Kaiju Preservation Society(49)

“Definitely making it up as they’re going along,” Kahurangi said to me. I grinned and got my medal and hug and thanked everyone. Then MacDonald declared it was officially party time, and music went up and people went to get drinks. I thanked people as they came by to congratulate me, and when that slowed down, I took a closer look at my medal. It had the words World’s Okayest Dad on it, which for many reasons was not terribly accurate, but I knew it was the thought that counted.

There was a firm tap on my shoulder. I turned and saw the impassive, unamused face of Riddu Tagaq.

“I can explain,” I blurted out. This was a lie, I could not.

Tagaq held up a hand. “Explanations later. We have other business tonight.”

“We do?”

“Yes, we do,” Tagaq said. Then she broke into a huge toothy smile. “Karaoke!”



* * *



And then the next day, everything was back to normal. Aparna and Niamh went back to work, both of them going over the video and data from the instrument packages they’d planted. I think the thinking there was inasmuch as they were attacked by creatures planting the instruments, they deserved to take the lead in working what came out of them.

Likewise, I may have been inducted into the Ancient and Sacred Order of Whatever It Was That I Was Inducted Into, but also, people still needed to have things delivered or removed or lifted, and I didn’t need Val to think I was basking in my glory. The day after the party, people still gave me congratulations, and told me the stories of their own inductions into the orders. The day after that, no one cared.

Which was fine. It was a heavy burden being the World’s Okayest Dad, I didn’t need to be thinking about it every moment of the day.

The day after that, I saw Tom coming up to me as I was coming out of the dining hall for lunch. He was holding his tablet as he came up to me. “First off, this is not my fault,” he said.

“That’s a hell of an introduction,” I said.

“We have our first tourists coming in a couple of days.”

“Yes, I know.” I had gotten the lists of the incoming VIPs for the next three weeks, and they were what I was assured was a pretty standard mix of military brass, political sightseers, and scientists who might actually have something useful to add to our work.

“There’s been a last-minute change to this week’s lineup. It literally just came in from Honda Base, who literally just got it from back home.”

“Okay, so?”

“They’ve swapped out Dr. Plait for one of our newer funders.”

“All right, so I’m babysitting a billionaire. I’m familiar with the type.”

“Well, that’s the thing.”

“Damn it, Tom, stop being vague.”

He handed me his tablet. “Just remember, again, I had nothing to do with this.”

I took the tablet and read the revised visitor list.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I said.





CHAPTER

17




The Shobijin slid into its dock, and immediately, the Tanaka Base airship crew started to work on it, securing it and preparing to unload the various supplies that it carried as our lifeline to Honda Base and, therefore, the real world. Once emptied, it would be filled up again, a little bit with scientific samples or things that we created at Tanaka that were requested by other bases, like canisters of specific kaiju pheromones—Tanaka was better equipped to make those than some other bases.

Mostly, however, the Shobijin would be filled with the trash we couldn’t treat, recycle, or compost; it would go back to Honda and then make it back to our Earth for proper disposal. It might seem fairly extravagant to airlift refuse and then send it through a dimensional door to get rid of it, but that was KPS for you. We took seriously the idea that we were to leave as little a mark on this world as possible.

In a small change of pace, however, this trip the Shobijin would be bringing trash into Tanaka.

The gangway to Tanaka Base was extended and the door to the passenger compartment opened. Because this was mostly a cargo run, the passenger cabin of the Shobijin had been reconfigured, but there were still a few seats left for the tourists who had come to visit us. The first of these tourists finally appeared at the door and started down the gangway, followed by a second, and then a third and apparently final tourist.

Rob Shitmonkey Sanders. The former CEO of füdmüd.

“How the ever-loving Christ is he a tourist here?” I had demanded of Tom the day before, when he’d broken the news to me that Sanders was on his way.

“I don’t know,” Tom said. “The only thing I can guess is that he spent some of those billions you said he got from selling füdmüd and gave them to KPS, and they let him come over to see the place.”

“So that’s how it works? Shovel a couple of million to KPS and they let you pet the monsters?”

“Well, yes, actually,” Tom admitted. I gave him a look, which he noticed. “This is how the game is played, Jamie. There’s only so much governments can fund us before who we are and what we do becomes part of the public record. Getting money from the über-rich—”

“I see what you did there.”

“—is part of how we do our job and still keep this mostly under wraps.”