Alien Diplomacy (5 page)

We’d discovered that the former Diplomatic Corps had been working with several divisions of the C.I.A. on a variety of nasty plans, all of them aimed at turning Centaurion Division into the War Division in some way, shape, or form. Chuckie was having to work slowly and carefully, because his investigation was pitting him against the people who wanted to destroy us and kill him. He also hadn’t been able to confirm who higher up in the C.I.A. and the various world governments was in on which plan or plans, and who wasn’t a lying sack of excrement. So far, this had meant a lot of strategic maneuvering I’d been too busy being indoctrinated into the D.C. lifestyle to be a part of.

“Can’t argue with the ‘let’s not let anyone get murdered’ logic.”

“If only we knew who the anyone was,” Jeff said. Chuckie grunted. I got the impression they’d been stressing about this the entire time I’d been gone.

We pulled into the garage for the American Centaurion Embassy. It was underground, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t spacious. Like everything else the A-Cs did, the Embassy was big and had a lot going on underground.

The Embassy was a full city block, long and wide, and it went up seven floors and down one. Well, it went down more than one, since we’d discovered a hidden elevator and a really hidden secret lab during what I referred to as Operation Confusion. Chuckie and I had destroyed the lab with the help of Richard White, in his last days as the Pontifex of the A-Cs, or, as I thought of it, their Pope With Benefits.

White had retired to the active lifestyle and, on the rare occasions when we got to do something other than smile at politicians, was now my partner in the butt-kicking. Which, sadly, meant he was getting a good chance to catch up on his reading.

The parking garage was under the basement level, meaning it was two stories down. That it only took up three-quarters of the
block should have been a clue to someone that there was something going on at the far side, but apparently these things only occurred to me. Then again, my specialty was thinking like psychos and megalomaniacs. A skill that should have made fitting into Washington a breeze, when I thought about it.

Of course, the A-Cs didn’t care about cars like humans did, and the former, now eaten, Diplomatic Corps had been deeply involved in that secret lab and all the horror therein, so that had undoubtedly had a lot to do with everyone else’s dimness.

We got out of the car and a new bundle of cuteness appeared out of nowhere. “Poofikins!” And then another. “Harlie!” Poofikins was mine and Harlie was the head Poof and belonged to Jeff, though the Poofs all seemed to prefer females to males. They both seemed to know I needed the extra Poofiness when I got back from class.

The Poofs had their little purrfest, then Fluffy went back into Chuckie’s pocket, job, presumably, done. Poofikins and Harlie stayed on my shoulders. Poof adornments were not an issue.

Of course, there was one bundle of cuteness severely lacking. Even if I hadn’t been thinking about her, my breasts were sharing that it was time to feed my baby. As per usual, I didn’t actually have breasts at the moment, I had torpedoes. “Jeff? Can we let Chuckie and the boys get upstairs by themselves?”

“Sure, I know the way,” Chuckie said with a grin. “Go take care of Jamie.”

Jeff grunted, grabbed my hand, and we took off at hyperspeed. I could do the hyperspeed now all on my own, but I was having some issues with control, so it was wiser to have an A-C holding onto me, preferably Jeff.

For whatever reason, there was no elevator to the parking area—stairs only. I’d run track in high school and college under the most dedicated, and sadistic, coaches in history, so stair charges had been a part of my life for a long time. Having hyperspeed was better, but I’d spent the last three months discovering that the effort was the same even with the cool A-C powers.

However, going up the nine flights to get up to the top floor was only about a quarter of what I used to run routinely, so we zipped upstairs. We’d discovered it was bad and embarrassing to take the elevator when I was ready to feed Jamie. The milk stains were gone, and the smell hadn’t really lingered, but the ribbing from everyone was still going strong. That Jeff and I were basically incapable of being in an elevator alone together and not making out was, in my opinion, a good thing.

I could hear Jamie crying as we reached the top floor of the Embassy. Half of this floor was our living quarters. The other half belonged to Christopher White and Amy Gaultier. Amy had been one of my best girlfriends in high school and had gotten pulled into the fun and frolic of my new life only three months ago. They’d made the Action Love Connection during Operation Confusion and were officially engaged.

We entered our rooms or, rather, our palatial suite of rooms tons bigger than the house I’d grown up in. Though the Embassy was one of the A-C showcases, where they most easily pretended they were “just folks,” I still wasn’t fully comfortable in it. However, having a huge nursery connected to the master bedroom was a big plus that came with living in a place large enough to house a small country.

I was glad of the space when I realized we didn’t just have Christopher and Amy with Jamie, but a whole lot of others as well. “What’s going on?” I asked Christopher. “You two couldn’t handle one three-month-old baby for a couple of hours and had to call in all of Alpha and Airborne to assist?”

Christopher was Jeff’s cousin, though he was smaller and shorter, with straight, lighter brown hair, green eyes, and more wiry than buff and brawny, albeit with the family rock-hard abs.

He also had glaring down to an art form and was hitting us with Patented Glare #2. This one was rarely used and indicated severe stress. “You’re late,” he snapped. “Jamie’s been crying for fifteen minutes straight. Nothing we did worked. I was about to call your mother.”

“I still pump enough milk to qualify as a dairy cow. You’re suddenly incapable of giving her a bottle?” I asked as I reached for my squalling offspring.

“She wouldn’t take it,” Amy said. “I think she knew you were late.”

Jamie quieted the moment she was in my arms. “Awww, Mommy’s little Jamie-Kat likes her routine, doesn’t she?” I cooed. I took another look around while I kissed her head. I’d seen right the first time—all of Alpha and Airborne teams were lounging around my living room, as were White and his replacement, our new Pontifex, Paul Gower, who doubled as another of Jeff’s cousins and Reader’s mate. “Seriously, a crying baby isn’t exactly ‘call the cavalry’ worthy. What’s going on?”

Jeff sighed. “Assassination threats, however, are something we all pay attention to, baby.”

“Oh.” The realization that they’d been having the big powwow while I was being tortured during and after the Washington Wife class sauntered up and waved at me. “I’ll, um, just take care of the baby then, while you all figure out how to save the world.” I rushed into our bedroom as fast as I could. Crying in front of everyone didn’t seem like my best plan.

As I stepped into the room, I heard purring, and Jamie heaved a big sigh. There were a number of luxurious cat trees that I called Poof Condos in our bedroom, filled to capacity with Poofs.

Due to our marriage, we’d gotten a starter set of six Poofs. They were androgynous and could mate with each other, supposedly only when a Royal Wedding was imminent. Right after Jamie was born, and also right after a set of power-mad lunatics had tried to kill us all, we’d had a major Poof explosion. No one knew why, beyond Christopher and Amy hooking up, but we had a
lot
of Poofs. No one minded. Poofs for all was my viewpoint, and more Poofs for me was my other viewpoint.

We had all the spare, unnamed Poofs living with us—I called it the Privilege of Royalty whenever Jeff couldn’t hear me, and my right as the co-head diplomat when he could. Jamie had her own Poof. She wasn’t exactly speaking at three months of age, so I had no idea how she might have named it to claim it as hers, but this one Poof in particular liked to be near her, so we let it. It did the Poof “there one moment and here the next” thing and snuggled up against her tummy, purring. She wrapped her little hand in its fur and gurgled happily.

Jeff came in behind me, and the purring increased. “Why wasn’t Jamie’s Poof with her?” I asked as I headed into the nursery. It seemed a safer question than “what were you all talking about before I got here and ruined the summit meeting.”

“No idea. Baby, you’re upset for nothing.”

Right. Empath. Two years in, you’d think I’d remember that he always knew what I was feeling. “I know. I’m not the head of Airborne anymore.”

Jeff took Jamie while I settled myself into the lounger in her room and got ready to feed her. He shook his head as he checked her diaper. “No, you’re not. I’m not the head of the Field anymore, either, and Christopher’s no longer the head of Imageering.” He shot me a look I knew was suggesting I think instead of sulk.

I gave it a shot. It was me, and I thought best aloud. Fortunately, Jeff was used to it. “Everyone’s here.” He nodded, leadingly. “Waiting for you and Chuckie to get back.” Jeff’s eyelids lowered to slits.
This wasn’t his sexy, jungle-cat look; this was his “you’re really trying to be stupid” look. I pondered a little more. “And waiting for me to get back?” I asked hopefully.

He finished up with Jamie’s diaper and helped get her eating. She’d been a chowhound from birth, and that hadn’t waned; she was happily snorking down breast milk in a matter of moments. “Yes. We have no idea who the target is, but you and I will be at the President’s Ball. Therefore, you and I are integral to whatever plans are put into place.”

“So what was decided without me?”

Jeff heaved a sigh. “Not much. James wanted to wait for you to get back.”

On cue he popped his head in. Reader was still the best looking human I’d ever seen in the flesh, and if he wasn’t gay and married to Gower, my life might be very different. Seeing as he was, however, the cover-boy smile being flashed at me merely reminded me that someone thought my input was necessary.

“Girlfriend, while you feed the baby, want you thinking about a couple of key points I’m sure Jeff and Reynolds didn’t tell you.”

I tried not to visibly perk up but failed if the grins I got from both Reader and Jeff were any indication. “Sure, James. Lay ’em on me.”

He nodded. “First, Reynolds’ ‘source’ happens to be our favorite investigative reporter of all time.”

“Really? Chuckie takes information from Mister Joel Oliver?”

Reader shrugged. “Per Reynolds, the guy’s almost never wrong. The second point, however, is that we have no idea if it’s a lone assassin, a group, or anything else you can come up with. I’d like you to come up with everything you can, though, because we have less than two days to avert God literally knows what.”

R
EADER POPPED BACK OUT,
and we switched Jamie to the other torpedo. “What
do
we actually know?”

Jeff sighed. “Sadly, baby, that’s it.”

“So you saved it all for me?” Things suddenly seemed more like they used to be.

He grinned. “Yeah. See? I said you were getting yourself upset for nothing.”

“Humph. So, what are the chances that this is aimed at Centaurion Division as opposed to the President or another high-ranking human official?”

“No guess. Reynolds and I have already communicated with Alpha Four, just to be safe.”

That we were able to casually talk to people in the Alpha Centaurion solar system had much to do with ACE, the superconsciousness I’d managed to filter into Gower during Operation Drug Addict. The rest had to do with the fact they were a lot farther along the advancement scale in that solar system and occasionally shared with us.

“What did Alexander and/or Victoria have to say?” I’d put Alexander on the throne of Alpha Four, and Victoria was, therefore, the Queen Mother. They were Jeff’s cousins, though they were closer in the bloodline to Christopher. I liked them a lot, especially since they hadn’t resented me or Tito for killing their other family members. Hey, some royal successions are bloodier than others. “Could this be our fave escaped megalomaniacs coming back to try to snatch our baby again?”

“As far as Alexander knows, all’s quiet. All of the A-C system
monitors for them regularly, and we do as well; happily, there’s been no sign of either Ronaldo Al Dejahl or LaRue Demorte Gaultier, let alone my loser of a brother-in-law.” Amy’s stepmother had been the brains behind Operation Confusion and had hijacked an interstellar ship with the illegitimate son of the devil himself or, as we knew him, the Ronald Yates/Mephistopheles superbeing, in tow. As far as we knew, they’d also taken A-C Traitor at Large Clarence Valentino with them. Good riddance to all.

“Okay. So, more importantly, what did Councilor Leonidas have to say?”

“Per what he told Reynolds, if there’s a threat, it’s not coming from any agent outside Earth.”

“Does Chuckie believe him?”

“Yes, as far as he’s told me.” I let go of the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and Jeff grimaced. “It’s so nice to know you still think he walks on water.” Jeff’s sarcasm knob went to eleven, though I put this response only around five. Personal growth, it was a good thing.