by Gini Koch
“Okay, but I think my team handled things well. The Turleens and I held off the opposing force until Airborne could show up.”
“True. And none of the crashed aircraft landed on top of Caliente Base, either, or in or near any other civilian areas. By a miracle I’m willing to ascribe to any deity who’d like to take the credit.” Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “But I want to get you out of here, baby.”
“Blah, blah, blah. This is now a disaster scene. Us being here shows how seriously we take any attacks on American soil.”
“Love the spin,” Jeff muttered.
“Kitty’s right, Jeff,” Lorraine said. “And you know it.”
“It’s a gift and a skill.” Took a look around. Sure enough, the fight was over, all choppers on the ground or blown up. Watched the team land the jets. “I don’t want to leave, and not just because I think we need to do the Frowny-Faced Photo Op to show that we’re taking anti-alien attacks seriously. We need to interrogate whoever’s still alive, and I don’t want them taken back to any of our bases. To anywhere, really. The DUI Dudes had trackers on them, which is how they found Caliente Base in the first place.”
“I understand what you’re saying only because Buchanan briefed me during Caliente Base’s evacuation. And before you ask, everyone is at Dulce, including the police dogs, except for the two Club Fifty-One True Believers. They’re with Buchanan, Siler, and Manfred, regretting the days they were born.”
“Where are they at?”
“Guantanamo, via a gate in Caliente Base. I can guarantee that they’re not going to get attacked there, but if they are, the Navy is primed and ready to shoot whoever down with extreme prejudice.”
“Go team. Where is John? And the two Turleens who were with him?” I asked Jeff and Muddy both.
“I have no idea,” Jeff said. “Wruck is confirmed to not be in Caliente Base or at Dulce. And there are no, ah, Turleens there, either.”
“I don’t know where they might be, either,” Muddy admitted. “The rest of our people are here, with you.”
Jeff looked around. “You aren’t a populous race, or are you the only ones seeking asylum?”
“We are quite populous, but we are the force chosen to ask Earth for asylum. The rest of our people are still on Tur.”
“Waiting for the other sentient races to take the Z’porrah’s offer? That seems kind of foolhardy.”
Muddy shook his head. “No, it is a precaution. The Aicirtap are heading for Earth.”
CHAPTER 29
LET THAT ONE SIT on the air for a moment. “Um, Muddy, are the Aicirtap coming to Earth because they’re following the ships that are fleeing, or were they coming here all along?”
“We assume both, but are not certain. The Z’porrah want Earth destroyed.”
“Oh, good. Well, at least we’re once again back to using the right boogeyman for the job.”
“I don’t understand you,” Muddy said politely.
“So few ever do. Jeff, we need to get me on that world tour sooner as opposed to later.”
“Suddenly you’re excited to be doing the diplomatic job?” Jeff sounded as if he not only didn’t believe it but never would.
“I’m excited to do our version of The Russians Are Coming The Russians Are Coming—which is an old movie versus an old TV show, which is why you won’t know it, Jeff, but my dad loves it—and get the planet fired up for the aliens coming to help us defend our world against the Z’porrah’s shock troops.”
Jeff and Muddy both stared at me. Everyone else looked impressed. Felt very kindly toward everyone else. “Wow,” Jeff said finally. “I’ll take your word on it for the movie reference. But, you came up with that spin already? When did you have time? While you were falling from great height?”
“I’ll be insulted later. I came up with that spin just now, thank you very much. Again, marketing hires and creates spin doctors. I realize I haven’t been active in that career since we met, but, trust me, I was a natural at it.”
“You are only somewhat correct,” Muddy said. “Some of those fleeing are unable to help in the fight.”
“Everyone can help the war effort in some way.”
Jeff groaned. “It’s war for certain, isn’t it?”
Muddy answered before I could. “Yes. The Aicirtap will look at this planet as a, I believe the correct word is ‘buffet.’ And the Z’porrah will be right behind them if it looks as though they’re winning.”
“What about if it seems as though they’re losing?”
“Then I believe they will hold off. The Z’porrah are tired of losing to you.”
“Earth has done a decent job of repelling them, I guess.”
“No.” Muddy shook his head emphatically. “They fear you, Queen of the World. And those who support you. But you, most of all. They want you destroyed. They believe that with you gone, both the Earth and Alpha Centauri systems will fall easily.”
“Wow, they sell everybody else really short.”
He smiled. “No. They understand how effective you have been. Even now, you have formed another alliance.” He indicated the Turleens surrounding us. “An alliance willing to fight by your side.”
“True,” Jeff said. “And this is exactly what Chuck said earlier, baby, so I don’t know why you’re arguing it even a bit.”
“It’s one thing for us to guess. It’s another to have it confirmed. So to speak. All kinds of flattered, of course, but that just means I need to get moving on Mission: Get The Rest of the World Ready.”
“That will take both of you,” Muddy said.
We stared at him. “Just how closely have you been observing Earth?” I asked.
“Assume that she’s asking that for me, as well, and in an extremely formal capacity,” Jeff added.
“That does not affect my reply.” Muddy shrugged. “As I have already told the Queen of the World, we have been observing, and visiting, for centuries. Not me, personally. Our lifespans are more like yours than those of the Z’porrah or the Old Ones. However, Earth has been a very interesting place to watch. There is so much otherworldly activity here. We have always had the ability to travel through space, discovered this planet millennia ago, and have enjoyed observing what goes on here in person as well as from a distance.”
“I’m officially tired of being the galaxy’s stealth vacation destination. How much did the Turleens meddle with our evolution?”
“Not at all!” Muddy seemed shocked I’d even asked. “Only the Old Ones and the Z’porrah have the means and the inclination to uplift. The rest of us understand and accept that.”
Knew this was untrue, but then again, I was one of a handful who knew the Black Hole Universe existed.
“Really?” Jeff asked, sarcasm knob heading toward eleven. “No one else tried to affect things to their benefit? No one in all the thousands of years that intelligent life has been around?”
“Wanting to uplift and having the ability to do so are two very different things. The most non-Z’porrah or Old Ones meddling, as you call it, happened when your people came here.”
Jeff looked upset. Looked at Lorraine and Claudia. Yeah, they looked upset, too. Trotted over and gave the girls a hug. Then went back to Jeff, took his hand, and gave it a squeeze. “If that’s what Muddy calls meddling, I and the rest of Earth will take it, you guys.”
He managed a grin and squeezed my hand back. “Thanks, baby, I just don’t want to be the cause of harm to the planet that took us in.”
“You haven’t harmed this planet,” Joseph said. “You’ve helped us.”
“It’s why we want to do a good job,” Rob added. “Not that we feel that we haven’t been. But you’re the future. And it’s a future that matters.”
“As the others have said, you have not harmed this planet,” Muddy said. “And I must stress again that what you hope to achieve will take you both.”<
br />
“They don’t want Jeff leaving the country right now. Due to all the things I’m sure you guys know from watching the Earth Channel.”
“Yes, however, those reasons mean nothing now.” Muddy looked at us and sighed, presumably because we all looked blank. “Galactic war is coming. The King and Queen of the World must both go forth to the lands they rule and explain why all must put aside their differences and band together.”
“You know we’re not really the king and queen of anything. I know you do, so don’t try to play dumb, Muddy.”
He smiled at me. “The Z’porrah are not a democracy. Neither are any of the planets in the Alpha Centauri system. The idea of royalty is something that our galaxy is filled with. Yes, there are plenty who are in other forms of government. However, more of those have fallen against the Z’porrah than not.”
Another chance to let a big statement sit on the air. We were just chock full of this kind of luck today.
“You’re insinuating that worlds with some kind of royalty in charge fare better against the Z’porrah?” Jeff asked finally.
“The numbers do not, so far, lie. Yes.”
“Why?” Claudia asked.
“Possibly because when the King of the World says ‘this must be done’ it is done.”
“He has a point,” Rob said quietly.
“You’re therefore also saying that when a world has a variety in charge, they’re more likely to argue points of protocol, or vote for the Z’porrah’s uplift than not?” Wanted to be really sure of what Muddy was telling us.
Muddy nodded. “Tur is one such planet. We fear that the other sentient races will choose the Z’porrah. The Aicirtap were, I believe you’d say, communist. The Old Ones are theocratic, but that theocracy is based on bloodline and so falls more toward royalty. The races fleeing to Earth are, for the most part, democratic, with a few that would fall into the Earth categories of socialist and communist. The Z’porrah, however, are triumvirate.”
“That’s not a form of government,” Jeff said.
“On Earth? No, not really. However, on other worlds? Yes, it is. Three chosen or who have proven themselves in whatever ways matter. Those three make all the decisions until one dies and a replacement is found.”
Thought about Operation Destruction. “Three Z’porrah came to officially tell us to surrender.”
“Yes. They work in the threes in terms of leadership, both high and low. And if all three are in agreement, none under them question.”
“Some do,” Jeff said. “Because we have a lone Z’porrah ship heading for us, too.”
“Did you read their emotions?” Muddy asked politely.
Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “How much about us do you know?”
“Much more than your enemies do.”
“Let’s hope. I did read them, yes. They were scared and hopeful, just like the rest of those in the ships.” Jeff concentrated. “Your people aren’t scared. Your people feel . . . determined. Some are exhilarated, some are angry about the attacks, some are looking forward to sightseeing. But overall, determined seems to be the Turleen feeling of the moment.”
“We are determined. We will not allow the Z’porrah to win. Ever.”
Realized just what Muddy and his team really were. “You’re the Turleen version of Mossad or the CIA or MI6 or Navy SEALs, Army Rangers, or Marine Special Operations or similar, aren’t you? The strike force that goes in first to assess the situation and make a beachhead.”
“More like the Marines,” Muddy said. “And Mossad.”
“Have the rest of the races on Tur and in the Sirius system gotten this much intel on Earth?”
“No. We are the only ones with natural spaceflight ability. We don’t share information on other races unless or until it becomes necessary.”
Jeff studied Muddy. “The other races on your planet have no idea how formidable your people actually are, do they?”
“What would make you say that?” Muddy asked, with no denial in his tone.
“Might equals right a lot on our world,” I answered. “Size tends to be thought of as might, as well. And they’re not listening to you in regard to the Z’porrah.”
Muddy spread his hands. “But we are not mighty. We are small and frail and like to spend our time in enjoyments, relaxing in the beautiful lakes and rivers of Tur, not taking part in the democratic conventions the other sentient races seem to love so much.”
“None of you?” Jeff asked suspiciously. “As in, no Turleen has ever decided to get involved?”
“We have those who don’t conform, of course. And in the past we were far more focused on rule. But as other races matured, we realized that we preferred to lay low, as you Earthlings put it, and just be happy in ourselves.”
“I don’t buy it,” Jeff said flatly. “At all. Especially because of your saying you’re like Marine Special Forces and Mossad combined. Those people are never just ‘happy in themselves.’ They’re always focused, always training, always ready.”
Muddy grinned. “You are far less trusting than those we share Tur with. The majority of Turleens would prefer to do as I said—stay home and enjoy the pleasures of our own abundant world. However, in order to ensure that this happens for the majority, a minority must be willing to plan and fight.”
“What about the others who are coming here? How willing or able are they to fight?” Needed to know if we were really getting additional troops or just new people who wanted to hide behind us.
“As I said, some will be. Some will not be. Just as on Earth. Some of those fleeing literally cannot fight, particularly against the Aicirtap. Some are fleeing because they are pacifistic and wish to remain so.”
“The Q’vox? Or, as I guess we’ll think of them, the Minotaur People?”
“Yes, they are pacifistic. They dread war and will do all they can to avoid it. The few Q’vox who have chosen to become warriors have also become . . . unstable. A Q’vox who chooses to fight is a Q’vox who goes insane in some or all ways.”
“Wonderful,” Jeff muttered. “Anyone else coming merely to hide?”
“I assume most who are fleeing are coming to hide,” Muddy said. “They are coming to Earth to ask for help, protection, and asylum. Some will choose to help you fight. Some will not.”
“So people remain people wherever they are and whatever planet they happen to be from, be they Space Turtles, Naked Apes, or Cannibalistic Beetles?”
“Yes,” Muddy said. “Just so. But the Space Turtle strike force is here to help you, in whatever ways we can, so that our planet can remain safe.”
“And to move here if it can’t, right?” Jeff asked.
Muddy shot him a wide smile. “If the King of the World will allow it, yes.” He winked at me. “I believe the Queen of the World and I have already reached that agreement.”
“Muddy, this is indeed the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Was about to ask if Muddy had any guess for when the other ships would arrive, as well as if he had any suggestions for how we could convince almost two hundred countries to let us be in charge without them having any say, when my phone rang. And this time, it wasn’t Mrs. Maurer calling.
CHAPTER 30
“A NUMBER I DON’T RECOGNIZE. What perfect freaking timing.” Jeff groaned as Evalyne handed me a tracking insert. Shoved that into my phone, then answered. “Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to at this inopportune moment?”
Buchanan had installed software on my phone that easily allowed me to record any conversation for however long it might run. Triggered that software because I was sure we’d want to record whatever opening or continuing gambit this call happened to be.
“Madame First Lady, how good it is to hear your voice.” It was a man, eliminating half the population and another version of Casey at the same time. The voice was familiar, but I
couldn’t place who this was.
Looked at the phone number again. Nope, it wasn’t one that was logged into my address book, so this wasn’t Ansom Somerall, the only remaining head of Gaultier Enterprises, aka the man Amy was fighting against for control of her father’s company. Somerall tended to feel that he was a ladies’ man of the highest order and persisted in flirting with me whenever he called, despite receiving absolutely no encouragement in return. Some men really didn’t know how to take no for an answer. But this caller wasn’t him unless he was calling from a new number.
Process of elimination was going to take too long. “If I knew whose voice I was hearing I might share the happiness.”
He chuckled. “I’m hurt that you don’t remember me.”
“I hate this game, in case you weren’t sure. People who were raised right say, ‘hi, this is John, may I please speak to Mary?’ They don’t expect the person they’ve called to telepathically know who they are, nor do they act butt-hurt when their dulcet tones aren’t immediately recognized. So I’m now trying to think of who I know who was raised badly. That’s a reasonably short list, but I’m just going to bet that when you finally tell me who you are your name will already be on said list.”
“It’s Amos Tobin,” he said, sounding mildly offended. “And I was most certainly raised right.” Tobin was a nice-looking, middle-aged black man, just starting to show some paunch around the middle, who went for a folksy look. Originally from Texas, he always wore cowboy boots, a bolo tie, and a Stetson. The boots, tie, and Stetson varied in color to match whatever he was wearing. Had no idea what color he was in right now, but if it was black, I expected a bad joke. “You know me—good guys always wear black.”
And there it was. “Of course it is, you don’t appear to have been, and supposedly they do.” And right on time, in that sense. After all, it was his media outlets that were trying to stir up anti-alien sentiments right now. “And in case you wanted confirmation, your name was indeed on my list of rude people.”
“I beg your pardon?”
