Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2) (12 page)

“Now we know
what
,” I said.

Martin cut in, “But we don’t know…”

“Why?”
said Chit.

“And not just robots,” teased my phone.

“What else?” I said.

“There are two other parts of the facility that I find puzzling.”

“Tell us,” I said.

“Both are underground.”

My phone was dragging things out for dramatic effect. I let it have its fun and waved my hand in a “go on” motion.

“One is a Biosafety Level-4 lab. The cameras show half a dozen lab techs in pressure suits working on some sort of purple-colored cultures.”

That didn’t sound good.

“And the other?”

“Another complex with airlocks and high bio-security. There’s a large room where twenty Pyrs are putting together round metal shells the size of grapefruits and loading them with vials of lavender liquid.”

“Prisoner Pyrs assembling spheres?” I said.

Martin gave me a dirty look. I had a bad feeling about this.

“What makes you think they’re prisoners?” he said.

“The place is built like a prison. There must be a reason.”

“Are the Pyrs chained to their workstations?” asked Martin.

“No,” said my phone. “But the assembly room and adjacent living quarters are locked and heavily guarded.”

“They’re not chained, so they’re probably not prisoners,” said the lieutenant.

“Have you ever tried to chain a Pyr?” said Chit.

“That’s right,” I said. “What do you chain? Their tentacles? They can extrude and reabsorb them at will. How do you restrain a Pyr when you arrest one?”

Martin looked appropriately contrite.

“It doesn’t happen very often,” he said. “Pyrs are usually law abiding, but when we do arrest one we put them in a locked room. I forgot I once sent a rookie in to handcuff a Pyr prisoner who was being transferred to another holding facility. The whole precinct got a laugh out of watching him try.”

“Proving my point,” I said.

“You think it’s a biological warfare facility?” said Martin.

I nodded.

“And the spheres are delivery systems.”

I nodded again.

“Why Pyrs?”

“Were the lab techs human?” I asked my phone.

“As best I could tell under their protective suits.”

I stroked my chin and offered a possible explanation.

“Maybe Pyrs are immune to whatever biological agent they’re refining in the lab.”

“Could be,” said Martin. “I’ll need to tell my superiors about this—and the governor.”

“And the CDC,” said my phone.

“But first,” I said, “I think we need to talk to Tom
á
so.”

Chapter 13

“A zombie apocalypse isn’t the most jovial situation.”
— Danai Gurira

“When were you going to tell
me
about the giant robot at WT&F?” said Tom
á
so in a
basso
voice so low it made Darth Vader sound like a tenor.

“Ummm...” I said.

Martin came to my rescue.

“Jack wanted to invite you to breakfast at Waffle House after he took the robot to Zwilniki’s hangar, but there wasn’t room.”

“Roger Joe-Bob Bacon’s place?” said Tom
á
so. “You could have conferenced me in.”

“Sorry,” I said. “After almost falling to my death earlier that morning, I guess it skipped my mind.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” said the Dauushan, looking stern.

I felt like a child being sent to bed without any supper. Then he smiled, showing teeth the size of teacups.

“Gotcha.”

I let out my breath in a sigh of relief. Tomáso’s approval meant a lot to me. I glared at him for form’s sake, then smiled myself.

Ninety minutes after we’d left the parking lot at the Sheriff’s office, Martin, Chit and I finished updating Tom
á
so and Shepherd on what we’d learned. They didn’t look shocked. Tom
á
so made a call, like he had right after we’d started our briefing, and the rest of us took a short break. I didn’t like the look on Tom
á
so’s face.

Martin and I were sitting in comfortable chairs on either side of a small round table on the upper level of Tom
á
so’s study. The raised section was there to put shorter species closer to eye level with Tom
á
so, who was somewhere between seventeen and twenty feet tall. I hadn’t measured—I was afraid it would make me feel even smaller than I already felt when I was around him. Chit was sitting on an upside down old-fashioned glass on the table, holding a ceramic thimble full of something whose fumes smelled like lemon-scented paint thinner. My phone was leaning back against Chit’s glass. It had extruded arms, legs, and a simulated head from its mutacase and had adopted a relaxed but attentive pose. Shepherd, who had been meeting with Tom
á
so when we’d arrived, was in his usual shadowed spot in a far corner, nearly invisible.

I had a Diet Starbuzz, Martin had a Coke, and Shepherd had a concerned expression on his face.

“You’d better tell them,” said the P
â
kk.

“Yes,” said Tom
á
so, “considering they’ve fallen into the thick of it on their own.”

“Start at the beginning,” said Shepherd.

Tom
á
so sighed.

“Fifteen thousand years ago…”

“Say what?” I said.

“Shut up and listen,” said Chit, taking a sip from her thimble.

“Where was I?” said Tom
á
so.

“Let me try,” said Shepherd. “How much do you know about the P
â
kk-Tigrammath War?”

“The ancient myth cycle?” said Martin. “Like the Iliad?”

“The P-T War was no myth,” said the P
â
kk. “It was real, and almost destroyed more than a dozen sentient species.”

This was sounding familiar. I remembered what Poly had told me at second breakfast yesterday when she’d shared what her adviser had told her about the conflict.

“Mine included,” said Tom
á
so. “We were attacked by both sides. So many and so much was destroyed.”

Tom
á
so rubbed his top eye with one of his sub-trunks and went on.

“The P-T War ended an earlier version of the Galactic Free Trade Association and left many planets isolated—apprehensive about invasion, or contagion, or both—for three millennia.”

“No Seldon Plan?” I said.

“Don’t be a smart ass,” said Chit. “Close your trap and learn something.”

I drew two fingers across my mouth to zip my lips and kept quiet. My elders were talking.

“No psychohistory, no First or hidden Second Foundation, no Mule,” said Tom
á
so, “just fear and chaos. The P
â
kk-Tigrammath War was a conflict to see which species would rule the galaxy.”

“They fought like cats and dogs,” muttered Chit.

“It ended in a Pyrrhic victory for both sides,” said Shepherd. “Afterward, the Tigrammaths transformed themselves from Romulans into Vulcans. They renounced their savage natures and cultivated serenity, meditating on the billions of sentient lives lost in the war.”

The P
â
kk shook his head back and forth, slowly, as if remembering tales of atrocities from ancient battles. He continued.

“My own people split in two. The Long P
â
kk had learned the lesson that the way of the warrior must be tempered by the ways of the wise. The Short P
â
kk still honored our oldest warrior traditions, but were encouraged to redirect their aggression inward, into intra-P
â
kk clan competitions and tests of courage, not outward against other species.”

“Fifteen thousand years ago,” said Tom
á
so, “the Dauushans were the key to galactic conquest, just as they are today.”

“Huh?” said Martin. He was trying to think it through.

“Then, as now, my species was known for our skill in fabrication. We were, and are, the preeminent
makers,
not just in quality, but quantity.”

“Dauush makes, the galaxy takes,” said Chit.

“Any species that conquers Dauush,” said Shepherd, “would be able to produce unstoppable quantities of ships, weapons, and mat
é
riel.”

“And my people make excellent combatants,” said Tom
á
so. “A Dauushan in battle armor is larger than most Terran tanks, and twice as dangerous.”

“I can see that,” I said, remembering how I’d felt when Tom
á
so had picked me up and squeezed me after I’d “rescued” Spike six weeks ago.

“Dauushans are formidable,” said Martin, making a simple, self-evident statement.

“True,” said Shepherd. “The species that controls Dauushan productive capacity and commands Dauushans’ loyalty…”

“Rules the galaxy,” I said.

“Give the kid a cigar,” said Chit.

My phone spoke.

“Excuse me,” it said, “but how does this tie to O’Sullivan Fabrication’s biohazard lab and their captive Pyrs?”

“Good question,” said Tom
á
so. “During the P-T War, both species—unknown to each other—approached a group of brilliant Nic
ó
sn scientists. Senior P
â
kk and Tigrammath leaders insisted the scientists expand on their published research and redirect it toward developing a bio-agent with very special properties.”

“The lavender liquid,” said my phone. The eyes in its simulated head went wide.

“Yes,” said Shepherd.

“What did it do?”

“It made anyone infected follow their controllers’ commands,” said Tom
á
so.

I stood up and walked over to confront Shepherd. I was probably shouting.

“They made a virus to create an army of zombie slaves?”

“It wasn’t exactly a virus,” said Chit. “More like a bio-cybernetic
nanoparticle.”

I ignored her.

“An army of
Dauushan
zombie slaves,” said Tom
á
so.

“Though it also affects other species,” said Chit, having far too much fun with a subject this serious.

“And the beings infected aren’t zombies, exactly,” said Tomáso.
“They still have their original will and judgment, but following their controllers’ instructions stimulates their pleasure centers. After a few hours of obedience, they’re addicted.”

Insidious and highly effective, I thought.

“What was this bug called?”

“The Compliant Plague,” said Shepherd, softly.

I whistled, slowly, and shook my head from side to side. It was a lot to take in.

I looked at Shepherd.

“Who won?”

“The galaxy,” answered Tom
á
so, when the P
â
kk didn’t. “The Nic
ó
sn scientists, supported by P
â
kk and Tigrammath forces, conducted a test. A single, isolated island on Dauush was infected—just a hundred thousand of my people. Half were controlled by P
â
kk, half by Tigrammaths. It was a place for leisure, not production, so it didn’t have any of our high volume 3D printers. They were fighting with knives, clubs and spears.”

Tom
á
so made a curious set of gestures with his trunks—some sort of ritual, I assumed. It reminded me of hand motions used to ward off the evil eye.

“Each side used Dauushans as its Janissaries, its elite slave soldiers,” said Shepherd.

“They slaughtered each other,” said Tom
á
so. “Dauushans died to prove the efficacy of the Nic
ó
sn scientists’ bio-agent. The Matriarch in those ancient days was wise. She used a supernova bomb to cleanse the island.”

“That much stellar radiation should have vaporized the island down to the mantle,” I said.

“It did,” said Tom
á
so. “Nothing was left above sea level.”

I bowed my head and considered the ancient Matriarch’s decision.

“But all those deaths were not in vain,” said Tom
á
so.

“Yes,” said Shepherd. “The Nic
ó
sn scientists witnessed the carnage and knew they’d gone too far, creating a weapon too terrible to be used. They took all their stock of the bio-agent, in hundreds of sealed, heat-resistant ceramic capsules, and sent them as one big load through an untuned congruency.”

“A nondeterminate, random destination wormhole,” said Chit, “so no one would ever know where to find them.”

“The bio-agent capsules could have ended up anywhere in the universe,” said Shepherd.

“Let me guess,” I said. “They ended up here.”

“Yes,” said Tom
á
so, “They materialized in your solar system and struck Terra somewhere in eastern North America, fifteen thousand years ago.”

Martin looked thoughtful.

“How big were these capsules?” he asked.

“About the size of a motorcycle side car when they started reentry,” said Tom
á
so. “When they landed, after the ablative material burned off, they were probably the size and shape of a propane cylinder for a Terran backyard grill.”

“That works. They came in at an oblique angle, I’ll bet,” said Martin, “and made lots of oval-shaped depressions that filed with water.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“The Carolina Bay lakes,” Martin said. “Some geologists and astronomers think they were created by meteors. My grandparents have a cottage on Lake Waccamaw in North Carolina. That’s the largest one. I was up there last summer for a family reunion and there were big barges out on the lake, dredging to increase its volume. It’s a reservoir for Columbus County. I think the dredging company’s name was Wallace Engineering, or something like that. Their equipment made a lot of noise and people around the lake couldn’t talk about anything else.”

“John Findley Wallace was the chief engineer for the Panama Canal,” said my phone, “His work ensured America’s domination of world trade for generations.”

Another Earth First Militant company? I wondered.

“Wallace Engineering is a wholly-owned subsidiary of the James K. Polk Group,” said my phone.

“Ouch.” Sometimes I hated being right.

“So how did
you
find out about the capsules?” said Martin, waving a hand from Shepherd to Tom
á
so.

“Three of my staff members were on holiday at Woods Bay State Park in South Carolina last month,” said Tomáso. “It’s another large Carolina Bay, like Lake Waccamaw, and it’s got great mud wallows.”

“Dauushans love their mud wallows,” said Chit.

Tom
á
so glared at Chit in a halfhearted attempt to intimidate her. I didn’t work.

“They found a capsule?” said Martin.

“They stepped on it, actually,” said Shepherd, “then they brought it back to the Dauushan consulate for analysis. It was labeled in pictographs and Old High Nic
ó
sn.”

“Nic
ó
sns have always been good about documenting their work,” said Tom
á
so.

I was furious and raised my voice.

“You opened it?” I paused for emphasis. “On
Earth
?”

“Don’t look at me that way,” said Tom
á
so. “We did it in a Biosafety Level-4 lab using Pyr technicians. They’re immune.”

I
knew
it!

“Still, you were taking a big chance—with
my
planet.”

My hands clenched.

“We had to know what the enemy knows,” said Tom
á
so.

“When’s the raid?” asked Martin.

I could see that he was already trying to figure out the best way to storm the O’Sullivan Fabrication fortress.

“An hour ago,” said Tom
á
so. “I’ve had a joint Dauushan Ranger, Defense Department, FBI and CDC rapid response force on high alert at Dobbins Air Reserve Base for the past two weeks waiting for any news of the bio-agent.”

“What?” I said.

“As soon as I heard your news I sent them in,” said the Dauushan.

“You’re kidding me,” said Martin.

“And I missed out on all the fun,” said Chit.

“There’s only one problem,” said Shepherd.

“What’s that?” I said.

“The O’Sullivan Fabrication building didn’t have four giant robots in its warehouse or a bio-weapons lab in its basement or Pyrs held prisoner,” said Tom
á
so, checking his phone’s massive screen. “It was a legit custom fabrication facility. It didn’t even look like they’d been there and cleared out.”

My phone used its extruded legs to stand up and it shook a fist on the end of its extruded arm in Tom
á
so’s direction.

“But I saw the robots and lab and Pyrs on the security cameras,” it shouted.

Maybe its speaker was just set on high.

“We were suckered,” I said.

Some image was trying to cut through the cobwebs in my brain, but stayed hidden.

“Sherrhi hoped that her appearance on Terra would flush out the people who found the capsule,” said Tom
á
so, referring to his spouse, the Queen Matriarch of all Dauushans.

“The Queen’s gambit,” I said. No one ever said members of the Dauushan royal family lacked courage.

“Too bad it didn’t pay off,” said Chit.

With that sobering thought, the meeting ended.