“Welcome,” said Tomáso. “When I heard Shepherd was likely to wake up soon, I wanted you to be here.”
“How’s he doing?” I asked.
The most senior Pâkk physician answered.
“His brain waves are still a bit odd, but his vital signs are much stronger. We’re about to administer a medication that should wake him up.”
“I thought you were going to keep him out for twenty-four hours,” I said.
“The consort says the patient may have knowledge vital to the security of the galaxy,” said the physician, “so we are waking him sooner than we’d planned.”
The medico injected a dark fluid into an intravenous line in Shepherd’s arm.
“The security of the galaxy?” I said. “Isn’t that unwarranted hyperbole?”
“No,” said Tomáso.
“It is not,” said Queen Sherrhi.
“Don’t be mean to Terra,” said Terrhi.
“We may not have a choice,” said her father.
“Are we back to that again?” said Poly. “Heat rays from orbit?”
“If necessary,” said Tomáso.
“What about heat rays from orbit?” said Pomy.
“Later,” said Poly.
Shepherd was waking up. I hoped the medication wouldn’t slow his recovery.
“Hello, old friend,” said Tomáso.
Shepherd blinked and moved his head slowly from side to side as if testing to ensure it was still connected to his neck and torso.
“Not good,” he said. Each word was drawn out as if it was an effort for him to speak it.
“What’s not good?” asked Tomáso.
Shepherd leaned up on one elbow and noticed Poly and Pomy standing with me.
“Sisters,” he said.
Then his head sank back onto the bed and his eyes closed. Tomáso reached out with three sub-trunks to shake him awake, but the physician stopped him by interposing his body between Tomáso and his patient.
“You won’t get more out of him unless he gets more rest.”
The Pâkk physician put his hands on his hips and looked like he was ready to challenge Tomáso if the Dauushan tried to touch Shepherd again. Queen Sherrhi put three of her own sub-trunks on Tomáso’s flank.
“Have patience,” said the Queen. “You and your task force will find the plague spheres before they can be used.”
“But your speech is tomorrow morning,” said Tomáso. “We’re running out of time. I was counting on a clue from Shepherd.”
“He gave us one,” I said. “And we’re going to follow up on it.”
Poly looked at me, saw me smile, and got my back.
“Right,” she said. “It’s a pretty good clue, too. Let’s hit the road.”
She took my arm and the two of us walked down the platform’s steps.
Pomy looked at Tomáso, Queen Sherrhi, Terrhi, and Spike. She pointed at Poly and me.
“I’m with them,” she said.
Then she ran down the steps to catch up with us.
“Bye Uncle Jack, Aunt Poly, Aunt Pomy…” said Terrhi. “Will you tell me a bedtime story when you get back?”
* * * * *
Pomy went up to her hotel suite to change and Poly came with me to my apartment so we could do the same. I got out of my suit and put on black jeans, black athletic shoes, and a long-sleeved black t-shirt over my protective Orishen pupa silk shirt. I strapped my knife made from one of Spike’s incisors to my waist, just to look badass. Poly donned a similar outfit—she’d left her pupa silk shirt at my place—and the two of us looked like low budget ninjas.
My van was waiting for us when we got to Peachtree Street. We both got in, buckled up, and headed for the Star Palace to pick up Pomy. She climbed in the rear passenger seat through the sliding door. Pomy was wearing black pants, but hadn’t gotten the memo about black shirts. She wore a white cotton blouse, a short red jacket, and black flats. Her black leather purse was the size of a tote bag. Not exactly ninja gear, but we’d manage.
Shepherd had given us a clue. “Sisters,” he’d said. He wasn’t referring to Poly and Pomy. Columbia Brown, or Sarah Lawrence Barnard, as she was calling herself now, had a sister. We hadn’t had much luck tracking the homicidal Ms. Brown, unfortunately. Her company, O’Sullivan Fabrication, had been abandoned and was now a dead end. But Agnes Spelman, according to Ray Ray Dunwoody, was the CEO of Factor-E-Flor. Even though Factor-E-Flor was registered in the Cayman Islands, it must still have an office in metro Atlanta. I thought it was high time we met Columbia Brown’s sister and found out what her part was in all this.
First, we had to find Factor-E-Flor. I asked my phone to research possible locations. It gave me an address in an office park just inside the northwest Perimeter.
“Is this your best guess?” I asked.
“No,” said my phone. “The address of their North American headquarters is on their web site.”
Maybe I hadn’t done as much as I’d hoped to pay back my sleep deficit. I wonder why I’d expected them to be circumspect about revealing their location?
“Please ask my van to…”
“Already done,” said my phone.
“Isn’t that the next complex over from WT&F?” said Poly.
“Affirmative,” said my phone.
“What the hell is going on?” said Pomy.
I gave her a summary, with help from Poly.
“So this woman, or her sister, the one who shot you, plans to kidnap Queen Sherrhi tomorrow and release a plague that will turn us all into zombie slaves?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“And thereby take over the galaxy,” said Poly.
“What about the heat rays from orbit?” said Pomy.
“Tomáso’s insurance policy to protect the queen,” I said.
“And sterilize the planet, if necessary,” Poly added.
She was thinking a few steps ahead of me.
“This is a lot more exciting than removing pottery shards from trenches with a toothbrush back in Rome,” said Pomy.
“Tell me about it,” said Poly.
* * * * *
It was mid-afternoon when we neared our destination. Factor-E-Flor’s North American headquarters was another cookie cutter concrete, glass and steel office building. Four-foot orange letters on the lawn out front spelled the company’s name. It was screened from WT&F’s headquarters and the major access road by a double row of fifty-foot pines or I would have noticed it years ago.
“How do you want to play this?” asked Poly. “I expect they know both of us.”
“True,” I said, “so it will be up to Pomy to provide a distraction while we go in undercover.”
“Under a light bending fabric poncho, you mean,” said Poly. “Dibs on the Blend Into The Scenery suit.”
“Fine,” I said. “You can have the suit. I’ll take the poncho.”
“Provide a distraction?” said Pomy.
“Say you’re from the IRS and here to conduct a surprise audit,” I said.
“I don’t have the right ID,” said Pomy.
“And I don’t think the IRS does that,” said Poly.
“Building inspector?” I suggested.
“That would be handled by someone in Facilities, not the CEO,” said Pomy.
“An investigator for the Securities and Exchange Commission?” I offered.
“Factor-E-Flor’s not publicly traded,” said Poly.
“I think I’ve got it,” said Pomy. “I’ll just be myself.”
“Always be yourself,” said my phone.
“Shush,” I said. Really?
“Yes,” said Pomy. “I will give my real name and say I need to speak to Agnes Spelman on an u
rgent private matter related to my missing sister and her boyfriend. That should pique her attention.”
“Works for me,” I said.
“What if Agnes Spelman turns the tables and holds Pomy hostage?” said Poly.
“There are two octovacs in the back of the van in case we need to stage a rescue,” I said.
“Excelsior,” said Pomy. “Let’s make this happen before I lose my nerve.”
“Try to get Spelman out of her office,” said Poly. “That should be a great place to look for clues.”
My van drove to the parking lot for WT&F and found a spot close to the row of trees separating WT&F from Factor-E-Flor. Poly and I got into our invisibility gear and I opened Chit’s bottle.
“Wazzup?” she said in a drowsy voice.
Bingo! She’d been sleeping. When she crawled out, her wing cases were painted in alternating black and yellow stripes. She looked like a Georgia Tech Yellow Jacket.
“We’re going to sneak into Factor-E-Flor to look for clues about giant robots and plague spheres,” I said. “You in?”
“Sure,” said Chit. “Glad t’do my part t’save the galaxy.”
“Again with the hyperbole,” I said.
“Just callin’ it like I see it,” she said.
“Do you have anything in that backpack I can use to protect myself?” asked Pomy.
I rummaged around in my backpack. Flashlights wouldn’t do much good. Then my fingers found something long and cylindrical. It was one of the Macerators’ power pack cylinders. I gave it to Pomy and showed her how to trigger it, in case of emergency. Or in case we needed a really big diversion.
My van drove Pomy around to Factor-E-Flor’s main entrance while Poly and I walked over to the back of their building from the WT&F parking lot. I climbed up the side of the Factor-E-Flor building using my gecko gloves and knee pads, then tossed them down so that Poly could climb up, too. My phone opened the rooftop maintenance door with its mutakey function and we descended to the second floor landing. I pulled the hallway door open, then closed it quickly as soon as Chit buzzed through.
“Watch this, folks,” whispered my phone.
It had tapped into the building’s security cameras somehow, and we were watching a real-time video from the main lobby where Pomy was arguing with the receptionist.
“You tell Ms. Agnes ‘Fancy Pants’ Spelman that she needs to teleport down here instantaneously and tell me what she’s done with my sister and her boyfriend,” said Pomy. “My mother and father are distraught and I’m disturbed enough to stand here and annoy you until I get some answers.”
“I’m sorry, but no one sees Ms. Spelman without an appointment,” said the receptionist, a little man with a precisely trimmed Van Dyke beard. “I’m sure I could find an opening on her schedule for you sometime next week. There’s no one to speak with you today. Everyone is at a big off-site meeting to prepare for GALTEX.”
“Don’t try to put me off, buster,” said Pomy, raising her voice. “I’m here to see Agnes Spelman and I want to see her right now.”
“What seems to be the problem, Hans?” said a trim black woman of medium height in a gray power suit.
“Bingo!” I said, opening the door so Poly and I could start our surreptitious investigations.
My phone muted the sound, but just before it stopped sharing images from the lobby camera I read Pomy’s lips.
“I’m the problem!” she said. “Where’s. My. Sister!”
Pomy was on track to keep Agnes Spelman busy for at least ten minutes so Poly and I set off down the hall. We’d agreed on the walk over that it was likely F-E-F used a similar layout to WT&F. Chit circled back and confirmed that was a valid assumption, then flew off again. Factor-E-Flor’s executive offices were in the same part of this building. There weren’t many people around, just a few senior admins at desks outside C-level offices. Poly and I headed for the front corner of the building where we expected to find Agnes Spelman’s office.
When we got there our luck continued. No one was at the admin station outside what had to be the CEO’s office. Poly put her hand on the middle of my back so I’d know she was right behind me. I opened the heavy hardwood office door and we slipped through. Poly closed it tightly behind us. I didn’t take it as a good omen when the door’s electronic lock whirred and a deadbolt was thrown by a solenoid, locking the two of us in. I turned around slowly and I assumed Poly did the same.
A tall black woman wearing glasses, an elegant black pantsuit, and an evil smile stood behind a large desk. She was holding a small, clear plastic bottle with a screw-on lid. Chit was inside and she didn’t look happy. She was scrabbling around, trying to twist off the cap from the inside.
“Do what you’re told and I’ll poke air holes in the bottle,” said the woman, who resembled Columbia Brown.
“Agnes Spelman?” I guessed.
“You can call me that,” she replied. “And take off your Blend Into The Scenery suits. I’ve been tracking you on infrared since you entered the parking lot.”
So much for playing ninja. Poly took off her B.I.T.S. suit and I took off my light-bending poncho, stuffing both into my backpack tool bag.
“If you’re Agnes Spelman,” said Poly, “who’s in the lobby talking to my sister?”
“You mean Ms. Smith?” said Spelman. “She’s my administrative assistant.”
Cornell, Penn and Princeton had a female counterpart, it seemed.
“We’ve done what you’ve told us,” I said, “now give my friend some air.”
“Sit down,” said Spelman, indicating a pair of client chairs in front of her desk, “and don’t presume to give me orders.”
She sat in a padded leather executive chair behind her desk, put Chit’s bottle in the middle of her blotter, and idly toyed with a pointed, gold-plated letter opener. Ms. Smith entered her boss’s office and tied our wrists and ankles to our chairs with heavy twine. After finishing her project with admirable efficiency, she left. I tested my bonds. We weren’t going anywhere soon.
“Ms. Jones, Mr. Buckston,” said Spelman. “Every time you answer a question honestly, I will give your little friend another air hole. Don’t try lying—my glasses can detect changes in temperature on your faces and I’ll know when you’re lying.”
“What do you want to know?” I said.
“A great deal,” said Spelman, “starting with the detailed security plan for Queen Sherrhi on Saturday.”
“I don’t know anything about her security plans,” I said. “That’s Diágo and Tomáso’s department.”
“You seem to be telling the truth,” said Spelman. “Anything to add, Ms. Jones?”
“Tomáso has an asteroid mining ship in orbit ready to blast the Emory quad if anything jeopardizes Queen Sherrhi’s safety.”
“Interesting,” said Spelman, “and also true. That earns you an air hole.”
Chit was on her back in the plastic bottle, her six legs waving feebly in the air. Agnes Spelman brought the point of the letter opener down sharply on the bottle’s lid, creating a small, rectangular hole. Chit’s legs stopped waving and she flipped herself back upright.
“Very good, Ms. Jones. Let’s try another question, shall we? Where are my two missing robots?”
This time I answered.
“They’re in the VIGorish Labs hangar near Hartsfield Port,” I said. “Under guard by a squad of Capitol police.”
Spelman picked up the bottle holding Chit and shook it vigorously. The little Murm lay stunned at the bottom of the bottle when she returned it to the top of her desk.
“That was only partly true, Mr. Buckston,” she said. “Which part was the lie?”
“The guards,” I said.
“Excellent,” said Spelman. “Are my constructors there as well?”
&nb
sp; “The octovacs? Yes, they’re there.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it,” said Spelman.
Her voice was silky, but menacing. She lifted up the letter opener and stabbed the bottle’s lid, opening another small air hole.
“One more,” said Spelman. “What did that meddlesome Pâkk find out at the carnival?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s why we’re here.”
“He’s still unconscious at the Dauushan consulate,” added Poly.
Don’t volunteer information that wasn’t requested, I thought.
“They’re keeping him sedated until he has more time to recover from the blow to the back of his head.”
Ah, she’s telling the truth, but not all of it. Poly was a skilled liar. I filed that data point away for future reference.
“I wish they’d found a more permanent solution,” said Spelman, “but you can’t get good help these days.”
“Ms. Smith seems competent,” I said, trying to drag out the conversation.
“I should have had her take care of the Pâkk.”
“You won’t get away with this,” said Poly.
“Don’t be melodramatic,” said Spelman. “For all intents and purposes, my sister and I already have.”
She pulled open a desk drawer and removed a polished metal sphere the size of a grapefruit. She tossed it up and caught it with one hand.
“How would the two of you like to help me test my new nanoparticles?” said Spelman. “We don’t have much use for alien species except to serve Terrans, but those ancient Nicósn scientists certainly were effective cyberorganic organism designers.”
Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2) Page 34