“I’ll have the galley team make you something to eat while we reposition,” said Captain Lüzhi. “They can pack it to go and you can eat it on the trip down.”
Tomáso rumbled. “I’d like a pan of cook’s strata if he has some on hand.”
“I’ll let him know,” responded the Captain.
“Want to see the engine room, Max?” asked my mom.
“Sure,” said Max, taking her hand and eagerly starting to follow her down the corridor outside the docking bay.
“Can Spike and I come, too, Miss Nory?” asked Terrhi.
“The more the merrier!”
“Don’t get grease all over your clean hide,” shouted Queen Sherrhi as the door closed.
Poly stepped close to the Queen and whispered something. Her Matriarchal Majesty nodded her huge head and used three sub-trunks to gently lift Poly up close to her ear. The two of them conferred in relative privacy while I focused on our thick-furred companion.
Shepherd cleared his throat, making a deep, grating sound like a pair of mating Tōdons rubbing chitin. I knew that Shepherd was a Pâkk of few words, so when he did speak, it made sense to listen.
“Here’s our plan,” he said.
I focused on my grizzled bear-like, wolf-like friend’s raspy blues-singer voice, ignoring competing rumbles from my empty stomach.
This ought to be good.
Chapter 9
“…a scientific refuge will be established on Terminus.”
— Isaac Asimov, Foundation
The cooks on the Charalindhri made us delicious sandwiches to eat before and during our shuttle ride down to Atlanta. They were the equivalent of tiny dainties for Dauushans, but were substantial meals for humans. The “bread” part of the sandwiches came from a bamboo-like starchy plant where the foot-long segments were slightly inflated instead of straight. They looked a lot like submarine sandwich rolls but were a bit more dense and a lot more chewy. My sandwich was filled with sweet-glazed spiral-cut HoneyBaked ham. The Dauushan’s had fallen in love with the stuff after First Contact—so much so that a Dauushan comestibles conglomerate had purchased the company ten years back. My bet was that both the taste and the color of HoneyBaked Ham’s primary product prompted the acquisition.
Along with the ham, my sandwich’s fillings included a large pale-pink leaf of Dauushan lettuce and half a dozen reddish-pink tomato-like slices the diameter of a cantaloupe. My ever-reliable phone showed me a photo of the vegetable the slices came from. It grew on vines and looked like a four-foot fuchsia zucchini. A pickled pink vegetable resembling daikon added a tang and crunch I particularly enjoyed.
In addition, my sandwich had something roughly equivalent to cheese that I knew came from a “cow” even bigger than an adult Dauushan. The “cow” looked something like a six-legged hippopotamus the size of an eighteen-wheeler. I’d been told it was quite a chore getting the raw materials for making the cheese because the giant hippocows had to be milked underwater. My taste buds confirmed it was worth the trouble, however. The melded flavors in my sandwich were spectacular. I made a mental note to talk to one of my entrepreneurial restaurateur-clients about starting a chain to sell them.
Cousin Pattéo, the pilot of our shuttle, had arranged to have a real-time video feed broadcast on one wall of our vessel’s hold. All my companions, except Terrhi, Spike, Queen Sherrhi, Tomáso, and the queen’s bodyguards, were secured into familiar small depressions in the hold’s floor. The Royal Family would be staying in orbit until things settled down and their bodyguards considered it safe for them to return to the consulate.
Nine humans—and one Pâkk—were in the same small clusters we’d been in earlier. Max was webbed in tightly next to Rosalind. I’d tried to talk Rosalind into leaving Max with my mother, where he’d probably be in less danger, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Now was not the time for me to try to assert my parental rights.
We watched the video screen.
“Shuttle launch in five… four… three… two… one…” announced Pattéo.
Our shuttle remained stationary, but the screen showed another shuttle leaving the Charalindhri’s docking bay. Remote drone cameras followed the second shuttle as it descended. The right hand third of the screen showed a graphic tracking the shuttle’s altitude. The other shuttle went slow enough that it’s lower hull didn’t glow from the heat of reentry. When it was two miles above Hartsfield spaceport, a pair of surface-to-air missiles rocketed toward it from the west. They struck together and turned the second shuttle into a fiery ball of debris. Then all the scattered pieces fell in on themselves and disappeared through a hole in the sky. One of the missiles must have had a congruency vacuum bomb to eliminate the evidence.
I wasn’t really surprised that The General had learned that we were on the Charalindhri. He must have spies everywhere. Still, I was impressed by the quality of his intelligence and the scale of his response. One moment the shuttle was there—another moment, it wasn’t.
“Launch site identified,” said my phone. “It’s a derelict warehouse near Carrollton.”
I wondered if it was the old Walmart distribution center, made obsolete by low-cost teleportation?
“Great,” I said. “Martin?”
“Law enforcement cameras and sensors confirm no one present within a quarter-mile radius.”
“Light ’em up,” I said.
Shepherd relayed my words to the bridge and a narrow beam of heat energy lashed out from the Charalindhri, turning the warehouse into a lava-filled crater. A slow-motion version of the destruction played back on the split screen. We watched the roof of the warehouse melt, revealing missile launching bays beneath. I spotted motors powering the retractable roof before they vaporized. The remaining missiles puddled into slag—no longer a threat.
I let out a sigh of relief that we hadn’t seen any personnel in the facility. I didn’t want their lives on my conscience.
“Nicely done,” I confirmed for the Chara’s weapons’ officers.
“The fake shuttle was really convincing, thanks,” said Martin to Shepherd.
“Don’t thank me, thank the fabricating technicians on the Charalindhri,” said the grizzled Pâkk. “It took them less than an hour to build a full-sized shuttle body around a pair of remote-controlled life boats.”
“Exactly what I’d expect from the best species of fabricators in the Galactic Free Trade Association,” said Poly.
“Do we need to send another decoy?” asked Winfield, sounding nervous.
I don’t think he trusted The General to have only one missile installation. Neither did I.
“I think another decoy would be a great idea,” I said.
“Launch the mock Royal Yacht,” said Shepherd.
His voice went out across the Chara’s command net. I knew Shepherd and Tomáso were friends, but I was surprised that Tomáso would give Shepherd that much control over the operation of the Charalindhri instead of entrusting Captain Lüzhi. Whatever Tomáso’s reasons, it was a wise move. He couldn’t have picked a better being to lead the effort.
We watched a much smaller vessel float out of the docking bay. This ship was shiny—like rose-tinted chrome—and only a quarter of the size of a shuttle. It had a curved, streamlined shape like a submarine sandwich or a segment of the bamboo-like starch substituting for bread I’d had for lunch. However you slice it, the decoy was a fairly good physical copy of Queen Sherrhi’s personal space yacht. I’d seen a framed photograph of the royal yacht, the Fast Mother, hanging in Tomáso’s study.
I had my doubts about whether The General’s forces would fire on it. If anything happened to Her Matriarchal Majesty, it would likely ruin Earth’s economy and could force Dauush to take drastic measures—like invading the planet—in retribution. Still, The General and EUA Corporation might benefit from an interstellar incident. We’d have to see.
We didn’t have a long wait. Another pair of missiles rose from a location to the east this time, heading for the mock yacht when it w
as five miles up, not two. The extra distance gave the Chara’s weapons team time to use a smaller heat beam to incinerate them before they could strike. The ship’s astrogators traced the missiles’ trajectories back to an abandoned cereal plant near Covington.
Martin’s official police surveillance sources used advanced thermal imaging to confirm the plant was empty, then the Charalindhri’s primary heat beam lashed out again, melting the plant’s steel roof and transforming the missiles and launchers below into their constituent atoms.
“Time for Operation Shell Game,” said Poly. Her tone proved she knew things could still get dicey.
Shepherd gave the word and seven shuttles left the Charalindhri’s docking bay, heading for Hartsfield Port. Well, six of them did, anyway. The first six were heavily armed and packed with Dauushan Drop Marines. We were in the seventh.
I’d hacked our transponder code, so we were now broadcasting that our shuttle was a scientific research vessel called the Ramblin’ Rex owned by Georgia Tech. The Dauushan fabricators had done an excellent rush job to ensure our radar profile matched our new identity. They’d even painted a Jurassic World tyrannosaur’s picture on the side.
Masked by the Drop Marines’ shuttles, Cousin Pattéo took us behind the bulk of the Charalindhri and over to the Georgia Tech space research station orbiting nearby.
“Do you think this will work?” asked Poly quietly.
“If it doesn’t, we’ll never know.”
“There is that,” she said.
The Drop Marines’ shuttles were well-armed and armored. They had a chance to defend themselves if more missiles headed their way. Our shuttle’s safety relied on misdirection and stealth—and the reflexes of the weapons’ officers on the Chara.
I could hear Max and Rosalind talking from their webbed cocoon a few feet away. Max sounded earnest, like only a bright almost five-year-old can sound, as he explained what his Grandma Nory had shown him in the engine room. The kid understood a lot more about congruent power systems than I expected, though on a very basic level. I made a note to have “the talk” with him about treating congruencies with respect if he didn’t want all the molecules in his body spread out between here and Andromeda. Rosalind’s responses to Max convinced me she was a good mother—though I think I’d already known that from observing Max’s behavior.
Sally and Cornell kept their heads close together. They were whispering so softly I couldn’t hear them, but I could catch the tone of their conversation. My guess was they were trying to figure out what they wanted to do next if by some chance they managed to survive the next few days and take down The General. I liked Sally and her smart-ass ways, though it would take a long time for me to warm to Cornell. He’d done too many things to me and people I care about for me to trust him anytime soon, to say nothing of ever liking him.
Winfield and Scott were in the same Orishen restraint webbing but seemed to be two of the same magnetic poles. There was a distance between them that it would take a lot of force to reduce. Their expressions said they’d be much happier if they were almost anywhere else in the universe but here.
Martin and Shepherd were focused on their jobs. Martin connected down to terrestrial law enforcement systems and Shepherd had a direct line to the Dauushan officers commanding the Charalindhri.
We stared at the video screen and watched the military shuttles descend, their interweaving paths in an intricate semi-scripted dance designed to confuse anyone trying to follow their motions. The military shuttles were primarily a distraction, giving Pattéo cover to get behind the Georgia Tech scientific research station and begin our own descent as an erstwhile science vessel. The other shuttles would be returning to the Charalindhri after they’d landed at Hartsfield Port. We would not. We couldn’t go home—it wasn’t safe and would just put our friends and employees at risk.
We considered several options, but Poly was the one to find us a safe haven. She’d called Professor Bartolomeww Urrrson from orbit to get his advice. Her Tigrammath former mentor at Georgia Tech reminded her that Georgia Tech had a new, highly secure research facility west of campus that would be a perfect temporary sanctuary. It included space for the EEL—the Extreme Environments Lab—investigating ultra-hot and ultra-cold temperature physics, and the MDL, the Multiple Dimensions Laboratory exploring the possibility that parallel universes might be accessible through properly tuned congruencies. Given the potentially dangerous nature of both labs’ research, the university and the city of Atlanta had insisted the facilities be built below ground.
Pablo Daniel Figueres, the owner of the Sirocco Legislative Network, offered to fund the labs’ construction if Georgia Tech and the city allowed him to put an SLN Capital hotel and casino on top. Georgia Tech jumped at their frequent benefactor’s offer and the city gladly went along for their cut of the expected revenues in taxes and campaign contributions.
Since it would be at least a year before the Atlanta SLN Capital complex was finished, the underground labs had several small residential suites intended for visiting researchers. The secure labs were so new most of their research and support staff still remained to be hired. They wouldn’t be running at full capacity until fall. The research facility would work well as a short-term refuge—so long as The General didn’t know we were there.
We watched the video screen carefully and clapped our hands when the fake royal yacht and all six of the military shuttles landed at Hartsfield Port without another missile attack. Cousin Pattéo brought our disguised shuttle in for a perfect feather-light touchdown at Georgia Tech’s small dedicated landing zone, much to the disappointment of the Chara’s weapons officers. We were only a few blocks from the new labs, so we could exit below the shuttle and make our way out of sight through underground tunnels.
Max thought it was all a grand adventure—the rest of us, not so much.
Nobody was around when we arrived, but there were envelopes waiting for us at the labs’ reception desk clearly labeled with our room assignments and key cards. Professor Urrrson knew how to get things done fast. I made some quick adjustments to ensure Poly and I were closest to the elevator in case any of our reluctant associates decided to make a break for it. I’d rig an alarm to notify me if anyone tried to pass our room.
We were back in Atlanta, and we were safe, but how long would we stay that way?
Chapter 10
“Divide et impera. Divide and conquer”
— Guiding Principle of the Roman Senate
Poly and I were lucky when we settled into our suite. We had luggage and didn’t have to worry about clean underwear. Martin had brought his suitcase and Shepherd’s along in his Jeep Land Rover, so they were also covered. Unfortunately, Rosalind, Max, Sally, Cornell, Winfield and Johnson didn’t have any luggage. My phone made arrangements to have a modest collection of clothing, toiletries, and other essentials delivered to the receptionist’s desk in an hour using funds from an untraceable bank account I kept around for a rainy day. Don’t ask.
Before I unpacked I called Mike and gave him a heads-up that Poly and I were in town but wouldn’t be back in the office for a few days. I didn’t elaborate on why, just noted heightened threat levels. He said he’d tell everybody to be extra-careful. Poly called her sister and gave Pomy details about all the high-powered resources we’d lined up to help defend her against the lawsuit from Factor-E-Flor and EUA Corporation. Pomy was glad to hear the good news and promised to meet us in person as soon as circumstances allowed. We didn’t tell Mike or Pomy where we were, for their safety and for ours.
Those tasks accomplished, I looked around our suite. The rooms were comparable to a mid-priced hotel, but with science-themed art, not traditional landscapes. Our room’s wall screen was flipping through a slide show of colorful fractal patterns. One of the framed prints hanging on a conventional wall was a cartoon-like etching of Galileo dropping an apple off the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and landing on Isaac Newton’s head. I had my phone make a note of the artist in ca
se I wanted to commission something for Xenotech Support’s future corporate headquarters.
Like a cruise ship cabin, our suite’s bedroom had two twin beds that could easily be turned into a king. Poly and I moved the nightstands from the center to the sides and slid the twin beds together. I found the piece of foam to cover the gap between the beds along with the king-sized sheets in the closet. We had fun getting our bed recombobulated and properly tested, if you get my drift. Nothing adds more spice to your love life than not being reduced to a cloud of particles by a surface-to-air missile.
“Now what?” asked Poly, leaning up on one elbow after we’d finished our bed testing.
“Get everyone back together, figure out who knows what, determine our next steps…”
“And set about doing them. Right.”
I had to pull my brain away from admiring the curve of her shoulder and the way her wavy auburn hair bounced when she turned her head. Poly smiled when she saw my distraction.
“Do you think we can trust them?” she asked, turning her head from side to side just to tease me.
“Who?”
“Winfield and Johnson. Cornell and Sally.”
My eyebrows went up and I shook my head slowly from side to side to indicate “No.” I raised my shoulders in a supplemental shrug, which is less effective when you’re horizontal than it would have been if I’d been vertical.
Poly paused to observe my response, then added, “Not to forget Rosalind.”
Rosalind’s name made me grimace. I could be objective about the others, but not about her. Why hadn’t I been smarter when I’d met her back on Orish? Why hadn’t she told me about Max? Why did I still find Rosalind turning up in my thoughts when I was so in love with Poly? For that matter, why hadn’t I asked Rosalind if she was using birth control, not that I could have trusted her answer? OMG! What about Poly?
“Ground control to Major Tom,” said Poly.
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