“Don’t mind if I do,” said Ray Ray. “Got any beer?”
I shook my head from side to side. I don’t drink and only keep cooking wine in my apartment.
“Is Pomy coming?”
Poly heard him in the kitchen.
“No,” she said, “Sorry. Kori and Durra invited her for dinner.”
“Kori and…?” asked Ray Ray, looking disappointed and a bit concerned about potential rivals for Pomy’s affections.
“Dr. Liddell-Scott and Dr. Urradu, the curator of the Carlos Museum and her Nicósn colleague,” said Poly. “Pomy will be working at the Carlos through the end of the year.”
“She told me about her new job,” said Ray Ray. “I just didn’t know her boss’s name was Kori.”
“Short for Terpsichore,” I said, “and inspiration for…”
Then the doorbell rang. After a few seconds it rang again. I thought I knew what was coming. A pair of individuals in matching blue cloaks and hoods stood on my doorstep.
“Kili, at your service,” said CiCi.
“And Fili,” added Mike.
They both swept off their blue hoods, smiled broadly, and bowed.
“At yours and your family’s,” I replied. I knew my lines. I invited both of them inside and put their cloaks on my now overburdened row of coat hooks.
“Let us join the throng,” said Mike, moving off toward the kitchen. “What smells so good?”
“Dinner,” said Poly. “It’s been slow cooking since early afternoon.”
“Yum.”
I spoke with CiCi quietly before she could rejoin Mike.
“Was this your idea?”
“Uh huh,” she said. “My friends and I did an elaborate reenactment of the Unexpected Party scene in the lobby of the Marriott at Dragon Con two years ago after the first Beren and Luthien movie came out. I had all the cloaks in storage and thought you would enjoy the joke.”
“You got me good,” I said, smiling.
Then the doorbell rang again. I opened it, expecting Hither in a purple hood. But it wasn’t her—it was an aerial flotilla of five drones carrying assorted boxes. I signed for them and was impressed by my suppliers—the time from order to delivery was getting shorter every year. While I was toting packages inside, Hither arrived wearing a white cloak and hood. She helped me with the last box.
“What smells so good?”
“Dinner,” I said. “Beef, potatoes, carrots, onions, peas, celery and garlic cooked for six hours in burgundy wine.”
“Did I mention I was a non-sentio vegan?” asked Hither.
“I understand the vegan,” I said, “and I’ve got a big pan of Dauushan Strata for you, but what’s the non-sentio part?”
“Non-sentio vegans only eat food from non-sentient plants.”
“I’m sure my friend Dree and her offspring will be glad to hear that.”
“I could give you some web links about non-sentio vegan eating if you’re interested,” Hither offered.
“That’s okay,” I said, wondering who was actually making food out of sentient plants and how to stop them.
I hoped Hither wouldn’t have a problem if the rest of us were eating beef in front of her.
“What’s in the boxes, Jack?” called Poly from the kitchen.
“Do you want to open boxes first or eat first?” I said.
I polled everyone present and the vote came back four to three in favor of opening boxes first. Poly cast the tiebreaker.
“Come into the living room and we can pretend it’s Christmas morning,” I said.
The other six Xenotech Support team members joined me, sitting on chairs and my sofa. Shuvvath, of course, preferred to stand.
“Is it permitted for me to pretend to celebrate Christmas if I am not a Christian?” asked the Orishen. “I do not wish to give offense.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Early Christians appropriated the secular Roman festival of Saturnalia and turned it into Christmas in the first or second century of the Common Era. In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries the secular world took it back and made it a capitalist holiday.”
“We have a similar celebration on Orish,” said Shuvvath. “The Festival of Joyous Consumption.”
“I know,” I said. “Christmas, Thanksgiving, Carnival, and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. Your species really knows how to party.”
“It also helps encourage the Orishen planetary economy,” said Shuvvath.
“Let’s encourage Jack to open some boxes,” said Ray Ray. “I’m hungry!”
Two of the boxes were a lot larger than the others. I kept the largest and gave the next larger one to Poly, passing smaller ones to Mike, CiCi and Ray Ray.
“I’m opening my box first,” I said.
With help from my phone, I carefully sliced through the tape holding the top of my box closed and pulled back the flaps. I smiled when I saw what was inside and held up a sample for everyone’s inspection.
“Xenotech Support polo shirts!” said CiCi. “That makes us official.”
Everyone had been great about specifying their sizes after karaoke last night. CiCi and Mike helped me pass out the company polo shirts, making sure that the right sizes got to the right people. Shuvvath got a corporate logo headband and temporary XSC logo decals for his thorax.
“What’s in your box, Poly?” asked Hither.
Poly opened her box and pulled out a selection of Xenotech Support t-shirts in various sizes and colors.
“You want to control our personal lives as well as our working lives?” asked Mike.
I was pretty sure he was joking.
“No,” I said, “but every little bit of advertising helps.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Mike, smiling to show he was pulling my chain. “I want a black one in extra-large.”
Cici threw a t-shirt at Mike. It caught him in the face.
“Workplace harassment,” said Mike.
“Not a joking matter,” said Poly.
“Sorry,” said Mike.
CiCi gave him a “Shut up, Mike,” look and Mike did, appearing contrite but not cowed.
It was a bit unfair, since CiCi had started it. Poly and I would talk to them both about it later.
“What’s in your box, Mike?” asked Poly, trying to change the subject and spare Mike further embarrassment.
“Name badges!” said Mike after he’d opened his box by cutting its tape on one of Shuvvath’s sharp, armored forearms. “They’re magnetic—and they change what they say. Cool.”
He put his on. It was a small, gold-toned oval just under three inches wide. I was rather proud of them. Xenotech Support Corporation was etched in small letters along the upper arc of the oval and each person’s name and job title appeared in two lines centered on the badge. The fun part was that I’d set up each person’s title to rotate through a series of options. The changing text didn’t look like an electronic readout—it continued to look like it was engraved. Mike’s now read “Utility Infielder.” The badges were a real hit. I’d made sure Shuvvath’s worked with Velcro.
“What do you have, CiCi?”
She picked up her medium-sized box and shook it. Nothing rattled. CiCi pulled open the top of her box without cutting the tape. She has strong hands.
“Xenotech Support baseball caps!” shouted CiCi. She turned to Mike. “Now you can really be a utility infielder.”
“We don’t have enough employees to field a softball team,” said Ray Ray.
“How long do you think that will last?” asked Mike.
It was nice to know our team had confidence in the company.
“Pass ’em out,” said Poly.
I put on my black cap with a white logo and held up my phone i
n mirror mode so I could see how they looked. Not bad. Then my phone began to snicker. I heard a buzz near my ears, then a small, beetle-like head with large mandibles and long, curved antennae peered over the brim of my cap and looked at me, upside down.
“Hey, buddy boy,” said Chit. “You’re gonna need someone with sense an’ street smarts to manage your softball team.”
“You volunteering?” I said. “I didn’t think you were the company-joining type.”
“Consider me a closely affiliated consultant,” said my little friend. “Somebody’s gotta keep you out of trouble.”
I looked at Poly and raised my eyebrows. She nodded, then she smiled, then she grinned.
“Welcome aboard,” I said. “Hither can figure out your employment status.”
“Great,” said Chit. “When d’ we eat?”
“Any minute now,” I said. “Only one more box to open.”
Chit flew off the brim of my baseball cap and landed on Hither’s shoulder.
“Let’s talk,” she said. “I’ve got some ideas about our profit sharin’ plan.”
“Later,” said Hither.
She’d be an excellent talent manager, I thought. She already knew how to handle Chit.
Poly spoke to Ray Ray, who was looking impatient.
“If you’re that hungry, why isn’t your box open?”
“Right,” he said, pulling a small Swiss Army knife from his pocket, then carefully and deliberately opening his box. He didn’t want to damage its contents.
Care and deliberation are skills I value in an employee. Ray Ray would be an excellent senior member of the team, I could tell.
“Business cards,” Ray Ray announced.
He held out a small rectangular box of five hundred cards with one card taped to the top.
“Poly,” he said, handing the box to my partner. “Mike. Shuvvath. CiCi. Hither. Me.”
After each name he passed that person their cards.
“Don’t you get cards, Jack?” asked CiCi. Then she looked thoughtful and said, “Oh. Sorry. Brain now fully engaged.”
CiCi had just realized I already had plenty of business cards. Until recently, I’d been Xenotech Support’s sole employee.
Hither looked a little disappointed that she didn’t have a box to open. I handed her a thumb drive.
“This is for you,” I said. “It’s a set of codes for our new payroll and talent management system.”
Her eyes lit up.
“I’ll have everybody loaded into the system by Monday,” she said.
“Wednesday’s fine,” said Poly, “or even the following Monday when we get back to town.”
“You’re going away for a whole week?” asked Hither.
“She told us that this afternoon,” said CiCi.
“Yes,” said Poly, “We’re going for a week and don’t want any calls or emails unless Atlanta is being invaded by Lizard Men from the Large Magellanic Cloud.”
“There is a species of sentient bipedal lizards in the Small Magellanic Cloud, but to the best of my knowledge they’re not belligerent,” said Shuvvath.
“Nice to know,” said Poly, nodding at Shuvvath, “and one more reason not to call or email. The purpose of our week off is for Jack and me to have some time alone together.”
“We’re all behind you on that,” said Mike. “We’ll hold down the fort while you’re away and will keep interruptions to a minimum.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Now let’s eat.”
* * * * *
Dinner, as I’d hoped, was appreciated. The beef was tender enough to cut with a fork, or as I preferred, to pull apart with tongs. Everyone raved about the way the slow cooking infused the vegetables with flavor from the wine. I made a light gravy that went well with the potatoes and meat. The onions would slide away when we tried to eat them but people found ways to capture and consume them. Half the pan of Dauushan Strata was gone. Hither had a healthy appetite and most of the rest of the people around the table had a taste and liked it. There were leftovers, but not many.
While we ate, Chit presided over the table from her position on an overturned water glass in front of my plate. She told stories about all the companies she’d helped over the decades. I wondered how old Chit was and how many years Murms lived. As a species, they were effectively immortal, but I didn’t have any idea about individual Murms. She was having so much fun I didn’t have the heart to tell her she had a tiny blob of white horseradish in the center of her dark head. It made me proud to see her wing cases painted white with the Xenotech Support logo on each one.
Poly and I believed in mixing business with pleasure and didn’t have any compunctions about talking shop at the dinner table. We made some initial client assignments and divided up other responsibilities for team members to handle while we were away. CiCi would handle telecommunications issues for the Georgia State Capitol and other broadcast clients. Mike would handle calls involving 3D printing technology. Shuvvath would focus on clients having challenges with Orishen tech and Ray Ray would back everyone else up with his broader and deeper technical experience. Hither had responsibility for getting data loaded into our new payroll and talent management systems. She’d also take care of billing and receivables.
We decided to use my apartment as a temporary office, since Poly and I wouldn’t be around to need it for the next week. There would be plenty of time to look for more appropriate office space when we got back. Everyone used cell phones, so all I had to do was have client calls route to whichever one of the other team members was in my apartment acting as a dispatcher. It wasn’t a perfect system long term, but should work fine for a week.
With business out of the way, it was time for my last surprise—a dessert that never failed to impress. I’d made Baked Alderaan. It’s similar to Baked Alaska but with touches of molecular gastronomy. Instead of ice cream it uses nitrogen-cooled Italian gelato. The sponge cake is replaced by real and quite flavorful marinated, cooked, and sliced Nicósn sponges, while the meringue is infused with helium in an aerogel, like the cloud candy version of cotton candy sold by street vendors at First Contact Day parades.
I’d made eight servings earlier and had put them on a tray in my freezer. While Chit told another story, I put the tray in the oven to set the meringue. Five minutes later, I pulled them out and topped them with high-proof Orishen orange liqueur. For maximum dramatic effect, I turned off all the lights in my apartment and ignited the alcohol.
When I brought the tray to the table I got the reaction I was expecting—utter delight. I passed the individual portions around, reserving a tiny vertical slice of mine for Chit, and watched them disappear in seconds. That was part of the joke in the name. One minute Baked Alderaan was there, then it wasn’t. I’d like to say I felt a strange disturbance in the Force, but it was just the warm glow of approval I saw on my friends’ and new team members’ faces. Hither wanted the recipe after confirming the Nicósn sponges were non-sentient.
After that, everyone pitched in and made cleanup easy. We all worked well together and were the sort of people who saw things that needed to be done and did them. Ray Ray cleaned up all the boxes and tape in the living room. CiCi and Mike moved dishes from the dining room table to the kitchen. Poly rinsed them and Shuvvath put them in the dishwasher while Hither gathered up the place mats and other linens and carried them to my laundry room. She said she’d get them washed while we were away. I took care of the leftovers. Hither assured me she’d finish up the Dauushan Strata, so I should leave it in the refrigerator.
In half an hour, everything was accomplished. I gave everyone permanent security codes for the gates to the courtyard and my apartment and told them the company would pay for their parking in the Ad Astra complex if they needed their cars close at hand.
Hugs were exchanged and there was a
chorus of “Good night, Jack,” “Good night, Poly,” “Good night, Mike,” “Good night, CiCi,” and so on that continued for several iterations.
Chit was sleepy from too much food and headed back inside her bottle, tucked into a pocket on my backpack tool bag.
When the last of our guests had left, I gave Poly a hug.
“That’s it, then,” I said. “We’re ready for our Las Vegas adventure.”
“Not quite,” said Poly. “First we have to pack.”
“Right.”
It was nice not to have to worry about weight limits for once.
Chapter 6
“The journey is the reward.”
— Steve Jobs
Poly and I were at the private jet terminal at Hartsfield Port at eleven thirty the next morning. My van dropped us off and would head back to Ad Astra. I’d asked it to be available for other Xenotech Support team members’ use while we were away.
I carried my backpack tool bag and pulled my roller bag, but Poly’s suitcase, a large, top of the line, Follow-Me brand carry-all, stayed a few steps behind her. Poly said it had been a gift from her mother several years ago, before they’d stopped speaking. It made things a lot easier when the two of them had been on a grand tour of the galaxy, in an if this is Tuesday it must be Nicós sort of way. Poly also carried a brown leather messenger bag. I wasn’t sure if it was an analogue of my backpack tool bag or a purse or both.
Roger Joe-Bob Bacon glided up the corridor behind us, but we didn’t notice until Poly’s suitcase moved out of the way to make room for the Pyr.
“I’m glad you’re early,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “The plane’s all ready to go.”
“So are we,” said Poly, “and thanks again for the lift.”
“It’s my pleasure to help out two such enterprisin’ young folks,” said the billionaire Pyr mogul and Waffle House cook. “You’ve earned it. Havin’ the Compliant Plague loose in the galaxy would’ve been bad for business.”
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 4