“I’ll share with Poly,” I said, turning to my right and splitting my portion with her. She was seated between Pomy and me and was warming to her sister, even if they weren’t completely reconciled.
“No need for that, we’ve got plenty,” said Queen Sherrhi. “Ten o’clock.”
The tray trundled over to stop between the sisters. Pomy took some noodles and sent it along to her father at eight o’clock. Barbara was sitting between her husband and Tomáso, listening in on the Dauushan’s conversation with Shepherd.
“Why do you call them Don Juan noodles?” Poly asked the queen.
“Aphrodisiac properties,” said Queen Sherrhi, looking across the table at her consort.
Pomy didn’t touch her noodles after that.
“I’d like some over here,” said CiCi at two o’clock.
Mike sat between CiCi and Terrhi with a grin on his face. He looked pretty good in a tuxedo and had managed to scrub all the black feedstock powder off the parts of him that showed. CiCi was a knockout in a long navy blue dress with diagonal stripes of fluorescent colors that matched the streaks in her hair.
“None for me,” said the elegant looking woman seated between CiCi and Martin. “I have three kids already.”
She was wearing a floor-length, gold dress with diamond-shaped cutouts at the neckline, her black skin making a striking contrast with the fabric. Martin was impressive in his tuxedo. His shaved head made him look like a secret agent in a James Bond movie.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “in all the excitement, Martin neglected to introduce us. I’m Jack Buckston.”
“I know who you are,” said the woman. “Marty’s been telling the children bedtime stories about your exploits for over a month.”
Marty? I thought. I’d file that for later.
“My name is Apollonia,” said the woman, “but everyone calls me Apple.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” I said. “Anyone who can keep Marty in line must have a lot going for her.”
Martin looked pained and shot me a “you’ll get yours” look. Introductions were made around the table.
“What do you do, Apple?” I said.
“I work in data center construction,” she said, “and teach martial arts two nights a week.”
“That explains how you keep Marty in line,” said Poly.
Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of whirring motors above us. A crane hoist unit attached to a system of interconnected rails in the rafters gently lowered a metal serving pan the size of a child’s wading pool into the center of our table on heavy steel cables. It had tall, fluted sides, like a quiche pan. When it got low enough, we could see steam rising from the bubbling pink surface of the food inside.
Chit, who’d been relaxing on top of an overturned water glass between Poly and me, eating a salted borsum nut, had to check to make sure she wouldn’t be underneath the pan when it finally settled in place.
“Wonderful,” said Queen Sherrhi, beaming. “The main course has arrived.”
Chit sniffed.
“Smells good,” she said. “But it’s gettin’ hot in here.”
The steam was flowing over the edge of the pan and had already reached Chit’s water glass, so she spread her wings and did a quick flit up to my left shoulder.
“Whadda ya call this stuff?” Chit asked Queen Sherrhi, waving a foreleg at the giant pan.
“There are several ways to translate its name,” said the queen. “Some guidebooks call it Luscious Layers.”
“Keen’s guides call it Dauushan Lasagna,” said Barbara. “I can’t wait to try the Teleport Inn version.”
“Mother,” said Poly, “you and I discussed this for over an hour on my first trip to Dauush. I think the best translation would be Dauushan Strata. The root word is the same one used to describe sedimentary rock, and there aren’t any noodles, so calling it lasagna sets up false expectations.”
Barbara looked away from Poly, unsuccessful at hiding her displeasure.
“I’m less interested in what Terran’s call it and more concerned with eating it,” said Queen Sherrhi. “It’s the one dish always served on Dauushan holidays and special occasions.”
“And it’s Mom’s favorite,” said Terrhi. “Spike, no paws on the table!”
The chastened tri-sabertooth slid his front paws down and curled all six of his legs around the base of Terrhi’s slightly raised chair.
François drove a gleaming chrome forklift supporting a weighty triangular metal cutter-lifter, a Dauushan tool similar to the one Terrans use to serve slices of pizza, but a lot larger.
“Would you like to serve or should I?” Queen Sherrhi asked Tomáso.
“It’s only proper that I should serve you,” said her consort, making a slight bow in her direction.
François backed the forklift up a few feet, then circled halfway around the table and presented the cutter-lifter to Tomáso. The Dauushan grabbed the massive metal implement in the thick tubular fingers of his right hand and held it in front of his mouth like a microphone.
“I’d like to thank all the little people who helped rescue my daughter and make this day possible,” he said.
“Next to you, we’re all little people,” said Martin.
Tomáso made a slight bow in his direction, too. The Dauushan transferred the cutter-lifter to his central three sub-trunks, leaned forward, and made a deep cut in the bubbling Strata with the tool. Then he made a second incision a few degrees from the first, forming a large wedge. He switched modes and worked the lifter underneath. François was just returning in the forklift, carrying four huge plates. Kijanna distributed clean, normal sized plates to the humanoids. Tomáso transferred the slice to one of the large plates and François delivered it around the table to the queen. A second huge slice was removed like the first and delivered to Terrhi, who beamed with pleasure. The third slice was placed on a large plate which was then set on top of another self-mobile tray like the one from the Don Juan noodles. It walked its way around the table and we were all able to serve ourselves small portions, even Shepherd. The Pâkk, despite his preference for meat, was an omnivore. Finally Tomáso served himself a big slice and dug in with gusto.
I examined my portion of a wedge and saw why Poly thought Strata was a good name for the dish. The bottom layer was a thin, crispy crust made from a ground, lightly pink-tinted sort of flour. The next layer was a dark pink, almost magenta layer of leaves shaped a lot like Terran spinach. Then came alternating rows of light and dark pink sliced tubers held in place with some sort of clear gel that was probably the alien equivalent of egg whites. Oval, nut-like nodules also floated in the gel. Above the tubers came paper-thin sheets of meat, also pink, but thoroughly cooked. I thought they smelled like bacon. Resting on top of that were rounds of mushroom-like fuchsia fungi as wide and thin as the CDs down at NOD Music. Rings of a sliced, pale pink veggie that looked a lot like Terran onions were mixed in with that layer, too. Shreds of something similar to cheese, in twenty variations on pink, covered the “mushrooms” and “onions,” and the entire dish had been broiled in a congruent oven until the top layer had melted and browned.
While we ate, small pink “trees,” like individual extended stalks of broccoli popped up through the surface layer of “cheese” in the large pan and on the portions on our plates, releasing scents that reminded me of pepper and garlic and cloves.
It smelled delicious and tasted even better. Dauushan comfort food.
“Don’t eat the nodules,” said Terrhi, who was watching Mike gobble up his serving.
“Why not?” said Mike.
Then he got a pained expression.
“Ow.”
He paused, looking decidedly unhappy.
“Ow, ow, ow.”
“The nodules pop open when th
ey reach a certain internal temperature and hold it for a given time,” said Terrhi. “Drink some ice water.”
Mike did and started to look better. CiCi patted his shoulder solicitously, leaning in close. The rest of us carefully separated the nodules out from our portions.
“Tell me, Your Majesty,” said Perry, speaking for the first time. “Does Dauush have any ancient epics of heroes and heroines fighting wars, taking great journeys, or defying the gods?”
Queen Sherrhi didn’t answer immediately. She made the same curious set of warding gestures with her trunks that Tomáso had made yesterday and looked lost in thought.
“There’s what happened during the Pâkk-Tigrammath War, fifteen thousand years ago, when Shepherd’s ancestors and their opponents both tried to win the loyalty of the leaders of Dauush, but instead created and released a terrible plague that killed thousands of my people,” said Tomáso.
“Are the tales told as poems or prose?” asked Perry. “Were they initially written, or handed down as an oral tradition?”
“They were definitely written, Professor Jones,” said Tomáso. “They’re part of our historical record and we have the original investigative reports, photographs, videos, articles and interviews documenting the events.”
“From fifteen thousand years ago?” said Perry.
“Once information is on the ’net it is never forgotten,” said Tomáso. “Our civilization is much older than yours.”
“As is ours,” said Shepherd.
Perry kept quiet after that. This wasn’t his office or classroom.
“Are you working on any interesting projects, Apple?” I said to fill the temporary silence.
“I am,” she said. “I’m helping a client build a shadow data center.”
“What’s a shadow data center?” asked CiCi.
“The Shadow knows…” said Mike, trying to make his voice sound deep and ominous.
CiCi dug her elbow into his ribs.
“It’s an expensive disaster recovery solution,” I said.
“That also helps with business continuity,” said Apple. “Let’s say a company builds a facility on Data Center Row out by Six Flags, west of Atlanta.”
The same area where I’d been doing reconnaissance on O’Sullivan Fabrication. Gears turned in my brain.
“A smart company, willing to make the investment, might also build a duplicate facility east of Atlanta, in Gwinnett or DeKalb or Rockdale County, with identical hardware, software and telecom connections.”
“In case something happened to the primary facility…” said Poly.
“They could switch over to the shadow facility as if there hadn’t been a problem, right?” completed Pomy.
“Correct,” said Apple.
“Why wouldn’t they want their shadow facility in Charlotte or Kansas City or Phoenix?” Martin asked his wife. “If a hurricane strikes Atlanta it could take out both data centers. Wouldn’t it make sense to locate them farther apart?”
“Lots of companies take that approach,” said Apple, “but people are important, too. The people who staff the data center have specialized knowledge about how it operates. It would be a lot easier for the techs who manage the center to drive across town than to fly to Phoenix.”
“Got it,” said Martin. “Thanks.”
“No problem, honeybear,” said Apple.
She kissed his cheek.
Honeybear would join Marty as a note for future reference.
“One of my clients was really paranoid,” Apple continued. “He had a primary data center, a secondary mirror data center on the other side of town, and two shadow centers.”
“Where did he want you to put them?” asked CiCi.
“That was where the paranoid part came in,” said Apple. “The shadow centers were fifty feet below the primary and secondary data centers, accessible only through hidden elevators. The excavation phase was a major pain in the…”
“Astonishing,” I broke in, keeping my voice even. “Who’d believe any company would go to such lengths to ensure uninterrupted service?”
Tomáso, Shepherd, Martin and I all exchanged glances. We’d be having a serious discussion after dinner. Queen Sherrhi noticed and nodded at me. She’d be an integral part of that conversation and so would Poly, if she could spare the time from her paper.
Chit tapped a pulse code message on my shoulder.
“Count me in, too, buddy boy.”
“I didn’t complain,” said Apple. “It was a time and materials project, not fixed bid.”
“Lucky you,” I said.
The pattern of palaver around the table shifted to a more intimate mode. Poly and Pomy had their heads together, Mike was talking to Terrhi about the subtle differences between human and Dauushan-sized Lego blocks, and CiCi was asking Apple for details about her favorite styles of martial arts. Martin, Shepherd, Tomáso, and Barbara were talking quietly, but intensely, about something that I couldn’t decipher from this side of the table. Perry was staring out into space with his chin in his hand. He looked like he was composing an article for The American Journal of Philology in his head.
Queen Sherrhi turned my way and spoke very softly. Her voice had rich overtones, a jazz baritone saxophone to her consort’s marching sousaphone.
“I hope you liked it,” she said.
“The Star Wars award ceremony?” I said. “I loved it.”
“Me, too,” said Chit. “I’m like Chewbacca, the alien who didn’t get a medal.”
“I thought about it,” said the queen, “but the idea of a Dauushan trying to put a medal around the neck of a Murm didn’t make much sense.”
“True enough,” said Chit. “And the fur rug over there” —she pointed at Shepherd— “would make a better Wookie, anyway.”
“The specs for how to paint a medal on your anterior thorax should already be in your inbox.”
“Thanks, your Matriarchal Majesty.”
“You’re welcome,” said Queen Sherrhi. “Now go listen in on Shepherd.”
“Oh,” said Chit, “You want me to am-scray. Why didn’t ya say so?”
Chit flew across the table and Terrhi was now in an animated conversation with Mike and CiCi about anime, so we had a little privacy.
“I wanted to thank you, privately and personally, for saving my daughter and for minimizing the negative press associated with the mess from six weeks ago,” said the queen.
“Your daughter and Spike did a lot of the saving on their own,” I said.
“Be that as it may,” said Queen Sherrhi, “the Dauushan Royal Family intends to make a substantial investment in Xenotech Support Corporation. Consider us very silent partners.”
She showed me a number written on a cocktail napkin. I whistled, glad I was sitting down.
“And I’m also making personal gifts to you and Poly.”
The queen flipped over the napkin and the numbers there made me glad I hadn’t stood up.
“You’re very generous,” I said.
“Nonsense,” she said, “I’m Matriarch of all the Dauushan worlds. That’s got to be good for something. Let me know if you need more.”
Then I smelled smoke. So did Terrhi.
“The cake!” she shouted.
A sheet cake large enough to share with Dauushans was being transported toward our table by a scissors lift unit with rubber tank treads. François was at the wheel. He must have lit the four festive sparklers at the corners of the cake as well and drove up next to Tomáso. Then he raised the scissors lift until the cake was even with the surface of the table.
The cake pan was already on top of a self-mobile tray, so it made its own way onto the table and promptly began circumnavigating the perimeter. We admired the message written in dark pink frosting. “A
ll Dauush Thanks You.” There were cartoon depictions of Terrhi with me riding on her back, Mike releasing rabbots, Poly atop Tomáso shooting t-shirts filled with pink pods, and Spike noshing on Anthony Zwilniki’s hand.
Everyone around the table applauded.
It felt like the kind of occasion that demanded some sort of song. When the cake and sparklers came by Pomy’s place she tried to start singing a filk of Happy Birthday but none of us could figure out appropriate words. Mike tried singing a revised version of For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow, but it didn’t feel right when so many of us were wearing medals and therefore shouldn’t praise ourselves.
In the awkward silence after Mike’s attempt we could all hear Terrhi’s wheedling voice.
“Mom, can I have an ice cream sundae? Can I? Can I? Daddy said I could!”
Then things got a lot more exciting.
Chapter 24
“Any group is weaker than a man alone
unless they are perfectly trained to work together.”
— Robert A. Heinlein, Starship Troopers
All the lights outside the Teleport Inn’s tall windows overlooking the Chattahoochee River went out. The change in exterior light levels registered immediately. What was happening?
Then the large species door to our section of the Inn began to roll up. It didn’t make a lot of noise, but the change in air flow and sound quality drew everyone’s attention. We turned to see who had arrived. The Dauushan guard outside was no longer at her post. Instead, twenty-four hulking humanoid armored forms stood in ranks in the entrance, dark silhouettes revealed only by the distant glow of the the city of Atlanta behind them. Their outlines were unmistakable, though. They were Mobile Armored Combat and Emergency Rescue units, nicknamed Macerators, and I didn’t think they’d shown up for tea with the Queen.
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