“I’ve been busy, Mom.”
“Too busy to tell me about getting a concussion and bruised ribs?” she said. “When were you going to share those little details?”
“How did you find out about…?”
“I have my ways,” she said. “Now what do you want from your dear old mother?”
I told her.
“Oh,” she said. “You don’t ask for small favors. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Please do,” I said. “It’s important.”
“I will,” she said. “I’m in the neighborhood, by the way. Let’s have lunch some time.”
“That would be great, Mom,” I said. “If I’m still alive by this time tomorrow it will be my treat.”
“Now Jack,” she said, “no need to indulge in hyperbole.”
“Gotta go, Mom,” I said. “I’m taking my partner and her sister to dinner.”
“Give Poly and Pomy hugs for me,” she said, and hung up.
“Your mother sounds nice,” said Poly. “She also sounds like she knows a lot more than you expected.”
“True enough,” I said. “I wonder who’s filling her in?”
“Something for another day,” said Poly. “Do you think she’ll come through?”
“Great question,” I said. “I wish I knew the answer.”
“And Jack,” said Poly, “when were you going tell your mother about me?”
“Mary Mac’s Tea Room,” said my van.
Chapter 38
“Sometimes I do need to go to karaoke,
sometimes I need to relax.”
— Jackie Chan
Poly, Pomy and I didn’t have to stand in line for long. The decor was getting rundown—the last time they’d spruced the place up was in the Carter administration—but the food was excellent and our spirits were greatly revived. Pomy tried a glass of tea so sweet that her spoon nearly stood up in the glass. We enjoyed fried chicken, fried green tomatoes, fried okra and delicious cinnamon rolls. When we couldn’t eat another bite, not even of banana cream pudding with vanilla wafers, we paid the check and waddled back to the front where my van was waiting. We climbed in and buckled up.
“Where to now?” asked Pomy.
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” I said.
“Don’t complete that quotation,” said Poly. “We just ate, Pomy drank two glasses of sweet tea, and I’m ready to be merry.”
“Karaoke?” I suggested. “There’s a lounge at one of the hotels at Ad Astra that does karaoke on Friday nights. I’ve been there a few times and it’s a blast.”
“Works for me,” said Poly.
“I’m in,” said Pomy, “but karaoke is more fun with more people. Why don’t you invite Mike and Cici and anybody else you can think of to join us?”
“Great idea,” I said.
I sent a group text to Mike, CiCi, Ray Ray, Shuvvath and Hither, inviting them. I didn’t try asking Martin and Apple—I knew how hard it was to get a sitter at the last minute, and besides, this was going to be a younger crowd. Everyone replied they’d try to make it. Half an hour later, my van dropped us off in front of the Paradigm Hotel at Ad Astra. The karaoke lounge there was called Sing Along with Pitch. No one was quite sure why. It was early enough that Pomy, Poly and I could hold a large table near the front. The karaoke didn’t start until eight. I was as happy as a bivalve with Poly on my left and Pomy on my right.
I’d asked Chit if she wanted to join us, but she said she had shows to watch. Just as well. I’d heard her sing. My phone arranged to have an octovac drop off my backpack tool bag, with Chit’s bottle, in my apartment after my van parked in Ad Astra’s underground garage.
Mike and CiCi were the first to arrive. Neither of them lived far away and they were looking for opportunities to kick back and have fun as a couple. They took seats to my left, next to Poly.
“Great idea, Jack,” said Mike.
“You haven’t heard him sing,” said Poly.
“Yes I have,” said Mike. “Sometimes he hums and sings to himself while he’s doing maintenance, especially when he doesn’t think anyone is listening. He’s not bad.”
“Thanks for inviting us,” said CiCi.
She was wearing a short black denim skort and one of the new wing-collared t-shirts that had recently become popular. Hers was Dauushan pink and had the logo for a band called Under the Rug, a reference to where the teleportation target was in the chairman of JPMorgan Chase’s office. She wore ankle high pink boots. One of her knee socks was lime green, the other was florescent blue. Mike was in khakis and a white polo shirt, which reminded me that I had to order more company polo shirts. Ray Ray was probably an extra large and Mike a large, but I wasn’t sure about Poly. I put my arm around her.
“What size polo shirt do you wear?” I asked, leaning close.
“Men’s or women’s?” she said.
“Uh, women’s?” I said.
“Medium,” she said.
I’d learned years ago not to assume I’d be able to guess a woman’s clothing size. Ever since galactic fashions arrived on Earth the sizing protocols had grown even more complicated, if that was possible. I’d thought we were done, but we obviously weren’t.
“Banded sleeves or plain? Two or three buttons? One hundred percent cotton or a cotton-poly blend?” said Poly.
I had my phone send her a link to the catalog I used and let her pick exactly what she wanted. I sent Mike and Ray Ray the same link. The company would be billed for what they ordered. Then I did a double-take. What was I going to do for Shuvvath? Polo shirts didn’t look good on a human-sized praying mantis. It turns out I wasn’t the first business owner to have this problem. I found a site that made peel off logo stickers and sent them my artwork. They’d have a roll of a thousand stickers delivered to my apartment in less than twenty-four hours.
Ray Ray was the next to arrive. He said his autocab had made great time heading up from Newnan. Ray Ray was wearing black slacks, a lavender Oxford shirt, and a black leather Pâkk-style vest. Even to my uneducated eye, his ensemble looked a few years out of date. Maybe it was the only casual clothing he had at his father’s place. I introduced Ray Ray to everyone else at the table and he slid in next to Pomy. The deejay was adjusting his equipment and doing a sound check. A server brought drinks for Ray Ray and Mike and CiCi. Ray Ray had a beer, but everyone else was sticking to flavored fizzy water.
I was looking at CiCi and Mike. Mike had a new job, but as far as I knew, CiCi was out of work. She’d been really helpful when the Macerators attacked and I’d asked for her assistance at the carnival in the morning. I whispered in Poly’s ear. She nodded.
“Go ahead,” she said.
I did.
“Hey CiCi,” I said.
I didn’t have to talk too loud because the music hadn’t started playing. She looked my way.
“Do you know anything about galactic technology?”
“I know a hawk from a handsaw,” she said. “I spent three years as a field comm tech for the Irregulars. I know a lot about congruency-based communications gear.”
She might be a very good fit for supporting all the network equipment in the sub-basement of the Georgia capitol.
“Which Irregulars?” I said.
“That information is only provided on a need to know basis,” she said, smiling.
Obviously, she’d spent time with one of the secretive Terran mercenary companies hired out to assist in “trade disputes” between various species.
“Any formal technical training?”
“Two years and an associate degree in Galtech from the University of Maryland while I was deployed, sir.”
She’d lapsed back into mil-speak. I’d worry about correcting that later.
“Would you be interested in joining Xenotech Sup
port?” I said. “We’ll help you get your bachelor’s degree.”
She started to say “Yes, sir!” but changed it to “You bet I would!” Maybe I wouldn’t have to correct anything after all.
“One thing,” said Poly, “you’ll have to include the names of your past employers on your employment application.”
“I’m sure the Colonel would be fine with it in that case,” said CiCi. “He’s got several acceptable false names we can use in that situation.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Poly, smiling. “Welcome aboard.”
I was going to ask CiCi what size polo shirt she wore, but thought better of it and just sent her the same link I’d sent everyone else. Since Wednesday, Xenotech Support Corporation had tripled its number of employees.
Then Hither and Shuvvath rushed in together.
“Am I late?” asked Hither.
She was wearing a black sleeveless tunic over black and white striped tights with chunky red platform shoes. Shuvvath was wearing chitin.
“No, the music hasn’t started yet,” said Poly. “Have a seat.”
“Order what you’d like from the bar or the menu,” I said. “Tonight’s celebration is on the company.”
That brought smiles to everyone around the table. Hither sat next to Ray Ray to my right. Shuvvath squatted a bit lower at an empty spot at the table to her right. Once they’d made their drink orders, I introduced them to everyone else at the table.
“What event is being celebrated?” asked Shuvvath.
“Adding new employees to Xenotech Support,” I said.
Poly squeezed my hand and beamed. I didn’t worry about adding head count. The financial support from Queen Sherrhi would help us grow quickly.
“Hey Hither,” I said. “You just got a degree in business administration, right?”
“Uh huh,” she said, sipping a drink with a stick of Nicósn near-apple in it that had just been delivered.
“Did you specialize in any particular area of business administration?” I asked.
“Talent management,” said Hither. “The latest academic euphemism for human and alien resources.”
I looked at Poly.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You’re not sticking me with HR.”
A minute later, Xenotech Support’s head count increased to seven.
“I’ll still want to run this by my Dad,” said Hither.
“He’ll be fine with it,” I said. “Don’t ask him, tell him. Experience with another company will be really helpful when it’s time to take over the carnival.”
Hither looked thoughtful, then she came to a decision.
“You’re right,” she said. “You offered me a job and I accepted. Dad will just have to live with it.”
“Good for you,” said Ray Ray. “My father keeps hinting that he wants me to run his company in a few years, but I’m not sure I want to.”
Ray Ray and Hither started comparing notes about parental guilt strategies and seemed to be hitting it off. Pomy added to the conversation with her own parental guilt stories. Shuvvath didn’t have much to add—Orishen clans aren’t into guilt trips.
Then the music started. Everyone around the table, even Shuvvath, had a decent singing voice. Some of us sang solos, some duets and mutually supportive trios. Poly and I sang a duet on Don’t Stop Believing and got an enthusiastic round of applause. Hither, the voice major, blew the room away belting out Defying Gravity from Wicked. Later in the evening we all went on stage and sang Proud Mary with Shuvvath opening an extra set of spiracles to hit the really low notes on “Rollin’ on the River.”
Tomorrow would be a big day, so we didn’t stay out late and our celebration started to break up. Mike and CiCi said they’d take Shuvvath home since he didn’t live far from Mike’s place. CiCi teased Mike that it was lucky his car had a sunroof or Shuvvath wouldn’t be able to fit. Ray Ray told me he planned to get a room at one of the more affordable Ad Astra hotels, since he didn’t want to go back to his apartment until we knew more about Sarah Lawrence Barnard or Columbia Brown or whatever her name was. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. Hither had come on MARTA but I had my phone get her an autocab and charge it to the company.
“I don’t think I want to go back to the suite this early,” said Pomy.
“You’re a good daughter,” said Poly. “Mom and Dad would probably appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome to come over to my apartment for a while, if you’d like,” I said.
Poly and Pomy exchanged a meaningful glance.
“I think I’d like to walk around the courtyard and get some air instead,” said Pomy.
“You’re a good sister, too,” said Poly with a smile.
I put my arm around Poly and pulled her close.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Pomy.
“He won’t let me do anything you’d do,” said Poly, gently poking an elbow in my ribs.
“Hey,” I said.
“Would you like some company on that walk around the courtyard?” asked Ray Ray. “I’m not ready to call it a night.”
“Sure,” said Pomy.
She slid her arm inside Ray Ray’s elbow and tugged him toward the door from the lounge to the courtyard. He left wearing a pleased look on his face.
“Can I interest you in a nice cup of caffeine-free tea at my place?” I said.
“I’d rather make out,” said Poly.
Chapter 39
“Romance is thinking about your significant other,
when you are supposed to be thinking about something else.”
— Nicholas Sparks
Poly and I laughed when we walked into my apartment. The octovacs had left my backpack tool bag in its proper place on the table by my front door, but the sphere that had held the lavender liquid was sitting squarely on the flat upper surface of my top hat.
“Was that your idea?” I asked my phone.
“No,” it replied. “The octovacs did that on their own.”
I pulled Poly into my arms and gave her a long hug, then let go. Then I picked up the sphere, separated the two halves, and stepped into my project nook.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” I said, calling over my shoulder. “I need a few minutes to add something special to the sphere.”
“I’d rather see what you’re doing,” said Poly.
She stepped into the nook to join me.
“Okay. You can wake me up if something goes wrong.”
“Wake you up?”
“I’m filling the sphere with Mistress Marigold’s sleepy gas.”
“Say what?”
“Some of my clients want me to cybernetically augment their pets and horses,” I said.
“You mean like implanting tracker chips?” said Poly. “Isn’t that something a veterinarian would handle?”
“Have you ever seen the old Pixar movie Up?”
“Of course,” said Poly. “I must have watched it a dozen times when I was a kid.”
“Do you remember…”
“Oh. Of course. The talking dog that kept being distracted by squirrels.”
“Uh huh,” I said. “The technology works more effectively on canines than felines, and the equine software is still experimental, but there are lots of people who want to understand what the animals in their lives are trying to communicate.”
“Why haven’t I heard about this already?”
“TelePety, Inc., the company behind the hardware and software, is keeping a low profile until they’re ready for a national roll out.”
“Does it work?” asked Poly.
“You mean ‘Will pets talk in full sentences and communicate clearly?’ No. But it’s not bad for sharing broad concepts.
”
“I expect that dogs are all about smells and food and loyalty to their families,” said Poly.
“Right,” I said, “though some of them make unflattering comments about children who pull their tails.”
“Who wouldn’t?” said Poly.
“Cats, on the other hand…” I said.
“What about cats?”
“Cats are the reason for the high return rate on the equipment.”
“There are some things pet owners don’t want to know?” said Poly.
“Exactly,” I said. “Owners don’t like being referred to as minions and slaves.”
“Who would?” said Poly.
“Would you believe that one of the bright techs at TelePety started working on cybernetic opposable thumbs for felines?” I said. “The company had to shut down the project after the first test subject locked her owners out of their apartment and opened a case of canned tuna fish.”
Poly laughed, and I joined her.
“Is it hard to install the equipment?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “but the pets need to be perfectly still for me to install their encephalomesh caps properly.”
“Which is why you need the sleepy gas?”
“Correct,” I said. “I’m not a trained anesthesiologist, so I can’t use standard medical gasses like methoxyflurane or methyl propyl ether.”
“If you say so,” said Poly.
“I mentioned my problem to Mistress Marigold months ago and she gave me a new, safe type of sleeping gas that doesn’t require a license. It’s used by carnivorous plants to make their victims easier to capture and ingest.”
“Is it from that big plant in the executive lobby you told me about?”
“No, Dree doesn’t need help to capture prey,” I said. “It’s from smaller plants that go after the Nicósn equivalents of moles and shrews and field mice.”
Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2) Page 36