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

by Dave Schroeder

  “You’re my dad, Rosalind is my mom, Sally and Cornell are my aunt and uncle, Bavarian and Terrhi and Spot and Spike are my friends, and Poly is my step-mom,” said Max.

  “Not exactly,” I said, seeing Poly smiling, “but close enough.”

  Being shot with a sweetener affected my muscles, but not my hearing. A diffident knock came from the door to the corridor.

  “Come in,” I said.

  It was Gus the Gojon at human-normal size.

  “I hope you don’t mind me popping in unannounced,” he said. “I got a text message telling me you were here.”

  I looked at my phone. It was showing a smiley-face on its screen.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. I just wanted an acting gig.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Poly. “You were drugged and brainwashed. We know it wasn’t your idea.”

  Roger Joe-Bob Bacon stepped over to the despondent Gojon, extruded a few more feet of tentacle, and put it around the scaly green being’s back.

  “If you’re lookin’ for a part, I know some people over at Toho Productions in Tokyo. You’d be perfect as a kaiju.”

  “Thank you, thank you!” said Gus.

  “I can take you on a hop over to Japan on Monday in my private jet,” said Roger Joe-Bob.

  “Is Japan near Las Vegas?” asked Gus. “And what’s a kaiju?”

  “Close enough,” I said. “And don’t worry about it. Now stick with us, we’re going to lunch.”

  Chapter 49

  “Note on a door: Out to lunch; if not back

  by five, out for dinner also.”

  — Unknown

  “Pass the microchips,” I said, glad my arms and upper torso were working again.

  “Here you go,” said Poly.

  She pushed a red plastic basket in my direction. It kept a fixed height twelve inches above the table, its weight perfectly balanced by four helium balloons. When I took a handful of chips it lifted higher until the sensors on the balloons could release some of their noble gas.

  The chips weren’t called microchips because they were made of silicon and etched with integrated circuits. They’d been given that name because they were cut with a microtome into slices thinner than a sheet of cellophane and zero gravity flash-fried in a mist of hot Quirinx float-tree oil. They were incredibly light, crisp and delicious. Nobody could eat just one. It was hard not to eat a hundred of them, but they were so thin it took a thousand to make you feel full.

  We were back in the Teleport Inn’s large species dining room where the banquet after the awards ceremony had been held. The restaurant was closed for lunch today because all their staff had planned to be at Centennial Olympic Park on their big catering job. Pierre had turned it into a private party for us, and the Matriarchy of Dauush was footing the bill even though Pierre had offered to feed us for free. Queen Sherrhi had told Pierre there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch and the little maître d’ had looked puzzled until Poly explained it to him.

  Chit was sitting on an overturned tumbler in front of Poly and me, drinking something that that smelled like lemon-scented paint thinner from a glass thimble. My phone was gleefully pounding on another overturned tumbler with two halves of a broken chopstick. It had been playing the Yub Nub Ewoks’ celebration song from the end of Return of the Jedi until Poly had threatened to drop it into a pitcher of Diet Starbuzz. I told my phone it was in bad taste to seem too happy after The General had just died.

  At least The General hadn’t returned as a force ghost.

  Terrhi, Bavarian, Spike, Spot, Max and the mini-Drees were sitting at a kiddie table close enough to the adults’ table for us to keep an eye on them. François kept them busy eating so the kids and pets couldn’t get into too much trouble, though it was a challenge keeping the self-mobile plants in their training pots during the meal.

  Martin had seen to it that Alban White had psychiatric care, so we didn’t have to worry about Teddy Roosevelt appearing, blowing his bugle, and shouting “Charge!” I wondered if I could talk White into digging a couple of graves in the Ad Astra courtyard for Winfield and Johnson, but knew that was only wishful thinking. Martin’s people would see the pair got what was coming to them. Camilla Moultrie was also being held. Chit’s testimony about Moultrie’s industrial espionage for EUA should put her away for several years, if it was admissible.

  Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi filled thirty degrees of arc of the big round table on the far side from the kiddie table. Their bodyguards, Diágo, Lohrri and Naddéo, kept watch a dozen Dauushan paces behind. Martin and Shepherd sat close to the Dauushan royal couple, talking shop. Mistress Marigold, Pomy, Niaowla and Bart were discussing plants grown from ancient seeds found in sealed jars in the ruins of Old Pyr. Roger Joe-Bob Bacon was regaling Gus with stories about visits to the sets of movies he’d funded.

  Poly and I were near Rosalind, Cornell, Sally, Danny Figueres and the Bulldog. A few degrees farther around, Emma Ann was listening avidly to Mike, CiCi, Ray Ray, Hither and Shuvvath run through descriptions of the client calls they’d made while Poly and I had been away in Las Vegas. I looked at my partner and smiled. We were both thinking it wouldn’t be long before Emma Ann would be joining the company.

  Chilly and my mother were sitting near Martin and Shepherd, lost in conversation. I couldn’t tell if their discussion was foreplay or just old friends catching up and I really didn’t want to know either way. I still wasn’t ready.

  I overheard Roger Joe-Bob tell Gus about his plan for underwriting a new galactic television show based on the events of the day called Real Delegates of Terra. Several star-struck alien G70 dignitaries wanted to stay on Earth and room together in a set of apartments in Ad Astra. I hoped they’d end up somewhere at the other end of the complex.

  Then I heard Brunhilde says something about probate and my ears perked up.

  “What?” I asked.

  “One of my father’s A.I. systems just emailed me his will,” said the Bulldog. “He’s indisputably dead, so that triggered the message.”

  “Already?” I asked.

  “Pay attention, Jack,” said Poly. “Hildy has been telling us about the details.”

  Hildy? Oh, right. From Brunhilde.

  “Could you catch me up?” I asked.

  Brunhilde Dagomar rolled her eyes, but started over. I slid the basket of microchips her way to say thanks.

  “It’s simple, really,” said the Bulldog. “I’m appointed the new general counsel, with ten percent of the company. Cornell is the new chief executive officer and also gets ten percent. Gudrun gets ten percent and control of the EUA Charitable Trust, and Rosalind gets another ten percent and the portfolio of her choice. Father wasn’t sure if she wanted a corporate job since she’s more of an independent agent.”

  I looked down the table. Brunhilde, Cornell, Sally, and Rosalind all seemed pleased by the news.

  “That’s only forty percent,” I said. “Who gets the other sixty?”

  “Max,” said the Bulldog.

  “Yes?” asked my son from the kiddie table.

  “Nothing, buddy,” I said. “We’re just saying good things about you.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Wow. My son was heir to sixty—no, seventy percent—of one of the largest fortunes on the planet.

  “Max Buckston,” whispered Poly. “Who knew how apt that name would be?”

  “You’re all okay with this?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Cornell. “Until Max turns twenty-one, his shares are controlled jointly by the four of us, giving us each twenty-five percent.”

  I did the math. “So you need at least three of you to agree on any big decisions?”

  “Correct,” said Cornell. “That should keep us focused on consensus, not conflict.”

  “I’m giving Jack and Poly joint proxy for my shares,” said Rosalind, tossing a verbal hand grenade on the table.

  “What?” said Poly.

 
; “Why?” I added.

  “Shepherd’s made me an offer to work on an undercover project for a year,” said Rosalind. “It’s off-planet.”

  “Please don’t! I’m just getting to know my son.”

  “That’s one reason why I’m leaving,” said Rosalind. “After all the years you didn’t have with him, it’s only fair he should live with you full-time for a while.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry,” said Rosalind. “Cornell and Sally will be in Atlanta to back you up—and Hildy wants to spend time with him, too.”

  I was in shock. So was Poly.

  Tomáso’s voice boomed out from the other end of the table.

  “You never got to see what I had planned,” said the royal consort to Martin and Shepherd. “There’s a giant robotic Dauushan exoskeleton I’d planned to wear into battle at the park, but it wasn’t done on time.”

  He projected a hologram of something that looked like a massive pink-painted AT-AT Imperial Walker with six legs into the middle of the table.

  “It would be cool to see that,” I said.

  “You can,” said Tomáso. “It’s being assembled in a dirigible hanger near Hartsfield Port.”

  “Please let me know when it’s finished,” I said.

  Tomáso waved a couple of sub-trunks in acknowledgment.

  “You’re on-board with this?” I asked Rosalind. “And Max?”

  “Max is nuts about you,” said Rosalind. “He’s also used to me being away for long periods on business. This will just be longer than most.”

  I turned to Poly and took her hands.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Happy that you’re happy,” she said. “And interested in getting to know Max better myself. He’s a cool kid.”

  “He is that,” said Rosalind. “And he likes you a lot—he’s told me so several times already. You heard him call you his step-mom.”

  “Yeah,” said Poly.

  I couldn’t read her reaction. She squeezed my hand.

  “When are you heading out?” I asked.

  “In a month or so,” Rosalind replied. “Shepherd has to set some gears in motion first.”

  “That gives me more time to prepare,” I said.

  “It gives us more time to prepare,” said Poly. “I’m your partner, remember?”

  “I remember,” I said. “I’ll always remember.”

  “Good,” said Poly. “Now let’s talk about something else and enjoy our lunch.”

  “Pass the flatfish roll-ups,” I said.

  “Not the half-pound ubercow cheeseburger sliders?” asked Poly.

  “No,” I said. “I’m not that hungry.”

  Poly saw me glance over at my mom and Chilly.

  “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I turned away and stared at my plate.

  One of the reasons I love my partner is that she knows when to leave me alone.

  * * * * *

  I must have had a black cloud over my head to signal people away because nobody tried to talk to me. I was sitting with my back to Poly, my head bowed, and the base of my palms pressed to my forehead. I stayed in that position while Pierre’s team served red-gold strawberry-galberry trifle, pink Dauushan bread pudding, and lavender jathberry-plum shaved ice.

  I was upset, nervous, and angry. My head was pounding. I was angry at my mother and Chilly and frustrated because I knew I was behaving like a child. I was so mixed up I didn’t taste any of the delicious-looking desserts. Okay, maybe a spoonful of the trifle. I was just about to kick my own butt for behaving like a nine-year-old when a real nine-year-old tugged my hands down and gave me a hug.

  “Thanks, Bavarian,” I said, hugging her back gingerly.

  “Don’t be sad,” she said. “I don’t have a mom and dad anymore and I’m not sad—at least not very often.”

  I hugged Bavarian tighter.

  “Your mom asked me to ask you to talk to her and her friend in the Stone Mountain Room while everybody’s having coffee and stuff,” said the girl after she disengaged from our hug.

  I took a deep breath and centered myself.

  “That sounds like a good idea, thank you,” I said.

  I pulled Bavarian closer and gently kissed the center of her forehead.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m going to try to be a grown up, but it’s hard.”

  “It’s hard for me, too,” said Bavarian, “but I’m a kid. I know you can do it.”

  A hug from a sweet kid did a lot to brighten my mood, but I still wasn’t looking forward to what I had to do. I scanned the large-species dining room to procrastinate. My friends were talking and laughing and nibbling on this and that from Pierre’s luncheon feast, filling in the corners. Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi had polished off an entire tray of three dozen pink, cantaloupe-sized Dauushan caviar eggs with seaweed garnish, leaving only the silver serving platter behind.

  The wait-staff at the Teleport Inn were consummate professionals. They weren’t trying to clear any plates, glasses or half-eaten dishes because they didn’t want to rush us. It was just as well they hadn’t tried, since my friends were so absorbed in their varied conversations that prematurely disturbing their discussions while trying to prep for dinner might have broken the spell.

  A bald human waiter in a poorly fitted tuxedo was bent low, wheeling a cart toward the table. He was broad-shouldered with protruding brow ridges and appeared to be bringing something under a large, chrome-plated metal dome toward us. I wondered if Pierre had something special planned for anyone still hungry, like flaming crêpes suzette prepared table-side.

  The cart was almost to the table, only a few feet from me, when alarm bells began ringing in my head. The bald, broad-shouldered and brow-ridged waiter wasn’t just a random temp Pierre had brought in to help with a big catering job—he was a phony. This Neanderthal was the same fake waiter who had tried to disrupt a meeting of religious leaders at the Teleport Inn last March when Poly and I were on our first date.

  “Do you still have your laser?” I asked Bavarian, who hadn’t moved from my lap.

  “Uh huh,” said the girl. “Max gave it back after he had his fun in the conference room.”

  “May I borrow it, please?”

  “Sure.”

  She removed the slender tube from somewhere on her person and handed it to me, making sure the business end of the weapon didn’t point at either of us and somehow knowing not to let the waiter see it. The laser didn’t weigh much, but I knew its congruency-powered coherent light could generate a lot of heat quickly.

  I was sure the waiter was up to no good, so when he reached for the polished dome on his serving cart I directed the laser beam at the handle on top of the dome. The waiter screamed when the bare flesh of his left hand touched the now searing-hot handle. He threw the chrome-plated metal dome backwards but still managed to reach forward with his right hand and press a button on the device beneath the dome—a nova bomb big enough to blast this section of the restaurant into smoking rubble. I could hear the bomb counting itself down over the waiter’s cries of pain.

  “Ten. Nine. Eight.”

  I shouted six words louder than I’d ever shouted anything in my life.

  “MARTIN! WINDOW!”

  “TOMÁSO! PLATTER!”

  “EVERYBODY! DOWN!”

  I’d never been more glad to have intelligent, competent friends. Martin used his sidearm to turn the upper half of a large window at the back of the dining room overlooking the river into so much open air. Tiny grains of safety glass pattered down just outside the large-species’ dining room.

  Tomáso picked the silver serving platter up off the table and held it in two of his sub-trunks, ready for anything.

  I took the football-shaped nova bomb from the serving cart and tossed it as far as I could in Tomáso’s direction. The Dauushan consul intercepted the bomb with his platter when the device said, “Five.” Rotating his powerfu
l upper body, Tomáso did an alley-oop, launching the nova bomb in a graceful arc through the shattered window and out into the Chattahoochee river.

  The bomb said, “One,” in a soggy voice, just as it sank into the flowing water. I wrapped myself around Bavarian and fell forward under the table.

  What happened next must have made quite a spike on seismographs down at Georgia Tech. The boom—even muffled by the river—was loud enough to wake sufficient walking dead for twenty-six episodes of a zombie show. The building shook, plates on the banquet table rattled, and glasses turned over, dripping their contents over the edge.

  I missed it when it happened, but when I looked at the security camera footage later I saw that the plume of river water produced by the nova bomb’s explosion rose three times higher than Old Faithful at Yellowstone.

  When the shaking stopped, I crawled out and looked around. Bavarian wanted to look, too, but I told her to stay put since I didn’t know what had happened to the fake waiter and would-be suicide bomber. It turned out I didn’t need to worry. Poly was sitting on top of him, holding him down. She had her mini-sweetener against his Adam’s apple.

  “Freeze, asshole,” she said.

  I smiled at her un-Poly-like language. It’s a good thing when the person you love can still surprise you. It’s a great thing when you know your partner will always come through in a clinch.

  Tomáso and Queen Sherrhi were unharmed. It takes a lot to damage a Dauushan. Diágo, Lohrri and Naddéo had been closer to the explosion, however. The shock wave had knocked them over, so they had a few bumps and bruises, but the glass in the remaining windows stayed intact so they didn’t add cuts to the list.

  The other adults were getting up, too. Humans and non-humans alike seemed none the worse for wear. We were lucky the kids’ table was on the far side of the banquet table, away from the bomb. Max, Terrhi, Spot, Spike and the mini-Drees were scared, but unhurt. Bavarian treated it as an adventure and helped Max and Terrhi get over the trauma.

  The Stone Mountain Room wasn’t near the river, so my mother and Chilly, waiting there, had missed most of the excitement. They did stick their heads out and my mom waved across the huge dining room, trying to get my attention.