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

Mars.”
    “Shut up!” warned Sheriff McCoy. “This is your last warning.”
    “I found another breathing hole,” interrupted medic Ceausescu. “This one is in his shoulder.”
    “Spiders breathe through their exoskeleton,” I reasoned. “They have no lungs.”
    “Hell!” said Agent Casey, dumping the rest of the water over Blue-Claw and removing the towel. “Now what?”
    I sliced off Blue-Claw’s other antenna with a sweep of my jagged Legion combat knife. I cut off another piece with my backhand. “It slices, and it dices,” I added glibly. “Where did you get the alien device?”
    “What?” asked Blue-Claw in obvious pain. “I cannot hear so well without my listening receptors. Please do not cut me again.”
    I duct taped the antenna pieces back together for better reception. It was crooked and listed to the side, but reception was better if I held onto it and raised my other hand. “Can you hear me now?”
    “Move a little forward,” insisted Blue-Claw. Ceausescu zapped him around where his testicles should be. “I hear great!”
    “Where is the alien tornado device?” asked Agent Casey, squeezing Ceausescu’s knee affectionately under the table. “Tell me, or I turn Elena loose on you.”
    “Sheriff McCoy has it!”
    We all turned to McCoy. He just shrugged. “It’s in the evidence locker. Hey, no one bothered to ask me about tornado sticks. This is the first I knew of your interest.”
    “I’ll deal with you later, sheriff,” I threatened, turning my attention back to Blue-Claw. “Where did you get the device?”
    “Please, no more!”
    “You’ll be okay when the pain stops. Talk!”
    “At a pawn shop in North New Gobi City. There are more alien artifacts, but the owner won’t sell. He only sold to me because of a debt owed.”
    “Strap Coen to the table,” I ordered, satisfied I had gotten all I needed from Blue-Claw. “You will tell me how you escaped the scorpions, and what you know of tornadoes and alien artifacts.”
    Phil Coen confessed to treason, but was released on humanitarian grounds because of the coercive exploding microchip lodged in his brain. I allowed Coen to drive across the border to disseminate misinformation about the alien weather device I seized from Sheriff McCoy. He was instructed that, under no circumstances, was he to mention the pawn shop, or the orbiting space weapons platform T. Roosevelt would rain down bombs on his head.
     
    * * * * *
     
    At Arthropodan Marine Headquarters, the spider commander and an Intelligentsia Federal Police Officer listened intently to Coen’s tale of Sheriff McCoy still having the alien artifact that altered weather, stirred up sand mites, and exploded kittens.
    “Very disturbing,” commented the spider Intelligentsia officer. “Exploding kittens ratchets up arms proliferation on the DMZ considerably.”
    “Intelligentsia, my poop-chute,” grumbled the spider commander. “Idiots, all of you. I will personally lead commandos against McCoy to steal the tornado stick.”
    “The biological aspect of the human pestilence escalation is a provocation that cannot be ignored,” agreed the Intelligentsia officer, scratching at the mere thought of sand mites and kitten dander. “Bastards!”
    “You will remove the explosive chip?” pleaded Coen. “I’ve done all you asked.”
    “A deal is a deal,” conceded the spider commander. “Remove the chip. Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”
    Unexpectedly, the Intelligentsia officer clubbed Coen on the noggin with a sap. Dazed, Coen’s head was secured in a vice for removal of the microchip. Expertly wielding a Dremel electric power drill, the Intelligentsia officer bore into Coen’s frontal lobe.
    The sight of blood and smell of burning bone was sickening, even to a seasoned combat veteran such as the spider commander. Something was terribly wrong. The Intelligentsia officer examined the X-ray again, discovering it had been upside down. “Oops, wrong side!” he