Culture War (11 page)

“
Let’s throw Wayne in the
water,” suggested Private Camacho. “It’s our time-honored Legion
duty to force that stick in the mud to have fun, whether he wants
to or not.”

“
That’s not one of your
brighter ideas,” commented Private Thayer. “Do the words ‘dangerous
psycho trained killer’ mean anything to you?”

“
Nonsense,” said Private
Camacho, having another beer. “It’s our duty to force Wayne to join
the group and have fun. Deep inside he wants us to throw him in the
water. He’ll thank us later. Besides, we outnumber him ten to one.
I know we can take him.”

“
That’s about even odds,”
commented Private Thayer. “You’re all a bunch of
drunks.”

“
Wait until he gets good
and drunk,” suggested Private Knight, approaching the armored car
and handing Private Wayne a bottle of Vodka. He returned to the
blanket and the lovely Barbara. “Then we’ll all throw him
in.”

Later in the afternoon, the legionnaires
swarmed on Private Wayne. Private Knight charged in first and was
immediately knocked unconscious. Private Camacho held back, seeing
legionnaires falling to the sand in a big semicircle around Private
Wayne. Private Thayer dragged Knight to safety and nursed his
wounds, putting ice on his swollen eye and pouring beer over a cut
on his forehead.

Private Camacho stole a rowboat and paddled
to the safety of deep water. Private Wayne threw rocks as Camacho
taunted him from the boat. Private Wayne staggered back to the
armored car and began fumbling with the machine gun and ammo belt.
Camacho dived into the water just in time. Bullets poured into the
rowboat, quickly sinking it. Wayne then fell back into the armored
car and passed out. A few minutes later a Legion helicopter,
summoned to the scene by the Park Service, did a low flyby.
However, by then, all seemed peaceful.

“
You are an angel of
mercy,” said Private Knight, looking up at Barbara. “Will you marry
me?”

“
No way,” replied Private
Thayer, dumping Knight’s head off her lap and into the sand.
“You’re a wimp.”

“
Wayne hit me with his
claw!” protested Private Knight. “I can take him any
day.”

“
At least he didn’t break
your nice long nose,” said Private Thayer, laughing. “Your beak
would be hard to straighten out. But I think you might have a
concussion.”

“
Blah, blah, blah,” said
Private Knight, fading in and out of consciousness. “I’ll be okay
when the pain stops.”

A young spider couple came over and sat by
Barb and Walter. The female spider was obviously pregnant. “Is he
going to live?” asked the female spider. “That was quite an
entertaining fight. Your mate was fearless when he charged into the
fray. Several of us recorded the commotion on video.”

“
Great,” said Private
Knight. “I am going to be on the news, getting knocked out.
Sergeant Green will have me working in the kitchen
forever.”

“
My name is Barb,” said
Private Thayer, extending a hand. “This is my comrade, Walter. What
is your name?”

“
Traditional spiders do not
use names,” said the female. “We are assigned a number at our
workplace. But, in the pioneer tradition of New Colorado, I am
thinking of giving our baby its own name. I just have not been able
to think of the right name yet.”

“
When are you due?” asked
Private Thayer.

“
Any minute,” said the
spider female.

“
Shouldn’t you be getting
to a hospital?” suggested Private Thayer. “That would be
safer.”

“
We came to the park
specifically to have our baby here,” said the spider female. “This
soft grass will be plenty safe. We opted for a natural childbirth
out here to be with the spirits and the wee ones. I already know my
baby will be a female, and this park has a female way to
it.”

“
Name her Allyn,” said
Private Thayer, suddenly getting inspiration. “Allyn is a name from
Old Earth. It means Gift of the Elves.”

“
Allyn sounds beautiful,”
said the spider female. “Thank you.”

Private Knight fell asleep in the sand, and
was snoring. Barbara kicked him awake. “Sweetheart, I’ll marry you.
But only if you promise me a Gift of the Elves, too.”

“
Yes, dear.”

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Chapter 12

“
You want to open a skating
arena?” asked the spider commander.

“
Yes,” said Jorge. “I need
you to issue my business license.”

“
I do not approve of
skateboarding, and neither does the governor,” said the spider
commander. “The governor has banned sales of skateboards for being
too American and a threat to our culture and way of life. As you
are well aware, we are in a fight to the death for the minds and
souls of our children.”

“
I am not an American
agent,” said Jorge. “I am Arthropodan, same as you. I do not
traffic in skateboards, although I don’t see any real harm in kids
skateboarding. My customers merely use roller skates inside my
arena to race around and around in circles. There will be no
crashing into little old females out on the sidewalks. Explain to
me how that can be an assault on our culture?”

“
Roller-skating is
American,” argued the spider commander.

“
So are toasters,”
countered Jorge. “But we both ate toast with our cheese omelets
this morning.”

“
I suppose the skates will
bear the mark of the Nike Swooshstika?” asked the spider commander.
“And I hear you plan to play loud American music on boom
boxes.”

“
Absolutely not,” said
Jorge. “A dress code at the door will ban all Swooshstikas. But our
children need something positive and wholesome to do at night. I am
offering a safe and supervised activity for them to burn off all
that youthful energy. Would you rather our kids continue
hot-rodding around town, drunk or high, and getting into traffic
accidents? How many have died late at night in wrecks or by falling
into the canals?”

“
I am just trying to obey
my Emperor,” said the spider commander. “The Americanization of our
youth has got to stop.”

“
I understand what you are
saying, but the Emperor is a control freak,” said Jorge. “It’s not
that I am being critical of His Majesty. I would not do that. I’m
just saying that being a control freak is what Emperors do. Their
first concern is maintaining power and control for the good of the
Emperor. But, he needs to lighten up.”

“
I’ll pass on your advice,”
said the spider commander.

“
My point is, the Emperor
can’t have it both ways,” explained Jorge, immediately regretting
his comment but pressing on. “The Emperor can’t rule a modern,
prosperous, well-educated Galactic Empire and expect to be able to
control everything in our personal lives. The galaxy is too big.
It’s like trying to control content on the database. It can’t be
done and would be foolish to try.”

“
I am just concentrating on
my duties and responsibilities here in New Gobi,” said the spider
commander. “The Americans are invading us as sure as if Legion
tanks with Swooshstikas painted on the sides were crossing the MDL
and rumbling down our boulevards.”

“
We are a long way from
Arthropoda and the Crown,” said Jorge. “On New Colorado, we need to
find our own solutions to Americanization.”

“
I hope you’re not
suggesting independence,” said the spider commander. “Treason and
disobedience to the Emperor are not options.”

“
I am not a radical or a
traitor,” replied Jorge. “American ideas about government being by
the people and for the people is just a pipe dream as far as I am
concerned. I just want to be allowed to do business.”

“
You have made some valid
points,” said the spider commander. “Do not think I am not
listening to you.”

“
Before we divided New
Colorado with the human pestilence and opened up trade with them,
life here was incredibly boring,” said Jorge. “Actually, life
sucked. We ate green nutrient formula and goo from tubes. There
were no restaurants worth eating at. There was no football,
baseball, or basketball anywhere. There were no casino hotel
resorts. We had no film industry, movies, or TV. All I ever did was
work all day, fight with my wives all night, and drink hard desert
beer. Now I have so many choices. There is no going back. I could
not live without my Columbian mountain-grown coffee to help me
jump-start my busy day. Could you?”

“
I agree,” said the spider
commander. “Starbucks rules, and I need my latte in the morning,
too. I hope those rumors about nationalizing the coffee industry
are false. Coffee grown on Arthropoda tastes like
charcoal.”

“
That is my point exactly,”
said Jorge. “We need to take the best of what the Americans can
offer.”

“
I can accept that there
must be some change to our culture resulting from interacting with
the Americans,” said the spider commander. “But, we must still be
diligent to not become as decadent. Otherwise, the human pestilence
will just take over and rule.”

“
All I want is to exploit
the many business opportunities caused by a dearth of entertainment
in New Gobi,” explained Jorge. “I am just a small business owner
trying to start an Arthropodan business for Arthropodan customers,
right here at home inside the Arthropodan Empire. Roller-skating is
good, wholesome, family fun. How is that American or
decadent?”

“
What about this Roller
Derby league you proposed?” asked the spider commander. “It sounds
unsafe and violent.”

“
Roller Derby is just a
sporting contest involving skating teams racing around a track,”
replied Jorge. “It’s fun and a real kick to watch, especially the
female skaters. And I can give you inside information on which team
to bet on.”

“
Okay,” said the spider
commander. “I will issue you a business license for your skating
arena. Good luck.”

* * * * *

“
I recognize this creature
from American cinema,” commented the spider military intelligence
officer. “American skateboard champion Ronald Reagan rode these
beasts often in his movies. It’s a horse.”

“
Is it dangerous?” asked
the spider commander. “It seems docile enough. It appears to be a
herbivore.”

“
It’s extremely dangerous,”
said the military intelligence officer. “See those vicious hooves?
That horse could kill any of us with just one kick. But it can be
easily trained. The Legion used to use horses for desert
operations. This horse probably escaped from one of those big
cattle ranches to the south of the MDL. I have heard rumors of wild
horses running amuck in the desert. They are a nuisance to local
habitat.”

“
I will capture this
horse,” said the spider commander. “I will be the first commander
to ride one of these noble steeds. Colonel Czerinski will turn
green with envy.”

The spider commander approached the animal
warily with rope in claw. It just stood there grazing. Maybe this
would be easier than he thought possible. The spider commander
placed the rope around the horse’s neck without spooking it. Only
its large ears twitched.

“
Perhaps this horse is
already domesticated,” whispered the spider commander. “I will ride
it now.”

The spider commander leapt on to the back of
the horse, holding on with four legs and four hands. It just stood
there. The spider commander gave the horse a kick. It brayed,
making a godawful noise, “Hee-haw!” The spider kicked the dumb
beast again, but it refused to move. Finally the spider commander
tied the stubborn critter to the back of their jeep and towed it
back to town. It kicked up a lot of dust before finally settling
down. The spider commander would call his new pet ‘Buttercup.’

Once in New Gobi City, the spider commander
did research on the database for instructions on riding, training,
and proper care of horses. After exchanging information and
photographs with human experts on such creatures, it was determined
that Buttercup was a six-year-old buckskin/dun molly mule. There
were many offers to buy Buttercup, but the spider commander
refused.

The military intelligence officer returned
from a mission to Walmart with needed mule supplies: sugar cubes,
carrots, a riding blanket, and a large sombrero. Buttercup warmed
up to the spider commander after given the sugar cubes. The mule
followed him like a large puppy dog. The spider commander rode
Buttercup to the MDL border crossing to show off his mastery of the
Old Earth beast.

“
All you need is a
bandolier for your rifle ammo, and you will look just like Pancho
Villa,” commented Private Camacho.
“Viva la
revolucion!”

“
A spider Pancho Villa?”
asked Guido, skeptically. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

The spider commander accessed General Pancho
Villa on the database. “This General Villa once attacked Texas,
deep in the heart of the United States Galactic Federation,”
commented the spider commander. “Pancho Villa looks nothing like
me. I have no human pestilence hairballs on my facial exoskeleton.
But it says here General Villa was one of the most feared generals
of the desert. He rode like the wind. I like that.”