by MIHALY CSIKSZENTMIHALYI, Alternate Reality News Service Interstellar Travel Writer
The Fendelbraughten of Altair III make odd retirees: they look like nine foot tall Inukshuks in metallic Hawaiian shirts and fire-retardant flip-flops.
“The Fendelbraughten are no different from other retirees,” stated Philomena Dredd II-Wright. “They just want to laze around the lava pit, sipping Mai Tais and wondering if they have a chance with the rock formation behind the bar.”
Dredd II-Wright is the owner/operator/chief quartz filleter of Grrrrrak Murrrraaakaak Fark Fark Aaaaaak (The You Should Be Ashamed Of Not Giving Your Life For Your Corporate Overlords Retirement Home). “Yeah, they have a…kind of…aggressive corporate culture,” Dredd II-Wright commented. “Still, enough of them survive to make running the GMFFA profitable, so…”
The retirement home was once called Florida. It is part of a chain of resorts for aliens that were established on Earth after human beings abandoned the increasingly unbearably hot planet (during the time known as The Abandonment). The resorts are run by human beings who stayed behind while the rest of humanity traveled to the stars (known colloquially as The Stay Behinders), from inside the Luna City dome on the moon.
Trust humanity to find a way to make global climate change (sometimes referred to as Global Warming) generate revenue (not known by anyone as No Lame Redundant Nomenclature Required – although it is, oddly enough, the name of the GMFFA house band).
Earth is still a little cool for Fendelbraughten – it’s only 240 degrees Fahrenheit in December, but, “a little creative marketing, here, judicious use of volume incentives, there, and we’re the fourth most popular retirement spot for Fendelbraughtens in this quadrant of the galaxy!” Dredd II-Wright gushed.
Besides, she added, the globe is still warming, “so it’s only a matter of time before we hit the Fendelbraughtens’ soft spot! I’m so looking forward to the day when I can say, ‘In your face, Regulon VII in the Pleiades star cluster – we’re number one! We’re number one!'”
“The Fendelbraughten?” commented laconic Luna City Chief of Police Schmidt Caliphant. “Aww, they’re okay, I guess, considering they come from a race of bloodthirsty corporate warriors.”
Caliphant’s job is to keep the peace in the retirement home. He does this by using sensitive seismographic satellite equipment to determine when fights between the rock people are starting. He then uses satellite imaging to determine where the disturbance is taking place and satellite-based lasers to separate the combatants.
“It ain’t exactly always pin-point accurate,” Caliphant admitted. “Still, the Fendelbraughten? They can afford to lose the occasional limb. They…they don’t feel pain the way human beings understand it.”
“Yeeeeaaaah, that doesn’t work as well as you might think,” Dredd II-Wright stated. “I’ve had complaints from families of the retirees that their elders have been known to be interrupted by lasers when they were…umm…you know…having relations.”
“That can be a problem,” agreed Caliphant. “Have you ever seen four Fendelbraughten having sex? It’s like watching hills repeatedly slam together from a variety of angles.” Still, he continued, he was consulting with rock scientists, rock stars and a third generation clone of Doctor Ruth, and he was confident that they would find a solution to this problem.
“They better,” Dredd II-Wright muttered. “Just because they’ve retired doesn’t mean that they’re retiring, if you know what I mean.” When I said that I couldn’t be sure what she meant, she lowered her voice and added, “They screw like rabbits. Ten foot tall rabbits carved out of granite, but still. It gives a whole new meaning to he question, ‘Did the Earth move for you?’ If this is what old people on their planet are like…!”
Oh. Not retiring. I get it.
“My [colloquial term for mates] and I weren’t ready for [colloquial term for forced early retirement],” Fendelbraughten Arrrrrghs Getarrghsen told me via satellite link through a human translator. “But, the [untranslatable] [colloquial term for corporate overlord] took my [work rock?] from me, so we found ourselves in this [untranslatable] place.”
Arrrrrghs Getarrghsen admitted that retirement wasn’t so bad, except for the [untranslatable] cold nights, which often made the [silver veins] in its extremities tingle [in a most unpleasant manner].
I wanted to ask Arrrrrghs Getarrghsen’s [colloquial term for mates] how they were adjusting to life in the retirement home, but the translator had to gargle for several minutes to soothe her voice.