"Now you tell me," said Barker with a sigh of disgust. "Why is a talent like Guido in the Legion?"

"The last nuke war caused Guido some financial problems," said Juardo. "He was forced into the Legion. I heard he's doing quite well now."

"Will he work with us on border business?" asked Barker.

"Don't even try," said Juardo. "Guido works his own deals, not other people's. If you try anything with him, he'll probably let that dragon eat you."

Juardo and Barker went to the yard. All inmates got two hours of yard time for exercise and fresh air. Suddenly an old Legion helicopter guns.h.i.+p flew low over the fences and landed in the middle of the yard. A door gunner fired a machine gun and tossed smoke grenades. Juardo and Barker waved white rags as they ran to the helicopter and climbed in.

The helicopter quickly lifted off and flew east to the New Gobi Desert. It landed near Redrock, where a truck and driver waited. Juardo wanted to drive to a safe house in Redrock, but Barker insisted it was too dangerous to risk pa.s.sing spider checkpoints. Instead, they drove to the old Miranda homestead. Barker spent a moment at his family's gravesite and swore another oath of revenge. The graves were well kept from his numerous visits.

"We had a nice warm bed waiting for us in Redrock," complained Juardo. "But no, you bring us out here to sleep on the ground with the snakes and scorpions?"

"I have dug extensive tunnels under the homestead," said Barker. "Militia food, water, weapons, and sleeping quarters are down there."

"It's a good thing," snapped Juardo. "I don't like playing Kit Carson and Daniel Boone out in the wilderness."

"Everything in the desert pokes, stings, or bites," cautioned Barker. "Get used to it. This is your new home. If we are going to do business in the DMZ and the New Gobi, you need to learn to adapt to it. If you fight the desert, the desert will kill you and your city-boy thugs."

"Christ!" said Juardo. "You really are Lawrence of f.u.c.king Arabia."

Barker and Juardo watched the night sky, waiting for the stars.h.i.+p to arrive. Juardo made a deal with Formicidaen pirates. The first delivery of drugs would be on credit because of Juardo's financial problems. Juardo would use sales to pay back the ant-like Formicidaens, and to pay for future drug deliveries. The merchandise was high-grade synthetic designer blue powder compatible for both spiders and humans. That would be an important plus along the DMZ. The stars.h.i.+p came in low and fast to avoid planetary defenses. The s.h.i.+p's ant captain greeted Juardo. "Get your slaves unloading product now!" ordered the captain. "I will not be on the ground longer than ten minutes."

Ex-militia, Mafia, and crew members frantically went to work unloading crates. Juardo, Barker, and the ant captain stood at the stars.h.i.+p doorway, watching the progress. After about five minutes, Legion helicopter guns.h.i.+ps firing Gatling guns strafed the stars.h.i.+p. Smoke and secondary explosions came from inside. Arthropodan jets streaked overhead. Barker and Juardo stumbled through the chaos and destruction to the tunnel entrance. They fled deep below the surface. After about a hundred yards, the lights went out.

"d.a.m.n it!" yelled Juardo. "Everything is lost. How did they know?"

Barker stopped and lit a cigarette to settle his nerves. He offered a cigarette and matches to Juardo. As Juardo lit his cigarette, Barker shot him in the face. Then Barker continued his escape. Back at the surface, Barker could see flares drifting down from the sky, lighting up the homestead. Legionnaires and spider marines had already secured the scene. A handful of prisoners sat in a circle, hands bound behind their backs and eyes blindfolded. They were surrounded by guards pointing a.s.sault rifles. The Formicidaen captain lay dead by his stars.h.i.+p. Barker pulled out a communication device and spoke. "Now will you let me go?"

"Yes," answered Captain Lopez. "Good work! I'll let you walk to Redrock where you can cross the MDL. Corporal Tonelli will be expecting you. After you cross, travel as far south as you can. Do not ever come back to the DMZ."

Barker waited patiently in line to cross the MDL. When it was his turn, Guido did a perfunctory check of Barker's ID and nodded for him to pa.s.s. Barker smiled and reached into his pants pocket. Spot alerted and wagged his tail in expectation of a treat. Barker tossed a chocolate b.u.t.tercup to the dragon.

Guido pulled back sharply on Spot's tether and intercepted the b.u.t.tercup. After close examination, Guido tossed the candy back to Barker.

"You eat it," ordered Guido.

"No thanks," replied Barker. "I'm not hungry."

"I insist," said Guido, now pointing his submachine gun at Barker. "Eat it."

"You are paranoid," said Barker, shaking his head. "I would never harm a dumb animal."

"Eat the b.u.t.tercup, or I will shoot you where you stand," threatened Guido. "Do it now."

"No one has any sense of honor these days," said Barker, casually popping the chocolate into his mouth and chewing. "Satisfied?"

Guido checked to make sure Barker swallowed, then said, "Sorry. Don't try to feed the dragon again."

"I don't blame you for not trusting me," said Barker. "But you are getting a bit touchy."

"You can pa.s.s," said Guido.

"The Mars-Hershey Corporation makes the best chocolate in the galaxy," commented Barker as he reached into his pants pocket again and pulled out a handful of chocolates, placing them on a tabletop.

"You can pa.s.s," repeated Guido, sweeping the candy off the table and into the trash.

"I almost forgot," said Barker. "Rudy Juardo says h.e.l.lo. Do you remember Rudy?"

"Juardo can go to h.e.l.l," said Guido, pointing his submachine gun at Barker again. "Pa.s.s through."

"I'll probably join Rudy soon," commented Barker, hurrying away. He did not look back as he jogged to a 7-Eleven store just down the street. By now he was perspiring. He bought a jug of milk and a box of crackers. Already cramping up from the rat poison he had just ingested, he gulped down the milk and ate crackers as fast as he could. Then he shoved his fingers down his throat, causing a gag reflex. He vomited along the side of the road, drank more milk and ate more crackers, and inducing more vomiting.

In spite of repeated vomiting, Barker doubled over from cramps and lost consciousness. Late at night he woke up in a ditch, feeling better. The worst was over. He looked back at the traffic crossing the MDL and swore he would return to the DMZ someday to exact revenge on every last one of his enemies. "I will kill them all," he muttered, shaking his fist. "Starting with Czerinski."

~A SPECIAL TRIBUTE~.

My Dad's Last Chapter

Prior to his death, my father, Henry S. Knight, Jr., stayed in a hospice. His mind was sharp, but his body was failing. Dad desperately wanted to give me an idea for a new book, so I listened. Despite his weak voice, I could understand most of what he was saying, and I got enough to put together this short story about luck a reoccurring theme in my stories, too.

I am including Dad's story at the end of America's Galactic Foreign Legion Book 4: Demilitarized Zone America's Galactic Foreign Legion Book 4: Demilitarized Zone as a tribute to his life. Dad, a PFC in the Army Air Corps during World War II, was stationed at Roswell, New Mexico. I am sure that reports of alien sightings at Roswell and the development and explosion of the first atomic bomb in New Mexico had a profound influence. Dad has always been fascinated by UFOs and nuclear technology. The nut didn't fall far from the tree me too. My father raised my sister and me by himself, and did a good job. as a tribute to his life. Dad, a PFC in the Army Air Corps during World War II, was stationed at Roswell, New Mexico. I am sure that reports of alien sightings at Roswell and the development and explosion of the first atomic bomb in New Mexico had a profound influence. Dad has always been fascinated by UFOs and nuclear technology. The nut didn't fall far from the tree me too. My father raised my sister and me by himself, and did a good job.

This short story is not science fiction, but, like my writing, is intended to be humorous. Humor can be a difficult thing. I hope readers enjoy this short story. I know I enjoyed writing it in honor of my father.

CHANGING LUCK.

by Henry S. Knight, Jr.

I needed a change of luck. As I pa.s.sed a small storefront in Palm Springs, California, advertising palm readings. I stopped. "Why not?" I asked myself. I entered and greeted a gypsy lady sitting comfortably on floor pillows.

"I don't really believe in palm readings or any of your mumbo jumbo," I announced. "But I really do need a change of luck. Can you help me?"

"You seek advice on love?" asked the gypsy lady, grasping my palm in both hands and examining my life line with great interest. "That will be twenty dollars for a love connection."

"I am already engaged," I replied. "I want to be rich."

"Fortune hunter, eh? If you seek financial advice, it will cost you thirty dollars."

"You're ripping me off," I complained, as I grudgingly forked over the money. "This had better be good."

"So, you want to know how to make your fortune? You want to know which path to take? You were wise to come to me. There are many perilous turns down the road to financial success."

"All I want to know is when my luck will change for the better," I explained. "I will make my fortune at the casino."

"Oh, well, that is easy," replied the gypsy. "Your luck will change when h.e.l.l freezes over." She let loose of my palm. "I'm through with you. Leave now."

"That's it? I want my money back!"

"Not likely," snickered the gypsy, stas.h.i.+ng the cash down her bra. "Next customer!"

"I demand more!"

"Most do," said the gypsy with a sigh of exasperation. "Ingrates!"

The chime of a cell phone sounded. The gypsy pulled the cell phone out of her purse. "What? I told you to never call me here. Oh, it's for you." She handed me the cell phone.

"No one knows I am here," I commented, suspecting another rip-off. "h.e.l.lo?"

"This is the Devil. I understand you wanted to talk to me. You have questions? Make it quick. It's election year, and I'm busy. What do inquiring minds want to know?"

"How's the weather down there?" I asked. "Are you really the Devil?"

"You putz!" exclaimed the Devil. "Who else would it be? Don't you have caller ID? I am freezing my a.s.s off down here, and you waste my time with doubts. If I say the weather is frosty, then it is! What's it to you?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, excitedly. Maybe my luck was going to change after all. "How can it be that it's a cold day in h.e.l.l?"

"Haven't you been listening to the news? Everywhere there is climate change, even in h.e.l.l! It's all because of the ozone layer being depleted by hair spray."

Still doubtful, I checked the caller ID. Sure enough, it read: 'The Devil.' I could hear what sounded like typewriters clacking in the background.

"What is all that clicking noise?" I asked. "Typewriters?"

"That's my teeth clattering from the cold," griped the Devil. "I told you I'm freezing down here. Aren't you paying attention? It's cold enough to freeze a Die-Hard battery!"

"Impossible!" I argued. "There's no such thing as the Devil. How come no one has ever seen you?"

"I've been on vacation, but I'm back now. You want me to prove I'm for real? How about I guarantee the Arizona State Sun Devils win their next three football games, and the Rose Bowl?"

"That would be good," I commented, speculating on how much money I could win, betting on the games. "If you can do that, perhaps my luck truly has changed! I'm going to Vegas, baby!"

"I love Las Vegas," said the Devil. "That town never sleeps, and it's hot, hot, hot! h.e.l.l has a substation there, and I have lots of recruits and a.s.sociates living and working right on the Strip. It's hot there, but it's a dry heat, you know."

"Yes, Palm Springs is like that, too."

"I love Death Valley, too," added the Devil. "I always have good luck picking up biker chicks in Death Valley. There's also the Devil's Race Track and the Devil's Golf Course for entertainment. So, are you going to bet on Arizona State?"

"Yes, I believe I am."

"Then you will owe me," advised the Devil. "And I always collect my due."

"Whatever," I replied dismissively, with no thought to consequences. "Could you do me one more favor? I always wanted to win the Publisher's Clearing House contest."

"Ha! Fat chance of that ever happening." The Devil laughed wickedly. "Those people are a bunch of crooks. They will all eventually join me in h.e.l.l for eternity. Stick with the ASU bet. They're a sure thing in the Rose Bowl."

~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~.

Walter Knight

Walter played football on Tucson High School's last state champions.h.i.+p team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Was.h.i.+ngton State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.

Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Was.h.i.+ngton. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.

To find out more about Walter Knight and his books, visit his web site at www.waltknight.yolasite.com www.waltknight.yolasite.com