Touched by an Alien (10 page)

“And we’re too slow to understand it, right?”

“Slow only in the physical sense.”

This begged another question. “Then how did you know what was going on? Why did you come here?”

He started walking again, quickly, and I had to trot to keep up. “We told you. You needed us.”

I thought about this as we raced to the building that was marked “Administration.”

“The parasites couldn’t get through the shield, but I’ll bet you saw them knock on the door. We’re farther out from the galactic core than you are. They couldn’t get in at your place, so they headed to ours.”

Martini held the door for me. “You’re taking this very well. I’ll be sure to tell the kids about it all the time.”

“So, why your family group? I mean, if you all are really related?”

We entered the building. It looked like every military headquarters I’d ever seen on TV or in the movies—lots of terminals, screens of all sizes, desks with papers, much hustle and bustle from the many people moving about with purpose. Only the vast majority of the personnel were really great-looking men. There were some ordinary guys mingled in, all wearing Air Force uniforms. These I took to be humans.

The building was quite large and had a big gate at the end opposite from where Martini and I were. The last SUV was arriving as we walked in. I could see the other cars and the limo parked in a formation that made it seem they were ready to race off at any moment. There was a huge sliding door in front of the cars, which I assumed was how our little motor pool would exit the building gracefully.

“Dammit,” Martini said under his breath.

White had spotted us and was striding toward us, looking furious. “Where the hell have you two been?” he snarled as he got within earshot.

“I almost broke an ankle in that dome thing,” I said before Martini could answer. “Plus I didn’t want my mother to see me looking like I’d been hit by a bus. I blackmailed Martini into taking me home first.”

“Blackmailed? What, you offered to let him kiss you?” White asked, not seeming convinced or appeased.

“No, but that’s a good one I’ll save for later. I told him I’d have my father send the Marines over to the real crash site.”

“You have no idea of the risks you just took,” White sputtered.

“I think I do. There are a few superbeings in control of the human to superbeing and back again merry-go-round, and they want to take over. I’m identified as able to stop them, so they want to kill me. However, unless being an in-control superbeing means you become an utter moron, which I doubt, they know damn well I’m with you all now. Which means they have less than no interest in my apartment, since it’s hard to hold a couple of guppies and a Siamese fighting fish hostage. Besides,” I added as White seemed to be calming down, “I think I can run and fight a lot better dressed like this. I might be less cranky this way, too.”

“I doubt it,” White muttered.

“Where’s my mother?” I looked around but didn’t see her. Didn’t see any women other than me, actually. White didn’t answer. This crew had a real issue with lying effectively or even believably. Good to know. They might be fast, but humanity still had the edge in con artistry. “Well?”

“They aren’t back yet,” White admitted.

I managed to remind myself that his son was, presumably, the other part of the “they” who weren’t back along with my mother. I wasn’t reassured. “Where are they?”

“We believe they’re still in New York.” White looked uncomfortable.

“What do you mean, you
believe
?” I tried, but I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.

“It means they got into trouble,” Martini said softly. “We’re going, right now,” he said to White. “Her, me, James, and Paul. You stay here in case the others get back before we do.”

White didn’t argue. Martini grabbed my hand, and we started to run to the limo, but at human speed. “Who’s actually in charge around here?” I gasped out.

“We have a situation, so that would be me,” Martini said in a clipped tone. “Moving out, Alpha Team, now!” he shouted at Gower and Reader, both of whom were standing by the limo.

Reader and Gower ran toward a smaller gate I could now see was near the carport area. “Not taking the limo?” I asked as we followed them. I could see Gower making calibrations.

“No time. We’ll get a car when we’re there.” Martini, still running, swung me up into his arms. Reader went through the gate, then the two of us. As I was flinging my face into Martini’s neck, I saw Gower moving behind us.

Then the horrible whooshing feeling followed by the jolt of arrival. Martini opened the stall door and put me down. We were indeed in the men’s room at what I assumed was JFK, and it was full.

Reader was there, looking as though he was trying not to laugh. Gower stepped out of the stall we’d just vacated. “Great,” I heard him mutter behind me.

The men’s room occupants who weren’t part of our little team were, to a man, staring at us with a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and fear on their faces. I reminded myself that Martini and Gower couldn’t lie, and Reader was too busy trying not to crack up. It was up to me. Again.

“Gentlemen, thank you so much!” I started to applaud. “You’ve helped us get a great scene for the new reality series, Life With A Former Male Model,” I pointed to Reader. “Our production assistants will be here in a couple of minutes with release forms. If all goes well, you’ll see yourselves on television in a few months! And, we will allow you to review footage to make sure that if any of you don’t want certain, ah, portions of the film with you in it shown, we can remove it before airing.” I looked at Gower, Martini, and Reader, all of whom were managing to keep their mouths shut. “Gentlemen, we need to move. We’re due in the women’s restroom in fifteen. Sorry, folks,” I said, as I grabbed Reader and moved him along, “no autographs right now, we’re on a tight schedule.”

We scrambled out of the bathroom, and Martini headed off. The rest of us followed. He was still moving at human speed levels, so Reader and I were okay. “When do you think they’ll realize we weren’t holding any cameras?” Reader asked me as we raced along.

“About the same time they realize no one’s coming in with release forms. Or when they go to the information desk to ask why the release forms aren’t coming. How does he know he’s going in the right direction?”

“I don’t know if he’s told you, but . . .” Reader seemed uncomfortable.

“Oh, right, he’s an empath. Who’s he tracking?”

“Whoever’s the most terrified. Didn’t freak you out?”

“Did, but I was too busy being glad he’d realized I was going to barf and pass out and was fixing that to care.”

“You could do a lot worse,” Reader added as we rounded a corner.

We headed toward the runways, not baggage claim or the arrivals and departures area. It was already night here, which, as I thought about it, made sense. At least the time zones were working normally.

“Thanks for sharing. I’m more worried about my mother than whether or not Martini and I have that special spark.”

“They make great mates,” Reader said. “I mean, really great.”

Yes, we were indeed heading toward the planes, which meant that, shortly, we were going to have to deal with security. I wasn’t looking forward to that. Martini slowed, nodded to Gower, then Martini grabbed my hand and Gower grabbed Reader’s. They now moved us at hyperspeed, though at the slower pace, so we were less likely to barf or pass out when we stopped. We raced past security, through the terminal, and out the gate that seemed the farthest exit point in this entire airport.

We hit the tarmac and slowed down to human speed. I noted that Gower and Reader didn’t seem at all uncomfortable holding hands. “What speed?” Gower asked Martini.

“Human. Need to conserve energy.” There was nothing at all in his demeanor to suggest humor or frivolity. He let go of my hand, and Gower did the same with Reader’s, and then we started off again, Martini in the lead.

“You and Paul?” I asked Reader as we brought up the rear.

“Yep. You caught that one a little late.”

“Not really. I thought you’d joined up because you were recruited, not because you’d, well, married in.”

“Actually, I was recruited. Like you. Superbeing created at a photo shoot. Everyone else freaked, I killed it. The gang showed up, I got the tour and was in. We didn’t have this much excitement when I joined up, though.”

“Lucky you.” We were running under airplanes. I’d been in a lot of them, but it’s a daunting thing to look up and see the belly of the plane and realize you don’t have to duck to get under it. “So, when did you two hook up?”

“Oh, a while after I’d been an agent. Just started working together, found out we liked the same things, started hanging out, realized we both wanted to be more than friends, that sort of thing. A-C’s don’t have the same hang-ups about homosexuality that humans do. It’s refreshing.”

“They do seem, well, nicer than us.”

“This group, yeah.” He was quiet while we dodged several baggage carts and were yelled at by a lot of airport workers. “When we’re through this situation, ask Jeff about why they came here. I mean, them, in particular, not in general.”

“I don’t think he wants to tell me.”

“He probably doesn’t, but he will if you ask him.”

I would have pursued this, but we weren’t alone on the tarmac anymore. There were several men running toward us, all looking terrified. From what I could see, they’d been driving baggage carts. The tarmac was fairly well lit, and the moon was out. As I looked farther in the distance I could see what looked like a big monster out of a Ray Harryhausen film up ahead of us.

“Take a cart,” I called to Reader.

“Why?” he asked as he jumped into one of the two nearest us. “We can run faster than these things move.”

I got into the other one. Thankfully, they worked like golf carts. “Maybe we can ram it or something.”

“You’re insane,” Reader said with a laugh. “I think you and Jeff might be the perfect couple.”

“Maybe. What do you all use for weapons against these things?” We were driving side by side, and while the speed of the carts wasn’t all that fast, we had to shout.

“Can’t use tanks and artillery here, so nothing.”

“Nothing?? What kills these things, besides my pen?”

“Depends. This one’s in control, so it’s hard to say.”

We got closer, and Reader braked, hard. I followed his lead but ended up ahead of him. “What’s wrong?”

Reader looked pale. “It’s Mephistopheles.”

“WHO’S MEPHISTOPHELES?
You mean like Faust’s devil?”

Reader nodded and pointed to the superbeing who was stomping around the tarmac. We were close enough to see that he was trying to stomp on people—and two of those people were Christopher and my mother.

I took a closer look. We were near what looked like the air freight section, and there were floodlights all over the place, so seeing was easy. The superbeing was big, easily twelve feet tall, which made me wonder how he got around New York without tanks and artillery showing up on a daily basis. He resembled a huge faun, with a goat body for the lower half and a human torso and head. His arms looked human, but his fingers ended in claws, similar to those of the dead superbeing I’d seen at the warehouse. He had huge bat wings and they, like the rest of him, were blood red. The hair covering his lower body was also this color. Curling horns came out of his forehead, and his face wasn’t all that pleasant to look at—not ugly, but so far from human and contorted with so much hatred your eyes just wanted to look away.

“So, you know this thing?”

“Yeah. He’s the strongest of the in-control superbeings.” Reader sounded totally freaked out. “We need some weapons.”

“Which we don’t have, unless they’re invisible.” I started to wonder if pacifists ran this operation. Maybe we were supposed to talk the monster out of killing my mother.

Martini and Gower were there now. As near as I could tell, this just meant Mr. Mephistopheles was getting a chance to stomp more people I knew, because I didn’t see them producing a gun or any other kind of weapon. They were just running around the thing, like Christopher and the other guys in Armani who were there. I counted seven, not including Martini and Gower.

“Ram the legs with the carts.” I started mine up again and headed toward the monster. This was, I admitted as I “raced” along at about fifteen miles per hour, not the greatest plan. But it seemed better than running around aimlessly.

I checked over my shoulder, Reader was right behind me. Good. He might be scared but he was willing to do something.

I hooked my purse over my neck so I wouldn’t lose it. As we got closer, I could hear the monster—he was talking.

At least, I thought it was language. It wasn’t something I understood, though I got the impression the A-C crew did because they seemed to be reacting to whatever it was Mephistopheles snarled at them.