Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2) (35 page)

Chapter 39

“Romance is thinking about your significant other,
when you are supposed to be thinking about something else.”
— Nicholas Sparks

Poly and I laughed when we walked into my apartment. The octovacs had left my backpack tool bag in its proper place on the table by my front door, but the sphere that had held the lavender liquid was sitting squarely on the flat upper surface of my top hat.

“Was that your idea?” I asked my phone.

“No,” it replied. “The octovacs did that on their own.”

I pulled Poly into my arms and gave her a long hug, then let go. Then I picked up the sphere, separated the two halves, and stepped into my project nook.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” I said, calling over my shoulder. “I need a few minutes to add something special to the sphere.”

“I’d rather see what you’re doing,” said Poly.

She stepped into the nook to join me.

“Okay. You can wake me up if something goes wrong.”

“Wake you up?”

“I’m filling the sphere with Mistress Marigold’s sleepy gas.”

“Say what?”

“Some of my clients want me to cybernetically augment their pets and horses,” I said.

“You mean like implanting tracker chips?” said Poly. “Isn’t that something a veterinarian would handle?”

“Have you ever seen the old Pixar movie
Up?
”

“Of course,” said Poly. “I must have watched it a dozen times when I was a kid.”

“Do you remember…”

“Oh. Of course. The talking dog that kept being distracted by squirrels.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “The technology works more effectively on canines than felines, and the equine software is still experimental, but there are lots of people who want to understand what the animals in their lives are trying to communicate.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this already?”

“TelePety, Inc., the company behind the hardware and software, is keeping a low profile until they’re ready for a national roll out.”

“Does it work?” asked Poly.

“You mean ‘Will pets talk in full sentences and communicate clearly?’ No. But it’s not bad for sharing broad concepts.”

“I expect that dogs are all about smells and food and loyalty to their families,” said Poly.

“Right,” I said, “though some of them make unflattering comments about children who pull their tails.”

“Who wouldn’t?” said Poly.

“Cats, on the other hand…” I said.

“What about cats?”

“Cats are the reason for the high return rate on the equipment.”

“There are some things pet owners don’t want to know?” said Poly.

“Exactly,” I said. “Owners don’t like being referred to as minions and slaves.”

“Who would?” said Poly.

“Would you believe that one of the bright techs at TelePety started working on cybernetic opposable thumbs for felines?” I said. “The company had to shut down the project after the first test subject locked her owners out of their apartment and opened a case of canned tuna fish.”

Poly laughed, and I joined her.

“Is it hard to install the equipment?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “but the pets need to be perfectly still for me to install their encephalomesh caps properly.”

“Which is why you need the sleepy gas?”

“Correct,” I said. “I’m not a trained anesthesiologist, so I can’t use standard medical gasses like
methoxyflurane
or
methyl propyl ether.”

“If you say so,” said Poly.

“I mentioned my problem to Mistress Marigold months ago and she gave me a new, safe type of sleeping gas that doesn’t require a license. It’s used by carnivorous plants to make their victims easier to capture and ingest.”

“Is it from that big plant in the executive lobby you told me about?”

“No, Dree doesn’t need help to capture prey,” I said. “It’s from smaller plants that go after the Nic
ó
sn equivalents of moles and shrews and field mice.”

“Okay,” she said. “Remind me to be careful around carnivorous plants.”

“It’s not a problem unless you’re on Nic
ó
s,” I said. “The only ones on Earth are in Mistress Marigold’s greenhouses.”

“Good to know,” she said.

Poly watched as I poured a small quantity of fine green powder into a vial and sealed it with a rubber cork with a plastic tube through it. Then I filled a second vial with water and rigged it so the water would contact the powder if the pressure switch I’d reconnected was triggered. Then I screwed the two hemispheres back together.

“Do you plan to test it?” asked Poly.

“Not unless you want to sleep with me here on the floor,” I said. “Once water contacts the powder the gas is formed and anyone in the vicinity is out in seconds.”

“I want to sleep with you,” said Poly, “but I’d prefer to be in more comfortable surroundings.”

“Roger that,” I said. “Would you settle for making out on the sofa?”

Poly let me put the sphere in a padded section of my backpack tool bag before pulling me down on the sofa next to her.

“Ouch,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” said Poly.

“You may not have seen it, but a bullet hit me when I was up in the rafters at the Teleport Inn on Wednesday night.”

“Again?” she said. Her tone was more concern than reproach. “Show me.”

I pointed to my right side and Poly helped me lift up my t-shirt and pupa silk shirt.
There was a circular purple bruise, but I didn’t have any trouble breathing, so I didn’t think any ribs were cracked.

“Poor baby,” she said. “And what are all these low level bruises across your torso?”

“Bomb exploding in a freight elevator.”

“Sounds like you’ve had adventures without me,” said Poly.

I nodded.

“You can fill me in later.”

It was too late for ice, so she just got me some extra strength pain reliever capsules and a glass of water. Then she straddled me and gently rested on my upper thighs, supporting most of her weigh with her knees. She smiled, leaned in, and kissed me. It was a pretty good position for me to make out with Poly without more pain from stretching my bruised right side. We were both really getting into it when my phone announced I had a call.

“If it’s anyone except Mistress Marigold, say that I’m busy.”

Poly kissed me again and I kissed her back. Gently.

“It’s Mistress Marigold,” said my phone.

“Right,” I said. “Let me talk to her.”

“Jack,” she said, “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“The bad news.”

“The lavender liquid is loaded with plague nanoparticles.”

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the good news?”

She told me. I laughed and reminded myself to treat Professor Murriym and her husband to dinner at a Brazilian steakhouse.

“Thanks,” I said. “Can you whip up a vaccine? By tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Mistress Marigold.

“That’s all I can ask.”

We ended the call and Poly said she’d better walk back to her family’s suite at the Star Palace since I clearly needed time to recuperate. I offered to walk her home but she just told me to go to bed. Which I did.

If things went as I expected, tomorrow would be a day when the future of the galaxy would be decided.

I hoped I didn’t oversleep and miss it.

Chapter 40

“Patience is not simply the ability to wait—it’s
how we behave while we’re waiting.”
— Joyce Meyer

I woke up five minutes before my phone would have started playing selections from the
1812 Overture
. It was only seven, but warm spring sunshine was streaming through the thin curtains covering my bedroom window. I’d had almost eight hours of sleep and felt full of energy, ready to face whatever the day would throw at me.

Emory’s graduation ceremonies were at ten and I was picking Poly and her family up at the Star Palace at eight, so I had to get moving. After my shower, I put on my pupa silk shirt, then donned gray slacks and a white button front shirt. I added a maroon bow tie, matching suspenders, a light-weight navy blazer and a straw boater with a maroon and navy band. My great grandmother would have said I was the cat’s pajamas.

I microwaved a Nic
ó
sn flat fish and nibbled on it while making last minute preparations. I put a plastic cylinder with several hundred zip ties in my backpack tool bag. I use them for organizing cables, but thought they might be handy for other purposes later this morning. I closed my bag, put it on one shoulder, and headed out to rendezvous with my van.

It was a picture perfect morning, with the blue sky looking freshly scrubbed and the fluffy white clouds looking especially three dimensional. The temperature was pleasantly warm, but I knew that it would be a lot warmer by ten and positively hot by noon. That was why Emory’s administration had scheduled things to start so early. It was also why I was wearing a broad-brimmed hat—I made my own shade.

With a jaunty step, I got in my van, buckled my seat belt, and waved my arm in a “forward march” motion.

“To the Palace, noble steed.”

My van’s congruency-powered engine positively purred and we were in front of the hotel in less than a minute. Poly and her family were waiting outside. Poly got in the front passenger seat and gave me a kiss. She was wearing her morphic silk dress and carrying a bag that I assumed held her cap and gown. Pomy slid onto the rear bench seat, followed by Barbara and Perry. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits.

“Good morning,” I said. “Did you all sleep well?”

In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the smartest way of phrasing the question.

Perry looked self-satisfied and Barbara just smiled.

“We had a pleasant night, didn’t we dear?” said Perry.

“I give the beds in the Star Palace five stars,” said Barbara.

She looked over at Perry again and I thought I spotted a grin on her face in the rear view mirror. Sounds like Pomy had been wise to delay her return to the suite last night. She had a grin on her face, too. I wondered if she and Ray Ray had enjoyed their walk around the courtyard.

As we drove out of the Ad Astra complex, I noticed the two giant, pink, heavily armored Dauushan tanks parked on Peachtree in front of the consulate. Tom
á
so and Di
á
go weren’t taking any chances with Queen Sherrhi and Princess Terrhi’s safety. I was glad we weren’t going to be stuck behind them on the way to Emory. Traffic wasn’t bad until we got close to campus—it only took us twenty minutes to get there.

My van dropped us off near Glenn Memorial United Methodist Church, which doubled as the university’s chapel. It was a short walk along the edge of the Baker Woodland, a forested nature preserve filled with thousands of trees and a narrow stream, to get to the Quadrangle, where the ceremonies would be held. The Quad was a long rectangle of green space dotted with mature oaks and other deciduous trees with broad canopies. A block long and a quarter of that wide, the Carlos Museum’s white stone walls formed one side of the Quad. Libraries and administrative buildings lined the other three.

Carrying my backpack tool bag in my left hand and holding Poly’s hand in my right, the five of us walked toward the site of the ceremonies. As we followed the sidewalk beside the Carlos, before turning left to head toward the stage, I heard the same scrabbling sounds from the shrubbery that I’d heard near my apartment. Emory must have a problem with chipmunks, just like Ad Astra. The cute little rodents would enjoy scavenging dropped kernels of popcorn from the booth providing small bags for free. The university’s administration wanted to make sure attendees had enough salt in the Georgia heat. There were also shaded stands every forty feet selling water for a dollar a bottle. Dehydration must also be a problem.

The Quadrangle was covered with chairs, many already filled by parents, grandparents and other relatives of students about to graduate. A large stage was set up in the center of the long side of the Quad opposite the Carlos. I expect the stage was a lot larger than usual—Dauushan Queen Matriarchs take up a lot of space. I was pleased to see that Shuvvath had completed the project I’d assigned him. The young Orishen nymph was coming down one of the wide aisles between the rows of seats, heading our way. When he got close to us he had good news.

“Queen Sherrhi had the university reserve seats for you near the front,” he said. “You’ll have a great view.”

He led us to our seats, at the front of the second section from the stage. The seats weren’t typical folding chairs, either. We were in a block of two or three hundred shiny, round-backed upright chairs set aside for VIPs. Programs had been placed on each one.

My seat was on the left hand aisle. Pomy was next to me and Perry and Barbara were to her right. Shuvvath bobbed his head and went back toward the stage. I think he wanted to stay close to his project. I put my backpack tool bag under my seat.

We’d not only be able to see everything, we’d be able to hear it, too. The dozens of loudspeakers set up around the Quad would amplify the commencement speakers’ voices—not that Sherrhi would need it—and the echoes across all that open ground would make most dignitaries’ words indecipherable. It didn’t really matter. The people attending were coming to watch the pageantry, not to hear words of wisdom that hadn’t changed since Socrates kicked his students out from under the sacred grove of Academe.

Poly gave me a quick kiss and hug, then waved to her family and headed off in the direction of the Administration Building at the far left of the Quad. I assumed that must be where the MBA candidates were gathering. Poly’s morphic silk dress had adapted itself into a blue, white and yellow short sleeved dress that picked up the colors of the sky, clouds and sun. It would be a shame to cover it with black robes, but she’d only be wearing academic regalia for a few hours.

I turned around and noticed that lots of parents were arriving and filling in the seats that spread in row after row across the green space. I was surprised to see Professor Urrrson and Professor Murriym walking toward us from a path near the stage. Both were wearing their doctoral robes and hoods.

“Hello, Jack,” said Professor Urrrson. “I’m glad to see you and Poly’s family here. We’ve got a great day for the ceremony.”

“Couldn’t ask for better,” I said.

“Barbara, Perry, Pomy,” said Professor Urrrson, “this is my mate, Niaowla
Murriym. She’s on Emory’s faculty, though she’s never had the pleasure of teaching Poly.”

Assorted handshakes and
pleased-to-meet-you
exchanges
later I had a chance to pull Niaowla aside.

“I wanted to let you know that the practical joke you included in your translation of the
Old High Nic
ó
sn inscriptions proved to be very helpful,” I said.

“I’m always glad to know when one of my little amusements pays off,” she said. “Please tell me how it all works out.

“You may get to see for yourself,” I said.

“I’d like that.”

Niaowla bent down and straightened my tie.

“Now, Bart and I have to get moving. We need to assemble with the faculty for our procession.”

“Wait,” I said. “He’s not a member of Emory’s faculty. How did you both get to wear your robes?”

“Niaowla pulled some strings,” Bart said, “since I was Poly’s adviser at Georgia Tech.”

“I just like having him sit next to me through these boring things,” said Niaowla, the corners of her mouth rising to show sharp, pointed teeth.

We all made goodbye noises and the two well-matched Tigrammath academics walked toward the faculty mustering area holding hands. Dr. Liddell-Scott and Dr. Urradu came by where we were sitting a few minutes later. They weren’t wearing regalia, since they were on the staff of the museum and could skip sitting with the faculty if they wanted. We went through a similar ritual, with Perry handling the introductions this time. Then Pomy, Perry, Kori Liddell-Scott and Urradu—whose numeric identifier last name I never learned—stood in the aisle in front of us. They were talking about classical languages and archeology. Barbara moved to sit next to me and the two of us chatted while the conversation around us became increasingly filled with specialized jargon.

“I liked your speech at Georgia Tech yesterday,” I said.

“Thank you,” said Poly’s mother. “I tore up the one I’d written and started over.”

“I figured,” I said. “The one you gave was better.”

“It put the focus back where it belonged,” she said.

“On Poly,” I said.

Barbara nodded.

“The two of you seem well-matched,” she said. “You’re good for her.”

“And she’s good for me.”

“I’m sorry we fought for so long,” said Barbara. “Poly and I are so much alike.”

“You both picked being entrepreneurs over academia.”

“And we’re both really stubborn.”

“Oh?” I said, smiling, as if I hadn’t realized
that
before I’d even
met
Barbara.

Barbara nodded, acknowledging my understated response.

“It takes a stubborn streak to be a successful business owner,” I said.

“But I should have paid for her master’s degrees,” said Barbara.

“If you had, I never would have met her,” I said. “It’s all turning out pretty well from my perspective.”

“You’ll let me know if she needs anything?” said Barbara. “She’ll never ask.”

“I’m not getting between the two of you,” I said. “I value my life.”

“That’s probably best,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do for
you—
doors I can open for your company, introductions I can make—just let me know.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s a generous offer and I may take you up on it.”

I was thinking about last minute reservations for Guam or Maui or one of the Pyr pleasure planets. Then again, maybe asking my girlfriend’s mother for help arranging a romantic week away with her daughter wasn’t a wise idea.

A brass ensemble started warming up to the left of the stage. In the distance, I could hear the sound of heavy-duty engines. That must mean the Dauushan tanks had arrived with Sherrhi, Terrhi and Tom
á
so. It was nine forty-five and Di
á
go was cutting it close. I expect that he wisely wanted to minimize the time Queen Sherrhi was out in the open.

I stood and turned around again to reconnoiter. Most of the seats on the Quad were filled—except for the large blocks reserved for faculty and graduation candidates. There were only a few empty seats far in the back. If I hadn’t turned, I wouldn’t have noticed Roger Joe-Bob Bacon gliding up the aisle toward me. He stopped to say hello.

“Howdy,” said the Pyr, using two of his mouths in stereo.

“Hi there,” I said. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you had a dog in this hunt.”

“Well, son,” said Roger Joe-Bob, “let’s just say I wanted to see what you had in mind for my little equipment loan.”

“I hope neither one of us has to find out,” I said.

“But you expect that we will.”

“Yep.”

“I didn’t want to miss the excitement,” said the Pyr. “Trouble follows you like a bloodhound trackin’ a rabbit. Who’s this charmin’ lady?”

Roger Joe-Bob was motioning to Barbara. I’d just noticed she was standing behind me listening closely to the discussion.

“Barbara Keen,” I said, “this is Roger Joe-Bob Bacon, operator of the best Waffle House in Atlanta and chairman of Khufu, Limited, in his spare time.”

“Pleased t’ meet you, m’ dear,” said the Pyr.

“Likewise,” said Barbara. “I’ve heard good things about your company.”

“An’ I’ve enjoyed readin’ your travel guides,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “Your description of the mud wallows on Dauush was practically poetry.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Barbara.

“I did,” said Roger Joe-Bob, “though you might want to warn shorter species that the bottom drops off a mite quick. It took me a week to brush all the mud off my eyebrows.”

“I’ll make that note for the next edition of
Keen’s Guide to Dauush,
” said Barbara.

“Thank you kindly,” said Roger Joe-Bob. “I wonder if you might consider speakin’ at one of my corporate retreats?”

Roger Joe-Bob and Barbara moved a few feet to the side and kept talking. I wasn’t part of their conversation, so I looked around, trying to identify anything suspicious. The crowds of parents, grandparents, family members and general well-wishers seemed like any cross section of Terrans with a smattering of GaFTA species. Everyone was dressed for the occasion and the heat. I did notice quite a few younger women with oversized handbags and young men with well-stuffed backpacks. The former could just be a new style and as for the latter, who was I to talk?

The brass ensemble shifted from warming up to playing the first piece noted on the program,
Gaudeamus Igitur
. It was a signal that we should take our seats and pay attention to the ceremony. I sat down. Roger Joe-Bob headed off to an even better seat somewhere in front of us and Kori and Urradu left Perry and Pomy and walked back toward the Carlos. Pomy nearly skipped up to her mother. Perry was just a step behind his younger daughter, smiling.

“Mom, Mom, I’ve got great news!” she said.

“Can it wait until after the ceremony?” said Barbara.

“Uh, okay, I guess,” said Pomy.

Her eyes flipped from sparkling to downcast.

“I’m sorry, dear,” said Barbara, contritely. “Old habits die hard. What’s your good news?”

Pomy’s eyes flipped from downcast back to sparkling. Her smile was as bright as a congruency connected to a stellar corona.

“Dr. Liddell-Scott offered me a job at the museum through the end of the year,” said Pomy. “I’ll be working with the Roman and Greek artifacts in their collection.”

“That sounds perfect for you,” said her mother.

“Way to go,” I said. “It will be nice having you around.”

I gave Pomy a hug and absorbed some of the excited energy she was radiating.

“I start on Monday,” said Pomy.

Her body couldn’t keep still. She was a perfect exemplar of Newton’s First Law—a body in motion stays in motion.

“I’m so happy for you,” said Barbara, getting with the program. “You can stay with your sister.”

There might be plenty of room for Pomy to stay at Poly’s place if Poly decided to live with me. I’d have to try hard not to get too far ahead of myself.

Perry was beaming almost as much as his daughter.

“This will be an excellent career move for Pomy,” he said. “Dr. Liddell-Scott knows everyone who’s anyone in classical archeology.”