Xenotech The Man Who Sold the Earth: A Story of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support)

by Dave Schroeder

  “Do you have anything cool and ultra-technological to prove to the people watching the press conference that you’re not just audio-animatronics or robots or something? Something that would convince everyone watching that you’re real, not fake?”

  “I have my diplomatic credentials,” said the Pyr. He reached into somewhere and pulled out a small metal disk and handed it to George. “Just touch it.”

  George did. Music started to play directly in his inner ear.

  “It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears…”

  “What the…?” said George.

  “Wrong one,” said Chuck, handing George a piece of metal shaped more like a comet or a meteor.

  “These credentials authenticate Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord as an envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to Earth from the Galactic Free Trade Association with all the rights and privileges inherent thereto,” recited a deep basso voice inside George’s brain.

  “Interesting, but not flashy,” said George. “Got anything else?”

  Chuck pulled another donut-shaped device from somewhere.

  “Just this.”

  “What is it?”

  “My slide show projector.”

  “Yeah, but we agreed we’d save that for later. Terrans are pretty jaded about slide shows.”

  “It’s cool, though,” said Chuck. “It’s holographic. Let me set it to a really small size and project it just for the two of us. I included some Earth-specific samples.”

  Chuck fiddled with the device and suddenly a greenish head the size of a grapefruit appeared between them.

  “Do not arouse the wrath of the great and powerful Oz,” said the head.

  “We were doing stuff like that back in 1939. Anything else?”

  “It can make much bigger images.”

  “You think about it,” said George. “It’s time to get started. I’ll stay backstage with you three where I can help you get out of your robes and let you know when it’s time to go on.”

  “Great,” said the Pyr.

  Jannosh and Murriym were playing with the girls and Anthony, Jr. was climbing through the maze of crisscrossed pipes that supported the back of the stage.

  George checked his watch and touched the chairman’s shoulder.

  “It’s time, sir.”

  “Right. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck. The planet is going to need it.”

  The chairman stepped through the tall black curtains and approached the podium. He was reasonably confident he’d memorized his lines, but his notes were folded in his breast pocket just in case. A large crowd had gathered in Times Square, unsure what was going to happen, but curious. When the chairman reached the podium he stood up very straight, appreciating that school children would be watching recordings of this moment for the next hundred years. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and began.

  “People of Earth,” said the chairman, “today is a day that will forever change humankind’s place in the universe. It is a day that will always be remembered.”

  The crowd grew quiet. This wasn’t a typical politician’s “My fellow Americans,” sort of speech or a more traditional “Ladies and gentlemen” introduction.

  “The announcement I will soon make is only possible because of the inspired work of a dedicated scientist whose recent breakthrough ranks with the discovery of fire in the history of human civilization.”

  When the chairman paused, the audience started to clap tentatively, then enthusiastically.

  “Let me introduce… Dr. Janet Yu and her family.”

  The two adults and three children entered the stage and walked to their right to cheers and applause. The crowd didn’t know what it was cheering for, but they liked a show.

  “Dr. Yu and her husband, Dr. Anthony Obi, both have doctorates in physics from Stanford. Their children are Jeanette, Elizabeth and Anthony, Jr.”

  The kids waved as their names were mentioned. All five members of the family had nervous smiles.

  “Dr. Yu has recently been involved in a DARPA sponsored research study in partnership with Carnegie Mellon University and IBM to develop computer chips with no transmission lag time. We’ve all been frustrated when our access to the Internet slows down. Dr. Yu’s research is designed to address that. It focuses on transmitting signals from Point A to Point B, a thousand miles away, with no slowdown or delay in between. But I’m no scientist, I’m a businessman. Dr. Yu can explain it a lot better herself.”

  Janet took the podium and the crowd cheered again. At this point, they’d cheer for someone announcing the score in the Yankees game. She pulled the microphone down and spoke into it directly.

  “Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,” she began.

  The audience laughed sympathetically.

  “Since I’m a research scientist and spend most of my time in basement labs…”

  More laughs.

  “I’ll just have to put things in plain and simple terms. Last Friday afternoon, my team and I created a congruency—a wormhole connecting two widely separated points in space as if there was no distance between them.”

  There were a few gasps from more knowledgeable members of the crowd and the chairman noticed the print reporters typing at high speed.

  “That means the end of slow Internet connections, no delays and no clogged pipes. Every connected device can be just one hop away from the cloud.”

  Several younger members of the crowd started whistling and cheering loudly. Gamers, Janet guessed. They understood what her research meant.

  “Unfortunately,” said Janet, “my grant was canceled by Congressional budget cutbacks less than an hour and a half after my team’s discovery, so I don’t have more to tell you.”

  The chairman kept a smile on his face but winced inside. That wasn’t in the script. Dr. Yu’s slam would cost him big time. He’d have to open the bank’s wallet to smooth things over with substantial political contributions. On the other hand, he didn’t really care. After today he and JPMorgan Chase were sure to become even richer.

  “Now it’s time for me to pass the baton back to our host who will tell you what my team’s discovery really means for our planet.”

  Dr. Yu stepped back, shook the chairman’s hand, and walked over to stand with her family. The chairman returned to the podium and leaned down.

  “Earlier this afternoon I learned that we are not alone. Prompted by Dr. Yu’s discovery, three non-humans teleported into my office and invited the business community of Earth to join the Galactic Free Trade Association.”

  “April Fools!” shouted someone near the front of the crowd.

  “No, this is not an April Fool’s Day joke. I’m absolutely serious—this is a tremendous opportunity for our planet. The Galactic Free Trade Association is offering us unlimited, almost free energy, cures for cancer and faster than light travel. And that’s just the beginning.”

  The crowd didn’t know how to react. Some cheered. Some laughed. Some even booed.

  “But you don’t have to believe me. You can hear the invitation directly from the Association representatives who made First Contact. Please welcome Chuck, the leader of their diplomatic delegation.”

  There was scattered clapping and more booing. Backstage, Chuck looked at George for reassurance. George opened the FedEx Office bag and gave Chuck a yellow smiley-face balloon.

  “They’ll love you,” said George, pushing the little alien onto the stage.

  The chairman pulled out all the steps from underneath the podium and met Chuck, shaking a tentacle in passing. When the crowd saw the balloon held by a grinning four foot pyramid-shaped alien, they clapped and cheered and whistled, with only a few scattered boos. Chuck climbed the steps and addressed the assembly.

  “Hi folks,” he said. “My name’s Chuck. I’m part of a species called Pyrs. We’re really good at math. Let me introduce the other members of my delegation.”

  The next alien came on stage.


  “Ladies first,” said Chuck. “This is Murriym. She’s a Tigrammath and she doesn’t play basketball, but I hear the WNBA is interested.”

  The crowd went wild and clapped and cheered. Murriym was wearing a white “I LOVE NEW YORK” t-shirt with a large red heart. She bowed, then straightened up to her full height and faked a jump shot. The clapping and cheering got even louder.

  George sent out the last alien. The crowd was laughing now.

  “If NASCAR can do it, so can we,” said Chuck. George had arranged the perfect sponsorship deal for the red-skinned, white-bearded Nicósn who looked like Santa Claus. He was wearing a red T-shirt with the Coca-Cola script logo on it in large white letters. “This here’s Jannosh,” said Chuck. “He’s a Nicósn from the planet Nicós, and just to show you that we’re business beings, not politicians, he has a little something to say.”

  Jannosh came to the podium and stood next to Chuck. Murriym stood on the other side to provide a perfect photo op when Jannosh leaned in and said, “Hey, everybody! I want you to know… We’re the Real Thing.”

  The crowd bubbled with laughter.

  Then Chuck triggered his slide projector and a giant yellow smiley face appeared to float above Times Square. Images started pouring in from the other side of the planet and were displayed on the jumbo screens above the stage. A similar giant smiley face had appeared on the surface of the Moon.

  The cheering lasted for seventeen full minutes.

  * * * * *

  George and the chairman stood close together on the other side of the stage from the Obi-Yu family.

  “The little pyramid suckered us,” said the chairman.

  “Not really,” said George, “though he is a natural. The two T-shirts were my idea. The mayor insisted on the first one.”

  “Brilliant,” said the chairman.

  “I know, right?” said George. “The balloon was my idea, too. But Chuck figured out that last bit all on his own.”

  The two men looked out at the cheering crowd and then glanced up at the eight-story screen above their heads showing a smiling Moon.

  “You’ll go down in history as the man who sold the earth on joining the Galactics,” said George.

  “You did more to make that happen than I did,” said the chairman. “I hope you know I’m giving you a big raise.”

  “I thought you might,” said George, “but I’m giving my notice as soon as we get back to the office.”

  “You’re leaving me?”

  “Don’t be a baby,” said George. “You knew it was going to happen sometime. Dr. Yu and Dr. Obi offered to make me the president of the new company they’re forming to develop congruent technologies.”

  “I’ll back you,” said the chairman.

  “I’m counting on it,” said George. “Now let’s get these hams off the stage and start negotiating what their deal is really about.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said the chairman. “Sounds like a plan.”

  * * * * *

  From the 19th floor of the New York Marriott Marquis, in a room overlooking Times Square, a Pâkk and a human stood together looking down on the celebration.

  “Nicely done,” said the Pâkk.

  “Thanks,” said the human. “Now the fun begins.”

  Copyright © 2015 by Paul David Schroeder

  All Rights Reserved.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chuck, Jannosh and Murriym appear with the permission of their respective clans and species.

  No animals were harmed in this story, though a small dog on 47th Street was frightened.

  Special thanks to Michelle Hartz for suggesting the title and to Amy Guildroy for her help with the ending.

  Dedicated to the author of The Man Who Sold the Moon for his imagination and inspiration.

  Please continue for special bonus material.

  To learn more about the world of the Galactic Free Trade Association please visit:

  www.XenotechSupport.com

  You may also enjoy other books in the Galactic Free Trade Association series:

  Xenotech Rising (Book 1)

  now available on Amazon in Kindle and trade paperback formats

  Xenotech Queen’s Gambit (Book 2)

  coming in 2016

  Please continue for a special preview of

  Xenotech Queen’s Gambit

  Xenotech Queen’s Gambit

  Prologue

  “We know what we are, but know not what we may be.” — William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  “He’s everything you told me he’d be,” said Shepherd, the grizzled wolf-like, bear-like, brown-furred Pâkk.

  “And everything I’d hoped for,” said his human companion.

  “His partner is something special, too.” The Pâkk rubbed his chin.

  “Absolutely,” said the other, “but not unexpected. She takes after her mother.”

  “From what I know of humans, it looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  “If they can survive the next two weeks.”

  Chapter 1

  “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” — Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto

  I woke up to the delightful sound of my partner’s voice whispering my name.

  “Jack. Jack. Get up, Jack.”

  Consciousness slowly seeped into my brain cells. I reached out an arm to cuddle with Poly, but she wasn’t there.

  “Jack. Jack. Earth to Jack.”

  It wasn’t Poly. It was my phone using Poly’s voice because that always got my attention.

  “Jack, wake up! You’ve got a support call!”

  Adrenaline flowed. I sat up quickly, and then realized that wasn’t a good idea. My head reminded me I wasn’t that far past having a concussion, and my ribs reminded me I’d been shot in the chest five times a month and a half ago. Why am I still alive? Bullet-proof vest, of a sort. Long story.

  “What time is it?”

  “5:15 a.m.” said my phone, apologetically.

  “Who’s calling at this hour?” I swung myself around to sit up and noted a sharp, residual pain in my thigh from where I’d been clawed by a dinosaur—the same long story.

  “Mike,” said my phone. “From WT&F.”

  Widget Technology & Fabrication was one of my clients, or maybe I should say our clients, now that I’ve got a partner. I run a tech support company—for alien technology—called Xenotech Support Corporation. Ever since Earth joined the Galactic Free Trade Association there’s been a lot of demand for our services.

  “Hi, Mike,” I said. “What is it this time? And why are you at work so early?” Mike was the fab operator at WT&F and a good guy. He ran their Dauushan Model-43 large scale 3D printer.

  “It’s Jean-Jacques,” he said, referring to the avaricious, corner-cutting CEO of WT&F. “A client provided a set of fabrication plans from that shady company.”

  “Factor-E-Flor?”

  J-J had contractually agreed to have all his designs vetted by me before fabbing them. So much for that promise.

  “Right. He had me start at midnight because his client wants delivery by noon.”

  “What does he have you fabbing?” When Jean-Jacques had first used plans from Factor-E-Flor he’d ended up with a hundred thousand pink robot rabbit lawn mowers.

  “I don’t know,” said Mike.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? Wasn’t there a summary description with the specifications?”

  “Yes, but the specs are for household vacuum cleaner automatons with eight manipulator arms to dust and move furniture.”

  “And…?”

  “It printed some of those, maybe fifty or so, then started spitting out component parts for something I don’t recognize. The octovacs are fitting them together. It looks like the finished product will be really big.”

  “Just turn the unit off, t
hen on again,” I suggested. It was a lame, patronizing suggestion, but I had an excuse. I’d been sound asleep sixty seconds earlier.

  “I would, but the octovacs won’t let me near the machine,” said Mike.

  “I’m beginning to see your problem.” I stood up—carefully—and headed toward the shower.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, with you being banged up and all,” said Mike.

  I appreciated that he was concerned for my health. Like I said, a good guy.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Faster might be better.” Was that fear I heard in Mike’s voice? Yeah, it was. This was more serious than he wanted to admit. When you’ve done tech support as long as I have, you know how to tell when clients are scared.

  “Hang on, I’m on my way.” I skipped a shower and pulled on one of my corporate uniforms—khaki pants and a white Xenotech Support logo polo shirt. I picked up my backpack tool bag from its spot next to the front door and left. Trying to be smart about my injuries, I carefully walked across the dim apartment complex courtyard and through the security gate leading to Peachtree Street. My van, summoned by my phone, was waiting to pick me up. The sun wouldn’t be up for an hour and a half.

  “WT&F,” I said, “and step on it.”

  “Seat belt,” said my van.

  I buckled up and we were off. What a way to start a Monday.

  * * * * *

  It didn’t take long to get there. WT&F’s building was a typical two-story glass and steel-framed structure situated in an almost suburban Atlanta office park. Nothing seemed amiss from the outside. It was so early there were only two cars in the parking lot. My van dropped me off right at the entrance. The front door lock buzzed open as I approached.