for you.”
Sure enough, I was surrounded by paparazzi ghouls hoping for more carnage and gore. When nothing more happened, investigative reporter Phil Coen from Channel Five World News Tonight thrust a microphone in my face. “Colonel Czerinski, isn’t it true you and your Mafia henchmen have a financial interest in the Roof of the World Casino?”
“ The Mafia never got past Mars.”
“ So you formed your own cartel?” pressed Coen. “What is your cut of the profits?”
“ You better back off, Coen,” I threatened, waving the alien poison-probe stick.
“ Threatening the press again? How much is left over for the poor native spiders after you extort your cut?”
I ’d had enough, but luckily Stone-Claw intervened. Wild Ones security guards pounced on Coen, wrapping the reporter in web and carting him off to be tied to a traditional torture pole. “You are violating my First Amendment rights!” protested Coen, struggling upside down against the restraints. “How dare you? I will sue for three-point-two million dollars!”
“ Too bad, so sad,” I responded. “You’re in the Empire, now. I have no jurisdiction to interfere with local cops.”
“ Those aren’t cops. They’re savages. I’m being abducted by aliens. I’m an American citizen. Help, save me!”
“ Savages? Coen, I’m shocked and appalled at your cultural insensitivity.”
“ What will happen to Coen?” asked another reporter, Brad Jacobs. It was no secret in the database that he was bucking for Coen’s job. “Will he be probed? Sent to the gulags? Boiled in oil?”
“ Unlike the Legion, the Empire does not have gulags,” interrupted the spider commander, indignant at the mere suggestion. “And we do not abuse those in custody until found guilty.”
“ That slanderous human pestilence troublemaker,” announced Stone-Claw, “will be pulled apart by camels, roasted at the stake, and eaten at the ninety-nine-cent buffet by tourists. Present the free coupon you got at the door for a discount.”
“ I’m good with that,” I said, patting Stone-Claw on the back before joining the festivities. Another toilet backed up at the end of a row of slots. What a mess!
“ This is outrageous,” fumed the spider commander, focusing on his subordinate in the clogged toilet. “Do you realize how hard it is to replace a good Intelligentsia officer out here on the frontier? Who is going to torture drunk drivers and disorderly human pestilence? Not me! Czerinski is an out-of-control rogue Legion thug, and always has been. It’s in his nature to kill first and ask questions later. I am suing for what he did to my condo, and for damage to the casino rug. Something has to be done about the Butcher of New Colorado and his cowboy Mafia hooliganism before my whole casino gets flooded!”
“ What about Phil Coen?” asked Jacobs. “Phil is an American icon.”
“ You will have to ask the culinary department,” answered the spider commander dismissively. “I cannot micromanage every little detail of casino operations. That’s why we hire professional managers!”
Chapter 13
General Daly arrived for Media Day to schmooze with the spider Governor of the North Territory and Chief Stone-Claw. The spider commander’s staff and mine joined us for lunch at the casino buffet. Sitting to eat, Captain Patton opened a pocket bible and read a prayer from his notes. “A poem from antiquity: Rommel is dead. His army has joined the quicksand Legions of history where the battle is always a metal echo saluting a rusty shadow. His tanks are gone. How’s your ass?”
“ Amen,” I concluded, picking at my meal, not much hungry.
“ You’re quite the poet,” complemented the spider governor.
“ He’s a captain,” I corrected.
“ A toast!” proposed General Daly, raising his glass of wine. “To peace!”
“ To peace,” agreed the spider commander diplomatically.
“ To peace and profit,” I added.
“ Peace on
Sure enough, I was surrounded by paparazzi ghouls hoping for more carnage and gore. When nothing more happened, investigative reporter Phil Coen from Channel Five World News Tonight thrust a microphone in my face. “Colonel Czerinski, isn’t it true you and your Mafia henchmen have a financial interest in the Roof of the World Casino?”
“ The Mafia never got past Mars.”
“ So you formed your own cartel?” pressed Coen. “What is your cut of the profits?”
“ You better back off, Coen,” I threatened, waving the alien poison-probe stick.
“ Threatening the press again? How much is left over for the poor native spiders after you extort your cut?”
I ’d had enough, but luckily Stone-Claw intervened. Wild Ones security guards pounced on Coen, wrapping the reporter in web and carting him off to be tied to a traditional torture pole. “You are violating my First Amendment rights!” protested Coen, struggling upside down against the restraints. “How dare you? I will sue for three-point-two million dollars!”
“ Too bad, so sad,” I responded. “You’re in the Empire, now. I have no jurisdiction to interfere with local cops.”
“ Those aren’t cops. They’re savages. I’m being abducted by aliens. I’m an American citizen. Help, save me!”
“ Savages? Coen, I’m shocked and appalled at your cultural insensitivity.”
“ What will happen to Coen?” asked another reporter, Brad Jacobs. It was no secret in the database that he was bucking for Coen’s job. “Will he be probed? Sent to the gulags? Boiled in oil?”
“ Unlike the Legion, the Empire does not have gulags,” interrupted the spider commander, indignant at the mere suggestion. “And we do not abuse those in custody until found guilty.”
“ That slanderous human pestilence troublemaker,” announced Stone-Claw, “will be pulled apart by camels, roasted at the stake, and eaten at the ninety-nine-cent buffet by tourists. Present the free coupon you got at the door for a discount.”
“ I’m good with that,” I said, patting Stone-Claw on the back before joining the festivities. Another toilet backed up at the end of a row of slots. What a mess!
“ This is outrageous,” fumed the spider commander, focusing on his subordinate in the clogged toilet. “Do you realize how hard it is to replace a good Intelligentsia officer out here on the frontier? Who is going to torture drunk drivers and disorderly human pestilence? Not me! Czerinski is an out-of-control rogue Legion thug, and always has been. It’s in his nature to kill first and ask questions later. I am suing for what he did to my condo, and for damage to the casino rug. Something has to be done about the Butcher of New Colorado and his cowboy Mafia hooliganism before my whole casino gets flooded!”
“ What about Phil Coen?” asked Jacobs. “Phil is an American icon.”
“ You will have to ask the culinary department,” answered the spider commander dismissively. “I cannot micromanage every little detail of casino operations. That’s why we hire professional managers!”
Chapter 13
General Daly arrived for Media Day to schmooze with the spider Governor of the North Territory and Chief Stone-Claw. The spider commander’s staff and mine joined us for lunch at the casino buffet. Sitting to eat, Captain Patton opened a pocket bible and read a prayer from his notes. “A poem from antiquity: Rommel is dead. His army has joined the quicksand Legions of history where the battle is always a metal echo saluting a rusty shadow. His tanks are gone. How’s your ass?”
“ Amen,” I concluded, picking at my meal, not much hungry.
“ You’re quite the poet,” complemented the spider governor.
“ He’s a captain,” I corrected.
“ A toast!” proposed General Daly, raising his glass of wine. “To peace!”
“ To peace,” agreed the spider commander diplomatically.
“ To peace and profit,” I added.
“ Peace on
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