America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War by Walter Knight Page A

water.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Sheriff McCoy escorted CIA Agent John Casey and me to the jail infirmary where inmate Blue-Claw was strapped face-up to a stainless steel examination table. Reporter Phil Coen tagged along with Sheriff McCoy. Apparently I had no choice in the matter. The sheriff wanted Coen present to document the interrogation, and Agent Casey didn’t seem to care.
    “You’re going to be waterboarded,” announced Agent Casey, grimly. “You will tell us everything you know about what’s left of the Polish Cartel.”
    “Waterboarded?” asked Blue-Claw. “What’s that? I don’t surf.”
    “Waterboarding is just the old Chinese water torture technique, except different.”
    “I like Chinese food. Noodles are to die for.”
    “That could happen too. The CIA doesn’t pour cola up your nose to explode sinuses like the Mexican Federales do, but it’s effective. The CIA tortures better. If at all possible, we won’t let you die, or leave marks.”
    “I have already told the police everything.”
    “Tell us about the weather control device,” pressed Agent Casey. “How did you create a tornado?”
    Blue-Claw quickly glanced at Sheriff McCoy, but remained silent. Agent Casey secured a wet towel across Blue-Claw’s face, pouring water over the towel. The water seeped through, to no affect. Blue-Claw stayed stoic.
    “It’s not working,” I complained impatiently.
    “I’ve never waterboarded an alien,” conceded Agent Casey. “Maybe he’s holding his breath.”
    I punched Blue-Claw in the gut. He farted, loudly.
    “Gross!” exclaimed Legion medic Elena Ceausescu, standing by in case Blue-Claw needed to be revived. “What is it with males of any species? Must you always pass so much gas?”
    “Females don’t pass gas because they never shut up long enough to build up air pressure,” quipped Blue-Claw.
    “Spiders compartmentalize pain. Let me clip his antennae,” I suggested.
    Medic Ceausescu produced a taser from her pouch and zapped the end of Blue-Claw’s antenna. It shriveled like a salted slug.
    “Ouch!” shouted Blue-Claw. “Keep that human pestilence she-demon away from me!”
    “That was so hot,” lusted Agent Casey, seeing the Legion medic in a new light. “Can I interest you in a date? We can discuss interrogation techniques.”
    “Why, Agent Casey, you make me blush,” replied Ceausescu, clicking her taser seductively. “My place?”
    “Focus,” I ordered.
    Medic Ceausescu checked Blue-Claw with a stethoscope. He still breathed, but remained stoic. I observed a slight bubbling displacement of water under the spider’s head. My palm cupped under Blue-Claw’s skinny neck, blocking a second breathing hole. I taped it shut with duct tape from Ceausescu’s first aid kit. Ha! Another use for duct tape!
    “Tape his butt shut while you’re at it,” added Ceausescu.
    Agent Casey poured more water. This time Blue-Claw coughed and choked. Casey let him recover, then added more water. Finally Blue-Claw went limp. Ceausescu zapped Blue-Claw’s chest, bringing him back to life. Turned onto his side, Blue-Claw vomited water from his breathing holes and mouth.
    “Tell us about the tornado,” demanded Casey. “Where is the alien weapon? Where did it come from?”
    “I don’t know anything about alien weapons or tornadoes!” cried Blue-Claw.
    “This still isn’t working,” I protested, getting squeamish. Autopsies and torture sessions do that to me. I’m also a sympathetic vomiter. “Let me pump him with truth-telling drugs.”
    “Too dangerous,” answered Agent Casey, “and a violation of galactic treaties regarding crimes against the galaxy.”
    “That’s why I invited Phil Coen,” advised Sheriff McCoy. “I don’t want Coen’s Democrats complaining about our interrogation techniques. Waterboarding is at least humane. As you can see, there are no lasting physical affects.”
    “I am not a Democrat,” protested Coen. “Democrats aren’t allowed past