In The Sixth Millenium, They Need a Few Good Warriors

“You know, dead people use to actually disturb me.”

“They’re just things.”

“That distinction alone troubles me to the core.”

“Morality from the time of The Express Crusades. Cute.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Christians kill Jews, Jews kill Muslims, Muslims kill Jews, Muslims kill Christians, Christians kill Muslims. You were all very busy, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

“You know Roebuck, Icky was nicer.”

Roebuck turned, his protruding lip was level as he demonstrated the very face of bemusement.

“Ihkay, Mr. Smith. Please have care with our language.”

“I will be as careful as possible with your language, even as you insult everyone I ever knew and loved.”

“You’re era was know for it’s promiscuity.”

“You’re era was know for dying due to being evolutionarily retarded. Why am I back in this god forsaken place?”

This place was a gigantic freezer full of humans that could be; creatures of potential energy. They were stacked ten tall in bags, heaviest at the bottom. Sometimes they were rearranged to prevent entropy. The entropy had it’s own pile with at least a hundred bags in the corner clumped together and broken, awaiting a scavenging mission. When Aiden looked behind him, it made him come close to wretch. A beautiful red headed woman with green eyes was mostly there save for the crushed torso.

“You were a warrior were you not?”

“I was soldier, yes.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A soldier swears to die for his country and to march in straight lines when told to.”

Aiden Smith was desperately trying to remember if The Devil’s Dictionary had an entry for soldier. He probably had just committed plagiarism.

“But he does war?”

“Some more than others, but yes that’s roughly the point.”

“And like does know like.”

“Are you suggesting I’m here to pick out scrappers?”

“No we’ve got salvage experts. I need warriors.”

“Warriors don’t have a look, Mr. Sears. They’re farmers, little boys, grandmothers, and at least one was a polish bear. The only trait they share is experience in a painful pastime.”

The reference flew over Roebuck’s nappy head, as well it should being 4 millenia old.

“So you can’t help me?”

“I can tell an Army haircut a mile away, well a US Army haircut, unless he’s delta force or… Tell you what why don’t you tell me who looks tough to you.”

“And you’ll tell me whether or not you agree.”

“See, we’re sympatico.”

“I’ll assume that’s not a form of disease.”

“As far as you know.”

They happened upon a 300 pound two meter long man with a big beard and muscles all over save for a gigantic gut.

“This man looks like a… scrapper.” Roebuck tried to imitate the sound.

“He’s a Hell’s Angel according to his tattoo.”

“Sounds like our kind of man.”

“Do you have any meth?”


“How about a motorcycle?”

“I’m at a loss.”

“Then I wouldn’t recommend him.”

“And who would you recommend?”

“No one until I know exactly what I’m making recommendations for.”

“If you must know,”

“I must.”

“A planetary guard.”

“Which you need because?”

“To defend Humanity.”

“From the aliens that mostly think us swell?”

“Most everyone did not attack your World Trade Center .”

“Funny how history is abridged. I bet they told you nothing of Vanilla Coke.”

“You concede that I’m right, do you not?”

“Despite yourself, yes but you’ve probably thawed a few already.”


“Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed there has been a lot of war.”

“And how do we find these warriors?”

“We ask.”

“I have a confession, I’m not a people person.”

“Ugh. Does being a liaison pay more than washing dishes?”

“Pay? I’m sorry I don’t have the translator on me.”

“Are the hours better?”

“The hours are yours to make as you will.”

“Then, I’ll find your army general.”

As the two men shook hands, there was a sense of doom about them but as they were surrounded by corpses this seemed to be a problem of ambiance.