Salesman From Mars

by Walter Knight

  I immediately gave her a tip. “Deal us right, Amanda,” I warned. “Don’t be like that last dealer. I’m watching.”

  “Honey love, if I deal you wrong, you won’t be quick enough to see it anyway,” bragged Amanda, now alerted to as to why a new dealer was brought in. Amanda whipped the cards out at blinding speed, winking at Scar Face. “Good luck Scar Face, sweetie pie.”

  “Finally, I get something good,” commented Scar Face, glancing at his cards and raising his bet. “You have a poor memory, sweetie, if you think that’s the best I have ever given you,” gushed Amanda. Everyone folded. “Oh, good grief!” exclaimed Czerinski. “I’m not listening to this all night. Concentrate on dealing, Amanda!” “Jealous, Joey?” asked Amanda, patting Colonel Czerinski on his hand. Czerinski pulled away. “Deal the cards!” This time Amanda slipped Czerinski two aces, marked slightly by the tip of her claw. Czerinski raised his bet a small amount, feigning an average hand. Knowing what transpired, I folded and announced, “I quit! I’m taking my money and running.”

  “You can’t just leave like that!” advised Scar Face. “Have you no manners?”

  “This game is skewed,” I accused, motioning to Czerinski. “When you’re willing to host an honest game, I’ll return!”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Colonel Czerinski, standing, his right hand on his sidearm. “Are you accusing the House of cheating?”

  “No, sir,” I replied, hastily. Firearms made me nervous, and Czerinski’s Butcher of New Colorado reputation made me even more nervous. “I apologize. Maybe I’m just tired, or else I’m not used to playing such high stakes. Thank you for the invite. I have to go.”

  “If I find anyone here cheated, heads will roll!” threatened Scar Face. “I want a copy of all video from tonight’s play!”

  “Now, see here,” complained Colonel Czerinski. “This is getting out of hand. You are a valued customer, Scar Face. If you really feel cheated, I’ll give you a full refund.”

  “Not necessary,” replied Scar Face, settling down. “We’ll continue to play without Crisp. But I still want to see that video!”

  They were still arguing as I left. Guido, quite upset, confronted me at the front door. “What was that all about?” asked Guido, angrily. “You could have cleaned those bozos out!”

  “Next time,” I promised. “I made enough. I just didn’t feel lucky anymore.”

  “There won’t be a next time!” insisted Guido. “You can never make enough! You have to make your own luck while you’re on a hot streak. Do you really think Czerinski is just going to let you walk out like that, accusing him of cheating? You’re screwed, and I’m screwed for backing you!”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 11

  The next day I received written orders transferring me to a Legion weather station at the South Pole. Prior to leaving, I was required to take a medical and dental examination. Rumors of a ‘frunk’ outbreak in New Gobi City had residents to the south very concerned. My transfer was almost scrubbed on that issue alone.

  Guido, Pierce, and Shaky Jake were transferred with me. My good friends were not happy. I sat silently in the cargo bay of the shuttle, web-strapped beside my mates. They gave me the silent treatment. It was very immature, but I could see their point. Their lives were turned upside down by the transfer, and someone needed to be blamed. It was Czerinski’s fault, but I was closer and easier to blame. I tried to break the ice by highlighting the positive. “Think of this new assignment as a great adventure,” I began. “People pay good money to go on adventures like this, and we’re going for free!”

  There was no response. Guido turned away from me. I started to read cheerfully from the orientation pamphlet. “It says there is a lot to see and do at the South Pole. We will be kept busy not only monitoring the weather, but also assisting in the research of fish, glaciers, microbes, lichens, mosses, marine invertebrates, penguins, dry valleys, soils, seals, ice, geomagnetism, algae, and remote historic sites!”

  Still no response from my friends. I knew that in time they would get over their angst, but in the meantime this failure to communicate was getting irritating. I continued to try to put a positive light on the situation, smiling my best salesman smile. “We will receive specialized training on tent assembly, building snow caves, mountain and ice travel, staying warm and safe, survival bags, radios, polar weapons maintenance, cooking, and edible lichen species.”

  Guido threw his helmet at me, striking me on the arm. It hurt. I knew he didn’t mean it, so I ignored his outburst. My friends would need time to acclimate. “You should see the cool snowmobiles we get to drive,” I added, still thumbing through the pamphlet. “Racing them is going to be a blast! Did you know our temporary housing hut at Camp Kane can withstand wind gusts of up to one-hundred-sixty miles per hour? The key is to anchor the hut down with cable and ropes.”

  “Are there any women at the South Pole?” asked Pierce, finally breaking his silence.

  I made the best of it. “There are lots of females all over the South Pole, but they’re all penguins. You have to check real close first to tell them apart.”

  “What’s he mean by that?” asked Pierce. “What do you mean?”

  “He means it’s going to be real cold at the South Pole,” answered Guido, lightening up just a bit. “This is going to be bad for business, but at least I can still communicate with my customers via the database.”

  “More good news is that we are arriving during the summer season, when blizzards are at a minimum, and the temperatures get all the way up to minus ... oh never mind!” I groused, giving up on being positive. I was not their entertainment director. This was the Legion, and things were going to be messed up no matter where we are assigned. It wasn’t my fault!

  * * * * *

  I thought I had experienced cold before, but the gust of wind that rushed in when the shuttle doors cracked open turned my face numb in seconds. Sergeant Morris Nesbit greeted us, quickly escorting us to a small domed building resembling an igloo.

  “Show me your orders and inoculation paperwork,” ordered Sergeant Nesbit. “I’ve heard the frunk outbreak up north is getting really bad. I hope you understand my apprehension about accepting new transfers from plague regions.”

  “The frunk is way overrated,” I commented dismissively. “The frunk is nothing!”

  “But news reports state there is panic in the streets,” insisted Sergeant Nesbit. “People are wearing moon suits. I heard the latest outbreak was spread by a Legion cook from New Gobi City. Isn’t that where you three came from? What if you carry the frunk?”

  “Impossible!” I replied. “The Legion screens and checks its kitchen workers very closely.” “But I saw the reports,” argued Sergeant Nesbit. “It was even on the spider Cable TV network.” “You have Cable TV at the South Pole?” I asked. “How did you manage that?” “The Cable Guy is everywhere,” whispered Sergeant Nesbit. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” “You probably got drunk during an old Godzilla movie,” advised Pierce. “Run, Godzilla!” “We don’t have the frunk,” I insisted again. “The medics checked us thoroughly before we left.” “I don’t have any cavities, either,” added Pierce. “The frunk is nothing to be laughed at,” advised Sergeant Nesbit testily. “I’m serious. We have to live in very close quarters. Whatever one of us catches, we’ll all catch.”

  “Is it true what they say about Penguins?” asked Pierce, watching a column of the birds troop by the window. “I hope we don’t catch bird flu.”

  “Who have you been talking to?” demanded Sergeant Nesbit defensively. “Rumor-mongering will not be tolerated.”

  “Colonel Czerinski sent us without much preparation,” I explained, waving my orientation pamphlet. “Rumors are all we have.”

  “That explains everything,” replied Sergeant Nesbit. “All four of you pissed off Czerinski! That’s why I’m here too. Czerinski has made my life miserable since I first met him a
t Harrah’s Casino on Mars. He’s the reason I was forced to join the Legion in the first place.”

  “Czerinski holds a grudge way too long,” agreed Shaky Jake. “It’s not normal how you human pestilence hold grudges.” “You are our first spider here at Camp Kane,” advised Sergeant Nesbit. “I heard you spiders can’t take the cold.” “Of course we can’t take the cold,” griped Shaky Jake. “We are a civilized dry land desert species.” “Whatever. You sleep there!” Sergeant Nesbit pointed to a stack of bunks in the corner. “What do we do for entertainment?” asked Guido, studying the penguin troop that marched by. “The foul weather must keep you shut in a lot.”

  “Hard work will keep your mind from wandering,” answered Sergeant Nesbit, closing the window shutter. “We ignore the weather.”

  “But it’s already snowing,” complained Guido, opening the shutter again. “Look at that! The pamphlet said it didn’t snow in the summer!”

  “Ignore the snow,” suggested Sergeant Nesbit, cheerfully. “You’re in the Legion now. It doesn’t snow in the Legion. It snows on the Legion!”

  “What does he mean by that?” asked Shaky Jake, shivering from the mere thought of more snow. “What’s for dinner?” I asked, changing the subject as I looked about but not seeing a refrigerator. “Krill.” “What’s for breakfast?” “More krill.” “I cannot eat crustaceans,” announced Shaky Jake. “It would be wrong.” “I’m sorry about the chow,” advised Sergeant Nesbit. “I’m sure your shuttle has plenty of supplies. Unload it.” “Who is in charge of this frozen insane asylum?” I asked. “Is this it? Are we by ourselves?” “Technically Captain Perkins is our commanding officer, but he’s not really here. Perkins communicates to us over the database from Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City. I’m the ranking NCO. The team you’re replacing bailed last week. This is it. Welcome to paradise, gentlemen.”

  * * * * *

  After unloading supplies, I set a lawn chair on the beach, hoping to relax and soak up some rays. The view was breathtaking. I found it peaceful and soothing, bundled up like an Eskimo, watching ice chunks float by, almost like I was no longer in the Legion. I tried to visualize the killer whales playing catch with the sea lions. I’d seen that on Discovery Channel years ago. But the whales never showed. We don’t have whales on New Colorado. I’m writing to my Congressman about that.

  There was something out there, though, big and black, the conning tower of a submarine pushed up through the ice. Painted on its side were odd markings, and a big red octopus baring fangs. What the hell? I could just make out little figures jumping into rubber boats, paddling frantically towards shore. Soon it became apparent they were Arthropodan marines. Maybe the spiders are just visiting, I hoped, staring at them dumbly until they were upon me.

  “Greetings!” I said. “I didn’t know you spiders had submarines, or even a navy.”

  “You are the notorious human pestilence fugitive Donald Crisp the Third?” asked a spider officer, comparing me to a photograph in his claw. “You are under arrest!”

  “You can’t arrest me. You are on sovereign United States Galactic Federation territory!”

  “Treaty dictates no one owns the South Pole,” advised the spider officer, as marines surrounded me. “And no one owns the ocean. Come with me!”

  “For what? I’m not going anywhere with you. All my legal problems have taken care of. You’re making a big mistake!” “I hold a warrant for your arrest for conspiracy to cheat at poker,” announced the spider officer. “That’s not a law,” I protested. “It was Czerinski who was cheating. Not me!” “You admit you knew of the poker cheating conspiracy?” asked the spider officer, recording my statement. “I threw in my cards and quit when I saw Czerinski and the dealer messing with the deck,” I explained. “That’s not cheating.” “Not exposing the cheats makes you a conspirator too,” advised the spider officer. “You human pestilence all stick together!” The spider officer produced a display screen attachment on his communications pad for my benefit, showing an image of the Arthropodan Supreme Regional Commander.

  “Private Crisp, you miserable excuse for a human pestilence!” greeted the spider commander from the display screen. “It is so good to see you! I bet you assumed all was forgiven, and I had forgotten about you. You thought I had ‘moved on’ as you human pestilence are so fond so saying. I have not moved anywhere! You will be transported to Caldera Lake where you will get a fair trial, after which I will personally make you walk the plank into croc infested waters! Ha! How’s that for the long claw of the law? Justice will finally be served, and New Colorado will finally be rid of you!”

  I resisted as spider marines pounced. They knocked me to the ground, putting boots to me. I was saved only by Guido firing warning shots from his assault rifle.

  “What is this?” asked Guido, walking up to us. “A krill convention?” “Arrest that one too!” ordered the spider commander. “He financed the conspiracy!” A spider marine grabbed Guido’s rifle. Others attacked from behind. Pierce showed up and shoved a spider, but there were too many. “That’s not right!” protested Pierce. “You bunch of fascist bugs! They’re innocent until proven guilty!” “He is the Blue Lizard poacher!” exclaimed the spider commander, pointing. “Arrest the whole gang!” Soon we were all restrained in webs. Resistance was futile. “What about me?” asked Shaky Jake, standing off to the side, feeling neglected. “You can’t just leave me here to freeze to death with that pervert fool Nesbit and his penguins! Take me with you!”

  “You stay!” replied the spider commander.

  “But I’m guilty of assault!” argued Shaky Jake. “Or at least I will be!”

  Shaky Jake punched the nearest spider marine. Immediately Shaky Jake was pummeled. Spider marines knocked Shaky Jake down, pounding him flat into the snow.

  “Thanks for the workout,” smirked the spider officer. “But you are still staying. We don’t want you!”

  “The Emperor sucks the big one!” called out Shaky Jake, as marines turned to leave. “And so does Her Majesty!”

  The spider marines froze in their tracks. “You dare to insult the Royal Family?” asked the spider officer. “I should shoot you now! You are under arrest for Slander of the Royal Personage, a capital offense!”

  “Whoa, what do you mean, capital offense? I just wanted a ride back to civilization,” explained Shaky Jake, alarmed. “You know, pay my fine and be gone. I didn’t really mean what I said about the Emperor and his bitch.”

  “You slandered the Queen too!” “It was a slip of the mandibles.” “Too late for you.” “The Queen is a slut!” A spider marine struck Shaky Jake alongside the head with a rifle butt. As they carried Shaky Jake to the boats, Sergeant Nesbit confronted the spider marines. He clutched a grenade.

  “What goes on here! How dare you accost USGF legionnaires! You will pay for this with your lives!” “Not from you,” scoffed the spider officer, turning his back on Nesbit. “You would not dare use that grenade.” “I hope you all catch the frunk!” “What?” asked the spider commander, letting go of Shaky Jake. “What do you know of the frunk?” “Why do you think these poor fools were quarantined to the South Pole?” asked Sergeant Nesbit. “Do you think they came here voluntarily, just to get a tan?”

  “Do not believe any of his human pestilence lies!” shouted the spider commander, from the communications pad. “It is all lies!”

  “Check Crisp’s bare ass!” suggested Sergeant Nesbit, pointing at me. “You’ll find the ugliest, nastiest, most contagious deadly pimple you’ve ever seen! He’s got the frunk!”

  “It’s too cold to drop my drawers,” I protested, thrashing about, breaking free. No spider wanted to touch me now. “My junk will freeze off!”

  “Your commander sent you on a suicide mission!” warned Sergeant Nesbit. “Ha! You all will die slow and painful from the frunk!”

  I stopped trying to run away, stumbling back to the spider officer, giving him a hug. “Please sir, I need med
ical attention! Take me with you so I can receive proper antibiotic treatments for the frunk. It’s inhumane how Czerinski just left us here!”

  “No!” shrieked the spider officer, pushing me away. “Sir, we cannot let these infected human pestilence on the submarine,” pleaded one of the sailors. “It’s too dangerous.” “It’s all lies and a trick!” shouted the spider commander. “They don’t have the frunk! Make Crisp drop his pants!” “Perv!” I shouted. “You sent us on a suicide mission to a frunk colony!” accused the spider officer, throwing the communications pad into the ocean. We could still hear the spider commander’s muffled voice shouting underwater. The spider marines quickly got back into their rubber boats and paddled away.

  * * * * *

  As a precaution against future spider adventurism, we erected a huge billboard sign on the beach that read, ‘C.D.C. Frunk Colony. No Trespassing. Enter at your own risk.’ After a few days, the excitement of fighting off a spider invasion wore off, and we settled into our new life of studying microbes, lichen, and penguins.

  Penguins were not the cute cuddly fellows shown on TV. They were aggressive nasty creatures that would peck your eyes out in a heartbeat if given the chance. I dozed off in my chair on the beach, probably succumbing to hypothermia, only to awaken and find myself surrounded by the brutes. Their yellow eyes were frightening. I reached for my assault rifle, only to find it frozen to the ice. A penguin pecked at my hand.

  “Shoo! Go away! Shit birds on steroids!” I swore, flapping my arms at the penguins. “You don’t know who you’re messing with!” Suddenly the penguins broke and ran – well, waddled away. “That’s what I’m talking about!” I shouted. “Just gotta show ’em who’s boss! Humanity rules, even at the South Pole!” The sound of a sonic boom overhead forewarned of an incoming shuttle. It was one of ours. Soon a crowd of reporters and TV types rushed down the ramp to interview the newest Heroes of the Legion, the defenders of the South Pole.