“Because Cornell is a heterosexual human male,” said Jean-Jacques.
Terrhi looked puzzled, like she’d heard J-J’s words but didn’t know what they meant.
“How do you know?” I asked J-J.
“Because of his reaction to the cocktail waitresses at the game last night.”
“Got it. A waitress would be more distracting for Cornell than a waiter, Terrhi.”
“Okay.”
The Shetland pony-sized little girl went back to buttering a dinner roll from a basket of them she was using to mop up her Strata.
“They can get someone at short notice?” asked Shepherd. He licked his greasy fingers.
“I’ll find out.”
I grabbed my phone and started typing.
“Couldn’t I be the waitress?” asked Lizzie.
“Sis,” said Nettie, “we’re three of the most recognizable people on the planet.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said her sister.
A.J. punched her on her arm. Lizzie held up her fork in mock self-defense.
“I’m not an option, either,” said Poly. “Cornell knows my face. Too bad Hither isn’t here.”
“He’s probably got dossiers on every Xenotech Support Corp. employee by now,” added Martin.
“I just heard back from the temp agency,” I said. “The woman who co-owns the place, Dulce Jiménez, said she’d handle it personally.”
“Sweet!” said A.J.
“Please don’t say that to Ms. Jiménez,” I said. “I’m sure she’s tired of hearing jokes about her first name.
A.J. gave me a sour look. Lizzie elbowed him. Thankfully, the sibling conflict didn’t escalate.
“Any update on the drone search for the building where the CEOs are being held?” I asked.
“We’ve got over a hundred drones on loan, checking for heat signatures, but so far, no luck,” said Nettie.
“I was afraid that might happen,” said Lizzie. “And with congruency-powered cooling, there’s no telltale heat signature from the air conditioning exhaust.”
Wormhole technology made a lot of things easier, but some things harder.
“Looks like Cornell will have to tell us where to find the captives,” said Martin. He bit into a celery stick from one of the table’s relish trays with an aggressive crunch.
Mimi used two of her eyes to look left, then right, surveying the table.
“I’ve found something interesting,” she said.
“Do tell,” said Shepherd.
“Any guesses who owns Fly Roller Air Tours?”
“The dirigible transport company?” asked Poly.
“Right,” said Mimi.
“Fly Roller Air Tours is a wholly owned subsidiary of the James K. Polk Group,” said my phone.
“Which is, in turn, owned by…” I started to say.
“EUA Corporation,” said everyone else at the table in unison.
Mimi waved a couple of tentacles.
“From what I can tell, the abductions were all handled with transportation assistance from Fly Roller airships,” she said.
“That’s great!” I said. “Real time satellite feeds should show us where the dirigibles delivered the bigwigs.”
“It’s not that easy,” replied Mimi, using her smarter-than-everybody Special Ops voice. “The only point all of them return to is the Las Vegas Airship Terminal.”
The airship terminal was west of I-15 on a large plot of open land with excellent connections to other forms of transit, including distribution centers for major retailers. It would be easy to move the CEOs—even from large species like Dauushans and Tōdons—into eighteen-wheelers for transportation anywhere.
“Crap,” I said. I scanned the expressions of every adult at the table and we were all in agreement.
Terrhi looked at me like I’m sure her mother would have looked at her for saying a word like that. I shrugged and apologized.
“Sorry, Terrhi,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Jack,” said my young Dauushan friend. “You said what I was thinking. I just want my mom and dad and Uncle Diágo back.”
“With your help we’ll get them back soon,” I said.
While most of the others were finishing their dinners, I gave them a heads up on what I’d learned from Sally.
“And Cornell—calling himself Conall—is a ballroom dancing champion.”
“What’s the connection between Sally, Cornell and RSVP?” asked Poly.
“I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it.”
I had no business worrying about Rosalind when Queen Sherrhi and Tomáso and all the other kidnap victims were still missing. But I couldn’t help feeling that Rosalind was involved in all this—right up to her beautiful neck.
“In case anyone is interested,” inserted Martin, who was beginning to get some of his cop macho attitude back, “law enforcement personnel, from local city police forces to the Nevada Highway Patrol and National Guard, are ready to step in when we’ve identified where the CEOs are being held.”
“Good to know,” I said.
Terrhi piped up.
“Lohrri says the Charalindhri is in geo-something orbit with a whole company of Royal Drop Marines!”
I liked the idea that over a hundred well-trained African bull elephant-sized paratroopers were available to back us up if necessary. I remembered that the Charalindhri was a giant asteroid mining vessel built by the government on Dauush that doubled as a warship. My mom still worked on-board as a consultant in the Engineering department.
“That’s great, Terrhi,” I said. “I hope we don’t need them, but it’s nice to know they’re up there.”
Terrhi looked as pleased as if I’d rubbed the sides of her upper ear. Shepherd brought us back to the matter at hand.
“Mr. Bonhomme,” said the Pâkk, “are you confident you can outplay Cornell?”
“I beat him last night. I’ll beat him tonight. And if he’s not in jail tomorrow, I’ll beat him then, too,” said J-J.
“Pride goeth before a fall,” I whispered to Poly.
“No, he’s almost as good as he thinks he is,” she replied.
“But it doesn’t matter if he wins or not, right?”
“Right—but the more he wins the farther he can run.”
I nodded my agreement. Once his job here was complete, J-J was welcome to run to the end of this spiral arm for all I cared. I almost regretted that I wouldn’t be in the room for the game and would have to watch the private broadcast version.
Dulce would arrive at the connecting room adjacent to the poker game suite at eight, which would give Poly plenty of time to brief her on what she needed to do. I didn’t have specific responsibilities for the game—Poly, Shepherd and J-J had things well in hand—but I was getting anxious about Rosalind. I wanted to find out what she was up to sooner, rather than later.
“Hey Jack,” said my phone. “Sally’s on the move.”
“I thought she worked until eleven?”
“The tracking device says she’s heading south toward I-215.”
“I guess she’s working a short shift,” I said.
“Or your appearance changed her plans.”
I stood up and addressed everyone else at the table.
“Would you mind if I skipped the poker game and followed up another lead?”
“Knock yourself out,” said A.J.
“Be careful,” said Poly.
She stood up and hugged me.
“I’ll call if we need you,” said Shepherd. “Good hunting.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And don’t trust either of those women,” said Martin. I could see him wince from thinking about them.<
br />
“I’ll play it safe.”
“Yeah, right,” said Poly.
“I’ll keep my guard up,” I said, trying again.
“Better,” said Poly. “Now hit the road.”
I left the Iowa Caucus Room and took the elevator to the lobby. I had a theory about where I would find Rosalind and if Sally’s path soon turned east I’d have one more data point supporting it.
“Let’s grab an autocab to the Vegas Air Terminal,” I said to my phone. “I want to rent a dirigible from a company that’s not Fly Roller Air Transport.”
Chapter 27
“Some historians hold that history...
is just one damned thing after another.”
— Arnold Toynbee
I was flying high above Sally’s red sports car in my KiloHertz Rent-a-Blimp, watching a tiny dot representing her vehicle on my phone’s screen. She was heading southeast on I-515 from Henderson to Boulder City and my hunch about her final destination was getting stronger with every mile. It hadn’t taken any time at all to rent a four-seater basic model airship and I’d only left Las Vegas a few minutes behind Sally.
My rented blimp’s cruising speed was forty miles faster than Sally’s car—assuming she stayed close to the speed limit—so I caught up to her quickly. I tried to stay directly above her so she wouldn’t inadvertently spot me. The gasbag on my rental was more than twice as big as the one on the GalCon Systems advertising dirigible, so it covered a larger chunk of sky. At least the sun was setting. I’d be harder to spot in twilight.
Sally continued on US-93 when the interstate ended, heading east toward Boulder City and Hoover Dam. When Rosalind had said “You never understood the whole damn thing,” back in the K Street Bar, I’d wondered if she’d been trying to tell me she meant dam, not damn? Fooling me—or misdirecting me—with a bad pun would be a very Rosalind-like thing to do. And the way she’d waggled her eyebrows at me was like waving a red cape at a not-very-bright bull. She’d get a perverse pleasure out of playing me for a mark no matter if I went for the bait or not.
I was so sure Sally was headed for the dam that I almost missed the subtle shift in the motion of her car on my phone’s screen. She wasn’t headed for the dam visitors’ parking garage, she was driving across the US-93 bridge connecting Nevada to Arizona a quarter of a mile south. From my high vantage point, I could see that the bridge was beautiful. It looked like someone had drawn half a circle from one bank of the Colorado River to the other with a straight line balanced on top of it. I guessed there was an eight or nine hundred foot drop from the bridge to the water below.
Sally surprised me by stopping her car in the middle of the span and turning on her emergency flashers. Traffic was light and there wasn’t another car in sight. My demeanor changed from surprised to angry—at myself—when she got out of the car, waved in my direction, and motioned me to come down and talk. Since my surreptitious surveillance was no longer secret, I brought my dirigible down to the bridge deck a dozen yards behind Sally’s car, leaving my phone at the airship’s controls.
Sally was wearing a white western shirt with the tails tied under her bust, tight jeans and high red cowboy boots with the legs of her jeans tucked in. I missed the slinky red gown she’d worn earlier, but at least this outfit was patriotic.
While I was climbing out of the blimp I noticed her get something out of her car, but I couldn’t tell what. She didn’t have anything in her hands.
“Come over and talk to me,” said Sally, once I was standing on the bridge. “I don’t bite—much.”
I didn’t trust her, but didn’t think it would hurt to talk. She motioned for me to approach. I closed the distance between us until I was standing at arm’s length. When I took the last step, something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t move a muscle.
“What did you do to me?”
“Freeze frame,” said Sally.
I looked down. I was standing inside a thin gray circle the same color as the surface of the bridge—the frame that controlled the freeze. My feet felt anchored to the spot. I’d heard about the technology on Galweb. Law enforcement used bigger versions for temporary prisoner control zones during large disturbances. It worked much like a sweetener, but was more gentle, without all the pain and delayed recovery time. I could already feel my ankles and shins growing cold and a mild tingling in my thighs and pelvis.
“Why not just chill me at the ballroom dance club?” I asked.
“Roz wanted you out of town and out of the way,” said Sally.
Of what, I wondered?
She pulled a coil of bungee cord out from behind her driver’s seat and tied one end off on the side of the bridge facing the dam. Then she tilted my frozen body slightly and put her hands on my elbows, dragging me backwards by my heels to the other side of the bridge. I wasn’t inside the freeze frame anymore and could feel some control started to return to my body from the top down, but I wasn’t recovering fast enough to prevent Sally from attaching the other end of the bungee cord to my ankles.
“Upsy-daisy,” said Sally, leaning my board-stiff body over the side of the bridge.
“Wait!”
At least my lungs and voice were still working.
“Be thankful Roz didn’t want you gone permanently,” said Sally. “You’re a mark, but I think she may still be a little sweet on you.”
My tongue felt frozen as I parsed the implications of her comment. Sally looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity.
“I’d hang around, but I think that will be your department,” she said.
Then she pushed me.
* * * * *
I could now cross bungee jumping off my bucket list. Frankly, I would have preferred my first experience to be with my feet down instead of up, but since I didn’t plan on ever doing it again, this would have to do. It took several minutes for my body to stop bouncing and swinging, but finally I changed from a reluctant elastic pendulum into a boring plumb bob. I decided that I never wanted to be reincarnated as a bat—or a yo-yo. At least the freeze frame’s effects had worn off quickly. Now where was my blimp? The sun had gone down and the only illumination was from the lights on the dam and the roadway crossing the bridge.
I tried twisting my body to spot my floating ride, but no matter how I contorted, I couldn’t see it. I was on my own—or maybe not. I felt something moving on the bungee cord above me. This time, when I shifted my neck, I saw a spider-drone crawling down the cord. The mechanical contraption had eight limbs—which is why I called it a spider. Half were flexible tentacles, good for grasping, and the remaining four were rigid, with helicopter rotor-blades at their ends. I didn’t think it was coming to rescue me.
“Shoo!” I said, looking up and waving my arms.
The spider-drone chittered and continued to follow gravity’s pull, advancing toward me. In the light from the dam’s floodlights, I recognized a Chapultepec & Castle logo painted on its ventral surface. Halfway down it extended two of its four helicopter blade limbs and started spinning them, chewing bits of elastic out of the bungee cord with each rotation. I could sense strands snapping, weakening the only thing keeping me from splashing down on river rocks more than seven hundred feet below.
I struggled, trying to grab a length of bungee above me and shake off the spider-drone. Unfortunately, I failed. I should have been doing more sit ups at the gym. The only thing I accomplished was adding more stress to the compromised cord. I fought down panic and reminded myself of one of step-dad’s favorite aphorisms.
“When you’re in trouble—inventory your assets.”
A small voice in the back of my brain whispered that he’d probably stolen the idea from The Princess Bride, but it was still good advice. I wished I had a holocaust cloak—not that one would do me much good in my present predicament, unless it could double as a parachute.
>
I checked my pockets, which thankfully hadn’t emptied, what with me being upside down and all. I had a handkerchief, a pen, my Swiss Army Knife, and somewhere out of sight, my phone and a rent-a-blimp. I also had the eight chucks I’d received as change when I’d bought breath mints earlier in the day. Each coin was midway between the size of a quarter and a half dollar with a reasonable amount of heft. I was no hobbit, but I was pretty good at scaring squirrels with a well-thrown stone. Coins wouldn’t be that different.
I chucked a chuck at the spider-drone and was disappointed when my first shot bounced off the C&C logo on its lower casing. The coin spun as it fell toward the river.
The spider-drone kept cutting. I could see that five of the cord’s nine-ply strands were severed and the sixth wouldn’t last much longer.
I threw another coin—this one harder and more accurately. It struck one of the working rotors, shredding it to shards from the speed of its own revolutions.
One cutter down.
My delight was premature. Another helicopter arm activated and joined its mate in chewing through the sixth strand.
I tried exactly repeating the motion of my previous throw and disabled a second cutting blade. I had five coins left and it had only two more helicopter arms to bring to bear. Then a second spider drone appeared—flying, this time. Crap.
I changed my tactics and hurled a coin at the new drone, aiming not for one of its rotors, but its radio antenna. It was getting orders from someone who wasn’t interested in my welfare, and my survival depended on taking it off the air. When my coin struck, the antenna broke off cleanly with a sound like a dead twig snapping. The drone fluttered and swooped, dipping like a kite with its string cut. Somehow, I managed to grab its central casing when a chance swerve took it close to me.
With my hands to direct it, the drone turned from enemy to ally. I used its lift to raise myself up until I could grab the bungee cord with my elbow. Then I threw the second drone at the first, which was busily cutting away ten feet above me. That collision damaged both drones and sent them following my first coin toward the river. I pulled myself up hand over hand until I was past the cut section. It was fortunate that I’d acted quickly—only one strand remained dangling below me and that had been damaged.
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 21