Miniatures: The Very Short Fiction of John Scalzi Page 5

  Q:Why them?

  A:Why not? The Janissaries are highly competent soldiers and killers, feared in their day, and have fabulous uniforms. Really, it’s a great look. All of these are key for a super villain, particularly the uniforms, since it means the super villain doesn’t have to reach into his own pocket to kit them out. It’s a small thing, but in these days of economic distress, these little things add up.

  Q:I’m just wondering where they’ve been keeping themselves since the early 1800s.

  A:Where did all the ninjas come from, right? Look, they’ve been around. They were just waiting. Now’s their time.

  Q:At least until everyone expects an attack from a turbaned warrior in the pay of a super villain.

  A:Well, yes. Ultimately it’s a fashion thing. Spandex and capes are out this year, too. I note this all in the appendix to my annual super villain assessment report.

  Q:So even though it’s a bad time for super villains, you expect them to keep at it.

  A:Of course. Like everything, the field has its ups and downs, but it never goes away. And I think we’re going to see some breakout stars in the field. Gunthar, The Claw of the East, for example. Took over the entire Gulripsh District of Abkhazia, in Georgia. Did it last summer armed only with a cannon that fired highly acidic yogurt. That’s pretty impressive.

  Q:I didn’t hear about that.

  A:Shortly thereafter Russia invaded Georgia. That kind of stole his thunder. And then he ran out of yogurt.

  Q:It’s always something.

  A:Yogurt’s for eating, not for killing.

  Q:Unless you’re a super villain.

  A:It keeps me employed, at least.

  Q:Ever think of crossing to the other side and trying super villainry yourself?

  A:Nah. I already worked for Enron. Once is enough.

  (TRANSCRIPT ENDS)

  I wrote this piece around the same time I wrote “Alien Animal Encounters” but never bothered to send it out. It was eventually bought and published, along with “Alien Animal Encounters,” as part of a chapbook that went out in 2005 with the Subterranean Press limited hardcover edition of my novel Agent to the Stars. If you can find a copy of that chapbook, it’s probably worth some money now.

  New Directives for Employee-Manxtse Interactions

  FoodMaster Supermarkets, Inc.

  To: ALL EMPLOYEES, FoodMaster Supermarkets, Washington DC Area

  From: Jan Goodwin, VP of Public Relations

  Re: New Directives for Employee-Manxtse Interactions

  December 9, 2073

  Dear Employees:

  As you know, FoodMaster Supermarkets has begun stocking Manxtse food and product favorites in our stores, as a way of attracting and retaining as customers the large influx of Manxtse citizens who have recently moved into the area following the free trade agreement between Earth and the Manxtse home planet of Cz’Dhe. While this initiative has largely been met with success both financially and in generating goodwill among the Manxtse, we have become aware of certain incidents and developments that have occurred at a number of FoodMaster stores within the last couple of months that have caused strains in our drive to welcome the Manxtse as full-fledged members of our shopping community.

  Because of this, we are now instituting the following directives regarding employee-Manxtse relations, effective immediately at all Washington DC area FoodMaster supermarkets. Please read this memo carefully and completely! You will be held to the directives herein.

  1. Do not address Manxtse customers as “Sir” or “Madam.” The Manxtse reproductive scheme features two primary and four secondary sexes, none of which is “male” or “female” in any sense lay humans can understand. Thus addressing Manxtse customers by human gender-specific titles is both inaccurate and to them a sign of sloppiness and disregard. While there are Manxtse gender-specific titles, there are no outward signs of Manxtse gender differentiation that humans can perceive, so even if you knew these titles, you’d only have a one in six chance of being correct. This is of course unacceptable from the standpoint of customer relations.

  Upon consultation with the Manxtse Embassy, we direct that employees hereforth refer to all Manxtse customers as “Quv’nehZhu” (pronounced “Koo-Neeh-Choo”), which translates more or less as “honored purchaser,” and is non gender-specific, thus avoiding that issue entirely. Be aware that the Manxtse Embassy suggests employees not use the title “Quv’nehZhu” outside of the supermarket. Use of this title to refer to a Manxtse outside of a clear and obvious commercial setting will be interpreted as an offer of prostitution. Beyond being culturally offensive, of course, humans are emphatically not designed for Manxtsen sexual congress. So please be careful.

  2. Several stores have reported problems with Manxtse adolescents “huffing” nitrous oxide from cans of whipped cream and processed cheese snacks. Be aware that while “huffing” makes human teenagers merely dopey and giggly, nitrous oxide causes the Manxtse brain to release intense “fight or flight” hormones, causing Manxtse adolescents to become both paranoid and aggressive. If you see a Manxtse adolescent acting disoriented or surly near the dairy case (i.e., displaying claws or “vibrating” its shoulder wings), do not approach that individual; rather, call security, who in the coming weeks will receive specialized training to deal with situations such as these.

  In the meantime, we direct employees to stock “huffable” products on the top shelves, where Manxtse adolescents, due to their unmetamorphorized state, should not be able to reach them. If you see Manxtse adolescents stacking themselves on top of each other in an attempt to reach these products, unstack them and escort them from the store. Be aware that Manxtse adolescents have also been known to recruit human teens or homeless people to purchase these products for them. Be vigilant.

  3. Manxtse adolescents have also been approaching our employees and asking, “May I purchase your canned white salmon?” and then fluttering their shoulder wings violently when the employee answers in the affirmative. This has frightened and disturbed a number of employees. Be aware that this fluttering is a Manxtse expression of amusement (similar to human laughing), and that “canned white salmon” sounds close to the Manxtse term “Qun’hua Zamnej,” which translated means “egg-bearing pouch,” a sexual organ on two (and depending on circumstances, three) of the Manxtse sexes. Asking to purchase one’s egg-bearing pouch is an archaic but still understandable way to initiate a betrothal rite, so effectively these Manxtse adolescents are asking the employee to marry them.

  Be aware that this is not a serious marriage proposal; among other things, Manxtse adolescents cannot reproduce, or thereby legally initiate this ritual. Nor is it a serious request for salmon, as Manxtse digestive systems react poorly to most fish oils. Rather it’s a Manxtse variation of the “Do you have Prince Albert in a can” prank call. If asked by a Manxtse adolescent or adolescents for such a transaction, you are hereby directed to answer “no,” and then walk away.

  If a Manxtse adult asks to purchase your canned white salmon, be aware that this adult may in fact be proposing betrothal, and is also probably mentally disturbed in some way. Under no circumstances should you respond affirmatively, as the betrothal ritual begins immediately after an acceptance, and the first act is a loud, piercing bellow that acts to warn away other suitors. Such noise is obviously disruptive of our other customers’ shopping experience.

  4. We are aware that several stockers have become seriously upset when the live Manxtse delicacy known as the dreszeg has begun to speak to them as they placed them in the produce bins, frequently asking about the stocker’s friends or family members, or asking about the latest sports scores. While it may appear that the dreszeg is in fact both intelligent and capable of speech, and thus should be regarded as a sentient being rather than food, both the Manxtse Embassy and the United States Department of Agriculture have assured us that what is occurring is a previously unknown phenomenon, in which the dreszeg’s rudimentary nervous system somehow per
ceives and processes electrical impulses from the human brain. In effect, the dreszegs are echoing the employee’s own thought processes, either subconscious or conscious. Thus the apparent interest in the stocker’s home life or enthusiasms. The dreszegs apparently do not exhibit this behavior around the Manxtse, who regard them as we would lobsters.

  Stockers who are stocking dreszegs are directed not to talk with the produce in any way. Remember that this creature is not sentient and what you would be doing, in effect, is having a conversation with yourself. Such a conversation would of course fall under the “non-essential discussion” rule and is thus officially discouraged during work hours. We also direct that you do not talk to the dreszeg on your break time either—both human and Manxtse customers find it disturbing when FoodMaster employees talk to the food. Employees with intense personal issues or secrets are advised to avoid the dreszeg if possible, as several employees with secretive personal habits have inadvertently found themselves “outed” by nearby dreszegs. Our legal department tells us federal non-discrimination law protects employees “outed” in such a manner from undue firings or demotions; be that as it may, it’s better for everyone if some things are left unsaid, by humans or by produce.

  5. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should ANY FoodMaster employee say “Have a nice day” to a Manxtse. This phrase sounds almost exactly like the Manxtse phrase “H’ FaNehtz Ce’Dhe,” which translated means “I defecate enthusiastically upon your home world” (“H’”—first person singular; “Fa”—adverb meaning “gladly” or “with great passion”; “Neh”—verb, to defecate; “tz”—suffix indicating directed action—“towards” or “upon”; “Ce’dhe”—the Manxtse home world). As with humans, the implication that one is defecating on something is regarded as a great insult to the thing being voided upon. Inasmuch as the Manxtse can be patriotic to the point of apparent irrationality, telling a Manxtse to “have a nice day” is tantamount to an open challenge for personal battle, and a Manxtse will feel the need to defend the honor of its people and its planet. We have already had three checkout workers gravely injured by enraged Manxtse; this clearly has to stop.

  All employees are instructed to substitute “Have a good day,” “Thanks for shopping” or the Manxtse phrase “Hy Gu’Han Zhu’Fd” (pronounced “Hi Goo-Han Zoo-Fud,” which means “You honor me with your purchases”) and to avoid “Have a nice day” at all costs. In the event that you inadvertently say “Have a nice day” to a Manxtse, you are directed to immediately cease all previous activity, lie on the floor as quickly as possible, and scream “H’ Dughe’Han” (“I abase myself!”) as loudly and as frequently as you can. A supervisor will then come to your location and attempt to soothe the Manxtse. This will typically be accomplished by providing the Manxtse with free shopping, although in rare cases the Manxtse may demand that the supervisor discipline you in accordance to Manxtse custom.

  If so, you may be required to lie still on the ground while the supervisor grips your throat with his or her teeth and growls, thus establishing his or her dominance and assuring a public acknowledgement of your humiliation. Please be understanding of your supervisor’s position during this activity (however, if your supervisor attempts this activity under any other circumstance, please report him or her to his or her immediate superiors). Note that if the Manxtse chooses to receive free shopping instead, your paycheck will be docked a percentage of the total bill. So it is in your interest not to say “Have a nice day” ever again.

  Thank you for your efforts to ensure that all our customers, human and Manxtse alike, enjoy their FoodMaster shopping experience! The final result of your hard work will be a better workplace—and a better universe—for all of us.

  Sincerely,

  Jan Goodwin, VP of Public Relations

  FoodMaster Supermarkets

  This piece was written in 2012 as a reading on my tour to promote Redshirts, my novel about doomed crewmen on starships. At each stop on the tour I would have a friend or audience member read this piece with me; when I stopped in Burbank, the friend who read it with me was Wil Wheaton, which for many reasons is quite amusing. The performance is on YouTube if you want to look for it. Redshirts went on be a bestseller and a Hugo winner, so that’s nice for me.

  To Sue the World

  Q:Please state your name and occupation.

  A:I am Brandon Smith, a partner at the law firm of Koenig, Nichols and Montablan. I specialize in employment and workplace law.

  Q:And what is it that you are planning to do?

  A:I am filing a class action suit against the Space Fleet of the Universal Union, on behalf of the crews of its ships. Specifically I am alleging that the Universal Union not only allows gross and egregious violations of basic workplace safety laws and regulations, it actually encourages them, leading to the deaths and, possibly even worse, the almost horribly creative injuries, of its junior officers and crews.

  Q:These are bold allegations, sir.

  A:Are they? Let me ask you, do you know how often a junior officer or crew member is maimed and/or killed in the service of the Universal Union?

  Q:Two times a day? Three? Five?

  A:Every seven seconds.

  Q:Every seven seconds?

  A:Yes! Think about that. Right now, while we are speaking, some crew member of some Universal Union spaceship is being chewed on by a space badger. (Pauses) And now one is sneezing herself into a coma by being exposed to alien pollen. (Pauses) And now one is falling down an open shaft on an engineering deck, into the antimatter engines.

  Q:That’s troubling.

  A:It’s a festival of death! Now one is having its brain sucked out by the evil robots of Antares Seven! What does a robot need with a human brain, I ask you? And who was the idiot who programmed them to be evil?

  Q:As horrible as these things are, it can be argued that life in the Space Fleet is inherently dangerous. It works in space. It goes to strange new worlds and such.

  A:All the more reason for basic workplace safety, don’t you think? Take those “strange new worlds” you speak of. The Space Fleet logs an away team visit to a new class C planet once a day. Once a day! And to land on that strange new world, what sort of specialized protective protocol does an away team member undergo? None. He heads down wearing a protective layer of breathable poly-cotton blends. It would be as if, to land on the moon, Neil Armstrong wore a polo shirt and khakis.

  Q:To be fair, the moon is an airless world and Neil Armstrong would have had his lungs sucked out through his trachea.

  A:Yes, and when I visit Ecuador, I go and get a shot so I don’t get infected by a malaria-carrying mosquito. My point is that Space Fleet takes fewer precautions to visit an entire new planet, filled with unknown microbes and parasitic flatworms, than I take when I go on a parasailing vacation. And you don’t actually need to leave the ship to be in danger! Do you know what is the second leading cause of serious burns on a Universal Union Space Fleet ship?

  Q:I do not.

  A:Exploding instrument panels. Ship hit by a hostile missile? Instrument panel explodes. Rough ride through a proton nebula? Instrument panel explodes! Trying to make tea in a Universal Union Space Fleet microwave? Instrument panel explodes! When was the last time your microwave at home exploded into a shower of sparks? Do you fear losing a finger when you make popcorn in it? No, because at home, someone designed your microwave not to randomly erupt into shrapnel. I know building a spaceship is expensive, but even the lowest bidder should be able to afford fuses.

  Q:Out of curiosity, what’s the number one cause of serious burns on a Universal Union space fleet ship?

  A:That’s the Space Fleet’s annual amateur Hawaiian fire-dancing competition. That’s entirely opt-in and voluntary. We’re not suing over that.

  Q:Got it.

  A:We also have troubling accounts of labor law violation within the Space Fleet. There’s one ship—I won’t mention which one until the suit is formally filed—where we have credible reports tha
t the captain is allowing a child, barely post-pubescent, to be part of his bridge crew. Now, honestly, how many different laws are you violating there? You’re violating almost every single child labor law we have on the books, of course, but beyond that, what sort of idiot trusts a thirteen-year-old with a multi-billion dollar space ship? That kid can’t even get a learner’s permit to drive a car. And of course while the kid is careening through the galaxy, sideswiping asteriods or whatever, every other member of the crew is at his mercy.

  Q:These could be the actions of a rogue, insane starship commander, however.

  A:That’s my point! It’s not! Time after time, ship after ship, we’re seeing a distinct pattern of neglect of simple, basic workplace safety. Seat belts! Invented in the 19th century. You won’t find a single one anywhere in Space Fleet. And they tell you, well, since we invented the internal restraint force field, we don’t need those anymore. But you know what, when your spaceship hits a dwarf planet because a distracted thirteen-year-old is piloting, and then his instrument panel explodes causing a failure in the internal restraint force field, you’re going to wish you had a friggin’ seat belt.

  Q:It’s a compelling argument.

  A:That’s what we’re going to tell the judge, yes.

  Q:What will you be suing for?

  A:We want nothing more than a just and adequate sum for the pain and suffering of these long-endangered crew members, and the care of their unfortunate widowed spouses and orphans.

  Q:And how much would that be?

  A:Thirty-seven quadrillion dollars.

  Q:That seems like a lot.

  A:It’s no more than what is fair.

  Q:I feel compelled to note that the entire Universal Union GDP is only 1.4 quadrillion dollars.

  A:I’m afraid I don’t see your point.

  Q:My point is you’re asking for 26 times the worth of an entire galactic culture in compensation for exploding instrument panels.