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

on a large bed of Wandering Judy in one of the zones closest to the entrance. She says she has no idea what happened.”
    “I’ve got some guesses,” I said. “I’m going to go downstairs to the security office to review the relevant recordings.”
    “My people did that,” Mistress Marigold said.
    “But they didn’t know what to look for,” I said. “Could you also arrange to get me a kilo of fresh hamburger from the employee cafeteria and a bottle of Lethe?”
    “The hamburger shouldn’t be a problem, and I’m sure I can round up some Lethe . What dosage?”
    “You’re the doctor,” I said, smiling. “What would I need to knock out something with the body weight of a watermelon?”
    “I have a doctorate in xenobotany,” said Mistress Marigold, “not medicine. But I’d expect a hundred milligrams would do it. I’m sure my VP of Sales will have a drawerful of samples in various dosages.”
    “Thanks. Please have the meat and the pills delivered to me in the security office, along with a large, resealable plastic bag.”
    “I’ll see to it.”
    “Great.”
    I finished my water and excused myself. Mistress Marigold was on the phone before I’d left, getting me what I needed. Not far from her office, I found one of Dree’s beach balls in the hall. I tossed it toward the lobby and followed it quickly, making a fast break for the elevator. This time I was lucky. The doors opened before Dree could give me another hug. As the doors closed, I did get another look at her rhizome feeding pods. Some of them looked fairly mature and there were some empty spots where I suspected budding clones had once been connected. My hunch was growing stronger.
    “Bye, Dree!” I said through the last crack before the elevator door sealed.
    As I descended I heard the thump of tendrils slamming into the door to wish me a safe vertical journey.
    I got off on the ground floor and had Vic call his boss, Venna. She escorted me downstairs to the building’s security monitoring room. Whatever weird irresistible-to-women pheromones I’d been giving off earlier didn’t seem to work on her, or on Mistress Marigold, thank goodness.
    I remembered Venna—we’d worked together when the building’s security was initially installed. Mistress Marigold had called and asked her to do whatever she could to help me. Venna was a younger Nic ó sn with short beard tentacles so white they practically glowed.
    After First Contact it took humans quite a while to learn the physical differences between male and female Nicósns, since their general body shapes were much the same. Once we realized that beard length was a gender signifier rather than a stylistic choice, humans who weren’t comfortable until they knew the right pronoun to use were a lot happier. I understand that our more pronounced sexual dimorphism is disconcerting for Nicósns, but you’d never know from the way they interact with us.
    We sat down at a bank of monitors and started reviewing recordings from the seventh floor microclimate zones. I set the search parameters to find any instances of something moving on the seventh floor after normal working hours that wasn’t wearing a security bracelet. The cameras were motion-sensitive and tied into the building’s security databases, so that wasn’t difficult to specify. We did pick up movements—lots of them—but we couldn’t tell what was triggering the cameras’ sensors. Whatever was there was either moving too fast for us to follow or blended in with the foliage in the zones. There was a lag before any motion drew the cameras’ attention and we couldn’t see what was moving. We did notice that the count of sacks of bone meal had declined by one in the room with the Balaam’s Asters. Venna could track something crawling underneath the thick ground cover, but couldn’t tell what it was.
    “This is getting us nowhere,” said Venna. Her beard tentacles were standing straight out in frustration.
    “I’ve got an