Salesman From Mars

by Walter Knight

  “Did you have any problems getting here?” he asked, eying a puff of smoke on the horizon. “We heard an explosion.”

  “We were delayed by bandits,” I said nonchalantly. “But I killed all four of them!”

  “I’m impressed,” commented General Lopez, motioning with a head nod for legionnaires to check out my story. “There were no survivors?”

  “The desert has no mercy, and neither do I,” I boasted, trying to sound tough. “You have some oranges for me to pick up? Let’s get on with it. Time is money, and I have none to waste.”

  “I like your attitude,” General Lopez said. “So many of my employees just want to take a siesta when I’m not looking, especially those lazy spiders. The scorpions aren’t any better. That’s why I have automated pickers out in my orchards, picking my fruit.”

  “Men can’t be replaced my machines,” I replied.

  “No, but spiders and scorpions can,” insisted General Lopez. He eyed Shaky Jake. “Who are you?”

  “Shaky Jake is my desert guide,” I explained. “I was told always take a spider when traveling in the desert. That, and lots of water.”

  “Again, I like your attitude!” replied General Lopez, slapping me on the back. I glanced at my truck. Legionnaires loaded large green crates under the less sturdy crates of oranges. “Are you a smuggler?” I asked. “I do not want to get involved in illegal activities.” “It’s too late for that!” said General Lopez. “I’ve seen your wanted posters. Did you know the spiders’ Supreme Commander for the entire New Gobi Military District was attacked by a croc while swimming at Caldera Lake the other day? Rumor has it you sold him tea bags, claiming they were anti-croc repellent.”

  “About this smuggling business. Are those guns they’re loading?”

  “I will forget you even asked that question,” advised General Lopez, still in a good mood. “Mr. Crisp, you are truly a national treasure. I do not want bad things to ever happen to you. If you really sold the spider commander tea bags for croc repellent, you have cojones the size of elephants! You’re the man! Legends will be made from the talk of your deeds. You are like a superhombre to me!”

  “I don’t want to smuggle guns across the border,” I insisted.

  “You have no choice,” replied General Lopez. “If you don’t, I’ll cut off your elephant balls and make speaker covers of them for my stereo system. Understand, superhombre?”

  “Yes, he understands!” interrupted Shaky Jake. “We’re partners. Mr. Crisp is the cautious type, but we have a deal. I assume we will be well compensated for our extra risk.”

  “You know what happens when you assume anything out here in the New Gobi Desert?” asked General Lopez, cocking his eyebrows in a warning gesture. Quickly he smiled and added, “I am not unreasonable. Yes, you will have a nice paycheck waiting for you at Scorpion City. Don’t worry about the border crossing. I’ve made arrangements with the Legion for you to not be searched. You are a valued employee, Mr. Crisp. I want you to be happy. I need more of your type working for me.” General Lopez noticed Pierce. “Who are you?”

  “He’s my muscle,” I answered. “I figure there will be more bandits along the way to deal with.”

  “That’s a wise precaution,” agreed General Lopez, glancing at the smoke again.

  Two legionnaires wearing moon suits appeared from a warehouse carrying a metal crate. They loaded the suspicious container into my trailer, carefully placing orange crates on top. “What’s that!” I demanded.

  “It’s radioactive. That is all you need to know,” replied General Lopez, slapping me on the back again.

  “Do you have a license to transport radioactive materials?” I asked.

  “Do you have a license to ask stupid questions?” asked General Lopez. “I don’t think so. Remember, you are working for me because I like your style, so stop pissing me off with your stupid questions!”

  “Yes, sir.” “And you called me crazy?” commented Pierce, as we walked back to inspect my truck. “At least I don’t smuggle nukes.” “Shut up. It could be worse. We could be stranded out here.”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 4

  Shaky Jake and Tony Pierce informed me Scorpion City was a semi-autonomous protectorate of the United States Galactic Federation planet colony of New Colorado, inhabited mostly by scorpions – human-sized alien scorpions, not the wee ones I’d stomped back on Old Earth. According to Shaky Jake, spiders and scorpions hated each other. USGF Foreign Legion peacekeepers separated the two species at the border. The locally recruited Scorpion City National Guard augmented Legion troops. I’d never seen an alien scorpion, but I was hoping they’d be as dumb and greedy as spiders.

  At the Scorpion City border crossing, we stopped at a Legion checkpoint. A legionnaire accompanied by a large leashed monitor dragon asked for identification. An alarm beeped on the legionnaire’s web belt. RADIATION ALERT flashed on his small scanner screen. The corporal pressed the reset button.

  “He’s on to us,” whispered Pierce. “What do we do? I knew smuggling nukes was a bad idea.” “Just try to look normal and let me do the talking,” I replied. “Maybe if I offer his dragon a mushroom...” Pierce suggested, nervously looking around. “I thought you ate all your magic mushrooms,” complained Shaky Jake. “Hello, corporal,” I greeted cheerfully as the legionnaire approached the truck cab. “How are you doing this fine day?” “Peachy,” the corporal said with a distinct hint of sarcasm. “Are you transporting any fruits or vegetables?” “I like your blue helmet, corporal,” I said, still trying to establish a rapport of some sort. “It makes a fashion statement. Uh, nice weather, isn’t it?”

  “It’s hot,” commented the corporal in a sulking tone. “Fruits or vegetables?” he repeated, glancing with more interest at my truck trailer.

  “I’m Donald, and you are...?” “Guido. Corporal Tonelli to you,” he said, frowning. “Are you carrying any fruits or vegetables?” “Oranges,” I answered. “Lots of nothing but oranges. “We’re going to sell oranges to the scorpions.” “Have your oranges been inspected by the FDA yet?” asked Corporal Tonelli. “Of course,” I replied. “They taste great. Want an orange?” I handed the legionnaire an orange. “Scorpions don’t eat oranges,” commented Corporal Tonelli. “They might eat your spider partner, though. Are you sure you want to cross the border with him?”

  “We’re partners,” advised Shaky Jake. “I’m not afraid of scorpions.” “Whatever,” said Corporal Tonelli, dismissing the spider as a fool. “Scorpions will not buy your oranges.” “Tell that to General Lopez,” I suggested. “I just drive. Don’t shoot the messenger.” “You drive for Lopez?” asked Corporal Tonelli. “That explains a lot. Good luck with that.” Corporal Tonelli tossed the orange to his attack dragon Spot. The monitor dragon playfully tore into the orange like it was a small animal.

  “I didn’t know giant lizards ate oranges,” I commented. “Do they eat apples too?” “Spot will eat anything,” answered Corporal Tonelli, patting the dragon affectionately on its snout. “He’s a garbage gut!” “Want a mushroom?” asked Pierce. I smiled down at the fanged reptile, tossing it another orange. This time, instead of going for the orange, Spot lunged and splattered saliva on me and the truck door as he snapped at my hand. I pulled back just in the nick of time and screamed in horror, “Get it away!”

  Spot dropped back to the ground, and Corporal Tonelli pulled back on his leash. “You may pass!” he ordered, waving us through. “And don’t ever feed my dragon!”

  As I prepared to drive across the border, a spider guard came over to talk to Corporal Tonelli. I could overhear their discussion off to the side as I struggled with the truck gears.

  “Guido, what was that all about?” the spider guard asked.

  “Just another one of General Lopez’s drivers,” commented Guido. “The New Gobi Desert will kill those fools soon enough. Everything in the desert bites, pokes, or stings. City slickers will never su
rvive out here on the frontier.”

  “Spot almost had his hand for lunch,” commented the spider guard. “Hey Guido! Next time save some oranges for me too.”

  * * * * *

  At Lopez’s warehouse, scorpion soldiers from the Scorpion City National Guard unloaded my crates of oranges, neatly stacking them off to the side. The military crates were loaded into a pickup truck and driven away.

  “What about my oranges?” I asked the scorpion officer in charge. “Not my problem,” he replied. “Want to buy some delicious sweet oranges?” I asked. “No.” “Know anyone in Scorpion City who does?” “No!” The soldiers abruptly left. Warehouse workers took our truck to the motor pool. A warehouse foreman carrying a clipboard then confronted us. “Get these oranges out of here,” he ordered.

  “Give me a few days,” I replied. “I need to find a buyer.”

  “I will give you three days,” warned the scorpion foreman. “No longer. You are supposed to take those oranges to market, not stink up my warehouse with fruit flies.”

  “Chill out dude!” said Pierce. “Have a mushroom.”

  “Why thank you,” replied the scorpion foreman, accepting the magic gift. “That’s right tasty. Fine! You have a week! No more!”

  * * * * *

  Within walking distance of Lopez’s warehouse, we found the Golden Stinger Tavern. The place was all lit up and doing a fine business, packed with rowdy drunken scorpions. Scorpion musicians played Old Earth country-western music. A scorpion bartender wearing a cowboy hat greeted us from behind his polished bar.

  “Are you three lost?” asked the scorpion bartender. “I know that spider is lost for sure.”

  “Give me a bacon martini,” I ordered.

  “A what?” asked the scorpion bartender, already checking his electronic notepad. “How do you make a bacon martini? I have never heard of such a drink. You better not be troublemakers. Especially that spider!”

  “Cook bacon to a crisp, mix the bacon into vodka, and stir with ice,” I explained. “Yum!” “That is gross!” replied the scorpion bartender. “I will not fix such a drink.” “Then just mix me a screwdriver,” I requested. “We drink our vodka straight,” advised the scorpion bartender. “Except when we pour it into our beer. I know nothing of screwdrivers.”

  “This is my kind of place!” interrupted Pierce, excitedly. “Let the vodka flow!” “A screwdriver is vodka mixed with orange juice,” I explained. “It’s a traditional Old Earth drink.” “We don’t have orange juice,” advised the scorpion bartender. “What kind of sissy place do you think this is?” “It’s a place that’s missing out on a lot of human and spider business,” I argued. “Humans and spiders love screwdrivers.” “No offense, but I do not care much about losing your business,” advised the scorpion bartender. “You humans smell bad, and I hate spiders on general principle.”

  “No offense taken,” I replied, my best salesman smile wide across my face.

  “I don’t like you either!” shouted Shaky Jake. “Give me a vodka and ice!”

  “Don’t make waves,” I told Shaky Jake nervously. Looking around, I saw we were getting a lot of hard stares from the scorpion crowd. Their tails twitched in agitation. “Pour me a vodka and ice too, please.”

  When the bartender brought my vodka and ice, I produced several oranges from my backpack. I squeezed orange juice into my drink. After stirring, I offered the bartender a taste.

  “This is good stuff,” admitted the scorpion bartender. “It tastes great, but is not too filling. Where did you get these oranges?”

  “I have lots,” I bragged, bringing more oranges out of my backpack. I made more screwdrivers. “I have a whole truck trailer load of oranges for sale. Interested?”

  “Yes, I am,” admitted the scorpion bartender, having another sip. Other scorpions gathered around for free drinks. “I’ll buy your oranges.”

  We shook hand and claw.

  A seedy looking scorpion wearing sunglasses sat on the stool next to Pierce. “Want to buy some blue powder?” asked Sunglasses. “My powder will get you so high, it will take you past the moons.”

  “No way,” answered Pierce. “I quit the hard stuff years ago.” “Too bad,” replied sunglasses. “I am talking high quality powder at very competitive prices.” “Got some weed?” asked Pierce. “That stuff causes brain damage!” commented sunglasses, abruptly sliding away. “Drug addicts!” “Fascist!” I motioned for the scorpion bartender to come back over. “Don’t you ever get any humans in here?” I asked. “Where are the babes in this town?”

  “Are you kidding?” asked the scorpion bartender. “This place is full of hot females. Of course, most of them are working girls.”

  “I love this bar!” shouted Pierce, overhearing the conversation and waving at a table full of scorpion hotties across the room. They waved back, tails twitching.

  “Now you have done it!” cried Shaky Jake. “You’re going to get us all killed!”

  “Chill, Shaky,” advised Pierce. “I know what I’m doing. It’s under control.”

  Three female scorpions sauntered over and sat on our laps. I have never been so terrified in my life, but I kept my salesman smile. “Ma’am, you are a lovely creature. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Sugar. My friends are Sweets and Cinnamon. Looking for a date, big boy? Want a taste of our honey?”

  I shuddered in fear. Sugar’s stinger wavered over her shoulder, poised to strike as it twitched and vibrated in front of my face.

  “Sure he does!” answered Pierce. “We all do! And we’re flush with cash! Crisp’s card is brimming with money from the sale of our oranges.”

  “We do not take credit cards,” advised Sugar, agitated.

  “Check his hat,” advised Pierce. “It’s full of cash!”

  “Then let’s party!” agreed Sugar. She put her mandibles to my nose and kissed me. Then green spray hit me in the face. Toxins and pheromones rendered me partially paralyzed, although my senses heightened. I think I suffered from toxic shock. My date carried me off to her place. The others followed.

  “If we need more cash, we can go to an ATM!” advised Pierce, enjoying the ride.

  “This guy is rich!” exclaimed Sugar, going through my hat. “You can afford group sex. I am calling my other girlfriends, and making this a party you will never forget!”

  “Help!” I cried out. No one was listening or cared. “I love Scorpion City!” shouted Pierce, as we left the tavern. “We are going to die!” cried Shaky Jake. “I told you so!”

  * * * * *

  Three days later I woke up dehydrated in a hospital, with IV tubes stuck into my arm. A scorpion nurse attended me.

  “Good morning, Mr. Crisp!” she said cheerfully. “Rise and shine! It is past time you joined the world of the living!”

  “What happened to me?” I asked, still groggy. Terrifying images of scorpion orgies flashed through my pickled brain. I shuddered at my aberrant memories.

  “You were stung multiple times, you naughty boy,” advised the scorpion nurse. Several of her eyes winked at me. “Don’t you know you humans need to build up an immunity to our love venom before going on dates? Silly human!”

  “Dates?” I asked. More flashbacks assaulted my mind. “What happened to my friends?”

  “Shaky Jake and Tony Pierce just left,” advised the scorpion nurse. “They assured me you have nothing to worry about. They are out spending the rest of the money on your card, networking and lining up another sales job.”

  “Don’t worry? They’re robbing me!”

  “Your hospital bill is fully paid,” advised the scorpion nurse, sweetly. “Would you like an orange for breakfast, freshly imported from Lopez Farms? They are absolutely delicious!”

  “No, thank you.” “How about a magic mushroom?” “No!” “There is no reason to get testy, Mr. Grump,” advised the scorpion nurse. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Is it true you are a famous porn
star, even more famous than that brute, Czerinski?”

  Suddenly more physically impossible and terrifying scorpion images flashed in my mind. “Famous? I hope not,” I replied. “No! Absolutely not!”

  “That is not what Tony and Shaky said,” gushed the scorpion nurse, giggling. She patted me on the leg. I slapped her claw away. “They have video to prove it, and promised to show it to me later at my place.”

  “Don’t believe anything those two tell you.” “Tony promised I could star in his next movie,” argued the spider nurse. “Pierce makes movies?” “He does now,” said the scorpion nurse. “Is it true Tony works for Microsoft?” “Not likely.” “But that’s what Tony told me,” explained the scorpion nurse. “Does he own a string of taverns?” “No.” “Is Tony Pierce a world famous science fiction writer?” asked the scorpion nurse, now losing her patience. “Does Tony ever tell the truth?”

  “Face it,” I said. “Pierce will say anything to get under your skirt.” “I do not care what you say!” exclaimed the scorpion nurse. “Tony has such lovely beautiful blue eyes.” “Oh, good grief!” “Well, he does!” “Whatever. His eyes are bloodshot red.”

  * * * * *

  I was furious. After being discharged from the hospital, I confronted Pierce and Shaky Jake at the Golden Stinger. “What do you mean, you spent all my money?” I yelled. “There aren’t that many scorpion hookers in all of Scorpion City!”

  “I beg to differ,” advised Pierce.

  “I was just along for the ride!” explained Shaky Jake. “Those scorpion babes might have killed us all. We spent all your money to save our lives, and to save your life!”