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

by Dave Schroeder

  Winfield screamed a beat later, an octave lower, and ten decibels louder. Adolphus Kone had put the tip of the Mont Blanc pen through the center of Winfield’s left hand, nailing it to the conference table. Instead of dropping his slug thrower, Winfield’s arm swung out and his finger involuntarily contracted, sending two shots into the pane to the right of the previously shattered window. More glass rained out and down on the park and made me hope nobody was dumb enough to be standing too close to EUA’s giant General Destruction robot.

  Poly and I reacted to the noise and chaos by extracting our guards’ slug throwers from their belts and using the threat of shooting them at close range to confiscate their sugar shockers as well. We zapped them into immobility with the heavy-duty sweeteners and turned to look for the former Chapultepec & Castle executives. I sweetened Winfield, a much easier shot because he was nailed to the table, while Poly took on the more difficult task of zapping a moving target. Johnson was still hopping around on one foot half the length of the table away. She was frozen while off balance and toppled to the carpeted floor.

  Someone was tugging on my pants leg. I looked down—it was Max, holding Bavarian’s laser and beaming.

  “Did I help, Daddy?” asked my son.

  “You helped a lot, buddy boy,” I said, bending down to help him up and giving him a hug.

  “Jack!” shouted Poly.

  I heard the crackling sound of a sweetener blast hitting a wall, not flesh. Adolphus Kone had pushed back from the table and was running toward one of the open floor-to-ceiling windows. Poly had tried to zap him, but her blast had gone wide.

  I vaulted up on the table and took two quick steps before leaping for Boss Kone where he stood by the window. The force of my momentum carried us both over the edge and out into empty space.

  * * * * *

  This was becoming a habit—and one I really wanted to break, if it didn’t break me into hundreds of tiny pieces first.

  I’d landed on Boss Kone’s back, but he twisted as soon as we were in free fall. The two of us grappled, which made it a lot harder for me to figure out how to save my own skin, let alone his. The wind was whistling past us and the concrete below was coming up fast. I couldn’t count on octovacs with parasails to save me this time.

  Then I remembered my mom and Chilly and the cool white flying car and relaxed for a moment.

  I shouldn’t have done that. Boss Kone broke free and slammed the heel of his right hand into the point of my jaw. That action had two effects. One was to snap my head back and make me see stars. The other was to separate me from Kone by a few feet.

  I shook my head to clear my vision, which was already not what it should be due to the wind. I watched Boss Kone remove a mini-sweetener from the breast pocket of his flapping suit coat and felt him zap me in the chest. He aimed at something above and behind me and shot again. I wasn’t in any position to turn around and see what he’d hit. My Orishen pupa silk vest had saved me from the worst of the blast, but it would take twenty minutes I didn’t have for my arms and torso to unfreeze.

  Boss Kone didn’t seem to be interested in self-preservation after dealing with me. Instead of keeping his body spread out and horizontal to maximize wind resistance, he pointed himself straight down and fell even faster. The ground was looking entirely too close for my own survival, let alone comfort.

  Then comfort was the farthest thing from my mind. The bad news was that it felt like something was trying to pull every hair on my head out by the roots. The good news was that my progress toward the origin on the y-axis was slowing. I saw the white flying car come up alongside me. The rear gull-wing door on the passenger side folded up and over and the car tipped to the left. I was gently lowered inside the vehicle, then the rear door closed and the car leveled out and circled.

  My body leaned to one side, but I could briefly see out the white car’s left rear window. A dark, man-shaped splotch was on the pavement not-far-enough below. Kone hadn’t made it.

  “Are you okay, Jack?” asked my phone as it switched from helicopter drone-mode to its arms-and-legs configuration.

  “I’ll live,” I said. “Thanks for the save.”

  It was hard to breathe with my torso sweetened and my words came out in difficult rasps.

  “No problem,” said my phone.

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever make it up to you,” I added.

  “You’ll find a way,” said my phone.

  I knew I would. I owed it one. Heck, I owed it a lot more than just one.

  I glanced in the front seat. It was hard to see very well because my body was tilted, but it looked like my mom was now driving. Chilly was leaning against the right front window the same way I was leaning against the left rear. Kone’s last sweetener blast must have hit him. I would pay for a video of mom moving Chilly out of the way to take the wheel.

  “Thanks for rescuing me, Mom,” I said slowly. “And Chilly, too.”

  “Our pleasure, Jack,” said my mom as she lifted the car back up ’til we were even with the conference room again. “I’m glad we were in the right place at the right time.”

  I forced words out of my sweetened lungs. “So. Am. I.”

  “And Jack,” she said, using the serious voice she used when I was a kid telling me we were moving again. “Chilly has something important to tell you.”

  I wondered about her timing, but wasn’t in a position to do more than listen. Chilly exhaled twice as if to build up enough air or enough courage to say what he needed to say. His words came out deep and raspy, like he was breathing through a helmet. They hit me like a sledgehammer between my eyes.

  “Luke,” said Chilly. “I am your father.”

  Chapter 48

  “The world will be yours and everything in it…”

  — Rudyard Kipling

  “Who’s Luke?” I asked, not quite realizing what I was saying.

  How could I, of all people, miss a Star Wars reference?

  “It’s a joke, son,” said Chilly.

  “It’s a joke that you’re my father or it’s a joke you called me Luke?”

  “The second one,” Chilly replied.

  “Okay,” I said. “We can talk about this later.”

  I needed time to process.

  The white car was now next to one of the broken EUA conference room windows. Bart and Niaowla used their wiry feline strength to carry me into the room and plant me in a chair near the end of the table like one of Mistress Marigold’s horticultural experiments. They crawled back in the car, repeating the process for Chilly and putting him in a chair across from me and a few down. Cornell was at the head of the table in the chair formerly occupied by Adolphus Kone. The Bulldog and Danny Figueres were immediately to his right with Sally and Rosalind to his left.

  Poly was standing by an empty chair where she could hold my hand once she sat down. My phone had extruded a chair for itself along with pseudo-arms and legs and Chit was in her usual post on top of an overturned tumbler near a carafe of water in the center of the table. My mom stood behind Chilly’s chair.

  Max jumped in my lap, landing a bit harder than I preferred on a sensitive part of my anatomy. It was a small price to pay for the joys of fatherhood. He seemed to take pleasure in the fact that my sweetened self couldn’t hug him, just like I couldn’t when when I’d been taped down. I gave him a stern paternal look that meant, “Don’t you dare tickle me when I can’t defend myself.” I was lucky I had a good kid—he just cuddled.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” said Poly to Brunhilde, Sally/Gudrun, Cornell and Rosalind.

  The quartet didn’t answer. In order they looked sad, stunned, numb, and angry.

  “Let’s send Mike, CiCi, Ray Ray, Shuvvath and Hither out looking for G70 delegates to rescue,” Poly continued. “I hope they won’t have any problems with EUA’s guards.”

  “I can help with that,” said Cornell.

  He touched a button on the surface of the conference table that I didn’t know was there
. A microphone rose up out of the polished oak of the tabletop. Cornell ran his fingers over a few more keys, then spoke.

  “Attention all personnel, attention all personnel,” he said. “Stand down. I repeat, stand down. This is The General’s chief lieutenant, Cornell, authorization code Epsilon Upsilon Alpha Forty-two. I regret to inform you that The General and Adolphus Kone, the head of our legal department, both lost their lives in a tragic accident a few minutes ago. I am now acting CEO and Brunhilde Dagomar Kone, the older daughter of Adolphus Kone, will be our acting general counsel.”

  He turned off the microphone.

  “That should do it,” said Cornell. “The guards and Macerator troops should stop fighting until it becomes clear who’s going to pay them.”

  “Thanks,” said Poly.

  “No problem,” said Cornell. “Let me make things easier on your team, too.”

  He turned the microphone back on.

  “Attention all armed personnel. Please engage the safeties on your weapons and put them on the floor. If you are responsible for any captives, please remove their restraints and assist designated representatives coming down from the sixty-sixth floor with the captives’ orderly exit from this mobile facility. Thank you, and stand by for further announcements.”

  Cornell turned the microphone off.

  “I think your people won’t have any trouble getting the G70 delegates and their friends out of the giant robot building now,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Poly. “What about the Macerators in the tunnels?”

  The door to the corridor opened. Shepherd and Martin walked in. Martin was smiling and Shepherd looked pleased, for a Pâkk.

  “They’re under control,” said Martin. “Homeplanet Security is taking care of them. Quite a few took off their armor and ran for it once they realized they were outnumbered.”

  “Good help is hard to find,” said Poly.

  “Especially when you pay minimum wage,” quipped Emma Ann.

  “That was never my philosophy,” said Alban White.

  His speaking voice sounded just like his android’s, though I guess that was the point.

  “I always believed in finding the best sentient for the job, paying them what they’re worth, and giving them the resources they needed to be successful.”

  “An excellent approach,” I said. “Poly and I run Xenotech Support the same way.”

  “What’s Xenotech Support?” asked Alban White.

  “Our company. We provide technical support for organizations using galactic technology,” I replied.

  “Did you say ‘the best sentient for the job’ a second ago?” asked Poly.

  “Of course,” said Alban White. “White House & Home is an equal opportunity employer and always will be.”

  “Did you know The General replaced you with an android and switched to xenophobic hiring practices?” I asked.

  “The cad,” said Alban White. “Where’s my shovel?”

  “Your shovel?” asked Poly.

  “Yes,” said Alban. “I’ve got to get back to my excavations.”

  “What are you digging?” I asked, a bit worried about his answer.

  “The Panama Canal,” said White.

  Perhaps Alban’s android wasn’t a precise duplicate of him after all.

  I could see why it was easy for The General to step in and run White’s companies.

  Mistress Marigold took Alban White aside and gave him a pill. I was glad White wasn’t carrying a bugle.

  “Do you think you can operate this robot building and move it back to its original location?” asked Shepherd. “It is blocking access for emergency responders getting into the park.”

  “Sure,” I said, “When I can move my own arms again in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “My apologies,” said the grizzled Pâkk spy master. “I hadn’t realized you’d been sweetened.”

  “I’ll live,” I said.

  “I hope so,” said Poly.

  “Remote robot mobility controls accessed,” said my phone.

  It imitated Cornell’s voice and sent an announcement to every loudspeaker in the giant building.

  “Stand by. Stand by. Initiating movement. Please sit down and strap in. Starting in five-four-three-two-one.”

  “Let’s hope they hadn’t gotten too far in untaping the captives,” I said.

  The seventy-story robot building began to move more smoothly than I’d anticipated. It took less than two minutes for the giant self-mobile construct to resume its “seat” between the wings of EUA’s headquarters. It settled into its original position with a thud and the clang of steel interlocks reengaging.

  “That was fun, Daddy, can we do it again?” asked Max.

  “Maybe later,” I said. I was starting to get a pins-and-needles feeling in my upper arms and shoulders.

  Bavarian stuck her head out from under the table.

  “Is it safe to come out now?” she asked.

  “By all means,” said Poly. “Join the party.”

  Bavarian, Terrhi, Spot, Spike and two mini-Dree plants appeared near the center of the room. Spike took advantage of my inability to move to put his front pair of paws on my knees, lean over Max, and lick my face with his sandpaper-like tongue.

  I protested, sort of, but was glad to see the big cat, too. Pomy and Emma Ann fussed over Spot and rubbed his belly while the big dog kicked his legs with pleasure. The mini-Drees found the documents Winfield and Johnson wanted Adolphus Kone to sign and were turning them into paper airplanes with their manipulating tendrils. As they finished folding, they released the planes into EUA’s austere courtyard through the open window not blocked by Chilly’s car.

  Pushing Spike out of the way, Bavarian gave me a hug around the neck, then kissed Max on the top of his head.

  “What was that for?” I asked the little girl who’d grown up too fast.

  “For being a good guy and knowing what to do and being Max’s dad,” said Bavarian.

  She gave me another hug, then jumped down from my chair and put her arms around Poly’s waist.

  “Thanks,” said my partner, “but what did I do?”

  “You kept your head and stayed smart and you love Jack and Max,” said the girl.

  “You’ve got me there,” said Poly. She put her arm around Bavarian’s shoulders and hugged her back. “You’ve done a good job of keeping your head for the past few days too, you know.”

  “Thanks,” said Bavarian. “It’s hard.”

  Poly didn’t say anything. She just hugged the little girl tighter.

  “Uncle Jack, Uncle Jack, Aunt Poly, me too, me too,” piped Terrhi.

  For the fourth time in three minutes I got attention from a child or a pet. Terrhi spun my chair toward her and hugged me with all nine of her sub-trunks. It was a weird sensation—and a pleasant one.

  “Thanks, Terrhi,” I said. “Well done. You were as courageous as the Cowardly Lion defending Dorothy when Boss Kone threatened you.”

  “I wasn’t scared, Uncle Jack,” said the Dauushan girl. “I knew you and Poly and Uncle Shepherd and my mom and dad would make everything right.”

  “Speaking of Queen Sherrhi and Tomáso,” said Shepherd. “The Matriarch of the Seas is moored at the top of this structure and ready to accept passengers.”

  Looks like I’d been wrong about not being able to make our escape via the roof.

  Two phones chimed. Martin held his to his ear and turned away.

  “You have a call from Pierre Auguste Escoffier,” my phone announced.

  “Put him through,” I said.

  “Madames et Monsieurs, friends of Poly and Jack,” said the Pyr maître d’hôtel from the Teleport Inn. “We have recovered much of the luncheon feast planned for the G70 dignitaries, but it looks like lunch for the delegates is off. Therefore, it would be my great pleasure to host you at the Teleport Inn in one hour.”

  Poly looked around the table and saw only nods of assent, except from me, Chilly, the C&C execu
tives, and the sweetened security guards—and the last two groups weren’t invited.

  “Sounds great,” said Poly. “We’ll be there on the Sky Mama soon. I hope you’ll have enough for us and some hungry Dauushans.”

  “We have plenty of food on hand, my dear, even for Dauushan appetites. The more the merrier,” said Pierre.

  “Excellent,” said Poly. “See you in sixty.”

  “Merci, à bientôt!”

  Pierre closed the connection.

  “I could use some grub,” said Chit. “Donuts don’t hold a girl that long. I’m starving.”

  “You should have tried one of our high protein varieties,” said Bavarian.

  “Maybe later, kid,” said my little friend.

  It was clear Chit needed to refuel. She wasn’t normally that abrupt with children—just with me.

  “I’ve got more good news,” said Martin as he put away his phone. “Mike and my officers report that the G70 delegates are not distressed by what’s happened. They’re thrilled to be caught up in Earth’s ‘exuberant political process’ and pleased to have great stories to tell for the next several decades. Most of the excitement was broadcast out to the GaFTA networks and their own political capital on their home planets has gone way up. They’re all in great moods coming into tomorrow’s opening session. Tomáso says Queen Sherrhi’s status is huge for suggesting the G70 meet here.”

  “It was Queen Sherrhi’s idea?” said Poly.

  “More like Tomáso’s, actually,” said Martin. “He’s developed a very strong working relationship with diplomats and trading partners here on Terra.”

  “Good for us,” said Poly.

  “Tomáso also reports that Lüzhiulterianne took her personal shuttle off the Charalindhri ten minutes ago. She’s probably at the Jackson Teleport Nexus right now trying to figure out how far she can jump to get away from Sherrhi.”

  “Knowing the queen, that’s a wise move,” said Shepherd. “I’d suggest somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy.”

  Martin showed a hint of a smile.

  “Families are complicated,” said Poly.

  “You can say that again,” I confirmed, looking at my mom and Chilly.