Universal Alien (17 page)

C
HUCKIE PULLED ME ASIDE.
“You just went pale,” he said quietly. “What did that ridiculous name mean to you?”

“It's a really long story, but the easiest explanation is that, in my world, we have a Sith Lord active. We call him the Mastermind. He's the third generation of Sith, by the way. For us, the first Sith was an alien, named Ronald Yates. But his apprentice and the second Sith Lord was Leventhal Reid.”

“So that creep was in your world, too?”

“Creep would be the nicest thing I could say about him. He remains the most terrifying person I've ever dealt with. Jeff was only able to save me from him by about a second, and even then, even after Jeff killed him, Reid found a way to come back.”

“What? Is your head hurting or something?”

“No. In our world, Herbert Gaultier and Antony Marling, among others, were able to create legitimate clones and androids. We're still finding out what else they created and who else is continuing on their sick and twisted work.”

Chuckie jerked. “Who did you say?”

“Antony Marling and Herbert Gaultier.”

“There's no way, Kitty. Herbert Gaultier is a successful businessman, yes, but he's focused on saving people and the planet. Very focused. Herbert and Solange keep in touch with us, even though you cut Amy out when we got married. He's a humanitarian, focused on curing cancer among other things. True, I think Marling's a quack, but he's considered the top doctor in the world for autistic children.”

“Really? They're good guys?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“And . . . go back. I've cut Amy out in this world?”

He nodded. “She . . . insulted me when you called to tell her we were getting married. You two haven't spoken since. Herbert and especially Solange keep on trying to get you two to make up. But I can't say that I'm eager for it. It's been nice to not have your friends insulting me constantly.”

Couldn't stop myself, I hugged him. “I'm sorry. And I'm sorry to say that it happens in my world, too.” Hugged him harder. “But I'm still your most ardent defender.”

He hugged me back and kissed the top of my head. “Thanks. That's kind of nice to know.”

Realized we were hugging just a little too long and gently pulled away. “So, um, Solange is still alive? The woman who Julio over there just ID'd as the Lady of Death sounds a lot like LaRue Demorte, who in my world got to tack Gaultier onto the end of her name.”

“She's not Amy's mother there, is she?” He sounded horrified. If he only knew LaRue he'd be grossed out, too.

“Oh, hell no, she's too young to be a mother of someone our age; she's only a few years older than us. Well, supposedly. She was Herbert's secretary, then mistress, then second wife, after he murdered Solange. Per you, by the way. In my world, if you say it, we know it's so.”

“Wow. It's nice to know that I'm considered infallible somewhere.”

“Oh, I'm betting you're infallible here, too.”

“So, back to that name. Why did it make you go pale?”

“Because we discovered the clones of Reid and LaRue when . . .” Had no idea how he was going to take this, and wondered if I could talk around it. Realized I was going to have to tell him sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.

Chuckie cocked his head at me. “Ah. What did they do to me? Am I still alive in your world?”

“You are, yes. Your wife, however . . .” Swallowed hard and went on. “She loved you so much. And Jamie, too. We have human and alien godparents for Jamie. James and Amy—who I'm still besties with in my world—are my Jamie's human godparents. Jamie's named for James. And me.”

“Same here. Jamie Katherine.”

“I figured on the first name, but it's nice to know on the second. Jeff's cousin and Amy's husband Christopher is her alien godfather. And your wife, Naomi, was her alien godmother. And, like the best fairy godmother in the world, she sacrificed herself to save you and Jamie from the Mastermind.”

“Ah. How long were we married?”

Swallowed hard again. “Six months.”

Chuckie got a funny look on his face. “How long ago did she die?”

“About a year and a half ago.”

“Took me a long time to get married. Why?”

“Ah . . .” There was truly no good, or modest, way to answer this question.

“Oh. I was still in love with you, wasn't I?”

“Yeah. In my world, our timing sucked.”

“Figures. Am I . . . still mourning?”

“Yeah, you are, actually.” He looked kind of ill. “What is it?”

“She's going to want to take care of him, isn't she? She'll see him as me, as her husband, and even if she's clear on everything else that's going on, it's me, like you're her, in that sense. She'll want to stay where it's exciting and things are so much better than here.”

“Whoa there, big fella. I haven't been in this world very long, but I have to say that, other than the fact that you've been lying like a wet rug to her about what you actually do in your third career, and the fact that Mom is dead in this world, it's pretty great here.”

“Really? She and our children would be dead if not for this switch. You've made that abundantly clear. She already has Jamie there. She can have more children . . . a new Charlie and Max. With him.” He sounded stricken, as if he really believed this was going to happen.

“Wow, dude. Seriously, until just a couple years ago, I honestly had no idea that you were the jealous type.”

“I hide it well.”

“Not so much right now. And I'm betting not at all to Other Me. Look, I deal with this all the time because Jeff is a jealous man, too. He was majorly jealous of you, for years. He's finally gotten past it, at least most of the time. You need to trust the two, well, three of them as much as they have to trust you and me, you know.”

He shook himself. “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. That's what friends are for, remember? And in every universe that we exist in, no matter what, you're always my best friend.”

He gave me a slow smile. “Then that makes the multiverse sound a whole lot better.” He cleared his throat. “So, the weird name? You still haven't told me why it freaked you out, just that it has something to do with my . . . other wife's death.”

“Yeah. While we were doing the usual Mexican standoffs that I seem unable to avoid, both Reid and LaRue called the man in charge ‘Father.' He's not their real father—it was clearly what Yates, our Alien Patient Zero for Evil, had told Reid to call him, and, when I killed Yates and Reid took over, it was what he told his then-Apprentice to call him.”

“Wait, what? You killed someone?”

“Hells to the yeah. More than one someone, to be honest.”

“How many someones have you killed in this alternate reality my wife is in?”

“Dude, I'm losing count. Definitely in double digits. They were all bad guys, if that helps any. And by bad, I mean horrifically, terribly evilly bad. Just like the guys we're going after now.”

“Okay. I guess.”

“You guess. If I'd realized there was a Glock in Other Me's purse this morning, I'd have killed all four of them already for what they tried to do to me and three innocent little children.
Your
innocent little children.”

“I'm not trying to sound disapproving, Kitty, I'm sorry. I can just see where this is going. You want to take down whoever's in charge of the Corporation. And by ‘take down' I mean ‘kill.'”

“Probably. Because of the explanation you interrupted.”

“Oh, pardon me. Do go on.”

“I do sarcasm so much better than you. At any rate, with Reid being dead—and I note you didn't freak out when I said that my
husband
had killed him—said Second Apprentice is now the Master, and he's doing an endless clone loop with himself, Reid, and LaRue. Not Yates, though—they don't appear to want the competition, or the control, for whatever reason. All of this was basically confirmed by the Reid and LaRue clones. So, if we take Father Boss to its obvious conclusion . . .”

“Frankly, I didn't want to sound like I was running your husband down and besides, you indicated Reid was attacking you so that was acceptable. And no, I don't need a feminist tongue lashing, so you can close your mouth. You're right, I was being sexist, and I'm sorry and I'll do my best not to do it again. But, yes, I see where you're going with that name. And, based on all of this, you need to realize that whoever is running the Corporation in this world has an extremely high probability of being the Sith Lord in yours.”

“Got it in one, but then I never had a doubt. By the way, the chances are incredibly high that it's someone I know, and know well, in my world. From all we've learned, the Mastermind knows pretty much everything we're doing and planning to do.”

“Well based on your reactions to Gaultier and Marling, be prepared for this person to be someone you think is a good guy in your world.”

“Yeah, that had occurred to me, too. You know, this is sort of like
Days of Future Past
or
Age of Apocalypse
. Some people are still doing the jobs they were doing in my universe, some are still evil and some are still good, and some, wow, just wow. I'll do my best to not assume at this point. But anyway and speaking of Marling, why would you guys interact with an autism specialist?”

Chuckie looked down. “Jamie,” he said quietly. “We're not sure what's wrong, and we don't discuss it a lot, but I think it's autism and I'm pretty sure my Kitty does, too. And . . . if Jamie's autistic, it's all my fault.”

“W
E'LL DEAL WITH THE REPORTERS
somehow, Walter,” Martini said. “We'll be down momentarily.”

“So much for that nap idea.” The three of us looked in the mirrors. “Well, you two look great. I, on the other hand . . .”

“Look like someone who's had an accident and is therefore shaken up,” Charles said.

“My clothes are a mess. And the less said about the state of my hair, the better.”

“They're also wrong,” Martini said with a jerk. “We need you to change clothes before we go downstairs. And your hair is cut differently.”

“I'll put it up in a banana clip, if you have those here. That should hide any differences.”

“We do,” Charles said. “You two take care of that, I'll stall.” He raced off before I could say that if I was going to be undressing in front of a man, he was the man I was going to be far more comfortable with.

“It'll be fine,” Martini said, as he took my hand. “I won't look. Though I've seen everything you have, since you're, you know, the same. In that sense. I think, anyway.”

“Let's just stick with you not looking, Mister Smooth.” We went to an elevator this time. And once again, Martini seemed uncomfortable and sad. “Why are you unhappy in elevators?”

Now he looked embarrassed. “Ah, we, uh . . .”

“Oh, wow, you guys do it in the elevator?” It had been a long time since Charles and I were able to be that adventuresome. “It's got to be better than an airplane bathroom.” Though those were damned fun times, and I had extremely fond memories of a few airplane bathrooms. I was fairly sure Charlie had been conceived in one.

Martini still looked embarrassed, but he grinned, too. “We like to find as many places as possible to, ah, ensure the relationship is still solid.”

The doors opened and we got out. “Works for me. And, wow, is this place really an embassy, or is it just a gigantic luxury hotel?”

“I guess it's a little of both. Does it bother you?”

“Not really. It's not like our houses are miniscule, and Charles ensures we always have the very best. We're not ostentatious, but we have three kids and family and friends living with us—we need a lot of space.”

“Interesting. My Kitty can barely handle it, and she's been living here for three years.”

Considered this as we entered a penthouse apartment that, frankly, was probably as large as my home in D.C. “Charles made his first millions right before we got married. He made the next ones right after in the stock market. We're careful with our money, but we have a lot, so maybe it's just that I'm used to this by now, and she hasn't had the same time to adapt.”

“Sounds about right. Here's our closet. As a race, we like formality and the colors black and white. You, well, my you comments about that all the time. The standard outfits for women—”

“Are what I saw all the Beauty Queens wearing, right? White oxford shirt, black slimskirt, black pumps. The clothes are all Armani. In fact, that's the only designer I've seen on anyone since I woke up here. Did Armani win the Fashion Wars and those lines are all that's left?”

“No, all the other designers are around, at least we have a lot. We just prefer the way Armani looks. Again as a race. In many things we're extremely conformist.”

“Okay. What if they don't fit me?”

“They will. Including your underwear. Our Operations Team will make sure of it.”

Looked around. “I don't see anyone.”

“You won't. They're very discreet. But, trust me, if you need something that's not in here, just ask for it and it'll show up. Fast. And put your clothes into the hamper—they'll be cleaned and back waiting for you shortly.”

“Okey dokey. Um . . .”

He grinned. “I'll leave you alone here. I'm going to leave the bedroom door ajar, because the soundproofing is excellent, and if you need me, I don't want you calling and my not hearing you. And yes, I'll probably feel it if you're in trouble, but I'd prefer to err on the side of over-caution.”

“Works for me. And thanks.” Leaned up and kissed his cheek again. “I really appreciate how you're acting with me.”

He hugged me gently, but didn't say anything. The hug wasn't a long one, and then Martini left the closet and the bedroom.

I got undressed and dumped my clothes into the hamper. Grabbed a robe and went to the bedroom door. “Do you think I have time to shower?”

“Honestly, no. But you're fine.”

“You guys really can't lie at all, can you?” Trotted into the bathroom and did as fast a sponge bath as I could manage. Combed out my hair and put it into a ponytail, then into a banana clip. That way, if I had to lose the clip for some reason, my hair would be back and hopefully no one would notice that it was different from my CA's.

Considered putting on makeup to hide the bruise, but it was our excuse for everything, so figured I shouldn't bother.

As I left the bathroom I noticed several gigantic cat trees, sort of arranged like their own condominium block against one wall. There were no animals on them, but they could have held a couple dozen cats. There were four dog beds against the opposite wall. No dogs in evidence, but four big ones lived here, if I went by what I was seeing.

Back to the closet. Sure enough, there was underwear waiting for me. I knew this because it was sitting neatly on top of the dresser and hadn't been there before. “Uh, thank you, whoever you are. Thank you very much.”

Underwear on, I found the set of clothes that were for me, because they were hanging alone, with shoes under them, and I knew they hadn't been like this a few minutes ago.

The outfit was nice and quite flattering, and the pumps were comfortable, so one thing was going right. There was a purse sitting there—looked like the same purse they'd tried to hand me at the hospital. Had no idea where that had gotten to, but when I looked inside, it sure looked like the same purse. There were no other purses in the closet. So either my CA just asked the Operations Team for a new bag every time she wanted a change, or she was a one-purse girl. I'd been a one-purse girl, before I'd married Charles. Decided this was, therefore, my purse for this universe, slung it over my shoulder, and went out to Martini.

“Will I pass muster?”

His eyes went wide and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. You look . . . perfect.”

Felt my cheeks get hot. “Thanks.” This was not good. I shouldn't be feeling all fluttery around Martini. Then again, maybe it was a good thing and would let us fake out everyone we had to.

He stood up and took my hand. “Let me take the lead on everything downstairs. You just stand there and look sexy and I'm sure we'll get through it.” He squeezed my hand. “Not that I'm telling you not to add in when you think you should. Then again, I've never needed to tell you that.”

Now was definitely not the time to mess up him thinking of me as his Kitty. “You got it.”

He kissed my cheek, and we headed for the elevator. This time, he put his arm around me while we waited. Figured he was nervous about my fooling the people we were about to meet with. Put my arm around his waist.

“The President is Vincent Armstrong, you call him Vince. The Secretary of State is Monica Strauss, and you call her Monica. The Secretary of Defense is Fritz Hochberg. We call him Fritz when things are serious, but when we're relaxed it's Fritzy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They're not our enemies but this screwup should mean they're not happy with us. The Homeland Security guy is Cliff Goodman, he's one of Chuck's best friends. The guy from the F.B.I. is Evander Horn. He's black, and has burns over most of his body, but you can't see them when he's in a suit. Regardless of the situation, you call him Vander.”

“Even if I'm being formal?”

Martini chuckled as the elevator doors opened and we got in. We kept our arms around each other and he seemed more relaxed in here now. “Depends on the situation. When you're making a ‘we're going to kick your butts' statement, you tend to go with titles and extreme formality. Hoping we won't have to deal with that today.”

“Me too.”

“Cliff and Vander are our friends, so expect them to be supportive, but they still have jobs to do and we've made those jobs harder today. You have a full Secret Service detail, two women, four men, and you're close to them. Worry about remembering the women's names—you can use the concussion excuse for the men, and we'll use it for anything where you don't know who someone is or what to say to them. The blonde is Evalyne, you call her Ev, and she's in charge of the detail. The brunette is Phoebe, you call her Pheebs. They give us all codenames. I'm Cosmos, you're Cyclone, Jamie is Cutie-Pie, and Chuck is Playboy.”

“Really.”

Martini chuckled and hugged me. “Really. But that's just his cover.”

“Like Batman.”

“Yeah, that's what you always call him.”

“What do I call you?”

He grinned. “Superman.”

“Well, that seems to fit.” We left the elevator still holding onto each other. Steeled myself, because we were going to see Charles in a couple of seconds, and I couldn't look guilty or jerk away from Martini.

There were men and women stationed about, all in suits, but none of them were Armani. They all looked really official. “Secret Service,” Martini murmured as he nuzzled my ear. Realized that us being the poster couple for Public Displays of Affection was great, because he could slip me clues and just look normally lovey-dovey. “Not yours. Assume yours are waiting for us with the President.”

Peter met us in the hallway and led us to the room where everyone was. “They look rather grim,” he said quietly.

“Thanks for the warning,” Martini said. “It's not a surprise.”

We entered a decent sized parlor, but it was packed with people. Some were clearly Secret Service—they were lined against the walls. Two of the women made eye contact with me and gave me tiny nods. Assumed these were Evalyne and Phoebe and gave them fast smiles back.

The people who were here to meet with us were with Charles and Singh, who was back from whatever he'd been doing with my mother. One of the visitors was tall and distinguished—and he looked like a career politician. Based on how the room was focused around him, figured this was President Armstrong.

There was an older man who was clearly military, or former military, by his bearing. Took a wild one and assumed this was Hochberg. The woman with them was wearing the typical power suit female politicians favored. She looked to be in her late forties and was attractive in a steely way. Had to guess this was Strauss.

There was a handsome, medium-skinned black man who looked about Richard's age and was built like Richard, Martini, and Paul. He had close-cropped hair and sparkling brown eyes. He shot us a look that seemed supportive, so I assumed this was Vander.

He was next to a guy about Charles' age who gave me an encouraging smile. Assumed this was Goodman. Now that I saw him in person, the name registered. I knew this man in my own universe.

Before I could marvel at the differences between my reality and this one, the President nodded to us. “Bad business today, kids.”

“Accidents happen,” Martini said. No one looked like this was close to being a good enough answer.

“I'm so sorry—” I started, but the President cut me off.

“You have to go to Australia, Jeff,” Armstrong said. “Right away. And if Kitty's up to it, she needs to go, too.”