Galactic Disney Read online

  “Yo, Guido, did you forget to feed Spot breakfast again?” accused a spider guard, nervously tossing Spot a donut. “You know how cranky he gets on an empty stomach.”

  “What do we do?” asked Private Krueger. “There’s no bomb. Not even a knife. I think we are in big trouble.”

  “You think? Czerinski is going to be pissed.”

  “Just throw the bug parts in a dipsy-dumpster and let the seagulls eat them,” suggested Private Krueger. “Czerinski won’t know anything if we don’t write a report.”

  “That won’t work,” sighed Corporal Tonelli, noting all the tourists taking photos and video. “We will be all over the database news in seconds.”

  “I’m contacting my Teamsters rep,” complained Private Krueger. “This isn’t my fault!”

  A spider officer pushed through the growing crowd. “Guido! What mischief are you human pestilence up to now?” He leaned over the bloody mess with contemptuous disdain. “More provocations and war-mongering I assume.”

  As if on cue, a spider hatchling sporting Mickey Mouse ears rushed forward, striking Corporal Tonelli with a claw.

  “You murdered my daddy!” cried the spider urchin. “Your dragon ate my daddy!”

  “That’s outrageous!” declared the spider officer, sliding a claw down to his sidearm as he challenged the spider urchin. Both sides tensed, expecting the worst. Legionnaires took cover.

  “Exterminate all the human pestilence!” demanded the hatchling. His thirty brothers and sisters joined the chant. “Kill them all!”

  The wife of the dead spider tourist gathered her hatchlings. “I demand justice! I will sue the Legion for seven-point-three-four million dollars! What am I to do? Who is going to collect my husband’s welfare checks now?”

  The angry crowd pressed in, jostling Tonelli and Krueger. Spot hissed, snapping at a tasty hatchling. Krueger reached in his pants for a grenade.

  “This is exactly the sort of reckless provocative human pestilence adventurism incident that ruins our fledgling tourist industry,” chastised the spider officer. “Arrest that pushy female immediately, along with her riotous ankle biting spawn for extortion and economic terrorism! Confiscate all recording devices. Clean up this bloody debris, and wash that dragon. Do it now!”

  “Fascists!” responded the spider female as marines pummeled her to the ground and Corporal Tonelli drop-kicked the closest hatchling.

  “Add sedition to those charges,” ordered the spider officer.

  “So we’re not telling Czerinski?” asked Private Krueger, confused. “The spiders forgave us?”

  “I’m good with that,” agreed Corporal Tonelli, booting another hatchling, and snatching a pricy camera from a tourist. “We don’t need Czerinski down here micro-managing every little incident. What happens in Galactic Disney, stays in Galactic Disney.”

  * * * * *

  Mama spider was thrown in a dungeon deep under Galactic Disney, accompanied by her many hatchlings. Like marbles dropped on a tabletop, the hatchlings scattered in all directions, scurrying past jail bars and through air ventilation ducts. One especially adventurous young spider explored the vents all they way to the human zone. He sneered down at a mournful human pestilence chained to the wall below.

  “Hello lowly human pestilence criminal. How’s it feel to be a pimple on the ass of society?”

  “Who is that?” asked Phil Coen.

  “I’m up here. What are you in for?”

  “Freedom of the press,” lamented Coen. “You?”

  “The Legion ate my daddy.”

  “They’re doing that again? I knew Colonel Czerinski would be back to his old evil ways soon, if allowed a free hand.”

  Coen removed a camera secreted from a hidden orifice, wiping the lens. He focused on the hatchling.

  “Please tell me your story.”

  “The Legion fed my daddy to their dragon. Then my mom got arrested in the cover-up. Are we on TV?”

  “This is investigative reporter Phil Coen broadcasting live from deep under Spider Mountain in Galactic Disney, interviewing another victim of Colonel Czerinski’s malfeasance of power. Do you have any food? They’re starving me.”

  “Sorry. I can go get some goo in a tube from my mom’s cell.”

  “No wait!” shouted Coen, salivating. “Don’t leave. Come closer for the camera.”

  Suspicious of all human pestilence, the hatchling hesitated. He was saved from being dinner by the sound of clanking keys and slamming of metal doors down the hallway. A big legionnaire let out a rebel yell as flashlights flickered closer. Sergeant Williams led a pack of spider tourists to Coen’s cell.

  “This here is what you spiders call an evil human pestilence desperado. Don’t get too close to the bars, he’s a vicious thug arrested for murder, incest, theft, treason, sex with farm animals, and income tax evasion.”

  “That’s not true!” protested Coen. “I’m a TV reporter!”

  “You unholy beast!” shouted one of the spider tourists, striking at Coen with her shopping bag as he leaned too close to the bars. “Those poor, poor sheep.”

  “Chickens, goats, and cows, too,” commented Sergeant Williams, shaking his head. “This one has no redeeming qualities and will surely be executed.”

  One of the spiders tossed a few peanuts and some popcorn to Coen, and lit a candle for the condemned. Sergeant immediately checked the spider’s ID, fearing another outbreak of Democrats. His communication pad alarm interrupted the investigation with a warning text from Major Lopez about the recording device. Sergeant Williams let out another rebel yell.

  “This is your lucky day, folks,” announced Sergeant Williams. “You all get to witness a strip search, good old fashion police brutality, and maybe get to be on prime time TV.”

  “Can we probe him, too?” asked a spider at the back of the pack.

  Coen retreated to the corner of the cell, his chain stretched to its limit. Coen held his camera up with one hand, and his mattress in the other for protection. Sergeant Williams quickly entered, spraying Coen with pepper spray. Coen lunged with his mattress but was knocked out with one punch.

  Sergeant Williams strip-searched Coen, confiscating the camera and other recording equipment. Coen may also have been probed by aliens, but nobody was saying anything about that.

  Chapter 3

  General Daly called for an update on the grand opening of Galactic Disney. He had concerns. “Czerinski, there are unconfirmed reports on the database that you arrested Phil Coen of Channel Five World News Tonight for having sex with farm animals. Is that true?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered

  “That’s terrible, to have sunk to such depths. Coen is an American icon. What kind of farm animals? We have an office pool going.”

  “A donkey. Pinocchio caught Coen in the act, right here at Galactic Disney. The boy has quite a nose for police work.”

  “Damn, I bet on ducks. Doesn’t Coen know donkeys kick like mules?”

  “Yes, sir. He does now.”

  “You have to grab the ears, you know.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “As you know, the Disney Corporation owns the California Angels baseball team,” advised General Daly, abruptly changing the subject. “Major League Baseball has scheduled an exhibition game between the Angels and the Seattle Mariners. The game will be played at Galactic Disney.”

  “That’s great, sir.”

  “Seattle is led by rookie phenom, Johnny Black, an ex-legionnaire. Do you know him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No matter! I expect a lot of good press from Johnny. The ratings will be through the roof. Johnny will be great for recruiting. I might even get another star!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s a night game, so I want extra Legion security. We can’t have spider terrorists bombing ‘America’s game’ on galactic TV.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Now that I think of it, release Coen immediately so he can interview Johnny Black. I
t will be a public relations coup. I must be a genius to have thought of that. I have talent on loan from God.”

  “But sir...”

  “Do it now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Outstanding. Keep up the good work.”

  * * * * *

  I contacted Corporal Tonelli at his border crossing guard shack. The doorway was adorned with hanging garlic cloves. Tonelli wore a gold cross necklace. Even Spot sported a cross dangling from his spiked collar. Wooden stakes and a mallet lay on Tonelli’s desk, and a crossbow in the corner.

  “Expecting vampires?” I joked.

  “You can never be too careful,” answered Corporal Tonelli.

  “Surely you don’t believe those rumors about Johnny Black. He just maintains that bad-boy persona to attract girls, and for Pizza Hut commercials.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know Johnny Black personally, don’t you?” I asked, examining the crossbow. “You’re buds?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Battalion records and computer archives confirm you know Black,” I pressed. “Don’t deny it.”

  “My privacy should be respected,” groused Corporal Tonelli. “It’s not right, you snooping into every little detail of people’s life.”

  “As long as you are in the Legion and have a computer chip embedded in your ass, you have no privacy. Who is the smart money betting on?”

  “Seattle. Even the spiders are betting heavily on Seattle. Johnny Black is that good.”

  “Do you have enough goodwill with Johnny for him to throw the game? After all, he was once a fellow legionnaire.”

  “I’m not sure,” replied Corporal Tonelli, thoughtfully. “But your idea has merit, sir.”

  “Make it happen.”

  “I’ll try, sir.”

  “Guido, there’s no such thing as vampires,” I said, setting the crossbow down. “If there was, they never would have got past Mars.”

  “Whatever, sir.”

  “Keep me informed.”

  * * * * *

  As was our custom, I met with the spider commander halfway across the Peace Bridge dividing the two Disney zones, to discuss details for the new truce and operational problems for Galactic Disney. Work crews were just finished cleaning up rubble and towing a burned-out spider tank from the last war. As I stood looking out over the meandering Fantasia River, I found myself doing the pee-pee dance. Damn!

  “Oh just do it,” suggested the spider commander. “No one is looking.”

  I looked about, and the spider commander appeared to be right. It was just us old soldiers and our aides alone on the bridge. I unzipped and shot out an arcing stream that would shame Italian fountains. Not to be outdone, the spider commander followed suit. His stream was like a blast from a fire hose, waving back and forth obscuring mine in the process.

  “That water is cold,” I commented, finishing up with a shake.

  “It is deep, too,” added the spider commander, zipping.

  “Whatever. Get your tank wreckage off the Peace Bridge, or I’ll blast it off.”

  “Your little trickle can’t blast anything.”

  “Are we finished?”

  “No,” answered the spider commander, producing a map. “See here where the Fantasia River strays into Arthropodan territory?”

  “So?”

  “So also does your Davy Crockett canoe ride.”

  “Why should I care?”

  “Every time a canoe full of human pestilence floats down the river, they commit trespass. I will not tolerate your insult. Reconstruct your Crockett ride so that the canoes do not stray to our side.”

  “No way. It would cost too much. I am not humoring your anal-compulsive quirks.”

  “I will sink the next canoe full of human pestilence that trespasses on Imperial territory!”

  “Perhaps we can work out some sort of licensing agreement for human pestilence use of our waterway,” interrupted the spider commander’s new aide. “Our lawyers can negotiate with your lawyers. It’s a minor matter.”

  “You have a new Military Intelligence officer,” I taunted. “He won’t last long.”

  “Business is business,” continued the Military Intelligence officer, unflappable.

  “The Empire will not be bought off,” admonished the spider commander, upset at his brash new aide. The young Lieutenant had distinguished himself arresting rioters at the DMZ gate, but needed to be put in his place. “Legion provocations will not be tolerated.”

  “I heard you’re betting heavy on the Seattle Mariners,” I needled. “Don’t count your money yet.”

  “I have perfect confidence Johnny Black not only will lead the Mariners to victory, but take Seattle all the way to the World Series.”

  “If he plays,” Major Lopez added.

  “We both know Fang Boy’s secret. He will play, Czerinski, or I will tell everyone.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “This is your last warning. If you attempt to fix the game, I’ll have you sniped. Understand, Czerinski? I’ve had it with your reckless provocations and Mafia ways!”

  “That can go both ways.”

  “Your threats bore me. See you on poker night?

  “Bring lots of money. You’ll need it!”

  “Whatever!” the spider commander retorted, turning away.

  After the spiders left, I contemplated river flow and water pressure. “Kill that uppity spider. Make it look like an accident.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Major Lopez. “That could start another war.”

  “I’ve never been more certain. Kill that spider before the game.”

  * * * * *

  As I walked back to Legion Headquarters, a small shop caught my eye – Anita’s Economy Gypsy Fortune Telling. On a whim, I went inside. Lopez followed.

  A pretty dark-haired lady adorned in bright colorful scarves sat on floor cushions. “Hello amigos,” greeted Anita. “How may I help you? Looking for love? Fortune? Business opportunity?”

  “Are you for real?” I asked skeptically. “Can you really tell the future?”

  “For twenty dollars I can tell both the future and fortune, Colonel Czerinski. Please sit. You too, Major Lopez. Show me your palm so I may examine your life line.”

  Startled by her familiarity, I forked over the cash as I held out my hand. Anita seductively stuffed the cash down her ample over-the-shoulder boulder-holders.

  “Oh my, colonel!” she exclaimed, caressing my life line. “So passionate, but so little time left!”

  “What? I am in danger?”

  “Most certainly, if my boyfriend catches you leering down the front of my blouse.”

  “Don’t play me,” I replied, withdrawing my palm. “If that’s all you’ve got, I want my money back.”

  “Not likely,” smirked Anita. “No refunds!” She gazed in a mirror, solemnly primping a lock of hair. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the–”

  “Stop! I’ve seen that fairy tale, and I wasn’t impressed. Use the crystal ball.”

  Pouting, Anita turned and placed a crystal ball in her lap. The sphere glowed with each caress of her unnaturally long painted nails. “I see much, legionnaire. You are a friend of world-famous science fiction writer, Walter Knight?”

  “Not even close. Knight writes drivel and slaps a science fiction tag on it. His stories lack lasers, realism, and even starships. What lessons can be learned from such lack of knowledge of his genre?”

  “Walter has such handsome green eyes.

  “I’m here to learn my fate, not gossip,” I demanded, peering down her blouse again. “Should I kill the spider commander or not?”

  “Your gambling addiction causes you to make poor life-choice decisions. Do not start another war over petty games of chance. It’s bad for business.”

  “Gambling is not a problem if I win.”

  “You see the Devil's hook, and yet cannot help nibbling at the bait.”

  �
�Whatever. Who will win the Mariners-Angels game?”

  “Many inquiring minds want to know that one, sweetie. Gambling questions cost twenty dollars extra.”

  “Fine,” I groused, handing over the cash and watching it disappear down between those marvelous twins. Hey – I’m a guy. I have no control. “Well?”

  “A deep subject. A dark angel curses Seattle, but California has angels in the outfield.”

  “I need answers, not riddles! I want California to win. Do I need to kill Johnny Black to win my wager?”

  “The immortal Johnny Black cannot be so easily killed. Some have tried, some have died. You might consider scheduling a day game if you want the Angels to win. Las Vegas favors Seattle by three points.”

  “What kind of phony fortuneteller are you?” I asked, angrily. “Are you even a real gypsy? I’ll bet you dyed your hair black.”

  “I am a Castilian-American on my father’s side,” answered Anita defensively. “I trace my gypsy blood to the Basque of North Spain on my mother’s side, cha-cha-cha!”

  “Your accent sounds Sonoran to me,” scoffed Major Lopez. “Or maybe from Tijuana.”

  “So the brooding Major Lopez finally speaks?” asked Anita, standing to examine him closer. “Dare to ask about your future?”

  “I’m not interested in your voodoo nonsense,” answered Major Lopez, crossing himself. “Get away from me!”

  “Nonsense you say, yet fear pours from your very soul. I will tell your fate for free. The great Hero of the Legion Lopez will die horribly, your throat ripped out, and your head tossed in the street for the dogs!”

  Major Lopez shoved Anita away, but she just laughed wickedly.

  “You cannot change destiny, even with a time machine,” warned Anita.

  “A what?” I asked, but was interrupted by the ring of her communications pad.

  “I told you never to call me at work,” admonished Anita, annoyed. “Oh, sorry. It’s for you, Colonel Czerinski.”

  I hesitated, taking the phone. “Who is this?”