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

by Schroeder, Dave

  Not bad. I would have picked ankles, but shins would work just as well.

  “How much time did that buy you?”

  “Several days, as the parts were reprinted and retested.”

  “Then Ms. Barnard started to get suspicious. I had planned to quit without notice the next day and intended to spend some time with my dad down in Newnan.”

  “But…?”

  “I got tricky and wanted to prevent them from building more robots, so I decided to disable the Model-43s themselves.”

  “By breaking off the rails for the feedstock towers?”

  “No,” said Ray Ray. “Cyanoacrylate on the output nozzles.”

  Ouch. Superglue would be a bear to remove. The nozzles would need to be completely replaced.

  “Sounds like a sticky situation,” I said.

  Ray Ray shook his head in disgust.

  “Barnard and three of her goons were waiting for me in the parking lot,” said Ray Ray. “They zapped me with a stun gun and threw me in the trunk of a car.”

  “Then they took you to the hangar?”

  “No, then they took me to Disney World.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  “Sorry,” said Ray Ray. “Now I have a question.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I didn’t. I found you by accident while looking for someone else.”

  “I’m alive because of an accident?” said Ray Ray.

  “A lot of us are,” I said.

  We hadn’t noticed, but the restaurant had gotten busier around us as we’d talked. The place was full of people having breakfast before their shifts started at seven. Our server had been by a few times to refill Ray Ray’s coffee but her transient presence didn’t really register. Then someone else was standing next to our table.

  “Good to see you, son,” said R. C. Dunwoody. “You too, Jack.”

  I stood up and shook R. C.’s hand, then got out of the way so that R. C. and Ray Ray could hug. The two of them looked a lot alike. Both had the same model of sunglasses pushed up on their foreheads and the same big smiles on their faces.

  “Take my seat, please, R. C.,” I said. “I have to get home and get some sleep.”

  “Thanks for finding Ray Ray.” said R. C.

  “Just so you know,” I told R. C., “your son saved my life.”

  R. C. looked at Ray Ray with pride.

  “And you saved mine, Jack,” said Ray Ray.

  “Pick up the check and we’ll call it even,” I said.

  I opened a pocket on my backpack tool bag, removed my phone from the charging pad, and gently placed it inside. Its glow was brighter now, but it still wasn’t talking. I’d run it through a full set of diagnostics back at my apartment.

  Then I left the table and headed for the door, smiling and nodding at Roger Joe-Bob Bacon as I went.

  The little Pyr waved a spatula held in one of his tentacles, just as he had when I’d come in.

  I got in my van.

  “Prithee buckle thy seat belt,” it said, halfheartedly.

  I think it missed my phone. I did.

  “Home, please, noble steed.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. My sleep deficit was old enough that if hours were years, it would be in graduate school. Ten minutes north of Hartsfield port, the lid on Chit’s bottle popped open and my Murm friend stuck her head out to greet the dawn. She was wearing a new paint job—something by Jackson Pollock this time. Either that or she was having problems with her ink jet printer. Chit hopped on the dashboard, stretched and yawned.

  “So, buddy boy,” she said. “What did I miss this time?”

  Chapter 29

  “To sleep, perchance to dream...”

  — William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  My van dropped me off at the Peachtree Street gate and drove itself off to park. The octovacs were in dormant mode in its rear cargo area—at least they were getting some rest. I took my backpack tool bag, the trash bag with my tuxedo, and my bruised ribs through the courtyard to my apartment. Once again, I heard the sounds of something small and quick scurrying through the foliage and wondered if it was squirrels or chipmunks or some new off-planet variety of fauna introduced into the courtyard’s controlled ecosystem. It didn’t matter—I was sure that Spike would terrorize whatever it was into submission.

  Despite the events of the previous evening and morning, I had to smile when I saw my top hat, still looking elegant, sitting in the middle of my dining room table. Poly must have put it there when she entered to get my backpack tool bag and my clothes. I hope she’d gotten some sleep and had spent some quality time catching up with her parents and sister. It was past eight in the morning and even with all the excitement and late hours I thought she might be up soon. Too bad she couldn’t reach me until my phone recovered. Getting it back in operating order was my top item of business, even ahead of sleep.

  I put my backpack tool bag in its usual spot on a table by the front door and removed my phone from its B.I.T.S. cloth wrapping. Then I carried it into my bedroom and placed it softly and securely on the charging pad on the nightstand next to my bed. There were times when I wished I could carry a skateboard-sized phone, like adult Dauushans. Their phones came with power congruencies as well as telecommunications congruencies. Terran-sized phones needed batteries because they weren’t large enough to eliminate congruency-congruency interference.

  My phone glowed brighter when I put it on the charging pad and restarted it. When it came back up I’d put it through a full set of diagnostic tests and do my best to fix anything that was wrong. The restart process would take a few minutes, so I went back into my living room and dug around in my project nook. It didn’t take me long to find what I wanted. The Orishen knitting machine I’d used to make bulletproof pupa silk shirts was still sitting on top of my work table, but that wasn’t the most important thing. The spindle with the cocoon of Shuvvath, an Orishen nymph I’d prevented from going on a mass killing spree, wasn’t completely used up. There was probably enough thread left for what I had in mind.

  I put the knitting machine on the dining room table next to my top hat and moved the spindle unit to the floor beneath it where the thread would feed easily. Then I used the laptop on the desk in my project nook to look up the required dimensions. I fed them into the Orishen knitting machine and was gratified when the needles started clacking. It shouldn’t take long for it to knit what I needed. I heard a ding sound from my bedroom over the noisy needles—my phone’s restart had finished. It was time for diagnostics.

  My phone was face up on the charging pad where I’d left it. A round, red light in the center of its screen pulsed when I entered the room.

  “Greetings,” said my phone. “I am registered to Ajax Pryce Buckston. Would you be he?”

  What the…?

  “Yes,” I said, caught off guard.

  “This unit is pleased to serve you,” it said. “Would you like me to explain my range of features?”

  Oh crap. It must have rebooted with factory default settings. My poor phone must have been damaged more than I’d thought.

  “Not at this time,” I replied. “When was the last cloud backup for this device performed?”

  “The last cloud backup for this device was performed on Sunday evening.”

  Before the call from Mike about the giant robot being built at WT&F. This was going to be interesting.

  I used my laptop to place an on-line order for a new phone just like my old one and specified immediate delivery. I found the last Orishen mutacase in Atlanta and bought it without a second thought. I paid twenty percent more than it cost me for the previous mutacase, but was happy to do so. Both phone and case would be here as soon as drones could fly the
m.

  My factory default phone made a ding sound.

  “Mr. Buckston, you have received text messages from Mr. Tomáso Kauuson at the Dauushan consulate and Ms. Polyhymnia Keen Jones. Would you like me to read them to you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Which text message would you like me to read first? Mr. Tomáso Kauuson or…”

  “Poly,” I said.

  “Do you mean Ms. Polyhymnia Keen Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  The phone read in a monotone.

  “I’m going shopping with my sister to help her find a dress for Saturday. Please pick up my mom and dad at ten o’clock at the hotel. Mom needs to be dropped off at the Galtech Department at Georgia Tech to review the arrangements for her commencement speech and Dad needs to go to the Michael C. Carlos Museum at Emory.”

  Interesting. Poly probably thinks I got to bed not long after she did.

  “Mr. Ajax Pryce Buckston, there is also a postscript from Ms. Polyhymnia Keen Jones. Would you like me to read it to you?”

  “Jack,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” said the phone.

  “Please refer to me as ‘Jack,’ and Ms. Jones as ‘Poly.’”

  “Yes, Jack,” said the phone. “I see an alternate designation of ‘Lover Boy’ in your contact record. Is that also an acceptable short name?”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Would you like me to read the postscript from Poly?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Certainly. This unit is glad to comply. If this unit fails to act in a manner that delights you, there is a short survey available for you to complete where you can recommend options for improvement.”

  “Thank you. Not at this time. Please read Poly’s postscript.”

  The phone read the postscript in the same monotonous neutral voice.

  “Jack, thanks for taking Mom and Dad. This will be a good opportunity to start over so they can get to know you and vice versa. Daddy has promised not to act like a pompous ass and Mom, well, Mom appears to have mellowed a bit since last night, too. I really appreciate it. Hugs and kisses, Poly.”

  I like hearing “Hugs and kisses, Poly,” even in a monotone, but was less than thrilled about having to drive her parents. I certainly wasn’t at my best. But I couldn’t say no.

  “Please send a reply.”

  “Recording.”

  “I will be glad to pick up your parents in front of the Star Palace at ten o’clock and get them to their destinations. I hope you’re reconnecting with Pomy. Missing you, Jack.”

  “Send?” asked my phone.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Transcribed and sent.”

  The phone sat quietly for ten seconds then spoke.

  “Reply to your message received.”

  “Please read it,” I said.

  The phone, in its monotone drone, did so.

  “Great. Remember, family dinner at seven tonight at the place with the pirate ship and the crocodiles.”

  Had Poly ever told me anything about a dinner with her family tonight? Or ever made mention of crocodiles in any context, except, perhaps, when talking about her mother? I’d have to get more details later and hoped I’d get a chance for a nap before dinner.

  “Any reply?” said the phone.

  “See you there. May walk the plank. XOXO.”

  “Should this unit expand ‘XOXO’ into ‘Kiss Hug Kiss Hug’?”

  “No,” I said. “Just send it as is.”

  “Transcribing. Sent.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Would you like me to read you the text message from Mr. Tomáso Kauuson at the Dauushan consulate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ground penetrating radar shows shadow facility below O’Sullivan Fabrication. Appears abandoned.”

  Interesting. I’d have to fill Tomáso in on what I learned from Ray Ray.

  “Any reply?”

  “Yes.”

  “Recording.”

  “Employee sabotaged O’Sullivan’s 3D printers. Found him at rendezvous site and prevented nova bomb explosion. Columbia Brown has a sister, Agnes Spelman, new CEO at Factor-E-Flor. Sabotage probable reason WT&F used to fab giant robot. News at eleven.”

  I waited a beat.

  “Send.”

  “Transcribed. Sent.”

  The phone started to ring. I was about to answer it when my doorbell rang, twice. I let Tomáso’s call roll to voice mail.

  I checked the camera out front using my living room wall screen, since I didn’t want to try to get the phone to do it. Nobody was waiting to shoot me, but two drones with small packages were hovering impatiently. I signed for the deliveries and was about to carry the packages inside when I saw someone very large and very pink striding toward the entrance to my apartment. Three guesses who it was.

  “Hi Tomáso.”

  “You can’t do that to me,” said the elephant-sized Dauushan.

  “What?” I said. “Not pick up when you call?”

  “No,” said Tomáso. “Send me a text like that without more details.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “My phone got fried, I almost got vaporized, and I haven’t had any sleep. It was the best I could do.”

  “Will your phone be okay?”

  “Nice of you to ask about my phone before showing concern for me potentially being reduced to my constituent atoms,” I said.

  “You obviously survived.”

  “Barely,” I said. “I’ve got a brand new handset and mutacase here.” I waved the two packages I was holding to confirm my statement. “I’ll be restoring my phone from last Sunday night’s backup in a few minutes. The original hardware restarted in factory default mode and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Only fair,” said Tomáso, with a basso “hrrrumph,” for emphasis.

  Me driving him crazy was unsaid.

  I gave Tomáso the short version of showing up too late to stop the departing starship, meeting Ray Ray, encountering Penn and Princeton and escaping from the hangar. He agreed I’d had a busy morning and gave me more details about the investigation of O’Sullivan Fabrication. The entire facility, upper and lower levels, was now abandoned. It was a dead end. I gave Tomáso R. C. Dunwoody’s number so he could contact Ray Ray and see if he might remember anything else that could help.

  “We’re trying to figure out where Columbia Brown and company have hidden a dozen giant combat robots and what they plan to do with them,” he said.

  “Ten,” I said. “We have two down at Zwilniki’s hangar.”

  “That’s marginally better than twelve,” said Tomáso. “I’m afraid they’re going to make another attempt to kidnap Sherrhi and Terrhi.”

  “The species that controls Dauushan productive capacity and commands Dauushans’ loyalty rules the galaxy?” I said.

  “Exactly,” said Tomáso. “Sherrhi hopes the Opposition will show itself at Emory’s graduation on Saturday. That’s why she agreed to speak.”

  “And where one giant combat robot failed…” I said.

  “Ten attacking simultaneously might succeed,” Tomáso finished. “But not if I have anything to say about it.”

  “What’s your plan?” I asked “How do you intend to protect your family against ten robots?”

  “With this,” said Tomáso.

  He pulled his skateboard-sized phone from a pouch on his left front leg and held it up for me to see. Centered on its screen was the Charalindhri, the immense Dauushan asteroid mining ship my mother had been helping to construct. It was floating in Earth orbit with a blue terrestrial horizon and a crescent slice of Luna showing in the background. It was beautiful, but deadly.

  “The Charali
ndhri’s energy beams can melt asteroids. They can also deal with giant robots.”

  “That’s like using a machete when you should be using a scalpel,” I said. “Those beams would also destroy half the buildings on Emory’s main quadrangle and kill hundreds of innocent bystanders.”

  “Acceptable losses to protect our queen.”

  “And your spouse,” I said. “You’re biased. Energy beams from space would be a completely inappropriate and disproportional response.”

  “My queen chose to put herself in harm’s way so the beings behind the resurrected Compliant Plague would show themselves,” said Tomáso. “I will not stand idly by and watch her brave actions lead to her capture, death or infection.”

  “Neither will I, my friend,” I said, looking directly up into his eyes. “So give me time to do what I can before you escalate.”

  “I will…” My friend paused. “…consider your request.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And tell Queen Sherrhi not to worry. I’m sure her commencement speech at Emory will be memorable.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Tomáso, sighing from six sub-trunks and shrugging his massive shoulders. He turned away and walked slowly back in the direction of his condominium and the Dauushan consulate.

  I needed to get moving if I wanted to restore my phone and still have time to take a shower and change my clothes before I had to pick up Poly’s parents. I brought the packages inside and opened them on the far end of my dining room table. I smiled to see that the Orishen knitting machine had already completed its work.

  The new phone was already charged so I used it to login to my account and access my phone’s backup from last Sunday night. After navigating a few screens I was able to trigger the download and mentally kicked myself for not paying for the up-to-the-minute option. Weekly backups had seemed fine three years ago when Xenotech Support Corporation had first opened for business. At that point, the extra eighty percent surcharge seemed an unnecessary extravagance. As they say in Pennsylvania Dutch country, “Too soon old, too late smart.” I was a technology professional and should have known better, but sometimes the shoemaker’s children are stuck wearing flip-flops.