The First Mann on Mars

©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson

THE STORY SO FAR…

Moronic Billionaut Derek Mann, along with his snarky, silver AI sidekick Barry Wilkinson, have been rescued from an ugly, dangerous spaceship and have now landed on Mars. Back on Earth, things have gone predictably wrong—most of Northern Europe has been obliterated after Derek’s genius friend Noel decided to crank the Large Hadron Collider up to eleven. The rest of the planet is now enjoying the charming chaos of a post-apocalyptic era. Meanwhile, Derek and Barry have discovered that Mars is far from a barren dustbowl…

Chapter Six: Colour-Coded

Doreen steered Derek and Barry over to a large, slightly lopsided building with a sign on it that read, in hopeful, half-lit letters: “IMMIGRATION” and “WELCOME!”

“I have to say,” Derek began as they approached the structure, “this is all… well, a bit of a surprise.”

“Which bit?” asked Doreen.

“Well,” sighed Derek, “all of it! First, we’re rescued from a big green spaceship…”

“Venusians,” Doreen interjected.

“Gezundheit!” said Derek.

“No, dear, Venusians,” she repeated, “they used to be friendly, but they had a bit of a political shift. Now they want to take over the galaxy. They were such lovely people too. Green, you know, like a bunch of Squirveloijgs.”

“Squirveloijgs?” Derek responded, trying to act as though he’d heard the word before in any other context.

“Oh yes,” said Doreen. “Then this awful little man took over. He's started a movement called MVGA!”

“Make Venus Great Again?” Barry ventured, with the kind of wary concern one has when knowing precisely where this sort of thing goes.

“No, Green Again, love. Apparently, he's all about ‘preserving the original Venusian color,’ or some such nonsense. He says he's going to build a force field around the whole planet to keep the ‘space riffraff’ out. Drives around in a little flying chair.”

“Like the Mekon!” Derek said brightly, recalling a childhood comic. “Remember him? Had a little flying chair because he had an enormous head and a tiny body, on account of all the brain power.”

“Exactly like that,” Doreen agreed, “only precisely the opposite. Tiny head, miniscule brain, enormous body. It’s quite sad, really. Used to be such a nice planet.”

“Couldn’t Earth have helped in some way?” Barry inquired, spreading his silver arms to gesture at the lush Martian landscape. “Why was all this kept secret from us?”

“Oh, well,” Doreen said, clearing her throat in a way that suggested she was about to be diplomatic, “present company excluded, of course… but, you see, Earth has always had a bit of a Conquistador-ey reputation. You turn up, pop a flag in something, and suddenly declare it yours. Then someone else from Earth shows up, sticks their flag in, and you all have a scrap over it. Meanwhile, the locals—if they aren’t, you know, conveniently all murdered—get the short end of the stick. When it comes to Earth, we generally use two words…”

“Oh, I know this one!” Derek interrupted excitedly, “It’s Mostly Harmless!”

Doreen chuckled. “Oh, not quite, love. It’s actually, Best Avoided.”

“Fair enough,” said Derek, nodding amiably.

Barry shrugged as if “Best Avoided” were really just a matter of opinion, and they trundled onward toward Immigration. The building was even more chaotic on the inside, filled with an assortment of multi-coloured beings, all in varying stages of bemused irritation.

“Right,” said Doreen, “just stand in this queue here, don’t fidget, and try to look like you haven’t just come from a planet where you blow everything up for fun.”

They joined the queue, surrounded by aliens of every hue, all shuffling forward with the same mild anxiety one feels at the passport desk.

As they moved forward inch by inch, Derek leaned toward Barry and whispered, “What do you reckon—think they’ll let us in?”

Barry tilted his silver head thoughtfully. "Yes, as long as no one asks you any basic questions about galactic geography, elementary physics, or common social etiquette, we should have an excellent chance."

The queue inched forward.

Derek, not one for silence, nudged Doreen. “So, where do all these people come from?”

Doreen beamed, delighted at the opportunity to clarify the cosmos in a single afternoon. “Ah, yes! Well, you see, every colour here indicates a different planet. For instance, the red folk—like myself—are from Mars.”

It might be worth mentioning that Doreen, while entirely humanoid in shape and demeanor, was indeed a rather vibrant shade of crimson, the sort you’d normally associate with ripe tomatoes or an alarming medical chart.

“You’ve already met the Venusians—green, generally friendly except when they’re trying to conquer the galaxy.”

She pointed across the room to a group of humanoid figures, each shimmering in varying shades of purple. “Those ones over there are from Neptune.”

“Neptune. Purple. Got it.” Derek nodded with the slight satisfaction of someone relieved that the galaxy was colour-coded.

Doreen continued, gesturing to yet another group, this one arrayed in shimmering shades of cobalt blue. “And those blue ones there are from Mercury.”

“Mercury. Blue. Easy.”

“Now, see the elegant yellow ladies over there? Jupiter.”

“Yellow, Jupiter. Check.” Derek grinned as though he’d cracked some universal secret. Colour-coded planets, really, he could get behind that.

“And those orange gentlemen? Saturn,” Doreen said with a knowing nod, pointing at a group of towering, tangerine-coloured fellows who looked as though they might double as polite if slightly imposing traffic cones.

“Saturn, orange. Perfect.” Derek was feeling rather pleased with himself.

He spotted another group.

“And where are the brown people from?” he asked, pointing discreetly.

 “They’re from Uranus.”

END OF CHAPTER SIX

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