“And it’s called that because the shape of the sandwich resembles a Terran undersea craft,” said Poly.
“We don’t have submarines on Dauush,” said Terrhi.
“Why not?” I asked. “Don’t you have oceans?”
“We have oceans,” said the Shetland pony-sized girl. “They’re just not very deep.”
“Lots of mud wallows,” mused Rosalind.
“Uh huh,” said Terrhi. “Anyway, we name them after the part of males they use to get females pregnant.”
“Makes sense t’me,” said Chit.
I was sure Poly would be teasing me about my submarine the next time we were in bed together. Then I changed mental gears and filed Terrhi’s tidbit about shallow oceans on Dauush away in my mental off-planet cartographic trivia database.
“What happened next?” asked Bavarian eagerly.
“Then this kitten smelled the HoneyBaked Ham in my submarine sandwich and came out of the forest to beg for a taste,” said Terrhi. “He loved HoneyBaked Ham.”
“Understandable,” said Poly, licking her lips. It was getting close to lunch time.
“I fed him all the ham from my sandwich and he curled up on the grass in front of me and went to sleep while I finished everything else. His tummy was so full it bulged,” said Terrhi.
I nodded encouragement—I wanted to hear what happened next as much as Bavarian.
“He was cute and tiny—only the size of a Terran house cat. I watched him sleep for half an hour and rubbed his belly while he slept to hear him purr,” she continued.
“Uh huh,” said Poly. She made keep-talking motions with her hands.
“Then I heard a noise from the edge of the forest. The kitten was instantly awake, his head scanning back and forth. A long-tailed trabbit was eating the crunchsticks I’d left there.”
Terrhi paused, her eyes dancing as the happy memory replayed in her brain. Spike was looking at her fondly.
“The kitten was next to the trabbit so fast I thought he teleported. The trabbit—not much smaller than the kitten—bounced in the air to get away, but the kitten was too fast. He grabbed the trabbit’s middle tail and it popped right off. The trabbit bolted for the forest, but the kitten came back to me with the middle tail in its mouth and the remains of the crunchsticks held in its two front paws,” said Terrhi. “We’ve been together ever since.”
“That’s quite a story,” I said.
I leaned over and gave Spike another scritch.
“Why did you name him Spike?” asked Bavarian.
Spike yawned, showing off his three scimitar-like incisors.
“Oh,” said Bavarian. “Forget I asked.”
“No worries,” said Poly. “By the way, I’m Poly. Nice to meet you. This is my boyfriend and business partner, Jack.” Poly took a short breath. “And this is Rosalind.”
“Nice to meet meet you face to face,” said Bavarian. “Terrhi’s told me all about you.”
“Don’t believe half of it,” I said, smiling.
“Hey,” said Chit from my shoulder. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“And this,” I said, shrugging to emphasize my shoulders, “is my very talented friend, Chit.”
“Pleased to meet ya,” said Chit in her deceptively deep voice. “I’m a Murm.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chit,” said Bavarian.
“That’s Miz Chit,” said my little friend.
“Sorry,” said Bavarian.
“No problem, ducks,” said Chit. “Just don’t let it happen again.”
“No sir, err, ma’am,” Bavarian replied.
She was clearly in child-mode right now, not businesswoman-with-a-killer-instinct mode. I liked both versions of the girl.
We started walking toward the west side of the park, farther away from EUA’s headquarters, but kept talking while we walked.
“Nice job handling Adolphus Kone,” said Poly.
“How do you know about what happened with him?” asked Bavarian.
“The whole negotiation was recorded,” said my phone. It had climbed up on my other shoulder and had extended arms, legs, and a cartoon-like head from its mutacase.
“That’s Jack’s phone,” said Rosalind. “Sometimes I think it’s smarter than Jack.”
“Hey,” said my phone. “What do you mean, sometimes?”
“Now you’re sounding like Chit,” I teased.
“It should only learn from the best,” said Chit.
“We wanted to learn more about The General,” said Terrhi. “That’s why mom said it was okay for me to come along with Bavarian.”
“Your parents know you’re here?” I said. I’m sure my eyes were wide.
“Uh huh,” said Terrhi. “Mom said it was time for me to spread my wings.”
“You have wings?” said Bavarian. Clearly the girl had a lot to learn about xenoanatomy.
“It’s just a figure of speech for Dauushans,” said Terrhi, “though not for Tōdons.”
Tōdons were shaped a lot like turtles and even larger than the elephant-sized Dauushans. Several months ago I’d been surprised to learn they were actually more like beetles and had wings hidden beneath their shells.
“I’m glad your mom approved you going along with Bavarian,” I said. I’d been dreading the prospect of informing Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi about their daughter’s activities.
“Mom wanted to know as much as she could about The General before their meeting this afternoon,” said Terrhi.
“That makes sense,” said Poly.
“Unfortunately…” said Chit.
“The General is missing,” said Rosalind. “His office and luxury suite are both cleared out.”
“Mom’s not going to be very happy if he blows off her meeting,” said Terrhi. “I hope he shows up. It’s a nice planet you’ve got here. It would be a shame if anything happened to it.”
I hoped Terrhi wasn’t realizing what she was saying. Was the future of Earth really hanging on The General showing up? I knew Earth’s standing in the Galactic Free Trade Association was a lot like a nephew who is good at telling funny stories—but no matter how much the galaxy liked our legislative broadcasts, we didn’t have a tenth of the power or status of the Queen of All Dauush. There wasn’t time to worry about something like that.
“We need to get back to where we’re staying,” I said. “Would you like to come with us? We’ll get lunch.”
“No, thanks,” said Terrhi. “Mom said I had to come right home after the confrontation.”
“Okay,” I said, taking in Terrhi’s phrasing.
“And I’m going over to the consulate with Terrhi,” said Bavarian. “Her folks want to meet me.”
“I’ll bet they do,” said Poly, smiling.
Rosalind, Poly and I all exchanged knowing glances. I wouldn’t be surprised if Queen Sherrhi and the Dauushan planets weren’t soon part of the young Donut Queen’s empire. Bavarian pulled out a tiny cell phone and tapped a few keys. My phone beeped.
“Thank you,” it said. “The team really appreciates it.”
“Appreciates what?” I asked.
“A thousand-galcred virtual gift card good at any Consolidated Donuts-owned company,” my phone replied.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, already thinking about what I wanted for breakfast tomorrow.
We’d reached Marietta Street on the opposite side of the park.
“Here’s our ride,” said Bavarian, as a giant donutmobile pulled up nearby. It was the size of a flatbed truck with two huge donuts, one horizontal, one vertical, mounted on it. There was plenty of room for Terrhi, Spike and Bavarian to fit inside, plus a small army of assistants, if Bavarian had assistants. That reminded me of something.
“Hey,” I said as Bavarian was about to close the donutmobile’s door. “How can a nine-year-old get away without having any adult supervision?”
Bavarian didn’t bristle or take my question as an affront. She answered me matter-of-factly.
�
�I fired them all,” she said, “and got myself declared an emancipated minor. It only took the judge fifteen minutes to agree to sign the papers.”
“And how many galcreds?” asked Poly.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” said Bavarian.
“I like your style, kid,” said Chit.
“I might not have had to fire my guardians and advisers if they’d been as cool as you all,” said Bavarian as she closed the hatch.
“What did that mean?” I asked rhetorically.
Rosalind chuckled.
“What?” asked Poly.
“This will be amusing, if it plays out the way I think it will,” said Rosalind.
“What do you mean?” I persisted.
“Never mind,” said Rosalind, shaking her head. “None of us may live through the next few days.”
“Hey,” I said. “It sure looks like we’re ahead on points, at least. EUA’s on the ropes.”
“You don’t know them like I do,” said Rosalind. “The General is ruthless.”
“Maybe so,” said Poly, “but we don’t know if he’s even still on planet.”
“He’s still here,” said Rosalind. “I’m sure of it. And I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”
Unpleasant scenes from the Star Wars saga played in my brain, but I pushed them aside. We needed an autocab to get back to the research facility. I scanned the street to see if one was in hailing distance so I wouldn’t have to bother ordering one. There were always plenty of autocabs in this part of town.
My eyes stopped when they saw a tall, green, scaly tyrannosaur-like being with his thumb out standing near us on the curb.
“Gus?” I said, raising my voice.
“Jack?” said the Gojon, turning around. He was only between six and seven feet tall at present.
“I thought you were taking the red-eye last night,” said Poly.
“I was, but the ticket to Atlanta cleaned me out,” said Gus. “Without any money, I had to hide on a MARTA train at bug size. A wind current swept me off the train at the CNN Center Station, so I thought I could hitchhike up to the address you gave me.”
“Sorry I didn’t realize you were that broke,” I said. “I could have sent a car to the airport for you.”
“I’m an actor,” said Gus. “I’m always broke.”
He smiled when he said it, which made it sad, not heartbreaking.
“Anyway,” Gus continued, “you’re already putting me up. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re no burden at all,” I said.
“Right,” said Poly. “You saved Jack’s life, after all.”
“Yeah, but still…” said Gus.
The big green guy was incredibly sincere and so nice I really hoped he’d make it in the entertainment industry, but I was afraid he lacked the killer instinct required for true stardom.
An autocab pulled up at the curb.
“Hop in, everybody,” I said.
The ride back was a lot less stressful for me. Gus sat between Rosalind and Poly, their mutual tension bouncing off his thick hide without causing him damage while Chit and I sat in the front passenger seat. The autocab’s algorithms for opening the front doors were one reason why I didn’t suggest Gus should shrink down to make more room.
“What time is your screen test?” asked Rosalind.
“Seven o’clock tonight,” said Gus. “The address isn’t far from where you picked me up.”
“Great,” said Poly. “There’s a bus that runs right down Marietta Street from where you’ll be staying to Centennial Olympic Park. It should only take half an hour for you to get there.”
“That sounds easy,” said Gus. He hung his head. “It would be easier if I had some money.”
I tapped a few keys on my phone and got affirmative chirps back.
“I just transferred five hundred galcreds to your account,” I said. “It’s a loan. An investment in your career. You can pay it back or pay it forward, take your pick.”
Gus reached over the front seat and squeezed my shoulder with one of his longer-than-standard tyrannosaur-type arms.
“You’re a good sentient being, Jack Buckston,” he said.
Poly rescued me from having to reply.
“I’m starving,” she noted.
“So am I,” said Rosalind.
A deep rumble like the sound of moderately powerful earthquake came from the center of the back seat.
“Sounds like you are too, Gus,” I remarked. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks!” said the alien would-be actor. “I haven’t eaten since noon yesterday. What are you having?”
“I don’t know about lunch,” I said, “but I know what’s for breakfast.”
“What?” asked Gus innocently.
“Donuts!” the rest of us shouted.
Chapter 33
“Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”
— Orson Welles
We got back to the research facility without incident. After all the excitement we’d had leaving Danny Figueres’ office and being chased up the Connector, I was fine with having an uneventful trip. I’d polled everyone in the autocab on the way north to find out where they wanted me to order lunch and the consensus was an Indo-Pâkk place not far away on Tenth Avenue called Sacred Ubercow. What with Pâkk-Mex and Indo-Pâkk, various types of Pâkk-fusion cuisine have had a big impact on Terran dining—especially for meat dishes.
I was pleased to see the drones delivering our meal were waiting for us as we pulled up. My phone and I acknowledged receipt and Poly, Rosalind, Gus and I had an easy time carrying the bags and containers inside and downstairs. Chit didn’t have the requisite size or muscle-power to be much help, though she did offer to pay. Given how little she’d be eating, I didn’t take her up on it.
“Your loss, buddy boy,” said my little friend.
I asked my phone to pass the word about lunch to the others’ electronic devices, so everyone was waiting when we arrived in the conference room we’d been using for meals. That reminded me—I needed to update Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi.
“Please send a copy of the recording we’d made of Bavarian getting the better of Adolphus Kone, including Spike’s contribution on the way out, to Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi.”
“Already done,” said my phone.
“When did you manage that?” I asked.
“While you were talking to Bavarian and Terrhi,” it answered.
I was pleased, actually, and a little surprised—though I knew I shouldn’t have been. Initiative is a good thing, if coupled with judgment, and my phone was beginning to put the pro in proactive. I think what would have really surprised me was if my phone had not sent the recording. This way, at least, the details would reach Terrhi’s parents before Bavarian arrived. I considered it important they immediately understood what to expect from their daughter’s new friend. Where Bavarian was concerned, they’d need all the advanced notice they could get.
“What do you have there, Daddy?” asked Max.
He’d wrapped himself around one of my legs so I had to drag him along as I transported various components of our meal to the counter. I was carrying half a dozen meter-long lengths of what looked like eight-inch diameter PVC pipe, colored orange, green and white, like the Indian flag. Some pipes were painted black and red as well, in traditional Pâkk designs.
“Lunch,” I said, teasing him.
“No!” shouted Max. “What’s for lunch?”
“Kablobs,” I said.
“Kabobs?” asked Sally.
“No, kablobs,” I replied. “They’re an Indo-Pâkk thing. They’re like kabobs, only the chunks on the skewers are big and blobby.”
Sally—and Cornell standing next to her—wore puzzled expressions.
“Here, I’ll show you,” I said. “It’s easier than trying to explain.”
I ran my finger along a seam on one of the pipes and it split open longitudinally, creating a serving d
ish for the kablob. I tested the ends of the steel skewer to make sure they weren’t too hot, then lifted it up so everyone could see. It was as if someone had threaded four or five knobby spheres slightly smaller than bowling balls onto a metal rod. Some of the spheres looked like meat, while others were clearly vegetable and at least one was of indeterminate origin.
Shepherd’s mouth turned up and his nostrils flared. I could tell he was even more interested in the kablobs than he’d been in the huge ubercow rib I’d ordered for him last night.
“What’s the gold-colored one in the middle?” asked Cornell, indicating the blob in question with a digit.
He was pointing at the indeterminate blob.
“That’s a giant samosa,” I said. “The crust wrapped around it is spherical, like a baked apple.”
“Yum!” said Max. He flicked his finger like the tip of a wand. “Wingardium Levi-sam-o-sa!”
I floated the skewer through the air toward my son. Poly got him a plate and Rosalind made a long knife materialize from somewhere to slice off a chunk of samosa from the gold ball and a piece of tandoori chicken from a red ball at one end. Sally brought him tongs and a much smaller knife and my son started eating with gusto.
Shepherd collected two of the meat kablobs—one chicken tikka baked in a tandoori oven and one made of curried Neuva Pâkkjuk uberlamb prepared en croute with the same dough the chef used for his naan. Martin made himself an Indo-Pâkk taco, of sorts, by slicing bits of several kablobs into a round of whole wheat paratha flatbread and slathering them with sweet chutney. Poly opted for slices from an orange-colored ball of ostrich shwarma accompanied by sides of salad, hummus and naan.
Pomy seemed worn, stretched past her limits like too little hummus spread over too much pita. She sat at the table, barely able to hold up her head. I was pleased to see her react when Poly sat next to her, though. Pomy stared at Poly’s plate and inhaled deeply, savoring the exotic scent of the shwarma. Then she summoned the strength to speak.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
Poly got up to assemble a second plate and I considered the main component of the spicy dish. Ostrich had become increasingly popular off-planet ever since ORC, the Ostrich Ranchers Cooperative, had started marketing it as uberchicken, but the Pâkk planets had protested the rebranding and the whole thing was mired in litigation. ORC had initially expanded its production by selling its products to Hindus as a stand-in for beef. Unfortunately, the ranchers’ slogan, “Ostrich, the other red meat,” was also facing lawsuits from the Worshipful Galactic Consortium of Pork Producers.
Xenotech General Mayhem: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 4) Page 27
