promised General Lopez, slapping me on the back like a long-lost friend. Actually, Lopez was a long-lost friend. “Don’t worry, Old Man. I take care of my friends!”
“You can give me new chips?” I asked. “What about the legalities?”
“Give?” scoffed General Lopez. “When we return to Old Earth, we will take what we want, including the latest Fountain of Youth Chip upgrades.”
“They are going to hang us.”
“You just stick with me, Czerinski. Returning heroes always get their due. It’s an American tradition.”
* * * * *
“This is a special report from Capital City Channel 7 Eye in the Sky Morning Commuter News at the scene of a huge traffic tie-up at the Capital City Interstate Spaghetti Bowl, where human pestilence from the American Embassy appear to be lost, and their indecision has brought the morning commute to a standstill. Three Legion armored cars are blocking the right lane. I see a Legion officer waving a map and apparently asking directions from irate drivers. All are now giving each other one-fingered salutes. I can only speculate what the human pestilence are up to, but you would think they would know better than to have a holiday parade at the height of the morning rush-hour commute.”
* * * * *
“I need my coffee,” complained Sergeant Green. “I can’t hear myself think with that damned helicopter buzzing overhead. Want me to shoot it down?”
“Not yet,” replied General Lopez. “Use the GPS to locate the nearest Starbucks. It’s uncivilized to start a war without a jolt of coffee in the morning.”
“We missed the exit again,” advised Sergeant Williams. “The Spiders don’t mark their exits properly.” “Just drive over the rail and double back,” I ordered. “We’ll save lots of time that way.” “There is a cop behind us,” advised Guido. “I think he wants us to stop. Are we going to have to pay for that guardrail?” “That’s not going to ever happen,” said General Lopez. “We are tactical. The guard rail is collateral damage.” “Everyone look normal,” announced Sergeant Williams. “Hide the dope,” added Private Wayne. “I’m not stopping until we get to the Starbucks,” advised Sergeant Williams. “What if he asks to see my driver’s license? I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a driver’s license?” asked General Lopez. “What kind of outfit are you running, Czerinski?” “We should stop,” advised Guido. “Remember what happened to O. J.?” “Who?” I asked. We did not stop, continuing down a boulevard until we got to the Starbucks drive-up window. A black uniformed spider traffic cop walked up to talk to Sergeant Williams about his driving.
“We have diplomatic immunity!” shouted Sergeant Williams. “Didn’t you see our Embassy plates?” “Who is in charge of this gaggle of human pestilence?” asked the spider police officer. “I am!” boasted General Lopez. “What’s it to you?” “You damaged Imperial Department of Transportation property when you smashed that guard rail, you refused to stop when signaled, and you are a menace to traffic!” advised the police officer. “Show me a driver’s license and proof of insurance.”
“We don’t need no stinking driver’s license or proof of insurance,” replied General Lopez as his latte was delivered. He sucked heartily at his straw. “This is a combat zone. We are attacking the scorpions.”
“The Scorpion Embassy is the other way, across town. Are you lost?”
“Exactly.”
“This I have to see,” commented the police officer. “I will escort you the rest of the way so you do not cause any more damage. Understand?”
“Thank you, officer,” replied General Lopez. “I’m going to let your supervisor know what a fine job you are doing. Want a donut? I’m buying donuts for everyone on my Legion credit card.”
“I will have several,” said the police officer, happily snatching a bag of
“You can give me new chips?” I asked. “What about the legalities?”
“Give?” scoffed General Lopez. “When we return to Old Earth, we will take what we want, including the latest Fountain of Youth Chip upgrades.”
“They are going to hang us.”
“You just stick with me, Czerinski. Returning heroes always get their due. It’s an American tradition.”
* * * * *
“This is a special report from Capital City Channel 7 Eye in the Sky Morning Commuter News at the scene of a huge traffic tie-up at the Capital City Interstate Spaghetti Bowl, where human pestilence from the American Embassy appear to be lost, and their indecision has brought the morning commute to a standstill. Three Legion armored cars are blocking the right lane. I see a Legion officer waving a map and apparently asking directions from irate drivers. All are now giving each other one-fingered salutes. I can only speculate what the human pestilence are up to, but you would think they would know better than to have a holiday parade at the height of the morning rush-hour commute.”
* * * * *
“I need my coffee,” complained Sergeant Green. “I can’t hear myself think with that damned helicopter buzzing overhead. Want me to shoot it down?”
“Not yet,” replied General Lopez. “Use the GPS to locate the nearest Starbucks. It’s uncivilized to start a war without a jolt of coffee in the morning.”
“We missed the exit again,” advised Sergeant Williams. “The Spiders don’t mark their exits properly.” “Just drive over the rail and double back,” I ordered. “We’ll save lots of time that way.” “There is a cop behind us,” advised Guido. “I think he wants us to stop. Are we going to have to pay for that guardrail?” “That’s not going to ever happen,” said General Lopez. “We are tactical. The guard rail is collateral damage.” “Everyone look normal,” announced Sergeant Williams. “Hide the dope,” added Private Wayne. “I’m not stopping until we get to the Starbucks,” advised Sergeant Williams. “What if he asks to see my driver’s license? I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a driver’s license?” asked General Lopez. “What kind of outfit are you running, Czerinski?” “We should stop,” advised Guido. “Remember what happened to O. J.?” “Who?” I asked. We did not stop, continuing down a boulevard until we got to the Starbucks drive-up window. A black uniformed spider traffic cop walked up to talk to Sergeant Williams about his driving.
“We have diplomatic immunity!” shouted Sergeant Williams. “Didn’t you see our Embassy plates?” “Who is in charge of this gaggle of human pestilence?” asked the spider police officer. “I am!” boasted General Lopez. “What’s it to you?” “You damaged Imperial Department of Transportation property when you smashed that guard rail, you refused to stop when signaled, and you are a menace to traffic!” advised the police officer. “Show me a driver’s license and proof of insurance.”
“We don’t need no stinking driver’s license or proof of insurance,” replied General Lopez as his latte was delivered. He sucked heartily at his straw. “This is a combat zone. We are attacking the scorpions.”
“The Scorpion Embassy is the other way, across town. Are you lost?”
“Exactly.”
“This I have to see,” commented the police officer. “I will escort you the rest of the way so you do not cause any more damage. Understand?”
“Thank you, officer,” replied General Lopez. “I’m going to let your supervisor know what a fine job you are doing. Want a donut? I’m buying donuts for everyone on my Legion credit card.”
“I will have several,” said the police officer, happily snatching a bag of
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