Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2)

by Schroeder, Dave

  “Thank you,” I said to my phone, assuming it was responsible.

  “It was your van’s idea,” said my phone, sounding proud of its protégé.

  “You clean up nice,” I said to my van.

  “Thanks,” it said. “So do you, my lord.”

  That wasn’t one of its standard responses.

  My van opened its front doors.

  “Your chariot awaits, my lady, my lord.”

  That wasn’t a standard response, either.

  I helped Poly into the front passenger seat and walked around the back of my van so that I could have an extra few seconds to talk to my phone.

  “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean?” said my phone, innocently.

  “My van’s sounding different.”

  “Orinoco.com had a special on A.I. language upgrades…”

  “So you bought something without asking first?”

  “It was a limited time offer on the ‘forsooth’ model.”

  “But…”

  “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” said my phone. “And at least this is more interesting than nonstop Princess Bride quotes.”

  “You’ve got something there,” I said as I got in the driver’s seat. I carefully placed my top hat on the floor to my right.

  “What?” said Poly.

  “Nothing important,” I said.

  “Please buckle your seat belt, my lord,” said my van.

  I hoped I wouldn’t let this “my lord” talk go to my head.

  “To the Palace, noble steed,” I commanded.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  * * * * *

  My van expertly navigated the three blocks to the front entrance of the Star Palace hotel without further comment. I noticed that its interior was looking as good as its exterior. The carpets had been washed and vacuumed, the dash and door panels had been wiped down and treated, and it even had a reasonable facsimile of “that new van smell.” I’d hoped Poly’s family would be impressed. But they weren’t.

  Professor Jones was standing near the entrance to the hotel’s lobby, tapping his toe and looking at an old fashioned pocket watch. He seemed to be a particularly grumpy, tuxedo-clad version of the White Rabbit, muttering, “I’m late, I’m late.”

  “We mustn’t keep the Queen waiting,” said Perry.

  His cummerbund was the same pink plaid that I wore. Poly stepped out of my van and faced him.

  “Hello, Father,” she said.

  “Poly,” he said, with little response, except a curt nod acknowledging his older daughter’s existence.

  My van opened its sliding side door. Poly’s father climbed in and moved to the far end of the wide rear bench seat. Once he got in, I got out. Perry alternated between checking his pocket watch and scanning the hotel’s entrance for signs of his wife and younger daughter.

  “Nice to see you, Dad,” said Poly, leaning into the back of the van.

  “Hrrrmph,” said her father. “Indulging in extravagances?”

  He indicated her dress with the hand holding his watch.

  “It was a gift,” she said, smiling at me.

  Perry returned his focus to the pocket watch, but I thought I’d seen a hint of admiration on his face before he did. It was hard not to admire Poly in that dress. Then Pomy and Barbara bustled out of the hotel.

  They were walking closer together than I remembered from earlier, but they were still farther apart than I expected from a typical mother and daughter. It was as if they were two like poles of a magnet, unable to touch without help from an outside force. Barbara was wearing a long black dress with a wide, white collar covered in multicolored, semiprecious Nicósn gems. The gems’ facets reflected light like hundreds of tiny prisms. Pomy was wearing a sapphire blue dress in the same chiton-style that she’d worn in the high school photograph Poly had shared with me. I looked again. It was the same dress.

  Then Poly saw Pomy. Her morphic silk dress flared an angry red and wrapped itself tightly around her like protective armor. By then I’d made it around my van and stood next to Poly, taking her hand.

  “Breathe,” I said, softly, then began to hum the slow, calming notes of Tallis canon low enough that only Poly would hear it.

  Pomy and Barbara had stopped six feet away from us, daunted by the changes in Poly’s dress. Slowly, as Poly managed to control her emotions, the dress began to unwind and shimmer. Its color changed from red to orange to yellow, before settling on the shade of emerald that I thought of as Poly Green, the same color she’d worn on our first date and in the photograph from back when she and her sister were still best friends.

  Poly squeezed my hand and released it. She stepped forward and gave her mother and sister quick, pro forma hugs.

  “Hello, Mom. Hi Pomy.”

  “You look beautiful,” said Barbara.

  “Hi,” said Pomy.

  A shy smile flitted across Pomy’s face. Her eyes were wide.

  “You both look beautiful, too,” said Poly.

  Her words were right but her tone was off. It was flat, guarded.

  “Thank you, dear,” said her mother.

  “Wow,” said Pomy, “What a dress.”

  “Your chariot awaits,” I said, borrowing my van’s line.

  I’d forgotten to drink any of my tea, and it showed.

  “Time to go,” said Professor Jones, tapping his pocket watch in the rear of my van.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  I helped Pomy and her mother into the back seat, where Pomy acted as a buffer between her parents’ concentrations of matter and antimatter. Then I helped Poly into the front seat, squeezing her hand and tapping out “You’re doing great” in modern Pyr pulse code. She just squeezed back nervously. I closed her door, the van closed the sliding door, then I hopped in the driver’s seat. We all buckled our seat belts and would be at the Teleport Inn with ten minutes to spare.

  * * * * *

  “You know, Poly,” said Barbara, leaning forward to be closer to her older daughter’s ear, “I meant to tell you something.”

  “What’s that, Mother?”

  “The dean of the Applied Galtech program at Georgia Tech called me last week,” she said. “He’d heard you were graduating and assumed I’d be in town for the ceremony.”

  “That’s nice, Mother,” said Poly.

  “Wait for it,” whispered Pomy.

  Poly turned around in her seat. I watched in the rear view mirror.

  “Dr. Hawking had just called the dean to say he couldn’t speak after all,” said Barbara. “He said it was something about the next stage of his motor neuron regeneration treatments being moved up at the last minute.”

  “And?” said Poly.

  “And the dean wants me to fill in.”

  “Congratulations, Mother,” said Poly. “You’ll be the star at my graduation.”

  Pomy looked at Poly sympathetically. Poly returned the look and the two of them nodded, momentary allies again.

  “Did you ever consider saying ‘no,’ Mother?” said Poly.

  “Don’t be that way,” said Barbara. “I’m sure I’m a better option than anyone else he could get at this late date. I’m doing your program a favor.”

  “And I’m sure they’re grateful,” said Poly.

  Before Poly turned back around, she shared an exasperated look with Pomy in sisters’ shorthand.

  “Are we there yet?” asked Professor Jones.

  I wanted to throttle him.

  “Shush,” said Barbara and Poly and Pomy.

  All of us except Perry laughed, and the tension in my van went down a few notches.

  The Teleport Inn is wedge shaped, with the tal
l end, on the right, reserved for the largest aliens and the narrow end, on the left, dedicated to small species like the J’Vel and Musans. Humanoid types like Pâkk, Nicósns, and Tigrammaths, along with human-sized species, like the Pyrs, typically use the middle. Since the restaurant is built on a peninsula, most patrons have good views of the scenic Chattahoochee River.

  When we reached the restaurant’s access road, we didn’t stop at the human-sized entrance, but continued until we arrived at the tall, wide doors used by Tōdons, Dauushans, and other jumbo economy-sized species. Ribbons of heavyweight fabric between tall stanchions separated the access road from the sidewalk outside the Inn except at the door. An imposing pink armored Dauushan carrying a twelve-foot shock stick was guarding the entrance. My van parked in a nearby reserved VIP parking space and all five of us got out and walked over to the guard. I even remembered my hat. Okay, my phone reminded me. We stood there, staring up at the armored Dauushan’s no nonsense face ten feet above our heads while the guard did a security check on our identities. She used a phone larger than most laptops to scan our faces.

  “Buckston. Jones. Keen. Keen Jones. Keen Jones. They’re here,” she said, reading from her phone’s screen and sounding like she was in communication with a remote command post. Then she looked down at us. “You check out,” she said. “Go right in.”

  Maybe the Teleport Inn had increased its security after the problems with the Earth First Christians a few months ago, or more likely, given the guard’s species, it was just special security temporarily in place for the queen. The huge door in front of us, at least thirty feet tall and forty feet wide, quietly began to roll up. When there was enough room for us to pass, we entered the restaurant. My eyes grew as big as 45 rpm records and for the second time in an hour, I felt the way I’d felt when I saw Poly in her dress.

  My phone didn’t get good pictures of my face this time, but Mike’s did.

  The entire large species side of the Teleport Inn had been transformed into a near-duplicate of the final scene from Star Wars: A New Hope. Stone steps in front of us led down to a long aisle between companies of human soldiers in green and white uniforms, plus a scattering of orange pilot jumpsuits. Massive carved rock walls lined the sides of the hall and John Williams’ stirring The Throne Room and End Title music was playing its triumphant trumpet theme.

  At the far end of the aisle, Terrhi, Spike, Tomáso and an even larger Dauushan I assumed must be Queen Sherrhiliandarianne the Second stood on a raised stone platform. Five white strips of fabric decorated with pink Dauushan ivy hung down from the ceiling behind it. I felt like I was a kid again, watching Star Wars for the first time.

  Diágo, in armor like the guard outside, stood close to his queen on the side opposite Tomáso. Two other armored Dauushans at floor level flanked the platform to the left and right, like rooks on a chessboard. The queen was well protected.

  A human officer in a black uniform guided Perry, Barbara and Pomy off to the right and toward the front along a narrow opening in the ranks of soldiers. Mike, Martin and Shepherd joined us from where they’d been waiting to our left. Poly and I held hands and walked down the steps to the wide central aisle. The others followed behind us. I was dazed, but knew my part. Then Chit circled my head and landed on my shoulder. Her wing cases were painted in the same pink plaid as my cummerbund.

  “How did you get here?” I said.

  “Good ta see ya, too, chump,” said my little friend.

  She noticed my top hat.

  “Who do ya think you are? Fred Astaire? Just smile and keep walkin’ bucko.”

  Shepherd, Mike, Martin, Poly, and I walked the length of the hall to the stairs at the foot of the raised stone platform as the music played. A spotlight tracked our progress. Terrhi smiled and motioned for us to climb the stairs. We stopped a few steps before we reached the top. Queen Sherrhi, wearing a bright gold crown, bent down and presented Poly, Mike, Martin, Shepherd and me with medals on brown ribbons in the same style as the ones Princess Leia gave Luke and Han. I looked over my shoulder and saw Poly’s family, CiCi, and a dark haired woman I assumed must be Martin’s wife watching us and beaming proudly.

  Then it was Terrhi’s turn. With a serious regal bearing, my friend with the light blue polka dots gave each of us a pink plush rabbot. I squeezed Poly’s hand, filled with so much joy that I didn’t know if my skin would hold it all in.

  There was one stuffed rabbot left over.

  “Spike,” said Terrhi to her constant feline companion. “Present yourself before your Princess.”

  I’m not sure if the tri-sabertooth knew what was expected of him, but a few nudges from three of Tomáso’s sub-trunks got him into position next to me on the steps, facing Terrhi.

  “For bravery above the call of duty and for saving the day,” said Terrhi, “I present you with this rabbot as a symbol of my royal appreciation.”

  Spike smiled his toothy smile at Terrhi and took the stuffed animal in his mouth, careful not to bite it in half. We all turned around to face the audience and stood close together. Spike made his way in front of us and sat on his haunches with his new toy in his mouth. Cameras flashed. The music reached its climax, then faded. So did the stone walls and the soldiers in the audience—they’d been virtual reality projections.

  Kijanna, Poly’s friend and a hostess at the Teleport Inn, was twenty feet back from the platform, still taking pictures. Pierre Auguste Escoffier, a Pyr and the restaurant’s maître d’, was beaming beside her in a variation of a tuxedo designed for his four foot tall, three sided form. François, the waiter who’d served Poly and me on our first date, was also with them. He’d been the human in the officer’s uniform who had guided Poly’s family to the front of the hall.

  Tomáso cleared his throat. We all turned around to face him. Terrhi’s father was twining trunks with his royal mate. Their daughter, the Princess of Dauush, in all her dignity, was tucked between them.

  “Gotcha!” said Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi, grinning like a pair of giant pink jack-o’-lanterns.

  Then Terrhi’s high pitched voice piped in.

  “Let’s eat!” she said. “I’m starving.”

  Chapter 23

  “Dinner is where the magic happens in the kitchen.”

  — Kris Carr

  “Please pass the key lime grass chicken,” said Terrhi. “It smells delicious.”

  “My pleasure,” I said.

  I passed a serving bowl just a little smaller than Rhode Island to Queen Sherrhi for her to relay to her hungry daughter on her left. Key lime grass was a modified form of lemongrass from Mistress Marigold’s botanical laboratories and had a lot more zing than its parent. The Chinese-style chicken dish also included cubed yams and daikon, baby bok choy, and snow peas. Queen Sherrhi lifted the bowl easily with three sub-trunks while continuing to use a pair of chopsticks, tongs, a soup spoon, and a fork with five of the remaining six. She pointed across the round table larger than my first apartment with her sixth sub-trunk.

  A tureen full of steaming noodles sat in front of Tomáso on a thick black tray. He was ignoring them, immersed in conversation with Shepherd. The Pâkk, wearing only a plain black leather vest and a pink plaid bow tie, was casually eating a roast Marsulian wallawallabong as big as an armadillo. He’d already polished off a Dauushan-sized portion of charcoal broiled Kobe beef cubes on a six-foot stainless steel skewer.

  Diágo wasn’t at the table. He was a few feet back, behind Sherrhi and Terrhi, where he could protect both the Queen and the Princess. The two other members of his security detail stood behind Tomáso, between our table and the large species door. A tiny drone, controlled by Diágo, analyzed every dish and checked for poisons. So far, so good.

  The table itself was huge—a circle fifteen feet across held up by a giant central pillar the size of a redwood tree’s stump. There was plenty of room around i
t for nine humans, a Pâkk, two and a half Dauushans and a Murm. Queen Sherrhi and Tomáso stood, and the rest of us, including Terrhi, sat on chairs on raised platforms on the sides. Terrhi’s seat was more of a half-round log, if you want to be picky. If the table was the face of an analog clock, the two adult Dauushans would be standing in open segments at twelve and six, while the platforms on the sides stretched from one to five o’clock and seven o’clock to eleven. Leftovers from earlier courses still covered the table and new dishes had just been delivered.

  The first course had been a tasty salad made with Tōdonese paralettuce, ubertomatoes the size of cantaloupes, and hearts of Pyr-palm, topped with Terran olive oil and balsamic vinegar. It had been excellent, but I’d only eaten a quarter of my tomato. I’d wanted to make sure I saved room for the rest of the feast. Now I was admiring the scenery outside the floor-to-ceiling windows to my left, revealed after the virtual reality projectors had been turned off. The well-lit grounds sloped smoothly down to the banks of the Chattahoochee and reminded me of the view Poly and I had enjoyed on our romantic first date. Then Queen Sherrhi waved one of her sub-trunks to get my attention.

  “You’ll have to try the Don Juan noodles,” she said. Then she raised her voice to be heard at the opposite side of the table. “If my benighted consort will ever pass them this way.”

  “Yes, beloved Matriarch,” said Tomáso, taking a momentary break from his discussion. “I hear and obey.”

  Tomáso lifted a generous portion of noodles onto his plate with the tongs that had been hanging on the edge of the tureen. He replaced them and said “Twelve o’clock.” Hundreds of tiny legs, like the ones on my phone’s mutacase, extruded from the black tray beneath the tureen and carefully transported the noodles from his six o’clock position to Queen Sherrhi’s place of honor.

  “Here,” said the queen, putting a huge helping of noodles on my plate before serving herself. “You’ll love them.”