America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War Read Online Free

cried the spider commander desperately. “I’ll sign, but the magic water dispenser stays.”
    “And Tony the Badger?”
    “Have it your way. I’ll release that badger beast, but all Kellogg products are banned from the Empire.”
    “Even Sugar Frosted Flakes?”
    “Especially Sugar Frosted Flakes,” insisted the spider commander, noting cartoon Tony the Tiger advertisements for flakes on the database.
    “Agreed, but expect a backlash from Kellogg lobbyists.”
    “More threats?”
    “Just saying. They’re ruthless.”
    “All human pestilence lobbyists are banned from the Empire!”
    “Ha, good luck with that one,” I snickered, hearing the whoopee cushion fart as I left. “Resistance is futile.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Paul Grabowski of the Polish Drug Cartel and his henchmen used an industrial tunneling machine to break into the Legion dungeon cell block holding Cartel kingpin Aaron Kosminski. However, the machine bored into the wrong cell. The commotion woke up legionnaire guard Walter Knight. He peeked through the cuff port of Ferguson’s cell. “What fresh hell is this?”
    “Nothing, go back to sleep!”
    “Who goes there?” challenged Private Knight, sounding the alarm. “Surrender, or you’re in lots of trouble!”
    “I have a hostage,” replied Grabowski, holding a pistol to Ferguson’s head. “Release Aaron Kosminski, or the lawyer dies!”
    “Sorry, but you’ll need to take a more valuable hostage than that,” answered Private Knight, stalling as he accessed hostage negotiations on his database communications pad. “I can give you cold pizza from my lunch box.”
    “What kind of pizza?”
    “Sausage and pepperoni.”
    “I want extra cheese. Slide the pizza under the door real slow. No tricks!”
    “I’ll have to contact my superiors.”
    “You don’t want to die down here,” added Grabowski reasonably. “It would be for nothing. Don’t call your boss. Just let Kosminski go.”
    “The great banana peel of fate is always on the floor somewhere,” philosophized Knight, adding an inspirational note for his next book. “America does not negotiate with terrorists.”
    “Tough guy, eh? You’ll be sorry.”
    Hearing noise below, Sergeant Green called Private Knight on his communications pad. “What’s happening down there?”
    “Terrorists broke into Ferguson’s cell, demanding Kosminski be released. They threatened to kill Ferguson if their demands are not met.”
    “Is that all?”
    “I gave them pizza?”
    “Anything else?”
    “I added extra cheese.”
    “American Cheese?”
    “Yes, sergeant.”
    “Good work, Knight. We’ll get help down there as soon as possible.”
    “When this is over, can I get off night shift?”
    “No.”
    “What if they want more pizza?”
    “Throw a grenade through the cuff port.”
    “What about Ferguson?”
    “Collateral damage. It can’t be helped. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, sergeant. They’ll get no more pizza from me.”
    “I heard that!” shouted Grabowksi. “I not only want more pizza, I want Subway foot long sandwiches.”
    “No pizza for you!”
    “Your science fiction books suck,” taunted Grabowski, always the critic. “I want my Subway foot long now!”
    “I got your foot long right here!” snarled Private Knight, angrily opening the cuff port to toss in a grenade. “The Legion doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, or drug-dealing literary critics!”
    “Technically, I’m just an undocumented pharmacist. I’m a chemist.”
    “The Legion kills chemists. We barium.”
    “Humor can be a difficult thing, huh, Knight?” asked Grabowski, striking a low blow at the sensitive world-famous science fiction author.
    “A little,” conceded Private Knight.
    Having temporarily distracted Private Knight, Grabowski tossed out his own grenade first. However, being Polish, he forgot to pull the pin. Private Knight adroitly scooped up the grenade, pulled the pin, and tossed it back through the cuff port. Hey, it could