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    The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail
    The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail
    The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail
    Ebook239 pages3 hours

    The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail

    By David J. Wighton

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    The focus of this book is on a public relations angel named Lillian who was hiding inside a gerbil body as part of a heavenly undercover operation. She was in this disguise so that she could watch a demon disguised as a human male. He called himself Goodefellow, which he thought was quite humorous because he was more of an evil-fellow. Goodefellow captured the gerbil which meant that he had also captured Lillian. He planned to angelnap her to Hell, something that was a major violation of the Heaven/Hell treaty.

    Lillian's afterlife depended on a messy, junk food eating, pun-spouting angel helping her to escape. For Arthur to succeed, he needed human help since Goodefellow has activated hellish security devices to ensure that nobody wearing white feathers could get near her. Guess who he turned to for help. This is where Winnie comes into the plot.

    In a separate operation, Paula was investigating the demons running Goodefellow's business. She decided to assist them in their devilish deeds by assuming a female body that she named Nympho Maniac. Paula thought that was quite humorous because ghosts can't have sex. That's one of the disadvantages of being dead. Paula and Winnie met just as Goodefellow was about to head to Hell with an unconscious angel. This was a big problem because Winnie wasn't supposed to be there. That's when the poisonous scorpion tail appeared.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid J. Wighton
    Release dateAug 11, 2019
    ISBN9780463347928
    The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail
    Author

    David J. Wighton

    David Wighton is a retired educator who enjoys writing youth novels when he's not on a basketball court coaching middle-school girls. The books in his Wilizy series peek at how people lived after the word's governments collapsed in the chaos that followed the catastrophic rise in ocean levels and the disappearance of the world's last deposits of oil. Luckily today, in the 2080s, the citizens of Alberta are safe because their It's Only Fair society uses brain-bands to zap people whenever they break a rule. That way, all children grow up knowing the difference between right and wrong. Unfortunately, they're also taught that women's ankles need to be covered so that men can't see them and turn into perverts. Plus, no-one in Alberta can have babies any more because the government manufactures them in a way that ensures that no child has an unfair advantage over any other child. All of this makes sense to Alberta's dictator, but not to Will and Izzy – two teenagers who are decidedly different from everyone else.Wighton's novels have strong teenage characters driving the plot and facing challenges that, in many respects, are no different from what teenagers face today. His novels are intended to entertain and readers will find adventure, romance, suspense, humour, a strong focus on family, plus a touch of whimsy. Wighton also writes to provoke a little thought about life in today's societies and what the future might bring. Teachers may find the series useful in the classroom and the novels are priced with that intent in mind.

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      Book preview

      The Tale of the Scorpion's Tail - David J. Wighton

      Chapter 1

      To refresh my readers' memories of what happened in the last book (Nice Birthday Party, Governor), let me repeat the closing paragraphs where the peaceful scene outside of the NORAD facility had changed dramatically with the arrival of the governor of Colorado in a white copter.

      ******************

      The sentries posted at the sides of the entrance saw a horde of copters landing and men with weapons charging towards the tunnel entrance. A man with a shotgun dropped to one knee, aimed, and pulled two triggers simultaneously. The white copter absorbed most of the pellets, but shuddered with the impact. It was now much more air conditioned than it had been before. The sentries at the gate had been well trained. As emergency sirens echoed throughout the tunnels, fire door after fire door closed automatically. All interior lights went dark and red emergency lighting took over.

      An authoritative voice boomed over the loudspeakers over the din. Quiet! We are now in Lockdown Level 4. Go to your stations.

      The din undinned. Lucas took charge of the Wilizy contingent locked inside the NORAD fortress.

      Maddy, leave the backpacks inside the copter, take the electronic pallet with you and go back to your hiding spot. Mac, help her. I'll be there soon.

      ...

      Lucas to Command Group: Acknowledge please.

      ...

      Lucas to Command Group: Acknowledge please.

      ...

      Lucas to Command Group: Acknowledge please.

      # # # # # # # #

      For the Wilizy outside the NORAD complex, realization that Mac, Lucas and Maddy were trapped inside came quickly. Those who were actively involved in the planning of the operation to bring justice to the governor also had a quick realization. They may have done this to themselves.

      Word had spread that Doc, Marie, Winnie, Lylah, and Lohla had found some very incriminating visual evidence that the governor was not the man that people thought he was. Some Wilizy knew that Doc and his group had followed the evidence about the governor's bank account to Sacramento, had deposited Gregg Popowich #3 into a holding cell in Denver, and had pictures of the governor in a birthday party with his Californian family. They were supposed to present that evidence this evening in Mile High Stadium. Why had they shown it so early? Didn't they know that Coloradoans would go bonkers?

      Doc answered for the group. Yes, they had known what was likely to happen. That's why they had planned for the disclosure to be at 7 pm. That's why Doc was walking around right now with the incriminating storage bot in his pocket. They hadn't released it early.

      Jock added a calming presence. The sentry hit the panic button as he was trained to do. NORAD won't keep their base closed indefinitely. They have no reason to. There's no real threat to the fortress from those citizens. Lucas will use this opportunity to explore the mountain fortress.

      # # # # # # # #

      With stress over the trio declining, the Wilizy's attention shifted to finding out exactly what had happened. Hank took the lead here along with Melissa. They found an entirely different storage bot of the birthday party inside the Mile High Stadium's media control room, and their own storage bot of fifty confessions had been tossed into a corner. A short time travel into the past later, they watched two men in dark suits kicking in the door of the media control room. Hank took pictures and distributed them to all Wilizy, but nobody had seen them before. Nobody thought that these two men were the deep state assassins hidden within our own government that the governor had alluded to because nobody believed anything the governor said.

      Efforts to find out more about these two men were unsuccessful. If the men did work for the government, the Wilizy would need their names to search the records. TiTr'g wouldn't help them with that. The names and banking information of the two men were available in the Swiss Group's customer records and Sandy had actually talked to them. But the Wilizy didn't know that. They had no reason to ask Sandy if she could identify a certain two men kicking in a stadium door.

      Cowboy had no legitimate reason to hold Greg Popovich #3 under protective custody and had to release him. He did tell GP#3 about the governor's frantic flight to Colorado Springs and why that had been necessary. GP#3 simply shrugged and left the cell free as a bird.

      As to Lucas' attempts to make contact with the outside world? He didn't succeed. He found a safe place in the bottom level of the fortress for the trio to hide and then began exploring just as Jock had predicted he would.

      Back to the Table of Contents

      Chapter 2

      It was now the third day of the standoff in front of NORAD's mountain. The tent city of angry Coloradoans was growing in size, but not in combativeness. Shotguns and rifles don't have much effect on mountains.

      Back in Sacramento, a loving couple was arm in arm, looking at a double murder scene. Granted, double murder scenes weren't normally accompanied by lovey-dovey endearments. But this double murder scene outside a care facility was special. Plus, a full moon was hanging in the sky. What could be better for romantic endearments?

      We can be together now, she said.

      I've been waiting a long time for you to be free, Frick said.

      You know the governor didn't mean anything to me. It was always you.

      I know. I wanted to see you more often but sneaking around behind the governor's back was always difficult. Plus, Frack was nosing around a lot. Frick pointed at one of the men lying on the ground to indicate the nosey partner. He was the one that she had shot in the back. The other man lying on the ground was related to a famous basketball coach. The lovey-dovey man had shot him from the shadows. That's what assassins do.

      Alejandro is your son, you know.

      I wondered about that. He's beginning to look like me. But, he also looks a little like him.

      Your partner and I fooled around a little, but only so that he wouldn't be suspicious. He knew you and I were sleeping together. It was better for me to appear as a loose woman so that you and I could eventually be together.

      What should we do about the murder scene? They're supposed to have shot each other.

      I have a friend who will fix it.

      And Popovich's death certificate?

      He'll fix that too.

      I'll miss Frack. We were an assassin team for a long time.

      But now, you and I will be together and we'll be rich.

      I won't miss him all that much.

      He's in a better place now.

      # # # # # # # #

      "He's in a better place now."

      Words normally heard after a death. Intended as solace. Assuming, of course, that the one who had passed was ascending to Heaven, which for Frack and Governor Elway was not going to happen.

      However, what if Heaven didn't turn out to be the better place mortals thought it was?

      Mortals assumed that an afterlife in Heaven would mean an afterlife of leisure and eternal happiness. But how could that be possible when Heaven was embroiled in a titanic battle with Hell for human souls? Granted, souls who arrived in Heaven weren't placed onto the front lines of the battle. At least not immediately. Guardian angels who were entrusted with the life and well-being of humans placed under their protection were the epitome of the species. So, did that mean that incoming souls would spend their afterlives lazing on cloudbanks and enjoying the view?

      Not likely. Consider the services that incoming souls received in just their first week: the fittings for their customized angelic bodies, the orientation lessons, the guided tours, the flying lessons, and the introductions to their work assignment. Work assignment? In Heaven?

      That's right. Their work assignment. Someone had to photocopy and package the personal copies of the 379 volumes of the Heavenly Protocols that were distributed in the orientation sessions. How else could novices learn the do's and do not’s that governed angelic behavior? Someone had to whip flabby mortal muscles into shape. How else would novice angels become strong enough to stay on their personally assigned flight paths when they commuted from their aeries into Heaven's downtown core?

      Moreover, while New Soul Integration Angels (NSIAs) were dealing with a constant stream of mortal souls, Prayer Angels (PAs) were processing the thousands of prayers that came in daily, Piety Transit Angels (PTAs) were operating the shuttle flights to Earth, and Personal Hygiene Support Service Angels (PHSSAs) were cleaning their customer's feathers in the Preen, Fluff and Snip Shops.

      There were thousands of duties to be performed, millions of details to be considered, billions of things that could go wrong and needed fixing. All angels had to pull their weight.

      Any vast organization like Heaven had to be run in an organized fashion. Otherwise, there'd be chaos and that would make Heaven into Hell, wouldn't it?

      On Earth, there was only one way that vast organizations could be controlled and steered in a productive manner. By a bureaucracy.

      Heaven's bureaucracy was known as the halocracy. But, you already knew that.

      Back to the Table of Contents

      Chapter 3

      By the fifth day of the siege, the top brass in the NORAD underground base had become tired of having the soon-to-be ex-Colorado governor harassing them to clean out the citizens protesting outside. So, a NORAD copter carrying the governor made a quick ascent high into the air while three other NORAD copters made fake strafing runs on the residents of tent city. All four copters then took the governor to his preferred destination for his exile. That destination was Sacramento, California. No private copters followed. On his instructions, they dropped the governor in front of a private residence and left. By the time the NORAD copters had returned to Colorado, the citizens had dispersed peacefully. Shortly after that, the fortress doors were opened and the base started functioning normally. Meanwhile...

      # # # # # # # #

      A guardian angel was staring despondently at the battle gray dividers defining the illusory walls of his tiny office cubicle. His recent promotion to a single halo position in Heaven's elite Flying Force meant that this would be the first time that he would experience Heaven's budget year-end. He could hear the clangs, clatters, and clanks of assorted calculating devices as frenzied angels around him tried to balance their budgets. Click, click, pause, … muffled curse; click, click, pause, … muffled curse.

      While the angel remained immobile, his beleaguered angeleagues grappled with perverse columns of figures that wouldn't balance, wrestled with innumerable triplicate reports that had to be meticulously proofed, rooted through overburdened desk drawers and sagging piles of personal papers for missing receipts, and embarked blearily on quixotic quests for any underspent project which could provide wriggle room. It was March 28, three days before budget year-end, and Hell had come to Heaven.

      With Earth's current life styles, there were increasingly more demons to do Hell's work than there were guardian angels to combat them. This meant bigger caseloads with fewer resources. Most angels tried to follow the Resource Control Commission's stringent budgets. This particular angel had focused his energies on doing an effective job instead, naively believing that all he needed was some creativity and imagination in his budget reporting. The strategy had worked until his creativity had abruptly run dry. Arthur leaned over his desk, steepled his hands under his chin, and was trying to ignore the bustle around him when a loud buzzer demanded his attention.

      # # # # # # # #

      Excerpt from Arthur's journal, Friday, March 25, 2090.

      The clamoring of the reverberating klaxon interrupted my train of thought. Not much of a train really - more like an empty boxcar stranded on a siding. I obediently began the physical exertions required by the Department of Health and Safety. With so much angelic time now being spent in front of computers, there had been a growing toll on wrist and shoulder joints. Exercises were supposed to alleviate those vexations and the obstreperous buzzer mandated the calisthenical cure which, in my view, was worse than the disease.

      When my breathing became labored, I realized that my body was trying to tell me something. It would have been rude not to stop to listen. Most angels measure 7 to 8 feet from sandals to fore feathers. So, as I leaned on the back of my chair listening intently to my body, I caught glimpses of my energized neighbors over the top of the 6-foot high cubicle dividers.

      Across the corridor, Clarice's head bobbed up and down - deep knee bends apparently. The intra-bob interval suggested that they weren't particularly deep. A compatriot in crime? In front of me, the back of Gordo's head was a metronome as it sketched a semi circle just above the cubicle wall - his outstretched hands and wing tips oscillating in a larger arc. Hmmm. Those would be the sideways stretches. I didn't have to turn around to know what Wally was doing. I could hear his feet pounding away on the seat cushion that he habitually put down on the carpet. I believe the exercise is called 'Wheezing on the Spot'.

      Satisfied that I was being ignored, I extended my wings above the cubicle walls and started the only exercise that I enjoyed. My 5-foot, 8-inch frame was concealed behind my walls, so the only thing any busybody might see were my wings flapping gently in what could be construed as a stretching exercise. In fact, the purpose of the exercise was to deliver fresh air into my cubicle. I turned my head to receive the full benefit of the cooling breeze. I would have to be more careful about my exercise regimen in the future. I had almost broken into a sweat.

      It's not that I'm a slacker by nature. My… well there's no other way of putting this … roly-poly frame is not built for exercising and it's been difficult to find the initiative to be physically fit. After all, what's the worst that could happen to me? Fear of death isn't much of a deterrent when you're already dead.

      Physical activities during off-hours are only 'encouraged' in Heaven and so I ignore them. There are so many other things that I want to do. Most of the time, I stay on Earth to work on my caseload. I don't think of it as work but rather as a constant, stimulating intellectual challenge. My heavenly work only became enjoyable after I had been promoted to the rank of a guardian angel last year and assigned to operate in the Flying Force.

      If you ever get to heaven, let me encourage you to set your fore feathers for the Flying Force. The recruiters will tell you that you'll be one of the 'elite members of the Guardian Angel Airborne Division who are parachuted into emergent situations to resolve crises.' Actually, most of that is PR hyperbole. We use sky trains to travel to Earth and all angels are, of course, airborne.

      The Flying Force was created to infiltrate human society, identify the demons causing long-standing problems, and neutralize them. I had found this exhilarating compared to conventional guardian angel duties - trudging along behind my assigned humans and trying to keep them safe from harm and demonic devilment. Flying Force assignments offer more responsibility and independence. We can solve mortal problems rather than always react to them, and we get to go halo to horn with the demons from Hell. I love my work! But that pleasure carried a price and it was almost time to pay it.

      The clamor of the klaxon, a rustling of wing feathers, and sighs as bodies were returned to their sitting positions signaled the conclusion of the exercises for angels who weren't busy listening to their bodies. I glanced around me to see if my premature parole from the prescribed physique preserving prison had been perceived. I hadn't been found out, but a scan of my immediate surroundings revealed that my chances for a commendation for a neat and orderly cubicle had evaporated again. I didn't care about the messiness of my cubicle - I was rarely in it. Now, even my own nonchalant assessment concluded that a pick up was in order. I was tempted to wait until the next bout of exercises where I could do it as part of the terrible toe touching torture, but tiredly tossed that tantalizing thought.

      Yellow post-it notes from my cubicle dividers were scattered willy-nilly over the floor by my exercises. As soon as I left my cubicle, at least a half dozen of the

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