America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War (7 page)

Pitched tents and concertina wire went up quickly. I graciously granted database access to keep the restless refugee spiders busy. Otherwise, they’d start digging tunnels and get all twitchy. However, it was not enough. Crack-spiders crave blue powder. They soon tested the fence, going over the first night.

Eight spiders silently made their way north across the dunes. Scorpion bandits, lying in wait, concealed just under the sand dunes, sprang in ambush on them. Paralyzed by venomous stings, the spiders were robbed and ripped apart in short order. Barbecue fires lit the night sky as choice spider cuts rotated on sticks, seasoned and cooked to perfection. It smelled like delicious chicken adobo from Old Earth. As an added bonus, the hungry bandits got a blue-powder high from eating the still toxic crack-spiders.
Young scorpions, old scorpions, feeling right, on a warm New Gobi night.
Word quickly spread of the gourmet high times for all guarding the refugee camp.

* * * * *

The first rocks thrown over the wire fence went unchallenged. Emboldened, crack-spiders threw more and began chanting, “Walmart, Walmart, Walmart!” A solitary spider lit a candle for the ‘Eaten Eight’ killed during the escape attempt. Nervous legionnaires took cover behind armored cars. Embedded reporters from the Galactic Database news organizations broadcast events live. Cameras zoomed in on a candle holder, hoping for Pulitzer Prize photos of the anticipated riot and massacre. Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard and I agreed to meet with crack-spider leaders about their grievances to defuse the situation.

“We’re sincerely sorry about the loss of the Eaten Eight,” I started. “The Legion can only offer protection if you work with me, and stay within the confines of the camp.”

“Oh, those fools,” replied Twitch-Claw, self-appointed Mayor of Gulag Blue Powder. “Forget that. We want to go into town. What’s the point of issuing us food stamps and EBT cards if you won’t let us shop at the Walmart in Scorpion City?”

“For your own protection, this rabble will not enter Scorpion City under any circumstances,” bristled Major Desert-Sting. “It would be like a spider buffet.”

“But we are all Sam’s Club members,” argued Twitchy. “You are violating our Constitutional rights.”

“You’re not citizens yet,” I added. “No rights for you.”

“My lawyer says otherwise.”

“Citizenship to drug-addled spider vermin will never happen,” sneered Major Desert-Sting. “Not on my watch.”

“The mayor might have a point,” advised Major Lopez. “Courts are saying even undocumented immigrants are guaranteed certain Constitutional rights. Just saying.”

“Everyone is a jailhouse lawyer,” I groused. “No one goes to Walmart until more legionnaires arrive. How about if I bring Walmart to you?”

“You can do that?” asked Twitchy. “Bring McDonald’s and Pizza Hut, too. I know my rights. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.”

“Let my fallen addicts and righteous crack-hoes go!” interrupted Blue-Claw, using a hand held PA speaker from the crest of a giant dune to the north. Dressed in a flowing white robe and hoodie of the desert, Blue-Claw waved an accusing wooden staff at the legionnaires below. Wind and sand moved with each omniscient swirl of his staff.

Spider refugees pressed the northern wire, trampling it flat, seeking to touch Blue-Claw. A high dune blocked their path, but parted as they approached. It was truly a modern miracle and sight to behold. Mountains of sand blocked out the sun as spider refugees passed between the narrow safe haven of swirling sand. I couldn’t help but stare; I had the best seat.

I hopped atop an armored car turret and fired machine gun rounds at Blue-Claw, followed by a cannon burst. I couldn’t tell if I hit Blue-Claw, but the walls of dust collapsed on the exodus of refugees, burying them all. Shooting Blue-Claw seemed like a good idea at the time, but in retrospect, I realize it wasn’t good planning. Blue-Claw escaped anyway.

“What have you done?” shouted Major Lopez, crossing himself, pulling me off the turret. “You just killed Moses!”

“Moses wasn’t a spider.”

“Inquiring minds want to know what you’ve done,” added Channel Five News reporter Phil Coen, holding a mic to my face. “Colonel Czerinski, your reckless conduct is not just bad press. You truly are the monstrous Butcher of New Colorado that your reputation portends. Do you have anything to say to the galaxy about your latest atrocity? Is it Legion policy to shoot crack-spider activists on sight?”

“Arrest Coen and all the other reporters present,” I ordered. “Confiscate their equipment. None of what happened here goes viral.”

“You can’t arrest me!” shouted Coen, struggling with legionnaires. “I’m an American icon. My public has a right to know what happened here!”

“What did happen here?” asked Major Desert-Sting, copying Lopez, crossing himself with numerous claws. “Blue-Claw did look Moses-ish, like in that Old Earth movie Ben Hur.”

“It was a Tornado,” I explained. “Tornadoes happen all the time in the desert.”

“No, they don’t,” argued Major Lopez. “Dust devils happen, but they’re different.”

“Dust devils, tornadoes, whatever. They all swirl.”

“What about me?” asked Coen, struggling in handcuffs. “What’s the charge?”

“No charges yet. I’m detaining you for national security reasons until we find out about that big dust devil.”

“It wasn’t a dust devil.”

“Exactly.”

“This is all a big cover-up. You fired on innocent civilians, burying them alive!”

“Place Coen and the others in isolation at the Scorpion City County Jail. I’ll deal with them later.”

* * * * *

The scorpion judge peered over his bifocals at the human detainees. They were a twitchy lot, never sitting still, never shutting up.
We’ll see about that. They say Old Earth started with just two humans, now there’s billions. Someone needs to turn a hose on humanity.
The scorpion judge slammed his gavel, bringing the court to order.

“It’s not often I get humans in my courtroom,” observed the scorpion judge. “What’s all this rigmarole about filing a writ of habeas corpus?”

“It’s technical, but Czerinski is attempting another cover-up!” shouted Coen. “He’s responsible for the slaughter of thousands of innocent Arthropodan refugees just outside of town.”

“Spiders in Scorpion City?” asked the scorpion judge, reaching for his pistols. “I won’t stand for such trespass.”

“They’re dead, Your Honor. Czerinski killed them all.”

“That’s what legionnaires are for,” said the scorpion judge, shrugging. “Next case!”

“What about us?” asked Coen. “We’re being held incommunicado for no good reason.”

“Is that so?” asked the scorpion judge, nodding accusingly in my direction. “Czerinski, what say you?”

“National security prevents me from giving details about the incident at the refugee camp,” I answered respectfully. “It’s top secret stuff.”

“Most massacres are top secret,” sniffed the scorpion judge. “What kind of shit did you step into this time, Colonel Czerinski? Start talking, or I’ll find you in contempt.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

The scorpion judge pointed a claw at Major Desert-Sting. “Major, what happened?”

“The sand dunes parted when drug lord fugitive Blue-Claw waved his wand, allowing the spider refugees to escape. Colonel Czerinski fired a canon at Blue-Claw, and the wall of sand collapsed, burying them all.”

“I see. Have you been drinking?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“I think I already read this story about parting walls of whatever. Anything else before I start issuing contempt of court citations?”

“The maelstrom defied all logic and rules of physics, but it’s all recorded on Coen’s video,” insisted Major Desert-Sting.

“It was just a tornado, but different,” I explained. “Legion meteorologists and the CIA are looking into the matter.”

The scorpion judge rummaged through the cameras on his bench, playing a video. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, losing composure. “What the Hell is this?”

“The Legion requests Coen, his crew, and all evidence be held indefinitely until certain anomalies can be properly investigated,” I added reasonably. “We think Blue-Claw used a powerful secret weapon.”

“Detaining reporters and stifling news is a violation of First Amendment freedom of the press,” accused Coen. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Phil Coen, an American icon, and a personal friend of General Daly and the President!”

“That part about ‘who you are’ carries no weight in my courtroom,” lectured the scorpion judge. “Do you concede that a tornado might be a weapon, and national security is in play?”

“I concede nothing of the sort,” replied Coen defiantly. “Czerinski is up to his Butcher of New Colorado murderous double dealings again. My public has a right to know about yet another massacre at the hands of the Legion.”

“I’ve come to a decision,” announced the scorpion judge, pounding his gavel again. “Coen, whom I deem to be an unstable human, and his posse of like-minded news trash, will be held at the county jail until Sunday, when they all will be filleted, barbecued, and eaten during the upcoming Labor Day picnic. All evidence seized by the Legion will be remanded back to the Legion. This court will not second guess Legion decisions on matters of national security. Court is adjourned.”

“Your Honor, that’s a bit harsh,” I commented, standing to address the court. “I just wanted Coen detained.”

“Do you want to join the prisoners at my barbecue?” threatened the scorpion judge. “I don’t think so. The cheese done slid off Coen’s cracker. He needs to be locked up for the public good. Remember, you are in the Autonomous Region of Scorpion City. What I say here is law. Understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Good. Get out of town, before sundown. Ha! I always wanted to say that.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

* * * * *

Blue-Claw called me on my communications pad, getting my private number from the Foreign Legion Outreach Hot Line. Their motto is, ‘The Legion wants to reach out and touch you.’ I promised to reach out and touch someone in Legion Public Relations if they kept giving out my number.

“I am still alive, Czerinski!” bragged Blue-Claw. “I thought we were buds, but you and the DEA try to bomb me?”

“Nice trick moving sand dunes like God,” I replied conversationally. “How’d you do that?”

“Maybe I got religion.”

“Not likely. That stunt of yours is drawing heat from the CIA.”

“That dust up was just a freak tornado,” explained Blue-Claw dismissively. “I got lucky. Can’t we all just get along, make a deal?”

“Not if you keep lying to me.”

“We’re both in the same boat. I want the feds off my back, you want to avoid prosecution for crimes against the galaxy. Ten thousand Arthropodan refugees perished at your hands. Do you think your massacre will just be forgotten?”

“I was hoping.”

“Not happening.”

“You’re responsible for that,” I accused. “You’ll fall before I do.”

“Maybe, but that’s my point. There’s no reason for anyone to fall. How long do you think your news blackout will last? Not long, when I release my own video. That’s right, I got video, too.”

“What do you propose?”

“Stop trying to kill me!”

“Fine.”

“Allow my blue powder to flow south past Legion checkpoints. I’ll cut you in for a percentage of my profits. You’ll be rich.”

“I’m already rich.”

“There’s no such thing as too much money. It’s as good as cash.”

“I want more.”

“There’s no pleasing you, is there, Czerinski? You want power. Do you think if I give you my weapon of mass destruction, you can avoid prison?”

“Let’s meet.”

“Ha! Last time, you tried to snipe me. Show me goodwill by allowing my first shipment to pass unmolested. Then, maybe I’ll meet you in a place of my choosing.”

“Fine.”

“In the meantime, our story is that the scorpions ate the refugees. Everyone knows scorpions are slaves to their gullets. Too bad, so sad, problem solved for everyone.”

“Agreed.”

* * * * *

“You can’t be serious,” accused Major Lopez incredulously. “I won’t be a part of treason.”

“That’s a good one,” I replied sarcastically. “Don’t worry, I’ll kill Blue-Claw, first chance I get. Tell your CIA contacts I want a free pass. I’m working on acquiring Blue-Claw’s secret weapon.”

“Don’t think you can double-cross the CIA.”

“You’ve always had trust issues.”

“Just saying.”

Chapter 11

Teamsters Union pickets surrounded the New Phoenix Walmart for their annual Labor Day picnic protest. All deliveries except Outlaw Beer were blocked. The huge protest even stopped commerce out on the highway.