Salesman From Mars Read online

  “There is more than one doubter,” remarked another spider prospector, unslinging his assault rifle. “We have laws for your sort. Undesirables and vagrants are illegal here on New Colorado.”

  “Someone call the sheriff!” yelled a spider from the back of the crowd. “Get a rope!” added a human miner. “He is a crook,” yelled a female spider. “He is the kind who would piss on your leg and tell you it is raining!” “You would squander your chance at untold riches even before giving me the chance to prove myself?” I shouted back as the crowd pressed in around the vehicle. “You! The original Doubting Thomas. Take this stick. Hold on tight with both hands! Claws! Whatever!”

  Shaky Jake hesitated until a nearby spider nodded. “Sure, why not? I will play along!” Shaky Jake said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We can hang this human pestilence crook after I prove him a fraud and a fool!”

  Immediately after gripping the divining rod, Shaky Jake was pulled across the street and down the block. The crowd excitedly followed. Shaky Jake continued around a corner to the county courthouse, where the divining rod abruptly turned downward into soft dirt. The crowd gathered around, pushing and poking one another to get a better view. The divining rod was stuck in a freshly planted rose garden by the sheriff’s office.

  “Luck is with you!” I exclaimed, catching up. “Not only have you found gold, but you are already at the courthouse, so you can file your claim!”

  “I haven’t found anything yet,” groused Shaky Jake. Another prospector handed him a shovel. Shaky Jake immediately began digging, rose bushes flying to the side, dirt balls splattering the nearby windows. Soon, a big pot-bellied spider sheriff came bounding down the Courthouse steps to confront Shaky Jake.

  “Now, see here!” bellowed the spider sheriff. “There’s a whole passel o’ vandalism goin’ on here. Who do you think you are, destroyin’ my roses like that? What is this mob? There is no hangin’ scheduled today. Yet, looks like to me a whole bunch o’ disorderly conduct goin’ on!”

  “I’m rich!” announced Shaky Jake, producing gold nuggets, and holding them out for the sheriff and all to see. “I just dug these gold nuggets up! I am hereby declaring this my claim, pending filing!”

  The other miners excitedly began digging up the courthouse lawn. The sheriff snatched the nuggets and examined them up close. They were indeed small, smooth gold nuggets. “This gold came from a stream bed,” announced the sheriff, but no one was listening. “See how worn smooth by water they are?”

  “You can keep those nuggets Sheriff,” replied Shaky Jake, nervously. “Have a few more. I have plenty. I am rich!”

  “Don’t think I won’t be lookin’ into this funny business,” advised the spider sheriff, snatching the rest of Shaky Jake’s gold nuggets. “There’s a whole lot of funny business goin’ on here. Attention everyone! Stop diggin’! You are all trespassin’ and committin’ acts of vandalism. Trespassin’ is a capital offense here in the Empire, especially on government property! Disperse now!”

  “He just wants the gold for himself!” complained a disgruntled prospector as the crowd moved across the street.

  “Not to worry!” I shouted, following the crowd. “I have a hundred more divining rods in my car. There is enough for everyone! I’ll sell them for ... a thousand credits apiece!”

  “You promised only five hundred credits apiece earlier,” argued a spider carrying an assault riffle. “Are you trying to cheat us?”

  “No, sir!” I answered. “You are quite right. Thank you for correcting my mistake. I did offer these divining rods for only five hundred credits, and I will stick to my original offer, even if it cuts sorely into my meager profits. You are a sharp cookie! I can tell it will be tough doing business with such an intelligent and worldly species as you spiders.”

  “Damn straight!” said the armed spider, waving his five hundred credits as a line formed. “Do you take VISA platinum?” shouted a spider trying to cut in line. “Oh, hell, no,” I said. “Do I look like a credit card company?” Everyone laughed at the card holder. “Take your platinum card and get to the back of the line,” someone sniped. “It’s all a fraud!” announced a human prospector from across the street at the sheriff’s office. “Don’t trust that crook! He’s a con man.”

  “Shut up human pestilence!” replied Shaky Jake. “You human pestilence just want to steal our gold for yourselves like you always do! I am on to your evil ways!”

  “He is right!” added another spider, jostling for position in line. “Those human pestilence are always stealing our gold, but today they do not have the Legion here to help. Finally we have an honest human pestilence who will sell us the divining rods we need!”

  I quickly sold all one hundred divining rods. That added up to a lot of credits. I stashed the cash in my fur cap and paid off Shaky Jake for his excellent acting. We prepared to skedaddle out of town. One of the spiders followed me down the street.

  “Hey you, salesman!” he called out. “Want a job?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m going on vacation.”

  “I can give you a job that will take you quickly out of town,” advised the spider. “I know that interests you, especially after ripping off all those dumb miners. At least, you better be interested in getting out of town quick.”

  “I’m listening,” I replied, nervously. “Those divining rods have a money back guarantee you know. I wouldn’t cheat anyone.”

  “Whatever. The job is simple. I own a long haul truck and trailer. All you have to do is drive across the New Gobi Desert to Lopez Farms, pick up a load of oranges, and transport them to Scorpion City for sale. We will split the profits 50-50.”

  “Scorpions eat oranges?” I asked. “I don’t think so.”

  “Marketing research indicates scorpions love oranges,” advised the spider. “They all have sweet fangs. This will be the first delivery to the scorpions. I will be rich!”

  “What’s the catch?” I asked. “Why don’t you drive?”

  “I am a spider,” he explained. “The scorpions do not like spiders. I would draw too much attention. They are just as likely to eat me as the oranges. The spiders won’t hassle you human pestilence at the border. So, what do you say? Are you ready to make some easy money?”

  “Are you sure scorpions don’t eat humans too?” I asked. “Not usually.” “No way,” I decided. “I don’t even know how to drive a truck.” “I do!” advised Shaky Jake. “I even have a driver’s license. We are partners.” “That sheriff is going to be hunting you both real soon,” cautioned the spider. “If he does not arrest you for selling those phony dowser rods, he will pick you up for the wanted posters I saw at the Post Office.”

  “What wanted posters? I’m not wanted!”

  “Don’t worry,” advised the spider, in a hushed conspiratorial tone. “I tore them down for you. We are friends in business, remember?”

  “I don’t even know you.”

  The spider handed me a wanted poster. It had my identification card photo on it, announcing in large print, ‘Donald Crisp III, wanted dead or alive, preferably dead, for selling defective products, to wit: life endangering defective anti-croc repellent. Said human pestilence and felon Donald Crisp III is to be considered armed and dangerous, and presumed willing to use deadly force to resist arrest. Do not take chances. Kill him!’ The Imperial Warrant was signed by the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi Desert & Caldera Lake Military District.

  “I’ll take the job,” I announced. “We will leave now!”

  “Good choice,” advised the spider. “Next they would have put your picture on the postage stamps. You do not want postal employees looking for you.”

  “I’m driving first,” advised Shaky Jake. “Remember, we are partners!”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 3

  Before we left Finisterra, the truck owner handed us two assault rifles, ammunition, and grenades. He said it was to deter bandits. The tr
ip was uneventful but, sure enough, a few miles from reaching Lopez Farms, the roadway was blocked by a barricade of burned-out junk cars. Armed spiders stood by, motioning for us to stop.

  “Run the barricade!” advised Shaky Jake. “They will rob us or worse!” “I can’t do that,” I replied. “They have guns.” “So do we,” advised Shaky Jake, nervously pulling the pin on a grenade. “But they know how to use their guns,” I cautioned. “We don’t.” “How hard can it be?” reasoned Shaky Jake. “You point and pull the trigger!” As Shaky Jake fumbled with one of the rifles, he dropped the grenade. It rolled around on the truck’s floor board. I closed my eyes as I slammed on the brakes, expecting death. Nothing happened! The truck came to a halt just short of the barricade. The grenade was a dud. I stuffed the grenade in my Russian fur cap. The spider bandits surrounded us, roughly pulling us from the truck cab.

  “Give us all your money!” ordered the bandit leader. “Do it now, and I might even let you live!” I handed the bandit two hundred credits. Shaky Jake did the same. “Not good enough, human pestilence,” announced the bandit. “I know you have more. Strip!” “I beg your pardon?” I asked. “You can’t be serious. You would steal our clothes?” “I don’t want your stinking human pestilence clothes!” advised the spider bandit leader. “I know you human pestilence hide cash and jewelry in every orifice imaginable. I want it all. Strip!”

  “You aren’t going to probe us, are you?” I cried. “Oh God, please don’t let me be probed by aliens!”

  “Give up your clothes!” repeated the spider bandit leader, poking me with his rifle. “Or else!”

  I removed all my clothes except my fur hat. I looked like a pink Cossack. It was scary to behold. The bandits found a few more credits and some dollars hidden in secret pockets of my clothes. They still were not satisfied.

  “You’re hiding about fifty thousand credits,” commented the spider bandit leader, eying my cap. “Gee, I wonder where it is.”

  “You already took all my money,” I cried. “I’m telling the truth! I swear it on my great granddad’s grave, God rest his soul. May God strike me down if I lie.”

  “Oh?” asked the spider bandit leader. “That can easily be arranged!” He snatched my cap. The grenade fell out on the ground, cash floated on the breeze. The spider bandits were torn between diving for cover, and leaping for the cash. Some tried to do both. They looked like giant frogs, snatching bills from the air, then rolling along the ground behind a sand dune for cover. The grenade did not explode. As before, it proved to be a dud. The spider bandit leader, unafraid, stuffed the grenade in a pouch and counted the remaining money from my hat.

  “Finally we get to the truth of the matter,” commented the spider bandit leader, fangs smiling. “There is no need to probe your poop chute now.”

  “Can I put my clothes on now?” I asked. “I have a sensitive skin condition. I’m allergic to the sun’s rays.”

  “Then the New Gobi Desert is not your place to be,” laughed the spider bandit leader. “What are you hauling? If you lie to me again, I will cut off your dangler.”

  “My dangler?” I asked, instinctively covering my testicles with both hands. “What do you mean?”

  The spider bandit leader drew a large jagged combat knife as he circled to my left. Another spider bandit moved off to my right. “Are you going to answer my question?” he asked.

  “It’s empty!” I answered. “We’re picking up a load of oranges and taking them to Scorpion City to sell to the scorpions. Please don’t cut off my dangler!”

  “Scorpions don’t eat oranges!” scoffed the spider bandit leader, enraged. He swiped at me with his large jagged combat knife.

  I stepped back just in time, shriveling. One of the bandits whispered something to the bandit leader as he readied for another swipe at my dangler. They continued their heated exchange in hushed tones. I strained to listen, but their translation devices weren’t broadcasting. Then the spider bandit sheathed his knife. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you drive for General Lopez?” asked the spider bandit leader.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. “I am to pick up the oranges at Lopez Farms. Let me tell you, the good General will not be happy that you are harassing his drivers. General Lopez is a personal friend of mine!”

  That did not impress the spider bandit leader. His laugh came out as a loud hiss. “I feel sorry for you. General Lopez is an even bigger crook than I am. At least I am up-front when I steal!”

  “You are up-front?” I asked, losing my temper. “That’s nice to know! An honest bandit! I don’t know what your issues are with General Lopez, but I know for sure you are a double-dealing, back-stabbing menace – a pimple on the ass of society!”

  “Is that so?” asked the spider bandit leader, amused. “You do not like me? What is there to not like?”

  “I was set up!” I accused. “You knew in advance I carried a large amount of cash!”

  “Like I said earlier, I feel sorry for you,” explained the spider bandit leader. “To prove my sincerity and no hard feelings, I am giving you back five hundred credits for gas money. I do no want it said that I caused one of General Lopez’s trucks to run out of gas out here in the Desert. These trucks are worth a lot of money. Be gone!”

  “Gee thanks.”

  “Be glad I let you keep your little dangler,” commented the spider bandit leader, showing he could be even more magnanimous. “Stop your whining!”

  “Blah, blah, blah.”

  The bandits abruptly drove off in their jeep. As they crested a sand dune, there was an explosion. The grenade! Shaky Jake and I ran through the dunes to the scene of the carnage. The jeep caught fire. Spider parts and limbs lay everywhere. Money floated in the breeze, settling in a ring around the wrecked jeep. There were no survivors. Fearing more bandits, we quickly scooped up as much money as we could salvage, and left fast for Lopez Farms.

  * * * * *

  As we approached Lopez Farms, I passed a lone human standing in a pile of manure. Oddly, he was stooping, concentrating on the pile, and occasionally picking at it. Flies buzzed all about. Of course I stopped.

  “Are you Okay?” I asked. “Are you stranded or lost? Need a lift?”

  “Yes!” replied the odd man. “My name is Tony Pierce. I was robbed of my money and my jeep by bandits, and left here to die of thirst!”

  “Why are you picking through that pile of cow shit?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted this Pierce fellow sitting with us in the truck cab. Shaky Jake’s mandibles were already twitching from the smell.

  “I was looking for magic mushrooms,” explained Pierce. “I hit the bonanza too!”

  “What’s so magic about your magic mushrooms?” I asked.

  “Magic mushrooms will take you anywhere you want to go!” exclaimed Pierce, producing a handful from his pocket. “Away from the mundane. Want some? They’re great.”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “Magic mushrooms sound illegal.”

  “Not on this side of the border,” whispered Pierce, eying Shaky Jake suspiciously. “The spiders don’t know about magic mushrooms yet, and I’m certainly not telling them.”

  “You better eat that fungi before we get to the border,” I advised. “I don’t want any hassles when we cross at Scorpion City.”

  “We do not want to get busted,” added Shaky Jake.

  “I can do that,” promised Pierce, happily. “I’ll eat them all! He began popping mushrooms in his mouth. “I’ll destroy all the evidence, man.”

  “Maybe he has been in the sun too long,” commented Shaky Jake. “He is nuts.”

  “And we’re not, driving through bandit-infested country?” I whispered. Turning to Pierce, I asked, “What are you doing out here in the first place? What line of work are you in?”

  “I’m a Microsoft engineer,” boasted Pierce. “I finally got a chance to take a vacation, and I took it! They were having specials on beams to New Colorado.
That window doesn’t open up very often, so I took the plunge, and here I am, robbed and broke!”

  “What’s it like working in the Belly of the Beast?” I asked. “You know, at Microsoft?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Pierce. “My office has no windows! That’s to keep the critics out. The critics are everywhere. Everyone is a critic these days.”

  “What critics?” I asked. “Everyone loves Microsoft.”

  “The critics think I’m puny, not funny!” complained Pierce. “They think I should be more edgy! Hey! I’m edgy! I can be as edgy as anyone! Critics are bastards!”

  “Never mind,” I replied. “Forget I asked. I didn’t mean to pry.” “You are beyond edgy,” added Shaky Jake, trying to appease Pierce. “What do you do?” asked Pierce, suddenly calmed. “I’m a salesman,” I said proudly. “I am descended from generations of salesmen. We are going to sell oranges to the scorpions.” “Ha!” exclaimed Pierce. “Scorpions don’t eat oranges. Good luck with that! I’ve never cared for oranges much. Don’t tell anyone at Microsoft, but I’m an apple man myself. Oh, I’ll eat an occasional peach. Oranges give me the hives. Ever been to Florida? The place is infested with oranges. I don’t suppose you are carrying any apples?”

  “No,” I answered. “Apples and oranges don’t mix.”

  “It is against the law,” added Shaky Jake. “Even on this side of the border. Something about apple maggots making the leap to citrus.”

  “We’ve got too many laws,” groused Pierce. “There should be a law against passing so many laws!”

  * * * * *

  Lopez Farms extended for miles on both sides of the border. Lopez’s orchards fed the entire planet. Robotic pickers could be seen tending the endless miles of crops. General Manny Lopez, Hero of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, greeted us personally, inviting us to his hacienda for lunch.