“One morning I got a call from EUA corporate saying I needed to add mounts for machine guns, high powered sweeteners, and rocket launchers to our subs. I’m in the rich person’s toy business, not the arms business.”
“I see what you mean,” said Poly.
“I bet they wanted you to add heat beams to your tripods,” I said.
“No,” said Letitia, “our tripods come standard with heat beams. My superiors at EUA wanted me to increase the power of the beams by a factor of hundred. Our original heat beams couldn’t melt marshmallows for s’mores.”
“I can see why that would be disconcerting,” I said. “Is there any way you can reclaim your company’s independence?”
“No, blast it,” said Letitia. “EUA’s got thorough lawyers. If I quit, I lose a huge bonus and can’t reenter the industry for five years.”
“Ouch,” said Poly.
“Double ouch,” said Letitia, with a look that matched her words.
“What about a distance clause?” I asked. “Could you start a new company off-planet? On Dauush, for example? They’re the best at large scale 3D printing technology, after all.”
Ms. Bright frowned. It seemed like she was concentrating, not ticked off, or at least unhappy with EUA, not us.
“That might work,” she said, “though the shipping costs for a submarine could be prohibitive, and I’d hate to abandon my employees.”
“We know what you mean,” said Poly. “We’d want to ensure our employees were protected, too. But couldn’t plenty of them migrate to Dauush for five years?”
“Maybe,” mused Letitia.
“I’m sure you’ll come up with a solution,” I said. “And you’ll figure something out on the shipping. Transport them unassembled and put them back together again on Earth. Something similar worked for Asian car manufacturers for decades.”
“You’ve got a point,” she said.
It was clear that Letitia had a lot to think about and was ready to focus on her own situation, not ours. We’d gotten everything we needed from her, so it was time to wrap things up.
“Thank you so much for your good advice,” said Poly.
“Good luck,” said Letitia. “And please don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Ms. Bright turned off the Cone of Silence and escorted us out of the deal room. We all shook hands before Poly and I left the booth. I picked up a small piece of glowing Cavorite the size of a twenty-sided die from a bowl near the booth’s exit, just for luck. As we walked toward Chapultepec & Castle, Poly and I had a quiet conversation.
“That answers our question about Verne Wells,” I said.
“Victims, not perpetrators,” said my partner.
“I wonder how many other EUA companies are regretting being acquired?”
“Lots, I bet,” said Poly. “We need to tell Shepherd and Martin.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Phone?”
“Updating Shepherd and Martin,” it said.
Then we literally bumped into three new friends.
“Poly!” said Dr. Robert Hu. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He was holding three huge plastic bags full of tech company literature and must have been distracted talking to his partners.
“Good to see you, Jack,” said Deborah Zahn. We shook hands.
“I’m glad we ran into you,” said the third partner, Johan Fierst. “We need to figure out our next steps.”
“Great to see you,” I said.
I knew Poly wanted to focus on exploring GALTEX. It looked like the Hu Zahn Fierst folks had been doing plenty of exploring themselves.
“When can we get together and strategize?” asked Johan. The older man seemed more concerned than his partners about our joint plans for their company.
“Jack and I really want to maximize our time at GALTEX before the show ends tomorrow,” said Poly. “What if we fly or drive over to Provo on our way home from Las Vegas and spend all day Saturday together?”
Johan looked at Deborah and Robert. They all nodded.
“That should work,” said Johan. “Let us know when you’ll be getting in. We can have dinner together Friday or Saturday night.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
We made our goodbyes and continued toward Chapultepec & Castle. Fifty feet from the C&C booth, Poly grabbed my arm.
“Look!” she said, drawing my attention ahead of us.
Sally and Cornell were walking out of one of the C&C deal rooms and heading deeper into the convention floor.
They were holding hands.
Chapter 39
“Follow the fellow…”
— E. Y. Harburg, Finian’s Rainbow
This time, I would be more subtle at following Cornell—and Sally. Seeing the two of them holding hands was a big shock, though it shouldn’t have been, since I knew they were ballroom dance partners. Being more subtle meant I couldn’t commandeer another advertising blimp and I was fresh out of options for tailing them without giving ourselves away.
“Do you have any ideas?” asked my partner.
I shook my head.
My phone jumped off my belt and provided another example of its tendency to exercise initiative over judgment. It climbed up the support pole on one of the small species transport units that was currently examining a booth for a cloud computing company called CumuloNimble. I couldn’t make out what the Musans inside were saying—I’m sure my phone had turned down their volume—and I don’t speak Musan. It had attached itself just below the SST’s acrylic sphere, where it could direct the unit’s motion controller.
The small systems transport shadowed Sally and Cornell unobtrusively, while my phone sent details back to Poly’s not so smart phone.
“When are you going to get a new phone?” I asked Poly.
“When I have a chance,” she said. “I’ve been a bit busy since you mentioned it the last time.”
I thought about everything that had happened in the past week and a half and decided she was right.
“I could clone my phone for you, if you’d like?”
Poly laughed.
“No way, Jack. Your phone is so clearly your phone. I want to train my own, not clone yours. Having a clone of your phone would be like sharing a toothbrush.”
I didn’t see what the big deal was—it would save Poly hours of customization—but decided to let the matter ride. Her not-so-smart phone was just fine to play transmissions from my phone’s video feed.
“They’re headed out the southeast rear exit from the convention center,” said my phone.
Poly and I started to run in that direction.
“They’re getting in an autocab. It will be coming around past the northwest exit as it leaves.”
We reversed course and made tracks northwest. Then we heard a “clunk” through the underpowered speakers on Poly’s phone. She didn’t even have surround sound.
“What was that?” I asked as I ran.
“Jumping on the bumper of Cornell and Sally’s autocab,” my phone answered.
“Are you okay?” I said, huffing and puffing as I increased my speed to keep up with Poly.
“Yes,” it said. “Thanks for asking.”
Poly and I hailed an autocab when we got to the northwest corner. There wasn’t a line because most people were planning to stay at GALTEX until five. Poly’s phone was able to track my phone so we could follow Cornell and Sally discreetly. Their cab turned west on Flamingo and drove eight or nine miles until it reached a location Poly’s mapping software told us was a complex of luxury homes built on large lots around a golf course. My phone identified the exact address where Cornell and Sally got out of the autocab, then it instructed the vehicle to drive to meet us where we we
re parked a few blocks away.
“I’m sorry you’re missing more of GALTEX,” I said to Poly while we were waiting for my phone to show up.
“There’s always next year,” she said, sounding wistful. “Besides, this is much more important.”
“Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Hey,” said Poly. “It’s not a matter of me being understanding. Both of us want to capture Cornell and stop EUA. It’s a joint effort.”
“Sorry,” I said.
Poly kissed me. Then she held my face between her palms.
“Jack Buckston, I love you, but sometimes I think you’d be even nicer if you stopped being so blasted nice all the time.”
“Sorry,” I repeated, but the smile dancing in my eyes and my tone of voice made it clear that I was teasing.
Poly made a face at me. I kissed her.
“I do get what you mean,” I said, “and I’ll try to do better, but I like making people—and especially you—happy.”
“I appreciate that,” she said, “and I love you for it, but after living with my parents’ passive and not-so-passive-aggressive criticisms, so much nice throws me off balance. I know you’re a nice guy down to your bones. I saw into your mind, after all.”
I felt awkward and twisted to put my back against the door of our autocab.
“You’re still nice to Rosalind, for goodness sake, after what she did to you,” said Poly.
I didn’t like thinking about Rosalind. Or maybe I did like thinking about her and didn’t like the fact that I did. It was confusing.
“You being a nice guy—smart, capable, talented, creative and all that, but fundamentally nice—made it easy for me to trust you, and to believe you’d never hurt me.”
“I’d never hurt you,” I said, putting a lot of emotion into the four words.
“See that you don’t.”
She kissed me again. The other autocab with my phone arrived far too soon.
My phone dismissed its cab, then rapped on the window of our cab. I let it in, reluctantly.
“In this context, Chit would say, ‘Don’t let me stop you,’” said my phone.
“Don’t pick up bad habits from Chit,” Poly scolded, waving a finger in mock seriousness.
“What did you learn about their place?” I asked.
“Big. Great curb appeal. Natural sandstone blocks. Neo-Gothic castle with a turret. Restrained landscaping. No moat.”
I turned to Poly.
“Shall we knock on the door?”
She looked at me like I was nuts.
“Why not get Shepherd and Martin and Naddéo to send us contingents of the Nevada state police, national guard, and a few spare Dauushan Drop Marines?” she said, letting anger show through. “Every time we’ve tried to capture Cornell he’s escaped. We need a small army to make sure he doesn’t get away.”
“Or we could knock on the door and sweeten him when he answers,” I said, slipping a mini-sweetener out of the right front pocket of my khakis. I’d recharged it and had been carrying it around all day.
Poly tilted her head to the side for a moment and contemplated something unseen in the distance. Then she straightened up.
“That might work,” she said, slipping out her own mini-sweetener.
“Ahem,” said my phone. “Terrhi’s calling.”
I’d have to talk to that young lady about her timing.
“Put her through,” said Poly.
“Uncle Jack? Aunt Poly?” asked my honorary niece’s voice, sounding a lot softer than her usual ebullient self.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “And can you up your volume? You’re on speaker and we can barely hear you.”
“I can’t talk louder,” she said. “I’m hiding in the mud wallow room in our suite.”
Now I started to get concerned. Why was she hiding?
“Mom and Dad are back from the hospital,” she said, “and the chocolate and caffeine made them—and Diágo—mostly better, but there’s still something wrong with them.”
“What do you mean, wrong?” asked Poly.
“They don’t like aliens anymore,” said the girl. “They’re sounding like the stick-in-the-mud anti-Galactics Mom used to complain about back on Dauush. She called them something like nuclear power plants. Reactories or something.”
“Reactionaries?” I said.
“That’s it,” said Terrhi. “Daddy and Diágo, too. They’re saying nasty things about Terrans and Pyrs and Pâkk and Nicósns and Tigrammaths and everybody that’s not Dauushan. They’re even saying bad things about you and telling me I can’t see you anymore.”
“Sounds like they haven’t been fully cured from the EUA Corporation’s brainwashing,” said Poly.
“I don’t know what it is, but it’s making me scared,” said Terrhi. “Spike doesn’t like it either, do you, Spike.”
We could hear a low, angry growl over my phone’s speakers.
“Don’t worry, we’re on our way,” I said.
“But…” said Poly.
“Thanks Uncle Jack, Aunt Poly. Sorry to be a pain.”
Poly took a deep breath and adjusted her priorities. Cornell and Sally could wait. Terrhi couldn’t.
“You’re never a pain,” she reassured the girl. “See you soon.”
The call ended and Poly looked at me with a level of frustration comparable to when Terrhi showed up at our suite’s door on Monday night.
“At least we know where Cornell and Sally live,” she said.
“Neighborhood surveillance cameras proved quite easy to hack,” said my phone. “Keeping their castle-house under constant observation shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great,” I said, relieved I wouldn’t have to choose between helping Terrhi and tracking Cornell and his dance partner.
“Give Shepherd, Martin, and Dr. Kent a heads up, please,” I told my phone.
“Already done,” it said.
Then Poly’s phone rang. It was Nettie.
“You’ve got to help us, Roomie,” she said. “My parents and George are acting really weird.”
“Bring them to the Royal Dauushan,” said Poly. “Terrhi’s parents aren’t themselves, either.”
“Right,” said Nettie. “Twenty minutes.”
Three beats later, my phone said, “Ahem,” again.
“Five gets you ten it’s Mimi,” I said.
“I’m not taking that bet.”
“Jack! Poly! There’s something wrong with my Honey Bear!” said the flamboyant Pyr pilot’s voice over my phone’s speaker.
“Royal Suite, Royal Dauushan, twenty minutes,” said Poly.
“Roger,” said Mimi.
“We’ll help him,” said Poly.
“No,” said Mimi. “I meant we’ll be there.”
“Oh,” said Poly.
My phone ended the call, but my brain was just getting started.
Clearly, EUA Corporation had put a lot of thought into this operation. First, they’d talked the CEOs out of valuable patents. Then they’d convinced them an invasion from Andromeda was on its way. Now, they’d programmed atavistic prejudices into the usually open-minded corporate bigwigs. I hoped there weren’t still more layers of deception remaining to be discovered.
I put my thoughts aside for now. It was time to get moving.
“The Pink Palace, and step on it,” I told our autocab.
Cornell and company would just have to wait.
Chapter 40
“…with extreme prejudice.”
— Francis Ford Coppola & John Milius
Poly and I were lucky we weren’t the first ones to arrive at the Royal Suite. Shepherd and Martin had gotten there first. We heard from Terrhi later that th
e confrontation between a determined Pâkk and a trio of newly xenophobic adult Dauushans was impressive. I wished I’d been there to see it. Terrhi said Shepherd even smiled to show his fangs. Pâkk have much more experience asserting dominance.
Queen Sherrhi, Tomáso, and Diágo were on the lower level of their suite’s enormous living room. Like Tomáso’s study back in Atlanta, this room had raised platforms around the edges to accommodate eye-to-eye communication with smaller sentients. Nettie, Lizzie, and A.J. had arrived with their parents and George Crispos. Mimi and Roger Joe-Bob Bacon were almost the last to arrive. Marty had that honor. She was carrying a large, black doctor’s bag.
Even with all the available space, the living room was a cacophony of unhappy, upset, and arguing individuals. Terrhi’s parents continued to protest their suite being invaded by undesirables and mongrels—the last being directed specifically at Shepherd. Roger Joe-Bob was ranting to Mimi about making Pyr safe for the Pyrage, which I understood to be the ancient hereditary rulers of their planet before the little pyramid people switched to a democratic republic with executive, legislative, judicial, and lobbyist branches.
Dr. Obi, Dr. Yu, and Mr. Crispos were looking left and right, trying to figure out how to stay as far away as possible from the non-humans in the room. George was muttering to Janet Yu something about preserving “purity of essence” for Terrans and Dr. Obi, a member of the Igbo tribe in his native Nigeria, was angrily shouting something about building a wall around the Yoroban and Hausa-Fulani homelands.
Shepherd, Martin, the Obi-Yu siblings, Terrhi, Spike, Marty, and Mimi—plus Poly and I—put our heads together in the middle of the platform, with Roger Joe-Bob and the GalCon Systems’ execs at opposite ends looking daggers at every being in the vicinity that wasn’t of their species. Roger Joe-Bob was close to a window so he could talk to his reflection.
Xenotech What Happens: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 3) Page 32