Atm (8 page)

The spider commander was not in his penthouse suite when it was attacked by the Butcher of New Colorado. The commander personally supervised hoisting a Howitzer to the casino rooftop site of his destroyed condo. He peered contemptuously down the barrel of the long gun at the legionnaires scurrying about below like little ants. His Military Intelligence officer and the Intelligentsia officer watched, snickering quietly.

“
The old bastard is overcompensating for his small wee again,” whispered the Military Intelligence officer. “What’s he think he’s going to do with a gun that big?”

“
Shove it up Czerinski’s poop-chute is what he wants to do,” scoffed the Intelligentsia officer. “Good luck with that.”

“
Czerinski will pay dearly for his provocations and insolence,” promised the spider commander, overhearing his subordinates’ conversation. “Pay with his life!”

“
Starting a war would be bad for tourism,” advised the Military Intelligence officer. “Don’t take it so personal. You can get another condo. It’s just business, and Czerinski is our partner. We’re going to get rich if you don’t blow it.”

“
I will not partner with the Devil. If Czerinski thinks he can muscle in on my action, he is very mistaken.”

“
Too late. Chief Stone-Claw cut Czerinski in. That Wild One is smarter than he looks. He’s playing us against the Legion. You need to chill until we find an advantage.”

“
Do not tell me to chill!” shouted the spider commander, grabbing his XO and shoving him to the ledge. “Remember your place, or you will join Czerinski in Hell soon enough, I do not care who you are related to.”

“
Yes, sir.”

The spider commander released him, still staring down at the activity below.
The Legion was bringing in more construction equipment and pre-fab buildings. None of those human pestilence should be given any quarter. It grated on him that greedy traitors allowed the Legion to trespass. There would an accounting for such treachery, and Stone-Claw would be first on his growing list to be executed. “The Legion’s very presence inside the Empire is an insult that must be avenged. Czerinski and his human pestilence Legion are a stench I will tolerate no longer.”

“
I will kill Czerinski for you, sir,” offered the Intelligentsia officer. “I am your sword. Say the word, and it will be done.”

This fool couldn
’t even torture a human pestilence arm, then he allowed it to escape
, thought the spider commander.
Now he thinks he can take on Czerinski and the whole Legion?
“Oh?” he asked conversationally. “How would you kill Czerinski?”

“
At the casino’s grand opening,” explained the Intelligentsia officer eagerly. “There will be a crowd, and lots of distractions. One scratch of nerve agent, and Czerinski will be convulsing on your new carpet.”

“
That’s been tried before. Just shoot the worthless human pestilence, or blow him up. I don’t care which. Make it look like the Mafia did it, so we don’t create a diplomatic incident. I don’t want to get sued, now that I’ve gone corporate.”

“
There is no such thing as the Mafia.”

“
If there was, they would have never got off Arthropoda,” added the Military Intelligence officer, not wanting to be left out.

“
You’re both wrong. Human pestilence and our own rabble conspire to form criminal syndicates. You will kill Czerinski and leave black hand-and-claw prints all over his body, incriminating the Mafia. Understand? Get this right, and I won’t tell the governor how you lost that robot arm.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Chapter 12

Realizing Corporal Tonelli to be a bad influence on new recruits, I assigned Private Atm to be my driver and bodyguard.
Better to keep an eye on Atm, I reasoned too. At the grand opening of the Roof of the World Casino Resort, the spider commander grudgingly gave me a courtesy tour prior to the doors opening. It was my first chance to inspect the premises. I still got my cut, but the spiders had not allowed me access, or let me make management decisions. I was to be a silent partner. Appealing to Chief Stone-Claw was no help. The cagey chief ignored our contract when convenient, and nixed my suite at the top of the casino. Wild Ones speak with forked tongue when it comes to keeping promises.

The Roof of the World Casino Resort was custom
-built for spider gamblers. Permanent urinals were constructed between slot machines so gamblers would not have to take breaks to relieve themselves. Apparently spiders are not as modest as humans about such matters. The splash factor got real annoying, and there were no restrooms for bowel movements. Maybe the spiders bagged their turds. Who knows? With no toilets, the dump was worse than Star Trek. I ordered Major Lopez and his CIA buddies to investigate the matter.

Another interesting feature was the alcohol tubes running directly from the slot machines to each gambler.
The machines even made ice. I decided the spiders were on to something, and I started the process of getting a patent.

Spider and human crowds gathered outside, impatiently counting down to zero hour.
It was the law that no clocks or watches were allowed in any casino, so the crowd was getting restless, continuously checking their communication devices. The spider commander posed for the media, holding large golden scissors. Finally the spider commander cut the yellow police tape, signaling the gamblers to rush the front doors. We were nearly trampled as spiders scrambled over each other to get to the slots. Some fights broke out with humans unaccustomed to such swarms.

A shot rang out directly behind me.
I turned to see Private Atm standing over a dead black-clad Nazi-looking Intelligentsia officer.
What the Hell?
The spider had fallen into a urinal, and was swirling round and round.
May he rest in piss
, I thought. The gamblers ignored the spectacle, rushing to their slots and table games.

“
Explain yourself!” I demanded, confronting Private Atm. Water was already spilling from the clogged toilet onto the new carpet. “What happened?”

“
Someone get a plunger!” interrupted Chief Stone-Claw. “What a mess! What are we going to do? It’s next to impossible to get a union plumber on such short notice. This a closed shop. Do something!”

“
This spider was an assassin,” advised Atm, coolly examining a short stick-like device retrieved from the floor. “He attempted to poison-probe attack you from behind.”

“
Good save,” I replied, snatching the nerve agent stick and waving it in the spider commander’s face. “Well? I assume this is your doing.”

“
Shit happens,” shrugged the spider commander innocently. “Maybe you still owe the Mafia on your gambling debts.”

“
That device is standard-issue Intelligentsia assassination kit equipment,” advised Atm. “The Empire is responsible. It’s unconscionable. Colonel Czerinski’s death would have set Legion recruitment quotas back months!”

“
Suddenly your lowly driver is an expert on Intelligentsia equipment?” scoffed the spider commander. “I don’t think so. You can buy probe-sticks at any Walmart for pest control against the many invasive vermin of Old Earth. They’re especially useful against moles.”

“
I can have you whacked at any time,” I warned. “I should shoot you now!”

“
You threaten me on TV?” needled the spider commander, pandering to the crowd as cameras zoomed in. “Tsk, tsk, Czerinski. More bad press 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 you,” bristled Patton refusing to toast with spiders.

“
To peace on everyone,” added the governor.

“
To the next war,” toasted Patton.

“
Sooner than you realize,” advised the spider commander, gulping his wine through clenched fangs.

“
To the victor goes the spoils,” slurred Stone-Claw, already drunk. “To rape and plunder sweet bubble-butt virgins.”

“
To this fine meal,” toasted Daly, trying to divert a confrontation. “What’s in this meat pie? Duck?”

“
Tastes like chicken,” answered the governor. “It’s a bit gamey. I love eating ethnic.”

“
Eat up, Czerinski,” ordered General Daly, noticing me pick suspiciously at my pie. “It’s a party.”

“
I only eat one meal a day, and this isn’t it.”

“
I love spider culinary innovation,” commented Daly. “It adds so much to the frontier experience. My wife would love your recipe for this meat pie.”