Salesman From Mars

by Walter Knight

“Too late on both accounts,” snapped Captain Perkins. “Combat-experienced legionnaires like you are expected to set an example for the newer recruits. Besides, General Lopez says you three are a good team. You’re like a band of brothers. I can’t split you up now.”

  “The hell you can’t!” protested Shaky Jake. “I have no human pestilence brothers!” “I think Czerinski wants to kill us,” added Pierce. “This is a set-up. He holds grudges!” “So do I,” advised Green, limping over to glare at Pierce and Shaky Jake. “You’re going with us, so quit your bitching!” “Grab your equipment and load up!” ordered Captain Perkins cheerfully. “You signed up for fun, travel, and adventure. This is the adventure part!”

  * * * * *

  As we flew over the drop zone, some flaws in the plan became more apparent. First, many of the commandos had never jumped before and, like me, few had repelling experience. Captain Perkins, to his credit, improvised, scrapping the repelling plan.

  “Just try to get as close to the target as possible,” advised Captain Perkins. “Those that miss the rooftop can still provide cover fire for the rest of us when the alarm sounds. We will blow a hole in the roof and enter. The smoke and confusion will create an excellent diversion to cover our escape!”

  I looked out the helicopter door. Darkness. As I leaned forward, trying to identify landmarks, someone pushed me. Fortunately, a computerized guidance system directed my chute safely to the roof. I hastily set putty-like explosives on the middle the roof, connected the timer, and ran for the far corner. Piece of cake, I thought. Maybe I’ll live through this yet.

  The explosion lit up the night sky, collapsing most of the roof and causing a large air-conditioning unit to fall through. Legionnaires shined spotlights down through the smoke and debris, trying to sort out wounded inmates. We threw ropes. Culp and Johanssen climbed to safety.

  “Get us out of here!” radioed Captain Perkins.

  We huddled at the corner of the roof as the helicopter hovered, trying to touch down. Cables were dropped. Culp and Johanssen were pulled up first. The helicopter took fire from spider marines on the street below. The engine began smoking, so the pilot lifted off without us.

  “Now what?” screamed Shaky Jake, throwing his helmet at the helicopter as it passed by the building, gaining altitude. “I knew this would happen. Are they coming back? Order them to come back!”

  We fired back at the spiders below. Shaky Jake fired at the helicopter. Spider marines were climbing up through the wrecked jail. I tossed a grenade.

  “Cease fire!” ordered Captain Perkins. “We surrender!”

  “The spiders are not going to be happy about what we did to their brand new jail,” I commented. “This is not going to end well.”

  “Listen up!” shouted Captain Perkins. “Our story will be that this is a training mission gone awry. Somehow we landed in the wrong place. That’s our story, and we’re sticking to it! Czerinski will get us released later.”

  “That’s your plan?” I asked, shaking Perkins by the collar. “That’s not going to work!”

  “I’m not surrendering!” shouted Sergeant Green, waving his scythe. “The spiders can’t be allowed to capture this scythe! It’s a top secret weapon!”

  Sergeant Green leapt down to the cell blocks, disappearing into a cloud of billowing smoke. The rest of us threw down our weapons, raised our hands, and surrendered.

  * * * * *

  The Intelligentsia officer skimmed through the directions for the new and improved State Security Service torture kit. Why do the bosses always have to make things so complicated? he fumed to himself, trying to download the proper software to get proper electrical current to the electrodes. Frustrated, the Intelligentsia officer swept the electrical equipment aside and retrieved pliers, cutters, needles, and the old reliable torch. He laid his tools on a small table in front of the rickety wooden chair I was strapped to.

  “Corporal Donald Crisp the Third?” asked the Intelligentsia officer. “What does the ‘Third’ mean? Are you a clone?”

  “I am not a clone,” I answered.

  “You will learn to tell the truth!” shouted the Intelligentsia officer, slapping me across the face with his claw. “Resist the truth, and your interrogation will be very painful!” The Intelligentsia began organizing his tools again. “I will tear off your testicles!”

  “I’m a clone!” I cried. “We’re all clones, recruited into an elite clone commando company tasked with the rescue of CIA agent Culp and his mad scientist buddy, Johanssen! Please don’t tear off my testicles!”

  “Liar!” responded the Intelligentsia officer, prodding my left testicle with a sharp metal poker. “You will tell the truth, or my pet dragon eats shish kebobs tonight!”

  “We crash-landed during a training mission!” I replied desperately.

  “Now, clone, we are getting somewhere,” said the Intelligentsia officer smugly, giving me a tap with the poker. “Go on.”

  “Our helicopters are junk and our pilots are cowards,” I added. “After the hard landing, the pilot lightened his load, and flew off. That’s when one of the missiles fell off and blew up the sheriff’s office. I swear to God, that’s the truth!”

  “Your crash-landing was a diversion for nefarious human pestilence plots?” pressed the Intelligentsia officer. “We hold no CIA mad scientists!”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Talk!” shouted the Intelligentsia officer, giving me a poke.

  “Yes! Sorry, I forgot! It was all a diversion! Colonel Czerinski intends to break into the First Imperial Bank of Cemetery City this very night!”

  “I knew it!” commented the Intelligentsia officer triumphantly. “Sound the alarm! That thieving Czerinski is at it again!” The Intelligentsia officer turned his attention to me again. “How will Czerinski break into the bank. More human pestilence commandos dropping from the sky?”

  “Sergeant Green will pry open the front door with a giant magic scythe,” I answered.

  The Intelligentsia officer was about to give me a good poke for lying when the marine team leader whispered, “Sir, there was a report of a crazed human pestilence legionnaire running through the streets toward the bank, accosting innocent bystanders, carrying a long-handled bladed weapon.”

  The Intelligentsia officer nodded, then spoke. “I am granting your testicles a reprieve for now. But if I find out you have lied about anything, my dragon gets a midnight snack! Understand me, clone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Corporal Tonelli was dragged in for interrogation next. The Intelligentsia officer studied the database for information on Guido Tonelli.

  “Don’t bother strapping him to the chair,” ordered the Intelligentsia officer. “This one is of the human pestilence sub-category Italiano. Binding his hands and arms will impede his speech.”

  “Thank you for not tying me up,” replied Guido, giving his tormentors the one-fingered salute. “I appreciate that.”

  “See what I mean?” commented the Intelligentsia officer, slapping Tonelli across the face. “Do not interrupt me! It says here you were born and raised in New York City. Maybe you know my cousin Eight Legs Troy? He immigrated to New York City and drives a cab.”

  “Does he hang out on Forty-second Street?” asked Guido. “That sounds familiar. He lives on a street with a number.” “Sure, I know Troy. We’re buds from way back.” “Wow!” exclaimed the Intelligentsia officer. “Troy wrote me that New York was a nice friendly village, where everybody knows everybody, but I still worry. The database indicates otherwise.”

  “If you will hand me my communications pad, I will have my cousins check on your nephew,” promised Guido.

  “That would be great!” advised the Intelligentsia officer, handing Guido his pad. “Troy’s mother is worried sick about her son being in amongst all you human pestilence, working late at night. No offense.”

  “None taken,” replied Guido. “I�
�m sending my cousin Danny Battaglia a note to look in on Troy. I think Danny can even get Troy switched to day shift by the spaceport. He has influence with the union. Tips are better there, you know.”

  “You’re not a bad sort, for a human pestilence.”

  “Call me Guido.”

  “The database also says you are a bookie,” commented the Intelligentsia officer. “That makes sense, a well connected Italiano like you. Can you put me down for ten thousand credits on the Yankees to win the World Series?”

  “I’ll hook you up,” promised Guido. “But that’s a long shot. Most betters think Seattle will win.”

  “They are fools!” replied the Intelligentsia officer. “Troy got me an inside scoop on the Series. You would do well to follow his lead on that.”

  “Thank you for the tip,” replied Guido.

  “Release this human pestilence,” ordered the Intelligentsia officer, turning to the marine team leader. “Obviously this one is not a spy! Escort him to the human pestilence camp.”

  “What about the others?” asked Guido. “The usual for spies,” answered the Intelligentsia officer. “Off with their testicles!” “Put me down for a thousand credits on New York too,” ordered one of the guards as they led Guido away.

  * * * * *

  I could hear the clamber of boots down the hall. Through a small peephole in the door, I could see the Intelligentsia officer and a bunch of spiders rushing off to somewhere. As I leaned to see better, the cell door swung open. There were no guards in the hallway, just an old spider trustee mopping the floor.

  “Get back in your cell, human pestilence!” ordered an inmate. “Are you trying to get us all in trouble?”

  “I’m already in trouble,” I replied. “How do I get out of here?”

  “This is minimum security,” commented the spider inmate, incredulously. “Just walk out if you want. Go to the Taco Bell for a snack or a beer. But be back for midnight count, or else!”

  “Minimum security? I thought I was in max.” “Fool! Someone burned max down.” “Where are my friends?” The old spider pointed to the other cells. I tried the doors. Locked! “How can I get these doors open?”

  “With a key, of course!” advised the old spider inmate. “You human pestilence aren’t too bright, are you?”

  “You have keys?”

  “Hello!” said the spider inmate, jingling a large key ring. “I don’t just clean the floors. I’m also the guardian-of-the-keys trustee!”

  “Unlock the doors!” I ordered. I began pounding on doors as I went down the hallway. “Wake up! We’re all getting out of here!”

  Captain Perkins was the first to meet me in the hallway. “It could be a spider trick,” advised Perkins, glaring at the old trustee. “Where are all the other guards?”

  “Coffee break?” speculated the trustee. “How the hell should I know? They’re all Teamsters, so nothing interferes with break time.”

  “All the jailers rushed out at once,” I explained. “I think they took Guido with them.” “Poor Guido,” commented Pierce. “He was a good egg. I hope Guido is okay. He owes me money.” “Which way to the exit?” demanded Captain Perkins, shaking the spider inmate by the collar. “No one has ever escaped minimum custody before,” cried the spider inmate, pointing to the exit door. “It’s just not done. You will ruin everything for us all. Have you human pestilence no respect for rules? You are a bunch of uncouth, uncivilized barbarians.”

  “We’re legionnaires,” I advised, locking the spider inmate in a cell. We walked out the front door to freedom.

  * * * * *

  The shuttle landed at a sharp angle, standard operating procedure to avoid surface-to-air missiles amid escalating tensions with the Arthropodan Empire. Sergeant Nesbit, bundled in a fur coat and wearing snow goggles, braved the ice-cold wind to greet CIA Agent Culp and molecular biologist Johanssen at the shuttle ramp.

  “Welcome to the South Pole! Who did you two piss off?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” replied Agent Culp, clutching a metal box, trying to protect it from the cold wind. “National security issues are at play.”

  “What’s in the box?” “A Blue Lizard,” answered Agent Culp “Do they taste good?” “No.” “Can’t be any worse than penguin.” “Barbequed, they’re aren’t so bad,” commented Johanssen. “Penguins too,” added Nesbit. “It is an acquired taste. The sauce and seasoning are key. I use Johnny’s Seasoning.” “Ditto.”

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 19

  General Lopez rewarded me with a nice cushy air conditioned office in New Phoenix City, working as a Legion recruiting sergeant. The assignment was befitting of my stature as a highly decorated Hero of the Legion, and an experienced skilled salesman.

  I relaxed in my office, watching TV, as the Seattle Mariners beat the New York Yankees again in the World Series. I’m making money on that game. All is good in the galaxy. I am even making my monthly recruitment quota, as soon as the young man seated in front of my desk places his palm on the identification pad, binding him to an enlistment contract.

  “Fun, travel, and adventure is what the Legion is all about, son. Including the generous sign up bonus, what more can I do to make this deal happen?”

  I watched the recruit as he wavered. His eyes strayed to my many Legion recruitment posters on the wall, stopping at a beautiful photo of clear blue water and golden beach sand. The recruit pointed to the poster, then placed his palm on the pad. “Ouch!” complained the recruit, as my pad pricked him for a blood sample.

  “A fine choice!” I exclaimed. “You bargain hard, but I will give you your due. Caldera Lake was one of my favorite assignments. You’ll love it there. The year-round swimming and arid weather is fantastic! Friendly aliens, plentiful wildlife, lots of tourist babes, and a rich pioneer history, Caldera is a tropical desert paradise. Because you are a special friend, I will call in personal favors to get you assigned to Caldera immediately!”

  “Really?”

  “Consider it done,” I promised, shaking the recruit’s hand. “Congratulations on your new assignment to Caldera Lake. Your great Foreign Legion adventure begins now!”

  back to Table of Contents

  ~BONUS SHORT STORIES~

  Man-Purse

  by Walter Knight

  Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne, the most decorated spider in the Legion, escorted his girlfriend Pepper through Walmart as a precaution, due to her advanced condition. Pepper wanted to shop for baby clothes. Walmart recently widened their isles as a result of litigation, but human pestilence shoppers still wielded metal shopping carts with reckless abandon.

  “Oh Sweetie, look at that beautiful blouse,” gushed Pepper, pulling Wayne deep into the female clothing section. Pepper held up the pink sparkled blouse. “Does this make me look fat?”

  Wayne got that ‘deer in the headlights’ look in all eight eyes, but recovered quickly, knowing that was a trick question. “No, dear. Pink makes you look sexy.”

  “I am going to try it on!” exclaimed Pepper, handing her purse to Wayne, and dashing for the changing rooms.

  “Hold your own purse,” replied Wayne, but Pepper was gone. He stood uncomfortably, hoping no one would spot him. Damn! It was Private Krueger, waving.

  “What’s up, bro?” asked Krueger. “Why are you standing in the lingerie section?”

  “I am waiting for Pepper. She is trying on clothing.”

  “I should have thought of this long ago,” advised Krueger, glancing about. “There are a lot of good looking babes shopping in the lingerie section.”

  “Pepper will be right back.” “Is that a man-bag you’re holding?” “No! It is Pepper’s purse.” “Man, you need to draw the line. Today Pepper has you holding her purse, tomorrow she will have you attending baby showers.” “I should not attend the baby shower?” “You better man-up,” insisted Krueger, “Otherwise, you might as well cut off your balls and stick the
m in Pepper’s purse.” “No, my testicles are mine!” “That’s the proper attitude,” advised Krueger. “And we’re still hiring strippers and hookers for your bachelor’s party.” “Don’t tell Pepper about that.” “What are you two up to!” shouted Master Sergeant Green from across racks of bras and undies. “No good, I’m sure!” “We’re waiting for Wayne’s girlfriend,” answered Krueger. “What’s with the man-bag?” asked Green. “Christ, Wayne! You’re in uniform. I expect some modicum of acceptable behavior from legionnaires in public.”

  “It’s Pepper’s purse, I swear,” cried Wayne. “If one more human pestilence asks me about my man-bag, I am going to cut someone.”

  “So it is a man-bag?” asked Green.

  “No, it’s a purse!”

  “And that makes it better?”

  Customers stopped and stared at the commotion. A spider officer in the Arthropodan marines barged through the twisted thong section to reach them. “What have we here?” asked the spider commander. “A panty raid? Bunch of perverts, I suspect.”

  “Watch your mouth,” warned Wayne.

  The spider commander lunged, snatching Pepper’s purse and tossing it aside. “You may be a traitorous legionnaire, but no true male member of our species will carry a man-purse in my presence,” admonished the spider commander. “Not on my watch. You have obviously lived too long among these human pestilence. You have lost yourself.”

  Seven-Legs, a spider bum of opportunity, pounced on Pepper’s purse, running for the exit doors. All three soldiers fired their weapons. Glass shards from doors and windows rained down on Seven-Legs as a single bullet to the shoulder felled him. A Walmart security guard rushed over and lit up Seven-Legs with an amp-gun. “Make my day!” shouted the security guard, firing again for effect. Seven-Legs smoldered under the constant jolt of electricity, until an antennae burned off.