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  “The suspect was shot execution-style on the ground by Corporal Ceausescu,” accused Coen. “Is summary execution of criminal suspects now Legion policy, or has it always been that way? Obviously the sheriff’s office is in collusion with the Legion to violate defendants’ civil rights.”

  “It was self-defense,” I answered. “She shot the New Gobi Rapist. Elena is lucky to be alive. This is a win-win situation for everyone.”

  “But even the most depraved suspect is innocent until proven guilty,” argued Coen. “I am uncomfortable with the Legion being judge, jury, and executioner. Do we really want vigilantism? It’s a slippery slope, you know.”

  “Resources are limited out here on the frontier,” explained the deputy sheriff. “We can’t be wasting our time messing with open and shut cases. Colonial law allows for such exigent circumstances.”

  “But she shot him as he lay on his back!”

  “Don’t raise your voice at me,” bristled the deputy, drawing his nightstick. “Are we on TV?”

  “The whole galaxy is watching.”

  “When I’m off duty, I drink Outlaw Beer,” commented the deputy, posing for the camera. “Most cops do. Outlaw Beer is cop beer.”

  “I shop at Walmart, home of one-stop shopping,” I added, hoping for residual endorsement TV royalties. Ka-ching!

  “Did anyone actually see what really happened here?” asked Coen, pandering to the crowd.

  Sergeant Williams stepped forward, letting out a rebel yell. “I seen it. I was crossing the street to sober up at Starbucks when it happened. I shop at Walmart too. I’m an original Sam’s Club member.”

  As the crowd pressed in, hoping for soundbites, I shoved Coen from behind, pushing him into the deputy. They both fell to the ground as other deputies responded for backup, giving Coen a good old-fashioned LA beat-down. On the frontier, we do not tolerate assault on our local police, or resisting arrest.

  Chapter 3

  Reaction across the galaxy to the database video was mixed. On Old Earth, a Democrat congressman from the Bronx called for the House Committee on Foreign Legion Affairs to investigate Legion conduct in the colonies. By a two-thirds vote, the fool was summarily impeached and kicked out on the street. Forced to hitchhike back to the Bronx, he was mugged, stripped naked, and shot by ungrateful constituents.

  In New Gobi City, I put the battalion on alert, expecting possible trouble from malcontents and protesters, but nothing much happened. We remained at the ready, regardless. I positioned an armored car with a water cannon several blocks from the Blind Tiger Casino. Legionnaires crouched in bushes and behind walls, watching the parking lot. Finally, at four in the morning, a shadowy figure crept through the parking spaces to the casino entrance, lighting a solitary candle for the New Gobi Rapist. It was a death penalty protester! We promptly hosed the potential arsonist with the water cannon. How Democrats keep getting past Mars is beyond me. Legionnaires pummeled the suspect for assault and resisting arrest.

  “Throw him in the dungeon for fire code violations,” I ordered. “Let that be a lesson not to play with matches!”

  The Democrat kicked and screamed as Privates Atm and Krueger dragged him to Legion Headquarters. “What about the First Amendment? What about my constitutional rights?”

  “You can’t just light candles anywhere,” explained Private Atm patiently. “Don’t you know there is a burning ban on, because of the drought and tumble weeds?”

  “Yeah,” added Krueger. “There’s a Democrat ban on too. We know you Democrats travel in pairs. Where’s the other one?” he asked, looking for Birkenstock tracks in the sand.

  “Fascists! The depleted ozone will kill you all!”

  “Angling for an insanity defense, eh?” sneered Krueger. “We all know you’re faking it.”

  “Damn arsonist,” accused Private Atm, getting into the party atmosphere and candle light ambiance with an elbow jab. “How do these cretins get smuggled past Mars, especially during an election year?”

  * * * * *

  Ice broken by the fight, Private Atm was quickly accepted into the band of brothers and sisters that is the Legion. Krueger gladly gave him the newbie tour around the Blind Tiger Casino, obviously intent on basking in his newfound celebrity.

  “The place is hopping!” exclaimed Krueger. “Look at the babes! We’ve got a smorgasbord of species on the menu tonight.”

  “It’s healthy to have a diverse diet,” agreed Atm. “Too spicy all the time can cause ulcers.”

  “I like your style, but don’t worry about those spider and scorpion bitches. I’ve got your back. Tonight, I’m your wingman.”

  “With a wingman like you, the whole squadron may go down in flames.”

  “That big red spider babe just checked you out with all eight eyes,” whispered Krueger. “Don’t look! We got to play this coy.”

  “I have no intention of fraternizing with the enemy,” replied Atm uneasily. “I must treat my new body with great care. The expense of replacement parts is horrendous.”

  “Nonsense. You only die twice. We’re going for it. Look, she’s got a friend.”

  Atm glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, two spider females at the bar were batting their eye mandibles at them. Atm hesitated, not feeling up to such interspecies interaction this early, but did not want to disappoint. It was important to blend in with humanity, and dangerous not to. “More detailed reconnaissance is needed before we make any ill-fated moves,” suggested Atm.

  “The secret to seducing females of any species is smooth talking, and how you present yourself. Hold your shoulders erect. Act like you own the place, like you’re so cool, Bigfoot takes your picture.”

  “Wait, I’m not ready. What about Bigfoot?”

  “Don’t be such a wuss,” mocked Krueger, handing Atm a beer. “Gulp this, we’re going in!”

  Atm followed Krueger to meet Big Red at the bar. Krueger adroitly handed both spider beauties a beer. They readily accepted.

  “Come here often?” Krueger asked, smoothly. “I noticed from across the room you two needed company, my inhuman joy-toys of delight.”

  “You noticed that, did you?” asked Big Red. “How perceptive of you human pestilence to sense we’re both in season.”

  “In season?” asked Atm, panicking, wanting to get away. “Got to go!”

  Too late. Big Red grabbed Atm with all eight appendages. She balled-up around him, and they rolled like doodlebugs across the floor. Legionnaires and bikers cheered, pouring beer and vodka on the loving couple as they passed by, and shouting, “Get a room!”

  * * * * *

  Big Red’s friend tugged at Krueger’s uniform, but he pushed her away. “Sorry, I’m married. I was just helping out my friend.”

  “It’s not nice to play with a girl’s emotions like that,” complained the spider babe, pouting. “I should cut you where you’ll remember the loss most.”

  “I might make an exception for a spider of your stunning beauty,” advised Krueger, backtracking. “But I’m not drunk enough yet.”

  “Just do it!” called out Big Red. “Then help me with this fur ball. He’s resisting!”

  “It’s his birthday,” lied Krueger, backing away. “I think he’s even a virgin.”

  “Well why didn’t you say so!” she replied, scrambling to help her friend initiate mating rituals. “I just love you hot human pestilence fur balls. You’re so adorable!”

  Sergeant Green, watching from the sidelines, rescued Krueger, pulling him aside. “If that newbie dies, I’m holding you responsible,” he warned. “You’ll be on KP duty for a month!”

  “Don’t worry, Sarge. If he doesn’t measure up, I’ll create a diversion by exploding this,” advised Krueger, reaching in his pants and patting the grenade. “When the place clears, I’ll grab him.”

  “You better, or else!”

  Krueger ambled to the bar and sat next to medic Ceausescu. “We may need your services,” he advised conversationally, eying Atm and his spider gir
lfriends still on the floor in the corner. Patrons were filming, and the whole sordid affair was going viral.

  “Are you hitting on me?” asked Ceausescu, shoving Krueger. “Get away, you little pervert twerp. I’ve already killed one of you little toads today. Want to be next?”

  “Damn, Elena. I’m talking about Private Atm. He just got carried off by two spider babes.”

  “Another pervert,” scoffed Ceausescu. “I hope they eat him.”

  “Actually, Atm seems to be holding his own,” answered Krueger, trying to see over the crowd. “For a newbie, he learns quickly.”

  “Czerinski won’t like that. He doesn’t want more bad press before retirement. Someone should break it up.”

  “I’m not breaking it up.” Krueger nodded to Sergeant Green. “You better do something before Atm gets killed.”

  Sergeant Green drew is sidearm and fired a shot into the ceiling. Someone upstairs screamed. Green poured a pitcher of beer over Big Red and Atm. Big Red came up with a knife, but casino security threw a net over her and hung the spider babe from the rafters. Private Atm was netted and hung from a beam next to her. They swayed back and forth, just out of reach, providing more entertainment for the crowd, who now jeered at security. Someone threw a bottle.

  Seeing an opportunity, Krueger offered a hand up to Big Red’s friend. Immediately another net was thrown over both. Hoisted rudely to the ceiling, Kruger dropped his grenade. Patrons scattered as it exploded, the blast flipping over blackjack tables and damaging slot machines. Slot players continued to play their wrecked machines as EMTs gave first aid. Security began beating Krueger with clubs. Sergeant Green jumped one of the guards from behind, tossing him through a window. Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell as he threw himself into the fray. Legionnaires joined in, grabbing casino chips and punching guards and spiders.

  Legionnaires fired automatic weapons into the ceiling, causing collateral damage. More people upstairs screamed. Sheriff’s deputies backed away from the riot because of shots fired.

  * * * * *

  What quickly was dubbed The Blind Tiger Riot went viral on the Galactic Database. Legion enlistment quotas soared from high school kids hoping for wild alien sex. Democrats in Congress complained about Legion debauchery on the frontier. I got more bad press.

  Chapter 4

  General Daly phoned, waking me from a sound sleep. “Czerinski, are you watching the news?”

  “We’re not at war again, are we?” I asked, checking my short-timer’s calendar. I was to retire in thirty days, as long as we were at peace. Otherwise, I was in for the duration. “Sir?”

  “First, one of your legionnaires executes a criminal suspect in the parking lot of your casino. Then, another legionnaire sets off a grenade inside during a porn movie filming!”

  “A porn movie in my casino? That’s terrible. Did you save the tape?”

  “Dozens were injured. I want the matter investigated!”

  “I’ll put Major Lopez on it right away, sir. If anyone can sniff out porn, it’s Lopez.”

  “It was that miscreant Krueger again. I want him arrested this time! I saw it all on Galactic Database News. There will be no cover-up this time. I want him shot!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I mean it. The Legion is about to go off a public relations cliff with this one. We don’t need bad press one night before the elections!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t forget to vote.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Republican, this time. I’ll know if you don’t.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hung up, planning to put Krueger on permanent KP detail and be done with the miscreant. Or, shoot the fool. It made no difference, as long as there was no war, and I could retire rich to some beach somewhere. Using my communications pad, I voted Republican, then went back to sleep.

  * * * * *

  “The human pestilence have created a diabolical robot soldier,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “Soon the ranks of their Foreign Legion will swell with robot storm troopers, just like Star Wars.”

  “Star Wars?” asked the Arthropodan Commander of the New Gobi Desert Military District, checking the database on his pad. “Nonsense, it’s just a movie.”

  “Humanity has been at the forefront of artificial intelligence technology, while we twiddle our claws,” complained the Military Intelligence officer. “Now the chickens have come home to roost. They’re building robots.”

  “And they taste like chicken?” asked the spider commander, checking his pad again. “Are you sure? Those human pestilence storm troopers look like sissies. How do you know this?”

  “We have a spy. The first robot has already arrived at New Gobi City. The human pestilence CIA arrogantly hid him in the Legion, disguised as a common private doing routine tasks and guard duty.”

  “Is that so?” asked the spider commander, deleting a baked chicken recipe. “Those fiends.”

  “My orders are to capture Private Atm, the robot. The Empire must have that technology, or else the balance of power shifts to the human pestilence.”

  “Those bastards.”

  “I will personally lead commandos across the DMZ and seize their prototype robot.”

  “What? You want to start another war? During the height of tourist season?”

  “We will be disguised as Fist & Claw terrorists. We will blame the insurgency for the attack.”

  “Good idea. Blame those dirty rotten sissy terrorist bastards.”

  * * * * *

  Per my orders, Private Atm reported for orientation duty at the New Gobi City border crossing checkpoint to assist Corporal Guido Tonelli in searching vehicles. It was mundane work, monitoring radiological and biological sensors and searching for contraband. Atm used a mirror attached to a pole to check under trucks for illegal aliens. Tonelli’s guard dragon Spot, a large Komodo type lizard, eagerly sniffed for drugs and candy.

  Spider guards watched from their guard shack to the north. An Arthropodan marine casually walked across the red line marking the border, to talk to Tonelli. He motioned to Atm.

  “What is so special about him?” he asked, basking in the air conditioning of Tonelli’s guard shack. “Your new human pestilence does not look so special to me.”

  “Nothing special about him,” replied Tonelli curtly, on the phone working his bookie business. “Unless you’re wanting to bet on the Seahawks game, get on your own side of the border before you start another war. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “Then put me down for ten thousand credits on Seattle. You know I am good for it,” answered the spider guard, staying. “I heard Atlanta will burn tonight. It will be a real bird fight.”

  “Atlanta burn?” scoffed Tonelli, recording the bet on his communications pad. “That’s a good one. Who gave you your tip?”

  “No matter, a friend of a friend of a human pestilence. Well? What about your new partner? Why’s he drawing so much heat?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” answered Tonelli, glancing at Atm searching another truck. “He’s a tireless worker, but an odd duck. And he’s on Czerinski’s shit list after getting into a brawl at the Blind Tiger.”

  “An officer came by, asking questions about him, wanting to know work hours and routine. Like most officers, he got all snooty when I asked why. So, I am asking you. Why him? If your new human pestilence is a snitch, get rid of him. We have got a good thing going here, and I don’t want it messed up. Understand?”

  “There’s nothing that stands out about him,” advised Tonelli, watching Atm speculatively. “Except, he might be Swedish.”

  “I knew it! I’m not letting the Swedish Mafia muscle in on our gambling action. Make him disappear.”

  “There’s no such thing as the Swedish Mafia, and if there was, they never would have got past Mars. Don’t be threatening legionnaires.”

  “Maybe he is in the Amish Mafia,” argued the spider guard, checking the database o
n his pad. “Do not tell me they do not get past Mars. I saw those vicious human pestilence thugs on your American satellite TV.”

  “Hey, Atm!” shouted Tonelli, deciding to put an end to the spider’s fears once and for all. “Are you Swedish?”

  “I’m Nordic-American,” answered Atm. “My family is from Oslo. They live on a fjord, clubbing baby seals and eating lutefisk.”

  “That’s next to Sweden, right?”

  “Ja, Oslo is the capital of Norway, on the left coast.”

  “That settles it,” advised Tonelli, hoping to placate his alien friend. “Norway doesn’t even have a mafia. It’s too cold.”

  * * * * *

  At the height of border crossing traffic, all activity faded away. A solitary van waited behind the lift gate to be searched. Suddenly, its spider driver bolted as Tonelli and Atm suspiciously approached. Without hesitation, Tonelli shot the fleeing spider in the back with a burst from his assault rifle.

  “Car bomb!” warned Tonelli, pulling Atm to the guard shack. “Get down the bunker!”

  As they dropped down their spider hole, a massive blast flattened the guard shack. Even the Arthropodan guard shack across the border was damaged by flying debris.

  Arthropodan marines disguised as Fist and Claw terrorists swarmed the Legion guard shack. Tonelli and Atm popped up, firing full automatic, dropping several spiders. Spot snagged another. Atm caught a round in the chest. Even blunted by his flak vest, it looked bad, knocking him onto his back. However, Atm got up fighting and charged forward, throwing grenades. Emerging from the smoke, Atm shot several spiders crouched by a Toyota pickup truck.

  As Atm was about to throw another grenade, he was shot again, severing his right arm. He hesitated, shock setting in, staring down at his twitching arm, hand still clutching his last grenade. A spider officer rushed forward to finish him off. Atm frantically grasped the grenade, but could not dislodge it from the death grip of his detached hand. Atm threw his arm at the officer, hitting him squarely.