Free Xenotech Queen's Gambit: A Novel of the Galactic Free Trade Association (Xenotech Support Book 2) by Dave Schroeder

CEO-sized office. Tall plants with broad leaves in a dozen verdant shades surrounded the chairs, giving the illusion of privacy and reinforcing the casual, welcoming, organic feel of the place. They smelled nice, too. Even the walls of her office were covered in some sort of short grass. I wondered how she kept it mowed. Whatever the answer, it was a delight to be somewhere that’s green.
    Mistress Marigold held up a clear glass pitcher of ice water and when I nodded she filled a tall glass for me and then one for herself. Ice water always tasted better at her place. I’d have to ask her how she did that someday. Maybe it was some sort of special filtration, or required the assistance of one or more of her exotic plants, like Dree. On second thought, maybe I didn’t want to know.
    “I’m concerned…” started Mistress Marigold.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, in an apologetic rush. “I meant to be here to do your preventive maintenance a few weeks ago, but what with my recovery and all, I didn’t get here. I thought about using Remote Hands, but I didn’t want to risk your more sensitive seedlings with someone who wasn’t familiar with their special requirements and…”
    “Jack,” said Mistress Marigold. “It’s not about anything you’ve done or haven’t done.”
    “It’s not?”
    “No. I’m concerned about some very special plants from Dree’s home planet that may be highly valuable to an important client.”
    “Oh.”
    I keep telling myself to listen more and talk less, but find that I can’t stop myself from talking, especially when I’m feeling like I haven’t done as much as I should. I hate to let people down and had been afraid that my lack of attention had caused problems for MF&P. I tried again.
    “What’s going on?”
    “You know I have my experimental plants up on the seventh floor?”
    “Yes,” I said, “we worked out microclimate zones that would provide ideal growing conditions for each variety. It’s all automatic and computer controlled.”
    “Except it isn’t,” said Mistress Marigold. “At least not consistently. I can’t figure it out. It’s a mystery.”
    “That’s strange,” I said. “Could you give me some examples?”
    “Of course. You know the Rigeliotropes—the Rigelian sunflowers—need a constant supply of light, right?”
    “Those florescent purple flowers on the tall stalks?”
    “Yes. Something’s been cutting them off from the high energy stellar radiation they need for five to ten minutes at a time before the automated systems detect the problem and correct it.” She frowned and drank a sip of water. “They’re twenty galmils shorter than they should be at this stage in their growing cycle.”
    “Ouch,” I said. I remembered that the stalks of the Rigeliotropes were very flexible and used to reinforce vaulting poles. Their dried seeds were supposed to either cure constipation or prevent the runs, I couldn’t remember which—and hoped I’d never have cause to need them in either capacity.
    “Anything else?”
    “Yes,” said Marigold. “Bags of bone meal have been moved from one microclimate zone to another. Some are missing altogether. Spades and watering cans are randomly moved around and various symbiotic insects are appearing in places they shouldn’t.”
    “Got it.”
    “Not to mention that the Balaam’s Asters are completely out of control.”
    “I remember those. The blue ground cover that has to be cut back with a weed whacker and complains when you do,” I said.
    “Well, something is interfering with their auto-pruning system and they’re taking over the adjoining zones,” said Mistress Marigold. “They’re only two zones away from some special medicinal plants from Dree’s home world—and I can’t risk any harm coming to them.”
    “What have you done to investigate so far?” I asked.
    “I put a security guard on the seventh floor two nights ago to see what she could learn, but we found her sound asleep, resting