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

by Dave Schroeder

  I couldn’t tell if Chit was feeding us a line of b.s. or not, but my little friend sure knew how to spin a story. If it was true, requies-khat in pace for the hydraulics supervisor.

  Rosalind had a harder time swallowing Chit’s tale.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Next you’ll be telling us about Atlantis.”

  “You mean Akrotiri on Santorini,” said Chit. “The ancient Cycladic civilization on the island of Thera before it blew up.”

  “Whatever,” said Rosalind.

  She turned to me.

  “It sounds like your plan is not to have a plan,” she said.

  “That’s about it,” I said. “We’ll just have to observe and improvise.”

  “I can do that,” said Rosalind.

  “And you’re good at it,” said Cornell.

  “This is going to be fun!” said Emma Ann.

  I hoped she was right.

  The four of us walked into the concrete-covered area between the aquarium and the World of Coke. Not far away, caterers were setting up what promised to be a lavish buffet for the G70 visitors and their guests. I smiled when I saw a dozen or more white vans unloading tables, chairs appropriate for diverse species, table linens, coolers and hotboxes. I wondered if Mike had gotten the bullet holes in my white van repaired yet. Its glass was bulletproof, its side panels not so much.

  It was a beautiful day with only a few fluffy clouds in the sky and temperatures in the mid-seventies. Large birds or Quirinx fliers soared high above on rising air currents. Centennial Olympic Park was twenty-one acres of lush, well-tended grass crisscrossed by dozens of interwoven concrete paths. The buildings housing the park’s top attractions congregated at its north end like a small herd of grazing Ubercows. To the east, across Centennial Olympic Drive, brooded the black bulk of EUA’s corporate headquarters, while the CNN Center and the mile-high needle of the SLN Tower were on the far side of Marietta Street to the south. A small stage used for public concerts anchored the far south end of the park.

  Poly and I would focus on the area around the aquarium and the World of Coke. After a quick discussion, it was agreed that Rosalind and Cornell would check for suspicious activity close to EUA HQ. Emma Ann would head south and see if she spotted anything odd down by the stage. I asked her to text me if she saw any signs of the motorcade approaching. She left with a wave and a bounce in her step. For her, this was just an adventure. Rosalind and Cornell left too, and Poly and I were alone.

  Scratch that. Poly, Chit and I were alone. I didn’t expect any delegates to show up for at least an hour.

  Poly took my hand and the two of us strolled the park, two young lovers enjoying the day—while surreptitiously scoping out the other beings in the vicinity. Chit crawled under my shirtcollar so she didn’t distract from the idyllic image Poly and I were projecting.

  “Homeplanet Security agent at six o’clock,” said Chit.

  “I see her,” said Poly.

  “So do I,” I agreed.

  Reflective buildings like the World of Coke make spotting tails a lot easier, except that I didn’t think the woman in dark sunglasses was intentionally following us. From what I could tell, she was doing what we were doing—checking out the area and assessing potential threats to the visiting dignitaries. That was standard procedure.

  “Homeplanet Security agent at eight o’clock,” said Chit. “And four o’clock.”

  “There’s five of them at eleven o’clock waiting outside the World of Coke,” said Poly, “and one more beyond them standing on a brown sewer maintenance access disk at one o’clock.”

  My mind distracted me, wondering if it was a chocolate-covered manhole cover.

  “How can you tell they’re agents?” I asked

  “They’re all wearing identical sunglasses,” said Poly.

  “Standard government issue?”

  “Correct,” my partner replied. “With built-in access to facial recognition systems and law enforcement databases. The guards at the Terran ambassadors’ parties my mom dragged me to off-planet all wore them.”

  “You were an observant young lady,” I said.

  “I’m still all three,” said Poly with a grin.

  “Just not quite as young as ya used t’ be,” said Chit.

  “Hey,” said Poly. “Look who’s talking, grandma.”

  “That’s great-great-great-grandma to you!” Chit retorted.

  Poly squeezed my hand and we all laughed.

  “Chit, would you mind doing a short flit?” I asked. “There’s some personal stuff I want to discuss with Poly. Take a quick flight up by the Civil Rights Museum or something.”

  “Sure, bucko,” said my little friend. “I’ll give ya your privacy. Remember t’ hold out for at least three cows, five goats and a plow.”

  My face turned red. So did Poly’s.

  “That’s not what I want to talk about,” I said.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Poly, managing to look simultaneously relieved and a bit disappointed.

  “See ya, chumps,” said Chit.

  She buzzed off my shoulder, heading northeast.

  I tugged Poly farther along until we reached a park bench. We sat together, still holding hands.

  “What did you want to talk about?” asked Poly.

  “Living arrangements,” I answered.

  “I prefer living to the alternative, don’t you?” teased Poly.

  “Your apartment is tiny,” I began. “And Pomy is—or at least was living in it.”

  “Uh huh,” said Poly.

  She wasn’t making this easy.

  “I’ve got plenty of room at my place,” I began.

  “Which is currently serving as the business office for Xenotech Support Corporation,” Poly observed.

  “Well, yes, but that’s temporary,” I said. “We can find some real office space once we deal with The General.”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Poly. “All the best startups begin in garages, not apartments.”

  “Yes, but,” I said, trying to get the words out. “Since you’re already spending a lot of time at my apartment…”

  “And since my classes and homework projects are over,” Poly encouraged.

  “I thought you could move in with me.”

  Poly kissed me and did a very nice job of it, with my enthusiastic cooperation. I’m sure she convinced any agents observing us that we were just what we seemed to be—a pair of young lovers enjoying the park.

  “Of course I’ll move in with you, Jack. I thought you knew I was fine with that. We’d talked about it. I was just waiting until I finished all my classes because I didn’t want the distraction.”

  “I’m a distraction?” I said, smiling.

  “Stop fishing for compliments. Of course you are,” said Poly, “and I plan to distract you right back.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I said.

  “When it comes to the logistics—like when we can get Xenotech Support real office space—we’ll just have to improvise and figure things out as we go,” said Poly.

  “That gives us extra incentive to get new space for the corporation quickly,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” said Poly. “I don’t want to go back to my old apartment. Pomy is welcome to stay there until she can find something better.”

  “If she can afford something better,” I said, knowing how little the Carlos Museum paid its professional staff.

  “When we have to clear out of the research facility,” I said, “we can move into a suite at a hotel in Ad Astra. We can afford it.”

  “That would be fine,” said Poly, “so long as we’re not there for six months or something.”

  She kissed me again. It was nice.

  My phone climbed off my belt, extended its humanoid pseudopods, and stood with a foot on each of our legs. It waved its pseudo-arms to get our attention, which took a while.

  “Internal emails to the Ad Astra management company report that several tenants are using the explosion at th
e Dauushan consulate as a reason to exercise the escape clauses in their leases,” said my phone. “There’s a space that would work well for XSC not far from the consulate that would be a good fit for a growing consultancy.”

  Poly and I spoke at the same time.

  “Reserve it.”

  “Already did,” said my phone. “It will be available in a week. The current tenants are moving to a new facility near Hartsfield Port. Also, the new negotiated rent is below market levels because Ad Astra doesn’t want the space sitting empty and giving other tenants ideas.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” I said, rubbing the back of my phone’s mutacase like it was a kitten.

  “I’m so glad you know when to exercise initiative,” said Poly.

  She picked up my phone and kissed it in the middle of its screen, which promptly turned red. When she put it down again, my phone chirped happily.

  “One more thing,” it said. “Emma Ann just texted. She’s spotted the motorcade.”

  Chapter 42

  “I accept chaos, I’m not sure whether it accepts me.”

  — Bob Dylan

  I sent Rosalind a text about Emma Ann’s report. Poly and I would join Emma Ann to watch the motorcade’s arrival while Rosalind and Cornell continued to observe EUA for anything fishy. My brain suggested they’d be more likely to find something fishy at the aquarium, but by now I was getting used to its foolishness. From their vantage point on a patch of grass just south of the World of Coke, they could spot inimical activity from EUA while also scanning for would-be tourists who weren’t what they seemed.

  Poly and I dropped hands and trotted across Baker Street and down an arrow-straight north-south path that led to the stage. Two of the Homeplanet Security agents stared at us, but they didn’t seem to consider us a threat. The motorcade was noisy—sirens were blaring and lights were flashing—so quite a few park visitors were moving in the same direction we were.

  As we hurried along, my phone chirped.

  “Incoming call from Shepherd.”

  “Put him on speaker.”

  “Jack? I can see you and Poly. Be aware that there are barricades in place to keep the spectators back from the delegates. You won’t be able to get very close.”

  “Understood,” I said. “It’s more important that Poly and I scan the crowd for troublemakers.”

  “Where are you?” asked Poly. “In the top gondola of the SkyView ferris wheel?”

  The giant rotating structure was just north of EUA headquarters. I turned my head in its direction and saw its slow spin.

  “Why would I be there?” asked Shepherd. “Half the time I’d be too low to see properly.”

  Why indeed? I wondered.

  “So where are you?” asked Poly.

  “On the roof of the CNN Center,” replied the Pâkk. “I can see everything from here with binoculars—I don’t need drones.”

  “Sometimes low-tech is best,” I said.

  “You’ve got time to check black hats,” said Shepherd. “Once all the delegates and their guests arrive, Martin tells me there’s going to be a huge photo op with everybody on the stage.”

  “Except the Tōdons and Dauushans,” said Poly.

  “Except them,” confirmed Shepherd. “Martin says they’ll be at ground level.”

  “The photographers better have really wide-angle lenses,” I quipped.

  “Not our problem,” said Shepherd.

  The grizzled Pâkk’s sense of humor was somewhat limited.

  “What’s your take?” asked Poly. “Will there be some sort of attack or disruption during the photo op? When they are moving from their vehicles to the stage? On their way up to the World of Coke and the aquarium?”

  “I don’t know one way or the other,” said Shepherd. “Neither does Martin. All we’ve heard is the meeting will be disrupted when the G70 delegates are in the park.”

  “That does imply there won’t be an attack on the motorcade,” I offered. “After all, it won’t technically be in the park.”

  “I doubt The General and his minions will be overly concerned with fine points of nuance,” said Shepherd.

  “So we have no idea when, where, or if something is going to happen?” asked Poly.

  “Correct,” said Shepherd. “You’ll just have to wing it.”

  “Right,” I said.

  What else is new?

  Poly and I had reached the row of waist-high metal barricades separating the crowd from the stage. We were seventy-five yards back and had a good view of the delegates walking in from Marietta Street. The Musans came rolling up on their Segway-like transports, observing their surroundings from Plexiglas hamster balls mounted on long titanium poles that lifted them up to human eye level. A clutch of J’Vel came next. They were mouse-sized, but lizard-like aliens shaped like miniature velociraptors riding in their own balls-on-sticks conveyances.

  Behind the Musans and J’Vel crawled three craggy, rock-like Thortans, each about twice as big as a Roomba automated vacuum cleaner. They flowed along the path on a layer of superheated steam below their magma-hot ventral surfaces. Thortans usually got their water supply from congruencies linked to bodies of liquid on their planet. The first two, leading the way, appeared to be the parents of the third, a juvenile. He was carrying a small riveted copper water tank on his back and had attached dozens of gears to his upper surface. I smiled, remembering back when I was into steampunk.

  Two Pâkk contingents—one for each of their philosophical camps—came next. A buffer of Pyrs came between the Pâkk and the Tigrammath delegations. Poly and I spotted Roger Joe-Bob Bacon in with the Pyrs, while Bart Urrrson and Niaowla Murriym, professors at Georgia Tech and Emory, respectively, walked with the tall felines. I’d known Roger Joe-Bob was a mover and shaker, but didn’t realize Bart and Niaowla were held in such high esteem by their own species. We waved, but they were too far away and too preoccupied to see us.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” said Emma Ann.

  She startled me. I’d been so focused on the parade of G70 dignitaries that I hadn’t been paying proper attention to my surroundings and hadn’t noticed her joining us.

  “It certainly is,” said Poly. “Do you recognize all the different alien species?”

  “I know the Nicósns,” said Emma Ann, pointing at the incoming stream of life forms moving toward the stage. “And isn’t that lady somebody famous? Are those her pets?”

  I took a look at where Emma Ann’s finger directed. Mistress Marigold was a prominent member of the Nicósn delegation, with several mini-Drees running in and out around her legs. The mischievous mobile plants had gotten bigger in the past week.

  “Yes,” I replied. “She runs a big company down by the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. Mistress Marigold is an XSC client.”

  “And no,” said Poly, “they’re not her pets. They’re more like attractive nuisances.”

  “They’re cute,” said Emma Ann.

  “Until you get to know them,” I said.

  Next in the procession were three odd looking machines, like heavy-duty forklifts specially modified for transporting thick metal rings. The rings were about ten feet in diameter and seemed to be circular frames around Harry Potter-style portraits with moving images inside them.

  “What they heck are…” I began.

  “I know what they are,” broke in Emma Ann. “They’re mobile congruencies. I’ll bet there are species on the other side that can’t handle Earth’s atmosphere or gravity.”

  She seemed pleased to be able to enlighten me about something other than popular culture. I could see gilled, vaguely humanoid aliens inside the nearest ring. They were surrounded by a greenish haze I supposed must be from trace amounts of chlorine. When I thought about it, I was glad there was a sheet of sturdy polymer separating them from Terran air.

  We patiently watched as rank after rank of delegates and their guests processed in. I had to stop myself from laughing as a quorum of elderly Quirinx waddled up the walk like a so many
emperor penguins. Behind them came the Dauushan delegation, with Queen Sherrhi and Tomáso in the lead. A pair of royal bodyguards marched a few steps behind them, and an assortment of what I assumed were Dauushan business leaders came next, in rows two abreast.

  Wait! Where was Terrhi? And Spike? And Bavarian? Where was Pomy, for that matter?

  “Hi, Uncle Jack!” said a familiar piping voice behind me.

  I turned around, finding several of my questions answered.

  “Hi Terrhi! Hi Spike!” I said. “How did you get away from your family?”

  “And your bodyguards?” added Poly.

  Terrhi was a few feet away from us, with Spike by her side. The big cat didn’t look that happy. The Dauushan girl didn’t have a chance to answer before Bavarian pushed her way through the crowd. Actually, she didn’t have to push—the throng parted in front of her. I soon saw the reason why. The biggest dog I’d ever seen—if it was a dog—was irresistibly pulling her along. The creature’s head almost came up to my shoulders and its white coat was covered with black and brown blotches.

  “What. Is. That?” asked Emma Ann.

  The young woman backed away, eying the huge beast warily.

  “He’s an epicyon,” said Bavarian.

  Poly, Emma Ann and I stared at Bavarian, then at the beast, moving our heads from side to side like we were trying to follow a tennis match.

  “His species existed five to twenty million years ago,” Bavarian continued. “Scientists brought them back through genetic engineering.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been wiser to let them remain extinct?” I asked.

  The huge beast cocked its head and gave me a look that made me wonder if it understood what I’d said. Then it tugged on its chain and made me worry about whether or not it wanted me for dinner.

  “Heel, boy,” said Bavarian. “I was going to get a Dauushan trisabertooth, then I saw a picture of an epicyon in an oligarch’s catalog and knew I had to have one. Pomy helped me pick him up on our way to the capitol building. He’s from ITBB Corporation.”

  “ITBB?” asked Emma Ann.

  “Impossible Things Before Breakfast,” said Poly.