America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion (14 page)

“I am from the Italian Alps,” said Gotti,
covering his face and attempting to smear more blood. “My family is
dead. They died in an avalanche.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Coen. “How
does it feel for an ordinary soldier to be suddenly thrust into
such a violent confrontation? To be a hero?”

“Isn’t that what legionnaires do every day?”
asked Gotti.

“Quite right,” said Coen. “Heroes like you
are an inspiration to us all. Sometimes we forget how difficult it
is for our far-flung soldiers on the front lines, alone, far from
home, fighting for our freedom. A brave, good-looking legionnaire
like you will probably be put on recruitment posters for the
Legion. How does it feel to have your picture broadcast across the
galaxy, inspiring humanity to fight back against crime and
lawlessness on the Spider Frontier?”

“No,” said Gotti, still covering his face. “I
can’t have that.”

“You are too modest,” said Coen. “You are a
true hero. The world wants to reach out and touch you.”

“I’m sure of that,” added Gotti.

“Get away from Private Stallone, you pack of
vultures,” snapped Lieutenant Lopez. “Can’t you see he is seriously
injured? He may even be in shock!”

Lieutenant Lopez led Gotti to the armored
car. Coen and his camera crew followed with their lights and
cameras. Medic Ceausescu taped a gauze patch across Gotti’s face
after they entered the armored car. They raced to the hospital.

“Talk about blind dumb luck,” commented the
ATM.

* * * * *

When Prince Charlie declared a sanctuary for
the Hell’s Angels, it was big news. The publicity caused even more
interest in the bikers. Now, those who joined the new Hell’s Angels
chapters were traveling to New Memphis to see where it all started.
New Memphis was the cradle of the Hell’s Angels. It was their
Mecca. Posters and fliers all over New Colorado announced a benefit
concert sponsored by the Hell’s Angels in New Memphis to help biker
members who could not afford to buy their own Harleys. The world
was flocking north to attend the event.

Guido and Gotti waved the Harleys past their
checkpoint. Blue exhaust smoke choked the air around the two
legionnaires. The Emperor and the Special Forces Commander looked
on in dismay.

“The human pestilence has tricked us,” said
the Special Forces Commander. “The Hell’s Angels are not peaceful
Mormons. They are a violent criminal gang on two wheels. And now
their numbers are swelling. Look how many are coming to town.”

“I agree. Lieutenant Lopez was right,” said
the Emperor. “We should have wiped them out before their disease
spread. Now, the Hell’s Angels are part of the landscape.”

“We should at least bar them from entry into
our zone,” suggested the Special Forces Commander. “Then these
gangsters will just be a problem for the human pestilence and the
Legion.”

“Not yet,” said the Emperor. “I want my son
to learn a valuable lesson the hard way, not to be so impulsive.
Besides, I am more interested right now in those two legionnaires
at the guard shack. Ever since the bank robbery, informants have
been calling in saying that the newest hero of the Legion and Louis
Gotti are one and the same.”

“So, just snatch him for interrogation,”
suggested the Special Forces Commander. “It will not be difficult.
I will do it myself.”

“All in good time,” advised the Emperor. “We
want to maximize the scandal as a diversion when we push the Legion
out of New Memphis.”

* * * * *

Lieutenant Lopez and I joined the Emperor and
his entourage as they viewed packs of Hell’s Angels arriving for
the concert. The bikers were gathering at the county fairgrounds.
Musicians were already setting up sound equipment on stage.

“The cat is out of the bag now,” I said to
Lieutenant Lopez, as we stood with the Emperor. “We will never get
rid of these flee-bitten bikers. I was hoping this would just be a
fad, but look how many there are!”

“Your cat needs to be picked up by the tail
and tossed off a bridge,” commented Lieutenant Lopez. “I told you
so. It’s not too late. Just give me the word, and I’ll bring tanks
to the fairgrounds and wipe them out while they’re all in one
place. Or, better yet,” whispered Lieutenant Lopez, glancing
furtively at the Emperor, “we can call in an air strike and blame
it on the spiders. Otherwise, when they leave, the Hell’s Angels
will be like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind, taking root
everywhere.”

“If you carry a cat by the tail, you will
learn a lesson you can learn no other way,” I replied. “No. There
are too many TV cameras here. Hell’s Angels martyrs will do us no
good.”

“You human pestilence created this mess,”
added the Special Forces Commander, overhearing parts of our
conversation. “You should deal with this anarchy yourself.”

“I see a lot of spiders on those bikes,” I
said. “Do you want me to deal with them, too?”

“Sure,” said the Special Forces Commander. “I
will even help you do it.”

“Enough!” said the Emperor. “A few stoned
bikers listening to your odd human music is not the end of the
galaxy. I am more interested in those two legionnaires at the
checkpoint. Are they not members of the human subcategory group,
Italians?”

“Don’t play games with me,” I said. “I have
received the same anonymous tips about Louis Gotti as you since the
bank robbery. I’ve checked Private Stallone’s records, finger
prints, and DNA against Gotti’s. They do not match. That cannot be
faked So let it go.”

“I am not so sure I trust your
investigation,” argued the Special Forces Commander. “I want to
perform my own tests and investigation.”

“If anything happens to Private Stallone or
Corporal Tonelli, there will be serious consequences,” I warned.
“They are both heroes of the Legion. Am I clear on that?”

“You are ill-advised to be making threats,”
said the Special Forces Commander. “It is an unhealthy habit of
yours.”

Lieutenant Lopez and I walked away,
continuing our inspection. Lieutenant Lopez asked the obvious
question. “Are you sure that isn’t Gotti? Computers lie all the
time. I could interrogate him to make sure,” he offered. “I’ll
squeeze the truth out of him and Guido.”

“I’m sure, for now,” I said. “Although we may
need to transfer Private Stallone to the other side of the planet
if these rumors persist.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” advised
Lieutenant Lopez.

Return to Table of
Contents

Chapter 11

The Hell’s Angels expected a few thousand
fans to attend the concert. What they got was about a half a
million. Plans to make money off the event at the gate were quickly
dashed when ticket booths and fences were knocked down. Boats were
abandoned at the docks as were cars along the roadways. Humans and
spiders alike walked the rest of the way to the fairgrounds.
Entrepreneurs sold them rain gear, tents, and food along the way.
It would not be enough. Days before the concert, it was clear the
fairgrounds could not handle the sanitation needs of a half million
humans and spiders camping outside in the rain. The fairgrounds
soon turned to garbage-laden mud.

The Prince wanted to speak to the audience
before the music started, and was on site days before. As naïve as
he was, even the Prince could see there were going to be serious
problems. The Prince ordered Arthropodan marines to dig and build
public latrines. He talked me into airlifting food and blankets. I
also provided a pre-concert legionnaire band to keep the swelling
crowd from getting more restless. I feared that a bored, wet, cold,
hungry crowd might riot.

It seemed odd that military resources were
being used when the Hell’s Angels definitely had an
anti-establishment bent. Oh well. Most youth did. And most of the
crowd was there for the party. I set up a United States Galactic
Foreign Legion recruitment ATM at the Fairgrounds entrance, hoping
to attract recruits. The ATM was destroyed by gunshots early
on.

TV crews arrived to film the concert for the
various galactic news organizations. The concert was being
advertised as an epoch event. TV broadcasts would go out to all of
New Colorado, Earth, and Arthropoda. Also, the promoters hoped to
make money from movie rights. If there was a riot, that might turn
into a documentary. Reality TV cameras kept filming twenty-four
hours a day.

Medic Ceausescu set up an aid station at a
central location. Before the concert even started, the aid tent was
like a triage center. All ailments seemed to be drug related. Drug
users having bad trips complained of being chased by spiders. That
symptom was magnified when the real giant spiders showed up. I also
used the aid station as headquarters for Legion activities.

The Prince officially started the concert
with a speech. “As Mayor, I welcome the Hell’s Angels and friends
to New Memphis. This concert symbolizes a bridge of friendship
connecting our two sentient species. Feel the love!”

The crowd cheered the Prince like he was a
Messiah. The Prince fed on their applause for ten minutes before
continuing. “By executive order, I created this sanctuary for the
Hell’s Angels that made this concert possible. There are a few more
guests here than we expected.” The Prince got even more applause.
He soaked it in, loving every moment.

“Remember to be civil and polite at all
times. Love thy neighbor. But there are always a few rotten fruit
in every basket. Report all lawbreakers to your nearest marine or
legionnaire. Also, it has been brought to my attention that illicit
drug dealers have snuck into the concert, intent on spreading their
wares.” The crowd applauded the loudest yet. The Prince waved at
the adoring crowd as he patiently waited for the cheers to die
down.

“You may not be aware, but trafficking in
dangerous illegal drugs like marijuana or other assorted
hallucinogens is punishable under Arthropodan law by summary
execution. Please turn in these criminals and perverts the moment
you see them. Thank you. Have a great time at the concert!”

The boos were deafening. The crowd spent the
next half hour chanting obscenities and throwing beer bottles at
anyone who appeared on stage without a musical instrument in their
hands. The Prince had to be evacuated behind a line of Arthropodan
marine tanks on the perimeter. The Legion aid station was torn down
and medications looted. Legionnaires pulled back to the perimeter
to set up another aid station.

Hell’s Angels came on stage to calm down the
crowd, promising that drug distribution outlets would be
maintained. Finally the music appeared ready to begin. A rough
looking musician and his band strutted onto the stage. I have
always been told that history repeats itself. But looking at the
size of this mega concert, I doubted there had ever been anything
like this, or that there ever would again. This concert lived up to
its billing as being a one of a kind cosmic event. The bandleader
snatched the microphone and yelled at the audience before beginning
his song. “Give me an F!” The audience gave him an F. He yelled,
“Give me a U!” The audience gave him a U. “Give me a C!” The
audience gave him a C. And so it went. History was made.

* * * * *

Days after the Hell’s Angels concert, the
Prince was feeling pretty good about himself. There had been a few
problems, even a few deaths, but for the most part the concert was
a success. The concert showed humans and spiders were gradually
coming together. The Prince enjoyed the media attention. The
concert was being described as a defining moment in galactic
history. There was even a report that trade barriers were being
dropped and that Harley-Davidson motorcycles were being imported to
Arthropoda. Several Hell’s Angels chapters were being formed on the
spider home world.

Today it was back to work. The Prince chaired
his second City Council meeting. He felt he was getting a good
grasp of what it took to be an administrator. That would make the
Emperor (dad) happy and hasten the Prince’s departure date from New
Colorado and back to civilization. An Empire could not be ruled
from one of its colonies. He needed to return to the seat of power.
The Prince breezed through the routine city affairs deftly. Garbage
collection, paving and repairing streets, speeders in school zones,
extending the water district, bulldozing a pit for all the garbage
from the concert, overcrowding at the county jail, skateboarders on
sidewalks, and cats without licenses, were all handled with
meticulous care.

Then came time for members of the public to
bring up new business. The Prince did not like this part of City
Council meetings, but had been informed that tradition required
that the peasants have a chance to vent. So, the Prince patiently
prepared to listen to their drivel.

“Why are you not elected?” asked a young
human female. “What right do you have to Lord over us? I demand
that you follow the city’s charter and stand for election.”

“The Emperor appointed me as mayor,” said the
Prince. “He did so against my will for your own good. He explained
to me that you are like children that need to be guided. Left to
your own devices, you would muck it up.”

“The Emperor is your father?” asked the human
female. “I do not accept your rule by royalty, your nepotism, or
your blatant corruption.”

“Nothing compares to the corruption you
allowed before,” responded the Prince. “You elected Mafia to run
New Memphis. That is proof you humans cannot be trusted with the
franchise of voting.”

“What about me?” asked a young spider. “You
do not trust spiders with the right to vote, either.”

“Our species has no history of allowing
peasants to vote. You are not qualified. In the long run, you would
only cause harm to yourselves and to your communities.”