America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment (11 page)

A carload of young spider females stopped.
They were giggling and having lots of fun. “Hello, old timer,” said
Pam. “Are we there yet?”

“That depends,” said the prospector. “If you
are going to Finisterra, it is another five hundred miles up the
road. It’s a rough road, and that old car of yours will never make
it through the next storm.”

“This is some hotel you have here,” said Pam,
carefully looking the place over. The donkey poked its head out of
the tent. “It is nothing but a big tent.”

“It is warm even during an Arctic storm,”
said the prospector. “I am putting up another tent soon. Would you
like to spend the night with me?”

“Why, you old dragon slayer, you.” Pam
giggled. “Did you just proposition me?”

“I am too old to proposition anyone,” said
the prospector. “You would kill me in the sack. I just wanted to
know if you would like a warm place to stay tonight.”

“You are not that old,” said Pam, eyeing him
speculatively. She yelled to her sisters in the car, “Hey Fran!
This old fart is kind of feisty.”

“He is a sweetie,” said Fran, getting out of
the car. “I smell food cooking. Can we eat here? I have to
pee!”

“Do you have money?” asked the prospector.
“This is a business.”

“If we had money we would not be going to
Finisterra with everything we own piled on top of the car,” said
Pam. “Would you take an I.O.U?”

“How about we do a trade?” asked Fran, giving
the prospector a caress on his mandibles. Pam put a claw around his
waist. The three entered the hotel together to check in.

“I told you I am too old for pushy females,”
said the prospector. “My exoskeleton is too brittle.”

“Nonsense,” said Pam. “You are never too old.
I’ll be gentle.”

“I won’t,” said Fran.

After negotiating all night, Pam, Fran, Sam,
Bam, Jan, and the prospector became business partners. The donkey
was no longer allowed to stay in the main tent. And the prospector
changed his sign to: BATTLE CREEK CAFÉ, STORE, HOTEL, AND BROTHEL.
NEXT STOP / FEMALES 500 MILES.

* * * * *

The population of Finisterra swelled to
fifteen thousand in two weeks as more and more boats and vehicles
arrived. Trees were chopped down and tents put up. A lumber mill
started manufacturing boards. Humans and spiders worked side by
side. Drunkenness and gunfights were common. Surprisingly, the
first large structure built was a church. The building was also
used as a community center and tavern during the week. Legion
engineers finally started work on the bridge. Work had been delayed
when more gold was discovered where the bridge foundation was being
excavated. Also, I put the engineers to work building public
restrooms and large longhouses for all the transient workers and
miners. Anyone staying at a longhouse was required to shovel snow
for his rent. Because I had been the Mayor of Disneyland for a
short time, everyone assumed I was in charge here, too. I presided
over weekly civic meetings at the community center.

“You are the only law enforcement in
Finisterra,” complained a new grocery store owner. “I expect
regular Legion patrols. I have to put up shutters because my
windows keep being shot out.”

“I am not a cop,” I replied. “I don’t
particularly like cops, and I don’t want to be one.”

“Few here do,” advised the spider grocer.
“The fact that you don’t want the job probably makes you the best
qualified. There is a need for police in a wild frontier town like
this. Otherwise, bodies start piling up.”

“I refuse to be your police chief,” I said.
“Does anyone here want the job?” No one answered.

“We could solicit donations in gold to make
the job more attractive,” said the preacher. “Then we could hire a
town marshal.”

That idea got voted down as the crowd
chanted, “No taxes, no taxes, read my lips, no taxes!”

“Because everyone is too cheap to hire a
sheriff and no one wants to be sheriff, everyone is going to have
to be more civic minded than usual,” I announced. “Our first new
law will be to make it mandatory for everyone to carry a firearm.
Permission is granted for anyone who sees a serious crime committed
in their presence to shoot the culprit on sight and dump him into
the river.”

Our first law got loud unanimous approval.
One spider asked if we had just legalized lynching, but he was
shouted down. There’s always a malcontent in every crowd.

“What about garbage collection?” asked a
human miner.

“That problem again,” I said, remembering the
Disneyland garbage problems. “Does anyone want that job? No? I
didn’t think so. Just throw all the garbage into the river.”

“What about whorehouses?” someone asked. “The
nearest whorehouse is five hundred miles away in Battle Creek.”

“I’ll have the engineers build a fine
whorehouse right next to this building,” I said. “We will let the
girls stay there rent free. I need a volunteer to go to Battle
Creek to see if the owners of that whorehouse can be coaxed into
moving their operations up here. I’ll provide Legion trucks to move
them.”

After that matter passed unanimously, I had
no problem finding a volunteer. I also suggested we should open a
casino next to the whorehouse.

“We need paved roads,” said a spider miner.
“When the snow melts, the streets will turn into four-foot deep
mud.”

“I will have the engineers pave Main Street
to where it connects to the bridge,” I said.

“I heard there is a lawyer’s office about to
open,” said a human spectator way in the back.

“Someone get a rope,” I said, to a chorus of
cheers.

“You are the Butcher of New Colorado,”
accused a large spider in the front row. “How can the spider
community trust you?”

“Because it is still legal for you to carry
your assault rifle. The Legion is only confiscating machine guns,
RPGs, and surface to air missiles,” I said. “Firearms are the teeth
of liberty. If you don’t trust me, trust Smith & Wesson. Any
more stupid questions?” I looked around. Nothing. “Good. Someone
open the tavern.”

* * * * *

Four masked spiders carrying Arthropodan
assault rifles entered the New Memphis branch of the First Colonial
Bank of New Colorado. They demanded large denominations of cash.
Two minutes later they were out the door with two hundred thousand
dollars. A getaway driver waited out front in a stolen car.

As General Electric inspected the stolen
cash, a purple dye pack exploded all over his face and hands. He
cursed the human pestilence for their devious ways, then gave
orders for the driver to head for the North Highway. Halfway out of
town, G.E. found a GPS location transmitter bundled in the money.
He threw it out the window.

General Electric turned to crime because his
lawsuit had gone all wrong. His attorney, Depoli, explained that he
lost a motion for summary judgment to dismiss, filed by the Legion.
The Court held that the Legion had immunity against lawsuits that
originated from combat zones. Also, the judge was making inquiries
about G.E.’s true identity. G.E. decided to it was time to get out
of town. Legionnaires were waiting at the boat docks, so he took
the North Highway. They hoped to blend in with the gold rush
traffic.

At Battle Creek, they spent the night
celebrating. The girls were happy to party with them and take their
money.

“Listen up, boys,” said Pam. “Line up for
inspection. This is a safety-first brothel.”

Pam walked down the line happily inspecting
the bank robbers until she got to G.E. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said
G.E.

“If you want to get laid in my brothel, you
are going to have to talk about it,” said Pam. “These are
high-class girls. What is that purple stuff all over you?”

“It’s nothing,” said G.E. “It’s just
exploding purple dye.”

“I have never heard of that. Is it
contagious?” asked Pam. “How did you contract exploding purple
dye?”

“No, it is not contagious,” said G.E. “I got
it from the human pestilence.”

“That’s kind of kinky,” said Pam. “But I am
sorry. I cannot risk catching whatever it is you have. You need to
have that looked at by a doctor. No sex for you, even with
protection. The rest of you boys have fun all night.”

“But it is not a virus,” explained G.E. “It
was in the money.”

“I don’t care what it was in, it’s not
getting in me,” said Pam. “It creeps me out. You need to leave. I
don’t even want you on the premises.”

G.E. went next door to the café and ordered a
venison steak. The old spider cooking looked familiar. He took a
closer look. The spider was wearing a floppy wide brim hat with a
big feather in it, sunglasses, a full length fur coat, a gold
earring, gold rings on all his digits, gold chains, and a shiny
pistol with ivory grips on his belt. The gold cap on his fang was
stunning.

“Do I know you?” asked G.E. “I feel like we
have met.”

“Not likely,” replied the prospector. He
remembered the Special Forces officer. “What’s with the purple
creeping crud all over your face and hands?”

“It’s just purple dye,” said G.E. “It was an
accident. It won’t come off no matter how hard I scrub.”

“Want to buy some paint?” asked the
prospector. “Maybe you can cover it up.”

“No,” said G.E. “It will wear off
eventually.”

“It’s gross is what it is,” commented the
prospector as he gave G.E. his steak in a box. “I’m making your
order to go because your condition is bad for business. It’s
probably a health code violation to allow you to eat in the café
without a mask and gloves.”

“Health code violation?” asked G.E. “Are you
kidding? You are cooking out of a tent, and I just saw a donkey
stick its nasty head in the front door flap. Now I recognize you.
You’re that old prospector.”

“And you are a Special Forces marine
officer,” said the prospector. “What happened? Lose the war
again?”

“It’s a long story,” said G.E. He let out a
hissing sigh. “Do you have any vacancies at your hotel? I need a
room big enough for five beds.”

“Yes I do,” said the prospector. “I’ll give
you a suite. It even has a heater and cable TV.”

“Friends don’t let friends watch cable TV,”
insisted G.E. “Isn’t cable TV illegal?”

“Yes, but it’s a silly law,” said the
prospector. “Don’t worry. The cable is underground. That way the
Feds can’t mess with it.”

“Aren’t you afraid the Legion might arrest
you for subversive activities?” asked G.E.

“Let them try to arrest me,” said the
prospector, holding up an RPG from behind the counter. “A lot have
tried, a lot have died. Cable TV is the future. Soon cable will
reach all the way to Finisterra. It can’t be stopped.”

“I’m sorry about our first meeting,” said
G.E. “No hard feelings?”

“I’m good,” lied the prospector, still upset.
“You are a customer now.”

* * * * *

The next morning the prospector sold G.E. an
old utility van that had been salvaged from the roadside. G.E. felt
their stolen car might be too hot for the trip to Finisterra. Just
before arriving at Finisterra, they pulled off along side the
roadway for a break. G.E. took a walk in the woods for some
privacy. He could hear a humming sound. G.E. thought he had heard
the humming sound earlier, but dismissed it as inner ear ringing
caused by the purple exploding pack. Now the humming, clearly
mechanical, was distinct and real. G.E. looked about the brush but
could find nothing. Then he looked up. That’s it, he thought. It
must be a surveillance drone. G.E ran towards the van shouting a
warning. A missile, guided by a camera on the drone, hit the van.
The resulting fireball drove G.E. back into the woods just as a
Legion armored car rounded the corner. A machine gun blasted the
woods on both sides of the roadway as G.E. ducked for cover.

“We got him!” shouted Lieutenant Lopez. “It’s
about time something went right.”

Private Washington carefully checked the
inside of the van. “We might have a problem,” he said.

“No one could have survived a direct hit,”
said Lieutenant Lopez. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

“I see assault rifles, grenades, and lots of
ammunition,” said Private Washington. “I see no equipment, tools,
or TV cable.”

“So he was traveling light. What’s the
problem? It’s the right license plate,” insisted Lieutenant Lopez.
“The main thing is that the Cable Guy is dead.”

“I see four spider bodies,” said Private
Washington. “The Cable Guy is human.”

“Oops,” said Lieutenant Lopez, taking another
look inside the van. “Are you sure? Maybe he got thrown from the
vehicle and these are just employees.”

“Captain Czerinski is going to be upset,”
advised Corporal Tonelli. “There was a reward posted for the Cable
Guy.”

“Captain Czerinski will get over it,” said
Lieutenant Lopez. He removed a bundle of hundred dollar bills found
in the glove box and placed it in his inside coat pocket. “Whoever
it is we killed were up to no good anyway, so it’s no big loss. We
will use the armored car to push the van off the highway and into
the woods.”

G.E. watched the legionnaires drive away.
They were laughing and having a grand old time. It would take a
while, but G.E planned to hike to his crashed shuttle. He would
salvage more weapons and explosives. The human pestilence would pay
for killing his comrades.

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CHAPTER 10

In the spring, the bridge was completed
connecting Finisterra with East Finisterra. Road crews were now
extending the North Highway to the Arctic Circle. General
Kalipetsis obtained federal funding for a sewer and garbage
treatment plant and reactor that produced electricity. Officials in
New Memphis had complained about Finisterra dumping so much sewage
and garbage into their river. The Feds even paid for a garbage
truck and a sanitary engineer.