Alien Diplomacy (50 page)

“Yeah? Well, I could spend the time making out with Paul. Believe me, I’d prefer it. But, somehow, duty calls. As does your dress fitting.”

Well, that damped the mood. “Fine. Do I have time to check on Jamie first?” I looked down. “And feed her?”

“Yes,” Reader said with a long-suffering sigh. “Just hurry it up. We’ll be taking everyone to the infirmary to get checked out.” He eyed Jeff. “You should probably go into isolation.”

Jeff shrugged. “I feel fine. The pain in my ears is gone.”

“Right.” Reader shook his head. “We need you at your best tonight, Jeff. And, I’m going to pull rank on this, too. You can help Kitty feed the baby, and then you’re in isolation until it’s time to get dressed.”

Jeff looked like he was going to argue, but as much as I hated to admit it, I knew Reader was right. “He’s the Head of the Field,” I said quietly. “And I really don’t want to harpoon you at the President’s Ball if we can avoid it.” When Jeff overstrained himself, which he’d done regularly when we worked as Commanders, his
empathic blocks would break down. Soon after, if he didn’t get isolation, he’d need adrenaline shot directly into his hearts. Or he’d die. One of the few things I’d enjoyed about our Diplomatic Mission was that I hadn’t had to stab him with the huge needle for the past three months.

Jeff shot me a betrayed look, but he also nodded. “Fine. As you say. I’m going to use the isolation chamber in our apartment, though.”

“Fine, just make sure it’s clean,” Reader said, and I noted he had a much more in-charge voice going. “We’ve had strangers in here too often in the past few days.”

“Yes, sir, Commander,” Jeff said, with only a little resentment and longing in his tone.

We got out of the car in time to observe the last part of the Man and Dog Reunion Ishmael and Prince were having. Clearly, the K-9 cops loved their dogs, because Ishmael was on his knees, arms around his dog, with tears running down his face, which Prince was licking off.

He saw Jeff, got up, and came over to us. “Thank you. I can’t believe you did that, that you risked your life to save his. And I can’t tell you what that means to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Jeff grinned, at Prince if I was any judge. “I’m used to running after certain brave protectors who’ve bitten off a little more than they can chew.”

“I think I should resent that remark.”

Jeff put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him. “True enough, baby…but you can’t deny it, either.”

We zipped upstairs to the area on the fourth floor Pierre and Denise had designated school and day care center. Jeff wasn’t zipping at anything close to full speed, and I realized Reader was right—he needed isolation. I chose not to mention it, as long as Jeff actually did as he’d been told, which I counted as nice personal growth for myself.

“Wow,” I said as we entered and looked around. “They did this fast.”

Jeff coughed. “Hyperspeed. You’ve heard of it. Try to keep up.”

“Humph.” It was easy to spot Jamie; she was sitting between Raymond and Rachel, who were in front of Denise, who appeared to be reading a story. All of them were surrounded by Poofs. I checked my purse. “Why are all the Poofs here?”

“Because I told them to protect Jamie and everyone else at the Embassy while we went after you.”

Jamie made the Mommy AND Daddy Are Here! squeal. I cuddled her while Denise showed us around. “There’s even a nursing area,” she said, leading us to it. “Pierre thought of everything.”

We discussed Pierre’s amazing awesomeness as I got ready to feed Jamie. Denise left us alone while we took care of business. I could tell Jeff didn’t want it to end. “James is right, you need isolation.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. God alone knows what you’ll get into.”

“I’m going to be getting into my dress for tonight. Trust me, I know how Pierre rolls, and he’s going to have us primping and prepping for, potentially, the entire time you’re isolated. Go in for a few hours so you don’t have to be in for days.”

He sighed. “Hate it when you’re logical and there’s no flaw in your argument.”

“Wow, you must hate it all the time.”

He laughed, and we spent the rest of the time just being a normal little family. Jamie was done eating far too soon. We handed her back to Denise, then called Tito. He met us up in the isolation chamber attached to our bedroom, tested all the fluids and such, and declared them all free of Surcenthumain and other toxins.

The standard isolation chambers were always the creepiest place in any A-C facility. Dulce had a whole huge section devoted to them; when I was there, it always felt like being in the biggest haunted mad scientist lab and ancient tomb combo you could imagine.

The chamber attached to our rooms was a lot better, being more like a very solidly insulated bedroom, just one with beds that had a lot of needles and tubes attached to them. It was better by far than the ones I was used to seeing Jeff go into, but it was still a room with tons of needles and weird tubes in it. I wanted out before I even got in.

I kissed Jeff good-bye. “Be good, baby,” he said. “I can’t feel you in here, so I can’t come to pull you out of the Potomac or toss you into a safe place.”

“I’ll be getting a dress adjusted, Jeff. How much trouble can I get into doing that?”

“It’s you. I’d list all the potential ways, but Tito’s looking impatient.”

“Hilarious.” I gave him one last, long kiss, then I was ordered out of the room by Tito, since my stress levels were already going off the charts.

I left the isolation room, closed the door behind me, then decided to do the other ball attendees a favor and took a fast shower. Once clean, dry, and dressed, I checked to make sure the lights on the panel outside the isolation room were the right colors. Having so ascertained, I then hit the intercom button in our room. “Walter, where is Pierre doing the dress fittings?”

“The small salon on the second floor, Chief.”

I dutifully headed downstairs, but I called Reader on the way. “What’s up now, girlfriend? And what took you so long to check in?”

“Jeff’s in isolation, Tito said everything was fine, I took a shower, forgive me for wanting to ensure I didn’t stink, and I’m heading to my dress fitting. I was wondering what you guys decided in terms of Ishmael and his crew.”

“We brought over medical personnel from Dulce, and Tito has Nurse Carter helping out, too. They’re checking everyone over now. So far, Reynolds, Tim, Kevin, and I have been given clean bills of health. We’re also rounding up a veterinarian, at your father’s suggestion.”

“Considering, we probably need to get a vet on staff.”

“Let’s table that until, you know, after we see if we all survive tonight.”

“Any progress on our assassination target?”

“You mean besides all of us? After this afternoon, I think I speak for everyone when I say we have no guesses. At all.”

“I’ll ponder while I’m doing the fashionista thing with Pierre.”

“Do. Because time’s nearly up, and we’re possibly in a worse position than when we started.”

“Will do, Voice of Doom. Find out if Vance told my mom anything. He claimed to know who the target was.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And let me know what he said whenever you find out.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Thanks ever, Mister Pissy.”

“Sorry, just in a bad mood.”

“I noticed. Why so? I mean more than the obvious reasons.”

“All the stuff the K-9 unit stole from us was in their taxis. You know, the ones that are buried under rubble now.”

“Crap. Have you sent agents out to check on the scene?”

“Gosh, thank God you’re here, what would I do without you?”

“I’m close to getting offended.”

“Don’t be. Yes, we sent them. Everything was burned. We have nothing left.”

“Did Ishmael and his crew look at any of it?”

“Why no, of course not. Because they were too busy playing Catch the Cat.”

“I think I’m going to be offended by that remark.”

“Does this mean that, should I turn straight, you’re not going to run off with me?”

“No, don’t worry, I’m still holding onto the dream.”

“Thanks, babe, I feel better.”

“But do you feel straight?”

“Doing a sound check. Nope, still gay.”

“You’re a tease, James, you know that, right?”

“And you’re still my girl, you know that too, right?”

“I do indeed.”

“Good. Then everything’s still right with the world.”

W
E HUNG UP, AND I JOINED PIERRE’S CATWALK.
At least, that’s what it felt like.

The salon was already tastefully done up in an Early American Expensive motif, presumably to fool whoever was in it into thinking American Centaurion had been around during Colonial times. Well, they had been. They just hadn’t been on Earth.

It was also reminiscent of what Reader had done for my wedding, only with more black. Because, despite my hopes to the contrary, everything was in a black, white, or black and white pattern.

“Pierre, they’ve indoctrinated you into Armani’s Black and White Army already? You’ve been here less than three full days.”

“Oh, no, darling. But for the President’s Ball everyone’s supposed to show their country’s colors.”

Well, black and white were certainly the A-C’s colors of choice. Clearly, even at the biggest shindig we’d been invited to so far, we were going in the formal version of the Armani Fatigues. I refrained from asking what our flag looked like—so far, I’d never seen one flying anywhere. Considering the A-C’s color preferences, maybe it was because we flew the Jolly Roger.

I heaved a sigh. “Well, black hides stains.”

As I was hustled behind the tasteful Oriental screen Pierre had clearly had brought in which was serving as the changing area, I looked at what the other gals were going to be wearing. I had to admit they looked good.

Amy, our rather willowy redhead, was in a one-shouldered white charmeuse sheath dress that managed to make her look as if she were stepping out on the red carpet, with a long, silky black
wrap. Caroline was in a form-fitting confection of organza, satin, and white lace sprinkled with glittery black beads I prayed weren’t actually black diamonds. Her wrap was a bolero jacket in a reversed pattern of the dress, black lace and organza sprinkled with white please-God-not-real-diamonds. Doreen was draped in what I could only think of as a black Grecian Pregnancy Toga I was fairly sure was made out of raw silk. But she was a Dazzler so, even as extremely preggers as she was, she looked gorgeous.

All the dresses were long, which made sense for the event, just not if we had to run for our lives, which I expected.

My dress options were handed back to me. I had one white, one black, and one two-toned option. “Can I just say no to the all-white one right now?”

“No, darling. Let’s at least have a look.”

“Pierre, white and I don’t mix well.”

“You look lovely in white.”

“No argument. However, I will stain it in under an hour. An hour might be a generous estimate.”

“She’s not making that up,” Caroline said.

“I’d give it about thirty minutes,” Amy added.

“Less if there’s a punch bowl nearby,” Doreen shared.

My friends, there for me when I needed them. However, they did shove Pierre and the designer who’d apparently won the exciting contract to dress me over to the side of no all-white or mostly white ensembles.

This meant I ended up in a silk cut-velvet number that was fitted to midthigh and then hung loose. Low-cut back, rather modest yet complimentary bodice, sleeveless, but, thankfully, not strapless. The dress glittered in the light, not that I could tell how it was managing it. It reminded me somewhat of the dress I’d worn to my high school reunion, only it was more stately. Of course, I’d been chased through the desert by a psychopathic politician at my high school reunion. This boded.

Sadly, this also looked great on me. The wrap, which was along the really large and wide scarf variety, was made of the same fabric only in white, but had delicate fringe at each end. It set off the dress beautifully. I wondered if I could just carry jeans and a T-shirt with me, so I could change out of this beautiful outfit when things went all sideways. But there were never convenient changing rooms when I needed them, and even Superman couldn’t find an actual phone booth these days, so I shoved that little hope aside.

“I need to see if I can run in this.”

Pierre and the designer exchanged a knowing look. The designer, who was a pretty, petite Japanese girl younger than me, smiled. “The skirt’s seam is actually a series of small snaps.” She showed me where to pull to open the seam easily. You literally couldn’t tell it was there, but I undid a couple of the snaps, and sure enough, it worked.

I stared at her. “
You
are a genius.”

She laughed. “All part of the service we provide at Akiko Designs.”

“Works for me. I apologize right now for how this dress is likely to end up looking when this event is over.”

She shrugged. “You’ve paid for it. What you do to the clothes is your business. I already took pictures at my workshop.” She handed me a rather large clutch that was clearly intended to accessorize this outfit. It was a black and white tiger-striped number that should have looked tacky but instead looked daring, trendy, and chic. It was also large enough to hold a Glock, Jeff’s adrenaline harpoon, hairspray, and my iPod.