Xenotech First Contact Day: A Story of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 0)

by Dave Schroeder

  The girls had been helping their favorite aliens, Jeanette with Murriym and Elizabeth with Jannosh. Elizabeth had somehow convinced the Nicósn to say “Ho ho ho!” That made all the children giggle in ultrasonics. Anthony, Jr. was fascinated by Chuck’s Styrofoam head and insisted on adding eyes to it with a Sharpie. Soon all three aliens were back in their robes, just in time to see Anthony, Sr. and Janet emerge from the bedroom.

  Janet was wearing a sharp, coordinated outfit with gray slacks, a white blouse and a navy jacket that looked professional and gave her a gravitas appropriate to the occasion. She was clutching two sheets of paper and looking about as nervous as Chuck, making allowances for differences in anatomy. As she read over her talking points she glanced at George and nodded, acknowledging each point and confirming her agreement.

  “This will be a big help,” said Janet, waving the papers in George’s direction. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Just remember to smile, keep it short, be yourself, and use a third grade vocabulary,” said George. “The media will love you.”

  “I hope so,” said Janet.

  “We love you, mommy,” said her children.

  “And I love you, too. Let’s do this—and get it over with.”

  “I wonder if Columbus felt this way when he discovered America?” said Anthony, Sr.

  “Columbus was a dope,” said Anthony, Jr. “He thought he found China. Boy was he wrong.”

  George knocked on the door to the bathroom where the chairman was reviewing his speech.

  “It’s time to go, sir.”

  George heard water running.

  “I’ll be right with you,” said the chairman.

  He was out in moments and George—with the FedEx Office bag—herded everyone down the elevator and into their proper marching order. George and the chairman went first, followed by the three aliens and discreetly shadowed by two security guards. Then there was a gap followed by Dr. Obi and the three children, then Dr. Yu, wearing sensible, but brand new shoes, and wishing she could wear her sneakers. Two more security guards brought up the rear. They waited in the hotel’s entryway until George got the signal that the B-list reality television celebrities had arrived.

  “Stay casual,” whispered George to his charges. “If you do, no one will notice us.”

  George was right. The camera crews had all headed to the south end of Times Square to watch the B-list screaming match and the three print reporters had their heads down checking their cell phones. George led them expertly into the curtained-off area behind the stage. They had ten minutes before show time. The chairman and Dr. Yu were focused on reviewing their talking points and the security guards outside the curtains ensured that no one else was allowed to enter the backstage area. George took Chuck aside.

  “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 F
riday 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.”

  Read on for an excerpt from the first novel

  in the Xenotech Support series:

  Xenotech

  Rising

  A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association

  from Spiral Arm Press

  Xenotech Rising

  Fifteen Years Later

  Chapter 1

  “Disruptive technologies are advances that will

  transform life, business, and the global economy.”

  – McKinsey Global Institute

  “You printed how many copies?”

  “A hundred thousand,” said Mike, the fab operator. Over the phone he sounded like a man dangling from a fraying rope above a pit full of cobras and coral snakes.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You had the exponent-lock key down?”

  “Uh huh,” said Mike. “By accident. And hitting the cancel key doesn’t do anything. I even pulled the plug but it’s still going.”

  “What were you fabbing?”

  “Rabbots,” Mike nearly sobbed. “More of them every second.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I grabbed my backpack tool bag and headed for the door.

  “Hang on, Mike! The cavalry’s coming—but for dog’s sake, don’t turn them on!”

  * * * * *

  Mid-morning Atlanta traffic was light. It took me less than ten minutes to get to the small office building that was home to my client, Widget Technology and Fabrication, one of the hundreds of Georgia dotstar companies exploiting new
technology sold to Earth by the member species of the Galactic Free Trade Association. WT&F had bought an obsolete Dauushan Model-43 universal fabricator last year. They were using it to 3D print products for customers looking for low prices more than high quality. WT&F’s management liked cutting corners. They were lucky they’d cut me a check for a support contract on the Model-43. Exponent-lock key errors can be dangerous.

  I’m Jack Buckston, president, CEO, and, for the present, sole employee of Xenotech Support Corporation. I help install alien technology, maintain it, and fix it when it breaks. Troubleshooting is my specialty. One of my selling points is fast service and I hoped I’d arrived fast enough. I parked my van in a visitor’s spot and sprinted for the front entrance of WT&F’s headquarters, but couldn’t enter.

  The entire lobby was filled waist-high with rabbots—bright fuchsia-furred rabbit-sized robots with lots of broad, sharp teeth. They were semi-autonomous lawn mowers, designed to trim grass in yards, parks and golf courses. WT&F’s main entrance was blocked by thousands of them hopping on top of each other and milling about in waves of pink as high as the reception desk. The rabbots aren’t supposed to activate right after they’re printed. They’re supposed to stay dormant to facilitate shipping. Something was definitely wrong.

  The lobby’s glass was tinted but I could dimly see the receptionist—a tall, young, light-haired woman—standing on said desk and kicking frantically at the rising pink tide of robo-bunnies gleefully gnawing on the wall-to-wall carpeting. I could even hear the snik snik snik of their fluoroceramic teeth chomping away through the glass. The rabbots had already done a number on the now ragged hem of the woman’s formerly calf-length dress. That was strange, too. They’re only supposed to eat grass, not carpets and fabric.