I suppress an urge to add more damn criticism. Instead, I grasp the opportunity to express some of my own difficulties. “Changing gears Jenk—that’s what I’m having trouble with. Damned inflation! To date not one EB tourist has understood our economy. Not one! They go brain dead and I cannot get them beyond inflation and the belief that deflation is a greater evil. Now this is a good time to check something with you. You mind?”
He waves me on.
“Can you guess if EB tourists know inflation without credit is impossible?”
“What my dear friend are you going on about?” he cries in horror. “That’s your outline? You have lost your marbles?”
“It was just a ques...never mind. Look...okay...try this on. When prices go up very fast, most people cannot save enough to buy something expensive before the price goes up again.
“So the only way to sell a big ticket item is to provide credit. You must have credit available when you run on inflation or no one or very few can buy your products.”
“Not particularly good but I suppose it’ll squeak by.”
“Wait will you! Those two are created, inflation and credit, as the chicken and the egg, both at the same time as neither can exist without the other. What you think?”
“True. True. Still not absorbing. I’m falling asleep here. In fact, I’m both sleep sitting and sleep talking. Who on all of Here-Born, native or visitor would want to listen to you?”
“You did.”
“Ah! But I’m not paying. Why are you leaving out so much?”
“Damn Jenk. Okay. With inflation raiding your wallet you will soon need a higher salary just to purchase the same amount of goods you did on your former salary. But as soon as your earnings increase you end up in a higher tax bracket over on EB.”
“Awful shame that is,” he says.
“Right. Now Government gets in on the act with licenses, parking fees on public roads, permits, sales taxes, property taxes, value added taxes, citations and more. Damn. EB tourists don’t even realize all those damn fees-n-citations are simply extra taxes on top the other taxes. I mean...dog licenses! What?”
“Good one Once-Other I....”
But he has me going so I hush him and rush on.
“Can you believe Earth-Born’s citizens are happy when they’re told their taxes won’t be increased right now but will be increased later? Do they assume having taxes increased later is a gift? Do any of them understand their tax rates are always lowered—temporarily? That flat rate or sales tax only systems soon see the rates rise as high as two hundred percent and higher. No. More is needed to fix it as we have done here. They are….”
“Unequivocally tragic,” Jenk snorts. “But how is Karrell doing? Living with Deidre and what’s his name?”
“Bordt Nettler! He’s fine. Don’t interrupt. Damn shameful economic politics Jenk—something all their politicians are in on. Elect someone into their current EB system? A waste of time. What they need is our UWMD.” I pause for breath then rush on now that I have a captive audience.
“I sometimes wonder! Do they know that the original Declaration of Independence of the United States of America cited excessive taxation, and without representation, as some of the reasons for disconnecting from the King of England? And more so cited oppressive laws that ushered in endless regulations written by unelected officials.
“I’ve no doubt the merry old King of England was astounded some dared protest his taxation demands.”
Jenk chuckles and waves me on.
“But look at their taxes and laws now—more regulations than anyone could ever shake a fist at. How well those who write their ongoing parade of endless laws have fooled them. No one on EB has noticed that all new laws come with a line that says...regulations to follow!
“And no one looks up and sees how they never get to agree with regulations but are subject to them. It’s worse than when they waged their War of Independence against England. They have a crippling Foundation in action Jenk. None of them has figured that when everyone gets the same tunnel-visioned education with its fixed views and ideas and solutions then elections can’t change anything...”
I struggle to breathe evenly. Jenk waves me on.
“...because all elected officials have the same education despite differing schools, colleges, and universities. It’s the ideas taught that are the same across all institutes of education back there. And since everyone uses his or her Foundation in life nothing ever changes. And so Jenk...all their solutions are the same but worded differently.”
Jenk rubs his eyes and says, “Lost upon the path they’re educated to see. Blinded.”
I jump back in.
“Their elected official’s so-called solutions have the same results—and things get worse, then worse than that? And why? Their whole Foundation is based on wrong, even false information—how can they expect someone to make changes for the better when his or her Foundation is no different from the last? This comes from a curriculum designed and run by Government! God help them!”
Jenk shrugs, I keep going.
“Which means all students have learned the same things as those gone before and none have ever dared question his education let alone went out to investigate if what he’s learning works or not.”
“An endless merry-go-round it is...but not merry at all,” Jenk quips.
“Right,” I reply. “That they have many different schools and colleges means nothing. These all teach the same ideas, and if you don’t write those down during the exam you fail. And so no certificate and so no or low employment. Even when graduates cannot find worthwhile work, they still do not question their education. Wow.”
Exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally we sit silent for a few minutes.
The wind blows. Dust-devils dance and die.
I sigh and say, “Ha! Of course, things technical in nature, tests prove that...one way or the other. You hold a rock up, let go, it falls. But it’s not like that with life in general...and less so with politics, economics and finance. A lot wrong there, there is. Few of them even know the difference between a free market economy and capitalism! Those two are not the same!”
“Tunnel-vision Education at its worst to say the least,” Jenk concurs. “And you’ve something of passion I see.”
“Damn right you are! And worse! They don’t understand our economy. You should be here sometime. It’s amazing. That our Government keeps the amount of money circulating balanced against the value of services and products available is rocket science to them.”
Jenk rubs his chin and says, “Most unfortunate. Not too bad on your part Once-Other. Pretty good. I’d advise you tell them what you’ve just said—quite enlightening it was.”
He stands up, slaps my shoulder and heads off into the desert leaving me with much unsaid. He waves and calls out, “Dearest Maggie said for you to be sure you pop your corncob within ten hours.”
“Popcorn,” I shout back.
“Words Once-Other. Jolly old words!”
I smile at that and at the small dust-devils that dance into my store once again seeking out comfortable nooks-n-crannies in which to lie down and slumber.
They do and I glance around.
In the Fairground, Maureen the fortuneteller welcomes a client and lets me know she is pleased I had taken good care of myself earlier. She adds a wink, pushes her dark hair aside, and with a seductive swagger leads a mesmerized EB male into her store.
The roar of a SandMaster shatters the silence and my relative calm. I check northward sand, heart pounding as it emerges from its own sandstorm and stops atop a tall dune. The engines groan and fall silent and sand settles like mist in a downdraft.
For several slow breaths nothing stirs. Midst taking a deep one, a cold shiver runs down my back. Cold enough to elicit goose bumps. I hold my gaze northwards, unblinking.
Two men exit the SandMaster and lean close as though plotting a conspiracy. The one in black leather would be a Desert Driver and the
owner. The other is tall and thin, which reminds me of Peter Wernt but this one is dressed in a white Nomad’s thobe and a pale blue ghutra. They point around as though marking territory, shake hands and board.
A roar blasts out the exhausts of its twin engines revealing it had been fitted with a Dual SandMaster Free Flow system. The tailpipes have a distinctive whistling sound as it accelerates revealing there is a bend, hole or bump in one or both exhaust pipes through which air leaks.
With a long and tired sigh, I get down to admin and tax duties.
Engrossed, I’m taken by surprise when the light turns orange heralding sunset.
I rush to my closet, grab a full-length fur coat and pull it on just as all becomes dark. I lower the side sections, lock the faux wood doors and board Hellbent with thoughts of a quiet evening ahead.
I pull my bandana over nose and mouth, fasten my helmet and set off. Overhead, the stars cluster around the brightest one, our Star-of-Hope. I smile as her light caresses my face.
CHAPTER 20
Of Maggie, The Lady And Mister Conqueror
Trundling Hellbent along the fence dividing my property from the Mall parking lot a familiar figure detaches from the home-going crowd and heads towards me.
I smile at Maggie’s silhouette. “Goin’ home ‘lone Once-Other?” She calls out, broadcasting her question so broadly as to alert all within range.
Several glance our way and smile. Yes. That is Maggie being Maggie.
I smile inside my helmet and stop up. She flips the cut-off switch places her hand over mine and asks, “Have you an’ all popped your popcorn?” And she chuckles as naughty as all can be.
“No...,” and that single word catches in my throat.
“Don’t you leave it too long,” she says, gives me a penetrating look and steps onto the rear footpeg. She pauses, smiles, swings her leg over settles in and says, “Tonight’s a night for One Grain o’ Sand.”
The rough noose of fear named after Jiplee encircles my heart. My imagination pounds with Maggie’s screams as those hands, which took Jiplee’s life now take Maggie’s. I push neurotic images aside, calm self as best I can and hoping to bow out without being fried alive by a woman scorned, I pause and look for her eyes proper.
Our eyes hold each other much like when we were children and in love. “Oh my. Now wait Maggie. Listen to me please...you know my involvement, attitudes such as Wernt’s that of others and what happened to Jiplee...I...you know...it would...you know? Dangerous.” Not fluid by any stretch of the imagination but at least spoken.
Her thoughts flick into private-mode, she nods yes, wraps her arms around me and whispers, “Friends an’ all Once-Other no matter the future.” But a sadness lingers upon her words.
Nevertheless, I’m relieved and I fire Hellbent up and we race off into the night.
Arriving at the One Grain o’ Sand, I check the time and note we have an hour left before EB and other tourists enter bringing with them their need for speaker driven music. Until then, music plays over special equipment for those using mind-to-mind alone.
We hasten up the stairs, pay the entrance fee, the double doors open and we are inside a nightclub as silent as an empty church according to those who require sound. Only the ring of cutlery and crockery meeting, the gurgle of poured drinks and the odd cough breaks the silence. We both sigh in relief at the respite from the pounding of tourist voices.
Overhead, neon waterfalls tumble downwards spraying mists of blue light which then surge back up. As the mood and tempo of the music changes so do their colors. Above them, neon planets dip and swoop like swallows orbiting a pulsing sun. We dance with abandon.
After six or seven fast numbers, Maggie heads for the DJ.
She returns, smiles mischievously, takes my hand and places her other on my shoulder as a true classic, Surrender by Elvis Presley moves us. We’re close. She snuggles closer. Her eyes twinkle in an enticing fashion.
“Only friends Maggie,” I whisper around an aching heart.
“Only friends an’ all Once-Other,” she whispers back with a chuckle that says she means otherwise. And she presses yet closer. Right then Surrender ends much to my relief but to Maggie’s disappointment.
I step away, let out a longing sigh and check for an empty table. We seat ourselves and order drinks. The DJ switches to music in live audio mode and tourists enter shattering the relative silence.
The EB Lady from the goldmine arrives with Mister Conqueror and they take a table close by. She spots me, smiles and waves. I wave back. Mister Conqueror smiles as well but not because he is happy to see me.
“Dear-dear me—careful now an’ all you hear Once-Other,” Maggie confides and leans closer as though whispering in my ear, “EB women don’t use that ol’ hell hath no fury like a woman scorned an’ all.”
“What?” I blurt. “They do too.”
“Ah yes,” she confirms. “But these days when she shows a man she’s interested an’ he don’t up his interest. Oh-oh. Or worse, he don’t become way interested an’ real fast an’ all...hell hath no fury is but a tiny storm in a coffee cup compared to what an’ all hits some unsuspecting male.”
She laughs and slips her hand over mine. “Trust me—I know,” she whispers.
“Now you’re starting a war,” I groan.
“Hope not with Mister Conqueror as you call him,” she says a little devil dancing in her eyes.
At the other table Mister Conqueror deliberately reaches out, takes the Lady’s hand in his and smiles coldly at me. The Lady glares at him and attempts to pull her hand away but he holds on tight.
“Oh. You think of her as the Lady—capped an’ all.”
“Well. I think she’s a Lady, Maggie.”
“Just pullin’ your leg. Lighten up some.”
I communicate to a waiter, he arrives and we both order chicken peri-peri. While waiting for our food, Maggie stares at me oddly then asks, “Did you go an’ do something...made Peter Wernt run for home?”
“You’re asking me this? What’s it got to do with you?” And instantly I regret my harsh tone.
“Don’t,” she says. “Please don’t. I’m curious. An’ that’s all.”
“It’s a sore point with me. Okay? He was the most irritating person I’ve ever met. Here.” I show her my tooth-battered-tongue. “Every one of them self-inflicted in defense against my taking his head off and refusing him a new one.”
“Okay. I got it. A challenging tourist an’ all.”
“He was up to something,” I muse.
“Oh?” she gasps.
“I’m not sure what,” I quickly add hoping to avoid further questions.
“What his thoughts tell you an’ all?” she asks.
“Well, I...let’s get off the subject and enjoy ourselves...okay?”
Maggie is about to demand an answer when our food arrives allowing me to wave the subject aside and dig in after waving a fork to stifle her questioning.
We eat ravenously. Sweat breaks out on our brows. Maggie wipes mine then hers with the same napkin folds it and pockets it.
“Maggie,” I groan.
“Once-Other?” and she pretends not to know what is what but frowns when my attention switches to a new arrival.
CHAPTER 21
Of Third-eye Cameras And A Popped Shoulder Joint
With music pounding my senses, I watch an EB tourist wearing the same style third-eye camera as Peter walk towards us. He is shorter than Peter but has thicker arms and legs and a large barrel-shaped head from which golden brown hair falls to his shoulders. His fan-n-fit is similar to Wernt’s but a deeper gray.
Maggie frowns when she notes my interest and asks, “What you checking on?”
In answer, I reach out and touch his arm. He stops. I withdraw my hand in that physical contact aids getting thoughts and say, “One damn fine third-eye camera you’ve got there, Mister.”
“Thank you very much,” he says and his thoughts reveal that I should keep my hands to myself.
So. A third-eye camera does not automatically block their minds from us. Maggie frowns further questions, which I ignore for nature calls upon me.
Washing my hands Mister Conqueror enters, steps to the center and waits, hands on hips, glaring at me. Unlike in the goldmine, I find no thoughts available or perhaps he has none.
“Good evening,” I say aloud.
He makes a fist and grinds it in his palm. “You Here-Born folk composed of miscellaneous used parts—”
“That’s pre-owned Mister,” I cut in.
“Whatever the hell! We are talking used parts and like any other piece of property needs to listen up, wake up and get real. I’m gonna teach you a lesson...stay away from our women and keep your used parts to yourself.”
He snaps his fist backward.
I sigh at such slow reactions, step around him and note his focus remains where I no longer stand.
His arm hits maximum rearward motion.
I take a step towards the exit.
His arm pauses ready to punch.
I take another step towards the door.
He throws a punch.
I take another step.
His shoulder does a crunch-n-snap under the full fury of it. I take another step towards the door and push it open. His agonized scream hits as the restroom door swings closed behind me.
Maggie looks up and says, “...an’ their men have grown way more jealous an’ all.”
She pats my arm and communicates she understands my decision to head on home. I’m about to ask but she assures me she’ll get a ride back to her SandRider and hands me my popcorn.
“Now you know tomorrow will be way too late an’ all for popping.” She giggles like a naughty little girl and hooking her arm through mine walks me to the exit. There she pats my arm, gives me a quick kiss, and eyes searching mine says, “I still remember our childhood kiss Once-Other. Something a woman never forgets.” She tweaks my nose and heads back inside.
Once-Other Page 14