Xenotech General Mayhem: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 4)

by Dave Schroeder

  “And your charming disposition,” added Poly.

  “That, too,” I said. “Will you do it?”

  “Of course I’ll do it. I gotta help you apes figure out who The General is, don’t I?”

  “We’d appreciate it,” said Poly, sweetly.

  “Now she’s tryin’ t’ butter me up,” said Chit. I could hear a smile in her voice.

  “Let’s get going,” I said. “Traffic is a bear at this time of day.”

  “You must have heard about that grisly ten-car pileup on I-85,” said Chit.

  “Ursus arctos horribilus,” said Poly.

  She opened the door to our suite and held it for me and Chit as we left.

  My phone summoned an autocab and we were soon on our way down Marietta Street for our ten o’clock audience with Pablo Daniel Figueres.

  Figueres’ penthouse was at the top of the SLN Tower, across from the CNN Center and Royal Dutch Philips Arena, not far from the hulking black bulk of EUA’s corporate headquarters. SLN Tower was the first skyscraper built in Atlanta to incorporate galactic materials and technologies. Even before counting its dirigible mooring mast and broadcast antennae, the building came in at five thousand, two hundred and eight-one feet, so Figueres’ marketing team could brag it was over a mile tall.

  The oligarch’s personal living quarters were on three of the uppermost floors beneath the dirigible depot, but we weren’t going that high. SLN Enterprises’ executive offices were on the one hundred twenty-seventh through one hundred and thirtieth floors.

  “You should do the talking,” I said. “You’re the recent Georgia Tech grad. That should give you an in.”

  “Right,” said Poly, “but feel free to jump in. Figueres is supposed to have a soft spot for entrepreneurs. After all, he started SLN in his dorm room.”

  I nodded. Pablo Daniel Figueres was a self-made billionaire—in galcreds, not just dollars—and was the top philanthropist and number one business celebrity in the metro-Atlanta region. I’d been surprised and pleased that he will willing to meet with us, especially on short notice.

  “Do you think PDF is The General?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what to think,” said Poly. “That’s why we’re meeting him. Some of Figueres’ rhetoric when he was promoting Puerto Rican statehood sounds a lot like Earth First Militant language on a smaller scale.”

  “Really?”

  My phone took that as its cue to play an excerpt. I heard Pablo Daniel Figueres’ highly recognizable voice. It was the same voice that blared constantly from video ads at the SLN Capital Hotel in Las Vegas.

  “It is time for the people of Puerto Rico to take their place on the American stage, and more, on the world stage and the galactic stage. It is time for her people to lead, not just be small cogs in a large, uncaring machine. It is time for the citizens of Puerto Rico to show that they are not just extras entertaining tourists in a tropical island paradise, but a people of destiny.”

  “I see what you mean,” I said. “Sounds like there’s enough megalomania there for him to be The General.”

  “I agree,” said Poly, “but we’ll know more soon.”

  “Why does he sound like such a wack-a-doodle in that speech, but have such a good rep as a businessman?” asked Chit.

  “He got lucky,” I said, “and made a Dauushan long ton of money by locking up Terran legislative broadcast rights early.”

  “Then he was smart enough to spread his wealth around to get everyone on his side,” added Poly.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” said Chit. “He can point to all the jobs he’s created with the Sirocco Legislature Network, plus his hotels and casinos, along with donating money for buildings at Georgia Tech…” said Chit.

  “And SLN Stadium for the Falcons,” I continued.

  “Not to forget all the charity work funded by the PDF Foundation,” said Pomy.

  “So he’s a saint?” asked Chit.

  “Hardly,” I said. “I’ve heard stories about how he’s kept competitors out of lucrative contracts.”

  “That’s better,” said Chit. “Saints are hard to be around—not that I’ve ever had to worry about that with you, bucko.”

  “I’ve never claimed a halo,” I said.

  “Couldn’t prove it by her,” said Chit. She must have meant Poly.

  “Oh,” said Poly. “You mean when I was trying to get him into bed? He wasn’t a saint, just skittish.”

  “Hey!” I said. I didn’t know how I felt about them discussing me when I was with them in the autocab. “Let’s get back to talking about Figueres.”

  “Is he really a Puerto Rican chauvinist?” asked Chit. “Does that make him a racist?”

  “More of a P. T. Barnum-style promoter, I’d say,” Poly replied. “He’s not trying to drag anybody else down, just lift up Puerto Ricans specifically and Hispanics in general.”

  “Isn’t he the one who talked Marvel Comics into replacing Captain America with a skinny kid from the streets of San Juan who took super soldier serum?” I asked.

  “I read that,” said Chit. “They made him Captain Puerto Rico for a year.”

  “And they didn’t even have to change Cap’s costume,” I said. “The fans got a kick out of that.”

  “If we can get back on topic, please,” said Poly.

  “I thought we were on topic,” said Chit. “He’s not a racist, but how does Figueres feel about galactics?”

  “I assumed he’d love them,” I said. “They’ve made him a multi-billionaire.”

  “He hires lots of GaFTA member species to do play-by-play for his legislative broadcasts,” said Poly.

  “Most are drawn from the relevant species for each receiving planet,” I said. “Except for Pâkk planets. They want announcers who do more than grunt.”

  “Prey species are better at holding Pâkks’ attention,” said Chit.

  That made sense.

  “While SLN does hire non-Terrans for some roles, over ninety-two percent of their employees are from Earth or one of her colonies,” said my phone.

  “That’s the smoking gun,” I said. “With those kind of numbers, Figueres must be The General and behind EUA Corporation. Earth Über Alles.”

  “What percentage of SLN’s operations are based on Terra?” asked Poly.

  “Ninety-five percent,” said my phone.

  “Ummm…” I said, trying to figure out how to walk back my previous assertion.

  I was saved from having to reply by an announcement from the autocab.

  “SLN Tower,” said its synthesized voice, optimized for maximum appeal across ages, genders, species, and cultures.

  “Great timing,” I said. We were fifteen minutes early.

  Poly and I looked up but couldn’t see the top of the building a mile above us. I understood the top third of the tower had its own weather patterns, but was glad it wasn’t raining where we were at ground level. We pushed through the revolving doors to enter the expansive five-story lobby. The walls were polished purple and green Nicósn marble shot through with sparkling veins of gold and silver. The sea life that formed limestone and later marble on Nicós was quite colorful. The floor was also marble—black this time—with lots of tiny copper flecks. I didn’t know what planet it was from and made a mental note to look it up later.

  Banks of elevators surrounded the lobby, and a large circular reception desk in the center was staffed with dozens of SLN employees assisting visitors. We stood in line for an open customer service rep and didn’t have to wait long.

  “Mr. Figueres’ office? Do you have an appointment?”

  We gave him our names and he consulted a screen only he could see.

  “Very good, Ms. Keen-Jones, Mr. Buckston. That’s the one hundred and thirtieth floor. I’ll escort you to your elevator.”

  Poly and I murmured our thanks.

  The young man—he was a Sikh with beard, turban and dagger—walked toward the back of the lobby with us following like ducklings behind. We didn’t stop
at any of the lobby’s large banks of elevators, but were delivered to a lift marked Private that was thirty paces down an arched corridor. Our guide pushed the button and waited with us until we were aboard.

  “Have a productive meeting,” said the Sikh as the doors closed.

  Chit started to clear her throat, about to speak, but Poly coughed to cover the sound.

  “Jack,” she said, “don’t say a thing. I don’t want to hear any of your Sikh jokes. You don’t know who might be listening.”

  “Right,” I said, getting her meaning. The elevator was probably bugged—and not just by Chit. My little friend also got the message and kept quiet.

  The lift rose rapidly, but I didn’t have to worry about my ears adjusting. The entire building was pressurized to nine hundred and eighty-three feet above sea level, the pressure at the ground floor. I’d read about that in an engineering magazine while waiting to see a prospective client a few years ago and was fascinated by how they’d pulled it off. Pressure doors also served as fire doors and building management could evacuate all the oxygen from a floor and replace it in less than six seconds. That allowed them to put out any potential conflagration before it could get established, without injuring any sentients located on that floor.

  Poly squeezed my hand quickly just before the doors opened, then let go and returned to her consummate business professional mode.

  “Welcome to SLN Enterprises,” said a young woman with a peaches and cream complexion, blonde hair, and a pronounced south-Georgia accent. She wasn’t a dumb blonde, however. There was intelligence in her eyes and I expected she had an M.B.A. from a respected university’s business school to her credit. This magnolia had a steel core.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “It’s good of Mr. Figueres to see us,” said Poly.

  “Yes,” said the blonde. “It is.”

  That was surprising. I’d expected better manners. Perhaps the young woman was more steel than magnolia. Alternatively, perhaps she didn’t know why her boss was willing to meet with us on short notice. She struck me as the sort of person who needed to know all the details.

  “I’m Camilla Moultrie, Mr. Figueres’ personal assistant,” she said. “He’s still in a meeting but you can wait in a conference room until he’s free.”

  Poly and I nodded.

  “That’s fine,” said Poly. “Thanks.”

  Camilla took us to a spacious conference room with seats for twenty around a long, polished, dark-wood oval. Poly and I didn’t sit.

  “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Juice?” She paused for a moment before adding the generic term for soft drinks in metro-Atlanta. “Coke?”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” I said.

  “So am I,” said Poly.

  Camilla left, but we couldn’t talk privately. This room was probably bugged, just like the elevator. It didn’t matter, though. The outer wall of the conference room was floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Poly and I were pulled toward the windows as if in the grip of a tractor beam from the Enterprise. We were facing northeast and could see the skyscrapers of Midtown, Buckhead, and the Perimeter to the north and the tall granite egg of Stone Mountain to the east. There were plenty of fluffy white clouds scudding by below us that gave the view a heightened sense of three-dimensionality.

  I looked for the Ad Astra complex and could spot the upper stories, but not my garden apartment. The football stadium at Georgia Tech was easy to spot. So was the old Mercedes Benz stadium slightly to the west. Figueres had mothballed it so he could build a new sports palace for the Atlanta Falcons in Gwinnett county, northeast of town. I could make out SLN Stadium just east of I-85 about twenty miles north. Poly was equally caught up in the view.

  “There’s my apartment,” she said.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “See that big yellow church on Emory’s campus?”

  “Glenn Memorial?”

  “Uh huh,” said Poly. “It’s just around the corner from there on Oxford Road.”

  “If you say so,” I replied.

  Was it weird that I’d never been to Poly’s apartment? She always came to my place.

  “It’s almost hypnotic, isn’t it?” said a mellow baritone voice behind us. “You should see it from my penthouse.”

  Poly and I turned around. She extended her hand.

  “Mr. Figueres,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  They shook hands, then it was my turn.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” I said. “We expected Ms. Moultrie to come back and retrieve us.”

  We shook. He had a firm, friendly grip and the relaxed manner of a man who didn’t have to prove anything. My first impression was that he was the sort of guy I’d like to have as a client.

  “Call it an idiosyncrasy,” said Figueres, “but I like to see how people I’m going to meet for the first time handle the view.”

  “Did we pass?” asked Poly.

  “Oh, yes,” said Figueres. “You couldn’t turn away. Small-minded people get bored and look at their cell phones after only a few minutes.”

  “I could look at that view for hours, Mr. Figueres,” I said.

  “Call me Danny,” said Figueres. “May I call you Jack?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Not Pablo?”

  “Pablo was my father. My friends call me Danny or Danny-El.”

  Danny was of medium height with a compact, muscular build and a face on its way to being craggy in another couple of decades or so when he hit his fifties. His dark black hair was thick and lustrous and his smile seemed genuine. He looked like he did in his ads, but came off as more authentic in person than when he was on-screen in sales mode.

  “And you must be Poly?” asked Danny. He pronounced it, tentatively, as Poe-Lee.

  “It’s Poly as in Polytechnic,” said Poly.

  “Or polymath,” said Danny. “Poly. I remember now. That’s what Dr. Urrrson called you. He thinks you’re the best student he’s had in a decade and you’ve got quite an impressive resume. Dual master’s degrees from Georgia Tech and Emory.”

  Poly looked embarrassed.

  “That was very nice of him to say,” she said.

  “Don’t be afraid to blow your own horn,” said Danny. “You’ve earned it.”

  Poly smiled and asked, “How did you get my resume?”

  “I called my human resources department,” said Danny. “We recruited you at both Emory and Tech. Why didn’t you accept our offer? If money was the issue, I’ll double it, and bump you up two levels in the org chart.”

  “That’s very generous,” said Poly, “but Jack’s made me a partner and we’re going to build Xenotech Support Corporation together.”

  She smiled at me and I smiled back, my affection for her obvious in my eyes.

  “So that’s how it is,” said Danny. “I can’t compete with that.”

  Now both of us blushed.

  “I checked you out, too,” said Danny, addressing me this time. “A doctorate in Mutatechnology from Mulbiri State on Orish at twenty-one. Fluency in ten Terran and seventeen galactic languages. Built a successful technical support company in three years. Friends in high places, like the Dauushan royal family. You’re pretty impressive yourself, Jack. I’d ask you if you wanted a job, but I know your answer will be the same as hers.”

  Danny waved toward Poly.

  “But the two of you didn’t come here for the view. Let’s move over to my office where we’ll have some privacy.”

  We trailed along behind Danny, returning to duckling mode, and found ourselves in his business office. It was what you’d expect a powerful CEO’s office to be, with a brag wall filled with photographs of Danny with celebrities and important people, dark wainscoting, and understated elegance just the right side of opulence. A large Puerto Rican flag hung from the top of the wall opposite his desk chair so it was always in easy view. Our interest in the flag was obvious.

  “I keep it there so I’m always reminded of
where I came from,” he said.

  “You were the skinny kid from the streets of San Juan who took the super soldier serum,” said Poly.

  “Sort of,” said Danny, “if getting into Georgia Tech was super soldier serum. I was just a kid trying to get by. I tried to pull a street hustle on a lawyer from Atlanta and got caught at it. He and his wife were in Old San Juan on vacation. Instead of turning me over to the police, he changed my life. I don’t know why, but I guess he saw something in me. He was the one who paid my way into a good prep school here in town and got me accepted at Tech.”

  “That’s quite a story,” I said. “Why isn’t it in your autobiography? I loved From San Juan to the Stars, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” said Danny. “I’ll tell my ghost writer. It’s not in there because my benefactor asked me not to mention it. He didn’t want it getting out that he had a soft side.”

  “I can understand that,” said Poly, “with him being a lawyer and all.”

  Danny took a phone out of his suit pocket and tapped a few keys.

  “That should do it,” he said. “I turned on a portable privacy field. Camilla thinks she needs to know everything I know to help her do my job for me.”

  Poly and I laughed, nervously. We’d had the same feeling about Camilla spying on us.

  “Have a seat,” said Danny. He invited us to take seats on a couch behind a coffee table in a corner of his office and sat in a comfortable armchair close by.

  “Spill it,” he said. “What did you come here to talk about?”

  As we’d discussed, Poly took the lead.

  “We came here to find out if you’re The General—the evil mastermind behind EUA Corporation and the Earth First Militant movement.”

  Wow! No beating around the bush for my partner.

  Maybe it would have been better if I’d taken the lead in this particular conversation.

  Chapter 19

  “A small leak will sink a big ship.”

  — Benjamin Franklin

  “Excuse me,” said Danny. “I think I was just insulted, but what you said makes so little sense I’m not sure.”

  His posture shifted from open to defensive as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “No,” said Poly. “Now that we’ve met you we don’t think you’re The General, but we did think it was a high probability earlier. This visit was to scope out whether you were friend or foe.”