by Tony Teora
Biknot did not know about the Devils Triangle between the Earth and Mars, an area that had wiped out more satellites and planets than man could recall. The asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter had resulted from an attempt by another species millions of years before to do the same thing.
Something or someone had put a jinx on the Devil’s Triangle but no one told the Zoks. Even the humans didn’t know. They were not moving planets yet.
On the day after the big Stone Thrust celebration Biknot met with his engineers.
"What do you mean we overshot the reactors?" asked Commander Biknot.
"Sir, we used the original Stone Mass of our planet from 5,000 years ago in our calculation. Over the last 5,000 years the military burned up 10% of the planet and did not tell anyone. Our Stone Mass is less, Sir, someone put in the old numbers." The engineer folded his tentacle arms behind his back and grabbed his behind.
Biknot, although a smart clone, had focused his life on the military, so Stone Mass did not mean much to him.
"Yeah, so? Explain," said Biknot.
"Well, Sir, we should have burned less fuel. We burned up all the fuel trying what we thought was the right Stone Velocity."
"Yeah, continue," said Biknot chewing his large yellow tongue.
"Well, we have a situation. We will overshoot our orbit"
"We will not make Stone orbit?"
"No sir."
"Well why don’t we just fire them up again?"
"Like I said, Sir, we burned up all our fuel."
"Well, go out and get some more fuel!" Biknot hated the engineers.
"We need 400 billion tons of plutonium sir. Even if we could find it, we’ve already used our ship’s fuel too."
"Stale Kripits!!"
"We have another problem, Sir"
"What’s that?"
"Our new trajectory puts us on a direct path with the BrightLight"
"What?
"We’re going to burn up in four days."
"I see, not a pleasant situation is it… burning up?"
"No sir."
"We’ll have to do something about that…hmmmm"
Commander Biknot ordered the immediate extermination of fifty of the engineers, and went back to his command center to prepare a discussion of the situation with the new Zok Emperor, Zord-575.
Biknot entered Emperor Zok Lord’s main residence fearless, as fear was not part of the Zok military command. The Zoks military waged war for thousands of years with most emotions wiped from their brainstems. Except for an occasional giggle from defective clones, feelings were hard to find.
Biknot entered the building oddly placed on top of an inactive volcano. The building was partly carved out of cooled lava. Hardened black and green lava circled the residence, evidence of an eruption three hundred and fifty years before. That one had wiped out a Zok city in a fireworks display. The current Zok Lord, called Zord, insisted on having his home on top this mountain, ignoring minor tremors. Scientists had calculated that every three to four hundred years the Volcano would erupt, killing anyone in the building and surrounding areas. This information did not concern the Zok Emperor; it actually excited him.
The building looked like St. Patrick’s Cathedral, but was built of a shiny green and white marble, with a large glass semi-dome top in the center for viewing the stars. Most Zoks would not use anything as extravagant as the Zok Emperor’s home. The clones did not have such rich taste. Zok Emperors were created through actual sex. This had become difficult, as the gene pool narrowed. Most Zoks were cloned. With their equipment broken, the population was in rapid decline. The Zok world needed new juice, and Biknot promised Zord that the Earth would provide that juice.
Biknot, as the Planetary Commander in charge of the complete Zok Military, worked directly with the Zok Emperor, Zok Lord, or ‘Zord’. All Emperors on planet Zok received this title regardless of their previous name. The current Zord was number 575.
Zord could see that Biknot was unhappy as he entered the Emperor’s chambers. Zord looked almost human except for extra long arms, hands with six fingers and small suction cups at the end of the finger tips for easy clasping of objects. The rear ends and heads of the Zoks were a little larger than those of humans. Zok Emperors all had large blue eyes with a red ring around the pupils. The eyes and large yellow tongue were the most striking feature of the Emperor’s make-up. Zord sat in a long reclining chair listening to music. Emperors had both telepathy and sound hearing. Zord loved looking up at the sky, lackadaisically daydreaming about things that, if known to Biknot, would cause a rebellion. Zord covered his thoughts and communicated with Biknot via speech.
"Are you Ok?" asked Zord.
"Not really my Zord," said Biknot, standing at attention.
"Why? Aren’t we on schedule to swing around Jupiter?"
"Yes we are my Zord."
"Well that should be good news. We’ll then get closer to BrightLight."
"That we will my Zord, that we will."
"Well you don’t sound happy. What’s the matter?" Zord got out of his chair and used his long arm to scratch his large behind, a favorite Zord maneuver. The other long arm reached out and picked up a glass of Slok, a Zok drink used to deaden the rear end senses and upper brain stress areas all in one chug. Zoks never understood why Slok worked on both areas but it was like a gift from heaven to have two wonderful effects in one drink.
"Would you like some Slok?" asked Zord.
"No thanks, my Zord."
"Suit yourself," Zord drank the gallon of Slok in one healthy chug.
Zord burped. "Excuse me."
Zord then wiped his mouth with a red cloth. He looked at his large yellow tongue in a nearby mirror, checking to see that the color was sharp. Might need a tongue cleaning,he thought to himself.
"And this really smart computer and ape gene pool. Are we not on our way with commander SnikerBlik? Are we not taking over that ape planet for resources?" asked Zord.
"Yes, that’s in motion, my Zord."
"So what’s the problem?" asked Zord inspecting Biknot’s large yellow tongue.
"Well…" stammered Biknot.
"You’ve been chewing your tongue Biknot, haven’t you?"
"Well, yes my Zord."
"Not good, you should always keep a clean tongue. So anyhow get on with the problem."
"We have a problem with Zok Trajectory."
"Yeah, well what else is new? Is it bad?"
"We’re going to crash into BrightLight."
"Can it be fixed?" asked Zord.
"No, my Zord."
Zord grabbed another gallon-sized glass of Slok, and scratched his head. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Zord drank another gallon of Slok and put down his glass. "Well, it could be worse."
"What do you mean, my Lord?"
"Our ships could be out of fuel and we would be stuck on this planet," said Zord looking up at the stars.
Biknot unconsciously started chewing his tongue.
"My Zord," said Biknot.
"Yes," said Zord thinking of his place in Zok history.
"We used up all our fuel. The ships on Zok are out of fuel."
Zord turned and looked at Biknot without a care. "That’s too bad, but inevitable I guess."
"What is, my Zord?"
"That all Zoks will die like this. But, oh well…probably a good time to recycle."
"Recycle?"
Zord used his long arm to reach over and grab a Kripit, a small tasteless round food item. He put in on his large yellow tongue and washed it down with another swig of Slok. "I don’t have much to live for anyhow, tired or waiting for this house to erupt."
"What should I tell the Zok people?"
"Same as usual, tell them we have found a new home and will be there soon."
"Yes, my Zord."
Biknot had an idea. "Zord, maybe we could get the Earthmen to help us save the planet. We have commander SnikerBlik in orbit. Maybe he could find some fuel?"
Zord sat back down on his chair and closed his eyes as if sun bathing in the starlight. He turned up the music with his long arm. His eyes shut.
"Sure, why not? And see if he can find some human women. It’s been a little boring these days with the clone sex -- no emotion you know."
Biknot did not understand the emotion of sex; he was a warrior clone, built to fight. No thoughts of sex or love, just war and loyalty.
Zord was built with over twenty four thousand years of inbreeding, and cared for life as one cared for a fluffy lemon meringue pie.
Biknot looked over at Zord who he wanted to despise, but something in his genetics suppressed the emotion.
"Yes, my Zord, I’ll see if they have women."
Zord carelessly flung a long hand in the air, waving Biknot to leave. "Carry on, carry on. I need to relax and think about things a bit."
Biknot left to focus on saving the planet. He did not know why he wanted to save the planet, which was part of the clone warrior coding. He just lived to a plan and executed.
Chapter 17: SHIBUYA LIGHTS
We don’t smoke the crap. We just sell it. We reserve the right to smoke for the young, the poor, the blacks and the stupid."
R.J. Reynolds executive on the question of why their chief personnel do not smoke, 1994
"In Japan, employees occasionally work themselves to death. It's called Karoshi. I don't want that to happen to anybody in my department. The trick is to take a break as soon as you see a bright light and hear dead relatives beckon."
--Scott Adams
"Please meet me at the dog statue in Shibuya, Hachiko exit at eight tonight", said Shun. So Robert looked at a map and went to the most lit up and crowded corner of Tokyo, the meeting ground for thousands of listless Japanese; shoppers, pimps, hookers, friends and even organized and unorganized criminals. A police box, called a "koban", was on the corner of Hachiko and nearby stood the dog statue with seats for people doing whatever they did in Tokyo.
On the statue were cigarette ashes and pieces of chewing gum pressed in, making the dog look like it had warts. As an attempt at metal art, putting this statue in a public smoking section was a mistake overlooked by the local government. Although the Japanese police box was no more than fifteen yards away, this did not stop people from using the statue as an ashtray. The police were too busy giving out directions, their main task on the busiest corner in Japan, and maybe the world.
This part of Tokyo has eight major roads intersecting into one big street with twenty pedestrian lights. For thirty seconds out of every two minutes, all pedestrian lights turn green, allowing thousands of people to cross the main intersection. They pick one of the eight roads. Next to this artery are five subway lines and two above ground railway lines, all packed into an area half the size of a football field. Except for two main county roads, all the other six look similar.
While waiting for the light to change, some Japanese watch one of three billboard-sized television screens flashing bright commercials on the top of all three buildings. The sound of one selling a vitamin drink competes with another trying to sell insurance. Many people try to ignore the flashing billboards, and focus on other brightly colored, neon-lighted stores. Close by is a green StarBucks sign and a Sony TV billboard playing a commercial for a Japanese pick-me-up drink call Jet. A Japanese businessman is shown with a large brown bottle of Jet strapped to his back, the oversized Jet bottle is acting like a rocket engine. It shoots the Japanese salaryman up to a cloud, all refreshed from drinking his caffeine-and-nicotine-laced drink.
The smell of Shibuya changes depending on the street, but there is the constant smell of people smoking. With over sixty per cent of the Japanese smoking and with poor Japanese smoking at even higher rates, Shibuya ranks in the top for smokers on the street. It is easier to find a lost thousand yen note in the street than to find a street without smokers. Japan is smoker’s heaven, as James Brown would put it, "Weez smoookin!"
A person walking Shibuya is filled with second hand smoke. Most native Shibuyans bump into smokers at least once a year, receiving small burns on their arms. Small children stay away from Shibuya and other crowded streets, for they can be blinded from cigarettes.
Besides the constant odor of cigarettes, one smells the special aromas of each little street and its sub streets. One of the two main county roads from the main intersection smells of diesel gasoline engines used to power lights for construction crews working on the roads. The hum of the diesel engines is a constant sound on the main roads in Japan.
Japan spends more on construction per capita than any other country. It is the NY Mafia construction crew on designer drug steroids. Roads are dug up, closed, dug up again and closed. It is hard to imagine more construction going on than in Shibuya, but in the countryside Japan builds more unnecessary dams than any country in the world. Of course it is not true that the dams are not necessary, they are. The locals living in the countryside do not have much work and the politicians own the dam corporations. It is political kickback heaven. But in Shibuya a lot of the construction is needed; waste and graft here only account for forty per cent of the work being done.
Leaving the main country road for a smaller subsidiary road one comes onto streets with more bars per mile than almost anywhere in the world. Getting a liquor license in Shibuya requires five hundred thousand-yen or the monthly salary of one white-collar worker in his forties, a working salaryman. The bars are sometimes stacked onto three different floors. Most of the bars on the Shibuya side streets are no more than one or two stories. Except for the big department stores, buildings in Shibuya Tokyo are not that high, maybe an average of two to five stories. With certain sunshine laws and always the possibility of another 1934 type earthquake, the buildings have stayed quite short.
Shun pushes up through the crowd, standing out at almost six feet. He meets Robert who is in a trance watching the "JetMan" blast off. Robert has seen the commercial run six times, but the clouds look relaxing so he keeps watching.
"Hi Robert…You okay?"
"Huh? Uh, yes, this is an lively street, a little crowded, but interesting."
"Follow me," said Shun directing Robert to cross the main street. "There is a nice club my Dad owns over here. Let’s get some food and then meet the rest of your friends. My Dad is with Gill and they’ll come by later.
Robert didn’t really consider Gill and Frick to be friends, but did not correct Shun for fear of sounding unfriendly. With recent events Robert considered Gill less of a friend. It would be time to move into a new field soon thought Robert. The technology was turning into a disease. Nothought Robert, technology was a disease. A song from the Dire Straits popped into Robert’s head as he walked:
Warning lights are flashing down at quality control
Somebody threw a spanner and they threw him in the hole
There's rumors in the loading bay and anger in the town
Somebody blew the whistle and the walls came down
There's a meeting in the boardroom they're trying to trace the smell
There's leaking in the washroom there's a sneak in personnel
Somewhere in the corridors someone was heard to sneeze…
'Goodness me could this be industrial disease?
"Robert, are you Ok?" asked Shun.
"Oh, I’m fine. It’s just all the people, and the glare of the TV above the street. I felt like I was blasting off with the Jet guy on the screen over there."
"Yeah, can’t even get any rest walking in the street. We’re just filled with shit -- too many smokers. The government owns half the tobacco industry. That Jet shit should be a prescription drink but in Japan nicotine is not considered a drug, it’s a way to make money." Shun directed Robert to cross another busy street. A guy next to Robert coughed while puffing on a Lucky. Another flash of melody from the Dire Straits popped into Robert’s head:
Doctor Parkinson declared "I'm not surprised to see you here
You've got smoker’s cou
gh from smoking brewer's droop from drinking beer
I don't know how you came to get the Bette Davis knees
But worst of all young man you've got industrial disease"
He wrote me a prescription he said, "You are depressed
But I'm glad you came to see me to get this off your chest
Come back and see me later - Next patient please
Send in another victim of industrial disease"
The tune repeated in Robert’s head:
"But worst of all young man you've got industrial disease!"
Robert crossed the crowded intersection and met Shun near a club called Electric Cherry.
Robert’s brain had been acting funny since he’d been on the Mind-Relaxer. Shit popping in his head, then popping out. He was sure he’d been on the system too long.
"Follow me to the basement. The food is good and we can get a discount on the girls," Shun said, showing his pearly whites in a wide grin.
Robert walked down a dark spiral staircase lit only by red lights built into the steps. Down below a band was playing some type of rock music. Robert saw a sign with big glowing Cherry: The Electric Cherry
"Shun, what is the"Electric Cherry?" asked Robert.
"I’m not sure how they got the name. An Italian designer named Antonio Ferratti built the joint for my Dad."
Shun opened the door at the bottom of the stairway and four well dressed men stood at the entrance. One man was black and looked to be about six foot five. He was dressed impeccably in a black tuxedo. The others appeared to be Japanese dressed in suits; one man seemed to have a small scar on his neck. This man smiled, showing a missing front tooth.
"Welcome Shun," said the big black man with a French accent hugging Shun. "You brought us a friend?"
