Embassy War (10 page)

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Chapter 11

United States Galactic Federation Ambassador Maxwell Hobbs arrived at the Scorpion Royal Court to receive a formal complaint about the Foreign Legion shooting Her Majesty the Queen. The details had been worked out earlier by the CIA and the Scorpion Intelligence Chief, and this public ceremony would make it official. Reporters stood by. The Scorpion King sat upon his thrown, sternly gazing down at the puny human representative. He knew Hobbs, a sneaky ex-CIA spy. An aide presented Hobbs a sealed scroll.

“It is all there,” advised the Scorpion King. “Czerinski shot my beloved Queen, we are pissed off about it, forgive most of you, and demand three billion American dollars compensation for insult to the Kingdom, loss of consortium, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“That is outrageous,” replied Ambassador Hobbs. “Do you think three billion American dollars just grows on trees? Two billion dollars is as high as I can go, and I feel like I am being robbed.”

“Deal!” exclaimed the Scorpion King, slapping his claws together excitedly. An aide passed the King’s ATM card to Hobbs, who swiped it on his communications pad. Transaction completed, money transferred.

“Great,” said Hobbs, successfully concluding his first major diplomatic test since his new appointment.
What’s so hard about this?
he thought to himself, stuffing the scroll under his coat. “Any other issues?”

“Only one, Max,” advised the Scorpion King, motioning to the Royal Guard to seize Hobbs. “You are invited to lunch. I love ethnic food.”

* * * * *

I downloaded and sent General Lopez an edited video copy of Death’s demise, making my best case for not being shot on sight as a terrorist. Lopez returned my E-mail immediately with a phone call. “Are you sure the Grim Reaper is dead?” he asked.

“I blew its brains out with a bomb,” I reasoned, trying to convince myself too. “What could survive that?”

“I don’t know, but it had better be dead. The CIA and the Scorpion Intelligence Agency were all duly impressed and are now onboard with sacrificing the Scorpion Queen as a ploy to allow you to get close enough to kill the Grim Reaper. The Queen died heroically. But all agreements are off if the Boney One is still alive.”

“The Grim Reaper is dead,” I promised.

“Those damn scorpions ate our ambassador,” commented General Lopez. “Did you hear about that? Those bugs think that makes things even. It does not! We will get payback. I’ll personally see to it.”

“Whatever. What do we tell the press? No one will believe the truth, even with it all on video.”

“Just stay in the USGF Embassy for now. Don’t worry, I’ve got Attorney Depoli working on spinning this. You may have to plead insanity and be locked up for a while. Or, we can go the diplomatic immunity route. Either way, we’ll get you off if it goes to trial.”

“What?” I asked. “No one is putting me on trial, or locking me up in the booby-hatch!”

“You shot a head of state, again,” explained General Lopez. “That looks real bad on your resume. You can’t just keep doing that. People talk.”

“But the Grim Reaper is dead. That’s a good thing, right? Killing Thanatos should count for something. At least let me go on vacation. How about Mars?”

“How about Uranus? You aren’t going anywhere! We do not know for sure if the Grim Reaper is dead, or if that is a good thing. People are still dying. The CIA wants to know who is collecting souls now. Are you absolutely positive the Grim Reaper is dead? Tell me everything, Czerinski, or you will be sorry.”

“I told you, he has to be dead,” I insisted, entering the next room again to double-check the toilet. I lifted the lid, peering inside. Nothing but clear blue disinfectant water, and Green’s smelly cigar butt floating. I put my ear to the bowl and listened intently. It sounded like the ocean shore, or the inside of a sea shell. “It’s dead. You will be the first to know if I find out otherwise.”

General Lopez seemed satisfied. “I almost forgot to ask, parts of the audio and visual of the recording were flawed. What did the Grim Reaper give you? Something small? Jewelry, or maybe a computer chip?”

“It was nothing,” I answered. “You are mistaken. The Grim Reaper does not give. He only takes.”

* * * * *

The United States Galactic Federation President summoned the newly appointed Scorpion Ambassador to the White House to deliver a formal complaint in regard to the insulting treatment of the USGF ambassador and staff on the scorpion home world. As the Scorpion Ambassador’s shuttle touched down, a Marine Corps honor guard snapped to attention, and a Legion band played the scorpions’ national anthem.

In accordance with diplomatic protocol and Old Earth tradition, the aliens were given the red carpet treatment in spite of their intergalactic transgressions. The somber Scorpion Ambassador and his nervous scorpion staff were escorted to the White House Rose Garden for photo ops with the President, and greeted by another honor guard of sorts. As a single triangle dinner chime was struck, presidential chefs garbed in immaculate white uniforms came to attention, presiding over a spread of ceremonial gold-plated knives, forks, and ladles glistening in the sunlight. In the background, the Legion band switched to a festive mariachi tune.

“Welcome to Old Earth!” exclaimed the smiling President, warmly shaking the Ambassador’s claw. An aide delivered an official diplomatic complaint letter containing a curt but stern resolution from Congress. TV cameras zoomed in for close-ups. “You arrived just in time for dinner. On the menu will be a delicious traditional favorite New England style dish, similar to clarified buttered Maine lobster:
Giada de Laurentis
– Grande Scorpion. Seize them!”

* * * * *

I too was invited to the White House, to receive a medal for winning the Embassy War. General Lopez did not make the trip. After President Miller got wind of General Lopez’s political aspirations, Lopez was demoted to major and transferred to volcano watch duty on a lonely ocean island weather station somewhere on Planet New Colorado. It was a vivid object lesson on power, and who wields it.

As I stood next to General Daly at the presidential banquet, refilling my drink, a stately blue-haired woman sauntered up to me and offered me an hors d’oeuvre. Knowing scorpion was on the menu, I politely declined. “No thank you, ma’am, I don’t eat that shit.”

“What?” “I said that shit is disgusting.” “How dare you be so crude,” she exclaimed, turning to General Daly. “Did you hear how your subordinate talked to me?” “I don’t blame Czerinski,” replied General Daly. “I wouldn’t eat that shit either.” “Well, I never!” “Exactly,” added General Daly, walking way. “Let’s dance,” I suggested, leading her out to the middle of the ballroom. I held her close as the Legion band played a country-western waltz from antiquity. “It has been a long time since I last danced with a human female.”

“Yes, I can tell,” commented the blue-haired lady, pushing me away slightly. Only slightly. “What is your name?” I asked. “Suzie.” “Just Suzie? “You are in big trouble, mister. I can read your mind. I know your every thought.” “Suzie, how about we slip out of here for some real fun?” “That would be inappropriate, young man.” “I’m a Hero of the Legion, back from fighting evil aliens. Consider it your patriotic duty.” “I am well aware of who you are, Colonel Czerinski. I’ve seen your database porn on the Spiders Gone Wild Channel.” “That’s not my fault. I was drunk. Damn video cameras are everywhere.” “Are you a Republican?” “Of course.” “You were also on the Scorpions Gone Wild Channel.” “I get bad press.” “I saw your videos.” “It’s stuffy in here,” I replied, leading Suzie by the hand out to a hallway. “This is so wrong. I am married, and my husband gets very jealous. Are you sure you’re a Republican?” “Yes. I’m an officer and a gentleman, too. We won’t tell your husband.” A Legionnaire guard guided us down a hallway and opened a side door. Secret Service agents looked the other way. POTUS had used that very closet.

“I am certainly not going in there with you!” exclaimed Suzie. “That is a disgusting mop closet!” “There’s room enough,” I replied lewdly. “If we stand up.” “No!” I pulled the exotically handsome Suzie inside and closed the door behind us. Suzie and I made noisy, clanking, passionate love between the mops and a metal bucket. Suzie held up quite well for an older woman. She obviously benefited from illegal embedded enhancement chips. Being of Old Earth’s elite, that was to be expected. Suzie was quite the handsome eloquent lady, a real wildcat.

When we returned to the banquet, Suzie sat at the head of the table, next to the President.
Shit! Really? The First Lady? Maybe the President won’t find out,
I hoped desperately, always the eternal optimist.

Yeah, right.
White House security is tight. There are video cameras everywhere, even in mop closets. Not only did the President view the video of our mop-closet passion, but hackers immediately posted the video on the database.

The next day, I was transferred to volcano watch with Lopez. Fortunately I was not shot or thrown out an airlock for being an undesirable on Old Earth.
Fine.
My bridges to Old Earth are burned, and I’m in the Legion for the duration. It has always been so.

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PART II – Quenaudenville

Chapter 12

I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. As a reward for a job well done, the President personally assigned me as garrison commander on the remote ocean island of Quenaudenville, Planet of New Colorado. I think ‘Quenaudenville’ is Polynesian for ‘Asshole to Nowhere.’

Major Lopez, recently demoted, waited for me at the dock. His advance team had been preparing for the battalion’s arrival. Our mission was to secure Quenaudenville, and to investigate recent spider activity on the far side of the island. Quenaudenville was located on the Equator, and the border with the Arthropodan Empire divided the island, extending up the volcanic cone.

“Welcome to Paradise,” greeted Major Lopez. “What are you doing here? Screw up again?”

“Hell, yes, he screwed up,” interrupted Master Sergeant Green. “Every time Czerinski screws up, we have to pay for it.”

“It’s just another assignment,” I answered testily. “I go where the Legion sends me. I hear you share Paradise with spiders. What are they up to?”

“The spiders are building some sort of platform on their side of the volcano. We don’t know why.” “Nonsense. Satellites can zoom in and watch a gnat sitting on a fly’s ass. What are we seeing?” “Camouflage nets obscure our view from space. It’s a mystery what the spiders are up to this time.” “That’s why we’re here?” I asked. “To keep watch on the spiders?” “I suppose.” “This island isn’t big enough for us all.” I looked around. “Does Quenaudenville have any value? Is there industry here?” “Billy ‘The Ghoul’ Giovanni runs a garbage disposal business. Garbage is compacted on the mainland, barged here, hauled up the volcano on a conveyor belt, and dumped into the volcano.”

“The Mafia dumps garbage into a live volcano?” I asked, glancing at the clouds obscuring the peak. “Is that really a good solution for waste disposal?”

Lopez shrugged. “Our taxpayers’ money at work.”

“Maybe there is money to be made in this dump after all,” commented Corporal Guido Tonelli, passing by, loaded with gear. His monitor dragon Spot padded along behind. “Did you know there is no database access? How can I run my bookie business with no database?”

“A satellite passes by twice a day,” advised Major Lopez. “Guido, find out what your Mafia buddies are up to,” I ordered. “There is no such thing as the Mafia,” replied Guido. “But I know Billy. If there is a racket to be had, he’s on it.” “Anything else I should know?” I asked. “Is the volcano going to explode anytime soon?” “We’re getting a Walmart,” advised Lopez cheerfully, ignoring my pessimism. “It will be the first floating Walmart Superstore in the galaxy. They should arrive just in time for the holiday season.”

* * * * *