“We’re trying to determine the identity of The General,” said Rosalind. “The person behind EUA Corporation.”
“He’s the one who wants to kill us,” I added.
“One moment,” said Droopy’s simulated face on the flat-screen. The lights around his brain in the glass cylinder danced rapidly.
Rosalind and I exchanged glances. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
“Both Alban White and Pablo Daniel Figueres could refer to themselves as a general,” said Droopy, after a minute. “Mr. White was made a Georgia General by the state legislature in 2028 and Pablo Daniel Figueres was given the honorary rank of general in Puerto Rico’s state guard in 2025.”
“Georgia General?” asked Rosalind.
“It’s like being a Kentucky Colonel, but the legislators wanted the people they honored to outrank dignitaries from the Bluegrass State,” I said. “They also liked the alliteration.”
“It’s much the same in Puerto Rico,” said Rosalind. “And somewhat like cardinals originally being bishops responsible for individual churches in Rome. Lawmakers in Puerto Rico made Figueres an honorary general for his help buying off—that is, convincing Congress and other state legislatures to make the island the fifty-first state. He’s nominally in charge of a brigade, but it’s purely honorary. A colonel is the real person in charge.”
“How do you know so much about Pablo Daniel Figueres?” I asked.
“I refuse to answer on the grounds…”
“I get it. Once upon a time you were assigned to gather covert intelligence from a PDF company.”
“I do my homework,” said Rosalind, “but the honorary title was more of a joke than anything serious, so it didn’t register until I was reminded.”
“Was my information helpful?” asked Droopy. His onscreen visage looked like a puppy who wanted to be petted.
“It was,” I said immediately.
“You’ve been very helpful,” purred Rosalind, using her smooth, sexy voice.
Lights started blinking quickly in Droopy’s nutrient tube again. Rosalind has that effect on males—with and without bodies.
“Thanks so much,” I said.
I turned to leave, then turned back.
“One more question, please.”
“How may I be of service?” said Droopy.
“Could you also research anything related to the Earth First Militant organization? I’m almost positive The General is behind them and that may be the organization where he holds rank.”
“Certainly, youth,” said Droopy.
Anybody less than seventeen thousand years old was a youth by Droopy’s standards. He might even know if Murms and Gojons are natural or engineered species. I didn’t want to ask that question with Rosalind—or Chit—in the room, for that matter.
“It will take several hours to collect and structure the data you have requested,” continued Droopy. “I will transfer it to…”
“Me,” I said. “Transfer it to me and I can review your results.”
I had no idea what Rosalind would do with that much sensitive data and didn’t want to know. Now it wasn’t an issue—but the downside was that I’d be the only one on the hook for violating transactional security regulations.
“It shall be as you wish,” said Droopy. “Safe travels.”
“Felicitous contemplation,” I said. Then inspiration struck.
“Before we leave,” I said, “have you ever listened to a symphony?”
“I have enjoyed musicals’ overtures performed by orchestras,” said Droopy, “but not symphonies.”
“Try Beethoven’s Fifth or Mozart’s Jupiter symphonies,” I offered. “They don’t have words, but I think you’ll find the underlying mathematics fascinating.”
“I shall do so,” said Droopy. “Your suggestions have always been excellent.”
He was humming Beethoven’s opening bum bum bum BUM as we left his office. That should not only keep Droopy happy, it should distract him from reading Heinlein.
“That was interesting,” said Rosalind after we reclaimed our mini-sweeteners and left the data center.
“It certainly was,” I said.
While Rosalind was busy ordering an autocab, Chit perked up and whispered in my ear.
“Hey. Do ya think that guy might be able to tell me where Gojons got three built-in congruencies?”
“Maybe,” I said, “but do you really want to know?”
Chapter 13
“Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide
the fact that he possesses one.”
— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
We’d just settled into the autocab for the ride back and I realized now would be a good time to deal with unfinished business with Rosalind.
“Hey Chit, do you have anything with you resembling headphones?”
“Waddya mean?” said my little friend. “Ya think I’m totin’ around a backpack tool bag or sumptin’?”
“No, I’m just hoping for a little privacy for a conversation with the other lady in the vehicle.”
“If ya call her a lady,” muttered Chit.
“Watch it, Peanut,” said Rosalind, “or I’ll squash you like a…”
“Bug out,” I said to the mother of my newly discovered child. “This is between me and Chit.”
“I get it,” said Chit. “I’ve got sumptin’ better than headphones. Havin’ a built-in congruency is like havin’ a home-grown MP3 player. I can flip down chitin covers on my external ears ’n give ya all the privacy ya want.”
Rosalind stared at Chit like she’d grown a second head.
“You have external ears?”
“Ya gotta look close. I usually only need the chitin covers when I’m goin’ swimming. Murms were once semi-aquatic, ya know. At least some of our science mugs think so…”
“Great,” I said, cutting her off before she could continue. “Thanks for giving me a few minutes to talk to Rosalind in private.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Chit.
I could hear the opening march music from the beginning of Hamilton before noticing a tiny click—then the music cut off. Droopy must not be the only one of my friends interested in Broadway musicals.
I was lost in my own thoughts when Rosalind slid toward me.
“Alone at last,” she said.
Say what?
I squeezed tighter against my side of the autocab. “Don’t start. When were you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
I let out a sigh like an anemic teakettle just taken off the stove.
“You know what! When were you going to tell me about Max?”
It was Rosalind’s turn to sigh.
“Never,” she said. “I’d never planned to tell you.”
I could feel my face turning red as my anger rose. I squeezed my fists so tight I almost lost circulation in my hands. Rosalind smiled at me like nothing was wrong and gently put her palm on top of my right fist.
“Don’t touch me!” I pulled my fist away at close to light speed. “What do you mean, never?”
“Is there an altercation?” asked the none-too-bright autocab A.I. “Does either passenger feel unsafe or threatened? Would one of you like this vehicle to proceed to the nearest police station? Estimated time of arrival is approximately six minutes.”
“No,” I said, releasing some of my anger in the syllable.
“That should not be necessary,” said Rosalind in a honey-sweet voice.
I was ready to strangle her.
“Thank you,” said the autocab. “Please note this vehicle is equipped with a safeword. If either passenger uses the word aardvark in conversation this autocab will proceed directly to the nearest law enforcement center.”
“I appreciate the information,” said Rosalind. “Jack, did you know there’s a small, non-sentient animal on Dauush called a daushli with the same relationship to Dauushans that earth pigs have to African elephants?
I did know. Aardvarks, Afric
an elephants, dugongs and manatees are all cousins. Dauushans had several relatives on their branch of the evolutionary tree. Daushli had even been an answer on Day Seven during my run on Jeopardy, but that’s a tale for another day.
“Stop trying to change the subject,” I said with a bit more self-control. “Why weren’t you going to tell me about my son?”
“Because I didn’t want my mistake to ruin your life,” said Rosalind. “I screwed up and forgot my implant was due to expire.”
“But…” I sputtered.
“If you hadn’t come to Vegas for GALTEX, you’d never have seen me and would have never known Max existed,” continued Rosalind. “You and Poly could advance your awkward courtship, grow your company, and make your mother proud without the complication of having an almost five-year-old son.”
“You don’t understand. I’m his father.”
“And I’m his mother. You left me tied up in the repository on Orish. What was I supposed to think—we had a love that would last through the ages?”
Her words slowed me down for a moment. Rosalind was being matter-of-fact. Her reply seemed unemotional, but like Mr. Spock there were Terran passions underneath. I didn’t stop to overthink.
“My father wasn’t there for me when I was growing up. He left my mom before I was born.”
My head slumped as painful memories overwhelmed me and I fought for self-control. Rosalind’s hand slid back on top of mine. I didn’t pull away and my fists unclenched.
“I’m sorry,” said Rosalind, “I didn’t know, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. I kept an eye on your career, Jack. I was proud of you for starting Xenotech Support, building a client-base and growing your consulting practice. You’re on your way. I didn’t want to derail your life.”
“I wanted to be there,” I said. “I wanted to cut the cord when Max was born. I wanted to watch him speak his first word and take his first step. I wanted to read him bedtime stories, take him to the zoo, go camping—all the things I didn’t get to do with my dad.”
“I thought you said your dad took you camping?”
“My step-dad. He married my mom when I was eight.”
“You’ll be three years ahead of him, then,” said Rosalind, trying to soothe me. It had the opposite effect. My hands made fists again.
“I’m his father. I needed to be there. You should have told me!” I kept my volume under the decibels that would trigger a response from the autocab, but just barely. “It’s not like you didn’t know where to find me.”
“Of course I knew where to find you,” said Rosalind. “You’re in all the on-line directories. But there are other reasons I didn’t contact you.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like my work,” she replied. “You’re a Boy Scout—a straight arrow. I’m an industrial espionage specialist for an organization that thinks Ethics is an English county east of London.”
“That’s Essex,” I said, then tried to swallow my words.
Rosalind looked at me like I was losing it. I probably was.
“I didn’t want to drag you into my orbit. When I met you, you were an idealist, out to change the world. If I’d told you about Max, you would have been tied to me. It would have been like letting a puppy fall in a barrel of tar. I didn’t want to mess up your life.”
“Ha!” I said. “When you met me, I was running an illegal casino on the campus of Mulbiri Tech. I wasn’t a Boy Scout—or a puppy.”
Rosalind moved close and shifted so her arm was around me. It felt affectionate, not amorous, so I didn’t shrug it off.
“I do care for you, Jack,” she said. “I wasn’t supposed to, but from the first night we met, I realized what kind of man you were and how good you would be for the right woman.”
“Huh?”
“You’re a good man, Jack. Poly’s a lucky woman. I envy her. You don’t know how much I envy her.”
I still couldn’t find my tongue. Then I could.
“He needed his father in his life!”
“He had my brother, and Sally. Cornell couldn’t have treated him better if Max was his own son, and Sally might as well be his second mother.”
“Cornell,” I said, almost spitting. “That son of a…”
“He’s not a bad guy, really,” said Rosalind. “He could have killed you several times and didn’t, because he knew you were important to me.”
“Cornell knew about me and Max before I met him?”
“I have a picture of you on my dresser—so Max will know who his daddy is. Cornell’s seen it, and he’s heard me talk about you for over five years,” said Rosalind. “He still teases me about how you threw a spanner into my plans on Orish. You’ve impressed him.”
“I’ve impressed the chief lackey of a megalomaniac who wants to conquer the galaxy—and kill us, by the way. Big whoop.”
“These days you’re not exactly Dudley Do-Right of the R.C.M.P.,” said Rosalind. “You’ve been playing fast and loose with the law yourself lately. Want me to give you a list?”
I thought of all the corners I’d cut since I’d first met Cornell in the sub-sub-basement of the Georgia capitol building. Laws didn’t mean quite what they’d meant before First Contact turned our legislatures into reality television, but the truth was they’d been headed that way for a long time. I’d always tried to stick to the Golden Rule in my personal and professional life. I believed in treating clients the way I’d like them to treat me. My ethical guidelines were phrases like do your best, treat clients fairly, give them good advice, and deliver value for the galcred. I treated my friends the same way. If stopping EUA and its subsidiaries from taking over the galaxy meant I had to let the ends justify the means from time to time, so be it.
“I don’t need a list,” I said. “I know what I’ve done and I know what you and Cornell and Sally have done, too.”
“You don’t know ten percent of it.”
“Then I’ll extrapolate and round up. That’s not the point. What’s done is done,” I said.
“Water over the dam?” asked Rosalind.
I remembered the merry chase she’d led me through Hoover Dam earlier in the week.
“Don’t go there,” I said, but Rosalind could see I was smiling. Damn, could she manipulate me.
“The most important thing,” I continued, “is figuring out what we’re going to do now. We have to do what’s best for Max.”
“That’s something we can both agree on,” said Rosalind.
“We’ll have to figure out parental rights, shared custody, child support…”
“Child support’s not necessary. I’ve got plenty of money.”
“I’m his father,” I said. “Child support, living arrangements, vacations when he starts school, holidays…”
“Why don’t we see about surviving through the next week or so and try to identify The General first?” asked Rosalind.
“Speaking of surviving,” I said, “who’s in line to care for Max if something happens to you and Sally and Cornell?”
“You are.”
She patted my hand. I squeezed hers and let it go. This was all so confusing.
“If anything happens to all of us, Max—and a sizable trust fund—will be your mother’s responsibility.”
“My mother! Does she know?”
“No,” said Rosalind, “but now that she’s met Max I’ll certainly tell her.”
“Is there an altercation?” asked the autocab’s A.I. “If you wish, this vehicle can transport you to a law enforcement facility. Also, you have arrived at your destination.”
“Just let us out,” I said.
“Thanks for the ride,” said Rosalind. “It’s been most enlightening.”
The cab’s doors opened and we walked toward the research facility. It was late in the day and there was a spectacular sunset behind the girders for the first few floors of the SLN Capital hotel. I heard a small click in my ear, then more music from Hamilton before it stopped.
“Well,”
said Chit. “What did I miss? Did you two lovebirds have a nice talk?”
“Shut up,” said Rosalind.
My sentiments exactly.
Chapter 14
“Tom Friedman says China is so awesome
they make kosher pigs.”
— Jonah Goldberg
We met Poly and Cornell at the entrance to the laboratory complex. She was authorizing delivery of our dinner with a quartet of drones from Ginsberg & Wong, the famed kosher Chinese eatery a mile south of us on Marietta Street. Rosalind and I helped them carry the bags inside.
“Did you use an untraceable account to pay for the…”
The exasperated look on Poly’s face when she turned her head made me shut up. Of course she had. I’d probably pay for my words later. I decided to talk to my phone instead.
“I forgot to order anything.”
“No problem,” said my phone. “Your previous preferences and selections from Asian restaurants and delicatessens compose a sufficiently large universe of choices for in-depth analysis. You should be pleased with what was ordered on your behalf.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I was looking forward to trying what my phone had picked out.
“I didn’t order anything, either,” said Rosalind.
“Dishes were ordered for you as well,” said my phone, “though without the benefit of detailed analytics. There will be a collection of best-selling items for you. Do you like tempura dill pickles?”
“I don’t know,” Rosalind answered, “but I’m curious to find out.”
The smells coming from the bags were heavenly—a melange of Middle Kingdom and middle European scents made me forget the Dauushan ham and cheese sandwich I’d enjoyed on the orbital shuttle a few hours ago. Bed testing earlier had also helped me build a substantial appetite.
I hoped the food would be filling and remembered the old joke about the problem with eating German-Chinese food—half an hour later you’re hungry for power.
We returned to the below-ground conference room where we’d met earlier and started to organize the containers and lay out the chopsticks, forks, knives and condiments on a credenza as the others arrived. My phone must have notified them and clanged a virtual dinner bell. Everyone seemed to be hungry, but not all the new arrivals seemed happy. Winfield and Johnson looked like they’d been sucking on lemons dipped in alum. Martin appeared pleased, but Shepherd’s stoic face made it hard to tell what he was thinking.
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