that, human pestilence!” she shouted.
“I should know better than to ask directions in this neighborhood,” groused Sergeant Green, dousing the belligerent spider with pepper spray. She dropped to the sidewalk, clutching her eyes and gagging. Groceries rolled into the street to be squashed by traffic. “Mess with the Legion, will you!”
“Real smooth, Tyrone,” commented Ceausescu. “Now I remember why we broke up.” “Don’t you start.” “Or what?” “I have plenty more pepper spray.” “Oh, I’m so scared.”
* * * * *
I ordered the drone up in the air to keep track of Sergeant Green, who was lagging behind, and to scout defenses at the Scorpion Embassy. I viewed video from a monitor in my command car. General Lopez peered over my shoulder, shaking his head. “Let me see that thing,” demanded Lopez, snatching the joystick controls. “I want a closer look at those bendaho scorpions down there.”
“Careful with that thing!” I warned, plugging in another joystick. “We only have one drone.”
The screen blinked, then went to snow and static.
“What happened?” asked General Lopez, rattling the joystick, examining its underside for loose connections. “No wonder. Look! This piece of junk is manufactured in China! Is nothing made in America anymore?”
“Sir, can we stop and order Chinese take-out for lunch?” asked Sergeant Williams, listening in on the intercom. “The GPS indicates there is a Panda Express Restaurant at the next exit.”
“No bear stew for you!” exclaimed General Lopez, tossing the worthless joystick at me. “I swear, those Chinese will eat anything with four legs except the table. They’re as bad as the scorpions!”
“Sir, Sergeant Green just radioed that the Arthropodan World News Tonight traffic helicopter just crashed,” advised Sergeant Williams, looking disappointed that we were not stopping. I could hear his stomach growling loudly. “He thinks it collided with our drone.”
“Damn those Chinese!” fumed General Lopez. “I’m not paying for no spider helicopter crash caused by shoddy Chinese equipment.”
We went topside to get a better look. A single column of smoke was rising from a residential neighborhood in the distance.
“Outsourcing to cut costs by the Defense Department will be the first issue raised by my Administration after I am elected President,” declared General Lopez, pointing at the smoke. “Buying those foreign-made joysticks costs countless American jobs and compromises our combat capability!”
back to Table of Contents
Chapter 9
After arriving at the Scorpion Embassy, I positioned armored cars twenty-five yards apart, facing the main gate. At a respectful distance on the other side of Embassy Row Boulevard, spider police roped off an area for the viewing public. It was the height of the tourist season, and pedestrian traffic had to be rerouted. Busses were bringing in even more spectators. Admission was charged for prime seating in newly erected bleachers. An overflow of spiders was directed to a nearby hill, where seating was free. Spiders brought picnic baskets and laid out blankets. Outlaw Beer flowed freely. Someone tossed a prized imported Nike Frisbee.
Spider youth played war and tag in the street, antagonizing traffic cops, and occasionally getting zapped by a taser as they were shooed way. Spider hawkers sold Old Earth peanuts, Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, hotdogs, buttered popcorn, and G.I. Joe and Scorpion Commando action-figure dolls. Another roped-off area contained the press corps. About fifty cameras guaranteed General Lopez the real-time intergalactic media coverage he craved.
Before leaving, our police escort warned, “All shooting and bombing will cease promptly at 1900 hours in compliance with residential noise ordinances. Try to keep collateral damage and casualties to a minimum, as you will be liable for errant rounds.
“I should know better than to ask directions in this neighborhood,” groused Sergeant Green, dousing the belligerent spider with pepper spray. She dropped to the sidewalk, clutching her eyes and gagging. Groceries rolled into the street to be squashed by traffic. “Mess with the Legion, will you!”
“Real smooth, Tyrone,” commented Ceausescu. “Now I remember why we broke up.” “Don’t you start.” “Or what?” “I have plenty more pepper spray.” “Oh, I’m so scared.”
* * * * *
I ordered the drone up in the air to keep track of Sergeant Green, who was lagging behind, and to scout defenses at the Scorpion Embassy. I viewed video from a monitor in my command car. General Lopez peered over my shoulder, shaking his head. “Let me see that thing,” demanded Lopez, snatching the joystick controls. “I want a closer look at those bendaho scorpions down there.”
“Careful with that thing!” I warned, plugging in another joystick. “We only have one drone.”
The screen blinked, then went to snow and static.
“What happened?” asked General Lopez, rattling the joystick, examining its underside for loose connections. “No wonder. Look! This piece of junk is manufactured in China! Is nothing made in America anymore?”
“Sir, can we stop and order Chinese take-out for lunch?” asked Sergeant Williams, listening in on the intercom. “The GPS indicates there is a Panda Express Restaurant at the next exit.”
“No bear stew for you!” exclaimed General Lopez, tossing the worthless joystick at me. “I swear, those Chinese will eat anything with four legs except the table. They’re as bad as the scorpions!”
“Sir, Sergeant Green just radioed that the Arthropodan World News Tonight traffic helicopter just crashed,” advised Sergeant Williams, looking disappointed that we were not stopping. I could hear his stomach growling loudly. “He thinks it collided with our drone.”
“Damn those Chinese!” fumed General Lopez. “I’m not paying for no spider helicopter crash caused by shoddy Chinese equipment.”
We went topside to get a better look. A single column of smoke was rising from a residential neighborhood in the distance.
“Outsourcing to cut costs by the Defense Department will be the first issue raised by my Administration after I am elected President,” declared General Lopez, pointing at the smoke. “Buying those foreign-made joysticks costs countless American jobs and compromises our combat capability!”
back to Table of Contents
Chapter 9
After arriving at the Scorpion Embassy, I positioned armored cars twenty-five yards apart, facing the main gate. At a respectful distance on the other side of Embassy Row Boulevard, spider police roped off an area for the viewing public. It was the height of the tourist season, and pedestrian traffic had to be rerouted. Busses were bringing in even more spectators. Admission was charged for prime seating in newly erected bleachers. An overflow of spiders was directed to a nearby hill, where seating was free. Spiders brought picnic baskets and laid out blankets. Outlaw Beer flowed freely. Someone tossed a prized imported Nike Frisbee.
Spider youth played war and tag in the street, antagonizing traffic cops, and occasionally getting zapped by a taser as they were shooed way. Spider hawkers sold Old Earth peanuts, Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, hotdogs, buttered popcorn, and G.I. Joe and Scorpion Commando action-figure dolls. Another roped-off area contained the press corps. About fifty cameras guaranteed General Lopez the real-time intergalactic media coverage he craved.
Before leaving, our police escort warned, “All shooting and bombing will cease promptly at 1900 hours in compliance with residential noise ordinances. Try to keep collateral damage and casualties to a minimum, as you will be liable for errant rounds.
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