By Matthew solem
Mars Misadventure
Marion reunites with his giraffe best friend Gerald on Mars, only to uncover a sinister conspiracy aboard his ship while Gerald faces a rebellion that threatens to tear the animal colony apart.
Mars Misadventure: Interior Images
Reading Sample
Hey Dale?” Amelia asked her partner while looking out at their now empty zoo.
“Yeah, Amelia?”
“What are we going to do now that the animals are gone? I don’t think we can be zookeepers anymore.”
Dale considered the question, holding his chin and displaying a serious look. After some time, he responded, “Well, I guess we’ll do something similar to being a zookeeper.”
“And what would that be?” Amelia asked.
“I don’t know—what was it that awful long-necked cow did again?”
“He was a banker, I think.”
“Yeah! We could be bankers!”
Amelia squinted her eyes skeptically. “How is that similar to being a zookeeper?”
“Similar? It’s exactly the same! Zookeepers stop animals from escaping; bankers stop money from escaping. Zookeepers make sure the animal habitats are safe and clean; bankers make sure the money is safe and clean—”
“How does a banker make sure their money is clean?” Amelia asked, putting her hands on her hips.
“Fraud prevention?” Dale half answered with a shrug.
Amelia tilted her head quizzically, eventually nodding in agreement.
“Anyway,” Dale continued, “zookeepers feed the animals, bankers feed the money.” After finishing his irrefutable argument, he plastered a wide smile over his face.
Amelia’s skepticism deepened as she considered this last piece of evidence. Dale looked back hopefully. Eventually, she softened.
“Eh, close enough. Let’s be bankers!”
The two zookeepers threw off their hats, turning and running through the excited archway entrance to Crown Heights Zoo, ready to take on their new careers with as much zest and enthusiasm as their last ones.
Gerald felt pride as he trotted through the massive double doors into the domed capital building of the new Mars government.
He paused to take in the majesty of the long, polished basalt table in the center of the room. It had been cut earlier that week at the inauguration of the first operational quarry and polished in the newly minted materials processing facility on the outskirts of the new Martian city.
Walking toward his assigned seat, he looked up at the butterscotch Martian sky through the clear dome that comprised the entire ceiling. Many layers of transparent protective films stopped the radiation from entering the room.
Finally, he took his seat.
Some time passed as the other members of the Name Pending Mars Government sat down.
“First order of business,” stated a composed, elderly baboon. “Has anyone changed their position on the name of our government? It is rather embarrassing having ‘Name Pending Mars Government’ on our official letterhead. And citizens are having a difficult time finding the correct buildings without any signage.”
“I still think United Mars Government is perfect. It’s simple, elegant, and to the point,” Gerald calmly stated.
“But it’s so boring,” replied an aloof tiger. “Our new society deserves a name that will inspire it to greatness! That’s why ‘The Excelsior to the Stars Wonderful Government Extravaganza’ is the right name.”
“I feel that name may be a little too inspiring, Greg,” Harold, the water buffalo former leader of HIDE replied. “I’m not even sure government should be exciting. I think being boring is a feature.” The stately water buffalo adjusted his top hat and smiled to Gerald, pleased with his comment.
“I am afraid it will give people the false impression that we are having a fair with ring tosses and a Ferris Wheel and whatnot. They will be most disappointed when they find out all we do is meetings, taxes, and paperwork,” Angus added.
“These are good points—on both sides—but perhaps a middle ground would be best, hmm? How about something neutral in demeanor, yet still inspiring? Something simple, yet magnificent,” said a casually dressed zebra.
The entrenched sides pondered the proposition for a few moments, then confirmed their curiosity.
“Well, what do you have in mind?” Gerald asked to the affirming nods of all at the conference table.
The zebra nervously shifted in his seat. Apparently, praise for his wonderful ideas was all he was prepared to receive.
“…Umm, well I don’t actually have a name in mind. I was just making suggestions for what a good name might look like.”
As soon as this admission reached the ears of the meeting participants, a discordant chorus of argument ensued. Some time passed in this foul state until Maurice, the baboon chair of the Name Pending Mars Government interrupted.
“Enough! We put it to a vote now! All in favor of the United Mars Government raise their respective appendages.”
Some hooves, hands, and legs lifted around the table.
“And now those in favor of The Excelsior to the Stars Wonderful Government Extravaganza do the same.”
Those in favor of that name dutifully complied. Maurice, the grey mustached baboon sighed with relief at the result. “Good, it’s finally settled. Henceforth, we shall be known as, ‘The Excelsior to the Stars Wonderful Government Extravaganza’.” (Strangely, this exuberant style of naming did not extend to the city, which was simply called “Mars City”).
Marion stood looking over a large table with a single light hanging over the center. The various government and military officials looked on, pretending to solve the problem that Marion was actually working on. The blueprints and technical specifications stared back at him for some time before they finally released their secrets to him.
“I get it! It’s Taco Tuesday!” he finally exclaimed.
This revelation was met with many nods, smiles, and vague phrases of agreement such as, “Of course!”, “Well, it had to be something”, and “Glad that’s solved!” before someone finally had the courage to ask what he had meant by Taco Tuesday being the solution.
“The leak is caused by Taco Tuesday,” Marion explained. “You bring in Captain Taco’s staff every Tuesday in addition to the normal staff, right?”
“They set sail for flavor town™,” the director of the CIA facility replied.
“…I’ll take that as a yes. Anyway, they don’t use the regular payment system, right?”
“They bring in their own equipment,” someone in the group confirmed.
“I’m sure it’s a mobile card reader, not an older system, right?”
“It is.”
“I know for a fact that there is no cell service in the cafeteria. I bet you someone gave them access to the secure Wi-Fi. There’s your leak.”
There was a tense silence as everyone accusingly looked around the room. Most eyes finally settled on the Director of Building Management, who, among other things, oversaw all culinary matters. He slid into a nervous smile and kept his eyes forward as his head slouched toward the ground. A “whoops” escaped his lips accompanied by a hopeful shrug. With the wave of a hand, building security unceremoniously escorted him out of the room.
“Another job well done, Marion!” his case manager cheered.
Marion ignored the praise, “What’s going to happen to him?” he asked, pointing toward the door the man just exited.
“He will be punished accordingly,” replied the director of the facility.
“And that means what exactly?”
“Well, this is a very serious offence. Policy says he goes on a two-week probation.”
“Which means?”
“He won’t be allowed to come into work for two weeks.”
“And this time off is…?”
“Paid, naturally.”
“Hmm.”
“Also, security infractions of this magnitude require us to send him to a grueling four-week course on building security as further punishment…of course, after he’s done with the training, he’ll receive a valuable security certificate and we’ll have to give him a new title and adjust his pay to match his new level of education.”
Marion squinted skeptically. “Let me get this straight. As punishment for compromising the security of this building, he’ll get a two-week paid vacation, a promotion, and a raise.”
“I don’t know where you got that. That’s not what I said at all.”
Gerald was on his way to the morning government meeting session when a concerned looking aardvark interrupted his path.
“Can you help me? I can’t hear any music,” the aardvark said with a troubled tone.
Gerald raised his eyebrows beneath his tall top hat, then smiled. “I must need assistance as well. I don’t hear any music either,” he replied.
The aardvark looked confused and a little upset. He wasn’t used to encountering logic or jokes and wasn’t sure which one he had just heard, which made the whole experience worse. “No, no. There should be music. I’ve been following the signs and I’m looking for the party,” he explained with furrowed brow.
Gerald frowned. “Oh dear, this is exactly what I was afraid of,” he said shaking his head. “The Excelsior to the Stars Wonderful Government Extravaganza is not the name of a party—and you are currently not at a party. This is the Office of Tax Management and Execution.”
“That’s not what the sign says.”
Gerald’s frown deepened. “I pulled my punches when it came to naming things,” he explained. “Others thought ‘The Groovy Revenue Train’ would be more exciting.”
“They were right!” the confused citizen emphatically exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so,” Gerald agreed. “But one can be right about the wrong thing. It is important to be right about things that matter. There are some in this government who have aimed themselves at the wrong targets and justify their failure to hit the right ones by saying they successfully hit the bullseye on the wrong ones. I would much rather aim for the bullseye on the right goals, hit an inner ring, and be satisfied knowing my aim was true and I can always improve my execution.”
Gerald finished his speech and looked expectantly for acceptance, or at least a reaction to his words from his new aardvark acquaintance. At first, there was only a blank stare, but then hope emerged as Gerald saw the cogs of the aardvark’s mind began to turn.
“So, you’re telling me there isn’t a party here?” he concluded.
Gerald’s hoof and head took the long journey necessary to meet. He eventually composed himself. “Correct. There is no party here.”
“And this place has nothing to do with parties?”
“No, this place has—well, actually, this place does have something to do with parties. Political parties.”
The aardvark looked excited by this revelation. “Oooh, that sounds like fun! Where can I find those?”
“No, it’s not what you—” Gerald started, then decided the exercise pointless and continued, “The Office of Party Registration and Management is three doors down and to the right.”
“Thanks!”
The aardvark started off with a jovial gait and Gerald reluctantly added, “Look for the sign that says, ‘Extremely Fun Political Party Time’! Then you’ll know you’ve found it.”
Taco Tuesday was only the latest in a line of impressive cases Marion had solved as consultant to the United States government.
His career began nine months prior when the FBI showed up at his house in the late morning following the rapturous departure of the animals to Mars. He was quickly arrested and questioned to the vehement protests of his mother. The officers wanted to know a great many things, and he obliged their requests for information.
It was quickly decided that there was nothing for law enforcement to do about the animals, having verified Marion’s account of them all no longer being on the planet. All that was left was his punishment.
There was great interest in his skills from several government agencies, given his successful infiltration and information exfiltration at Area 51. So, it was decided to offer him a plea deal, that in exchange for his consultation, all charges would be dropped.
Marion’s lawyers had no trouble convincing him of the advantages of the deal opposed to other possible arrangements, and he quickly agreed, obligating himself to be retained as a willing and helpful consultant for the term of one year.
Marion managed to find some amusement in the work and learned a great deal about the way certain business is conducted and formed quite a firm idea of the way such business ought to be conducted.
He tried to forestall any cynicism that might have emerged from his employment and succeeded to a great degree through his naturally optimistic, good-humored disposition, and, to a lesser degree, his own will.
Though much had been transient and uncertain in the nine months that had passed, one thing was not. He missed his friend.
The magnificent room The Excelsior to the Stars Wonderful Government Extravaganza’s highest body met in had begun to lose some of its luster for Gerald. He still tried to feel the beauty and weight of the accomplishments leading to the construction of the fabulous room, but meetings that run too long tend to drain one’s appreciation reserves.
Gerald looked around and could see today’s meeting was about to start. He quickly looked up, taking in the breathtaking Martian sky once more to remember he was doing something important.
“I call this meeting to order,” a well-dressed baboon stated dryly.
The baboon, Maurice, had been elected chair of the new Martian government on the way to their destination. During the six-month journey a great many things had happened. The elections that made Maurice the Chairman and Gerald and his associates Voting Members of the transitional government were just the beginning. HIDE had not only prepared the material goods necessary for the journey and rebuilding of civilization but had prepared plans for the more institutional aspects of society.
Those in the room who were not already in their seats slowly found them. Once everyone was settled, Maurice shifted his spectacles, cleared his throat, and continued, “As you all know, this meeting is to decide on monetary matters. Specifically, we shall decide on matters pertaining to currency.
“More specifically the value, supply, and distribution. We will start on value. I open the floor for discussion.”
Gerald felt confident while clearing his throat. He knew he was prepared and certain the point would be closed quickly. “There is sufficient evidence that fiat money is stable and useful given supply—the next topic—is handled with care. The money will be backed by the faith and credit of this government as the representative of the productive output of our economy.”
He looked around the room. Some were on board as he had assumed, but there were others obviously not enamored with his proposal. There was a particular tiger that almost always had something to say. So, all eyes settled on Greg, who smiled the mischievous smile he always did when everyone looked at him expectantly. “I agree on fiat currency to be sure. I have been thinking though, and on the question of value, I believe we should be on the gold standard.”
Some confused looks circulated the room.
“I have an issue with that proposition,” Harold finally said. “We don’t have any gold. We didn’t bring any. It’s too heavy for space travel.”
Greg slouched back into his personalized chair, perfectly at ease.
“I don’t see how that is an issue. We can still be on the gold standard.”
More confused looks circulated the room. Gerald interceded. “I don’t understand. Traditionally, a gold standard meant each currency unit could hypothetically be exchanged for a corresponding unit of gold. We cannot do that without gold. So, are you saying we should base our currency on the idea of gold?”
“Why not? Think about gold right now. Shiny, right? That stuff is really valuable. Now think about our future currency. Just paper or linen or whatever. Not very valuable. Now imagine that gold you were just thinking about backing our money. Bam! Our money is valuable. Gold Standard, baby!”
Greg’s argument was received well by some of the Voting Members and was met with affirming nods and encouraging “hmm”s. After a moment, Gerald realized that believing gold backed the currency would not stop the productive output of the economy and supply from actually determining its value. He decided to let Greg’s strange obfuscation of perception pass.
“I accept the modification to my proposal,” he said to the surprise of many of his original supporters.
Maurice took the opportunity to hasten the meeting. “Excellent! Let us move to a vote on this matter. All those who accept Gerald’s proposition with the amendment proposed by Greg, raise your respective limbs.”
With some liking Greg’s explanation, and others realizing the same thing Gerald had, all approved the measure.
“Great, the proposition passes. Moving on to the—”
WHOOSH
The large double doors to the room suddenly slid open and a walrus in a HIDE-provided government uniform ran into the room panting.
“There’s been an explosion at the mine! You’re all going to want to see this!”