“Do you need any help getting undressed?” I asked.
“No, I can manage,” said Martin. “It’s only pain.”
My friend was a stoic—a common philosophy for police officers and ex-military personnel. Martin needed time to lick his wounds—no, cancel that—poor choice of words. He needed time to recuperate and recharge his batteries. I made sure his phone was in easy reach on the side of the tub and left him to his recovery.
“Keep me posted on what Poly and Chit find out, please,” said Martin as the door to his suite was closing behind me.
“Will do,” I said, but I don’t think he heard me.
I was sure my friend would have his usual macho moxie back by morning. It pleased me that he didn’t need to mention I should keep the details of his accident to myself. He knew his tough guy mystique was safe with me.
Chapter 19
“Nazis. I hate these guys.”
— Indiana Jones
The penthouse suite was empty when I returned. I didn’t expect Poly to be back yet—it would take her just under an hour to get to Boulder City and the same to return. I’d be surprised if she was here by two. I hung my sport coat in the closet and put my pants, shirt and underwear in an RFID-enabled laundry bag provided by the hotel. Robo-maids would pick it up tomorrow morning and have my clean clothes back to me before dinner. The air felt good on my exposed epidermis as I made my way into the bathroom and filled the spa tub with deliciously warm water. I climbed in and slid down until only my forehead and nostrils were above the surface. Once covered, I turned on the jets with my left foot and felt the currents and bubbles massage my muscles and stimulate my knee joints. It felt great to change the painful pins and needles feeling into gentle tingling.
My phone was standing on the sink nearby, using a toothbrush and toothpaste that came with the suite to scrub its mutacase. It told me it would soon be submerging itself in a sink full of hot water as a final rinse and I promised it I would remove it when I got out of the tub, which wouldn’t be soon.
The day had been non-stop, what with dirigible chases, climbing down an Eiffel Tower replica, and chasing Cornell while hanging on to the roof of a speeding monorail. Today’s psychological toll had been exhausting, as well. Reading Poly’s mind, telling her the story of how I’d been duped by the first woman I’d ever loved, almost making love with Poly, and then seeing Rosalind again after so many years really wore me out. I’d have to be careful not to fall asleep in the spa. I’d not only get all wrinkly, I might drown.
The warm, gently jetting water and the white noise from the bubbles helped my brain downshift and my body reknit the raveled sleeve of care that had unknotted six or eight inches of stitches in the past twenty-four hours. I’m not good at turning off my brain, but unwound enough to let my thoughts wander as I savored how nice it had felt to be in bed with Poly.
Sadly, every time my mind went down that pleasant path it was distracted by memories of Terrhi pounding on our door just before a consummation devoutly to be wished. I tried free-associating about the kidnapped corporate bigwigs instead.
It would take a massive, well-coordinated operation to abduct hundreds of CEOs and hide them somewhere incommunicado. The kidnappers wouldn’t want to risk teleporting that many people—too much risk of permanent brain damage—so they were probably still in the Las Vegas area.
What would it take to pull off something on that scale? Major gangs and the largest organized crime families could handle it. So could multinationals big enough to hire an army of moderately competent “consultants.” There were plenty of trigger happy, disaffected, and unemployed former police officers across the country after the bad apples were terminated in the late twenty-teens to provide a ready pool of labor. Most of them were still in their forties. Add to that a bunch of wannabe soldiers from the Earth First Militants and obtaining the necessary bodies would be easy. The planning and resources—financial and logistical—would be more challenging and should limit the pool of possible candidates.
GalCon Systems could do it. Ditto for Chapultepec & Castle, IBM-EMC, CiscoSiemens, the Sirocco Legislature Network and Khufu, Limited, along with a hundred others. VIGorish Labs had gotten far down the path before we stopped them.
Something was nagging at the back of my head. VIGorish Labs had recently been acquired by EUA Corporation. Chapultepec & Castle was a long-time EUA subsidiary. O’Sullivan Engineering and Factor-E-Flor were both controlled by EUA Corporation if you followed the chain of ownership up enough links. The James K. Polk Group and Gran Palo Realty were both owned by EUA.
EUA Corporation could pull off an operation like this out of petty cash—or get one of their subsidiaries, like Chapultepec & Castle—to do it for them.
The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that EUA was the big, bad bogeyman behind everything that had happened over the past two months. Like a submarine coming to the surface, I slowly lifted my head until the water was only up to my neck. EUA was secretive—nobody knew who controlled it. Evidence indicated that it was also evil—in the James Bond villain sense of the term—with its goal being total galactic domination. Thinking back to my favorite Indiana Jones movies, EUA companies were the Nazis of the piece.
I hated to invoke Godwin’s Law—the one that says once you bring Nazis into it, any discussion on the net is effectively over—but it did seem to fit the present situation. It also reminded me that my time in the tub should be over if I didn’t want to turn into a dried plum.
I stood, grabbed a conveniently positioned bath towel, and rubbed its absorbent surface across my back. I stuck my hand into the now cold water in the sink and pulled out my phone. It shook itself with the energy of an adult Dauushan hopped up on grajja, sending drops of liquid from one end of the room to the other. I blocked some of them with my towel, but effectively had to start over patting myself dry.
“Watch it,” I said. “Can’t you be a little more careful?”
“Sorry,” it replied contritely. “Must have been stuck on vibrate mode.”
I moved my head left and right in resignation, realizing there wasn’t much I could do about it now.
“Hey,” I said. “Do you have any idea what the first three letters in the name of EUA Corporation stand for?”
“Accessing…” said my phone. “Searching…”
I started humming the Jeopardy! Theme. My phone made a rude beeping sound, which I ignored. Then it dinged.
“Well?”
“Nothing,” it said. “There’s no back story. No founder named Eowyn Undomiel Androscoggin or Elmer Ulysses Aberystwyth, Jr. There is a pattern of supporting Earth First Militant causes, but only through lots of layers of cutout organizations.”
“If there’s nothing explicit,” I said, “Do you have any guesses?”
“Given the Earth First Militant connection, maybe the first letter stands for Earth?”
“Hmmmm…” I thought for a few seconds. “That makes sense. Earth’s United Army? Earth Unity Alliance? Earth Underwear Association?”
“EUA is a diverse corporate entity,” said my phone, “but no investments in underwear manufacturers can be located.”
“Scratch that, then,” I said.
“Scratching underwear,” said my phone.
I tried not to laugh—it would only be taken as encouragement.
“Any other ideas?”
For some unfathomable reason I started humming a song I couldn’t place while my phone searched.
“Tomorrow Belongs to Me?” asked my phone.
“It does?”
“No, that’s what you were humming. It’s from Cabaret.”
That’s what I get for thinking about Nazis earlier.
“Just my brain playing tricks on me,” I said. “No big deal.”
My phone started humming a song
I recognized from Gloria Monday, the 2025 Broadway hit musical about a woman revivalist preacher in the late eighteen-hundreds. I sang along.
“Glorious things of Thee are spoken, Zion, city of our God…”
“No,” said my phone. “The other words.”
“Other words?”
My brain did a sideways segue, reinvoking Godwin’s Law. Nazis.
“Deutschland, Deutschland über alles…” sang my phone.
“Not Deutschland,” I said. “Earth. Earth Über Alles.”
“Bingo,” said my phone.
EUA Corporation wasn’t just funding Earth First Militant organizations—it was the Earth First Militant organization.
“They’re hiding in plain sight,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Not hiding—Haydn,” said my phone. “The song was composed by Franz Joseph Hayden in 1797 as an anthem for the Holy Roman Emperor’s birthday. The Deutschland über alles lyrics are from 1841.”
I sighed. That one was a stretch, even for my phone. Still, I couldn’t wait to tell Poly what we’d figured out. Unfortunately, it would have to wait. She wasn’t back yet. I resisted an impulse to call her—I didn’t want to interrupt in case her expedition with Chit to find Cornell was in a particularly sensitive stage. Despite the brief flood of adrenaline after figuring out EUA’s meaning, I was still dog tired. I couldn’t even summon up a half-hearted woof! My warm soak had relaxed me enough so that I should be able to sleep—and needed to. I hung up my towel on a hook by the shower and went into the bedroom. The suite’s A.I. had pre-heated the mattress pad so my side of the bed was warm—almost as warm as if Poly had been there—and I would soon be out.
As I drifted off, I hoped that Poly would be bringing me sweet dreams, instead of Rosalind giving me nightmares.
Chapter 20
“I don’t find I’m manic at all. I’m very chill.”
— Kirsten Dunst
Time passed—for the physical universe, if not for my unconscious brain. I sensed someone getting into the other side of the bed, though king-sized beds are so wide, whoever it was could have been back in Atlanta for all I could tell.
I tried saying “Everything okay?” but expect it came out as something sleepy and slurred, like “Tingkay?”
I tried again.
“Poly?”
“No, it’s Rosalind. We can talk in the morning.”
I must have been really tired, because I didn’t wake up. I didn’t even react. Whatever name she was claiming, the other person had Poly’s voice, and that was good enough for me.
A minute later, I felt a warm back press against mine and cold feet on my calves. All was right with the world.
* * * * *
When I woke up, the morning sun was coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows in a diffuse shower of light. I could see tiny motes of dust dancing in the sunbeams and finally felt rested. Poly was still curled up against me, breathing softly.
“Sunrise was at 5:35 a.m., Pacific Daylight Saving Time,” whispered my phone from the bedside table. “The current time is 9:49 a.m. You’ve been asleep for approximately seven and a half hours.”
“Thanks.”
That was too much detail this early in the morning, even though it was lunch time back in Atlanta.
I got out of bed, taking care not to wake Poly. My phone started to tell me something, but it stopped when I put my finger to my lips and moved my chin twice in the direction of the bathroom. My phone jumped down and followed me there. I was glad I didn’t have a shy bladder because it stood near the porcelain throne tapping its pseudopods impatiently as I saw to biological necessities.
“What’s so blasted important?” I said, sotto voce.
“Shepherd called and asked for an update on Roxanne Sylvia Veronica Petrovsky,” said my phone. “He wants it right away.”
“He can have the 411 on RSVP PDQ when I’m done in the WC,” I said, proud of myself for pulling a sentence like that together before a shower or a Starbuzz.
“He sounded urgent and said he had news for you, too.”
“Can it wait ten minutes?”
“His call was at 5:37 this morning. That’s over four hours ago.”
“I can still do basic math,” I said. “Did you tell him I was asleep?”
“Yes. He was quite insistent.”
“Why didn’t he call Martin?”
“He said Martin’s phone wasn’t accepting calls and no one answered when he knocked on Martin’s door.”
“Given the state Martin was in last night, I’m not surprised he didn’t answer his door.”
“Nevada?”
That did it. I’d have to take my phone to an Open Mic Night at a comedy club, right after we rescued all the big shots.
“Did you hear everything I told Martin last night once I’d pulled you out of the pitcher of margaritas?”
“Si Señor!”
“Great.”
I knew my phone hadn’t heard any of my private conversation with Rosalind.
“Send Shepherd a summary and tell him Poly and I will be in touch when we’re both conscious.”
My phone made a few bleep and bloop sounds I think he stole from R2-D2.
“Done. Shepherd says he wants to meet in the Waffle House downstairs at noon to debrief.”
“There’s a Waffle House in the hotel?” I asked. Then I stopped and answered my own question.
Of course there’s a Waffle House. Roger Joe-Bob Bacon is a major franchisee and he owns the hotel.
“Fine,” I said, in a tone that indicated it wasn’t fine at all. Poly wasn’t going to like this.
“Shepherd said he’s reserved a table for ten,” said my phone.
I didn’t know what made me more surprised—that there was a Waffle House that took reservations or that the one in the Grand Pyridian had tables for ten. At most of the locations in the chain you’d be hard-pressed to fit six into a booth. And why ten? The way I counted all parties involved, we were only up to nine, unless you counted Spike. Eight, if you factored in Chit not needing a full-sized chair. Who else would be coming?
I finished in the bathroom, washed my hands in hot water, and crawled back into bed next to Poly. She didn’t smell like herself, more like anesthetic ointment. I spooned her and put my arms around her, resting my warm hands on her stomach. It was a bit disconcerting to have her scream and kick me in the shins with both her heels.
“Sorry,” I said, rubbing my damaged legs. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea,” she said.
“Oh, I might.”
“Did you get hit with a sweetener at close range?” asked Poly.
“Uh huh.”
“Where?”
“Knees.”
“Ouch. I took a shot from Cornell right in the solar plexus.”
“Hurt much?”
“Like cramps from all seven circles of Hell. Like an adult Dauushan grinding his front foot into my abdomen. Like a zap from a Pâkk-planet cattle prod. Like a…”
“I get it,” I said, wondering how much it would have hurt if she hadn’t been wearing her pupa silk shirt.
I could have one-upped her by telling her about Martin, but wasn’t into that sort of competition and respected Martin too much to embarrass him. Given what he’d gone through, I’d be surprised if he showed up for our upcoming Waffle House lunch meeting.
“You’d better wash your hands,” said Poly. “They’ve got anesthetic ointment all over them.”
“Emergency room?” I asked.
“Twenty-four hour drug store.”
“Looks like Murphy’s really got our number,” I said, swinging my legs out of bed. “Let me draw you a nice warm bath. That helped me last night.”
“You’re a gentleman and a gem, Jack,” said Poly, leaning up stiffly to kiss me. I didn’t want her to cause herself pain by twisting her torso, so I put up my hand to block the kiss and Poly’s lips tasted the ointment all over my palm.
“Loox lyk Mmmmrrfvee’s re-lee godder numb’r,” repeated Poly through lips that suddenly weren’t working very well.
“I’ll help you get to the bathroom,” I said, by way of apology.
“No. Yuv-dunna-nuf. Jess runna baff.”
I retreated to turn on the water in the tub and resolved to stay out of Poly’s way for a while unless she asked for my help so she could start rebuilding her store of dignity points. Like me, her count was close to zero.
In a few minutes the water was ready and Poly did the same submarine act I’d done, except that she left her mouth as well as her nose above the water level. I turned on the jets and bubbles so she didn’t have to.
“Hank-hugh Jaak.”
“You’re welcome. Where’s Chit?”
“Foe-hling Koh-nel.”
“Following Cornell?”
Poly nodded. I liked the way it made little ripples in the water. I also liked standing over Poly and enjoying what I could see through the foam.
“So your evening was actually productive?”
“Sodda.”
“Sort of?”
Another nod.
“Was he at the Big Dam Lodge?”
“Uh huh.”
“What happened?”
“Gimmefo.”
“Give you my phone?”
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 16
