Orbital Decay (Galaxy Mavericks Book 7) Page 5

  He threw a few pecans in his mouth and studied the Crystalith.

  “Whatever you have to do,” he said, “but remember the scope of this project. I don’t want to be on this hellhole of a space station for any longer than I have to. There’s a jacuzzi on Kavios Two calling my name and I’m not about to let it down.”

  Slowly, he backed out of the room, and the moment his hand touched the door handle, the Crystalith changed from red to green. When he left the room, it changed back to yellow.

  Carly looked at him and shrugged.

  The raging light dissipated, and the Crystalith returned to its normal, sentient pulsing self.

  Florian cursed.

  The damned things never liked him.

  Hell, he’d had better luck with Arguses than he did with Crystalith. Through the one-way mirror in the door, he watched for a few minutes as Carly played piano and spoke with the alien, using a series of pre-programmed inkblots on her tablet to speak. The Crystalith spoke back and…

  Blah blah blah.

  For the last year, he’d seen enough of these flying obelisks.

  They were his responsibility.

  As director of the Macalestern Corporation’s Non-Profit Initiatives, a post granted to him by his dear aunt who obviously didn’t trust him in management of the business proper but didn’t want to tell him, his objective was to spearhead all corporate citizenship projects in the galaxy. He’d improved the galactic diversity at the company by at least ten percent, facilitating the recruitment of immigrants, especially from Refugio. He had to make the hard choices of who in the galaxy to give the company’s allocated nonprofit dollars to—and deal with both ass-kissing of those who received it, and the groveling and hand-wringing of those who didn’t receive it.

  And now, he was wrapping up the company’s most expensive and impressive project yet—an attempt to relocate a large subset of the Crystalith population to a protected reserve on the planet Galad. A lush, former wildlife reserve where they’d be able to roam in peace, organize and practice the colony life that they were used to.

  He didn’t much care for the project, but it was a holdover of an agreement that his aunt made years ago with the board.

  He was ready for real management of the business. He’d spent the last ten years working in every department: mail, sales, accounting (good God, accounting), legal, real estate, and finance and investments. If anyone was ready to step up to take his aunt’s place, it was him. Screw the damned C-suite.

  “Do a good job in nonprofit like you’ve always done,” Annaliese had told him, “and I’ll move you into the company proper. Management.”

  He was ready. God knows he was ready. He’d devoted all of his waking hours to the company, ignored college so that he could help his aunt.

  But he couldn’t help but think that he might spend his whole career bouncing around, from one meaningless title to another.

  He walked down the hallway of the observation wing, looking in at other researchers who were speaking to Crystalith. The obelisks shimmered and shone, communicating calmly.

  “Coffee, Mr. Macalestern?” a voice asked.

  An intern. He wore a blue lanyard and held a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and offered it.

  Male kid, fresh out of college. What was his major? Art? Literature…?

  “I’m fine,” Florian said. He started to say the intern’s name but then realized he didn’t remember it.

  “Still can’t figure out why the Crystalith don’t take to you,” the intern said. “They’ve adapted to the team quite well.”

  Florian shrugged. “What do you think of all of this?”

  “It’ll be well-received,” the intern said.

  Al. That’s what his name was. Al.

  “What makes you say that, Al?” Florian asked.

  “We’ve captured hours’ worth of stories,” Al said, enthusiastically. “We even found some of the Crystalith who arrived at Earth a thousand years ago. Incredible to get their perspective of our distant ancestors. There was one who even told us about how it met all of the world leaders.”

  “Ah,” Florian said, trying not to yawn. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “And there are some that have told us stories of The Purged and how they wiped out the Crystalith home planet.”

  Florian raised an eyebrow.

  “Pretty scary stuff,” Al said. “Good thing they’re extinct.”

  “I guess so,” Florian said.

  “What we’re doing is a small way to pay them back,” Al said. “Like I said, your aunt is going to get some leadership brownie points for making this happen.”

  “Hell, tell them to give me the brownie points,” Florian said.

  Al laughed. “We all know you’ll be CEO one day.”

  Florian puffed. “We’ll see about that, Al…”

  Florian’s phone rang. He excused himself from the intern.

  A photo of Huxley’s square, brutish face appeared on the screen.

  “What’s up, Hux?” Florian asked.

  “We’re all set to load the ships,” Huxley said.

  Huxley was his Associate Director of Non-Profit Initiatives. Hux was the kind of guy who was at home in a more…confrontational job. Not detail-oriented at all. Not ever since they’d been kids. To rely on him to read a contract or handle a situation that needed diplomacy was a waste.

  Of course, many in the company accused Florian of nepotism in selecting Hux as his associate director. He took Hux with him with every new department move. And his best friend followed, taking the pay raise and the increased responsibility in stride.

  And sure, it was true. Hux didn’t have the experience. But neither did Florian. They were figuring out this project as they went, trying to avoid making too big of a mess.

  So far, it was going swimmingly. Another jewel in the portfolio of a future CEO.

  “I’m getting bored here waiting for you,” Huxley said, laughing. “My direct reports are hippies to the extreme.”

  “I’m dealing with a Pocahontas type, myself. What do you need?”

  “I got an email from someone I think you’re gonna want to hear from.”

  “It’s not that bastard Evans, is it? I’m not going to settle for any of his workforce management crap. Keep screening his emails for me.”

  Huxley shook his head.

  “You ought to read it.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “It’s from someone you ain’t seen in ages,” Huxley said. “Someone important.”

  “Hux.”

  “Read it,” Huxley said, his tone final.

  Florian opened his emails.

  Atop hundreds of emails, an email forwarded from Huxley sat at the top, with a red exclamation mark next to it.

  The subject line read: I need help.

  The sender was Tatiana Russo.

  10

  Florian opened the email immediately and read it.

  Hey Flo,

  You’re probably busy running your family company and I honestly don’t know if this email will reach you. But I’m going to try because I have hope that you will see it.

  It’s me, Tatiana (your nanny, remember?).

  It seems like just yesterday when I told you goodbye, that rainy day so many years ago.

  I was stupid.

  I hated to leave you when I knew you needed me, but I had to take care of myself, you know?

  My mother died from cancer and I was spiritually lost.

  Went to college, got my degree. I was a teacher for a few years (can you imagine me disciplining bratty seventh graders? Yeah, me neither.)

  I read in the paper that you’re doing non-profit work now.

  That’s so hard for me to believe: you, the little blond-headed boy that I practically raised, becoming a mover and shaker in the galaxy!

  Flo, your mom would have been so proud to see you now, to see what a fine young man you’ve become.

  I’m proud of you, too.

  And thi
ngs looked like they worked out with your aunt okay, huh? I was worried about that.

  I guess I should tell you why I am writing you.

  I’m reaching out because life hasn’t been good to me.

  It’s probably not something you see very much, but the economy on Macalestern is in a recession. I can’t find work. I’m two months away from living on the rainy streets and I really don’t want to do that.

  I’m not asking you for money.

  I’m not asking you to have pity on me.

  But if there’s anything you can do to help me get an interview somewhere…I don’t care where. If it’s a custodian or a secretary or a garbage woman. Just something to help me weather this storm. A lot of people are suffering right now. And they’re depending on the Macalestern Corporation to do its part to reverse the economy somehow. Some way, somehow.

  But you probably already knew that.

  If you want to delete this email, I will understand.

  But I hoped that you would look back on the memories we had together and remember me lovingly.

  I’ll stop rambling now and start looking for work again.

  Love,

  Tati

  The words hit Florian like a spaceship.

  He stumbled back and collapsed into a nearby divan in the lounge.

  Tatiana.

  He hadn’t seen her in years.

  Not since that rainy day when she told him that she was leaving, that she was eighteen years old and it was time to figure out her life.

  He begged her not to go. He dropped to his knees and cried.

  Losing her was like losing a sister and mother at the same time.

  He’d hated her for walking out on him, carried the anger with him for years.

  But as he aged, her betrayal hurt him less and less.

  He realized that it wasn’t betrayal at all. He never acknowledged that she had a family of her own, and that she’d given up so much to care for him.

  His hatred turned to appreciation, but when he tried to look her up, he could never find her.

  He’d spent years wondering what happened to her, how she was doing.

  Of course, he didn’t need a nanny anymore. He had butlers and maids who accomplished the same purposes…

  But she never left his mind.

  And here she was.

  She needed help.

  He imagined his mother’s voice in his head.

  “We take care of family,” Greta used to say. “Both real and chosen family.”

  What if she was a drug addict looking for help to get her next fix?

  What if she was insincere?

  He didn’t care.

  “Get her on the next space flight out here,” Florian said. “Make it your first priority.”

  “Got it, boss,” Hux said.

  11

  “Today is a milestone not just in the history of my company or the Crystalith. Today is a milestone in the foundation of humanity.”

  Florian’s hands trembled as he read from a pre-written speech in front of the press.

  He gripped the sides of the podium as the cameras watched him. The bright lights blinded him.

  He stood on a tall platform with a glass window behind him that revealed a blue gas giant.

  Several journalists watched him quietly, taking notes.

  He hated speeches. He preferred to be behind the scenes. But no one else had the guts to speak on public television.

  “One thousand years ago, we owed our continued survival to this wonderful alien race that honestly, could have kept traveling past our little rock in the middle of nowhere. But they didn’t. And they imparted their intelligence to us. For that, we are forever grateful.”

  “My family knows something about their service,” he continued. “My father and aunt built this company on providing relentless service to humanity in providing premium interplanetary real estate. You might say that we’ve been successful. And we do make a lot of money. Our two hundred thousand employees are the best in the industry. We are a top employer and provide a living for many of the galaxy’s residents. But we never lost sight of our true purpose, and that’s what we do best: serving. As the director of Non-Profit Initiatives here at Macalestern, it has been my honor and privilege to head up this non-business critical department. And it brings me and all of my staff great joy to be able to give back in a way that’s not just corporate dollars or volunteer time…”

  He wanted to gag throughout the whole speech.

  It was all bullshit.

  Great joy?

  Who wrote this shit?

  Carly, probably.

  “And now, allow me to honor the Crystalith in a special ceremony before we release them into the atmosphere of Alpha Distoid.”

  The press clapped.

  Florian stepped away from the podium, glad to be done with the speech.

  Huxley stood behind the podium. The giant man shrugged and winked at Florian. In his white suit, he looked like a giant barrel with an underbite, and his small eyes were lost in his face, deep set into a smug face, like a bulldog.

  “Sure you want to do this?” Hux asked.

  “Has to be me,” Florian said. “Looks weird otherwise.”

  A Crystalith floated next to Huxley.

  Carly ran onto the platform and handed Florian a tablet.

  The Crystalith shimmered yellow. Florian approached, thinking finally, maybe for once in his life, one of these damned aliens wouldn’t turn red.

  Florian stepped closer.

  “We are honored to bestow this gift upon you,” he said quietly.

  The Crystalith shimmered but did not respond.

  Florian repeated his sentence.

  Still, the Crystalith did not respond.

  Someone in the press murmured. Then Florian heard the room shift.

  His eyes went to the back of the room, where a group of Crystalith had appeared. There were at least thirty of the obelisks, and they glowed yellow.

  “What’s going on?” Hux asked.

  Florian shrugged.

  He pulled up the keyboard and played a note. He meant to play a major chord, but he played a suspended chord instead.

  The fleet of Crystalith floated to the front of the room and surrounded Florian.

  He paused, turning in a full circle.

  The Crystalith closed in on him.

  “Hux,” Florian said.

  Carly ran to the outside of the circle with a tablet in her hand. She started to play a wistful melody, accompanied by peaceful chords.

  But the Crystalith ignored her.

  “What do you want?” Florian asked.

  He knew talking to them wouldn’t help. But he needed to try something.

  He banged the keyboard, letting out a cacophony of sounds. Something, anything to get their attention.

  The Crystalith rubbed against each other, creating a scratching sound. The inkblots inside their bodies changed and rearranged into a message. Florian’s tablet reacted, displaying the blots with words underneath above them.

  Dark heart

  Dark heart

  Dark heart

  Dark heart

  Untold evil

  Untold evil

  Decay

  Decay

  Decay

  You are not what you seem and you do not know what you seem to be.

  Florian turned off his tablet.

  But still the inkblots remained on the Crystalith. The obelisks changed color into a soft orange.

  Everyone in the room whispered.

  Florian didn’t know what to do, so he ran toward the podium. He tripped and his tablet flew into the air, breaking against the wall.

  “What are they saying?” a journalist asked.

  Florian grabbed the microphone, and it squealed for a moment as he brought it to his mouth.

  “That’s all for today, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “What did they say?” another journalist asked.

  Florian switched off th
e microphone.

  “You all right, boss?” Hux asked.

  Florian steadied himself on the podium.

  “Boss?” Hux asked again.

  “Get these people out of here, now!” Florian shouted.

  Meanwhile, the press took photos of the entire exchange. The Crystalith continued their orange shimmering, orienting themselves toward Florian.

  Huxley ushered the press out of the large room and slammed the door.

  Carly, who had been interpreting the entire exchange by herself, stood near the Crystalith, reading their message on her tablet. She looked at the Crystalith and then gave Florian a bewildered look.

  Florian ripped the tablet from her hand, threw it to the ground and stomped on it.

  The Crystalith changed from orange to yellow, disbanded and floated quietly toward the back of the room.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” Carly said. “In all my ten years of studying these aliens, they’ve never done that.”

  “Get the capsules ready,” Florian said. “Ship them off to Alpha Distoid and I don’t want to see them again.”

  “Got it, boss,” Huxley said. He made a phone call, and soon, several men and women entered the room and guided the Crystalith away, leaving Florian and Carly alone.

  “Don’t speak of this to anyone,” Florian said.

  Carly looked flustered. She was still trying to figure out what everyone meant.

  “Clearly they were wrong,” she said.

  “Who?”

  “The Crystalith,” Carly said. “None of those things describe you.”

  Florian growled. “Correct answer. Let’s focus on the plan and get the aliens transferred.”

  Carly walked away.

  Then she stopped and turned.

  “They were wrong,” she said.

  She paused.

  “Or were they?” she asked.

  “Go and help Huxley transfer the goddamned aliens to that goddamned gas giant before I lose my goddamned mind and rethink your employment!” Florian yelled.

  Carly’s face hardened, and she left.

  Florian stood in the press room, looking out at Alpha Distoid. The swirling gas giant had several dark spots on it.

  He kept playing the aliens’ words through his head, trying to figure out what they meant.