“A series of meeting of the heads of the seventy largest Galactic economies,” said Poly. “It’s being held here in Atlanta. It kicks off with some sort of tour on Sunday for the delegates and their mates, including a meet and greet with their favorite legislative stars at the Capitol building. Then they’ll visit the Georgia Aquarium, the World of Coke, and the Center for Civil and Human Rights.”
Those were the big three attractions at Centennial Olympic Park. I normally tune out any news about politics—the noise to signal ratio is usually too high—but I vaguely recalled reading about the meeting in the context of its impact on traffic in metro-Atlanta. This must be the big to-do Terrhi told us her mother had to attend.
“I’m here to represent Dauush,” said Queen Sherrhi. “We’re pushing two new models of fabricator and it’s a great publicity opportunity.”
I nodded, hearing, but not comprehending.
“Haven’t you seen the signs at Ad Astra?” asked my mom. “The delegations are staying there and the meeting itself will be held at the Figueres Center at Georgia Tech.”
“I haven’t been home for a few days,” I noted.
“I know,” said my mom. “I’ve been following your exploits from orbit.”
“Uh huh,” I said, still a bit confused. “Hey! How do you know about signs at Ad Astra?”
My mother’s image fidgeted for a moment, then replied. “I may have visited your apartment while you and Poly were in Las Vegas,” she said.
I looked back at the screen incredulously.
“Close your mouth, Jack,” said Poly.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t butting in where I’m not welcome,” said my mom. “Mike invited me.”
“He never mentioned that to me,” I said, still shocked. “And he’s never met you. How could he invite you?”
“He didn’t want to bother you while you were on vacation…”
“…and since you were spying on my apartment anyway,” I observed.
My mother changed the subject, sort of. “You always were a bright child. A power-related issue had come up…”
“At Pour Me, Limited?” I asked.
The custom metal casting company had only been a Xenotech Support client for six months and their congruency-powered equipment for heating the metal used for casting was prone to glitches.
“That’s right,” said my mom. “I knew how to solve their issue so I jumped in.”
“Thanks for your help, Ms. Buckston,” said Poly.
“I was glad to assist,” said my mom. “And please, dear, call me Nory.”
“Will do, Nory,” said Poly.
My partner was simultaneously holding my hand and stroking my arm, trying to settle me down. It was working, though the zoomin’ onion I’d eaten was having an interesting and rather loud conversation with the guacamole already in my stomach.
“What was the problem?” I asked.
“Their molds weren’t curing properly,” answered my mother.
“You mean their fungi,” I corrected. Pour Me, Limited, used genetically engineered heat-resistant mushrooms to help their casting. The custom fungi grew around the company’s hand-carved sculptures and fit so tightly they picked up every nuance and detail, much like plaster of Paris around lost wax carvings. The firm had a new contract to produce expensive chess sets for Tōdons and the individual pieces were the size of adult humans or larger.
“Don’t get too clever with me, son,” said my mom. “I know that all molds are fungi…”
“…but not all fungi are molds,” I laughed.
“Wait!” Chit exclaimed. “Weren’t the fungi molds?”
“Sure,” I said. “For casting giant chess pieces. Once they grew all the way around the sculptures, they were cut in half. Then the original sculptures were removed and the two halves were clamped back together.”
“But you just said they weren’t molds,” said my little friend.
“Right,” said my mom, getting into the spirit of things. “And they weren’t yeasts, either.”
“I feel like I’ve just consumed a few ounces of yeast byproducts,” mumbled my little friend. “English. What a language.”
I ignored Chit’s protest and returned to my mother. “How did you solve things?”
“I eliminated leakage,” she replied.
“Do I wanna know?” asked Chit.
Poly jumped in. “That’s what Danny Figueres wants us to do at SLN.”
“Different context,” said my mom. “This was leaking photons.”
“From the melting furnace?” I asked.
Pour Me’s techs heated their casting metals using congruencies connected to the Sun’s corona. Without proper tuning and shielding, the furnace could let through a lot of light, not just heat.
“That’s right,” said my mom. “And fungi…”
“…prefer a dark, moist environment,” said Poly, clapping her hands with pleasure at figuring it out.
“Exactly,” I said.
“So the client is happy?” I said.
“Ecstatic,” said my mom. “They even modified the face of the white queen to look like me.”
“I’ll have to order a set,” I said.
“You’ll need a bigger apartment,” said Poly.
She was right. My apartment didn’t have enough room for sixteen four-foot pawns, let alone the major pieces.
“Maybe just a white queen,” I said. “I can use it as a hat rack.”
My musing on interior decorating were interrupted by the clearing of a pair of very large throats. I’d somehow forgotten about Queen Sherrhi and Tomáso, which is a lot like forgetting about elephants in the room.
“Sorry,” I said.
“We need to ensure that nothing disrupts the G70 meetings,” said Tomáso, picking up where he’d left off.
“So we’ve got the weekend to find and stop The General?” I asked. “No problem.”
My sarcastic tone conveyed my frustration.
“The General will show himself to me tomorrow,” rumbled Queen Sherrhi.
I wasn’t counting on that—The General was proving to be a master of deception.
“Or else,” said the queen.
Then again…
“Perhaps Chit can tell us what she’s learned,” said Shepherd.
His raspy, blues-singer voice grabbed our attention.
“Go ahead, little buddy,” I said, motioning to Chit.
My phone located an unused paper cup near my bottle of Diet Starbuzz and turned it upside down. Then it reabsorbed its pseudo-head, forcing Chit to relocate. The Murm moved gracefully and treated the cup like a soapbox. I could hear a whoosh of air drawn up into her spiracles.
“It’s like this, see,” said Chit. “Camilla Moultrie, Daniel Fiqueres’ executive assistant, clearly works for EUA. I traced her calls and confirmed that several of them went to EUA’s headquarters.”
Max giggled. I hadn’t realized he’d been following the adults’ conversation.
“You bugged her phone,” said my son. He started chortling.
“I like you, kid, but don’t push it,” said Chit.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Chit,” said Max. He covered his mouth with his hand to disguise continued giggles.
“Anybody else here five years old?” asked the tiny Murm, her compound eyes flashing dangerously.
I kept a straight face, and so did almost everyone else. Martin and Shepherd never had any problem doing so, but I did hear a girlish laugh and an amused growl off screen from the videoconferencing system’s speakers. Terrhi and Spike must be just off-camera.
“Could there be legitimate business reasons for the calls?” asked Poly. “Are you sure Moultrie wears a black hat?”
“Sweetheart,” replied Chit, “that woman wears a black hat and a ski mask.”
“Why?” asked Max. “It’s warm out.”
“She means Camilla Moultrie is a bad guy, like a bank robber,” Rosalind said.
Max nodded once, then turned back to the s
mart wall and began to draw raccoon masks on his sketches of Spike and Terrhi.
“She was talkin’ t’someone at EUA about your trial,” Chit told Pomy. “Moultrie said it was a shame you weren’t found guilty, by the way.”
“I don’t think I like this Camilla person,” said Pomy.
“I don’t either,” I added.
“What about Danny Figueres?” asked Poly. “I like him. I don’t want to think that he played us.”
“He played you like fiddles at a hoedown,” said Chit. “I heard him talking to some bigwig at EUA for half an hour this afternoon. Danny promised to come to his place for dinner over the weekend.”
Fiddles at a hoedown? Then I remembered I’d told Chit about introducing Droopy to Oklahoma.
“Figueres could be friends with someone there without being under EUA’s thumb,” asserted Poly.
“Occam’s Razor, girl, Occam’s Razor,” said Chit.
I didn’t want to think Figueres was part of EUA either, but it sounded like he was firmly in their orbit.
“I found some information about SLN and PDF as well,” chimed in Rosalind. “Early funding for the Sirocco Legislative Network came from Conch Ventures, an EUA affiliate. Figueres must be in their pocket.”
It hurt to admit, but evidence against Danny was building up. Conch sounded like an obvious shell company.
“We’ll operate on the assumption that Figueres and his companies are part of EUA until proven different,” I stated.
I stood up and my phone saw what I was trying to do and played the Star Trek communicator’s signal to get everyone’s attention.
“Now what?” I said. “Figueres is EUA. Alban White is EUA and not even human. EUA’s corporate structure is a mass of misdirection. How do we find The General?”
“He will show himself to me at the Dauushan consulate by five o’clock tomorrow,” rumbled Queen Sherrhi.
Even Tomáso looked skeptical about that, but I didn’t argue with Her Majesty and he certainly wasn’t going to.
“That can be Plan A,” I said, “but we need a Plan B.”
Queen Sherrhi lowered and raised her head to acknowledge what I’d recommended. She turned to her consort and the two of them exchanged tender looks, then entwined sub-trunks in a show of affection and mutual support.
“And probably Plans C and D, too,” added Martin.
I nodded my agreement.
Terrhi’s face inserted itself at the bottom of the videoconferencing screen, followed a second later by Spike’s toothy head.
“Can I help? Can I? Can I?” said the cute alien princess.
Spike rolled his eyes and went with the flow.
“Sure,” said Poly.
With Terrhi, it was better to give her something to do than to leave her—and Spike—to their own devices.
Cornell caught my eye.
“I may have some thoughts on Plan B,” he said.
“Do tell,” I encouraged.
“I’m not sure why, but The General still seems to think I’m a loyal part of his organization,” said Rosalind’s brother. “I don’t know if he’s sincere or just manipulating me, but I think that may give us a way to find him.”
“What are you thinking?” asked Poly.
“If I initiate communications, perhaps your phone could trace the call from congruency to congruency and get a fix on The General’s physical location.”
“Wouldn’t the signal’s path be obfuscated?” asked Sally. “That’s basic tradecraft.”
“Of course,” said Cornell. “But I expect Jack’s phone is up to the task of identifying all the false hops and tracking the call to its ultimate recipient.”
I looked at my phone and could swear it was preening from Cornell’s compliment.
“Worth a shot,” it said, feigning modesty.
“That’s Plan B,” I said. “Suggestions for Plan C?”
I watched Poly stare at Scott Winfield and Josephine Johnson, then turned her gaze to Sally.
“Don’t look at me,” said Sally. “I was watching Max all day while Rosalind was doing research.”
“Thank you,” said Poly.
She returned to the former Chapultepec & Castle executives.
“What about you two?”
The pair looked at each other uneasily.
“They spent all their time trying to find out who The General had promoted into their old positions,” said Shepherd.
“Any luck?” I asked them.
“No, blast it,” said Winfield.
“Nobody’s talking,” said Johnson. “It’s like we don’t exist.”
“For people on The General’s team, you probably don’t,” said Martin. His normally stony face looked like he’d just opened a bottle of hydrogen sulfide.
The two former executives crossed their arms and mirrored Martin’s expression. This meeting was a laugh a minute. Then Terrhi lightened the mood.
“What can Spike and I do to help, Uncle Jack?” the little girl piped up from the big screen.
I did some quick thinking.
“There’s a nine-year-old little girl named Bavarian Kreem,” I said. “I’d like you and Spike to call her from the Charalindhri, make friends, and see if she knows anything about EUA Corporation and The General.”
“We can do that,” said Terrhi. “It will be fun, won’t it Spike!”
“I’ll text you her number,” I told the Shetland pony-sized girl.
My phone worked its investigative magic and chimed to tell me it had found Bavarian Kreem’s contact info and transmitted it to Terrhi.
Terrhi smiled and Spike showed a lot of teeth.
“That’s Plan C,” said Poly. “Any thoughts on a Plan D?”
“My only plan is to go to bed and sleep for a week,” said Pomy.
“Of course, sis,” said Poly. “You’ve been through a lot already. But we still need a Plan D.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let’s pay a visit to EUA’s headquarters tomorrow.”
“On a Saturday?” asked Poly.
“There should be people working there in the morning, at least,” Martin noted. “I know some of EUA’s subsidiaries operate seven days a week so there should be corporate personnel at HQ on duty to support them.”
“Remember to be at the consulate tomorrow by four. We need to have everything in place before The General shows up,” said Tomáso.
“We’ll be there,” I said, still not all that confident that Queen Sherrhi’s ultimatum would work.
“Good night, Jack,” said my mom. “Sleep tight.”
I felt my cheeks start to turn red.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, Ms. Buckston,” said Poly.
“Nory,” said my mom with a stern look followed by a grin.
There was lots of waving and good wishes from all assembled—except Winfield and Johnson—then the videoconference ended. Max immediately started drawing pictures higher up on the smart wall.
“Jack,” asked Rosalind, “when you said we were going to visit EUA’s headquarters, who did you mean by we?”
“I was thinking just Poly and me,” I replied.
“I’ve been there several times and know my way around,” said Rosalind.
“So do I,” said Cornell.
Poly responded to Cornell. “I don’t think it’s smart for you to go so long as there’s a chance The General thinks you may still be on his side.”
“You’re probably right,” said Cornell. He looked at Rosalind. “And the same goes for you.”
“Not if I go in disguise,” said his sister. “They’ll never recognize me.”
Poly and I exchanged a meaning-filled glance.
“Okay,” said Poly. “We’ll meet upstairs in the lobby at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Bedtime, sport,” said Rosalind.
Max pretended not to hear her.
“One,” said Rosalind. “Two.”
“Okay,” said Max. “Can I have some flan first?”
“Sure,” Rosalind answered. “Your father will serve you.”
“Anybody else want flan?” I asked.
Several people indicated they wanted some, so I set up an assembly line with Max. I filled small bowls and my son delivered them. When we were the last two remaining to be served, I gave us heaping portions. It was fun to watch my son spoon up the caramel flavored custard. At the speed Max was eating, he finished quickly and went back to the smart wall to finish a drawing.
While Max was distracted I had a private word with Rosalind.
“What happens when you get to three?” I asked.
“You don’t want to know, and Max doesn’t either,” she replied.
I nodded with feigned wisdom. There was a lot I had to learn about being a parent.
I chased the last bits of flan around my plate and reflected on the relative calm of the moment. It was a peaceful end to a hectic and stressful day. Then my phone rang.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Mr. Gokusátshu,” said my phone.
“Put him through.”
“Hi Jack,” said a familiar voice. “This is Gus from Las Vegas. My screen test in Atlanta is on Sunday. I’m coming into Hartsfield on a red-eye. Is there any chance I could stay with you folks on Saturday night?”
The Gojon had saved my life. What could I say?
“Hi Mr. Gus!” shouted Max.
“Hi Max,” said Gustávish through my phone’s speaker.
You could tell the big guy was smiling from his tone of voice.
“Of course,” I said, ignoring Max’s interruption. “I’ll send you the address.”
“Great,” said the size-changing saurian. “See you soon!”
After the call ended Chit spoke up.
“The big green dude with three internal congruencies is headed here?”
“Uh huh,” I said. “He’s a broke actor and we’ll put him up for a night or two.”
“Big whoop,” said Chit. “By the way, bucko, don’t think for a minute that you’re going to EUA’s HQ without me tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, mentally kicking myself for the oversight.
“Let’s call it an early night,” said Poly. She squeezed my hand.
“I want to stay up to visit with Max,” I protested.
“He’s going to bed,” said Rosalind, rising. “Give your father a good night kiss, Max.”
Xenotech General Mayhem: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 4) Page 23