Enemies Read online

  “If it is so subtle, how will you know if the pulsed energy has any effect at all?” asked the spider commander.

  “Intelligentsia agents are monitoring the human pestilence media, hospitals, suicide rates, and crime statistics,” explained the scientist. “Diligent research will yield the necessary data.”

  “Is there any danger to us?” asked the spider commander. His headache was getting worse. At first he thought it was just sinus allergies, but now he was not so sure. His ears were ringing too.

  “None that we have detected,” advised the scientist. “The hum you hear grates on some of us, but has no detrimental long-term effect, other than annoyance.”

  “Could Legion troops be disabled or harassed during combat if you increased the power?” asked the military intelligence officer.

  “As I have explained, the effect is subtle,” said the scientist. “You will not see an immediate disabling effect.”

  “Did you know anything of this?” asked the spider commander of his military intelligence officer.

  “Are you kidding?” said the military intelligence officer. “If I had known of this madness, I would have arrested these foolish schemers a long time ago.”

  “You don’t approve?” asked the spider commander. “I think it has potential.”

  “Everyone knows the Intelligentsia is run by knuckle-dragging fools,” said the military intelligence officer. “This is the kind of irresponsible provocation I would expect of the human pestilence. It could even start another war. I am shocked we are even considering this type of adventurism, let alone pursuing it.”

  “Satellite images indicate the human pestilence have a similar facility aimed at us from just east of Gila City,” advised the scientist. “It would be irresponsible to ignore this valuable technology and let our enemies obtain a strategic advantage in the field. My staff and I are just doing our jobs. Like you, we are but the sword of the Emperor.”

  “The human pestilence claim that facility at Gila City is just a weather research monitoring station,” said the spider commander. “But that would explain my allergy flare ups every time I visit the MDL at Gila City. And to think, all this time I thought I was just allergic to sage brush.”

  “Legion commandos guard that facility,” scoffed the scientist. “I doubt it has anything to do with weather research.”

  “Turn on your ray gun,” ordered the spider commander, now even more enthusiastic. “Let’s see if it works!”

  The scientist activated the antenna array. As power built up, there was an explosion. A lightning bolt arced into the atmosphere, returned to New Colorado, and hit the top of the Arthropodan Marriott Hotel in New Gobi City. A glow from the resulting fire could be seen from the base.

  “Is your ray gun supposed to spark like that?” asked the spider commander.

  “No,” said the scientist. “It has never done that before. I’ll adjust the power.”

  “You do that!” ordered the spider commander. “I thought you said your toy ray gun was safe.”

  The scientist tried again. This time the lightning bolt went straight up into space and hit a satellite. The spider commander watched incredulously as satellite debris fell from the night sky.

  “The antenna array needs to be calibrated a bit,” commented the scientist. “I am as surprised as you by these electrical discharges.”

  “Do you think anyone noticed that satellite getting hit?” asked the spider commander. “Was that part of the test?”

  “No, it was not part of the test,” replied the military intelligence officer. “And yes, I am positive someone noticed.”

  “Find out whose satellite just got shot down,” ordered the spider commander. “And I’ll tell you what,” he added, washing his claws of the matter. “I am not paying for anyone’s new satellite! This is not my fault!”

  Soon the military intelligence officer had a reply back from the General Staff. “Information on that satellite is classified top-secret and is on a need-to-know basis only. They say we do not need to know.”

  “They don’t need to tell the commander of the entire New Gobi military sector whose satellite that was?” asked the spider commander. “Idiots! Do they know we shot it down?”

  “I don’t think so. The governor is demanding to know who is responsible. He knows the bolt of lightning came from the New Gobi Desert. If he doesn’t know it was us, he will figure it out soon.”

  “Oh, great,” said the spider commander, now more furious than ever. “Turn that oversized toaster off immediately! It’s a menace, and it’s giving me a headache. All of you egghead geeks are under arrest and confined to quarters, pending an investigation into what went wrong!”

  * * * * *

  Flashes in space marked the beamed arrival of an alien exploration space probe in orbit around New Colorado. The United States Galactic Federation Stealth Starship Shenandoah was the first to arrive to investigate the craft. Alerted by planetary defenses, Arthropodan starships arrived soon after.

  A plaque on the probe’s side depicted a scorpion-like race and representative scenes from its civilization and culture, including family life, technology, grand cities, an alphabet and numerical system, group sex, and a star chart showing the location of their home world. The probe soon began transmitting on varied frequencies to the planet’s surface. American and Imperial scientists and computers immediately started recording the data and trying to translate. They studied the plaque and its symbols via the video from the Shenandoah.

  “Christ,” commented the captain of the Shenandoah. “Is humanity completely alone in a galaxy full of bug species? Every time we encounter a new intelligent species, they all have exoskeletons.”

  “Want me to put a missile into it?” asked the co-pilot. “Those bugs look like perverts.”

  “No, don’t you dare,” replied the captain. “I’m sure the tech geeks are going to want to take it apart and figure out its technology and how it got here.”

  As the captain of the Shenandoah filmed the alien space probe, a lightning bolt arced up from the planet’s surface and destroyed the object. Debris rained down on New Colorado.

  “I told you not to shoot it!” yelled the captain. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “I swear, it wasn’t me,” responded the co-pilot, holding his hands up. “Someone else shot it down!”

  * * * * *

  “This is Brad Jacobs of Channel Five World News Tonight, broadcasting from Mars. I am interviewing my esteemed colleague, Phil Coen, via satellite from planet New Colorado, about his recent release after being abducted by separatist terrorists on New Colorado. Phil, how are you holding up? This must have been quite an ordeal.”

  “Yes, indeed it was, Brad,” replied Phil Coen. “I negotiated my own release from insurgent Danny Grant. As you know, it is USGF policy not to pay ransom demands or negotiate with terrorists, because that would encourage more terrorist abductions. As far as I know, no ransom was paid.”

  “Phil, tell us how you convinced the notorious mastermind, Danny Grant, to release you and your cameraman. We all saw your violent abduction on TV. It was absolutely terrifying. How were you able to reason with such a vicious terrorist?”

  “Danny Grant is just a patriot on the wrong side,” explained Coen. “He only wants what is best for New Colorado. I truly believe the initial brutality was just the intimidation game he had to play, straight from the terrorist handbook, and not a true reflection of Grant’s character.”

  “He broke your nose,” commented Jacobs. “Grant robs banks. Are you suggesting Grant is in reality nothing more nefarious than a modern day Robin Hood?”

  “No, of course not. Grant certainly has his warts, and I am not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I am just suggesting that, politically, Grant wants to become more mainstream. He is rational enough to realize that a chance for amnesty might be a good thing. He released me after I agreed to drop kidnapping charges, and after I promised to petition the governor to drop the robbery c
harges on the American side of the MDL.”

  “Will this be acceptable to the Legion?” asked Jacobs.

  “Political decisions are made by Congress, not the Legion,” replied Coen. “I expect the Legion will follow the Legislature’s lead.”

  “At the time you were abducted, you were investigating misconduct by the Legion,” said Jacobs. “Do you have anything more to add about that? Hero of the Legion, Colonel Czerinski, is rumored to be at odds with your investigation.”

  “I have no comment about Colonel Czerinski or the Legion at this time,” responded Coen, “other than to say that the Legion does a fine job under very difficult circumstances.” He turned to face the camera. “I have a surprise for our viewers, today. Danny Grant is with me for an exclusive interview. He wants to say a few words to the galaxy.”

  “Oh, my!” said Jacobs. “Grant is allowed to run loose, giving press releases? Bring him on! I have some hard questions for Grant.”

  Danny Grant walked in view of the camera and joined his host, Coen. “It’s a pleasure to talk to you and to be on Channel Five World News Tonight, Brad,” he said. “It’s true; I only seek the best interests of New Colorado, and to be more mainstream in my political activities.”

  “Does this mean you will no longer pursue robbery, drug dealing, or level-4 sexual deviancy?” asked Jacobs. “Somehow I am doubtful.”

  “I am not a level-4 sexual deviant!” responded Grant. “I warned you people about that before! Be glad you are broadcasting from Mars. My attorneys will be contacting your attorneys. Otherwise, I would cut your balls off.”

  “I apologize for any misunderstandings,” said Coen, trying to placate Grant for Jacobs’ poor judgment in questions. “You are willing to reform your ways?”

  “Remember, I have not been convicted of anything,” said Grant. “In America, I am innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Only because the Legion has not been able to catch you,” added Jacobs.

  “Wrong!” said Grant. “I was caught, executed, and buried by the Legion in a shallow grave. My tombstone still lies in the New Gobi Cemetery. If you don’t believe me, go see it for yourself.”

  “Terms of any amnesty may require Legion cooperation and consent,” advised Coen. “Colonial law must be considered.”

  “I harbor no ill will against the Legion,” added Grant. “I admit to wrongdoing. Not to change the subject, but I have another important message for the galaxy.”

  “Oh?” said Jacobs. “And what message is that?”

  “Zoom in for a close-up,” said Grant, motioning to the cameraman and holding up two aluminum cans. “I, Danny Grant, fugitive, alleged criminal terrorist mastermind now reformed, and New Colorado patriot, drink only the best beer and soft drinks in the galaxy. I drink Outlaw Beer and Cola. Outlaw Beer and new Outlaw Lite are brewed only from the refreshing artesian springs of New Colorado. Be an outlaw at least in spirit. Drink Outlaw Beer and Cola. You’ll be glad you did.”

  “That was the most disgusting and reprehensible display of out-of-control, self-promoting commercialism I have ever seen,” commented Jacobs. “It is highly immoral for you to try to capitalize financially on your despicable infamy.”

  Grant just shrugged, still holding up the beverage cans for the camera. “What are you, a Communist? It’s not just outlaws who drink and love Outlaw Beer. Meet recently-promoted spider legionnaire and war hero, Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne.”

  Corporal Wayne walked stiffly into camera view next to Grant. “I love Outlaw Beer and Cola,” read Corporal Wayne from a card. “After a long day of chasing fugitives like Danny Grant, Outlaw Beer really hits the spot. It’s beer with an attitude.”

  “Corporal Wayne, does Colonel Czerinski know you are hawking Outlaw Beer on TV?” asked Coen.

  “He does now,” said Corporal Wayne. “I’ll probably lose my stripes again, but I don’t care, as long as I have my Outlaw Beer and Cola. Outlaw Beer and Cola make me want to reach out and hurt a terrorist. In fact, Danny Grant is going to be hurting as soon as this broadcast is over. Drink Outlaw Beer and Cola this holiday season. You’ll be glad you did.”

  “Phil, I don’t mean to interrupt this touching tribute to Outlaw Beer, but we in the newsroom are getting breaking reports of a satellite being shot down over New Colorado,” said Jacobs. “Can you see anything from your location?”

  “Yes, Brad, it’s quite spectacular,” replied Coen. “It looks like a meteor shower that just won’t quit. Major Lopez from the Legion just texted me a message that it’s just space junk in a deteriorating orbit. He says there is no cause for alarm and that no one shot down a satellite. The space junk is expected to burn up harmlessly in the atmosphere.”

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  Chapter 14

  General Daly ordered me to meet with the spider commander again as part of an ongoing effort to force reconciliation between opposing local human and spider commanders along the border. After reviewing the transcript from our last meeting, General Daly was not happy with the progress of our dialogue. General Daly stated that my next command would involve counting newly introduced caribou herds at the South Pole if I did not make more of an effort. I met the spider commander at Corporal Tonelli’s new guard shack. I turned off all surveillance cameras, including my personal helmet cam. This time there would be no transcripts.

  “Any new issues?” I asked.

  “No,” replied the spider commander.

  “Good,” I said, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” said the spider military intelligence officer. “One of our communications satellites fell from the sky recently. You may have seen it light up the sky.”

  “So?” I said. “Call the Air Force and see if they care.”

  “A large chunk of the satellite fell near your Gila City Hills Weather Research Facility,” explained the military intelligence officer. “We tracked its decent and know its exact location in your territory. If you will allow our scientists to retrieve and salvage what is left of our satellite, it would be much appreciated.”

  “Why should I help you get back what is probably a spy satellite anyway?” I asked.

  “Our governors have ordered us to foster goodwill on the border,” replied the military intelligence officer. “What better evidence of that could there be than cooperation in salvage of our communications satellite?”

  “Where did you say it went down?” I asked. “We don’t have any weather research facilities in the Gila City Hills.”

  “I realize that, but the sign out front of your facility says ‘Weather Research,’” commented the military intelligence officer. “I assume it is a lie.”

  Major Lopez sent me a text. “That facility is a CIA communications monitoring and decoding center. They might be interested in the spiders’ lost satellite.”

  “Oh, that weather research facility,” I said. “I remember it now. They’re doing a fine job there, trying to make it rain in the desert. A bunch of fools work there. Pay them no mind.”

  “May we cross the MDL to recover our property?” asked the spider commander.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I will personally escort your recovery team with a squad of legionnaires.”

  “An escort is not necessary,” said the spider commander. “We will not get lost.”

  “I insist, for your own protection,” I said. “You might stray into a minefield or get attacked by bandits.”

  “Thank you for your concern and cooperation,” said the spider commander.

  “There is another matter I want to discuss with you,” I said. “I have a hot tip I want to give you.”

  “Oh?” replied the spider commander. “What kind of hot tip?”

  “A confidential one,” I said. We walked away from our aides. “Texas Red, the new billionaire owner of the Seattle Mariners baseball team, is a personal friend of mine. He says the East Coast fix is on next Saturday night when the Mariners play the New York Yankees. Seattle is guaranteed to throw the game and let the Yankees win. It�
�s a sure thing.”

  “How do you know Texas Red?” asked the spider commander, as he researched on the database. “Texas Red is a recluse. No one even has a picture of him.”

  “All I have to say is that Texas Red has a New Colorado connection. I gave you the tip as a sign of goodwill. What you do with it is up to you.”

  The spider commander didn’t trust me, and I didn’t blame him. He crossed the MDL to Guido’s shack and leaned inside. Guido was busy taking phone calls. “Guido, what can you tell me about next Saturday’s game between Seattle and the Yankees?” he asked.

  “It’s a home game for Seattle, and their ace Mendoza is pitching,” answered Guido. “Seattle is heavily favored.”

  “How has betting on the game been going?” asked the spider commander.

  “Most betting is on Seattle to win,” said Guido. “I hope you haven’t been talking to Czerinski. He’s always coming up with contrary betting schemes.”

  “Does Colonel Czerinski have money on the game?” asked the spider commander. “Is he betting on New York?”

  “That’s confidential,” said Guido. “You know I can’t tell you that. By the way, you’re on the wrong side of the MDL. Are you trying to get me in trouble? Make a bet or leave.”

  “How much did Czerinski bet on the Yankees?” asked the spider commander. “Tell me now, or I will flatten your guard shack again.”

  “Colonel Czerinski has four million dollars bet on New York,” advised Guido. “He put up all his property as collateral.”

  “Put me down for two million dollars on New York, too,” said the spider commander.

  “You and I both know you can’t cover that much action if you lose,” said Guido. “Weren’t you told to bet responsibly? If you lose and can’t pay up, I’d have to hurt you. I certainly don’t need any more armored cars.”

  “Just do it!” ordered the spider commander. “Do it, or else!”