Lieutenant Columbus (5 page)

Dust and debris rained down. We scrambled back to the surface, finding ourselves surrounded by heavily armed Arthropodan marines.

“Did you not see the
‘
no trespassing keep out
’
sign?” I asked, conversationally. “No spiders allowed.”

“No more partners!” exclaimed Lieutenant Columbus, drawing his sword. “We were here first!”

“And
we
are here second,” responded the spider commander. “So what? Your adventurism will not be tolerated. What are you human pestilence up to now?”

“Waterfowl habitat restoration,” advised Major Lopez. “You are going to be in big trouble with the Forest Service.”

“Smokey the Bear is going to kick your ass,” added Shaky Jake.

“Shut up, traitor,”
h
issed the spider commander. “When I want your opinion, I will ask for it.”

“Ducks and geese need a safe place to nest and sleep at night,” I insisted.

“In a tunnel?”

“Bats too. They
’
re on the Protected Species List. Look it up if you don
’
t believe me.”

“Do you ever tell the truth?” fumed the spider commander. “Spill it! Why do you dig a tunnel under the Emperor
’
s lake? Tell me now, or I will flood your precious tunnel.”

“Gold,” answered Sergeant Boedecker. “There is enough for us all.”

* * * * *

Late that night Arthropodan marines set more charges, this time at the dam. The resulting flood reached all the way to Scorpion City. Soon the Scorpion City National Guard was on the scene, not very happy.

The incident made the Galactic Database news, but not because of the flood. Two thousand ducks crashed on the Scorpion City Walmart, mistaking the parking lot for Monica Lake. Scorpion residents rushed to Walmart to rescue injured waterfowl. A bird
-
eating feast rivaling Thanksgiving Day followed.

General Daly called me, not happy.
“Czerinski, do you realize the President himself is on my ass over this bunch of happy bird shit you stirred up? The Audubon Society pressured Congress to start committee hearings on this whole fowl matter. Walmart is pissed, too.”

“It
’
s not my fault,” I insisted. “Walmart painted their parking lot blue for the holidays. Stupid birds. This has happened before. Remember, back in the day, Boise State
’
s football field? It
’
s blue.”

“I do not want your lame excuses. Paint the damn parking lot the right color, and refill Monica Lake!”

“It
’
s not that simple,” I explained. “The Monica Lake Reservoir and Irrigation District is jointly administered by the USFG and the Arthropodan Empire. I have a company of spider marines camped out on the mud flats, refusing to leave.”

“Has the galaxy gone mad? What do you mean refusing to leave?”

“Sir, there are rumors of gold under the lake. Thousands of colonists from both sides of the border are flocking to the area. It
’
s a gold rush.”

“Flocking? Do you mock me? Take care of those birds, or else! Refill that lake!”

“Whatever.” I disconnected.

back to Table of Contents

Chapter 5

Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard confronted me, angrily shaking his claw and pointing at the spider marines across the mud flats.
“A fine mess you caused this time, Czerinski. Trouble follows you. Now what?”

“The spiders blew up the dam,” I replied. “Sorry about the flood.”

“I am talking about the gold! Get those trespassing spiders off my gold!”

“You
’
re not upset about the flood?”

“Scorpion City will eventually dry. Pizza Hut will still deliver. But those spider marines intend to stay and dig up my gold!”

“
Your
gold?” interrupted Major Lopez. “The Legion already filed a claim. It
’
s our gold now.”

“All mine claims at the Courthouse were destroyed in the flood,” advised Major Desert-Sting, smugly. “Play ball, we are partners now. I filed an amended claim. Figure out what to do about those damn spiders, or I will call for an air strike.”

“No gold has been discovered. Soon, all will tire of the search and go home.”

“I know better than that. You found Woodard
’
s Lost Mine. It
’
s under the lake?”

“Maybe. Don
’
t call an air quite strike yet. We don
’
t want to start another war.”

“Speak for yourself. I do not need a reason to kill spiders.”

* * * * *

I hate being manipulated.
I received anonymous flash priority messages, possibly from the future, and maybe from myself.
That
’
s a good trick.
Most of the time
,
the messages were helpful. I
was
now
c
ertain there really
wa
s gold under Monica Lake. However, sometimes the messages conflict
ed
, so I still use
d
my own best judgment.

Today, I received the text,
‘
Kill Sergeant Boedecker
. H
e is not what he appears.
’
I refused that advise, asking for clarification.
‘
Boedecker is a Democrat,
’
was the curt reply.

“No way,
’
I texted back.
‘
He would have never got past Mars, let alone been allowed to enlist in the Legion.
’

Being slandered a Democrat almost sealed Boedecker
’
s fate, but then another text read,
‘
Liar! Boedecker is a lifelong Republican from Scranton.
’

Obviously the texts were from different sources.
‘
Kill that pervert camel
’
added to the confusion.
Odd.
I made a note to keep an eye on
Columbus
’
s
camel.

General Daly ordered me to repair the dam, post guards, and refill the reservoir. Another text ordered me to seal the tunnel, suggesting we could find Bob
’
s Mine later in the future.
Lot of good that does me now.

Engineers built an earthen dam, and Monica Lake slowly refilled. Texts stopped as we settled in to a standoff facing the spiders across the border. I flooded the tunnel on my island to prevent snooping by gold seekers.
‘
Monica City
’
continued, diehards staying, finding small traces of color on the beach. The spider commander handed me a Warrant of Arrest and Extradition for Hargundu.

“That abomination of a mangy lice-infected camel is a dangerous menace to the galaxy, and pursuant to treaty, I demand its extradition and or immediate execution,” advised the spider commander. “I am also contemplating civil action. My war mule has been listless ever since the assault, often refusing direct orders. He just stands there twitching his ears. I fear my war mule may need counseling. Do you realize how much the vet charges for counseling these days?”

“Your problem is stupidity. You can
’
t fix stupid.”

“My war mule is not stupid. He is an intelligent and valuable piece of military property!”

“I was referring to you.”

“There will be consequences if you continue to violate our borders and disrespect the Empire!” advised the spider commander, tromping off. “Serious consequences!”

Whatever.

* * * * *

It was time to get answers. Major Lopez and I took Sergeant Boedecker for a little walk.

“You are under arrest,” I announced, placing restraints on Boedecker
’
s hands and feet. “Your ID is a forgery.”

“It is impossible to forge Legion ID,” protested Sergeant Boedecker. “You are mistaken.”

Major Lopez pistol whipped Boedecker across the face.

“Lie one more time, and you are dead,” threatened Major Lopez.

“Please, I can explain!”

“Are you a time traveler?” I asked. “A spy from the future?”

“No, of course not.”

Major Lopez struck Boedecker again, knocking him to the dirt. We strung Boedecker upside down from a tree branch. I gathered small pieces of wood to start a fire.

“You can
’
t be serious!” exclaimed Boedecker, as I lit the fire. “Okay! I
’
ll tell you everything. Columbus is the time traveler, not me!”

“Tell me something I don
’
t know,” demanded Major Lopez, tossing another stick on the fire. “This is not going to end well if you don
’
t come clean.”

“Who is sending me text messages, and why?” I asked, swinging Boedecker back and forth across the growing flames. “You better talk quick, or you
’
re going to be barbequed. I
’
ll feed you to the Scorpion City National Guard.”

“I don
’
t know! The CIA sent me to find out. Those
texts
are probably from yourself in the future, trying to coach you on another get
-
rich scheme.”

“I am already rich,” I advised, kicking the fire aside. “There are easier ways to make money than digging holes in the ground, especially if I knew the future.”

“The CIA found Columbus at the Legion Academy,” explained Boedecker. “I followed him here. He
’
s getting help. We hope to capture his conspirators, and the time travel technology. Maybe I should be asking you about the time machine. We know you know something, Czerinski.”

“I don
’
t know anything about a time machine,” I lied. “I don
’
t believe those text messages are from me, or the future. Why would I tell myself to kill a stupid camel?”

“Maybe you have partners.”

“Spider partners?” asked Major Lopez, punching Boedecker in the gut. “Traitor! Who are you working with?”

“CIA agent Max Hobbs was disguised as one of my engineers, but he fled.”

“Liar!” yelled Major Lopez, kicking Boedecker in the ribs. “Hobbs is dead, eaten by the scorpions, just like you will be soon.”

“That
’
s the name he gave me, I swear. Please don
’
t feed me to the insects. I can help you!”

“He is right about Hobbs,” I added. “Hobbs died, not that I care.”

“Maybe there is a paradox in play,” speculated Boedecker. “Maybe the past has already been changed.”

“What now?” I asked. “We can
’
t get to the gold, and I
’
m not killing any stupid camels.”

“If you want the gold, just wait. You can dig up Bob
’
s Lost Mine in the future.”

“We should string up Private Knight and get some answers,” suggested Major Lopez. “That
bendaho
has been messing with us for a long time.”

“Walter Knight, the world
-
famous science fiction writer?” asked Boedecker. “He knows nothing.”

“Enough!” I ordered. “We will watch Lieutenant Columbus until he leads us to his conspirators.”

“What about Boedecker?” asked Major Lopez, drawing his knife.

“Kill him,” I answered, nodding to Lopez. “Impersonating a legionnaire is a capital offense.”

“No wait! I know the exact location of the mother lode Old Bob never found!”

“A time machine is more valuable than any gold mine,” reasoned Major Lopez. “I no longer care about the gold.”

“I
’
ll help you get both,” pleaded Boedecker. “You need me!”

“Cut him loose,” I ordered. “You had better not cross us.”

* * * * *

Boedecker showed me the suspected location of the mother lode, on the beach near the dam. I used the Legion
’
s right of imminent domain to evict squatters, and
had
a Forest Service facility
built
atop the site. Prominent
ly displayed in front of the facility
was a large brass statue of Smokey the Bear standing at the shoreline, patting a baby buffalo with one paw, the other raised, defiantly giving the spiders across the lake the one
-
fingered salute. The statue irritated the spiders a bit, and occasionally a stray bullet pinged harmlessly off Smokey
’
s breastplate. No big deal.