Alien in Chief

by Gini Koch

  Sam Travis had been in C.I.A. custody for a long time now, with no access to anyone other than Mom and Chuckie. They’d made up some excuse that seemed to have appeased Cliff, in part because he’d been transferred out of Homeland Security around the same time. And apparently Dear Sam wasn’t nearly as important as Stephanie, because no one had pulled any strings to get him out. Fine with me. I wasn’t a fan of someone who’d been sleeping in my home while trying to destroy us, call me a Mean Girl.

  “The police aren’t going to catch an A-C, or at least not the human police.” Heaved a sigh and sat down. “Look, I know you think TCC is ready. But . . .”

  “But you don’t want to risk him getting hurt because you care about him,” Chuckie said gently. “However, he does understand the risks and, more than that, Stephanie and potentially many others are at even more risk of getting hurt.”

  “Couldn’t we call in Nightcrawler and my ‘uncles’?”

  Benjamin Siler was the son of our first Mastermind, the Ronald Yates-Mephistopheles in-control superbeing, and one of our female Brains Behind the Throne biggies, Madeleine Cartwright. This probably made him our first hybrid. We hadn’t discovered him until Operation Defection Election, but he was, until this generation, one of the only exceptionally talented male hybrids.

  However, that hadn’t been good enough for these people. His parents had done horrific experiments on him, turning him into someone who aged very slowly, among other things. One of those other things was his ability to “blend”—he kind of went chameleon and you couldn’t see him, or anyone he was touching. He made no noise and didn’t reek of sulfur, but Nightcrawler still fit as a nickname.

  His uncle had rescued him and trained him in said uncle’s profession—assassination. In a nice merging of situations, I’d been sort of adopted by the two best assassins in the business, Peter “The Dingo” Kasperoff and his cousin Victor. They considered themselves my uncles, and, due to a variety of favors I’d done for them, they worked with Siler to protect me and mine.

  “They’re advised,” Buchanan said. I had a feeling he’d become an honorary member of Team Assassination during Operation Defection Election. “However, since we don’t want her killed, I’m in agreement with the others—it’s time to utilize the weapon you brought home from your trip to another solar system.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Jeff said, coming into the room to “Hot” by Avril Lavigne. Considering he was tall, broad, the handsomest thing on two legs, with wavy brown hair, light brown eyes, and the sexiest smile in the galaxy along with the best naked body, the song was totally apt.

  “Glad you’re here, Jeff,” Cleary said, as Jeff nodded to him and the others.

  “Thanks. I realize you’re thinking of TCC as a weapon. Hi, baby,” he kissed my cheek as he sat down next to me and I did my best to wrench my mind from mentally undressing him and get it back onto business. “But the reason why Kitty’s hesitant, and why I agree with that hesitation, is that, clone or not, Clarence is a real person. And he’s a real person my sister and her kids are in love with and really can’t emotionally handle losing again.”

  “Yeah, I’m honestly far more concerned about the potential closing of NASA Base than Stephanie.”

  Jeff nodded. “So is Vince. But on top of all this, we have another issue that is, I think, going to take precedence.”

  CHAPTER 4

  “CAN’T WAIT,” Chuckie said in a tone indicating that he really could.

  “No, it can’t.” Jeff sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “We’ve received a message from Alpha Four. And by ‘we’ I mean me, the Office of the President, the Cabinet, and all the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Expect a call from Angela at any time.”

  “We’re all always happy to hear from Mom and I know we all want her take on the latest fun and frolic. But since you’re already here, Jeff, what’s the good word? I mean, I doubt they were sending springtime greetings or asking if this was a good time to drop by and see the cherry trees in bloom.”

  Jeff laughed. “No, they weren’t, at least as far as I know. And I don’t know if I can call the word ‘good,’ baby. Apparently the new Planetary Council—which includes representatives from Beta Eight, Alpha Seven, and Beta Sixteen, as well as the usual suspects—wants to visit Earth.”

  “So,” I said as Fountain of Wayne’s “I Want an Alien for Christmas” came over our airwaves, “they do want to see the cherry trees.”

  “When?” Chuckie asked, expertly ignoring me. Decided to be a grown-up and not hum along with the song. Too loudly.

  “Soon. From what we can tell, very soon. The request was in the usual overly formal vagueness that seems to be something the Alpha Four leadership loves to use.”

  “They’re not declaring war, right?” Cleary asked.

  “No.” Jeff shot him a glare almost worthy of his cousin, Christopher White. Christopher was the unequivocal champion of glaring on this or any other world, but Jeff was really giving it a good shot for the silver medal. “They want to visit Earth. On a peace mission. At least as far as we can tell.”

  Chuckie’s phone beeped, he took a look, and grunted. “Angela just sent me the text. Yeah, it does sound like all they want to do is visit.” He looked up. “However, I’m not sure we should say yes.”

  “I’m not sure we should, or can, say no,” Jeff countered. “I can’t even begin to imagine the chaos another giant spaceship hovering overhead will cause, but it’ll be worse if they use a warp gate of some kind and just show up on the steps of the Capitol building.”

  “Why not announce it to the general public?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I put my hand up. “Never mind. I can think of all the reactions, and so many of them will be utter panic, with a lot of alien hating and alien worshipping thrown in.”

  “Right.” Jeff sighed. “Even though everyone knows aliens are here and out there, it’s been four years since the invasion. People have finally stopped jumping when they look up at the clouds.”

  Operation Destruction seemed both very far away and, if I let my memory wander even a little ways, as if it had happened yesterday. “And this will only give Club Fifty-One and all the rest of the anti-alien lunatics something new to get all fired up about.”

  Chuckie rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m honestly not sure how we get out of this. Insulting the Alpha Centauri system will never be in Earth’s best interests.”

  “Can you read the message? Just so the rest of us can know what you and Jeff do and feel all special, too.”

  Chuckie barked a short laugh. “Sure. ‘To our honored relative and those he holds in esteem, we request the opportunity to come and welcome Earth fully into our galactic community. The Planetary Council, which now includes members from all our sentient worlds, will arrive at your convenience, in the manner most appropriate to the comfort of your people. We await your formal invitation. Yours in solidarity, Emperor Alexander the First.’”

  “Emperor?”

  Jeff nodded slowly. “Technically, he’s the king of Alpha Four and, since we managed to keep that solar system from destroying itself, he’s the leader of all the planets. That would make him the emperor.”

  “They’ve never used that term before. The late and totally unlamented King Adolphus was the kind of dude to revel in the title of emperor, but he didn’t use it, ever as far as I know. And he was far more controlling than Alexander is.”

  “I think the wording comes from Councilor Leonidas,” Chuckie said. “And I’d imagine that wording is for us. Not ‘us’ us, but for Earth. As in, the guy who rules all these planets is dropping by to say hi to his relatives. Toe the line.”

  “Did Leonidas give you any secret Super Smart Guys Only message in this?” Probably sounded a little too hopeful, at least based on Buchanan’s grin.

  “Sadly, I don’t think so.” Chuckie rubbed his forehead as Tears for Fears’ “Ever
ybody Wants to Rule the World” came on. “I’ll study it, though, just in case I’m missing something.” All of a sudden, relatively soothing music or no, he looked like he was about to have a migraine.

  In the olden days of about fourteen months ago, it would have taken a lot to get Chuckie headed for Migraine Land. After what had happened to him during Operation Civil War, however, his migraines hit fast and hard these days. And he had mood swings that came right before or right after. Sometimes both.

  I stood up. “Chuckie, I need to talk to you about something in private.”

  Everyone in the room, Cleary included, had experienced Chuckie’s mood swings and migraines. So no one argued. It was a fiction—what I needed to talk to him about was getting him to lie down and take the medicine that our Embassy doctor, Tito Hernandez, had come up with to help ease the pain. But it was a fiction we all used.

  Chuckie shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “No,” Jeff said gently, “you’re not. Go with Kitty, Chuck. We’ll focus on all the issues, and we’ll consult you before we do anything, I promise.”

  Buchanan moved off the wall, and Chuckie saw him do it, presumably because Buchanan had wanted him to see him do it. Chuckie sighed. “Fine. You don’t have to force me. Sure, Kitty, let’s go talk about whatever.”

  I gave Jeff a quick kiss, then took Chuckie’s arm and led him out of the conference room and to the nearest elevator.

  “I’m okay,” he muttered.

  “You’re not. The infirmary, or your room, which would you prefer?”

  He sighed. “I’d prefer not to feel like a helpless detriment.”

  “You’re neither. But you were hurt, badly, and all of us want to help you get better as fast as you’re able.” It had been fourteen months, so the term “fast” was kind of ridiculous but he didn’t call me on it. “And none of us want to see you in pain, either.”

  We got into the elevator and he leaned against the back wall. “I know.” He closed his eyes. “My room, I guess.”

  I hit the button for the third floor. Not that this meant anything. The infirmary and the general housing and guest quarters were all on that floor.

  “You know, I know she’s out there somewhere, Kitty.”

  “Who? Stephanie? I think we’re thinking she’s out there close by, aren’t we?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not who I meant.”

  “Who did you mean?”

  “Mimi.”

  CHAPTER 5

  MIMI WAS THE NICKNAME he’d given to Naomi Gower, who was the half-human half-A-C he’d fallen in love with and married. And then she’d died, before they’d even been married six months.

  The trouble was, I knew Chuckie was right. Naomi had taken so much Surcenthumain—what I called the Superpowers Drug—in order to protect the rest of us from the Mastermind, Chuckie and Jamie in particular, and to save ACE, that she’d become something very other than human. She’d become a superconsciousness. And she wasn’t allowed back here, ever.

  I’d never told Chuckie this. He didn’t need to think his wife was out there somewhere where he could find her. “What do you mean?” I asked carefully, as the elevator doors opened.

  “I mean I saw her, when I was strapped to that machine. She’s out there, somewhere. And I know I can find her, if I just look in the right way and in the right place.”

  This was the very definition of “not good” for more reasons than I could count. The biggest ones were that Naomi wasn’t allowed here by older and far more powerful superconsciousnesses, and they would hurt Earth if she came back. And they’d do it by hurting ACE, the benevolent superconsciousness that was now housed in my daughter. And they’d probably out Algar in the process, which would be bad for, potentially, our entire galaxy.

  Algar was a Black Hole Universe being who had the biggest hard on in the multiverse for Free Will and was, therefore, on the run for crimes against his people’s laws, which were more along the lines of not letting the lesser races destroy themselves. He’d taken a shine to the Alpha Four royal family thousands of years ago, and when Jeff’s family had been exiled to Earth he’d come along for the ride. He was the entire Operations Team, which I’d nicknamed the Elves. There were only a handful of us who knew about Algar, and Chuckie wasn’t one of them.

  However, the very human reason why it was bad for Chuckie to think Naomi was alive and out in the universe somewhere was that he’d focus on trying to find her. Meaning he’d never move on and find someone else to love.

  This wasn’t idle speculation on my part. Chuckie had been in love with me for years—not that I’d been aware of it for most of the time, my romantic density being somewhat legendary by now—and it had taken him a long time to get over my choosing to marry Jeff. That he’d literally waste his life away searching for Naomi was a possibility that had real potential.

  Time to be the worst and, at the same time, best best friend in the world and do the right thing: Lie.

  I took his arm again and led him out of the elevator. “I think you saw what you wanted to see,” I said gently.

  “You don’t believe I saw her?” He sounded confused. A mood swing was looming on the horizon.

  “I believe that you believe you saw her, Chuckie. But that makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes.” We reached his room and I opened the door and led him inside. Because I wasn’t a dictator, everyone was able to listen to whatever they wanted in their own rooms. Most of the staff didn’t leave music going when they weren’t in their living quarters, and Chuckie was no exception. But I wasn’t certain silence was what he needed.

  “How so?”

  “You were being horrifically tortured, watching your friends being hurt, wondering if you were going to hold out or if your mind was going to be destroyed. No matter how brave a person you are—and, trust me, I know you’re incredibly brave—that had to have been terrifying as well as horribly painful. When we’re that hurt and scared, it’s natural to see a person we love and hope that they’re coming to save us.”

  “But . . . it was so real. As real as everything else I saw. Like—” He stopped speaking. Wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling there was something else he wasn’t telling me. But now wasn’t the time to push him about whatever that might be.

  “Dreams almost always feel real.” I got his medicine and went to the small fridge in his room. “Water, please,” I said to the fridge, aka the Elves, aka Algar. Opened it to find a bottle of Dasani waiting. Algar was always on the job. “Thank you.” Algar appreciated that I was polite, and knowing that made me want to ensure I kept my record intact.

  Chuckie closed his eyes. “Yeah.” He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. “I don’t want to take the pills.”

  “The medicine Tito’s made for you helps you with the pain.”

  He shook his head. “I hate taking drugs, you know that.”

  “Yes, but it’s non-addictive. Tito made sure.”

  “I just . . . what if the medicine is making me worse?”

  Here it came. Paranoia was the first phase of his mood swings. It was normally followed by anger, then rage, then listlessness, remorse, and utter despair. All while he felt like his head was breaking apart.

  “Why would I give it to you, if that was the case?”

  He stared at me, and I could see the suspicion coming. But he didn’t say anything.

  I put the pills and water bottle on his nightstand. “Look, this has been going on for months now. No one in this Embassy, heck, no one currently on Earth is responsible for what happened to you.”

  “He is,” he snarled.

  “Yes, in a way, Cliff is the one responsible. For so many bad things. However, he isn’t the person who strapped you into that mind-expanding torture device. The people who did are dead.”

  “Some of them will be visiting.” He sounded re
ady to go join Club 51. Normally when he was like this we tried to calm and soothe him. It rarely worked.

  I was the one he responded to best, which made sense. I was also the one who’d spent the last many months insisting that we not rush his recovery in any way. Basically, I was willing to coddle him because I felt that he needed it.

  Maybe it was the stress from him telling me he thought Naomi was alive. Maybe the worry about our impending visitations combined with the worry about everything else that was going on. But I just couldn’t handle coddling him today. It hadn’t been making any positive change in over a year, after all. So maybe it was time to try a new tactic.

  “And I suppose you’d like us to kill them as soon as they step out of the spacecraft? Or maybe in the air?”

  Chuckie stared at me. “What?”

  “You’re hurting, you’re angry, and you’re snarling. I’m all for killing Cliff Goodman. The problem with that is that we know he has clones of himself and LaRue the Clandestine Ancient Alien and Leventhal Reid all over the place. You’re the first person to mention that he also probably has a doomsday plan in place if he’s killed. So killing him right now is out.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “But the Rapacians who put you into that machine are all dead, and the ones that will be coming to visit will be on the tightest leashes around because they’ll either come that way or I’ll be the one putting said leashes on. So, aside from the pain, I’m just wondering if you want us killing people, or if you’re just actually enjoying wallowing in pain and sorrow somehow.”

  He stared at me again. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because the medicine you don’t want to take relieves your pain and calms your moods. I realize that this means you’re not getting to be all natural. On the other hand, you’re going to be more like you actually are. So unless you’re really set on no longer being Batman but instead being the Incredible Hulk twenty-four-seven, I think taking your meds, lying down, and taking a nap is what a mature, intelligent adult would do.”