Xenotech General Mayhem: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 4)

by Dave Schroeder

  Max didn’t so much enter the room as bounce into it with Sally trailing behind. The two of them were hopping as if they were skipping invisible jump ropes and reciting, “Gik-lo, I-o, Rik-o, Gis-so,” in high singsong voices. Poly, Rosalind and I laughed. We recognized the rhyme from an old Fritz Lieber story where super-intelligent children used four equations from Einstein’s generalized theory of gravitation to help keep the beat. I smiled at Sally appreciatively, continuing to be pleased she and Cornell and Rosalind were bringing my son up right.

  Speaking of right, Max ran right at me once he saw me and nearly caused me to drop an open container of hot and sour matzo ball soup when he collided with my leg at high speed.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said, putting the soup down and picking up my son. “Did you and Sally have fun while your mom and I were away?”

  “Uh huh,” said Max.

  From his higher vantage point he could see everything we’d ordered for dinner. Suddenly he had more important priorities than talking to his father.

  “When do we eat?” he asked.

  “Now,” I said. “I’ll unpack your Kosher Pu Pu Platter.”

  Max made another face at me and squirmed down to hug Rosalind and Cornell. Even Poly got a quick hug as something of an afterthought before the boy found a chair at the round conference table and waited for me to deliver his food. Rosalind got him a bottle of galberry juice and Sally put a plastic knife, fork, soup spoon and wooden chopsticks in front of him. Cornell delivered a stack of napkins and a straw while Poly brought a handful of condiment packets. It takes a village.

  I used tongs provided by the restaurant to artfully arrange the items from the Kosher Pu Pu Platter on an edible, recyclable plate and served my son. It made me happy to see Max’s frown turn into a smile when he saw the grilled paprika chicken skewers topped with bright yellow pineapple wedges and red maraschino cherries I’d placed on top. He must have been really hungry, because his usual running commentary on the universe stopped while he ate. Max switched from chicken skewers to Vienna sausage egg rolls with spicy Chinese mustard and smiled even more. Sally sat next to him with a plate of her own, so I returned to the credenza, confident he was in good hands.

  Shepherd had taken all the Asian barbecued brisket and I certainly wasn’t going to fight him for any of it. He was at the table slicing it into strips with a long, hooked blade that wasn’t plastic and certainly hadn’t been provided by Ginsburg & Wong.

  Next to him, I noticed Winfield and Johnson had only taken small portions of a few dishes. Their appetites must be off—they were only picking at their food.

  Martin was at the far side of the credenza, balancing a second steamed rye bun filled with chicken livers on top of a mound of Szechuan pickled herring. I hoped he’d make it to the table without losing one of them.

  Cornell was next to Martin with a cup of hot and sour matzo ball soup and a Mongolian Beef on ’weck sandwich on his plate. The sight of his sandwich’s fist-sized kummelweck roll topped with salt and caraway seeds made my mouth water. Chit was sitting on an overturned paper soup cup on the table nibbling on small piece of deviled daikon.

  Rosalind and Poly were dishing each other helpings of Moo Shu Sour Cream Blintzes and Pan Fried Gefilte Fish Dumplings. It was surprising to see them cooperating—I hoped they wouldn’t end up comparing notes on yours truly.

  Rosalind already had half a dozen tempura dill pickles on her plate, but I gave them a pass. I opted for the same items Cornell had selected, plus some Udon Noodle Kugel with Sweet Plum Sauce and a large glass of iced Imperial Gunpowder black tea.

  Poly saved me a seat between her and Max. Sally had moved over so Rosalind was to Max’s left with Sally just beyond her. I spotted several crispy fried wontons on Sally’s plate. They looked interesting and I motioned toward them with my chopsticks.

  “What are they filled with?” I asked.

  “Spiced prunes,” Sally replied.

  “Forget I asked.”

  “Have you ever had Dirty Diapers?” asked Sally between tastes of sticky rice.

  “You’d have to ask my mother,” I said. “At the time your question was relevant I was too young to remember.”

  “No,” said Sally. “Dirty Diapers are sweets for baby showers. Fold a Hershey’s Kiss in a wonton wrapper like it’s a diaper around a baby’s butt, then bake or deep fry and top with powdered sugar.”

  “You can do the same with frozen lemon curd or lemon gummy bears,” added Rosalind. “For Number One to go with Number Two.”

  “I think I’ll pass,” I said.

  “So will I,” said Poly.

  We both stared at our plates for a few minutes before our appetites returned. Thanks, Sally.

  Everyone seemed to be more interested in eating than talking, so I took a bite of my sandwich, swallowed, and summarized the results of the expedition to see Droopy.

  “…so both Pablo Figueres and Alban White can claim the title of General. I’ll be getting detailed information about any anomalous transactions by EUA Corporation and Figueres’ and White’s companies soon. The Khaloenian e-commerce server network will also keep me posted about any interactions with an A.I. named Manny, Manuel, Adam Selene or other sentient computer names from the works of Robert Heinlein.”

  I took another bite of Mongolian Beef on ’weck to make it clear I’d finished talking and waited for someone else to report. Shepherd turned to stare at Winfield and Johnson. They fidgeted in their chairs, then Johnson spoke.

  “Our sources told us The General is aware we weren’t on the plane his people shot down.”

  “I could have told you that,” said Cornell. “I was asked to arrange your deaths an hour ago.”

  “What?” asked Winfield.

  “How?” asked Martin.

  “How was I going to have you killed?” said Cornell.

  “No,” said Martin. “How did you get word from The General?”

  “Through a text message on my phone,” replied Cornell. “I thought it would be wise not to let him know I’d changed sides.”

  “I got a text from HQ a few minutes ago ordering me to report on my status and whereabouts,” said Rosalind.

  “What?” I said, echoing Scott Winfield. “When were you going to tell us about it?”

  “Now seemed like a good time,” answered Rosalind, calmly. “It came in while you were getting food for Max.”

  I felt a bit better. She hadn’t been holding out on us and omitting important information—this time.

  “Did you reply?” asked Poly.

  “Not yet,” said Rosalind. “I thought we might want to talk about it first.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Poly gave Rosalind a thumbs-up to show her agreement. I heard a low buzzing sound beyond Rosalind.

  “Hey,” said Sally. “I just got a text from HQ, too. Report on status and whereabouts immediately. What should I do?”

  Martin wiped sauce off his mouth with a napkin and cleared his throat.

  “Let’s review the situation,” he said. “First, Winfield and Johnson’s plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile.”

  Heads nodded.

  “Then a squad of rent-a-goons kidnapped Cornell, Sally, Rosalind, Max and Poly.”

  “Check,” I said. More nods.

  “We hired the retrieval specialists to bring everyone at Cornell’s place to a secure location,” said Johnson. “I guess they got carried away.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Rosalind, still not seeming very happy about the abduction.

  “You could have contacted us,” said Sally. “We would have been glad to join forces.”

  “They were afraid of communications leaks,” said Cornell.

  “Bingo,” said Winfield.

  The word set Max off and he started waving his arms, shouting “Bingo!” repeatedly.

  “If you hadn’t chilled us, we would have explained,” said Johnson. “Our apologies.”

  “Water over the dam,” said Rosalind.r />
  Rosalind kept using that idiom just to tweak me.

  “So The General doesn’t necessarily know the two of you are still alive,” I said, speaking to Johnson and Winfield.

  “He does if he got satellite footage of us boarding the shuttle from the base of the butte to the Charalindhri,” said Johnson.

  “And he knows we’re all in this together,” said Winfield.

  Cornell put his two cents in.

  “I think it’s safe to assume The General knew we were on board, since he tried to shoot down shuttles from the Chara to Hartsfield Port. And since I got a text instructing me to arrange Winfield and Johnson’s deaths, we can be sure he knows they’re both still alive.”

  “Not to forget there’s been plenty of time for the goons you’d hired to sing their hearts out,” said Rosalind.

  “Yeah, not to forget,” said Winfield. He grimaced.

  “Besides,” said Sally, “they probably searched the plane’s wreckage and tested the DNA on the bodies.”

  “Great point,” I said.

  “Thanks,” said Sally.

  “We can use the team who tested the DNA to help us learn who hired them,” I said. I put my phone on the table and asked it to “Make it so.”

  “Searching,” it said.

  A chime sounded and a holographic projection of an incandescent bulb appeared above my phone.

  “The testing team and the aviation forensics people who investigated the crash site all work for EUA subsidiaries.”

  “Nice to know they’re keeping it in the family,” said Poly.

  “Big family,” I said.

  “You have no idea,” said Cornell.

  “But it doesn’t really help us,” said Martin.

  “True,” said Sally. “Now what? How do Rosalind and I respond to our texts?”

  “Maybe finding out what everyone else has learned will help us decide,” I said. “How did things go with Professor Urrrson, Poly?”

  “Great,” she said. “He arranged for me to meet Pablo Daniel Figueres at the SLN Tower in Midtown at ten tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent. What’s your cover story?”

  “Trying to sell him on using Xenotech Support to troubleshoot particularly challenging issues with their telecom equipment,” she said. “Jeanette Obi-Yu also recommended us to him.”

  “Us?” I said. “I can come along?”

  “I sure hope so,” said Poly. “Between the two of us…”

  “Three of us, doll,” said Chit.

  “Three of us,” said Poly, “we should be able to get a read on his character and figure out whether or not he could be The General.”

  I was game, but ten o’clock Eastern time was seven o’clock in the morning by my body’s clock. I’d need to get some rest tonight.

  “How did things go digging into Alban White’s operations?” Poly asked Martin.

  “Not as good as they did for you,” Martin replied. “I’m meeting an executive vice president at eleven tomorrow. Apparently, no one gets in to see Mr. White. He’s a professional recluse at the center of a web of intrigue, if what my friends have been telling me is true.”

  “What have you heard?” asked Cornell.

  “Rumors of secret books, silent partners, hush-hush dealings, things like that,” Martin replied.

  “It’s sad,” said Poly. “His company’s public image is squeaky clean, but it sounds like it’s a swamp underneath.”

  “Yep,” said Martin. “It reminds me of EUA Corporation’s convoluted structure, or at least the part of it I can investigate. We’ll see if I can get past Alban White’s executive vice president-level gatekeeper.”

  “Best of luck,” I said. “Do you want someone to go with you?”

  “I will accompany Martin,” said Shepherd. It was the first time he’d spoken during our meal.

  “Thanks,” said Martin. “Your help should up our odds of getting to meet Alban White face to face.”

  I looked over at Winfield and Johnson and wondered who’d keep an eye on them if Shepherd and Martin were both out. Maybe I could get Mike or Ray Ray to come over in the morning?

  “I’m glad you’re happy the Pâkk is going to keep you company,” said Sally, “but how do we respond to these text messages? The General doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “I just told them I was undercover in Atlanta tracking Buckston and Jones,” said Rosalind. I noticed her fingers had been tapping on her phone.

  “I thought we were going to talk about it first?”

  Rosalind looked at me over Max who was painting a picture of Terrhi on his plate with excess mustard.

  “If I’d waited for you people to decide, I’d hit menopause first,” said Rosalind.

  “Who are Buckston and Jones?” asked Johnson.

  “Jack and Poly,” said Cornell.

  “I’ll tell them I’m in Atlanta with Cornell trying to locate Winfield and Johnson,” said Sally.

  “That works,” said Cornell.

  “None of this is a sure bet to help us find The General,” said Poly, echoing my thoughts.

  “Yeah, but we should know a lot more tomorrow,” I said, starting to stand.

  “Hey,” said Chit. “I wanna get my fortune.”

  I walked over and grabbed a plastic wrapped cookie from a stack of them on the credenza, unwrapped it, and put it next to Chit’s overturned soup bowl.

  “Don’t be a wiseass,” said Chit. “Break the cookie for me.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Max.

  He half-climbed onto the table and held Chit’s fortune cookie in both hands, snapping it like a wishbone. Small bits of crispy cookie landed on the bowl and a narrow strip of white paper fluttered down. Chit intercepted it.

  “What does it say?” asked Poly.

  “You learn from your mistakes. You will learn a lot tomorrow,” said Chit.

  Just what I wanted to hear.

  “On that note,” I said, “I’m going to bed.”

  “Goodnight, Daddy!”

  “Goodnight, Max.”

  Chapter 15

  “…the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial…”

  — Sixth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution

  “I’m beat,” I said as I closed the door to our suite.

  “How beat?” asked Poly, patting the bed and leering theatrically.

  “Not that beat,” I said, trying to return her leer and failing.

  I sat on the bed and started to take off my shoes. Poly positioned herself behind me and began rubbing my shoulders.

  “You know you’ll sleep better if you’re more relaxed,” she said.

  “True, and so will you,” I offered.

  Then Poly and I were startled by a deep voice bellowing close to my ears.

  “Watch it with the hands, sister,” said Chit.

  We’d both forgotten my little friend had hitched a ride on the back of my neck after dinner.

  “Sorry,” said Poly.

  She’d stopped rubbing and I missed her touch.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d get my bottle out of your backpack tool bag, bub,” said Chit. “If the two of you are going to get mushy, I’m going to make myself scarce and catch up on my shows.”

  “Great idea,” said Poly.

  Chit grunted. I limped over to the low table where I’d stowed my gear with an awkward one shoe on, one shoe off gait. Then I removed Chit’s bottle from my backpack and put it in the middle of the small circular table sitting in the far corner of our room.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, as Chit disappeared inside. “Enjoy watching the exploits of the Congressional Merchant Marine Subcommittee.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Chit. Her voice echoed from inside her bottle. “The new representative from Iowa is hot!”

  “Speaking of hot,” said Poly, “it feels a bit warm in here.”

  Poly was wearing a cute black bolero jacket, a pretty white blouse with a big red bow, and gray slacks she’d put
on after we’d finished bed testing. I felt decidedly underdressed, wearing only khakis, a company polo shirt, and my left shoe. My entire focus was on Poly as I watched her remove her jacket. She was so much better at this seduction stuff than I was. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her and stared as she kicked off her pumps and put them neatly in the closet. She hung her jacket above them. Poly returned to the bed and patted a space next to her. I must not have moved fast enough, because I had to dodge out of the way of my flying right shoe.

  “Get a move on, buster,” she said, imitating Chit’s tone. “I don’t wanna do all the work myself.”

  “I’m moving, I’m moving,” I said, quickly limping over to Poly.

  She tugged my elbow as I was standing on one foot trying to remove my other shoe and I toppled over to lay beside her.

  “Help me with the bow on this blouse,” she requested.

  I reached out to pull the bow but didn’t quite make it.

  “Your aim’s a little off, but I can live with it,” said Poly.

  The tempo of her breathing changed—in a nice way.

  “Is this good?”

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding like her brain was switching to autopilot. “It’s getting even hotter in here.”

  She pulled the bow on her blouse herself, turned, and kissed me. All my concerns about The General pulled a Scarlett O’Hara and were gone with the wind.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Poly after we broke our latest clinch.

  “Mmmmm…” I said, kissing my way down her neck. “How do you feel?”

  “Like you can stop any time you want in the next six or eight hours.”

  “Your wish is my…” I said.

  Then a phone rang. It wasn’t mine.

  “What?” she said, trying to reengage her brain.

  “Phone,” I said.

  It rang again, from somewhere a dozen feet away.

  “The closet is ringing.”