“You’ve got a point.”
If Poly wasn’t going to ask her, I certainly had no interest in asking Barbara Keen for assistance, even if she was the publisher of various Keen’s Guides to the galaxy.
“Hey there, y’all. Is it safe to come out?” asked a familiar voice below my feet.
“Sure,” I said, recognizing a new friend’s tone and accent.
Roger Joe-Bob Bacon, his sometime server and full-time Emory professor friend, Niaowla “Dox” Murriym, and her Georgia Tech professor mate, Bart Urrrson, pushed up one of the panels on the side of the stage and emerged into the bright May sunlight. Roger Joe-Bob was a Pyr, a four-foot tall, three-sided alien with eyes at the top of each side. Niaowla and Bart were seven-foot Tigrammaths, cat-like alien carnivores. The Tigrammaths had to bend over double to hide beneath the stage, but the Pyr’s mobility cilia conveyed him out from under without any need to adjust his height.
“Did you two young’uns say you wanted to go to Vegas?” asked Roger Joe-Bob.
“Yes,” said Poly, “but I don’t know how we’ll find a flight or a hotel room. GALTEX starts on Monday.”
“I’ve been known to spend some time in that there town,” said Roger Joe-Bob.
“He’s been known to spend time at the poker tables,” said Niaowla. “He’s a real high roller.”
“Now Dox,” said the Pyr, “just ’cause I like to separate suckers from their money don’t make me a high roller.”
Roger Joe-Bob was an eccentric. He was the chairman of Khufu, Limited, the third largest Pyr conglomerate on Terra, but he liked working as a cook at the Waffle House franchise he owned down near Hartsfield Port. He could afford to be a high roller.
“Every hotel in Vegas would comp you a suite or two in a heartbeat,” said Niaowla.
“There she goes ag’in,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “Exaggeratin’.”
“Didn’t you tell me the Luxor permanently reserved an upper floor for him?” Bart asked his mate.
“That was last year,” said Niaowla. “Now it’s the Grand Pyridian.”
Poly and I looked at each other. The little Pyr stayed at high-class digs.
“Anyway,” said Roger Joe-Bob, “seein’ as it’s been a few weeks since I’ve been back…”
He paused, thinking for a moment.
“An’ seein’ that you two did such a nice job of lookin’ out for my friend Queen Sherrhi,” he said, “you’re welcome to have one of my suites as my guests.”
I looked at Poly and smiled. She smiled back. We nodded. Maybe we’d be able to go to GALTEX after all.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Bacon,” said Poly. “That’s very generous of you. We accept.”
“Now we just have to figure out how to get there,” I said.
“Well, that goes without sayin’, Jack,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “Be at the private jet terminal at Hartsfield Port at noon tomorrow with your bags packed.”
“And smiles on our faces,” said Poly.
“Of course, little lady,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “Bringin’ smiles to the faces of you two young’uns is half the fun.”
I shook one of Roger Joe-Bob’s tentacles and Poly gave him a hug. The pale skin of his pyramidal form turned dark red as blood flowed to the top layers of his dermis.
“Aw, shucks,” said the Pyr, looking pleased and disconcerted simultaneously. His mobility cilia carried him off toward the Carlos Museum with smiles on at least two of his three mouths.
“What a sweetheart,” said Poly.
“A high-stakes gambling sweetheart,” I replied.
“With a private plane.”
“A suite at a luxury hotel on the Vegas Strip.”
“And two very grateful friends,” said Poly.
“Who are going to GALTEX.”
Poly hugged me tight enough to force the air out of my lungs.
“We’re going to GALTEX!” Polly bubbled.
“I’ll order our badges,” I said.
My phone exercised its initiative and took care of that detail.
“We should get the team together before we leave,” said Poly. “We need to figure out who’s doing what while we’re gone.”
“I’ll cook dinner for everybody at my place.”
“Great,” said Poly. “That sets exactly the right tone. I’ll round everybody up.”
Poly intercepted Hither, CiCi, Ray Ray and Mike before they could leave to return the imagination stations. I found Shuvvath disconnecting morphic panels. Poly and I stood with our backs to the stage while the five new employees of Xenotech Support Corporation stood in a semicircle in front of us.
“Hey, everybody,” I said. “Thanks for your amazing work today.”
There were lots of smiles from the human employees and a smile-equivalent from Shuvvath.
“Poly and I are going out of town for a week and we’re leaving tomorrow,” I said, “but you’re all invited to my place for dinner tonight first. It will be our company kickoff meeting.”
“Really?” asked Hither. “Cool. Can I bring something?”
“Just yourself,” said Poly.
“What time?” asked Mike.
“Seven?” I said, tossing out an option.
“Works for me,” said Ray Ray. “Is Pomy coming?”
I looked at Poly. She nodded. She also had a twinkle in her eye. Had she seen what I thought I’d seen about how Ray Ray looked at Pomy?
“We’ll see,” I said.
Seven was fine for everyone. I gave them my address and individual one-time use codes for the courtyard gate’s security.
“Get some rest, folks,” said Poly. “We’ll see you tonight.”
“Come on, everybody,” said Hither, “Let’s get these imagination stations back to the carnival so the kids can enjoy their rides.”
Mike, CiCi, Ray Ray and Hither, plus Bruno the Strongman and Uncle Richard the Knife Thrower, flew off to the west. CiCi would drive Mike down to the hangar near Hartsfield so he could pick up his car after they got to the carnival.
I turned to Poly.
“Hey,” I said, “My place?”
“Great idea,” she said. “I need a nap.”
“Seconded,” I said. “But I have to shop for dinner first.”
“No,” said Poly. “You don’t. Order what you want and have it delivered.”
“I can do that,” I said.
“Take me home now,” said Poly, smiling, “then take me.”
I liked both the first and second halves of her sentence.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
She had, after all, just received her second Master’s degree.
“That was your one time to say that without risking bodily injury.”
“Yes, Ma… ma’am,” I said, smiling myself.
Poly took off her graduation robes, folded them up, and carried them under her arm. She looked great in her morphic silk dress. It was still a lovely blue, white and yellow with short sleeves.
We hopped down from the stage and walked over to a side road where my van was waiting. It had already reconfigured its front seats from two captain’s chairs to a bench seat so Poly could snuggle into my shoulder. We both buckled up and my van headed for my apartment.
“What are you going to make for dinner tonight?” asked Poly.
“Beef stew.”
I asked my phone to order the ingredients I needed and didn’t have in my pantry.
“What if any of our guests are vegans or vegetarians?” asked Poly.
“Dauushan Strata,” I said.
“I hope you’re making a small batch,” she said, remembering the children’s plastic wading pool-sized pan of the dish at Queen Sherrhi’s state dinner last Wednesday night.
> “I have a pan of it in my freezer,” I said. “I made a double batch a few weeks ago and froze one.”
“I love a man who can cook,” said Poly.
“Oh,” I said, “You’ll have to introduce me to him someday.”
She bunched up two fingers and poked me in the ribs.
“Ouch,” I said. “Watch it.”
“Are you hurt?”
Poly reached her right arm farther over and started to lift my shirt.
“I thought we agreed to wait until we went on vacation.”
“I’m not trying to strip you,” she said. “I just want to check your bruises.”
She rubbed a spot on her lower right abdomen and winced.
“Looks like I’ll need to do the same for you.”
“Ummm, maybe,” said Poly.
“It can wait until we get to my apartment.”
“Yeah,” said Poly. “We can play doctor when we get there.”
“I thought we agreed to wait…” I repeated.
She leaned up and kissed my cheek.
“Not that kind of playing doctor,” said Poly.
I looked down and saw the twinkle in her eye.
“You do have a first aid kit, don’t you?”
“Given the way my life has been going lately, do you need to ask?”
“You have a point,” said Poly.
“Courtyard or parking garage?” asked my van.
“Courtyard.”
My van dropped us off on Peachtree and Poly and I walked across the Ad Astra courtyard to my apartment. My phone opened the door as we approached and entered. Tension left my body like I was a teapot pouring out half a gallon of Darjeeling. Poly’s shoulders slumped like a soufflé after an earthquake. We’d both been living on adrenaline for too long.
The two of us hugged each other inside my apartment’s closed door. Somehow, when Poly and I were together, all was right with the world. We broke our hug when it felt right. We’d soaked up enough of each other for the moment.
“Take off your shirt,” said Poly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
We walked over to the dining room table. I removed my blazer and bow tie, slid down my suspenders, unbuttoned my white dress shirt, and took it off. Then I peeled off my Orishen pupa silk shirt and pulled it over my head. I slid out one of the dining room chairs, turned it ninety degrees, and sat down. Poly did the same, facing me. She shook her head back and forth, unhappy with what she saw.
“The center of your chest looks like a bull’s-eye,” said Poly. “There are rings in shades of black and blue.”
“That’s from the machine gun bullet.”
“I’m pretty sure your pupa silk shirt wouldn’t stop a bullet from a machine gun.”
“No,” I said, “the bullet knocked a chunk of brick off the side of a building. That’s what hit me in the chest.”
“You live a charmed life,” said Poly.
“Tell me about it. I’ve got a picture in my attic filled with bullet holes.”
“This is a one story apartment.”
“Details, details,” I said. “Why doesn’t it hurt like the shots I took in my sides?”
“Those bruised your ribs,” said Poly. “The brick must not have had much velocity when it landed.”
“If you say so,” I said. “It nearly put me on my butt.”
“And a nice butt it is,” said Poly.
She leaned forward, looking behind me to ogle my butt, smiling.
“If you say so.”
“The low level bruising from the bomb in the elevator is fading,” said Poly.
“I’m a fast healer.”
“Yeah, right,” said Poly. “The picture in the attic is more likely. Where’s your first aid kit?”
“On the wall in the kitchen.”
Poly got the kit and returned to sit next to me. She applied a topical anesthetic to the bruises on my chest and my right side, then covered them with gauze held on with tape. She was good at playing doctor.
“Your turn,” I said.
Poly’s dress reconfigured itself to reveal her pupa silk shirt. She took it off in one graceful motion, showing the white bra she was wearing underneath it. There were several bruises on Poly’s upper torso corresponding to places where her octovac armor had pinched her too tightly. One larger bruise on her right side puzzled me.
“Where did that one come from?” I asked.
“Sphere thrower,” said Poly. “One of his spheres caught me in the side. He threw it pretty hard.”
I put topical anesthetic on Poly’s bruise and bandaged it.
“Now we match,” I said.
She squeezed and opened her right hand, wincing.
“And you’re going to need ice for that,” I said. “You gave Ms. Smith quite a wallop.”
“It sure felt good doing it.”
I got a large bowl and filled it up with ice in the kitchen, then brought it back to Poly.
“Chill out, darling.”
She put her right hand in the ice.
“I’m cool,” said Poly.
She was trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering. Then my phone alerted me that a drone was at my door. I accepted delivery and brought a large box inside, putting it on my kitchen counter. I opened the box and removed the various items within. The contents included a six-pound pot roast, a five-pound bag of peeled and quartered white potatoes, a similar bag filled with golf ball-sized onions, four pounds of baby carrots, a plastic container of chopped celery, two pounds of frozen green peas, two boxes of onion soup mix, a small bag of garlic cloves, and a gallon jug of inexpensive burgundy.
Poly picked up her bowl of ice and brought it with her into the kitchen so she could watch what I was doing. I got out my All-Clad 6-quart sauté pan, put it on the stove and turned the gas up to high below it. While it was preheating, I retrieved my 8-quart roaster from its spot in the bottom of my kitchen island and put it on the counter, plugging it into a convenient outlet. When the sauté pan was hot, I seared the beef on every side, sprinkling it liberally with garlic salt and freshly ground pepper. Then I turned off the gas, put the beef in the roaster, and added the potatoes, pre-prepped onions, carrots, celery and peeled garlic cloves.
“It smells good,” said Poly.
“That’s just the Maillard reaction,” I said. “Browning the meat first adds lots of flavor.”
The roaster was full of beef and vegetables. I sprinkled the packets of onion soup mix over everything then poured in burgundy until it was almost to the top. I put the glass lid in place, set the roaster to slow cooker mode, and smiled with anticipation. By seven o’clock tonight the contents of the roaster would be cooked and all the various flavors would meld together into something wonderful. I put the peas in the freezer—I’d add them in the last half hour. I washed the sauté pan and put it away, then broke down the box the drone had used for its delivery and put it outside my back door where it would be picked up and recycled.
When I’d finished cleaning up and was washing my hands in the kitchen sink I felt a cold hand pressed into the center of my naked back. I didn’t turn around but still registered my displeasure.
“You’ll pay for that, dear.”
“Promises, promises,” said Poly.
I shifted the faucet handle from warm to cold and kept my hands under the flow until they were frigid, then turned around and gave Poly a hug, crossing my hands on her unclothed back.
“I give, I give,” said Poly, wriggling out of my grasp. “If you’re going to play that way, I’m picking up my marbles and going home.”
“Can I interest you in going to my bedroom instead?” I said.
“Sure,” she said.
“Don’t get your ho
pes up. I only want a nap, but wouldn’t mind some company.”
Poly sighed.
“You’d better get plenty of rest to build up your strength,” she said. “I have plans for you in Vegas.”
Chapter 5
“A dinner lubricates business.”
— William Scott
Everything was prepared and I’d even found time to fix my phone. The dining room table was set and I was freshly shaved, showered and dressed in jeans and a black Atlanta Radio Theatre Company t-shirt when the doorbell rang. It was five minutes until seven. Poly was in the kitchen arranging the flowers I’d ordered from Mistress Marigold’s Little Shop of Flowers location in the Ad Astra complex.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
When I opened the door I was surprised to see a tall figure wearing a dark green cloak and hood. It was Shuvvath.
“Dwalin, at your service.”
Okay, somebody who knew how much I liked Tolkien was pulling my leg. I could play along.
“Jack Buckston at yours!” I replied. “We’re just about to eat; pray come and have some dinner with us.”
Shuvvath bowed, which is more interesting to watch on someone with four legs instead of two. I returned his bow and took his cloak and hood, hanging them on a row of coat hooks by my front door. The young Orishen nymph, a six foot praying mantis-shaped alien, walked back toward the kitchen to say hello to Poly. Then the doorbell rang again.
As I opened the door I said, “So you have got here at last…”
But it wasn’t a white-bearded wizard with a pointy hat holding a letter inviting me to Hogwarts—it was Ray Ray wearing a red cloak and hood.
“Balin, at your service,” he said. “I see they have begun to arrive already.”
I added Ray Ray’s cloak and hood to my row of coat hooks and made a mental note to stop mixing up characters from my favorite fantasy novels. I wondered if I was still napping.
“Thank you,” I said. “Come along in and have some dinner.”
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 3