Alien Education

by Gini Koch

  “Muddy, Dew, Mossy! I didn’t know you guys would be here!”

  Muddy Cabbage, Dew Lakes, and Mossy Bark—as their names translated into English—were high-ranking officers in the Turleen Air Force, which should have been called the Turleen Space Force but wasn’t. Why ask why, right? At any rate, they’d helped us save the day in a variety of ways during Operation Immigration, and I liked them a lot.

  Muddy was their leader, and he gave me a bow. Dew was next in command, and she saluted. Mossy was the third-highest ranker, but he neither bowed nor hugged. Instead he and I did an intricate hand and elbow slap thing we’d created once we’d saved the world. Mossy and I had started out kind of as frenemies because we were, according to everyone, a lot alike. We were best pals now, hence the gangsta style greeting.

  “We’re here to make sure that, when trouble appears, you have backup,” Mossy said.

  “Not that we expect trouble,” Dew added hastily.

  Mossy snorted. “I expect it. I guarantee that Kitty expects it, too.”

  “We saw what happened during the bake sale,” Muddy shared. “I believe we should have gone there with you. We might have been able to keep things under better control.”

  “Speaking of trouble. And you might possibly have been able to calm it down. Or else the press would be having a field day about evil Space Turtles attacking in support of our evil parrot. Or worse.”

  “Things happen for a reason,” Gadhavi said. “Have there been issues here?”

  “No,” Muddy said. “We have our people patrolling the exterior areas, assisted by some of the others who can fly and survive in this heat. The Vrierst can only assist if the need is extreme.”

  “How can they even go to school here?” I asked.

  “Cooling pods,” White replied, explaining those pod necklaces I’d seen. “NASA Base worked with the Vrierst to create them for all who will be here.”

  “They’re working well,” Dew confirmed. “But there’s no reason to push them to their limits, either the cooling pods or the Vrierst themselves. We Turleens are fine covering for them.”

  “Space Turtles for the win. So, where is my husband? I sincerely thought that he’d be here, do a photo op, and leave. I realize that was a foolish thought, now that the real size of this place has hit me.”

  “It hasn’t,” White said. “We’ve only covered a fifth of it.”

  “It’s laid out like a combination of Dulce and the Pentagon,” Len said.

  “Meaning Kitty will be lost here forever,” Kyle added. “Don’t worry, Len and I will be memorizing the layouts. Director Reynolds has already given us blueprints and the assignment.”

  “The propaganda here is impressive.”

  My music changed to Elton John’s “Sweet Painted Lady” as the boys coughed. “You did assign her that job, and the others took it on with gusto,” Len said.

  “Who?” Thought about it. And the song. “Oh. Wow. Meriel, Rhonda, and Jane are in charge of this?” They were three hookers who’d gotten inadvertently involved with us at the start of Operation Immigration and had, basically, never left.

  “Yes,” Kyle said. “They are now the school’s promotion and advertising department. Yes, we all know that means propaganda—Meriel reminds anyone within earshot of it daily.”

  “And they aren’t the only ones,” Len said. “Mickey and Garfield are working here, too. They’re the heads of maintenance and janitorial.”

  Those two were bums who’d also been swept up by us when crazed lunatics had blown up the D.C. precinct where they were in holding cells. That left two more that I now figured were around somewhere. “What about Bud and Cujo? And why isn’t the Operations Team handling maintenance and janitorial?”

  “Because this is a group school, not just an A-C location, and people need jobs,” Kyle replied. “And those kids are helping out, but they’re back in school now.”

  “Senior year,” Len added. “They’re talking to Director Reynolds about joining the CIA once they graduate.”

  “Sounds familiar.” That was, after all, what had happened when I’d met Len and Kyle the first time. Bud and Cujo were on Florida State’s football team, just as Len and Kyle had been on USC’s. Per the boys, though, Trojans were better assistants than Seminoles.

  “Anyway, they’re not here right now,” Kyle said. “Though they want to be included in anything they can be, so if we do something big where they can attend, they’ll want to.”

  “Got it. Okay, so, again, where are my husband, his Chief of Staff, our Supreme Pontifex, and all of what’s become our personal press corps?”

  “Oh,” Muddy said, seemingly surprised that I didn’t know. “On the roof.”

  CHAPTER 52

  SO MANY QUESTIONS came to me, but they all boiled down to one. “Why?”

  “Best view,” Mossy said. “I’m sure there are other reasons, but to save you time, they’re all going to be long-winded excuses to avoid admitting the fact that it’s the best view and therefore the best place to take pictures of a very photogenic set of people.”

  It was also the best place to put someone for a sniper to be able to shoot them. Didn’t say this aloud, but was kind of surprised no one else seemed concerned. Then again, we were in the middle of the desert, next door to Dulce, and Dulce had ground-to-air missiles. They didn’t use them often, but they had them.

  “Succinctly put, and this is but one reason why Mossy and I are bonded forever. Can we get up to Jeff and the others right away, or do I need to see more of the gigantic compound?”

  “We can go there,” White said. “Jeffrey just wanted you to see some of it.”

  “As much as you could take, would be my guess,” Lizzie said.

  “You don’t know us.”

  She snorted. “Right. I suppose Wasim and I have to go with you to the top?”

  “Yes, you do. You can wander around after we’ve seen the great view and all that.”

  “It’s more than just a great view,” White said, as we broke down and took an elevator to the roof. Why we’d dragged ourselves up six floors but were swooshing up the last three was beyond me, but perhaps our small group was tired. It had been a long couple of days for everyone, after all, and we weren’t close to it being over yet.

  We exited onto the roof as my music changed to KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See,” and it was clear White hadn’t been wrong. “Wow. Did we get whoever designed the Burj Khalifa to do this area?”

  There was a beautiful wooden walkway that went through the middle of the roof, all the way around as far as I could tell. There were benches scattered about, some with shade, some without. On either side of the walkway there were planters and plots of land, all of which appeared to be being used to grow food and flowers, at least those that could survive in a desert atmosphere and climate. There were small metal fences, just delicate bars, really, that protected the plants and such without blocking them from view or making it difficult for someone to work in those areas. And about every hundred feet there were small wooden pathways that let you go to either the inner or outer sides.

  The outer part of the roof had what looked like a jogging path. And, to keep said joggers from falling off the roof, there was a ten-foot wall made out of some kind of glass that went around the perimeter. Presumed it was bulletproof, but didn’t think this was the right time to ask. The inner side of the roof had seven-foot glass walls and another path that presumably was either for jogging, walking, or looking down into the vast interior courtyard.

  And there was definitely a view. From the outer path on this side you could see the Dulce Science Center, which looked like nothing much since that was its form of camouflage and only one story was aboveground. But you also had a great view of the natural desert, as well as the mountains in the distance.

  The interior courtyard had a lot going on—ramadas where I presumed stu
dents ate or worked or just hung out, baseball field and football field with an impressive track around it, both complete with bleachers, basketball, volleyball, and tennis courts, several different pools, small buildings scattered about, and lots of young trees.

  The complex was so large that I literally couldn’t see the sides far from us. As Len had said, it was pentagon shaped, and I wasn’t sure but had a feeling it was several times larger than the one in D.C. Hoped there was a really good evacuation plan in place that was more detailed than “find a A-C and hold on tight.”

  All lighting was solar, and there were both low lights and high ones, so that you’d be able to be up here safely at night. Everything fit just so and it all looked beautiful.

  The feeling that I was looking at the City of the Future was strong, especially since there were so many different kinds of people down below. This also all reminded of more than the Burj Khalifa—it was also like the top of the All Seeing Mountain on Beta Eight. Presumed Algar had had his hand in the design in some way. Tears for Fears’ “Me and My Big Ideas” came on. Yep, Algar had been involved.

  “And we can’t go here why?” Lizzie asked, sounding more sad than mouthy.

  Heaved a sigh. “There are issues wherever someone goes, you know that. No place is perfect.”

  “This place looks it, though.” Couldn’t argue with her point of view.

  We moved from the interior view back onto the main walkway. “Where are the others from here?”

  “There are several small stages up here,” White said. “They’re at the nearest one to where we are.”

  We kept on walking, marveling at anything new, and shortly we arrived at our destination. The stage backed up against the outer wall, and there was a lovely mountain vista behind it, which was clearly why this was the chosen spot for it. Figured the other stages and such would be set up with similarly pretty background views.

  Jeff was holding court with more than just our friendly press corps as “The Show” by Lenka came on. There were a lot of reporters and such here. Reminded me a lot of the press briefing room at the White House. Gower was seated onstage, and Joseph and Rob, Jeff’s number one and number two Secret Service agents, were standing at either side, ready to leap if they had to, looking impressive and not the least bit bored otherwise. Representatives from every race that was schooling here, including human, were sort of grouped around the stage where the press could see them.

  Raj met us as we got within range. “Kitty, how are you feeling?”

  “Normal. Why?”

  “Expect to get hit with questions about the bake sale. Are you up to replying?”

  “Yes. A mishap sent some food flying and some kids and others in attendance gave in to the urge to have a food fight. No one sustained anything other than minor injuries and things are back to normal.”

  “Nice spin.” He didn’t sound impressed.

  “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to deflect as much as possible. Positive comparisons to this school and Sidwell wherever possible.”

  Lizzie snorted. “Sidwell’s fine, but this? This is like the Taj Mahal of school campuses. There is no comparison.”

  Raj gave her a polite smile. “I’m sure you’ll want to support your own school.”

  “What own school? Wasim and I were there, like, two hours before all hell broke loose. It was fine. This looks totes better.”

  “I have to agree,” Wasim said. “I believe if my Grandfather had seen this in person, I would be attending the Intergalactic School.”

  I didn’t, but then again, I felt confident I knew the real reasons Raheem wanted Wasim with us. However, if we transferred Lizzie to the IGS, then Wasim would transfer as well, of that I was also confident.

  However, having had time to think about it a little, I didn’t want to transfer them here. It was indeed great, and sure it was only a gate away, but if Lizzie went here, then all the kids would want to go here, too. I didn’t want the kids that far from me on a daily basis, Jamie in particular. If I could have been a room mom every day, then maybe. As the FLOTUS, it was bad enough that the kids were going to be schooling outside the Embassy. Schooling outside of the city, let alone the region, was that much worse and far more dangerous. Gates could fail, after all, and then my little girl and my bigger little girl and all the other school-aged kids I loved would be stranded across the country.

  More than that, though, I didn’t want all of us to give up, just because we’d had one kind of crappy experience. It would set a bad precedent for us and for what others thought of us. Sidwell might not be for our kids, or it might be the greatest place in the world for them. But two hours for the eldest and one day for the littler kids wasn’t enough time to be able to tell.

  “We have to give it a chance, all of us, before we throw in the towel. First days anywhere are hard. First days with a lot of scrutiny are harder. But Vance chose Sidwell for you guys for a reason. Let’s give it a little time before we start whining.”

  Lizzie heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh, as you command.”

  Wasim nodded. “I agree with Queen Katherine. I was not raised to give up.”

  “Then positive comparisons,” Raj said. “If you’re asked. If not, happy smiles any time Sidwell is mentioned.”

  The kids nodded. “Will do,” Lizzie replied. “We can follow orders. When we have to.”

  Raj led us through the press. The others sat in the first row in seats clearly reserved for us, but I got to get right up onstage. Jeff stopped speaking and helped me up, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly. Proving again why he was the greatest husband in the world, he didn’t ask me to take my earbuds out and pay attention to the press briefing.

  Kissed his cheek in return. “Yes, and all the kids are fine. I’m glad I’m here with you now, though. But sorry I’m not dressed for success.” I was literally the only person here wearing casual clothes who was over the age of eighteen or whatever ages the various aliens considered to be school age. Frankly, Wasim was better dressed than me.

  Jeff squeezed my hand and didn’t let it go. “You always look great, Kitty, no matter what you’re wearing.”

  “How are you doing? There are a tonnage of people here.”

  “My blocks are on high and I’m wearing a prototype—a reverse emotional blocker, so that, if it’s on, I can block any and all emotions.”

  “Wow. What will the Science Center and NASA Base think of next?”

  He grinned. “Per Serene, reverse engineering is where it’s at.” His expression went to serious. “But I can’t even feel you, baby, or the kids when it’s on. So if you get into trouble, you need to scream.”

  “Hey, I haven’t been in trouble for at least an hour now.”

  He grinned again. “Could be a record.”

  Jeff kept hold of my hand, which made me feel happier than I had for most of this day, and we headed back to the front of the stage. Did get to see that the view from the stage was even better, because we were a bit higher.

  Took a moment to admire said view. But as I started to turn back toward the front of the stage, my music changed to Joe Jackson’s “Look Sharp.”

  Paused and looked around more closely. There were definitely flying aliens about—mostly Turleens, but I recognized a few others I’d met by now that had flight ability. None of them looked threatening. Well, none looked threatening toward the school. They were looking out, not in, and anyone on the outside might indeed feel threatened.

  Checked out the mountains. Didn’t see much of anything. Let my gaze travel down the mountain to the desert far away, then come closer. There was a lot of area to cover—even though the school complex was huge, it was dwarfed by the vast desert around it. Saw nothing untoward.

  The grounds outside of the complex had all been done in what I considered upscale desert landsca
ping. So there were native trees, river rocks, cacti, and other flora and such that made it look like a desert botanical garden on the outside. But all that foliage gave someone room to hide. So I examined it as carefully as I could from over three stories up. And yet, still saw nothing untoward.

  Was about to decide that Algar’s clue had been about my choosing not to wear my FLOTUS Fatigues to this particular shindig, when the music changed to “In Dust We Trust” by The Chemical Brothers and my eye caught movement. There was a lot of dust on the horizon. More than a lone vehicle would create. More than a lone tank would create.

  And there were no reasons for any vehicles to be out here. At least, no good reasons.

  CHAPTER 53

  THERE WERE NOT a lot of actual roads in or around the Science Center. Because of the gates and A-C hyperspeed, there wasn’t a lot of need. There were a couple of really small, basically dirt roads that were used now and again, but in the past the vehicles that were housed in the motor pool area were used to get agents to superbeing formations that happened randomly in the desert. Mostly so they could transport a lot of weapons and carry back the dead or wounded. And most of those went through a gate to get to their location.

  These days, with our superbeing formations down to about one a year, there was almost no reason to be driving in or out of the Science Center. And, since the IGS had all those nifty gates, too, just as little reason for someone to be driving in to the school.

  Tugged on Jeff’s hand. “I need your attention on something other than the press.” He turned as requested and I pointed out the dust. “That doesn’t look like a forming dust devil, and haboobs don’t look anything like that, either. That’s dust from either a lot of people, animals, or vehicles, emphasis on the phrase ‘a lot,’ and I think they’re heading for the school, not the Science Center.”