Atm (14 page)

“
I watched
Battlestar
on human pestilence cable TV” added the spider commander. “I didn’t like the creepy music either.”

“
Friends don’t let friends watch cable,” bristled Major Lopez, visibly angered at the mere mention of the outlawed cable menace.

“
I hate
Battlestar
, too” groused the Atm. “Those babes are so violent. Don’t I get a fair trial? Guido, my friend, say something!”

“
Something.”

“
Say something else!”

“
Atm is a legionnaire,” offered Tonelli, lamely. “Legionnaires enlist to leave their past behind. We all did it. It’s the law.”

“
He went AWOL,” I accused. “You helped him. Desertion is a capital offense.”

“
But Atm fixed the time machine. You promised he could go. That was the deal. I sent the time machine back for you. No one deserted anyone. Doesn’t that at least create some goodwill?”

The chopper veered hard right as I fired my pistol.
The bullet careened off a bulkhead as Atm popped open the side door. He dived through the clouds into Lake Michigan. I ordered the pilot to circle back, but Atm was gone, not a ripple left in the water, never to be found.

* * * * *

The lieutenant came to, groggily casting about, abruptly coming face to face with the spider commander in the pilot chair.

“
Boo!” hissed the spider commander.

“
I’ve been abducted by aliens? Please don’t probe me!”

“
You just enlisted in the United Sates Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, son,” I advised. “Be brave, be proud.”

“
What? I’m already a marine.”

“
No one is perfect. The Legion will take you in spite of your disabilities.”

“
You can’t just Shanghai me!”

“
The CIA changed time travel protocols,” I explained. “For you, there’s no going back. Tampering with history is forbidden unless there’s a world-threatening event. Not even the slightest exception is allowed.”

“
But I will be missed,” insisted the lieutenant.

“
Sorry, you know too much. You’ve already seen your first alien. America will just have to get along with one less second lieutenant. We’re going back to New Colorado, where you’ll get to meet lots more aliens. What’s your name, son?”

“
Oliver North.”

“
I suggest you change your name. All recruits are entitled to that option.”

“
I will keep my name, thank you very much.”

“
Welcome to the Legion, Oliver,” I said, handing him his enlistment contract. “You’re taking Atm’s place on the roster. Don’t forget to read the fine print. You’re in for the duration, just like all of us. It’s the law.”

Chapter 22

Adam Traidman cleaned up well.
He approached Max Maxfield, CEO of Bank of America, about financing proposals to develop and build a talking automatic teller machine. Traidman provided blueprint designs for revolutionary silicon-based micro-computer chips, a standardized computer operating system, cell phones and towers, satellite technology, fiber optic relays, Starbucks coffee, thirty-one new flavors of ice cream, and cable TV.

That last proposal got the most attention.
Funding was expedited, and soon Traidman was known in media circles as ‘The Cable Guy.’ He quietly purchased abandoned railroad right of ways for fiber optic lines, extending the tentacles of his Cadence Cable TV Network empire everywhere.

“
Are you planning to conquer the world?” asked Maxfield conversationally. “If so, what more can I do to help?”

“
World domination has always been my goal,” answered Traidman. “I will not rest until the whole planet is wired to the internet. I invented the internet, you know.”

“
It wasn’t Al Gore?”

“
No way. I kicked that chump to the curb.”

“
I’m sure stockholders will approve of your enthusiasm,” advised Maxfield skeptically. “There’s just one hitch. Do we really want ATMs talking to customers? Talking ATMs might cause us union problems, and we don’t want bad press drawing labor or regulatory heat. Cute bank tellers losing their jobs to scab ATMs is bad for business.”

“
How about ATMs joining the union? In another place, another time, I was a Teamster. We can make a deal.”

“
No, ATMs aren’t human. Only humans can join the union. It’s the law.”

“
I see your point. How about the UK?”

“
I don’t think so. Maybe in Ireland.”

“
Talking ATMs can wait, for now. But, I’m still going to conquer the world for America. Semper fi.”

###

~BONUS SHORT STOR
Y~

The Roswell Incident

by Walter Knight

As we activated the time travel and beam technology to escape back to the future, the chopper hit turbulence, sending us off course to 1947.
GPS indicated we were over Roswell, New Mexico, when we suddenly smashed into a weather balloon. Crashing in Roswell, with an alien on board? It could happen.

“
Oh, hell, no! We’re going down!” shouted the spider commander, buckling in.

There was nothing but desolate desert below.
The spider commander gripped the joystick as he fought to bring the swirling chopper under control. “I love your retro choppers!” he exclaimed. “But we’re all going to die in this deathtrap. It’s been a good life. You human pestilence aren’t so bad. I’ve even grown fond of some of you.”

“
Ditto, bug face,” I replied as the valley floor got closer. “See you in Hell real soon!”

We corrected at the last second, bounce
-landing.
We might live after all. There is a God.
The chopper flipped on its side, coming apart as it skidded and caught fire.
Maybe not. We’re toast.

I felt strong hands pulling at my straps.
Soldiers from nearby Roswell Army Airfield quickly pulled us from the debris, relatively unhurt. However, the spider commander was crunched pretty bad. I desperately started first aid, applying generous amounts of duct tape to broken exoskeleton. The spider commander faded into unconscious shock despite my valiant efforts. There’s only so much duct tape can do.

* * * * *

The reported alien crash created quite a sensation among military circles. Because of the top-secret nature of the incident, General Elisha Smith flew to Roswell Army Airfield to personally supervise and interview the first officer on the scene, First Lieutenant Walter Haut. Smith viewed the crash site and wreckage. Someone had a lot of explaining to do.

“
Do you realize what this means?” asked General Smith, rummaging through recovered crash site artifacts.

“
That American traitors are in cahoots with alien invaders?” answered Lieutenant Haut.

“
This new and improved duck tape could be worth millions!” exclaimed Smith, holding up a roll taken from my first aid pack. “This duck tape could even tip the balance of power in our favor over those commie Russian bastards.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
What other goodies were salvaged?”

“
Alien food,” replied Lieutenant Haut, handing a small burnt package to the general. “They call it an MRE.”

“
Is it edible by humans?” asked General Smith, skeptically giving the contents a sniff. “Whew!”

“
No, sir. It’s highly toxic.”

“
Make a note. Don’t touch the MREs until the biological warfare folks have examined them.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
What about the alien craft?”

“
It’s a twin turbine whirlybird of American design, manufactured by Bell Aircraft,” explained Haut. “But it’s of an advanced design presently not in production.”

“
How is that possible?”

“
I’m not sure. The Bell people are fascinated by the craft, but deny building it. Perhaps we stumbled upon a top-secret Air Force project, but for now they’re denying any knowledge of aliens or alien technology.”

“
They would. That’s what the Air Force does.”

“
Of particular interest are micro-computers and circuitry. It’s a real mystery, sir.”

“
What are the prisoners saying?” pressed General Smith, now pacing.

“
The two ranking officers have clammed up, but the others are singing like canaries. They’re definitely Americans. They even have odd American military identification matching their uniforms. One fellow is from the Bronx. He wants to make a deal in exchange for goodwill. Another says he was abducted by aliens. Claims to be a marine and a graduate of Annapolis. Sir, he even has a ring, Class of ’68. Says the aliens didn’t probe him, yet. I believe him.”

“
Probed? What sort of degenerate talk is that?”

“
Apparently aliens are a bit odd that way,” speculated Haut uneasily. “When that alien gains consciousness, let me at him, sir. I’ll teach those Martians what happens when you probe Americans.”

“
I want to talk to the prisoners before interrogations begin in earnest. Class of ’68, my ass. Get recording equipment. I want this whole incident fully documented.”

* * * * *

General Smith inspected the unconscious alien. The ugly spider truly looked dead, its husk all shriveled like an ancient mummy. The exoskeleton was badly crushed, and a web mold was forming, covering the entire length of its body. An Army doctor leaned over the alien, listening intently with his stethoscope for signs of life.

“
I think it’s dead,” advised Captain Casey, the base surgeon. “Let me open it up and find out what makes this alien tick. I need to drill a core sample from its buggy brain.”

“
No!” admonished General Smith. “Not until Lieutenant Hunt arrives with the movie cameras and lighting equipment. This alien autopsy is going to be big news. We could be looking at an Academy Award for Best American Documentary. There’s an Oscar in my future, and a second star.”

“
Quite right,” agreed Casey, brightening. “I might even win a Nobel Prize for Science. I will be famous, published in all the medical and veterinary journals.”

“
Are you sure it’s dead?” asked General Smith, prodding the alien with his swagger stick. “Maybe you should put it in restraints.”

“
Quite certain,” answered Doctor Casey. “It’s even cold to the touch.”

“
Put the monster in chains, anyway. I don’t want the star of my science fiction flick coming back to life and running off. This is truly a diabolical set of events.”

“
Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Furious, General Smith stormed out to interrogate the prisoners held at the base stockade. “Who’s in charge?” he shouted at us through the bars. No one answered at first, but the black eagles on my collar gave me away. “You! Explain yourself! You claim to be loyal American GIs, yet you consort with the enemy. Give me even one reason not to have you shot for treason.”

“
We’re at truce with the Empire,” I answered contritely. “Can’t we all just get along?”

“
Like hell! You look and sound like Americans, but you wear black military commando garb, just like Nazi storm troopers. I just fought a war with those God damn Nazi bastards, and I won’t tolerate their presence on American soil.”

“
I’m not a part of their conspiracy!” interrupted Lieutenant North. “They’re all bandits. I was abducted!”

“
One spy at a time,” insisted General Smith.

“
They’re all time travelers! The CIA knows all about them!”

“
What is the CIA?”

“
The Central Intelligence Agency,” explained Lieutenant North. “We were on an ambush to capture them in Michigan, and got abducted by aliens.”

“
Shut that fool up,” ordered General Smith. Soldiers pummeled Lieutenant North, taping his mouth with duck tape.
Ha! Another use for duck tape.