Salesman From Mars Page 7

  “At least you didn’t fall in love like Shaky Jake,” I commented, relieved. “He’s hopeless.”

  “Au contraire,” advised Pierce. “I gave my Yolanda an engagement ring.”

  “You sly devil!” exclaimed Shaky Jake, slapping Pierce on the back. “I would never have thought of that. I need to go back and give all the Butt sisters rings too!”

  “Nose rings,” I suggested.

  “Case of sour grapes?” asked Pierce. “Your date didn’t put out?”

  “We’re supposed to be guarding this hill against spider looters,” I announced, changing the subject. “It’s about time you two treated our mission seriously. There will be no more interfacing tonight!”

  “I think Crisp is bucking for corporal,” whispered Pierce. “He’s going fascist before our very eyes.”

  “Party pooping stick in the mud is what he is,” complained Shaky Jake. “Prude! You weren’t like this when we first met.”

  They both continued complaining as we made our rounds, but I was determined not to let Legion discipline slip away. “We have a job to do!”

  “What happened on your date?” asked Pierce. “Your uniform looks like you have been rolling in the dirt, or someone kicked your ass!”

  “My date was a sweet girl. A gentleman does not discuss such matters. That’s all I have to say.”

  “We’re not gentlemen,” advised Shaky Jake. “We’re legionnaires.”

  “You struck out with a brain imprint memorial?” exclaimed Pierce, seeing through my guise. “Now that is funny. That’s a first! Only you could strike out.”

  “Whatever.”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 9

  The Grim Reaper quietly slit the back wall of Sergeant Green’s tent. Thanatos sported a new shiny red painted scythe with long pine handle. He grinned his toothy skeletal smile, leering down at the slumbering Green as he lowered his scythe to cut Green from ear to ear.

  “Thanatos!” yelled Sergeant Green, quickly rising from his sleeping bag to confront the Grim Reaper. He deflected the Reaper’s scythe with his own scythe, pushing Thanatos back. “You can’t kill me! I have your scythe!”

  “I can take your soul anytime,” countered the Grim Reaper, surprised by Green’s quick response. “You cannot stop me. Everyone dances with Death eventually.”

  Sergeant Green jabbed at Thanatos, but with little effect. “Where did you get that scythe?” asked Green. “From Hell?”

  “Close,” commented the Grim Reaper. “It was on sale at Walmart. Its tempered stainless steel is of the highest quality, manufactured in the Dominion of Indonesia.”

  “Not China?” asked Sergeant Green. “Ha! Too bad for you!”

  “We will meet again soon enough!” threatened the Grim Reaper, gone as suddenly as he appeared. “I’ll be back!”

  * * * * *

  Sergeant Green claimed he knew Private Camacho from back in the day, agreeing to take Camacho’s imprint memorial back to Scorpion City during the next troop movement. We smuggled Camacho’s tombstone to our campsite, hiding it inside a tent. I easily fell asleep as the sun rose. We felt no need to report the night’s adventure, and Sergeant Green seemed preoccupied with other matters.

  When I woke up, the tent flap was up, and everyone was gone. As I stretched and yawned, still in my sleeping bag, something moved inside my bag. The hairs on my neck stood up as I panicked, ripping the bag open. A large Blue Lizard hissed and bared its fangs. I swatted the beast to the side, then smashed it with the butt of my assault rifle.

  “I suppose I’ll be fined two thousand credits for that!” I griped to no one in particular.

  Outside, the sun was setting. Legionaries were arranging their uniforms and equipment for another posting of the guard. I smelled steaks cooking in the mess tent.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked Pierce.

  “Blue Lizard,” answered Pierce, shining his boots. “There is going to be an inspection in a few minutes. You better get yourself together.”

  “What? No one told me anything about no stinking inspection!”

  I dusted off my dirty uniform. Soon the company was assembled. Master Sergeant Green and Lieutenant George Rambo Washington, a spider legionnaire, inspected the ranks. Lieutenant Washington walked briskly down the line until he got to me. Of course he would stop at me.

  “Hero of the Legion?” asked Lieutenant Washington, eying my ribbon. “You are expected to set an example for the rest of the men! You look like you rolled in the dirt and slept in your uniform!”

  “I almost got killed last night on guard duty,” I replied. “It’s a jungle out there, sir!” “Camacho set him up with Mongo,” explained Sergeant Green. “It happens to all new guards.” “Square him away!” ordered Lieutenant Washington, resuming his inspection. After Lieutenant Washington finished, Sergeant Green returned to me. “This is an honor guard unit!” he shouted. “We are in the public eye! You will shine your boots, be clean shaven, wash daily, have your uniform cleaned and pressed, and your nose hairs trimmed! Any questions?”

  “Mongo was a set up?” I asked. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Shut up!” yelled Sergeant Green. “This is the Legion, and you are in the desert. Nothing out here is nice! Dismissed!”

  I stood there a few moments more, still at attention after everyone else dispersed. Finally I followed Shaky Jake and Pierce to the mess tent.

  “Quit screwing up, or we’ll all end up on KP duty,” warned Pierce. “You were kidding about eating Blue Lizard for dinner, right?” I asked as we waited in line. “No,” answered Pierce. “I’m not eating lizard!” “That’s all there is. Get used it.” “But it’s against the law,” I argued. “Don’t you still have a court date for running over Blue Lizards?” “Tell me something I don’t know,” advised Pierce as he accepted a tray of steaming Blue Lizard meatloaf, served with potatoes and gravy. “Actually, this looks pretty good.”

  “I’ll have the salad,” I snarled at the cook. “I just became a vegetarian!”

  “You don’t like my cooking?” asked the mess hall sergeant, raising a soup ladle in a threatening manner. “Too spicy, or are you just a malcontent?”

  “It’s a lizard!” I replied. “What kind of soup are you serving?”

  “Spiced Blue Lizard soup with noodles,” answered the cook, proudly. “It’s my specialty.”

  I reached across the serving counter and grabbed the cook. The cook struck me alongside my head with the soup ladle. My lights went out.

  * * * * *

  I woke alone in the dark, on a hill of tombstones. A note from Sergeant Green pinned to my shirt read, ‘Nice try Crisp, but you are not getting out of guard duty that easy. Try to stay awake this time. No interfacing! That’s an order!’

  I sat on the ground, casting about for any sign of friends or Sergeant Green. A cold wind blew sand in my eyes. I was hungry too. Blue Lizard steak would taste pretty good right about now, I thought to myself. I noticed an illuminated button on the tombstone next to me. “This is probably another set up,” I groused, pressing the button.

  “I recognize you!” responded the tombstone imprint memorial. “You’re Mongo’s new boyfriend!”

  “I am not Mongo’s anything,” I replied testily.

  “I sincerely hope you are not jilting poor sweet Mongo so early in your relationship,” advised the tombstone. “She’s a very delicate creature, and you are very mean spirited. You would break her heart?”

  “Mongo attacked me with an ax,” I complained. “Is she even female?” “Oh? An ax? Mongo only brings out the battle ax for tourists she really likes. You should feel special. I’m quite jealous!” “I’m not a tourist. I am a legionnaire.” “You run around my cemetery, tombstone-hopping, and you claim you are not a tourist? I live here. This is my home. If you do not live here, you are a tourist.”

  As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I read the lettering, ‘Captain William
Norris, USGF Foreign Legion, murdered during the Disneyland Prison Riot.’

  “They buried an officer out here?” I asked. “Sir, you must have really screwed up.” “No worse that you, Private Crisp,” replied Captain Norris curtly. “At least I am the officer in charge. What are you?” “Alive. That’s better than you!” “I finally have my own command. That is all I ever really wanted anyway. It’s a life.” “Not! You command the Legion of the Dead,” I said sarcastically. “Do you know Private Camacho?” “I heard you helped Private Camacho desert last night,” commented Captain Norris gruffly. “If Camacho wanted a transfer, he should have talked to me first and put in a request through proper channels. As it is now, I will be forced to report Private Camacho AWOL.”

  “You’re insane,” I replied, pushing the button to deactivate. “I have to get out of this loony bin now!” Standing up, I still could not locate my friends but could see movement in the darkness at the base of the hill. “Halt!” I called out. “You down there! Identify yourself!” Whoever it was, they ducked behind a tombstone. “I can see you! Come out!” No response. I pressed Captain Norris’s activation button again. “What do I do, sir? There is someone down there!” “Quiet, it’s spider bandits sneaking about, you idiot! Shoot the grave-robbing sons of bitches!” I fired my assault rifle on full automatic at the last place I saw movement. Sparks flew as bullets careened off metal tombstones. I reloaded and prepared to continue firing.

  “Crisp, you fool!” called out Sergeant Green from below. “You just shot me in the foot!”

  “What?” I answered, more panicked than before. I dropped my rifle and ran down the hill. Sure enough, Master Sergeant Green was bleeding all over a brain imprint memorial. I read the inscription on the tombstone, ‘Janice (Mongo) Lee.’

  “Hi sweetie!” said Mongo cheerfully.

  “What is this?” I exclaimed. “You were cheating on me? With him? How could you, Janice?”

  “Donald, baby, I am so very sorry,” cried Mongo. “I had a moment of weakness. I have no willpower when it comes to brave men in uniform. You’re all such fine looking eye candy!”

  “You slut!” I accused. “We’re breaking up! That’s final!”

  “Oh please give me another chance,” cried Mongo. “This time I’ll stay faithful. I promise. Tyrone means nothing to me. You are my one and only true love!”

  “You two deserve each other!” I shouted.

  “Enough of your blathering!” ordered Sergeant Green, pushing the button to deactivate Janice ‘Mongo’ Lee. “I need help. Call a medic!”

  Legionnaires, attracted by the gunfire, soon arrived to help. In fact, the whole garrison was awake and put on alert by now. A medivac helicopter was called. Shaky Jake, Pierce, and I loaded Sergeant Green onto the medicvac, and we flew to the hospital in New Gobi City.

  * * * * *

  Colonel Czerinski threw both Pierce and me in jail. Our fellow inmates were a rough lot. Pierce and I stood with our backs to the wall, expecting the worst.

  “What are you in for?” asked a large tough looking inmate. He and a group of prisoners wearing orange coveralls stood in a half circle around us. “Looks like we have new fish in the tank!”

  “I shot Master Sergeant Green,” I boasted, hoping to intimidate the group with my evil deeds. It did not seem to work. “What are you boys in for?”

  “Murder.” “Sodomy.” “Murder and Sodomy.” “Sodomy and Murder!” “This is not going to end well, is it?” I asked. Pierce shook his head. “When the food trays are delivered, just hand your trays to me,” ordered the big inmate. “And on French toast day, save your butter. You’ll need it!” The big inmate and his friends laughed. I didn’t see anything funny about his joke.

  “What’s he mean by that?” asked Pierce. “Hey! What did you mean by that?” “What are you in for?” asked the big inmate. “Drugs?” “Killing Blue Lizards,” answered Pierce. “I’m being extradited. What’s it to you? You want a piece of me? I’m right here!” “He’s crazy,” commented one of the inmates, backing away. “He’s the guy that massacred those Blue Lizards out at Cemetery City. I heard about him.”

  “Did you say he killed Blue Lizards?” asked another inmate, also backing off.

  “I don’t want nothing to do with a serial Blue Lizard killer,” commented a third inmate, as the group quickly dispersed. Only the original large inmate remained, standing uneasily before us.

  “Did you say something about saving butter?” asked Pierce, getting in the big guy’s face. “You’re the one who better be saving your butter! I’ll sic my partner Donald Crisp the Third on you. He’s a bad dude!”

  “I don’t want no trouble!” cried the big inmate, backing away. “I was just kidding! Honest! This morning is ham omelet day. You can have my omelet. Welcome to the New Gobi County Jail, the friendliest jail this side of the New Disneyland Prison!”

  “Thank you,” I replied, shaking the inmate’s hand. As if on cute, a jailer arrived with breakfast. Trays were piled up in front of us. For the next two weeks we both ate well and gained lots of weight.

  Eventually charges were dropped. Colonel Czerinski determined that it was all just one big misunderstanding and love triangle that was better off hushed up. Also, he didn’t think Sergeant Green limping into court to testify while clutching a long handled scythe would help the prosecution. Colonel Czerinski also quashed Pierce’s extradition, citing it as bad precedent to extradite a legionnaire to the spiders for any reason. Instead, we were both given company level punishment, and assigned to KP duty at the mess hall.

  * * * * *

  The mess hall sergeant was not pleased. “I heard you assaulted a food management specialist over in Cemetery City,” he said. “That sort of criminal behavior will not be tolerated here!”

  “I beat that cook’s ass,” I boasted. “He tried to serve me road kill!”

  “Story I heard was he knocked you out with one punch,” commented the mess sergeant.

  “The punk sucker punched me with a club,” I complained. “I’m still concussed from that. If I ever see that dirty hamburger-flipper again, it will be too soon!”

  “You two miscreants will be peeling potatoes all day,” announced the mess sergeant. “Enjoy!” “I thought the mess hall had an automatic peeler,” griped Pierce. “This is bullshit!” “The peeler broke,” replied the mess sergeant sarcastically. “I think it’s a software glitch. Too bad for you!” After the cook left, Pierce quickly fixed the software problem. Maybe he really did work for Microsoft. I couldn’t tell which of his stories to believe. We spent the rest of the morning kicking back, listening to the potato peeler hum, until the cook caught us and ordered us to wash dishes. The automatic dishwasher was broke down too.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to be broke if you don’t quit messing with us,” I threatened. “Your head!”

  “I’m putting you on report for that comment,” responded the mess sergeant. “Czerinski will have your ass!”

  Later Pierce fixed the dishwasher, so we were set to work mopping the floors. It never ends! When we got off work that evening, my uniform was soaked in sweat. My body ached, and I fell asleep as soon as I hit my bunk. I had to do something about that mess sergeant.

  * * * * *

  Food Management Sergeant Willard Philpot left the Legion dining facility late. It had been a particularly annoying day because of all the grief and backtalk he got from those two recruits assigned to KP punishment detail. Sergeant Philpot just wanted to go back to the NCO barracks, shower, and relax.

  Someone stepped from the shadows in back of the kitchen and threw a web over Sergeant Philpot. Falling, Philpot’s last lucent memory that night was looking up at an alien spider dousing him with a can of Walmart anti-thug nerve agent.

  * * * * *

  With Philpot bundled up and unconscious, it was a simple matter for Shaky Jake to carry the him to the New Gobi City border fence. Crossing at pre-cut holes, Shaky Jake quickly dr
agged Philpot to the cover of bushes. Removing Philpot’s clothes, dog tags, and Legion identification, Shaky Jake left the slumbering mess sergeant lying in the middle of a roadway frequented by Arthropodan marine border security patrols.

  * * * * *

  An Arthropodan marine team leader, upon finding Philpot in the roadway, called for the Intelligentsia Security Police and a medic. The human pestilence was unconscious, breathing irregularly, and suffering from unknown injuries and ailments.

  “You did good to call me,” advised the first spider medic on the scene, doing a quick assessment of the fallen human pestilence. “Do you see that cutaneous condition affecting his integumentary system, generalized on his buttocks?”

  The team leader cautiously inspected the pimple on the human pestilence’s ass. How nasty, he thought. “The human pestilence has the frunk?”

  “Most certainly,” advised the spider medic. “It is my expert opinion that this human pestilence is an infectious carrier of furunculous. We will need to transport him to a quarantine area as soon as possible.”

  “But I touched this human pestilence!” cried the team leader. “Are you saying he is contagious?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said the medic, conversationally, handing out rubber gloves and masks. “ Bacterial staphylococcus is usually only contagious if the furunculous is chronic. Salve based ammonium bituminosulfonate treatments should cure this human pestilence, but we need to get him to a vet as soon as possible. As a precaution, of course, you will need to be inoculated and quarantined. Hopefully this human pestilence’s condition is not advanced enough to have gone anal. If so, cryosurgical procedures to remove his anal sacs will be attempted. Surgery is always a last resort.”