“Don’t shoot!” shouted Shaky Jake, as the spider marines got closer. “We surrender!” “Shut up!” I ordered. “We’re not going to jail again. Just pretend like nothing is wrong.” “I heard spider marines eat their prisoners,” advised Pierce. “Barbaric bastards!” “Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied. “Spiders are mostly civilized. Did they try to eat us when we were in jail?” “No,” conceded Pierce. “They didn’t try to eat us. They were just going to line us up for a firing squad. They were going to shoot me three times!”
I grimaced. “So, then, they aren’t going to eat us now. Just shut up and follow my lead.”
The first spider marine approached our bunker as the other spider marines flanked us to the left and right, weapons at the ready. “Do you have any food?” he asked. “I am starving.”
“See!” cried Pierce. “I told you so! They’re going to eat us!”
I grabbed Pierce as he tried to flee. “Calm down, Tony!” I said, trying to shake some sense back into him. I turned to address the spider marine calmly. “He’s suffering from sun stroke. What do you mean, you are starving?”
“All we get for field rations is goo in a tube,” complained the spider marine. “Goo in a tube sucks big time. Do you have any Legion issue MREs?”
“Maybe,” I answered, casting about the bunker at our meager supplies. I read ‘Meals Ready to Eat’ on a case by my feet. “It looks like we have plenty of MREs.”
“Take them all!” shouted Pierce. “MREs taste much better than stringy human pestilence.” “Human pestilence taste like chicken,” joked the spider marine. His mates hissed laughter too. “I told you to shut up,” I said, shaking Pierce again. “Are you willing to trade for the MREs?” asked the spider marine. “What do you have that I might want?” I asked, more confident. The art of closing a sale being my forte, I felt more comfortable about our future prospects. “These MREs cost the Legion a lot of money.”
“How about some water?” asked Pierce, relieved we were no longer on the menu.
“How about an RPG?” asked the spider marine, ignoring Pierce, an obvious fool. The spider marine waved at his mates to join us. One of the spider marines handed me a rocket-propelled grenade.
“What would I do with this?” I asked, examining the rocket. “It’s too heavy to carry in the desert. How does it work?”
“Just point and pull the trigger,” advised the spider marine. “Elevate for effect. Or, you can just shoot it into the air to celebrate the Fifth of July.”
“That’s the Fourth of July,” I corrected. “Whatever.” “Make the deal,” whispered Pierce. “We don’t want these spiders hungry. We’re not out of this yet.” “You have a deal!” I announced, agreeing. “Care to join us for dinner?” “Thank you,” replied the spider marine, as he tore into the case of MREs. He tossed packets to his mates. “I love your human pestilence pound cake and meat loaf with brown gravy.”
“You’re a sick puppy if you like the pound cake,” advised Pierce. “You must be starving.”
“Try eating this,” replied the spider marine, offering Pierce an Arthropodan marine standard-issue food tube.
Pierce squeezed goo from the tube. It smelled odd, like rotten bologna. It tasted worse. Pierce spit it out. “No wonder you don’t like it. What’s in this stuff?”
“We call it mystery meat surprise,” advised the spider marine. “I suspect it’s road kill and recycled waste.” “Shit?” asked Pierce. “It tastes like shit.” “How would you know that?” I snorted. “You want some?” asked Pierce, offering me the tube. “I don’t think so,” I replied, giving the goo a careful sniff, and handing the tube back to the spider marine. “You took quite a risk crossing the border just for a bite to eat. You could have got shot.”
“Risk?” scoffed the spider marine. “From you?”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, a bit indignant. “I had you in my sights, but chose to let you live because of my good nature and even disposition. Others would not have been so charitable.”
“That’s right,” added Pierce. “We could have easily killed you.”
“First you have to put an ammunition magazine clip into your assault rifle,” instructed the spider marine, picking up a nearby rifle. “Then you need to pull back the slide, and set the safety. Don’t you even know how to fire your own rifles? Have you no training?”
“We’ve had training,” I answered, weakly. “We just never got to that part. Hell, we don’t even know what we’re supposed to be guarding. I think Colonel Czerinski doesn’t like us, and sent us out here as punishment.”
“You are humanity’s first line of defense against invasion,” advised the spider marine. “You are also supposed to be keeping the scorpions on your side of the border. Do not go near the fence. There is a minefield.”
“How did you get through?” I asked incredulously, peering over a sandbag at the razor wire. “Who do you think placed the mines?” asked the spider marine. “I have a map. Do you have any more MREs?” “I don’t know,” I replied, looking under a tarp in the corner that covered more supplies. “Are you still hungry?” “You better call on your radio for resupply,” suggested the spider marine, showing me how to operate our radio. “Why are you helping us?” I asked suspiciously. “Aren’t you the enemy?” “Both sides signed a peace treaty,” explained the spider marine. “We do not hold grudges like you human pestilence do.” “I don’t hold any grudges,” I replied, uncomfortably. “You have a Pizza Hut on your side of the border,” advised the spider marine. “All we have is McDonald’s, and they do not deliver. How about ordering pizza to go?”
“Pizza Hut delivers way out here? I don’t even know where I am. Sergeant Green just dropped us off in the middle of nowhere.”
The spider marine handed me a map. It had a large black ‘X’ at its center. “That is where we are. I want a large pepperoni and sausage pizza with extra cheese.”
“I want Canadian bacon with extra cheese!” added Pierce. “Just an extra large pepperoni pizza,” said Shaky Jake. “I don’t eat pork.” “Pizza beats hamburgers any day of the week!” exclaimed the spider marine. “I still can’t believe you have a McDonald’s on your side of the border,” commented Pierce. “I guess the tentacles of the McDonald’s Corporation extend everywhere. Big Macs rule!”
Alarmed, all three spider marines checked their translation devices for malfunction. “Did he really say the testicles of McDonald’s extend everywhere?” asked the spider marine.
“That is what I heard too,” advised the other spider marine. “I always knew that human pestilence Ronald MacDonald clown was a pervert. This proves it.”
“I will eat at Taco Bell before I ever go back to McDonald’s,” insisted the first spider marine. “Big Macs, indeed!”
“You spiders are truly odd,” muttered Pierce, checking his translation device too. He could tell something was lost in translation, but what?
“I will call the order in on the radio,” I advised. “I’m starving.” “This Legion gig might not be so bad,” commented Pierce. “As long as we don’t go to war again.” “Does anyone have any marijuana?” asked the spider marine. “I heard all you legionnaires use the hard drugs.” “I’ve been all out of weed for weeks,” complained Pierce. “But I still have magic mushrooms. I hid them in the crack of my butt so that fascist commander of yours wouldn’t find them.”
The spider marine examined the magic mushrooms cautiously. “These won’t cause brain damage?” “No way!” replied Pierce. “Look at me. I’m not brain damaged, and I eat these babies every day.” “Thanks,” said the spider marine, passing the magic mushrooms to his mates. “Hey, you spiders are all right once you get away from your officers, and get over wanting to conquer the galaxy,” commented Pierce. “You’re righteous dudes.”
“We outlawed the Caste System,” advised the spider marine. “But most of our officers still think their poop does not stink. They still look down at us like we a
re children, and they are royalty. I heard the Legion has the same problem.”
“We’ve only been in the Legion one day,” advised Pierce. “But if Colonel Czerinski and General Lopez are any example of what Legion officers are like, you are probably right.”
“Just remember to salute with all five fingers,” advised the spider marine. “One-fingered salutes drive them crazy.”
“I’ll try to remember,” replied Pierce, popping another mushroom.
“Let’s have a drink,” suggested the spider marine, producing a bottle of vodka from his pouch. “We will drink to friends. May the officers leave our friends alone.”
“To friends!” agreed Pierce, joining the toast.
“What happens if war breaks out?” I asked, joining the toast. “Still friends?”
“If war starts, we will kill all you human pestilence, and be done with you once and for all,” answered the spider marine, conversationally. He nodded to Shaky Jake. “And that includes you too, traitor.”
“We will kill all those pervert scorpions,” added another marine.
“And all the green traitors,” added the third spider marine, taking another swallow of vodka. “And all the Mantidae, ants, beetles, and every other lesser form of life that gets in our way.”
“Death to the scorpions!” toasted Shaky Jake, joining in.
“Down with the human pestilence!” I cheered, feeling a buzz from the vodka and stinky mushrooms. The spiders cheered louder. I staggered over to the RPG. “I can’t wait for the Fifth of July. I’m setting it off now. How did you say this thing works?”
“Just aim and pull the trigger,” advised the spider marine.
“Right,” I slurred. “Pull the trigger!”
The RPG went off as I picked it up. The explosion and shrapnel blew the roof off our bunker. I lost consciousness. I clearly saw the white light at the end of a long blurry tunnel. The Grim Reaper was laughing at me.
“We don’t want you back on Mars,” advised my grandfather. “Stay where you are!”
“I knew you wouldn’t ever amount to anything!” added my great grandfather. “Heaven is full. Take a number if you want in. Or, better yet, go to Hell!”
The Grim Reaper laughed louder. “There’s lots of room in Hell,” he advised. “I knew you three wouldn’t last long in the desert.”
“No!” I shouted. “I’m not ready yet! I have more sales to make! I still haven’t made the big score! My life will amount to something. I’m in the Legion! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“The Legion?” scoffed my grandfather. “You should have joined the marines. They would have taught you fools to be real men!”
“Be a jar head?” I asked, incredulously. “No way!”
“I won’t join the marines either,” added Pierce, sounding a long ways away. “Wow, I didn’t know Heaven was so hot. It’s like a sauna up here!”
“Help!” yelled one of the spider marines, farther off in the darkness. “I’m being boiled alive.” “It smells like crab dinner,” commented Pierce. “I’ve got the munchies big time. Hey, someone stole my mushrooms!” “Magic mushrooms aren’t allowed where you’re going,” boomed the Grim Reaper, laughing. “I ate them for you.” “Bastard!” replied Pierce. “Hell no! I won’t go!” “Fight it!” I said. “We can’t die yet. We’re too young. It’s not our time!” “Oh but it is,” insisted the Grim Reaper, placing a skeletal hand on my shoulder. “Come with me, human pestilence.” I jerked violently, grabbing the Reaper’s scythe as I pushed the boney bastard away. “Give that back to me!” shouted the Grim Reaper, but his voice seemed to fade away, falling into an endless bottomless pit. “You thief! You don’t know what you have done!”
Suddenly I was bathed in bright light. The oppressive sun of the New Gobi Desert shown in my eyes, making me squint and shield my face.
“Stay still,” advised Medic Knight. “You will be okay when the pain stops. You’re lucky to be alive. It’s a good thing we came out here to check on you, or you’d be dead for sure.”
“What’s that smell?” I asked. “Is something burning? Are my friends being cooked in Hell?”
“That’s pepperoni and sausage pizza,” replied Medic Knight. “And Canadian bacon. Sorry, we ate all your pizza when the delivery truck arrived.”
“Are my friends alive?” I asked, now fading in and out of consciousness as Knight hooked me up to an IV line.
“They’ll live,” advised Medic Knight. “But you killed those three spider marines that snuck up on your bunker. You fought them in hand to claw combat? I’m jealous. You three are Heroes of the Legion on your first day of enlistment. This is the kind of heroics legends are made of.”
“Whatever,” I replied, fading out again.
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Chapter 7
Colonel Czerinski and Sergeant Green inspected the battle scene. Spider parts, MREs, and debris littered the bombed out bunker. It still smelled of burnt powder. Sergeant Green dug through the mess until pulling out a long handled scythe. How odd, he thought.
“What do you make of this?” asked Sergeant Green, holding the scythe out for Colonel Czerinski to see. “Recognize this?”
“I’ve seen that weapon before,” replied Colonel Czerinski. “It’s very old. But, when I try to remember where I’ve seen it, I get a migraine.”
“Me too,” advised Sergeant Green, rubbing his temples. “A coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences. This place gives me the creeps.”
“None of our new recruits bothered to activate their helmet cameras,” commented Colonel Czerinski. “Collect the spiders’ video devices, and try to piece together images of the fight. If we are to award our new legionnaires Hero of the Legion medals, we should at least find out what really happened out here. Spider marines don’t fight with scythes, do they?”
“Not that I have ever seen or heard of,” answered Sergeant Green, checking the database on his electronic pad. “It’s an ancient Old Earth agricultural hand tool used for mowing grass or reaping crops. I’m keeping the scythe as a trophy of war.”
* * * * *
I woke first. Shaky Jake and Tony Pierce were still unconscious. We all had tubes sticking out of us, and were covered with bandages. Shaky Jack was trussed up in duct tape. Sergeant Green sat attending to me in a chair by my bed. I didn’t know he cared. I still don’t. He clutched the scythe.
“You saw him, didn’t you, Private Crisp?” asked Sergeant Green. “Who? I just woke up. I haven’t seen anyone but you. I can’t believe I’m still alive.” “I can’t believe it either,” groused Sergeant Green. “You don’t sound all that happy I survived.” “You cheated Death,” accused Sergeant Green. “I want to know how you did it!” I gave that some thought. I did not want Green to think I was crazy, but since he asked, I would tell the truth. “The scythe,” I said. “I wrestled an apparition for the scythe. Maybe I’m delusional and concussed, and it was all just a bad dream.”
“I have his scythe!” exclaimed Sergeant Green. “You fought Thanatos and won!” “Huh?” “You cheated the Angel of Death of his due! But we must remain diligent. He will return!” “You’re nuts!” I replied. “I didn’t see anything! It was all a trauma-induced hallucination.” I don’t want to be locked up in a Nut House with Green, I thought to myself.
“I didn’t see the Grim Reaper either!” added Pierce, just waking up. “I’m swearing off magic mushrooms too!” “Did the spiders attack you with a scythe?” asked Sergeant Green. “Or was it the Grim Reaper?” “You’ve gone over the edge,” commented Pierce. “I know. I’ve been there a couple times.” “I will get to the bottom of this, if it’s the last thing I do,” threatened Sergeant Green. “With or without your help, I will learn the secrets of this scythe. Your lies will be found out!” He stormed out of the infirmary.
* * * * *
Sergeant Green went straight to the Golden Stinger Tavern to calm down and have a few drinks. The crowd o
f scorpion bar patrons parted like the Red Sea as Sergeant Green strode up to the bar, carrying the scythe.
Medic Knight, already seated at the bar, glanced over and saw Green had a crazed, far-off look in his eyes. “Hey, Sarge!” Knight greeted, surprised to see Green joining him for a drink. “What’s up with the scythe? You look like Death himself!”
“It brings me luck,” advised Sergeant Green. “I won’t risk the scythe being stolen or lost again. It shall not leave my side.” “Okay then,” said Knight. “I see you have issues that need to be worked out. Have another drink.” “I will.” “You should consider a vacation, or maybe counseling.” “Don’t go all touchy-feely on me,” replied Sergeant Green. “I don’t need no stinking shrink! I’m serious. There is something about this scythe that’s special. It has powers. Watch this.”
Sergeant Green turned from the bar and approached a table of scorpions playing poker. “Deal me in.”
“Usually weapons aren’t allowed in here,” replied the scorpion dealing the cards. “Or are you a farmer?” They all laughed nervously.
“You have your stingers,” said Sergeant Green. “I have my scythe.”
Green plopped his money on the table and was dealt in. He held the scythe in one hand, his cards in the other. Green held a pair of threes. After a round of betting, he went all-in, pushing all his money forward on the table.
The scorpions shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing back and forth between their cards and the crazy legionnaire officer. One by one they folded, slapping their cards on the table and leaving. Sergeant Green scooped up the pot, returning triumphantly to the bar. “Did you see that?” he asked. “All I held was a pair of threes!”
“So?” asked Knight. “You played crazy and spooked them. Big deal.” “I can do it every time!” “Whatever. If you keep acting crazy, no one will play you.” “Are you still writing science fiction books?” asked Sergeant Green, having another thought. “Sort of,” advised Knight. “I’m at a crossroads with my writing. I’m thinking about writing paranormal fantasy too.” “Stick with hard-core science fiction,” advised Sergeant Green, alarmed. “Fantasy is for girls!” “But marketing research shows fantasy can be very profitable.” “You’re a legionnaire! You cannot write girly stuff. What will people think? Next thing you’ll be telling me is you want to write romance novels.”
Salesman From Mars Page 5
