A smaller bench and two comfortable human-sized chairs, right in front, were clearly for Terrhi and her guests. Surprisingly, we were the only people on the platform. The entire Dauushan delegation must be in the parade this year. Terrhi plopped her hindquarters down with child-like excitement, her mid-legs and arms dangling. Poly and I sat on either side. Spike lay in front of us, his massive head hanging out over the edge of the platform. We were only a few feet from the parade route and would have a great view once it started.
Vendors were walking back and forth across four broad lanes of Peachtree Street selling souvenirs like t-shirts and dioramas of First Contact in the offices of the Chairman of JPMorgan Chase. An enterprising human girl was hawking stuffed toy versions of familiar Galactic species like Pyrs, Tigrammaths, Dauushans and Orishens in their “butterfly” stage. She even had some stuffed human dolls for juvenile Galactics. The food vendors offered treats like salty roasted borsum nuts from Orishen and Nicósn waffles dusted with their equivalent of cinnamon.
I bought a couple of cloud candies from a vendor who had a colorful selection of the sweet floating treat in one hand and a polychromatic collection of balloons in the other. Cloud candy is a lot like cotton candy but the sugar is spun into an aerogel that’s infused with helium. It’s lighter than air and sold on a string. You pull it down and nibble on it. Cloud candy isn’t as sticky as traditional cotton candy and is a lot more fun to eat. The helium is released when you eat it and it has its usual effect on vocal cords, human and otherwise. If you’ve never heard a juvenile Dauushan sounding like Donald Duck you haven’t lived. I bought some borsum nuts for Chit for old times’ sake and then it was time for the parade to begin.
The parade started just a few blocks north of us, near Lenox Square mall. We could both see and hear it approach. A local high school band playing themes from the Star Wars movies kicked off the festivities. They were followed by more than 200 Imperial stormtroopers from the 501st Legion, “Vader’s Fist,” in close formation, some in old armor, some in new. Behind them came a smaller group of stormtroopers playing soccer with a rolling, spherical droid and behind them were four banthas—younger Dauushans in costumes—attached to the four limbs of a rather unhappy looking animatronic Jar Jar Binks. Last year they’d threatened to quarter Jar Jar every block or so to the cheers of the crowd. Some parade goers threw rotten fruit and vegetables at the hapless Gungan, while a few individuals across from our platform took a contrary position and held up “I HEART JAR JAR” signs. It takes all kinds.
Next came a float from the Greater Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, featuring a giant rotating peach with Earth’s continents superimposed on it like a globe. Dozens of tiny drone spaceships were circling the peach, landing and taking off from the large star that marked the location of Hartsfield Port. Luxury cargo packages appeared and disappeared on an elevated platform in the back labeled Jackson Teleportation Nexus. Banners on the sides of the float read “Atlanta: Gateway to the Galaxy.” Civic boosterism at its finest.
I heard the “Awww” sounds from the crowd before I saw the next group. Poly must have spotted them before I did because she said “Awww,” too. Then I saw what prompted her reaction—a class of elfin elementary school age princesses and princes in tutus and tights twirling batons with varying degrees of expertise. Most of them looked a bit lost. They all needed help from the adults, who were not so much guiding them as wrangling them along the parade route. Every so often one of the little ones would get distracted, especially if there were dogs on the sidewalk, and would have to be herded back into the main group. Only a few of the tiny twirlers were non-human. The cutest one of them was a pint-sized four-sided Pyr not more than two feet tall who was using her tentacles to spin four miniature batons simultaneously. She also spun around as she twirled. I was amazed she could keep up with the group on her tiny walking cilia.
“She’s Pyr-ouetting,” said Poly. I could hear the pun in her hesitation and gave her a look and a smile.
“My Daddy’s better than they are,” said Terrhi.
“I’ll bet he is,” I said. Poly and I patted Terrhi’s head then held hands across her back.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what else the Dauushan delegation will be doing,” said Poly.
“It’s bound to be something big,” I said. Poly squeezed my hand and gave me a look. Everything about Dauushans was big.
StarTrust, the renamed SunTrust Bank that had helped fund The Coca-Cola Company back in the day, sponsored the next float. It featured a giant galcred mark, a pair of bright green vertical bars made from steel pipes at least two stories tall interlocked with a hovering black Möbius strip infinity symbol. I’d been told it stood for Infinite Profit from Unlimited Free Trade. I wasn’t sure how the float’s designers had pulled it off, but pulses of light raced around the infinity symbol making it seem alive and growing, like StarTrust investors’ wealth in the last fifteen years. Joining GaFTA had led to rapid business expansion and the dotstar boom. I was confident that Xenotech Support Corporation would soon join StarTrust as major success.
As the next group approached I heard laughter from the spectators on both sides of the block above us. All I could see were twenty Nicósns holding ropes leading up into the sky, but I couldn’t see any sort of balloon. Then the marchers got close enough for me to be able to read the sign being carried in front of them by two young Nicósns. It read “Eat Flat Fish.” As the group crossed our vantage point Poly and Terrhi and I could see a 30 foot long, 30 foot high tortilla fish balloon with the “Eat Flat Fish” slogan printed on its side. The reason we couldn’t see it edge on was that it was less than an inch wide. The Nicósn Seafood Consortium had originally adopted the slogan “Eat Mor Fish” and used comic robot chickens in their commercials but they’d been successfully sued by Chick-fil-A and switched to their current slogan. The latest thing from the Nicósns was serials, like Dickens’ novels, printed on tortilla fish. You’d read the next installment, then eat it. There were comic books printed on them, too. The colored inks were flavored. Yum.
The VIGorish Labs float and precision drill team passed by without anything untoward happening. Their float was a 12 by 12 by 40 foot water tank simulating the climax of Atlantis Leviathan. The drill team was 120 hard looking men and women in Space Marine uniforms doing electro-harpoon tosses like the non-player cannon fodder characters in Space Leviathan. Tony Zed wasn’t riding on a throne stroking a white Persian cat and the drill team wasn’t wearing Dauushan Ranger camouflage. I started breathing a little easier.
Farther up the parade route I could hear the unmistakable bleats of hundreds of faux. The small quadrupeds came into sight a minute later. They were part of a Tigrammath drill team where a dozen lithe, tiger-striped Tigrammath youngsters only five or six feet tall artfully herded over three hundred faux into ever-changing patterns, their white, brown, tan and black hides forming Celtic knots, Greek key patterns and intricate double helices. Adult Tigrammaths walked on the sides and carried large thin-film screens that offered overhead drone views of the patterns. One faux tried to break formation near our platform and a growl from Spike was enough to get the independent-minded beast back in line. I looked up to see if I could spot the drone cameras feeding the thin-film screens. They were easy to identify—some clever Tigrammath cubs had modified them to look like angel-winged flying pigs with belly cams.
Above the flying pigs, way off in the distance, I could spot an large open-sided commercial hovercar flying several hundred feet above ground and towing a “Drink Starbuzz” banner. I was surprised to see it since most of the time advertising banners were still pulled by fixed wing aircraft. Maybe they were using a hovercar instead of a small plane because the hovercar’s rotors gave it more maneuverability. That way they could zoom down Peachtree Street at the end of the parade and toss out coupons for new soft drink flavors or something. It must cost quite a few Galcreds to get the permits for that. The silhouette of the hovercar was a bit off, but I didn’t have time t
o dwell on it—the Cantina Band float was coming up next and Terrhi was squeeing in delight.
It always amazed me how much the Galactics liked classic Star Wars. One article I’d read asserted that was because GaFTA species appreciated the way the George Lucas and Disney had desensitized Terrans to alien races and helped us welcome instead of fear non-terrestrials. There was something to that but I always thought the films’ off-planet appeal had more to do with an “aren’t the hairless monkeys cute” perspective and a lingering fascination about “seeing ourselves as others see us” on the part of other members of the Galactic Free Trade Association. Be that as it may, Galactics were crazy about Star Wars, particularly the original trilogy. Their fascination fueled renewed interest in the films by Terrans of all ages. The Cantina Band float played on that sentiment.
A full-sized copy of the Mos Eisley bar from Star Wars: A New Hope, was built on top of a square platform just a few feet narrower than the street. It was open on three sides with archways with Han and Greedo’s booth in the front and the Cantina Band performing against a wall in the back. Dozens of extras milled about, drinking, gambling and working as bartenders or servers. Some stood on the sides of the float and toasted the crowd. The music was loud and infectiously cheerful. Some onlookers started swaying in time to the beat. My understanding was that it was very prestigious to be selected for this float and auditions to play the various human and non-human roles were quite competitive.
Every twenty feet or so a blaster would go off. Sometimes Han shot first, sometimes Greedo, to keep everybody happy. On the other side of the wall facing backwards was a giant Jabba the Hut holding chains for slave Leia and half a dozen other dancing female humanoids in shades of green and blue. Across the street from us a man in a gold Star Trek captain’s uniform broke from the crowd and chased a green-tinted female. She ran away, but not too fast. Everybody laughed—it had clearly been staged and most people got the joke. Poly was laughing hard enough that tears ran down her face and Terrhi’s trunks were quivering with delight. I don’t think Spike got it.
I was glad that another high school marching band came next—this one playing selections from Gustav Holst’s The Planets. It gave me time to regroup. I was distracted, worrying about what Tony Zed might be up to. I leaned over Terrhi’s back and kissed Poly. Terrhi was so entranced by the parade she didn’t even notice.
Several more local civic groups went by—none all that interesting. There was a bit of excitement when a small group of Earth First Christian protesters tried to break into the parade route, but they were blocked and rerouted down a side street by Atlanta’s Finest.
“Having fun?” I said, squeezing Poly’s hand.
“The best. I’ve seen the parade before but never with such great seats.”
“Me, neither, though I did see it from the sixth floor dining room last year.” There was a private restaurant with a lovely terrace overlooking Peachtree available for Ad Astra residents. It was a great place to watch the parade.
“This is better,” said Poly.
“Wait ’til my Daddy gets here!” said Terrhi.
“I’m sure it will be worth waiting for,” said Poly.
“You won’t have long to wait,” said Terrhi. “Here they come.”
She was right. Twenty-one Dauushans, as large or larger than African bull elephants, were marching down Peachtree Street to the oompah sounds of Prince Ali’s triumphal entrance into Agrabah from Disney’s Aladdin. All were draped in purple and gold trappings that contrasted beautifully with their bright pink hides. Leading the parade was Tomáso, standing eighteen feet tall on his hind legs and twirling a flaming baton in each of his nine trunks. He bowed and acknowledged us as he passed. Behind him were more Dauushans on four legs, performing other complex feats of dexterity. One female was spinning nine plates on nine sticks as she danced in time to the music. A younger male juggled thirty purple balls using every one of his trunks, sending a fountain of them up higher than the third floor of the buildings lining the route. A pair of younger Dauushans balanced on top of giant steel balls using four legs and two arms each. They had grasped trunks and orbited around each other as they rolled the balls and progressed down Peachtree. Everything was choreographed to the beats of the music. Applause followed them along the parade route and nobody was clapping louder than we were. Terrhi couldn’t clap the same way we could, but she trumpeted her approval.
Behind the Dauushan contingent I could see the even larger forms of the Tōdons. We must be getting to the end of the parade. I heard the noise of a commercial hovercar close overhead. It must be the one towing the “Drink Starbuzz” banner coming in low to distribute coupons. I looked up and saw what looked like the same craft I’d spotted earlier, but the banner it was towing had been released and was descending in ominous folds to the pavement farther up the street. Someone was dumping lots of small bits of paper from the craft. I realized that the odd silhouette on the hovercar was from crop dusting equipment installed below the central compartment between the fans. A fine green powder was spraying from the nozzles and drifting down on the marching Dauushans. The downdraft from the rotors helped to distribute the powder broadly, including on us.
I looked across at Poly and saw that her “What the f…” expression matched my own.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Poly. “How are you, Terrhi?”
No answer. We were all coated with fine green powder.
“Terrhi?” I said, alarmed. She slumped forward off her bench and rolled on her side, eyes closed. What was going on?
Out on the street things were chaotic. Plates and juggling balls were flying everywhere. Flaming batons had landed in the crowd and people were screaming and trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the twenty-one crazed Dauushans. Terrhi wasn’t reacting. I looked down and saw that Spike appeared to be out cold.
“Terrhi!” I said, louder, kneeling and shaking her.
“She’s out,” said Poly. “Grajja affects adult Dauushans like speed, but knocks out juveniles—and cats.”
“Like coffee calms down kids with ADHD?”
“Right.”
“How did you…”
“Looked it up,” she said. “Look out!”
One of the giant steel balls a Dauushan had been standing on was bearing down on our viewing platform. It struck a few feet to the right of us with a massive shock and nearly spilled Spike into the street where he’d be trampled. I grabbed his collar and tugged him away from the front railing. Spike could have slid right under it. Then I put my shoulder into Terrhi’s side. Poly pitched in. The two of us managed to get the drugged girl back from the edge and away just as a second steel ball came crashing into the platform and rebounding. Poly lost her footing and fell against me as the platform tipped. I helped her to her feet and hugged her, glad we were both alive. She hugged back. I wished it was under more pleasant circumstances.
The noise from the hovercar got louder. It was right over me and less than ten feet up. A familiar-looking man wearing a black coverall and matching balaclava leaned over the side. It was Cornell from the sub-sub-basement of the capitol. I saw the Earth First Isolationist galaxy and red circle slash logo on his breast pocket. No way! The Isolationists couldn’t pull something like this off. It must be more misdirection.
I was reaching for my knife when another man in a similar outfit, Penn this time, pointed a rifle-sized sweetener in our direction. Before I could do anything he triggered the device and caught us both in a molasses chill field. All my muscles were frozen. I could only watch as the hovercar descended to the viewing platform. Six other men, including Princeton, lifted Terrhi’s sleeping body into the open passenger compartment. Then Penn and Princeton picked me up and tossed me in next to Terrhi, like a two hundred pound sack of russet Burbanks. They were a bit more gentle with Poly, but not by much from what little I could see. Another man dumped a box holding a several thousand business cards over the side of th
e craft. They scattered in the backwash from the rotors. One landed near me. Black galaxy. Red circle slash. Yeah, right.
Cornell stepped close and kicked me once, hard, in the chest. It didn’t hurt, much, thanks to my Orishen pupa silk shirt. I hoped he attributed the extra rigidity his toe encountered to chill field rigor. Still, it was the thought that counted. Someday he’d get his. Cornell leaned down and spoke in my ear. It was a line that could have come from a gangster in a 1930s serial.
“How does it feel, tough guy? Not so tough now. I’d love to take care of you permanently, but the boss says he wants you mostly in one piece.”
I didn’t say anything. I was paralyzed by the molasses chill field. There was a lot I wanted to say, however. The hovercar rose rapidly. After giving me another kick, Cornell and his cohorts had to focus on other issues.
Tomáso was a berserker. He clearly retained some amount of focus—amazing given the megadose of grajja in his system—because he was trying to rescue his daughter. He threw a section of broken platform railing at the craft. It must have hit one of the rotors because the hovercar lost power and started to descend, tilting awkwardly. The motion made my head spin.
I was dizzy, but through my disorientation I felt my muscles start to warm as the effects of the molasses chill field began to wear off. The pupa silk shirt must have attenuated the sweetener’s effect. I could feel Poly’s body warming against mine. She seemed to be unchilling as well. I squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. I used a Pyr pulse-code to silently ask if she was okay and got back confirmation that she had recovered. The six men on the craft were ignoring us. I’m sure they expected we’d be on ice for at least an hour. The paralysis would be gone soon and we’d be able to do something.
The pilot of the hovercar was trying his best to correct for the damaged rotor and regain altitude but the craft still moved erratically, like a drunken leaf in the wind. Everyone else aboard was paying attention to the pilot as he fought for control. The hovercar climbed. Now was our chance!
Xenotech Rising: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 1) Page 23