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know, sir.”
    “ You what?”
    “ Nothing, sir.”
    “ I’m keeping an eye on you, Hero of the Legion, or not.”
    “ Yes, sir.”
    “ Is your family rich?”
    “ Sir?”
    “ You heard me. Tell me about your family, in case I have to notify them of your demise.”
    “ Respectfully, sir, my past is confidential, a right granted to all legionnaires, the same as it is for you.”
    “ That terrorist attack may not have been random,” I continued, irritated. “Satellite reconnaissance indicates the so-called terrorists received logistic support from Arthropodan marines. Why would the Empire have a special interest in you?”
    “ Search me. I’m nothing special.”
    “ What do you think, Major Lopez?” I asked, turning to my trusted XO.
    “ It’s a full moon,” offered Lopez, not making eye contact. “Maybe the spiders just went loco.”
    “ Maybe. This isn’t over.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    The Military Intelligence officer summoned an Intelligentsia State Police interrogator for assistance. Waterboarding the captured robotic hand had not gone well, and more expertise was needed. The black-clad Intelligentsia officer contemptuously ignored the marines as he methodically laid out an evil assortment of sharp items and electrodes from his torture kit. He sneered at the prisoner hand chained helplessly to the dungeon wall as it flopped about, defiantly gesturing a water-wrinkled one-fingered salute.
    “ You will talk, or I will make you wish you were never hatched!” threatened the Intelligentsia officer. “We already know you are part of the USGF ATM Network. Do not try to deny it.”
    The hand remained motionless.
    “I’ve got questions, you’ve got answers,” boomed the interrogator, checking a prepared list. “Are you a prototype? What is your password? Where the heck is Carmen Sandiego? Give me a sign!”
    The hand lunged violently forward, restrained by the chains. In rapid succession it gave the one-fingered salute, the Italian ‘up yours’ fist, and the Dubya thumb-up. That last sign particularly offended the Intelligentsia officer.
    “ This is not over,” insisted the Intelligentsia officer, attaching clamped electrodes to each finger tip. “Your pain has just begun!”
    There was a crack, sizzle, and pop as a light smoky scent filled the air. It smelled like ... fried chicken. Yum, yum! The hungry spider officer sprinkled Johnny’s Seasoning on the hand. “I will cut each digit off in sections, one by one, until you talk, and eat them for lunch. You will be finger food. Bon appétit. Resistance is futile.”
    The hand began to waver, perspiring in fear.
    “I am not without compassion. You will be well treated if you talk, and allowed to defect to a comfortable life in the Empire. I will secure you a job in a glove factory.”
    No response. Time to play his ace in the hole. The Intelligentsia officer triumphantly slapped down a hacked photograph of Private Atm showing off his new prosthetic arm and hand. He grabbed the prisoner hand and rubbed its palm on the photo.
    “ Get a good look. You’ve been replaced!”
    The hand slumped . Marshaling resolve, the hand lunged for the Nazi’s spider’s throat, squeezing with its last ounce of strength.
    Guards swarmed to pull the hand off. Furious, the Intelligentsia officer turned the electricity to full power. “You’ll pay for your insolence, human pestilence hand. Yum, yum!”
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
    After eating a pinky finger, the Intelligentsia officer changed tactics. As the hand flinched under the intense scrutiny of a bright lamp, the spider officer drove a hot poker through its palm. The sizzle was sickening. The hand flailed about, still pinned to the table. No mas!
    “ Sign in English for the translator,” ordered the Intelligentsia officer. “I know you speak English!”
    Signing pathetically, the hand exclaimed, defeated, ‘ I will give you the ATM access codes! Please, no more. I will cooperate.’
    “ You give up so