Authors: Walter Knight
“Is that legal?” I asked. “What did I say about back-talking?” “We don’t even have a jail built yet, Your Honor.” “Get one built now. Otherwise, everyone convicted gets the death penalty!” “Is that legal?” “I’m warning you!”
* * * * *
Pursuant to establishing civil authority I met with the de facto mayor of Quenaudenville, Billy ‘The Ghoul’ Giovanni. Giovanni was rumored to have got his ghoulish nickname by robbing drunk sailors and throwing the bodies in the volcano.
“Welcome to Paradise, colonel,” greeted Giovanni. “Now that civilization has arrived, I hope we can do business. I hear you even brought a judge.”
“What fool put a wise guy like you in charge of the waste disposal franchise?” I asked as we shook hands. “During my last deployment, I rounded all you Mafia types up to face firing squads.”
“Good thing we have the rule of law now,” replied Giovanni, feigning hurt feelings with a quick grimace. “I resent any implication of impropriety and your slur against Italians.”
“What rackets are you into?”
“Quenaudenville is an integral piece of New Colorado’s green puzzle,” explained Giovanni. “We are the garbage dump for the whole planet. Any interruption would cause an ecological nightmare.”
“It all goes in the volcano?” “Yep.” “Aren’t you worried about the volcano blowing?” “Quenaudenville is unique to the galaxy. We have benign lava that just bubbles and churns, taking our garbage to the center of the planet. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“What else are you into?”
“I am the CEO of Paradise Disposal,” bragged Giovanni, pointing to the volcano. “That whole side of the mountain will soon be covered with solar panels, and then we’ll be able to get rid of our nuclear reactors. By treaty, Quenaudenville is a nuclear-free zone. Of course, the Legion is exempt.”
“That won’t work.” “The feds gave me an unlimited budget to make it work.” “What else?” “I’m promoting tourism here in Paradise. Soon, the Red Wind Casino will be perched atop the volcano cone, overlooking the lava lake. Any day now, we are barging in the first Floating Walmart Superstore. Yes, civilization has truly come to Quenaudenville.”
“You will need a business license issued by the new mayor to operate that casino.” “Who is the new mayor?” “You’re looking at the mayor. Civil administration is my specialty.” “How much is the mayor’s cut?” “The standard Legion cut is ten percent.” “Deal.” Again we shook hands, and he added, “I need you to enlarge the air strip. There isn’t enough flat land on our island. We can dump compacted garbage cubes into the ocean, creating an artificial landfill, so we can bring in the big shuttles full of tourists and gamblers. I’m taking a big picture approach to development. Quenaudenville is the halfway point between continents. Travelers will want to stop here for a break between flights. I also envision Quenaudenville being a major distribution center for goods linking all of New Colorado.”
“I will expand the landing strip,” I promised. “I’ll get the engineers started right away.”
* * * * *
I could see the floating Walmart Superstore far off on the horizon. The barge, owned by Giovanni, also boasted McDonald’s Golden Arches. Finally, civilization was coming to Quenaudenville. However, to my consternation, Walmart was slightly off course, straying across the Equator to the north.
* * * * *
The spider Intelligentsia officer viewed the trespassing human pestilence barge with growing anger through the submarine periscope. “Fire a full spread of torpedoes!” he ordered.
“You only need one torpedo,” advised the submarine commander. “Do you realize how much torpedoes cost? The guidance system alone costs hundreds of thousands of credits.”
“There is always someone wanting to rain on my parade,” fumed the Intelligentsia officer. “My commandos will be avenged.” “Are you sure we don’t need permission to sink Warmart? We will miss the opening day of half-price sales on all electronic items.” “What do I care about sales discounts?” “But I am a life Sam’s Club Platinum Card member.” “Traitor is more like it. Fire your torpedoes!” “My wife will be upset. You’re like the Grinch who stole Christmas.” “I am dealing with a nest of traitors!” exclaimed the Intelligentsia officer, smacking the big red torpedo button on the commander’s control panel. The submarine recoiled as a full spread of torpedoes launched, homing on Walmart. They could feel the explosions through the sides of the submarine.
* * * * *
The initial public reaction to the sinking of Walmart was outrage. Congressmen of both parties urged a retaliatory strike against the spiders. ‘Remember Walmart’ was the battle cry on Capitol Hill. However, along with Nike athletic shoes, vacuum cleaners, music accessories, clothes, and many other imported Chinese manufactured goods washed up on shore, thousands of bails of marijuana floated to shore, too. I planned to talk to Giovanni about that, but he was in hiding.
War sentiment soon subsided as incrimination began. Democrats bellowed, ‘This would not have happened if Walmart was unionized, and its employees had proper healthcare coverage.’ The EPA fined Walmart for a small oil slick and clean-up costs.
I ordered bails of marijuana burned on the beach. The bonfire could be seen from space. It was also seen on all major news and database networks, attracting college students on spring break from all over New Colorado.
Suddenly tourism was a major industry. I ordered engineers to build my beach-front casino immediately. The marijuana bonfire was halted because the smoke slowed down construction projects.
back to Table of Contents
Chapter 17
Joey Junior frantically pulled the large marijuana bail ahead of the incoming surf.
What a stash this is gonna be!
Not paying attention, he backed into a large metal appliance partially buried, and fell over. The box was saved by inflatable floatation devices attached to its sides, now stuck in sand. Thinking the appliance might have value, Joey Junior wiped sand from its faceplate that read, ‘United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion Recruitment Center – The last ATM you will ever need.’
“Good morning, young man. A fine day for marijuana harvesting, I see. However, I would be remiss in my responsibilities if I did not point out to you the several federal felonies you are committing.”
“Are you going to narc me off?” asked Joey Junior. “I hope high tide drowns you!”
“My programming requires me to report all felonies that occur in my presence.”
“Civil authority has not been established here yet,” advised Joey Junior, pulling a boot knife and slicing the ATM’s water wings. “I should know. My dad is the newly appointed mayor. There’s no jail, no cops, and the judge only just arrived. You’re going to be swimming with the fishes, punk.”
“You are Colonel Czerinski’s son?” asked the ATM. “Your father is one of my most successful recruits. I expect you will be following in his footsteps.”
“Join the Legion? Ha! I’ll make my own footsteps, thank you very much.” “I have long urged Colonel Czerinski to take responsibility for your upbringing. It warms my chips that you are united.” “Bite me, punk. My father doesn’t give a rip. I hate him!” “Your feelings are understandable, but no more than a healthy and natural desire to be independent,” advised the ATM, accessing a psychology program from the database. “It is called the generation gap.”
“Dad just orders me around like I’m one of his tin soldiers. He even put me on KP duty, but I skipped out to score this weed.”
“Do you want independence from your old man?” asked the ATM reasonably. “I am prepared to offer you fun, travel, adventure, and a sizable enlistment bonus. With money in your pocket, you can tell the world to go pack sand.”
“I’m only thirteen years old,” replied Joey Junior. “I will sign your waiver myself,” boasted the ATM. “Place your thumb on my pad.” “I’ll get back with you, chump,” advised Joey Junior, again tugging on the marijuana bail. “I need to get home first.” “Have some free walk-around money,” insisted the ATM, a thousand dollars appearing on its pad. “A sign of goodwill, no strings attached, from your new friend.”
“Thanks. You’re still a chump.”
* * * * *
It amazed me how many tourists could arrive overnight. Even more amazing were the beautiful bikini-clad, copper-tanned babes on the beach. I approached a luscious young coed sporting a light blue cut-off tee-shirt with the letters ‘UK’ emblazoned across her ample bosom.
A retro United Kingdom shirt. How interesting.
I sauntered over to talk to her about all things English. “I’ve been to London. Rainy and foggy. This beach is much better.”
“What are you taking about?” she asked, frowning. “I’ve been to the UK. It rocks. Need some help with your suntan lotion?” “UK? Oh, I get it. I graduated from the University of Kentucky. Get lost, perv!” It’s hard to be smooth all the time. Anyone could have made that mistake. As I turned away, Lydia tapped me on the shoulder. “Reduced to picking up children in sand boxes? She’s not your type.”
“I didn’t know you cared,” I replied, glad to get away from the UK. “What do you want?”
“You need to straighten out Joey Junior. He needs to bond with his father, even if you are a creep.”
“Joey Junior has gotten along just fine without me, Lydia. You have done a great job. Truly, I admire your effort. Just because I don’t care doesn’t mean I don’t understand.”
“Cut the crap. He needs a father’s strong hand at this point in his life. This morning I found a bail of marijuana stuffed under his bed. I am at my rope’s end with that boy. You’re talking to him this time. I expect you for dinner tonight at six.”
“Drugs never bothered you before,” I commented. “That was then. Now is now.” “Is the marijuana still there?” “No!” “Fine. See you at dinner.”
* * * * *
“I just got off the phone with the governor!” shouted the spider commander. “This is all your fault, but I get blamed. I should shoot you now!”
“Walmart deserved to be sunk,” argued the Intelligentsia officer. “If you let the human pestilence trespass at will, they will take over.”
“Not that, fool. Czerinski and his casino are making a fortune off all those tourists, while our beaches are deserted.”
“You want us to invite hordes of drunken human pestilence tourists to trespass on our side? Never!”
“The Governor promised an economic stimulus during the last election, but what does he have to show for it? Nothing! Satellite TV broadcasts images of one big money-spending party on the human pestilence side, while we sit here playing with our coconuts in an economic depression.”
“What can we do?” “We need to attract those college delinquents to our beaches.” “How?” “The usual way – sex and debauchery. What happens is Quenaudenville stays in Quenaudenville, baby!” “Booze, broads, and boogie,” cheered the Intelligentsia officer. “But what exactly will we do to attract tourists?” “Nude beaches,” explained the spider commander, excitedly. “But our beaches will be overrun with human pestilence perverts.” “Exactly!” exclaimed the spider commander, triumphantly shaking his claw at the American side. “We will create our own ‘sober-free zone.’ Take that, Czerinski! I am building a casino too! Welcome to paradise!”
* * * * *
Seven-Legs, spider bum of opportunity and world traveler extraordinaire, clung to the side of his floating mobile home, a plastic Walmart shopping cart, helplessly watching a dorsal fin circle closer. Intense
Jaws
music sounded louder and louder in his mind.
Suddenly the shark attacked, submerged like a black dart. Seven-Legs flailed about, trying to stay as flat as possible on the ocean surface. Time seemed to slow almost to a stop as Seven-Legs stared the shark in the eyes, rows of saw-like teeth visible as the killer closed the short distance. In a lightning lunge, Seven-Legs skewered the shark with his crab-like claw, under its jaw and through to the top of its head.
“Ha!” exclaimed Seven-Legs, triumphantly holding the shark aloft as it flipped and wiggled about in the throws of death. “Who is at the top of the food chain now? Stupid fish!”
Seven-Legs rode the surf to the Arthropodan side of Quenaudenville, shark in tow. Bails of straw washed up on the beach with him. Seven-Legs used several bails to start a fire to cook the shark. The smoke was intoxicating. Now realizing the bails were marijuana, Seven-Legs tirelessly carried as many as possible to the tree line, where he built a crude shelter.
In a few days thousands of drunk, naked human pestilence tourists arrived.
How odd.
Seven-Legs’ first impulse was to beg for change. However, these tourists were college educated, not prone to give their money away so easily. Seven-Legs sold them weed instead, making a small fortune. Seven-Legs’ carefree bum days were over. He took over the import-export business vacated by the fugitive Giovanni.