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

by Dave Schroeder

  I was glad I didn’t have to worry about similar litigation. Business to consumer marketing made business to business marketing look easy.

  “What’s this?” asked Cornell, pointing to a short, wide plastic cylinder. When he picked it up, the contents sloshed.

  “Classy lassi,” answered Rosalind. She was busy dishing matar paneer—made with peas and cheese—over rice tinted purple with Nicósn royal saffron.

  “What makes it classy?” asked Sally. She had just nibbled on a crisp papadum cracker and was still dangling a piece of it in her mouth like a cigar.

  “Caviar,” said Rosalind. “It’s mixed in like the boba in bubble tea.”

  “Beluga?” I asked. “From sturgeons in the Caspian?”

  I made a reminder to double-check the bill. Beluga caviar was still something only oligarchs bought, despite valiant efforts using alien technology to rescue Earth’s largest salt-water lake.

  “No,” said Rosalind, “we’re not made of money. It’s from Lake Cussler in the Sahara. Ninety percent of the Caspian sturgeons’ caviar is crap.”

  “Worth a try,” said Cornell, pouring himself a serving, then sticking a ladle into the cylinder to get some caviar. “Not bad,” he said, after a sip. Cornell smacked his lips and filled a glass for Sally.

  Martin was being deliberate about making his selections. He had taken about a quarter of one of the bright yellow kablobs, which turned out to be a deep-fried head of cauliflower dipped in a chickpea-flour batter enhanced with lots of turmeric. Then he’d pulled off a small chunk of samosa-kablob with tongs. Now he was adding some chicken tikka and an unusual naan-descript starch. Every move was well thought-out and economical. I studied Martin’s movements carefully, in hopes of emulating him. Martin had style.

  On the far side of the table I saw Winfield and Johnson sharing a pan of what must be the deceptively plain-looking ubergoat biryani. I hadn’t warned them that I’d ordered the rice and meat dish Pâkk-standard spicy, which was around twenty-five on an American one-to-ten scale. They weren’t trying to put out the heat effectively with lassi or some other milk product—they were using water, and that only fed the flames. It was like trying to use a Type A, water-based fire extinguisher on a grease fire. The two former Chapultepec & Castle executives were sweating and their eyes were watering like they’d been tear gassed.

  After a few seconds to appreciate the schadenfreude, I tossed them jumbo single serving cups of mango sherbet to help cut the heat. The sherbet stayed cold thanks to a tiny congruency in its packaging connected to the thick, very cold oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere of Niflheim, a gas giant planet in the Midgard system.

  “Didn’t you know the Scoville scale had to be recalibrated as exponential to handle Pâkk peppers?” I said, smiling.

  Johnson gave me a dirty look and Winfield gave me the finger. Their tongues hadn’t recovered enough to talk.

  Gus was standing behind me, like a stranger at a wedding, waiting to go last. I waved him ahead of me.

  “Dig in,” I said. “There’s plenty of food and if there’s not, I’ll order more.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” said the big green alien sincerely. He tried to give me a hug, but his arms, while longer than what you’d expect to find on a tyrannosaur, were still too short to wrap around me. That didn’t stop me from giving him a hug, though. Gus was like a large friendly dog that wanted to please, but was tripping over himself in the process.

  He dug into the food arrayed on the counter like he hadn’t eaten in days, filling three separate plates and balanced them precariously on one of his arms. I followed in his wake and assembled a diverse collection of spicy veggies, proteins and starches from the limited selection of comestibles Gus hadn’t taken.

  I took a deep breath before I sat down. The conference room smelled strongly of curry and probably would for days. Curry was one of those things that stayed around, like guests at the Hotel California. In time, the cleaning robots would probably eliminate it, but it could take a billion years and the sun might go nova before they succeeded.

  I found my usual spot between Max and Poly. Gus didn’t need a chair. He balanced on his tail like a kangaroo, fitting into an open space at the table near Winfield and Johnson. They fobbed their ubergoat buryani off on him and Gus ate it gleefully, admiring its high-powered capsicum kick. From the opposite side of the table, it appeared that the former C&C executives were now on a diet of naan and water.

  The food was delicious. All the nervous energy I’d expended at EUA must have taken a lot out of me. I was starving and ate like a pack of ravenous Pâkk. I nearly got curry sauce on my tie and resolved to change into something more comfortable right after lunch.

  Chit was sitting on an upside-down tumbler drinking a thimbleful of classy lassi and munching on a tiny piece of boti roll. She was amusing Max by telling him a tall tale about how another Murm watched a stranded Dauushan explorer stuck on Terra in fourth-century south Asia simultaneously invent pottery and tandoori. I was convinced it had to be a tall tale until Chit brought up Ganesha, the pink, elephant-headed god, and then I wasn’t so sure.

  While we were eating, my phone played the encounter between Bavarian and Adolphus Kone on the wall screen. There were lots of cheers of “You go girl!” and assorted hoots of approval as the video played. Spike got a special round of applause when he licked Boss Kone on his way out. When the video finished and most of us were done eating, I took a last bite of papadum dipped in cool, green raita sauce and tapped on my glass to get everyone’s attention.

  “That was the good news,” I said, pointing to the smart wall where the video had played. “Rosalind has the bad news.”

  “Chit and I checked out The General’s office and living quarters on the top floor of EUA’s headquarters and found them deserted, as if he’s pulled out completely,” Rosalind reported.

  “The turkey took a powder,” said Chit with her own brand of eloquence.

  “Tomáso is very concerned that Queen Sherrhi will not react well if The General doesn’t show up at the Dauushan consulate this afternoon,” said Shepherd. He paused and repeated, “Very concerned.”

  After what Terrhi had said earlier about this being a nice planet and it being a shame if anything happened to it, I didn’t want to find out what the queen had in mind for The General or for Earth. I loved Terrhi and respected her parents, but Queen Sherrhi ruled an empire and had her own priorities.

  “The General is a tricky S.O.B.,” said Cornell. “From everything I know, he still needs help from Dauush for his own plan of galactic conquest. I’m worried about Queen Sherrhi’s safety when The General does show up, which I think he will.”

  Shepherd was following Cornell intently. I watched him enter and send a text message while everyone else’s attention was focused on Cornell.

  Martin cut in.

  “I have bad news of my own. I’m being pulled off working with you for a new assignment. My superiors want me to focus on protecting the delegations attending the G70 meetings—starting on Sunday. I tried to explain my current investigation was tracking a possible threat to the G70 attendees, but they’re not hearing it. The meetings are an all-hands-on-deck thing. I’m stuck handling security for the dignitaries’ meet-and-greet at the Capitol building and their tour of the major attractions in Centennial Olympic Park. It’s supposed to be part of a GAFTA-wide effort to build stronger connections with one of their newest members, though I think it’s mostly about the dignitaries getting a chance to see their favorite Georgia legislative stars face-to-face.”

  “Is the SkyView ferris wheel on the agenda, too?” I asked.

  “Only for the species small enough to fit in the gondolas,” said Martin with a strained smile.

  He was not looking forward to playing nursemaid to off-planet delegations instead of tracking The General.

  “At least you’re going to be well-positioned if EUA tries anything on Sunday,” said Poly.

  “Yeah,” added Rosalind. “You’ll be in sight of
EUA’s headquarters on the east side of the park all day.”

  “Not t’mention the mile-high SLN Tower on the south side,” chimed in Chit.

  She still thought Danny Figueres wore a black hat, and for all Poly and I liked the guy, maybe he did.

  “Where do you think The General has gone?” I asked Rosalind, Cornell, and Sally. I didn’t bother asking Winfield or Johnson—I knew they’d be useless.

  “First,” said Cornell, “you have to understand that none of us have ever met him face-to-face. He’s always on video or in the shadows.”

  “I’m sure he uses a voice distorter, too,” said Sally, “though I’ve only seen him on my phone’s screen a few times when I’ve received special assignments.”

  “Cornell would know best,” said Rosalind. “He’s the one who’s worked most closely with The General. I’m more like the top operative on the old Mission Impossible movies who got recordings that self-destruct, saying, ‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it.’”

  “Did you ever turn down an assignment?” asked Martin with professional curiosity.

  “I suggested revisions to plans fairly often,” Rosalind replied, “but I had the impression any assignment I turned down would be my last.”

  “So did I,” said Cornell.

  “Me too,” echoed Sally.

  “Let me phrase things another way,” I said. “Does EUA own any properties nearby that would be good places for The General to relocate?”

  My phone’s screen lit up.

  “Droopy’s investigations have identified a highly probable location,” said my phone.

  We all stared at it while it hopped from my belt to the table, grew arms, legs, and a head, and strutted over to stand next to Chit’s overturned tumbler.

  “Well,” said Poly. “Where is it?”

  A yellow smiley face appeared on my phone’s screen as it answered.

  “Ad Astra.”

  Chapter 34

  “And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God…”

  — Luke 1:26 KJV

  “Jack! I’m glad you’re here!” boomed Tomáso’s deep voice as we entered his personal living quarters adjacent to the Dauushan consulate. “Welcome!”

  He patted me on the back with a sub-trunk—none too lightly—and waved to Shepherd a few steps behind me.

  “Good to see you too, you old scoundrel,” he said to the grizzled Long Pâkk operative.

  “Tomáso,” said Shepherd, inclining his head to his friend with respect.

  I can still remember the first time I’d met Shepherd. He’d come to my rescue when I’d really needed help. That’s when he’d told me the difference between the Pâkk’s two philosophical camps.

  “My people consider other species to be sheep,” he’d said, “but Long Pâkk see them as wool and Short Pâkk see them as lamb chops.”

  Back then I was pretty sure Shepherd had been speaking figuratively, not literally. Today, I wasn’t quite so sure, but I knew I didn’t have any interest in being doused with mint sauce. I was grateful to Shepherd and the other Long Pâkk for keeping the Short Pâkk’s more aggressive impulses in check. The General’s home-grown Terran terror was enough of a challenge.

  Poly, Rosalind, Chit, and Cornell had come with me to meet with Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi. It was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon. We all wanted to be in place prior to The General’s arrival at five to obey the queen’s imperial summons.

  On the autocab ride over to the Ad Astra complex, the humans in the vehicle had placed bets on whether or not The General would show. Rosalind and I thought he would. Poly and Cornell thought he wouldn’t. Chit said she didn’t care one way or another—her galactic Murm hive mind would locate The General and deal with him in the fullness of time. Shepherd kept his own counsel and didn’t offer an opinion. That’s why Martin’s approach to stoic cool is my model. There’s no way I could live up to Shepherd’s.

  Poly stepped forward and bowed to Queen Sherrhi. “You’re looking great, Your Majesty,” she said. “It’s almost like you’re glowing.”

  Terrhi’s mother smiled and patted my partner on the back, much like her consort had patted me, but with less force. The Dauushan matriarch winked one of her three eyes at Tomáso, then looked toward where we’d entered. Rosalind was a few steps behind Poly, close to the wide-open roll-up door. She seemed nervous.

  Cornell stood just outside Tomáso’s spacious apartment with only half of his body visible. He seemed reluctant to enter. I wondered why, then I remembered he had kidnapped Terrhi and had no idea how her parents would react.

  “Come in, come in,” said Queen Sherrhi, motioning to Cornell with a few sub-trunks. “Don’t worry. I have no current plans to crush you under my feet.”

  Cornell didn’t look reassured and remained in the doorway until Shepherd took him by the elbow and pulled him into the huge entry chamber. Perhaps Cornell had been wise to stay back. As soon as he was within six feet of the queen, Sherrhi grabbed him with a pair of sub-trunks and held Cornell up so high his hair almost brushed the ceiling. She stared at him, taking his measure.

  In the background, the door to Tomáso’s living quarters rolled down into metal security plate with the solid thunk a hammer hitting an anvil.

  “So you’re the one who took my daughter,” Queen Sherrhi rumbled, her voice half an octave lower than Tomáso’s. “I didn’t realize that earlier—all you humans look alike to me.”

  “I was just following orders,” squeaked Cornell, though the queen wasn’t squeezing him, yet. I was impressed that he was retaining all his bodily fluids.

  “That’s not good enough,” said Queen Sherrhi. “Save it for the Royal Inquisitor.”

  She seemed to be really hamming it up.

  Cornell turned white. I’m sure his brain was filled with visions of racks and thumbscrews. Sherrhi gave him a final shake and put him down gently. The room filled with a bubbling subsonic hum—Queen Sherrhi was laughing.

  “Hey, I was just messing with you,” said the queen. She sounded exactly like Tomáso when he’d found me trying to help Spike deal with obnoxious squirrels. “You’re on our side now—the enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that.” Sherrhi leaned over Cornell and lifted his chin with a sub-trunk. “Now, my new ally—what can you tell me about The General?”

  Cornell was unsteady on his feet but regained his composure quickly.

  “I’m not sure what you want to know,” said Cornell. “But I can tell you I have no idea where he is.”

  “I’m not concerned with where he is,” said Queen Sherrhi. “I want to know how he thinks.”

  “He’s devious and thinks six moves ahead,” offered Rosalind. Her mind was working faster than her brother’s at the moment.

  “He’s also very private,” said Cornell. “I’m one of his top people and I’ve never met him face to face.”

  “Ditto for me,” said Rosalind. “I’ve never seen him either.”

  “Ditto?” Tomáso asked me, speaking in what passed as a stage whisper for a Dauushan.

  “The same for me,” I translated. “From a brand of early Twentieth Century print-reproduction technology called a spirit duplicator.”

  “We have those on Dauush,” said Tomáso quietly, “but they’re for mass producing alcoholic beverages.”

  “Let’s talk later,” I said, visions of competing with Brown-Forman-Beam dancing in my head.

  “Shush!” said Poly. “And it’s from a Tuscan dialect going back to the 16th century.”

  Tomáso and I looked appropriately contrite. Queen Sherrhi continued her interrogation.

  “Why do you think he’s hiding his true identity?” she asked.

  “Because he’s a coward,” interjected Chit from her perch on my shoulder.

  “Why a coward?” asked Rosalind. “Why not a clever strategist, working through misdirection?”

  “The General is a clever strategist,” said Cornell. “Recent reversals notwithstanding.”


  Everybody looked at Poly and me. I nodded and Poly performed a small curtsy to acknowledge our role.

  “He’s up to something,” Cornell continued. “He doesn’t like being put in a corner with no alternatives and he really doesn’t like losing.”

  “What do you think he’ll do about Queen Sherrhi’s ultimatum?” asked Poly.

  “Yes,” rumbled Tomáso. “Will The General risk an interstellar incident by offending the Dauushan monarchy?”

  The big pink alien looked at his spouse and ruler affectionately.

  “I don’t think so,” said Rosalind.

  Cornell indicated his agreement with a dip of his head.

  “I think he’ll find a way to obey the letter, if not the spirit of the summons,” said Cornell.

  “A weasel, not an eagle?” asked Poly.

  Rosalind’s eyes sparked in enthusiastic agreement.

  “He’s the consummate corporate weasel,” she said. “And will probably find a way to turn the meeting to his advantage.”

  “If he tries,” said Tomáso, “he’ll soon find that running a corporation is not the same as ruling an empire.”

  Queen Sherri sidled close to Tomáso and tenderly rubbed her massive side against his.

  “That’s why I keep you around,” said the queen, her eyes twinkling. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  Their sub-trunks entwined briefly, then separated.

  “What do you think The General will do?” I asked. “So far, he’s failed at every turn.”

  “Go after Terrhi again?” suggested Rosalind.

  “She’s very well-guarded,” said Tomáso.

  “Like she was when she walked into EUA’s headquarters this morning with Bavarian Kreem?” Poly asked.

  “She was never at risk,” said Queen Sherrhi. “There was an attack shuttle filled with Dauushan Drop Marines hovering about the building—and recording equipment in Spike’s collar was tracking everything.”