Camp Alien (62 page)

I hit play on my music. “The End Has Only Begun” by Lifehouse came on.

Leaned against Jeff and relaxed. He wrapped his arm around me, and I turned so that Charlie and I were snuggled into Jeff's chest and I could put my hand onto Jamie's back. We stayed like that the whole way home.

T
HE NEXT TWO
and a half weeks were a whirlwind of activity. I didn't even argue about the FLOTUS stuff I had to do, because I was too busy, and everyone else was too busy to hear me whine anyway.

Amazingly enough, the party line was holding. Mossad had come through, and Israel wasn't mad at us or the Iraqis, but were instead mad at the aliens who'd sent the attack to try to destroy them and us.

The two Iraqis who'd survived the attack happened to be high-ranking in government, and they'd done the same thing—focused their people on the alien attack that was centered on the U.S. and clearly done to cause the Middle East to declare war on us. Meaning, therefore, that in order to show their strength, they would not declare war on either the U.S. or Israel.

Of course there was a lot of anti-alien hysteria going on. But it was shifting away from the A-Cs and even the Alpha Centauri residents toward the Big Bad that were the Z'porrah. No one had forgotten Operation Destruction, after all, and having more people than us saying that it was the Z'porrah's fault, not ours, didn't hurt. Knew this was going to come back and bite us hard in the butt later, but right now, it was the best option we had so we were taking it.

It also didn't hurt that Raj was trotting out Alexander, Drax, Queen Renata, King Benny, and Rohini constantly. Alexander was an emperor of an entire solar system that liked Earth a lot and was also, like all the A-Cs, handsome. Drax was a royal prince and also good looking as things
went. Renata was a queen, and she'd shifted just a bit to ensure that she looked exotic but not alien. And King Benny and Rohini were flat-out adorable.

These five were our Interstellar Ambassadors, and it was working. Alexander shared that Alpha Four was prepared to give Earth what it needed to join the galactic community. Drax discussed how even at the Galactic Core the Z'porrah were a threat and that they'd heard of Earth's bravery. Renata shared that her planet considered Earth their allies because of our might and our A-Cs. King Benny shared that we'd saved his planet and the entire Alpha Centauri system from Z'porrah spies and a Z'porrah invasion. And Rohini shared that his people were this part of the galaxy's version of the Red Cross and would be helping fix things at Camp David, making it as good as old.

Club 51 was in chaos, because this created a schism. Many of those who'd helped during Operation Epidemic wanted to fly on the helicarrier and go to the inauguration party. Those who didn't were, of course, led by Harvey Gutermuth and adamantly didn't want the others to go at all. The Church of Hate and Intolerance led by Farley Pecker naturally sided with the haters, but reports shared that there were less of them.

Hacker International set up a registration system for those who wanted to attend via helicarrier. As soon as someone registered, the hackers tracked it back and determined who the person was. Felt like we were doing the NSA's dirty work, but it was helpful in determining if we were getting grunts, high-ups, or people who weren't even involved in Club 51 signing up. Had a good percentage of all of them, and a small but significant percentage from the Church of Hate, too. Casey Jones, however, was not among them.

Mom still had the NSA under investigation, but that was going to be a long, drawn-out process. Sadly, the main incriminating evidence for the black site and the Fem-Bots was Monica Strauss. Other information had been redacted and Mom and her team were having to do a deep dive, assisted by some FBI and CIA personnel handpicked by Chuckie and Tom Curran.

Congress did as expected and approved all of Jeff's nominations. Photo ops with King Benny and Rohini helped a
lot. It was amazing how many congresspeople had kids who wanted to meet King Benny.

My team, working with Elaine and Raj, had the party setup and prep. We were able to get the National Mall. Because Elaine was right—once the idea was tentatively put forward by Colette, as her first official act as my Press Secretary, the media whipped it up into a frenzy of patriotic puffery and suddenly everyone wanted a party to cheer on our first President with two hearts.

By the time the inauguration was looming and the registration for it was closed, we were expecting a huge number of people. We had five stages because we had so many people coming. And I was in charge of the bands.

Of course, we had things like budgets and schedules to accommodate. Meaning we weren't able to get every band I'd have liked. Of course, I'd have liked to have about a hundred bands, versus the five we could have. And we were down to the wire with a couple of them.

Mrs. Maurer came into my office. “Dear, I've heard from the band for the third stage.”

“Are they in or out?”

“In. Very happily in, dear.”

“Awesome. So we have Metallica on stage two, Smash Mouth on stage three, Panic! At the Disco on stage four, and Flo Rida on stage five.”

“Yes. We're still waiting on stage one. They're on tour, so it's quite complicated.”

“Do you think I should have R&B represented? Or classic New Wave, meaning Tears for Fears? We could always add a sixth stage.”

“Not really, dear. I think you need to come up with another band in case this one can't make it.”

“Fine. Don't want to, but fine. Amadhia and Aaron are going to do the national anthem and the opening song for Jeff's speech, right? And any other songs that we need during the other speeches?”

“Yes, I have that handled, they're clear on what they're singing and when. They've arrived, as well, and Antoinette has them settled into the Lincoln Bedroom. Lovely couple. They seem devoted to each other.”

“Yeah, they're cool.” And Jeff had insisted on having them. Couldn't argue, Amadhia did have a beautiful voice.

Vance trotted in. “This just came in, and I know you'll want it.” He handed a printed email to Mrs. Maurer.

She read it and smiled. “You'll be happy, dear. They were able to do it.”

Jumped up and high-fived both of them. “You know what? Sometimes it's actually good to be the FLOTUS.”

“T
HIS IS THE GREATEST PARTY EVER!”

“I can barely hear you,” Jeff said. “Thank God I had the kids wear earplugs.”

“Whatever! Duuuuude looks like a laaaady!” Yes, of course I was singing along. Not that anyone could hear me over the band and the screams from the crowd. It was nice to hear screams of excitement and happiness.

Jamie was on Siler's shoulders and Charlie was on Lizzie's. Everyone seemed to be having a fine time, earplugs notwithstanding. We were on the side of the stage, so in one of the coolest places in the world to be. Being married to the President had its advantages after all.

“I thought there was more to an inauguration than rock bands.”

“Did you? Choose another First Lady then.”

“No, I've got the one I want.”

“Good to know. I'm pretty happy with my Commander in Chief.”

“Thankfully. You know the speeches were supposed to matter.”

“You were awesome as always, Jeff. Very moving, totally Presidential. The crowd loved you.”

“I don't actually care about the crowd.”

Stopped singing along and looked up at him. “Well, I love you. Is that good enough?”

Jeff smiled, his sexy jungle cat about to eat me smile. “It is for me, baby.” Then he bent down and kissed me all through the rest of the song.

I didn't mind at all.

Available December 2016,
the fourteenth novel in the
Alien
series

from Gini Koch:

ALIEN NATION

Read on for a sneak
preview

“W
ILL OTHER ALIEN FLAGS
soon be flying all over our country?” the Serious Newscaster asked. “And are these aliens the reason the Z'porrah attacked our world again? Stay tuned for the first of our twelve-part investigative report: Aliens Among Us.”

Charles Reynolds cleared his throat as the show mercifully cut to a commercial. Chuckie was my best guy friend since 9th grade, always the smartest guy in any room, and also now the Director of the CIA. “It's not an issue for us to share that the photos were shown out of context,” he said, sounding calmer than anyone else had so far. “And I'm sure we can get someone at the UN to share that the flag was their idea. However, this is highlighting one positive thing—the press and therefore the public at large have bought that the attacks at Camp David were caused by the Z'porrah.”

The Z'porrah were an ancient race of nasty dino-birds who had the longest running feud ever going with the Ancients, who were an ancient race of shapeshifters. The Ancients were on the side of Earth and the Alpha Centauri solar systems—and by “on the side of” I mean “had meddled with everyone's evolution but because they cared” versus what the Z'porrah were doing out this way, which was still mourning the death of our dinosaurs and wishing the rest of us were long gone.

So, during our last frolicsome fun of less than a month ago, we'd taken the advice of the Planetary Council and had blamed the created in-control superbeing and android attacks at Camp David on the Z'porrah. That our spin for the
events of Operation Madhouse had started biting us in our butts far sooner than expected was just par for our particular course. We were, as always, stuck in the sand trap with only a miraculous hole-in-one likely to save us.

Serene Dwyer, who was the strongest imageer after Christopher White, a stealth troubadour, and the Head of Imageering for Centaurion Division, nodded. “That the press is attacking is no surprise. That's what they do these days. However, what Alexander and our other galactic advisors told us is still accurate—LaRue Demorte Gaultier was, is, and always will be a turncoat Ancient and a Z'porrah spy, and every action against us can be traced back to her, directly or indirectly.”

“Can we honestly confirm that?” Jeff asked.

Serene nodded. “We can, Jeff. Believe me.”

I believed her, since I knew that Serene was the head of the very clandestine Centaurion CIA, made up of troubadours around the world. I was the only person not involved in their operations who knew they existed. Therefore, if Serene said she had proof, we had proof.

“However, some of that proof can never be shared with the general population,” James Reader said. Reader was the Head of Field, a former top international male model, and the handsomest human I'd ever met. In a room full of A-Cs he looked normal, because the A-Cs were truly the hottest people on Earth. So far as I'd seen, they were the hottest people in the galaxy, but I was prepared to find other alien races just as good looking out there. That was me, always willing to take one for the team.

“Leave the spin to us,” Doreen Coleman-Weisman said. She was now our Head Diplomat for American Centaurion since I was the First Lady and could no longer get away with doing that job. She'd grown up in the Embassy, and though her parents had been traitors, Doreen was loyal to Earth and the rest of us. However, she was the best qualified to be doing the Ambassador's duties. Well, other than one other person.

Richard White was the former Supreme Pontifex for the A-Cs of Earth, meaning their Pope With Benefits. He'd retired to the active lifestyle when my daughter, Jamie, had been born, and he'd been my partner in butt-kicking ever since then. However, due to the events of Operation
Epidemic, where one of our most virulent enemies had launched a bioterrorist attack that had killed half of our country's leadership, White was now the Public Relations Minister for American Centaurion.

White nodded. “Yes, Jeffrey, this falls to us. Doreen and I have been preparing a statement to counter most of this. With the help of the Planetary Council, of course.” He nodded towards the other aliens in the room, of which we had a lot, since the Alpha Centauri Planetary Council had come to visit at the start of Operation Epidemic and literally hadn't had time to finish their business and leave yet. We liked to keep our guests busy, go team.

The news came back on. “Welcome back. In a related story to the one about alien flags flying over the White House, our next story deals with the religious summit taking place in Rome right now.” We switched from the bald-faced lying Serious Newscaster to a shot of Vatican City. “We've learned that the Pope and religious leaders from all parts of the world are indeed in agreement that they will be encouraging their flocks to join together in order to face the ‘brave new world' we find ourselves in.”

The Pope was outside along with a variety of other religious leaders, including ours—Paul Gower. Gower had been groomed by White for this position and he was reasonably comfortable with it these days. He was also Reader's husband. The camera zoomed in on him. Sadly, it probably wasn't because Gower was big, black, bald, and gorgeous, but because he was the A-Cs' Supreme Pontifex and, therefore, the person getting all the “blame” in this situation.

Sure enough and right on cue, the Serious Newscaster shared his so-called thoughts. “Is the Pope being negatively influenced by the head of the aliens' religion?”

“Where is this coming from?” Jeff asked. Though this time he wasn't asking the room at large. He was asking the two members of the fourth estate who had unlimited access to us—Mister Joel Oliver and Bruce Jenkins.

Oliver had been the laughingstock of the media for decades, because he'd insisted that aliens were on the planet. He was and remained the best investigative journalist going, and these days, he actually had the respect of his peers.

Jenkins was known as the Tastemaker, and he had
tremendous influence therefore. He'd been after us in a bad way during Operation Defection Election, when Jeff had been running as Vice President to the late Vincent Armstrong. But events of that particular frolic had made Jenkins switch sides in a very fast and permanent way. Discovering that one of the candidates you're supporting is an android did that to some people.

“I believe that the answer is simple,” Oliver said.

Jenkins nodded. “Follow the money.”

“Excuse me?” Jeff asked.

The answer dawned on me. “Oh. This station is owned by YatesCorp, isn't it?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes. Recently added into that media conglomerate.”

“Recently as in the last two weeks,” Jenkins added. “You know, right after the attacks on Camp David that we managed to spin well, and the inauguration gala and Club Fifty-One Gratitude Ceremony, which also went far better than could have been expected.”

“Mergers happen all the time,” Elaine Armstrong said. She was Armstrong's widow and now Jeff's Secretary of State. As such, she was fully on Team Alien. “Not that I am for one moment suggesting that this isn't a concerted effort against us.”

“YatesCorp is trying to gather as many affiliates as possible,” Oliver said. “And as Bruce pointed out, that's only started since the last actions against the A-Cs were salvaged.”

“So, Kingsley Teague is making his move.” Looked down the table to Thomas Kendrick, the head of Titan Security and one of the newer additions to Team Alien. “Thomas, your thoughts?”

He shook his head. “I realize I was sort of ‘in' with Kingsley and the others, but I don't think they ever trusted me fully, since I came over from the Department of Defense. None of this is something I know anything about.”

Based on what had gone on during Operation Madhouse, I believed him. That the others did, too, was confirmed by heads nodding around the room, including Jeff's. Barring Kendrick and others in the room wearing emotional overlays or blockers, if Jeff felt that Kendrick was telling the truth, then Kendrick was telling the truth.

“However,” Kendrick went on, “I can guarantee that they want to harm your ward. That they never tried to hide from me.”

My ward was Elizabeth Jackson, now Elizabeth Vrabel. Lizzie had been adopted by Benjamin Siler, who was the first human-alien hybrid, being the son of Ronald Yates and Madeleine Siler Cartwright.

Yates was the exiled former Supreme Pontifex who happened to be White's father and Jeff and Christopher's grandfather. Yates had built a media empire and then some, which was now being run by Teague.

He'd also been an in-control superbeing named Mephistopheles. Mephistopheles had allowed Yates to die, with the idea that he'd then move to me. But I'd killed Mephistopheles before that could happen. Operation Fugly might have been six years ago, but there wasn't a day it didn't find a way to rear its head and add into whatever else was going on.

Cartwright had been one of the many female Brains Behind The Throne we'd encountered over the years. She was dead now, too, thanks to the fact that we had talented allies. But Yates, Cartwright, and her sister and brother-in-law, Cybele Siler Marling and Antony Marling, had done experiments on Cartwright's son.

As such, Siler aged far slower than everyone else and, in addition to the standard A-C abilities like hyperspeed, super strength, and faster regeneration, he could “blend,” meaning he kind of went chameleon. That blend could extend to those he touched, and while he couldn't hold the blend for all that long, experience had shown that he could hold it long enough.

His uncle had rescued him from the torture his parents were perpetrating upon him and had raised Siler in his trade—assassination.

Due to a variety of things that had happened during Operation Epidemic, Siler had moved himself and Lizzie into the Embassy and they used the name Vrabel for anything public. But events of Operation Madhouse had put Lizzie into the White House with the rest of us and made her my ward, just because things hadn't been complicated enough already.

Despite all that had happened to her—including her parents being traitors who'd been willing to kill her when
she wasn't willing to go along with a plan to murder millions of people—Lizzie was a great kid. She was also a protector. Teague and the others were after her because she'd schooled their kids on why picking on people weaker than yourself was a bad thing to do.

“I get that they don't like that Lizzie kicked their kids' and their friends' kids' butts. But the only reason I can see for them continuing the vendetta is because they want to hurt Amy and blame it on Lizzie.”

Amy was one of my two best girlfriends from high school, Amy Gaultier-White. She was a tall redhead, a lawyer, and still fighting to get control of her late father's company, Gaultier Enterprises. She was also in the room, because we were nothing if not the most unconventional and chummy administration the White House had seen in a long time if not ever.

“Well, the Fem-Bot Initiative certainly indicates that.” Amy was going to say something more, but Tim Crawford ran into the room.

Tim was doing the job that was still the favorite one I'd ever held—Head of Airborne. “Where have you been?” Jeff asked, before Tim could speak. “I asked you to be here thirty minutes ago.”

“Sorry I'm late, but you'll be glad I am. Or at least interested in why.” Tim didn't sit. “I was at Andrews with the rest of my team, getting briefed on more of what Drax's helicarrier can do.”

“Where is he?” Jeff asked. “He was supposed to be here as well.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Jeff, if you'd let me finish, I'd be happy to tell you. Unless you desperately need someone to berate for some reason.”

“He does, we just watched the news and they were, as so frequently happens, mean to us and Jeff's tender feelings are hurt. However, I'm here. Tell me whatever it is, Megalomaniac Lad. I care and currently feel no need to berate anyone.”

Tim grinned at me. “Thanks, Kitty. Anyway, a request came through to Colonel Franklin and he felt that we needed to discuss it, so I could brief all of you.”

“And that was?” Jeff asked, sounding annoyed. “I'm not
trying to berate you, Tim. I just want to know why you're late.”

“Jeff,” my mother said sharply, “relax. And that's an order.”

That my mother was both in the room and telling the President what to do wasn't so much that she was a meddling busybody as much as it was her job. As I'd discovered six years ago, my mother wasn't a business consultant. She was
the
consultant for anti-terrorism and the Head of the Presidential Terrorism Control Unit, a division almost as clandestine as the one Serene was running, but with a lot more power. The P.T.C.U. reported directly to the Office of the President and most of the other Alphabet Agencies reported dotted line into the P.T.C.U. somewhere.

“Ah, Angela has experience with this, Jeff,” Fritz Hochberg, our newly instated Vice President, mentioned. “More than you or I do, frankly.”

Jeff ran his hand through his hair. He had dark, wavy brown hair and I liked when he did this, because it managed to make him even more handsome than normal, which, considering he was the hottest thing on two legs, should have been impossible. But it wasn't.

Jeff must have picked up my lust spike, because he glanced over at me and gave me a very personal smile. He also relaxed. That was me, keeping the top man relaxed by wanting to constantly keep him in the sack. This was, sadly, probably the only FLOTUS duty I was actually going to be good at, but at least I had this one firmly in the win column.

“You're right,” Jeff said. “Tim, I'm sorry, please go on.”

Tim shook his head. “Too much caffeine? Anyway, while I realize that the media attacks are making everyone tense—and yes, I know about them because they have TVs over at Andrews—this may make it a little better.”