“They’ll watch for large numbers traveling to EB from Here-Born.
“They’ll monitor for huge financial transactions—provide them these.
“They realize we possess no invasion fleet and will expect us to hijack one or more of the Rio-Teroans civilian or Space Fleet ships and invade EB.”
“And hope we die in the attempt,” Madsen muses to tacit agreement all round.
Roses uses the moment to hand me water. I sip and continue.
“We need to ensure they are certain an invasion of EB will happen and that our UWMD will be deployed in the manner they believe.
“Have volunteers attempt to smuggle Fragger Units or parts of one through their Customs. This action will fix their attention upon and confirm such an invasion. Also, let slip into their hands plans which almost, but don’t quite confirm such an invasion. They will put the rest of it together.”
I glance around and all are still attentive.
“Create several of what appears to be massive military buildups. Keep them camouflaged from off planet surveillance but ensure enough detail can be captured so that the wrong conclusions will be drawn.
“It’s to be a huge subterfuge, like the fake armies set up by the British and Americans and other Allies prior to D-Day of WW II. It must hide the true nature and target of our UWMD.
“Stealth and deception are critical.
“We must never lose sight of Peter Wernt and the other eleven. He’s intelligent and underhanded. I hope his tour was at least successful in convincing him that Fraggers are our UWMD.”
They all nod their agreement chuckling over our deception.
“We can further blind him by taking advantage of his own lies, his intelligence, his deviousness but most of all, his expectations.
“Those expectations being...he knows what he would do under similar circumstances. I’m hoping he’s incapable of imagining that we would be or do any different. With this, we take advantage of an EB trait long since erased from us of Here-Born—the only way to fix a problem is with force, punishment and brutality.
“This is our one gamble...and my personal one as well. I will be going to EB to find Karrell. I promised him that if he needs me, I will find him.
“There, I’ll link up and provide my Free Marketeer skills and the duties of a Colonel at the same time.
“I need to drive Peter Wernt into a knee-jerk reaction and hope he leads me to Karrell—at the same time I’ll integrate with this, my plan.
“So my personal success hinges on this plan and its success.
“My finding Karrell and our overall success are for me, linked. I am unable to separate them. When I try, one must surrender itself to failure so that the other might succeed. As one, they both succeed.”
I pause as Madsen shakes his head no.
“We’ll talk about that an’ all...later,” he says.
I wave it aside as irrelevant and he scowls as I continue.
“To reduce our risk we must take certain actions.”
They lean forward, eyes bright with attention.
“Yes?” Benwarr urges.
“Present to EB small bodies of tourist arriving a little more frequently than before. Mix real tourists with campaign staff. Make it real. They will laugh at us, with contempt mind you, and so succumb to being over confident.”
“I don’t see that working...maybe with good acting,” Ozerken says.
“We must engender the belief that it’s a few invading simpletons,” I add.
“Maybe,” Madsen says.
“I’m half yes, half maybe on the last item,” Jenk says.
The others remain silent.
I add the cherry on top.
“All the while our UWMD executes we must maintain a state of Obviously Invisible. This means keeping all Here-Born campaigners and soldiers invisible to them but not unknown—at all times. Including and up to the time of execution, during it and in particular...upon withdrawal from EB.
“But, and here’s the key, the UWMD must hit them worldwide and they must not be able to get away from it. I have a fear, though....”
Roses turns my face to her and searches deep into my eyes, hers are filled with questions.
“I cannot get Wernt thoughts. I fear never finding Karrell.”
And she takes my hand and kisses it.
“We will solve this,” she says.
“We will resolve this before you all leave,” Droght concurs.
They nod agreement, but Madsen says, “If Once-Other can’t round-n-about get his thoughts, I see no immediate success by him nor anyone else. We can’t have him running amok on EB an’ all or kidnapping Peter Wernt for his own self-centered reasons and damned be it an’ all to we of Here-Born!”
“We will get it done,” Droght affirms, a growl in his voice.
And I realize he’s speaking to Roses more than anyone else, and she smiles her thanks to him.
We sit silent for several minutes each deep in thought.
After several minutes amble by, Benwarr smiles and says, “You were right Maggie. He comprehends what most cannot. So true your words were...Once-Other knows despite that many times he does not know that he knows.”
He chuckles as they all nod in agreement, except for Madsen who glares at Maggie. But for me, my mouth falls slack trying to understand what Benwarr said and why.
Roses slaps me in reprimand of such slowness.
I still don’t get it.
Roses shakes her head at me but smiles.
Each of them, once again, scans all of everything over from their own perspectives.
Again they vote.
Again all vote yes.
Next, they take my breath away altogether.
“Desert Drivers are in place and ready,” Ozerken says.
“Free Marketeers are in place and ready,” Madsen says.
“Nomads are in place and ready,” Benwarr says.
“Northerners are in place and ready,” Jenk says.
“Let it be done if the vote comes out yes,” Benwarr says.
“Damn fine indeed,” I add in a shaky voice.
Roses pulls the blankets up and says, “Once-Other is tired. See the haggard upon his handsome face. Note how his magnificent new chest heaves as he breathes.”
They stand up, approach and shake my hand.
Ozerken pauses and looks me in the eye and says, “You are welcome in the North. Welcome, as a Desert Driver would be.”
“We Northerners second that,” Jenk says.
“You are now an honored Nomad,” Dew and Benwarr add.
Maggie kisses me, pats my cheek and chuckles.
Droght smiles his pleasure at that kiss.
They leave and Roses and I are alone.
I turn to her and confess.
“I am so ashamed, Roses. None of them realizes how cowardly I was out upon sand. None of them knows how close I came to giving up.”
She slaps my shoulder, real hard.
“All of everyone has personal demons Once-Other. I suggest when you are well, you think through what they were expressing. Keep going until you understand what they said and why. Exactly what they said. And don’t look at me like that.”
She kisses my brow, touches my cheek and says, “Keep in mind…one I love…you kept your promise...to live through it and tell others of what you found.”
She pulls the covers up, adjusts the pillows, gazes at me and says, “Now Once-Other my dear. If you are a man of your word. If your commitment is towards marriage. If you desire to consummate this relationship at some time. Oh? I’m so glad we kept your original head. I like it.”
I smile.
A quick peck on my cheek and she says, “You best recover your physical well-being before my eyes and desires begin to wander.” She chuckles taking the bite out her comment.
The deafening bleat of a camel shakes the tent.
We both glance at the entrance expecting to see its head appear.
But there comes sh
outing followed by feet scuffing in sand instead.
The camel snorts protests.
Footsteps and camel steps upon sand grow fainter.
We smile at each other over old wives’ tales about what camels get up to with tents in bad weather. *
“Sleep now…one I love.”
I smile and say, “Roses. So beautiful a flower. So beautiful in you.” And I sleep.
*See Glossary: Camels and tents.
CHAPTER 65
Of Property Ownership And A Property’s Rights
The Department for the Assurance of Happiness
Los Angeles Regional District
Motto: Our Monitoring Ensures Your Happiness
Date: Confidential
Document: 798-632
Document Type: Assurance of Happiness Transcript
Requesting Authority: Mister Warrent McPeters
Issuing Authority: Mister Warrent McPeters
Subject Matter: LAX Arrivals
Location: Earth
Methodology: Third-eye camera, audio-visual, Security, and Poip
Transcription Processor: Ms. Agnes Soulone
Environmental: Ratio of one Poip per five people active
Transcript:
Six silver, cigar shaped Star Liners maneuver to docking along an endless shore. The green-gray ocean seethes and churns as landing engines scream, demanding their right of way.
The clang of steel on steel as they edge into docking bays. Metallic thunder echoes and the ocean’s waters shrink back as though afraid.
Star Liners hover-in-waiting as their cable lines shoot downwards. Hundreds of electrical motors shriek. Cables tighten, their twangs echoing down the hallways and all the way into the Grand Hall of Arrivals and Departures.
Blasts of hot air follow as landing engines finally wind down. Internal power supply engines hum alive supplying air and all else a Star Liner needs while at rest.
Faces populate portholes. Smiles and stares of awe plastered on each one. Fingers point outwards, tracing the mile upon mile of landing bays shrinking to a tiny dot in the distance.
Frowns cut away smiles as eyes discover the drab gray and green of Government color...everywhere. The eager eyes, though dimmed, remain ever hopeful. This is Earth after all!
The loud growls of exhausting air seem to shake the very core of Earth. The high-pitched whine of atmosphere-engines subsides.
A strange momentary silence ensues.
Steel creaks and groans—airtight hatches open—travelers throng the gangways. The sudden cacophony of human and other voices grows louder, mingles with the patter and stomping of feet along the cold floors and walkways leading to the Grand Hall of Arrivals and Departures.
Peter Wernt enters Arrivals and Immigration amidst the struggling humanity and non-humanity pouring out Security Tunnel 32-LAX like a thick, spiky porridge.
Some appear lost.
Others stare up at the high domed ceiling while many walk too fast on the motorized walkway. Parents call after children. The very confused stare open mouthed at the drab olive green walls, shaking their heads in disbelief.
Young children run ahead, shouting, throwing paper balls.
Poip attempt to intercept them but the children dart away. Poip give chase, lose them, stop up, scan around, and get run into by luggage carts. Poip stumble over their own clumsy feet, right themselves and throw open their arms as they are programmed to do.
Hails and wails sound in almost every Earthbound language and hundreds of off-world ones. Security Scanner 1144-LAX zooms in on Peter Wernt and confirms no dangerous items are on his person nor on that of Property Item D-109.
Peter Wernt has forsaken his air-conditioned suit for a suave, light gray pants and jacket covering a white silk shirt. Slip-on shoes replaced those boots designed for sand and he has apparently matched colors a little like Once-Other does.
Well—did.
How terrible my having to view a C-POP execution out upon Here-Born’s sand—sometimes duty taxes one more so than Government does.
Oops. That’s a no-no—but wait...something else is weird.
Nothing I had seen led me to understand Peter Wernt was wealthy.
But seeing him in his local clothes leaves me in no doubt he is of the one-percent. I mean the cut of his cloth is very expensive—I have seen similar quality on the highest of earners, and no one else. And okay, his fan-n-fit suit was expensive but many tourists headed for Here-Born’s blistering heat will break the bank on one.
No way to figure gross income based on those alone.
I wonder what he is...but my mind goes blank.
Suddenly earlier recordings of events on Here-Born come home to haunt me. Haunting visions of what had happened between Peter Wernt and Once-Other upon the sands of Here-Born.
I shouldn’t enter anything here about other events, but I can’t help myself. I keep thinking about Once-Other never again riding across sand, free under that big blue sky of theirs.
Nor hear him selling pre-owneds to tourists. Never again will he wrestle verbally and bargain fiercely just as Peter Wernt described to Number Six and Eight.
I’m even saddened that Once-Other will never again drive nor smoke, not even those cigarettes Peter Wernt left on his table. I wonder if anyone will find Once-Other out where he was left to die.
Oh dear...back to work.
Must admit here that I have seen very little of the report I am working—it makes me dizzy just imagining what it is all about. I can’t understand why my Supe gave me no detailed instructions. Not even a—what you should be looking for—nothing.
What is going on? Oh my-my.
Best get back to work—Skellumer is breathing down my neck from across our cubicle. I can smell his breath from here—a mixture of rotting garlic and unwashed socks. I wonder if he’s been placed here to keep an eye on me.
They do sneaky a lot.
Back to work, I go.
Around D-109’s neck is a snug fitting Domestic Neutralizing Collar. It’s one of those Autumn Leaf models with tawny brown maple leaves printed on a cream background. A neat and impressive eight-foot chain attaches to it with the other end fastened to Peter Wernt’s belt.
Domestic Neutralizing Collars were introduced when Murder in the First Dot One Degree was passed into Law.
When activated they stream electronic pain thus enabling M&M-PBP (the Modification and Modernization of Property Behavioral Patterns).
M&M-PBP was first legalized under the Ownership of Property and Merchandise Obedience Act of 23 August 4294. Merely a couple of years back.
At the time of its passing into law, Criminal Pre-Owned parts were being sold to tourists from all over Inter-Constellation Arena Thirty. The resultant epidemic of heinous crimes brought about the demand for a new law and its enforcement.
Give me a moment to check something.
Okay. I’m back.
“You a jack-in-a-box?” Skellumer asks not looking up from his desk.
I get that personal opinions don’t belong in the workplace but Skellumer...urgh! I examine him as he turns and smiles tobacco stains at me.
His bulbous nose most always sports a pimple or four. His small brown eyes ever search for tiny violations, anything that could mar his Right to Assured Happiness and can be reported.
I’ve been told he was once married. I can’t imagine who would do that to herself. How I got him alongside me in my work-a-day cubicle, I cannot imagine either.
Despite all that he is, his eyes are always burning, alive with a something I cannot fathom.
“Skellumer. Don’t start on me this early. Got a new project and I need to get up to speed.”
“That’d be something to see. Make a hardworking man like me happy to see a young pup sweating some.”
“Would make a young pup like me happy getting back to work,” I shoot back.
“No one’s stopping you,” says he-who-must-always-have-the-last-word.
I turn back to work and his eyes b
ore into the back of my head.
I sigh.
Maybe one day he will retire.
I pause, take a breath, ignore Skellumer’s questioning eyes and glance around our office.
I’m looking at eight high, by ten wide, by fifteen long, and twenty long-long years inside these gray walls and drab olive painted window frames. There are two desks of plastic chipboard, the eternal transcriber’s keyboard, and Happiness monitoring viewer. Nomadi on my wrist and gooey-sticky used to be red carpets beneath our feet.
I lean forward and there is dust on the outside of the windowpane. Three floors down is the street on which travels public transport and shakedown cabs—tourist artifacts I call them.
Across the road the dilapidated local park waits in vain for the sound of children. Many ADD-Dees sleep on plastic benches, under leaves and in hollows dug into empty flowerbeds.
No one is fooled—the shrubs, hedges, trees, and fallen leaves are all plastic. I figure the grass is plastic as well—there has never been a sprinkler in action.
Overhead, black clouds remind of recent volcanic eruptions. I can still smell the soot and magma and burnt earth when outside. I’ve promised myself one day I’ll live out in the country—rumor says there are real trees in places, clean air, and water you can drink right out a stream. Maybe even get married to a strapping farmer’s son and raise lots of kids.
Who am I kidding?
Back to work.
I had checked Records to find D-109 registered as twelve years old. He’s very tall for twelve, muscular as well. His light desert-suit looks thin and I understand why he shivers with cold despite the stifling heat of LAX.
It’s cold here compared to Here-Born. He’s lucky, though. With today being an odd-numbered date, the air inside the dimly lit Grand Hall of Arrivals and Departures is turned off.
Per Federal Ordinance Number 560-987 of July 4, 1401, cooling and heating systems must be powered down each odd-numbered calendar day.
Brother Mao, the President of the US of Axis which we rightly call the USA as do most, signed this Ordinance into law after it passed in both the Senatorial Hub and House back on July 4, 1401.
We celebrate it as Independence from Electricity Day.
Once-Other Page 41