“Does this thing have heavy-lift winches and cables?” I asked.
Lohrri pointed at a touch panel designed for Dauushan fingers and sub-trunks on the right. I read the text above it and saw it read Winch Control Station. Written below that, in smaller print and translating to Terran units, was the warning “Maximum weight with congruent engine assist is twenty-eight thousand tons.” I looked at the scene below out of the control room’s windows and made a quick estimate in my head. That should be more than enough for what I hoped to accomplish.
“This side has the Magnetic Grapple station,” said Poly. She and I were enough in sync that she could guess my plan.
“Take us over one of the submarines,” I said.
Naddéo guided us over the nearest Nautilus clone. The subs and tripods were focused on the marines and hadn’t noticed us yet. I had Lohrri lower the cables and Poly got Naddéo to trigger the grapples when their electromagnets were close enough to the selected sub. With a clang that resonated up the taut wires, the Sky Mum had Sub One in its grip.
“Take us up,” I said. Naddéo adjusted trim and lifted the sub thirty feet out of the water.
“Now reposition us above another sub and lose altitude rapidly.”
Naddéo and Lohrri were smiling now. They liked my idea, despite Royal inter-service rivalries.
Sub One smashed down on Sub Two like Thor swinging his hammer. The clang we’d heard earlier was insubstantial compared to the deep gong sound of sub hitting sub.
“Again,” shouted Poly.
We repeated the maneuver twice more, putting four subs out of commission. Sub One also damaged three nearby tripods when it was swinging. Then the remaining submarines got their act together and started fighting back at their airborne attacker. Shells from large-bore guns mounted on the subs lobbed projectiles at the Matriarch of the Skies. Automated counter-fire from weapons at the rear of the big airship’s gondola intercepted them in mid-flight, giving Naddéo a chance to take out two more subs with his Sub One hammer. That also reduced the rate of incoming fire for the automated systems to handle. The remaining two subs recognized the virtue of living to fight another day and sank into Lake Mead’s depths. We’d worry about them later.
Now Naddéo focused on the tripods. It was difficult to do more than knock them over with Sub One, but Lohrri added her contribution by taking over targeting for the weapons systems and directing rays and projectiles at individual tripods. Several retracted their legs so that their central hemispheres were below the water’s surface and escaped that way. Others headed for shore and used their long strides to lope away into the desert hills to the east and west. I hoped none of them decided to attack Las Vegas, though if they did, I wanted video.
“Well done!” shouted Poly.
“Not right in my ear,” said Naddéo, “but thanks.”
“You, too,” I said to Lohrri, taking care not to up my decibels. “That was quick thinking on the tripods.”
“Sorry some got away,” she said.
“You can mop them up later,” I reassured her. “Let’s get Queen Sherrhi.”
“Wait,” said Naddéo. “The marines need more help.”
We looked below and saw a small number of uninjured and unsweetened marines trying to help others who were frozen and floating low in the water. Naddéo gently manipulated Sub One like a giant broom and carefully swept the marines—sweetened and unsweetened alike—toward a broad beach on the shore. Now able to stand in the shallows, the still mobile marines started rolling their chilled out comrades onto dry land. The marine directing this effort waved all nine of his sub-trunks at the Matriarch of the Skies in a gesture that I interpreted as “Thanks!” I hoped I wasn’t misinterpreting a more pithy response.
I noticed that sailors on the disabled subs, including Sub One, opened their hatches, realized how many well-armed Dauushan marines were on shore, and closed them again. I’d have to talk to Martin about arranging for various branches of Nevada law enforcement to take them into custody for their own protection as soon as possible.
Lohrri turned to Naddéo. I saw a look of pride in her reflection on the control room window.
“Excellent job,” she said. “Now we can get the queen.”
Chapter 35
“It is the loose ends with which men hang themselves.”
— Zelda Fitzgerald
The Obi-Yu siblings, Poly, Shepherd, Martin, Mimi and I were standing on the concrete pad outside the mothballed power generation station. It was after five in the morning and the eastern horizon was transitioning from gray to a reddish orange. The bigwigs and dignitaries had just boarded the Matriarch of the Skies, which would soon raise its loading ramp and depart for Nellis Air Force Base. Terrhi and Spike were also on the Sky Mum, but Lohrri and Naddéo would be taking them back to the Royal Suite at the Pink Palace. It wasn’t safe for Terrhi to be around her parents in their current befuddled state, poor kid. Horus One was parked on the roof of the building and the Graph Zeppelin and our rented four-seater blimp were tied nearby, minnows to the Matriarch’s leviathan. Shepherd and Martin would be going to Nellis to coordinate care.
Nettie spoke to the gray-furred Pâkk spy master.
“Please keep us posted on our parents’ progress.”
“Yeah,” said her sister. “And let us know how George is doing. Nettie’s too young to be running the company.”
“You can say that again,” chimed in A.J.
“If we have to, the three of us will manage,” said Nettie, “but it won’t be easy.”
She gave A.J. a sideways look that spoke volumes.
“We need to get back to Vegas and start contingency planning in case Mom and George are out of commission for more than another day or so,” Nettie continued. “We don’t want our shareholders to get nervous when or if word leaks out.”
Lizzie nodded her vigorous agreement, then offered Shepherd assistance.
“We’ve got contacts with plenty of pharmaceutical company execs, if that helps,” she said.
“Just watch out for more EUA subsidiaries when you’re looking for counter-agents to Vonaduzit,” said A.J.
“I will keep you all fully informed,” intoned the Pâkk, “and will fully-vet the background of any potential cures.”
“You darn well better,” said Mimi. “I want my Honey Bear back in as close to his right mind as you kin git him, as fast as—she looked at all of us Terrans—humanly possible.”
I think she sniffed when she said the word humanly, though I’ve never known Pyrs to be species chauvinists. And speaking of sniffing, I never could figure out where Pyrs kept their noses.
“Ms. Earhart,” said Shepherd.
“Miss,” interrupted Mimi.
“Miss Earhart,” he continued. “You can count on every possible effort by human and Galactic resources to restore your friend to his previous, joyfully eccentric state with all due haste.”
“Don’t just stand there flapping your gums,” muttered Mimi. “Get on with it.”
“You’ll make the cleanup arrangements for the crews on the subs and tripods?” I asked Martin.
“It’s already started,” said the lieutenant. “We’re putting the captured sailors and tripod operators in Area 51. There’s plenty of room for them out there.”
Area 51 had lost a lot of its mystery once it was revealed that the flying saucer that crash landed there in the nineteen fifties had been the equivalent of a catastrophic engine failure combined with a GPS malfunction for a vacationing family of Zlindarians. The slight-framed, big-headed, and green-skinned species had avoided coming anywhere near Earth ever since. It was either some sort of cultural taboo or a really negative review on their equivalent of TripAdvisor by relatives of the deceased family.
“Sounds smart,” I said. “Keep me posted on what the interr
ogators discover.”
“When I know, you’ll know,” said Martin.
You can’t ask for better than that. We shook hands.
“What are you two going to do?” asked A.J.
I admired him for keeping even the slightest hint of innuendo out of his question. He must be a lot more worried about his parents than it seemed from his surface bravado.
“Poly and I are going to follow up on some loose ends,” I said.
“If you find Scott Winfield or Josephine Johnson, please give them our regards, with extreme prejudice,” said Nettie. “From what you said about their role in the debacle, we owe them an appropriate sort of retribution. If the Department of Justice will allow it, I may talk the board into a hostile takeover of Chapultepec & Castle.”
“At least that would put a stop to our piracy problem,” said Lizzie. “And I’d love to be the one to terminate Scott and Josephine.”
“Take a number,” added A.J.
“I’m more interested in finding The General,” said Poly. “It sounds like he’s behind the kidnappings.”
I jumped in. There were plenty more kidnappers.
“Don’t forget Anthony Zwilniki and Columbia Brown and Agnes Spelman and Cornell…”
Mimi interrupted. “It’s time for this big hunk of fur to get my Honey Bear to the hospital,” she said, pointing at Shepherd. “Git a move on!”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the Long Pâkk intelligence agent.
He walked up the ramp into the Matriarch of the Skies with Martin and the vast pink behemoth of an airship lifted off, heading for Nellis AFB. Poly and I traded hugs with the Obi-Yu siblings and they left to follow the Matriarch in the Graph. To my surprise, Mimi gave Poly and me hugs, extending extra tentacles to make it an even tighter embrace. A.J. must not be the only one more worried than it seemed on the outside. The Pyr broke our hug, climbed up the standpipe to the roof, and took off toward the northwest in Horus One without sharing her flight plan.
“Alone at last,” I said.
Poly shook her head, trying to clear it.
“I’ve been awake for almost twenty-four hours,” she said. “I need a stimulant before I do anything.”
So I kissed her. Thoroughly.
She perked up temporarily and kissed me back, then pushed herself away to arm’s length.
“That was stimulating,” said Poly, “but I was thinking about something with caffeine.”
“Maybe back inside?” I suggested, pointing through the large rolled-up door.
“Can we trust anything in there to be drug free?”
“Unopened cans or bottles?” I offered.
“A scan can confirm foods and beverages are unadulterated,” said my phone.
“Works for me,” said Poly. “I’m so tired I’d even drink coffee.”
“That vile and bitter brew,” I said, smiling.
Poly and I both preferred tea—or Starbuzz, in my case.
Hand in hand, with my backpack tool bag resting comfortably on my shoulders, we walked back into the building. I was pleased to see the buffet was still laid out, though unattended. I spotted a tall cooler with a glass door against the wall, close to the corner near the office.
“Here’s what we need,” I said, pulling out an oversized black can with a picture of a green, tentacled monster on the front.
“Cthulhu Cola?” asked Poly, with a puzzled look. She kept reading. “The cola that picks you up—and kicks you into a whole new dimension.”
“How many milligrams?” I asked.
“Milligrams?” asked Poly. She must really be fading.
“Of caffeine.”
“Oh,” she said, then checked the nutritional details. “It has four significant digits.”
“Is the first digit a one?”
“Uh huh.”
“We’ll split the can,” I suggested, “if that works for you?”
I held the can out to my phone.
“Not something you should pour on houseplants,” said my phone, “but it’s probably safe to drink half a can.”
“Thanks,” I said. “No Vonaduzit?”
“No,” it said, “but the backs of your eyeballs may feel like sandpaper.”
“I’ll take that risk,” said Poly, grabbing the can out of my hands, popping the top, and taking a long swallow. Her eyes grew two sizes larger almost immediately.
“Careful with that stuff,” I said, shifting the can to my own hand and taking a small sip. It was like drinking rocket fuel. I felt more alert already.
Poly took the can back and had another long pull. I stopped her before she finished it, having a gulp myself this time, instead of a sip.
“We’re going to need some food, too,” I said, “if we’re going to recharge our batteries.”
“Right,” said Poly. “Something prepackaged should be safe.”
I found an unopened one pound wheel of Brie in a cold stasis unit under the buffet table. My phone blessed it and also gave the okay to a tray of crackers still covered with plastic wrap that Poly discovered. We both notice a large box of imported Nicósn truffles, still in its original wrapping, hidden under some napkins on a tray half filled with used champagne glasses. I suspected a server hoped to smuggle it out and either resell it or pig out on theobromine. Most alien species loved chocolate, but the Nicósns were crazy for it and made wonderful confections with cacao beans shipped there from Terra.
My phone gave the truffles a thumbs up. Caffeine, chocolate, cheese, and crackers—the start of a healthy breakfast.
Poly and I snagged a couple of chairs left in place for The General’s presentation and set them up on either side of a section of the buffet table we’d cleared of drugged delicacies. I found a couple of bottles of dihydrogen monoxide that my phone approved in the back of another cooler near the office wall.
There was still a quarter of the highly caffeinated cola concoction left, but Poly’s eyes were looking too big already. I knew she’d do her best to save me from myself sometime in the future, so we both switched to water.
As I spread softened Brie on crackers, I learned what Poly had been doing while I was watching Dauushan Drop Marines battle submarines and tripods.
“At first, there wasn’t any opposition when we got here,” said my amazing partner. “When we walked in through the human-sized door, nobody noticed us. The servers were busy serving and the CEOs and bigwigs were just milling around, figuring out the best ways to fend off an invasion from Andromeda. They were all so focused, Shepherd had to throw back his head and howl, just to get their attention.”
I had vague memories of hearing a wolf howling. It was nice to know I hadn’t been hallucinating.
“Then the bigwigs went into a panic and the server-thugs started shooting at us.”
My mouth was full, so I nodded.
“Then you showed up.”
“In the nick of time,” I said, smiling.
“If you say so,” said Poly, smiling back.
“It’s too bad about Scott Winfield and Josephine Johnson.”
“You can say that again,” said Poly.
“Right. Table them for a minute. Let’s enumerate all our loose ends.”
“One,” said Poly. “The General.”
“Two. Winfield and Johnson.”
“They seem to come as a pair, so I’ll give you that,” said Poly. “Three. Rosalind.”
I moved on quickly before she could sense my frustration and anger at hearing that name.
“Four. Sally,” I said.
“It’s not Rosalind and Sally as a pair?” asked Poly.
“I’m not sure,” I said, “but humor me for now.”
“Okay,” said my partner. “Five. Cornell.”
“Ouch,” I said. “Cornell keeps turning up—and Chit said the man was headed this way. That’s why everyone showed up here on the Graph.”
“I didn’t see him in the building when we arrived,” said Poly. “Why don’t you ask Chit where he is?”
Maybe I needed another sip of Cthulhu Cola. Poly’s brain appeared to be in better shape than mine at the moment.
“Great idea.”
I sent Chit a short text message, since I didn’t know if she was in any position to talk. After a minute without a response, I asked my phone to see if it could figure out my oldest and smallest friend’s whereabouts.
“Chit carries a phone to supplement her internal congruency,” said my phone. “It’s very small, but usually possible to trace.”
“And?” I said.
“There’s no sign of Chit in the area.”
“Where could she be?” I asked.
“She could have teleported out of range,” said my phone.
“Unlikely,” I responded.
“Or her phone could be malfunctioning or out of power or turned off.”
“Improbable.”
“Or she could be underground or behind enough rock that her phone’s signal can’t get through.”
“Bingo,” I said. “Any candidates for a large body of rock nearby that might block the signal?”
“Dam,” said my phone.
“You shouldn’t teach it to use words like that,” said Poly.
She was grinning. I leaned across the table and kissed her.
“Like what?” asked my phone. From the tone it used it might have been grinning, too.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Refresh my memory. Do you have plans for the corridors inside the…”
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 28