“Good thing we’re wearing our Orishen pupa-silk shirts,” she said, ducking to reduce her target profile.
“Yep,” I said, squeezing back and speaking into her ear. “But you don’t need to crouch. Bulletproof glass.”
“Smart,” said Poly. “This way I can sit up and see what’s going on.”
We observed as the driver navigated into the mall’s surface parking lot and swiftly sought the relative safety of a lower level of the extensive six-level parking deck. Arnold steered back and forth around redwood-sized support pillars like he was going down a slalom course until we reached the far back corner of the structure near the entrance to the MARTA terminal.
Arnold mumbled something.
“WHAT?” I asked.
“Get out!” he said. Arnold’s face looked like he was shouting but he didn’t sound that loud.
I wondered how long it would take my ears to return to normal.
He opened his door and followed his own instruction. The van’s sliding door opened, so we unbuckled and did the same. Then we trotted along behind him to the stairs down to the station. I looked over my shoulder and saw my van charging at a clump of attackers. They scattered like bowling pins and a few of them fell off their transports. If luck was with us, we’d have a few unobserved minutes to catch a MARTA train and escape.
Our guide and rescuer didn’t stop at the station, however. Instead, he raced to the far end and led us down yet another flight of stairs into a long, dimly lit tunnel heading back the way we’d come. It had old-style florescent fixtures at intervals along the ceiling, flanked by conduits for obsolete cabling.
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” I asked.
The two of us were close to the same height, so I knew I’d be able to hear his answer if he spoke up. Arnold didn’t choose to reply, so we kept following. It was odd not to be able to hear my own footsteps, since I expected there’d be quite an echo. When I was little I’d always tried to hold my breath when going through the tunnels on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I’d talk my mom into beeping our car’s horn just to hear the sound reverberate. Beeping a horn didn’t seem like such a good idea in our current situation, however.
No matter how my ears were damaged, I could still hear gunshots and see a fusillade of bullets bouncing off the tunnel’s walls. I turned and saw half a dozen armored figures on Segway-like scooters speeding up the tunnel. They were firing fat-barreled shotguns that echoed like giants stomping their feet—boom, boom, BOOM! My hearing was coming back.
“Stay low,” said our guide. “Their weapons pull high. I’ve got this.”
Poly and I crouched and moved in random patterns, trying to make ourselves more challenging targets. Our guide found his phone and was typing rapidly. Unfortunately, the scooter squad was also shooting rapidly. One of the bullets bounced off a wall and hit Poly on the shoulder. She winced.
“They’re rubber!” shouted Poly.
“That doesn’t mean they can’t hurt us.”
I looked back to see if the shooters were gaining on us. They were, so I faced front and sped up my pace. Our guide stabbed his phone and three beats later the gunfire stopped. I heard sounds of chaotic collisions behind me and turned around again. So did Poly. We were delighted to see that all of the Segway squad were caught in a large net that must have been hidden in the ceiling. I hugged Poly and gave our guide a thumbs-up, then we continued making tracks down the tunnel.
My ears felt funny. I yawned and felt something pop—I didn’t think we were that far underground. Instead, it was just my inner ear telling me my hearing was coming back online. I could now make out my own footsteps on concrete. I looked over at Poly. She was yawning, too. Maybe we were both recovering?
“Is your hearing back to normal?” I asked using moderate decibel levels.
Poly moved her lips, but I couldn’t hear anything. I looked puzzled, then she smiled.
“Just messing with you,” she said. “My ears are okay now, too.”
I stuck out my tongue at her, then blew her an air kiss and accelerated to catch up to our guide. He was a dozen paces ahead of us. Poly stayed with me.
“Sorry about the shouting,” I said when we caught up.
“Apology accepted,” said our guide.
It was odd. His tone managed to be both businesslike and affectionate, like Shepherd training Pâkk pup-cubs how to hunt.
“Thank you for rescuing us,” said Poly softly.
“You’re welcome,” said our masked rescuer.
“Now WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” said my partner.
I nearly said, “Shush,” but thought better of it.
“Later,” said our guide, sounding more and more like Shepherd. The Pâkk wouldn’t use two words when one would do.
We moved back a few steps to give Arnold his own space, since he didn’t seem open to conversation. I spoke softly to Poly, just to hear my own voice, and hers.
“This tunnel would be a great place to play D&D,” I said. “It has lots of cool doors and branches.”
“I think they use it for live action role playing once or twice a month,” said Poly.
That made sense. It would also explain the net trap in the ceiling. Was our unidentified benefactor a gamer? Where did he get the code to release the net?
“How did you hear about LARPing down here?” I asked Poly.
“Mike told me about it.”
I considered Xenotech Support Corporation’s first employee. Mike was both a nerd and an Army vet. I could see how the hobby would appeal to him.
“Did Mike mention where the tunnel comes out?”
“He didn’t say anything about that, but I’ll bet he talks CiCi into joining him next time he goes LARPing,” said Poly.
“I won’t take that bet,” I said. “Half the company will probably come along.”
“Only half?” asked Poly.
“Ray Ray won’t come if Pomy’s not coming,” I said.
“Oh, crap,” said Poly. “What time is it? We have to be at the courthouse downtown for Pomy’s trial!”
“It’s not even noon yet,” I reassured. “If we get out of here soon, we’ll make it by one o’clock like we promised.”
“We’d better,” said Poly, loud enough so Arnold could hear her.
The universe must have been listening, because the tunnel stopped at a freight elevator a hundred feet farther along. A wide industrial stairway went up to our right and steel double doors labeled Freight Elevator: Authorized Personnel Only were on our left. Our guide pushed the button to summon the elevator. The doors slid open without making a sound anything like the whoosh of a turbolift. I got in, following Poly and “Arnold,” but didn’t feel too comfortable. The last time I’d been in a freight elevator I’d had Ray Ray and a nova bomb for company.
As we ascended, our guide fiddled with his mask. Instead of being away from his face like a welder’s mask, the thin screen’s film now hugged his features. I watched as it transformed from Arnold Schwarzenegger into the less universally recognizable face of David Tennant, the tenth Doctor Who. I looked puzzled and our guide responded.
“It only has so many presets,” he said, as if that explained everything.
Poly didn’t seem to recognize our guide’s new face and I smiled, looking forward to long marathons of watching the classic science fiction series with her.
The elevator stopped with a slight bump and wobble—or should I say wibble wobble—and opened on a utilitarian cinder block corridor with a linoleum floor. The walls were painted a cheerful creamy yellow and the doors in front of us had a sign reading To the Mall. We were obviously in a service area. The Doctor led us through the doors and I knew where we were—right next to the security station by the food court. We took an escalator up to the mall’s main level and found a comfortable area to sit near a Starbucks.
“Meet me here in half an hour,” said our guide. “The restrooms are one floor up and there are plenty of places to buy new clothes. Make yourselves presentable—you ha
ve to be in court soon.”
Poly and I had seen our reflections in store windows, so we knew we wouldn’t make a good impression on any judge of character or fashion.
“I don’t have my phone. I can’t buy anything,” I said.
I pulled out my wallet and showed them it was empty. I’d used my last bill to buy breath mints before meeting Sally at her ballroom dance club in Vegas. Things had been so hectic since I hadn’t had time to hit a cash machine.
“If we shop together you can use my phone,” said Poly.
“But that would take too long,” I lamented.
Our guide stood up, pulled out his wallet, and handed me ten hundred-galcred notes.
“Cash still works,” he said. “You can pay me back.”
“Whenever you tell me who you are,” I said.
“Or not,” he replied. “Now get moving. We’re on a really tight schedule.”
Poly and I took another nearby escalator up to the restrooms and emerged with freshly scrubbed faces and fewer clothes, since our suit jackets weren’t remotely salvageable. We hugged and sped off in different directions. I went to Neiman Macy’s, where I knew they’d have off-the-rack suits in my size made from Orishen mutaphabrics for a perfect custom fit. Twenty minutes later I was wearing a conservative white shirt, red tie, and blue pinstripe much like the ones I’d trashed earlier—a perfect ensemble to project gravitas in a courtroom. I knew Neiman Macy’s would have what I was looking for, since that’s where I’d bought my original suit a year earlier. Everything was on sale, too. I still had half of our guide’s galcreds in my wallet.
When we met back up at Starbucks our guide was holding a white paper bag and tapping his foot impatiently. We were only five minutes late. Poly and I had literally bumped into each other at the bottom of an escalator as we’d hurried to meet our deadline. She was coming down from the second floor wearing a suit much like the one she’d totaled. It looked a lot like something I’d seen on a poster at Neiman Macy’s and Poly confirmed that she’d purchased her ensemble there, too. That’s why we were both traveling in the same direction, though we’d been shopping on different floors.
“Why did you leave the restrooms going the other way?” I asked.
“Victoria’s Secret first,” she replied.
I just nodded and smiled. Some things are unmentionable.
“You’ll both do,” said our guide, looking us up and down. “Straighten his tie, then follow me.”
Poly did as he requested, adding a quick kiss after her adjustment. We trailed after our guide as he walked out of the mall and stood by the vehicle pickup area. An impressive white car pulled in front of us and opened its doors. I didn’t recognize the make or model, which in these days of large-scale 3D printing isn’t that unusual, but still.
You know how certain high-end black cars have a finish that makes you think you could fall into it and never hit bottom? This car was like that, only white. It was so lustrous, nuanced and layered that it seemed like someone had carved a car out of a giant pearl. It had rounded corners and the typical Orishen-inspired melted look, but on this car it didn’t look average—it looked exceptional.
Oh, yeah, the front and rear doors were gull wings, but they folded as they rose so you didn’t need lots of lateral clearance. If I didn’t have to run a business, I’d consider trading in my van to own a car like that. Not really, but I might spring for a second parking place at my building to get one. Poly climbed into the back and I slid in after her.
The interior was a deep tan leather—not the stuff made from cows, the modern stuff made from Nicósn synthetics that wears better and doesn’t stain. The seat felt better than the one time I’d ridden in a Rolls Royce Silver Cloud. I wasn’t sure I wanted our trip to the courthouse to be a speedy one.
“Nice car,” said Poly.
What an understatement. That was like saying that Poly was a “nice girl.” Wait, that didn’t come out quite right. Like Poly, this car was so much more than just “nice.”
“Thanks,” said our guide. “To the courthouse and step on it.”
“As you wish,” said the car.
I was in love.
Chapter 22
“Take me for a ride in your car-car.”
— Peter, Paul & Mary
Medium-heavy noon-hour traffic heading south seemed to melt away ahead of us like the Greenland icecap before Earth implemented advanced Tigrammath climate engineering. The big white car purred its way from Buckhead to Downtown Atlanta, adding a subliminal hum of power to its congruent motor’s near-silent operation. I opened my window a crack to hear the instrument assigned to this model by the Vehicle Grand Harmony Standard committee—it was a Vulcan lute. Whoever designed this vehicle had a sense of humor as well as a sense of style.
“Why are you acting weird?” asked Poly after I’d closed my window.
“Weird?” I replied.
“You’ve been all spaced out for the past ten minutes.”
“I just like this car,” I said. “A lot.”
“Is that all?” replied Poly with a smile. “I thought you might have figured something out about The General.” She lowered her voice. “Or about our mysterious rescuer.”
“I can hear you,” said the man wearing David Tennant’s face. “And I think you should be focused more on Pomy’s case than my identity.”
“You would say that,” I said. “It’s a self-serving prescription, right Doctor?”
I watched him in the rear-view mirror. He nodded, then tilted his head and turned his shoulders slightly. I finally remembered where I’d seen him before—I recognized the way he held himself as he sat.
“You were in the lobby of the Grand Pyridian in Las Vegas,” I said. “You were reading the Galactic Times-Journal.”
“Guilty as charged,” said the man. “You’re very observant, Jack.”
“How long have you been following us?” asked Poly.
“I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”
“That long,” said Poly. The corner of her mouth turned up and she raised one eyebrow.
“Whose side are you on?” I asked.
“That should be obvious,” said our rescuer. “I have been—and always shall be—your friend.”
“Yeah, right,” said Poly. She made a face at me and gave me a Vulcan “live long and prosper” one-handed salute.
“I can also see what’s happening in the back seat,” said the enigmatic man.
Poly’s eyes lit up. “You can? Well watch this.”
She slid over and climbed into my lap, then began seriously kissing me with the heat and intensity of a blue-white star. The mnemonic for stellar spectral classes involuntarily popped into my head. Oh, Be A Fine Girl, Kiss Me Right Now Sweetie. Poly was definitely following the recommendation of the mnemonic. I did my best to kiss her back, despite my surprise. She began kissing my neck and put her mouth against my ear.
“Can we trust him?” she whispered.
I kissed her neck and nodded, then worked my mouth up to her ear.
“I think so,” I said, “for now.”
Poly gave me another half dozen or seven kisses then broke our clinch and resumed her seat, smoothing her skirt to look prim and proper. My head was spinning—in a nice way for once.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” said our rescuer. “I’m glad I have at least your temporary approval.”
This guy knew too much. He reminded me of Shepherd.
“You’ve got to admit, it’s smart to be careful,” I said. “You could be working for The General.”
“Like Cornell and Sally and Rosalind?” he asked.
“They’re on our side now,” I asserted.
“We hope,” said Poly and the man simultaneously. They looked at each other in the rear-view mirror, a bit surprised to be in sync.
“I get it,” I said. “We’re temporary allies, and they’re looking out for their own self-interest, but for now their interests and ours are aligned.”<
br />
“For now,” said the man.
“Hey,” said Poly. “If we’re going to work together, we need something better than The Doctor or Arnold to call you.”
Our rescuer didn’t reply for a few moments. I knew that meant he was trying to come up with some appropriate bit of misdirection.
“Call me Chilly,” he said.
“Like peppers?” asked Poly.
“No,” said the man. “Like cold.”
I thought I liked this guy but I still shivered.
“Speaking of peppers,” said Chilly, “I forgot to give you these.”
He tossed the white bag he’d been carrying when we’d rejoined him at Starbucks toward the back seat. I caught it and looked inside. There were two stuffed Nicósn banana peppers the size of large plantains nestled in napkins. They were filled with a savory protein paste that came from the Nicósn equivalent of aphids and had been grilled to perfection. I didn’t think too much about it, since I’d had them before and knew they were delicious despite their six-legged provenance.
I handed Poly a stuffed pepper and a handful of napkins and bit into the end of my own pepper with gusto. Escaping capture and possible death really increases my appetite and it had been a long time since the Dauushan-hummingbird-egg-and-sausage-filled steamed buns at breakfast. Poly munched on her pepper enthusiastically. We both warmed to Chilly.
“Don’t get any filling on the carpet or upholstery,” I said to Poly between bites. I was being very protective towards our vehicle.
“Careful yourself, lover,” she said, dabbing a dot of white stuff off the corner of my mouth. It tasted like ricotta cheese laced with oregano, parsley, and a hint of curry. Now I was thirsty.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any…” I began.
Chilly pressed a button on the dashboard and a small bar was revealed across from us.
I reached for a Diet Starbuzz.
“I’ll take a Coke Minus,” said Poly.
I passed her one. The Coca-Cola Company had recently perfected soft drinks that resulted in net negative calories by tweaking drinkers’ metabolisms. They were proving so popular that the company was now making Sprite Minus, Fanta Minus, and more. I couldn’t wait until they cross-licensed the technology to the Starbuzz people.
Xenotech General Mayhem: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 4) Page 17
