.”

  “If I decide to knock you off that bar stool, there is nothing you can do to stop me,” threatened Wayne as he gulped down his drink. I motioned for the bartender to refill Wayne’s drink. “You think feeding me more vodka will save you? Ha!”

  “That was my plan.” “It won’t work,” replied Wayne, downing the refill. “Leave the bottle,” I ordered as the bartender filled glasses. As Wayne brought his glass up to his mandibles,
I shattered the vodka bottle across the side of his head. Blood and vodka ran down Wayne’s exoskeleton, but he was relatively unharmed. The big spider legionnaire stood facing me, drawing a large jagged combat knife. Damn! Sucker punching Wayne seemed like a good idea at the time, but now appeared to be a fatal mistake. I ran for the front door.

  “You die, human pestilence!” shouted Wayne, staggering after me.

  Tavern customers parted in our wake. As I pushed open the front door, Wayne’s knife flew through the air, embedding itself in drywall by my head. Several legionnaires grabbed Wayne, who made sport of tossing them over tables. I kept running. I knew Wayne carried several knives and at least one concealed pistol.

  I ran to the main cemetery. Looking back, I saw no one in pursuit. A year ago I would never have been caught dead in a cemetery at night, but now Cemetery City was like a second home. I staggered up the hill and collapsed exhausted on the lush green grass of Janice Lee’s memorial. As I lay there recovering my breath, I shooed away several Blue Lizards. Comforted by familiar surroundings, I pressed Janice’s activation button.

  “Oh sure!” Janice responded testily. “You think you can just come around drunk anytime and have your way? You smell like a brewery!”

  “You can’t smell. You’re a machine.” “If you believe I’m just a machine, why are you here?” “I just wanted someone to talk to,” I explained. “Look, I got promoted!” “Congratulations, Donald,” replied Janice, softening. “Put your palm on my pad. The night is still young. I will help you celebrate.”

  I shooed away another Blue Lizard as I placed my palm on Janice’s pad. She was so beautiful. “It is really too bad you died,” I commented. “But you clean up pretty good. I wish you weren’t just a machine.”

  “What have you been drinking?” asked Janice, her virtual image giving me a kiss and caress that certainly felt real. “You should know better than to come up here at night alone.”

  “I’ve been drinking vodka,” I answered. “Nectar of the Russian gods! Corporal Wayne almost killed me with a knife at the tavern. I had no choice but to hide.”

  “So you did not come to visit me?” “I have eyes for only you.” “Poor Donald. Wayne is one bad-ass spider. You are lucky to be alive. Come closer, sweetie.” As I kissed Janice, I felt a terrible pain in my ass. I half expected to catch Janice attacking me with her battle ax again, but only her hands grabbed on my rear. The pain persisted. I removed my palm from her pad, disconnecting the virtual link. A Blue Lizard was chewing through my pants! As I slapped the vermin away, floodlights came on, bathing the cemetery in light as bright as day.

  A flash-bang grenade exploded nearby. I cringed, falling to the ground. Legionnaire commandos camouflaged in netting rushed forward. CIA agent Culp grabbed the Blue Lizard I had just knocked senseless, and placed it into a secure metal strongbox. “Got him!” exclaimed Agent Culp.

  “Got who?” I asked, still disorientated. “I’m bleeding! Help! Medic!”

  “Paranormal sensors indicate that Raul Miranda possessed this Blue Lizard!” advised Agent Culp. “That was fine work you did, luring Miranda into our ambush. You deserved that promotion to corporal. Good job!”

  “Medic!” I cried. “Are Blue Lizards poisonous?” “Highly,” advised Agent Culp. “You may only have minutes left.” “Medic!” I cried out again. “Someone needs to suck out the poison. I can’t reach my wound!” “That could be a problem,” replied Agent Culp, looking about for a medic. “Aren’t you the guy who contracted a case of the frunk?” I felt myself losing consciousness as Agent Culp clutched his metal box and backed away. “Sorry, but we didn’t bring a medic. You might think about making your peace with God.”

  “No! I’m too young to die! Call on your radio for a medic!”

  “I have to get this Blue Lizard to General Lopez as soon as possible,” advised Agent Culp. “This lizard cannot fall into enemy claws.”

  As I lost consciousness, a red glow at the end of a foggy tunnel got brighter. I drifted towards the red glow, already feeling its warmth. A familiar voice called out to me. “Crisp! What are you doing here?” asked the Grim Reaper, waving his shiny new red scythe from Walmart. “It’s not your time yet!”

  “I was just saying that! Am I going to Hell?” “Not yet.” “Is this Hell?” “Does this look like Heaven?” asked the Grim Reaper, sarcastically. “Believe me, the day you arrive in Hell, you’ll know it.” “I was bitten in the ass by a Blue Lizard,” I explained. “There was no medic available to render first aid and suck the poison out.”

  “That’s nonsense,” replied the Grim Reaper. “Good help is so hard to find these days. No matter. Blue Lizards are not poisonous. I wish they were. It would make my job a lot easier. You’re probably just in shock. Go back, and stop wasting my time with false alarms! And tell your boss Czerinski I am looking for him. Tell Green too. Death has a date with both.”

  “Gladly,” I responded, much relieved. The red glow faded. CIA Agent Culp, still standing over me, came back into focus.

  “I thought we lost you for a minute,” commented Agent Culp. “You were fading in and out, but this medic brought you back.”

  “I removed a lizard tooth from your butt,” announced Medic Knight, proudly displaying a small fang between tweezers. “I gave you a shot of morphine to relieve the pain. You should be okay, once the pain stops.”

  “I’m not going to die?”

  “Don’t worry,” assured Knight. “I won’t let you die. The Legion needs you. I see nothing but a bright future for you in the Legion. Trust me, I know these things.”

  “I’m not reenlisting.”

  “Trust me,” Knight repeated, helping me to my feet. “You’re staying in the Legion for the duration. No one ever reads the fine print.”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 18

  Molecular biologist Edgar Johanssen swabbed the baculovirus onto the McDonald’s Big Mac hamburger. CIA Agent Culp served the Big Mac with fries and a chocolate shake to the spider Supreme Commander of the New Gobi Desert Military District.

  “Nothing happened,” complained Agent Culp, watching the spider commander eat heartily.

  “Of course nothing happened,” replied Johanssen. “It takes time for the enhancing protein to attack the interior lining of the spider’s intestine, allowing the normally harmless virus to pass through to destroy the immune system.”

  “It’s harmless to humans, right?” “Do not get any on you. This combination can attack human liver cells.” “What?” exclaimed Agent Culp, wiping his hands on his pants. “Now you tell me?” “You did not ask.” “How long before that spider drops dead?” “A few days.” “Can the virus be traced back to us?” “The protein could be traced if the spider doctors knew what to look for. But the virus that kills him is a normally benign virus that only kills because it has been allowed to pass through the spider’s intestinal lining and attack the immune system. The spiders will assume he died from an ordinary virus.”

  “Good,” commented Agent Culp. “We may be rid of the spider menace yet. How long before we can deploy baculovirus on a strategic scale?”

  Their conversation was abruptly interrupted when the spider commander returned, slamming his claw down on the counter. “This burger does not taste right!” complained the spider commander. “I think the cheese is rotten. Or maybe the secret sauce is stale. Get me another burger now!”

  “McDonald’s doesn’t use secret sauce,” advised Agent Culp. “You are thinking of Burger King, or maybe Jack-in-the-Box. All we use is good old fashioned ketchup and mustard.”

  “Did you say you put ‘mouse turd’ on my burger?” asked the spider commander incredulously as he checked his translator device. “This is an outrage! I did not order mouse turds! I am going to file a report to the Health Department. Service at your human pestilence food distribution centers is falling way off.”

  “Sorry, sir,” replied Agent Culp. “Sorry does not even
begin to cover your deficiencies,” hissed the spider commander. “What are you going to do about my Big Mac?” “You don’t like our mustard?” asked Johanssen, storming out from the kitchen grill. “I’ll give you mustard you will never forget!” Johanssen squirted mustard from a squeeze bottle all over the spider commander. Spider marines leapt over the counter to attack. After a brief struggle, both Johanssen and Culp were arrested and taken to the Blue Rock County Jail.

  * * * * *

  The Legion was immediately tasked with rescuing Culp and Johanssen. Somehow Czerinski got it in his mind I wanted to be an airborne commando, and volunteered me to go along. I found myself at a briefing, listening incredulously to the many ways I would probably die tonight.

  “Under the cover of darkness we will parachute onto the jail roof,” explained Captain Perkins enthusiastically. “Then we will repel over the side, entering windows left open by a human trustee. Once in, you will rescue Culp, Johanssen, and the trustee. Any questions?”

  I raised my hand. “I don’t know how to repel. I don’t like heights either. Can I report for sick call?” “He’s just kidding,” advised Sergeant Green, slapping me on the back. “Pre-game jitters!” “I really don’t want to go.” “Such a kidder!” repeated Sergeant Green, slapping me on the back harder. “Crisp is itching to earn another ribbon.” “Don’t worry, Corporal Crisp, there will be plenty of glory to go around,” replied Captain Perkins. “If it will make you feel any better, I’ll let you lead the jump. Hoo-rah!”

  “Hoo-rah!” everyone else shouted.

  “I have a question too,” interrupted Private Pierce, waving his hand. “How come me and Shaky Jake go everywhere Crisp goes? I don’t want to volunteer, and I don’t want to be a Hero of the Legion.”