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

by Dave Schroeder

  As I left her office, the CIO got me with a zinger.

  “What language is used to write most salt water aquarium software?” she asked.

  I played along.

  “I don’t know, what?”

  “C.”

  It took me a minute, because the code I’d just revised had been poorly designed Java. Then I got it.

  “Ouch,” I’d said.

  I hadn’t been back since.

  I was pulled away from my reverie by Poly entering the room.

  “You’re looking spiffy,” she said, meaning the opposite.

  “You’re pretty spiff yourself,” I replied, meaning what I said.

  Poly was wearing navy blue shorts, calf-high white cotton socks with little blue garter tabs, white Chuck Taylor All-Stars, and a jaunty white sailor shirt with navy piping. The shirt even had anchors embroidered on both sides of its broad collar. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a severe bun and a cute little sailor’s cap was bobby-pinned to her head.

  “Are you shooting for Sailor Moon?” I asked. I didn’t know much about anime.

  “No, silly,” she said. “I’d need a blue skirt, red boots and a big red bow on my shirt for that.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I give up. What are you trying to look like?”

  “Me,” she said. “I wore this the last time I went to the aquarium.”

  “When was that?” I asked. “When you were twelve?”

  “Last Halloween,” Poly replied.

  She made a little moue that turned into a grin, gave me a peck and headed for the donuts. I had a lot to learn about my partner.

  “Simon says, ‘Reflective Mode Off,’” I told the smart wall.

  It returned to normal. I didn’t want anyone else to catch me looking at myself in the mirror.

  Smart devices reacted to many different trigger phrases. My phone and my van had sophisticated language processing systems that knew when I wanted them to take action, but simpler systems needed more implicit key words. Most of the time, my phone just ordered them to act without me needing to say anything, but this morning I was feeling playful. Sometimes I’d use the Computer keyword, spoken with the intonation used on Star Trek to get the attention of the A.I. on the Enterprise. It was revealing to find out what other keywords my clients programmed their smart devices to recognize. Safe word made me scratch my head for a few seconds until my phone explained it to me.

  “What smells so good?” asked Rosalind from the conference room door.

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but joined Poly at the counter, selecting the donuts and side items she wanted for breakfast. Cornell and Sally were close behind. From his expression, Cornell was one of those people who’d be grumpy until he had his first cup of coffee, while Sally looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to meet the day without benefit of caffeine.

  “Where’s Max?” I asked.

  Just then, my son made a grand entrance riding on Spike’s back, holding on to the trisabertooth’s ears for balance. For a moment I worried Max was bothering Spike, but the big cat seemed to enjoy having Max perched between his midlegs and forelegs. Maybe it helped loosen his spine. Bavarian was up on Terrhi’s back and all four were trying to get through the door to the conference room at the same time. It didn’t end well. Spike rolled back out of Terrhi’s way, doing his best to protect Max.

  Terrhi did a forward somersault—quite a feat for a hexapod—while Bavarian gracefully jumped up and out of the way, touching down just in front of Terrhi. Max was giggling as Spike lifted him back to his feet with a nudge from his massive head.

  “That’s a consensus 9.5 across the board except for a 7.5 from the Russian judge,” said Emma Ann. She was close to the doorway, just behind the kids, and had witnessed the whole thing.

  “It’s not funny,” said Terrhi, her dignity tarnished.

  “Yes it is,” said Bavarian. “Let’s get some donuts.”

  “DONUTS!” shouted Max.

  The kids rushed to the counter and filled their plates, while I reached over them to get the box of high-protein donuts for Spike. The cat stared at what I offered him, then faced me and gave me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

  “Just try one,” I said.

  Spike lowered his head into the large box. When he emerged, all three of his extended incisors were different. A donut encircled each one. I kept my face impassive, knowing that if I laughed, Spike might never forgive me. I reached into the box and handed a donut to my long-toothed, furry friend. Spike chewed on it, moved it from side to side in his mouth, swallowed it, and started to purr.

  “Told you,” I said.

  Spike’s tongue rasped out and removed the donuts from his extra-long incisors one by one. The big cat was pleased and all was right with the world, sort of. He settled down with the box of donuts, taking his usual spot under the table next to Max. Rosalind graciously moved down a few chairs so Terrhi and Bavarian could be next to Max and Spike.

  “Good morning, everybody,” came a voice from the doorway. It was Pomy and she sounded like she was mostly back to normal. “Did I hear somebody mention donuts?”

  “On the counter,” said Poly after she’d swallowed a bite of French cruller. “There’s fruit and a Dauushan Scotch Egg, too.”

  “Tea first, food second,” said Pomy.

  We only had teabags, but Pomy didn’t complain. I got in line behind her, selecting a sturdy paper plate, a bowl for fruit, a couple of napkins, and an assortment of plastic silverware. I made my choices—an original glazed Krispy Kreme, an original plain-cake Dunkin’ donut with a handle from Dunkin’ Donuts, and in honor of Terrhi’s new friend, a Bavarian Cream from Winchell’s.

  I filled my bowl with mixed Terran and galactic fruit salad and added a thick slice of Dauushan Scotch Egg to my already crowded plate. Carefully balancing my breakfast, I carried it to the table and sat between Poly and Max. I’d just gotten comfortable when I realized I had to get back up to retrieve my Diet Starbuzz from the counter where I’d left it earlier. For several minutes, everyone was focused more on eating than talking.

  When most of us had finished and Spike was still noisily filling in the cracks, I reached out and tapped Chit’s overturned tumbler with a fingernail to get people’s attention.

  “Hey, Daddy,” said Max. “Where’s Chit?”

  I felt embarrassed I hadn’t noticed my little friend was missing. My phone launched itself up to the light fixture in the ceiling and scanned the room. Then it jumped down to the table and walked to a stack of napkins near Chit’s tumbler. It extended a pseudopod and carefully pulled back the top napkin, revealing a tiny carpet remnant left over from construction of the facility. Chit was on the carpet, comfortably snoring, as snug as a bug in a rug.

  “Rise and shine, little buddy,” I said.

  “Go ’way,” grumbled Chit. She made a sound like a yawn, though I don’t think her breathing apparatus is designed to produce one.

  “Okay,” I said. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

  I turned over Chit’s tumbler so the opening was facing up and pulled out my Swiss Army knife, selecting the largest blade. Then I rapped the side of the glass sharply with the thick metal, sending high frequency sound waves in all directions, inches from Chit’s ears and antennae.

  “Alright, alright, I’m up, I’m up,” protested Chit.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Grab some breakfast.”

  I slid my plate of crumbs toward my little friend and poured her a thimbleful of Diet Starbuzz.

  “Martin wants us to concentrate on Centennial Olympic Park,” I continued. “We need to pay special attention to any threats we can identify there. A few seconds of advance warning could make a big difference.”

  “Roger that,” said Emma Ann.

  “Cornell and Rosalind, please be on the lookout for anybody you know from EUA Corporation or one of their subsidiaries,” I requested.

  “Will do,” said Cornell.

  Rosalind nodded seriously
.

  “Pomy,” I said, “You can hang out here and recuperate.”

  “No way,” said Poly’s sister. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Fine,” I said, meaning it wasn’t fine at all. “You can join us, but I would appreciate it if you could do me a favor first.”

  “What is it?” asked Pomy, tentatively.

  “Can you take Bavarian, Terrhi and Spike down to the state capitol building so they get there just before nine? Terrhi needs to be with her family.”

  “I can do that,” said Pomy.

  “Can we leave right now?” asked Bavarian. “I need to pick something up on the way.”

  “Sure,” said Pomy.

  She stood up and brushed powdered sugar off her pale blue t-shirt. There was something printed on it in Latin.

  “Cur etiam hic es?” asked Emma Ann.

  “Why are you still here,” said Poly.

  “Huh?” said Emma Ann, looking a bit hurt.

  “Not you,” said Poly. “My sister’s shirt. That’s what it says.”

  “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” said Pomy. “Come on, kids. Let’s go. Bye, everybody.”

  Pomy, Terrhi, Spike and Bavarian all left the conference room, heading up to the surface to catch an autocab.

  I was confused and knew I’d missed something—then I remembered what I’d forgotten.

  “Crap,” I said. “I was supposed to let Tomáso know Terrhi was here with us.”

  “Already taken care of,” said my phone. “They’ll be expecting the girls at nine.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “What am I doing?” asked Max. He sounded unhappy to be left out of the action and less than pleased not to be going along with the girls and Spike.

  Sally got up from her chair a and walked around to where Max was sitting. She leaned over and hugged his shoulders.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking you to the Georgia Aquarium.”

  “Wow!” said Max. His face seemed at least seventy percent smile. “Ichthyosaurs! Megalodons! Leviathantors!”

  “What are Leviathantors?” I asked.

  “They’re from Tōdos and they’re super-big and look like whales and squids and have so many teeth and tentacles and…”

  “Got it,” I said. “They’re the ones on the posters.”

  “Uh huh,” said Max. “And now I’m gonna see one!”

  I simultaneously envied and didn’t envy Sally taking Max to the aquarium.

  It was time for the rest of us to leave. We closed the donut boxes and cleaned off the table, then headed topside to catch an autocab of our own.

  Poly and I were holding hands and bringing up the rear as we walked to the lobby. Rosalind, Cornell and Sally were trying to keep up with Max with youthful assistance from Emma Ann.

  “Hey,” said Poly, intentionally bumping into me just for the sheer joy of additional contact. “What ever happened to Gus?”

  “Good question,” I replied. “I wonder how he did on his big audition.”

  Chapter 41

  “All I need to make a comedy is a park,

  a policeman, and a pretty girl.”

  — Charlie Chaplin

  Our autocab turned left from Marietta Street onto Baker Street and dropped us off next to the Georgia Aquarium in the northern part of the park where the museums and major attractions were located. A dozen or more medium gray school-bus-type buses with opaque black windows were parked at the curb along Luckie Street.

  My first thought was that they were for elementary students on a field trip, but there weren’t any school names painted on their sides and Georgia school districts would never authorize the added expense of tinted windows. Besides, it was Sunday.

  Poly nudged me—she’d seen them, too. Each bus probably held forty or fifty Homeplanet Security troops in full kit. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel more or less comfortable. Still, it was nice to know the government wasn’t taking any chances.

  Our little clump of seven humans and a Murm stayed together as we walked along the south wall of the aquarium building. Giant posters in frames bolted to the wall advertised sea lions, belugas, penguins and more exotic aquatic creatures from Earth’s past and across the galaxy. When the wall finally ended, we could see the entrance was down a level on the left, near a large courtyard. I’d never seen it from this side before, since I’d previously approached from the parking garage. The sunken open area was where people were waiting to get in. It was only nine in the morning and there was already a long line.

  “Come on,” said Max as he tugged on Sally’s arm. “See you Daddy. Say hi to Terrhi and Bavarian and Spike for me!”

  “Will do, sport,” I replied. “Have fun, and no sushi for lunch.”

  “Ick,” said Max.

  “I thought you liked sushi?” remarked Rosalind.

  “Uh huh, but not at an aquarium!”

  I admired my son’s sense of what was and wasn’t appropriate dining in specific surroundings.

  “Good hunting,” said Sally.

  Max was pulling her along like a Tibetan mastiff straining at a leash.

  “Don’t get eaten by a Leviathontor, kid!” shouted Chit to Max’s receding back.

  “I’m too little to make much of a meal for one of them,” Max called over his shoulder. “But I’ll watch out for ichthyosaurs and megalodons!”

  At least Max would have a good time today.

  “What now, Jack?” asked Rosalind. “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think we should manage our investigation by wandering around, like Tom Peters advised in his book, In Search of Excellence.”

  “Where did you dig up that old chestnut?” asked Poly “Everything in it has been disproved.”

  “Not quite everything,” I said. “Management by wandering around is still a thing. I found the book in the chief engineer’s office at the Aswan Dam when I was nine.”

  “Peters didn’t originate the concept, you know,” said Poly. “Hewlett Packard and a few other companies in Silicon Valley had been using it for years before his book came out.”

  Poly spoke on the topic with the confidence and authority of a newly minted M.B.A.

  “I didn’t claim he did,” I protested.

  “Some say Abraham Lincoln invented the style when he dropped in to check on Union troops during the Civil War,” said Rosalind.

  Her observation surprised me and made me realize I didn’t know anything about Rosalind’s formal education. I’d have to remedy that lack.

  “It wasn’t Lincoln,” Cornell asserted. “It was Twain back in the Gold Rush days when he…”

  Rosalind, Poly, Emma Ann and I started laughing. Cornell stopped short and looked miffed.

  “Sorry, bro,” said Rosalind. “There’s an old joke about attributing everything said in the nineteenth century to Mark Twain.”

  “And everything out of the eighteenth to Benjamin Franklin,” said Emma Ann. “I learned about that in my Internet Skepticism class last year.”

  Cornell shrugged, giving up. I think he knew he’d lost.

  “All you lunks are wrong,” said Chit. “It was Ahksedhet, the head of construction on Cheops’ pyramid. He used to take a bag of sweet dates around with him and share them with the guys on the crews so they’d tell him what was really going on.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Cornell. “How would you know? There weren’t any aliens on Earth until First Contact.”

  Chit guffawed. Crackling wheezy noises came out of her spiracles.

  “Believe what you want, but I was there,” said my little friend. “Though that scarab beetle outfit I had to wear itched like the blazes when it got hot, and it was always hot.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Hold on. You’re almost five thousand years old?”

  “Over five thousand, buddy boy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “There was so much I could have learned.”

  “Ya never asked,” said Chit. “Your momma raised your r
ight, so you knew never t’ ask a lady her age. An’ it’s not somethin’ I was just gonna volunteer.”

  I glanced at Rosalind and saw she had a big smile on her face.

  “This means the wackos were right,” she said. “Space aliens did help build the pyramids.”

  “Incorrect,” asserted Chit. “I never lifted an appendage, though I may have offered ol’ Ahksedhet, the head project manager, some common-sense advice from time t’ time.”

  “Fascinating,” said Rosalind. “Like what?”

  “Well, back in the day, there was a major problem with too many workers chewin’ khat,” said my little friend. “They would forget t’ eat and wouldn’t be strong enough t’ move stone blocks.”

  “Khat?” asked Emma Ann.

  “The African equivalent of coca leaves in the Andes,” I said.

  “Anyway, Ahksedhet could see things were fallin’ behind schedule, and he didn’t like contemplatin’ the Pharaoh’s probable reaction t’ project delays, so he needed to act quickly.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Rosalind.

  “I did some reconnoiterin’ by wanderin’ around and identified the bastard who was providin’ the khat,” said Chit. “The joker was the supervisor in charge of the hydraulic system for liftin’ the blocks on the east side. He had contacts with traders down in Sheba who’d bring the drugs in, then he’d handle distributin’ the vile stuff.”

  Bast-ard? Bast was the Egyptian cat goddess. I’d have to come up with a good one to pull on Chit later.

  “Hydraulic system?” asked Emma Ann.

  “Look it up,” I whispered. “Keywords are pyramid and water shaft theory.”

  “What he said,” confirmed Chit. “Anyway, I left a scrap of papyrus for Ahksedhet lettin’ him know about the pusher and he took the appropriate steps t’ solve the problem.”

  “What did Ahksedhet do?” asked Emma Ann.

  “Let’s just say Jimmy Hoffa wasn’t the first person to be incorporated into a major construction project,” said Chit.