Universal Alien (27 page)

L
ET THAT SIT ON THE AIR
for a moment. “Tim is a teacher? Of little kids?”

“Yep.” Reader was clearly trying to control his Inner Hyena. “I can see why you want to find him—he can teach the kids while we race off to fight evil.”

“But . . . he's my Megalomaniac Lad.”

“No, Kitty,” he said gently, laughter gone. “He's a grade school teacher. A popular one, too. Great at his job. Let's not ruin this life he seems very happy with by swooping in and saying, ‘Hi, we're C.I.A. and our friend from another universe swears she needs help only you can provide.' It sets a bad precedent. Oh, and he's married.”

“To Alicia?”

“No. His wife is another teacher, named Lori. She won for best fifth grade teacher in Los Angeles. Basically, they're the SoCal K-through-Twelve Power Couple. But superheroes they aren't. I'm sorry.”

My flyboys and K-9 pals were all dead, along with my mother, my Oracle, and my Superhacker. Stryker was a successful author but not a government hacker and the rest of Hacker International remained completely off-grid. Len and Kyle were in the NFL, Mona was probably in Bahrain, MJO was a respected war correspondent, and Tim was teaching school and had never met Alicia. There was no point in my looking for her now.

No hybrids could be here, so looking for Erika Gower was out, especially since I didn't know what her maiden name had been. Irving Weisman was a science nerd and hated action—if I needed brains I had Chuckie, so leaving Irving alone sounded like a kindness.

Contacting humans we'd worked with for one mission wasn't worthwhile. Looking for enemies seemed stupid, and more work than we might have time for. Same again for my Washington Wife colleagues. Finding Vance might be helpful, but he wasn't a fighter. Same with any and all politicians. Well, maybe not one.

“Found Tito Hernandez yet?” I asked while I did a search for Evander Horn.

“Yeah, I think I have. He's a doctor in Las Vegas. Looks happy. I think this is another one to leave alone.”

“Unless we're injured in Sin City, yeah. Have you found my master assassins yet?”

“Nope. If they exist, I think they're off-grid.”

“Figures.” My search actually produced results. Par for this course, they were depressing results. Horn had died in the car accident that, in my world, had caused burns over 75% of his body. Considered one of the worst highway accidents of the past decades, everyone involved had died. But in my world, Horn had saved most of these people.

Depressed as hell, I forged on. Realized I hadn't looked for one person. Wasn't sure why I'd forgotten him—the ultimate nature of our relationship, I guess.

“See if you can find Brian Dwyer. He went to high school with me and Charles, Amy, and Sheila.” I'd found Sheila simply by asking Chuckie about her. Happily, she was still married to Roger and they had four kids and lived where they did in my world and we were still friends. One person unchanged.

Per Caroline, my sorority sisters were all fine, though some of them had different jobs or were married when they weren't in my world or vice versa. But none of them were butt kickers in this or any other world, as far as I could extrapolate.

Reader cleared his throat. “Hang on a second.” He got up and went to Chuckie. They spoke for a few seconds, then Chuckie raced over to me.

“Who are you trying to find, Kitty?”

“Brian Dwyer.”

“Why are you hunting down your ex-boyfriend from high school?” He sounded both worried and jealous.

“Because in my world he got over me and is married to an A-C. He's also an astronaut. But he works with us all the time and seriously, I'm running out of people. Everyone I know is either dead, unfindable, or doing jobs that are so far from butt kicking as to be ridiculous to hope they could help.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, God, is Brian dead, too?”

“Not . . . exactly.” Chuckie squatted down so we were more face-to-face. “Brian didn't handle you and I getting married well. Amy was just insulting. Brian kind of . . . went nuts.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “He'd sworn to you that he was going to do something to impress you and then he'd win you back.”

“Oh, yeah. Mom remembered that speech. Me, not so much. Still, we didn't get married right out of high school or something.”

“No, we didn't. But we got married right after I made several millions of dollars. Brian insisted that you'd only married me for my money and kept on bugging you to leave me for him. And by ‘bugging' I mean we had to get a restraining order.”

“I cannot believe that I'm such a femme fatale.”

He grinned. “You are to some of us, at least. Anyway, he was following us like some people follow the Grateful Dead. He had to be stopped.”

“You said he wasn't dead!”

“He's not. He's in a mental institution. Angela was able to have him evaluated.”

“How so? You can't just shove someone into a mental hospital without cause.”

“There was cause. He attacked me. Fortunately, just me—you and the kids were nowhere around.”

“Oh, my God. Did he hurt you?”

“No. I was already a trained C.I.A. agent by that time. He got a beatdown from me, but only enough to get him to stop and under control. He's doing well, though—I check on him periodically.”

“Why? I mean, that's nice of you, as long as checking means making sure he's okay, not giving him shock treatments, but why bother?”

He stroked my cheek. “I understand how he felt. It was how I felt every day until we went to Vegas and you said ‘yes.' I didn't snap because you were always my best friend. But Brian didn't have that.”

“I dated plenty of guys who didn't think twice when we broke up.”

“And you dated a couple who felt you were their entire world. I was the lucky one, and Brian wasn't. Anyway, he's improving. They had me visit him in person the last time I went and he handled it well. He may be able to be released. But not right now. He'd be willing to break out if you asked him to, but seeing you isn't what Brian needs.”

“In so many ways, Bizarro World sucks. I wish I could bring you guys back with me.”

He kissed my forehead. “I'm married to you in this world and we have three beautiful children. No matter what, Kitty, I wouldn't be willing to trade that for anything.”

Leaned against him for a bit. “At least some of you are the same, or close enough.”

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Yeah.” Straightened up. “Go back to the powwow. I'll get you if I think of some other ex I want to look up.”

He sauntered back to the other men and I turned back to the computer screen. Brian had been obsessed with me in my world, but he'd channeled that into becoming awesome and then, thankfully, into being a great husband to Serene, his perfect match in obsessiveness, and as a wonderful father to Patrick. But then, in my world, I hadn't married Chuckie. And aliens existed.

Reader came back and sat at his terminal. “Sorry, Kitty.”

“It's okay. Um, is my Uncle Mort still in the Marines and still alive?”

“He is, I don't even have to do a search. But he's on the ground in Afghanistan running a classified mission for the Corps. Can't drag him into this.”

“Bummer. Uncle Mort's so good at saving the day.” He might not have an issue believing in the multiverse, either. Could try for Colonel Franklin or Captain Morgan, or heck, even Colonel Hamlin. But if by some miracle they weren't dead and we guessed wrong and they thought I was crazy, that would end badly for everyone. “Do you guys know Burton Falk?”

“Yeah, he was part of Buchanan's team. He's dead now.”

That was it. I was out of humans I could think of and was almost afraid to try to come up with more. God forbid I search for my Secret Service detail—couldn't handle knowing if they'd all died, and if they were alive, well, I wasn't the wife of a politician here, so why would they help me?

“Why are so many people I care about dead in this world?”

“I don't know. No aliens, I guess.”

Yeah, that was coming to be my conclusion, too. We lost human agents in my universe, of course. In fact, we'd lost one in my first days of finding out aliens were on the planet. However, before I could pursue that line of thinking, Leah called to us. “Kitty, James, we need you.”

We got up and joined the others who were clustered around one of the bigger screens, which looked like it had a satellite map of D.C. up. “What's going on?”

Chuckie put his arm around me. “Now I'm glad you took the cat along.” His voice was grim and he was shaking.

“What happened? What's wrong?”

Buchanan pointed to a portion of the map. It was zoomed in on just one street. The street where Chuckie and Other Me lived. The street was still there. Their beautiful house, on the other hand, was smoking ash.

“S
O, THEY DIDN'T FOLLOW US,
but we sure got the hell out just in time.” For whatever reason, all I could think of was that Jamie's mirrors were gone. Hopefully she didn't require magic mirrors in order to see the other universes, because if she did, we were now out of luck.

“Thank God you got Jamie to leave without a fight,” Chuckie said quietly. “I think we got to safety because we moved faster than they expected us to.”

Buchanan nodded. “Based on your normal patterns, you'd have still been there, dealing with Jamie when this happened.”

Wondered if Jamie had left without a fight and told me to take the cat because she'd seen this coming. She hadn't acted afraid, nor had she said anything, so maybe not. And if not, that meant that Cliff had given the order to blow the house up after we were gone. “Would Cliff know you'd call Mossad for help?”

“Maybe,” Reader said, voice tight. “But does that mean we're putting all of you in danger?” he asked Jakob.

“Possibly, but we're used to it. I doubt that he's going to make a move against you while you're here—starting a war doesn't sound like it's in the interests of the Corporation.”

Didn't agree but also didn't want to sleep in the bushes by the Lincoln Memorial, so I didn't argue. “I can't believe that all your things are . . . gone.”

“Our things,” Chuckie said gently. “And it's okay, baby. The things that mattered are here. Most of our mementos and pictures are in Australia anyway.”

“Do you think he's going to destroy that house, too?”

“I hope not.” Chuckie hugged me again. “I'm not sure what to tell the kids. Or your father.”

“The truth. We got out just in time. The kids already know someone really wants to kill us. So does Dad. Were the neighbors hurt?”

“Doesn't look like it,” Leah said.

“One small favor. Okay, it's been that hour we told the kids they were getting. I need to get upstairs and get them into bed. You coming with or do you want to stay down here and strategize?”

“We'll monitor your other home,” Leah said.

“What about your parents?” I asked Chuckie. In my world, A-Cs would be getting them to safety right now.

“We have them under surveillance,” Leah said. “As well as your home in Australia. Our agents are aware that the C.I.A. has a mole and that mole is trying to destroy rival agents. We can get your parents if you want us to, though.”

“They've been sitting ducks for years,” Chuckie said. “But I don't like the idea that we just leave them there and hope for the best. On the other hand, freaking them out over nothing can lead to a variety of issues, not the least of which being that they have no idea what it is I'm really doing.”

“I have an extended family that could be destroyed, too.”

“I don't want to sound cavalier about our families, since my parents are also cluelessly sitting at home believing all I do is model, but I think the best way we protect everyone is to stop Goodman.”

“James has an excellent point. So, do we tell the kids tonight or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Chuckie said firmly. “They won't sleep if they know their home has been destroyed, and no one else with us will, either.”

It was decided that Reader and Chuckie would stay downstairs and go over potential familial targets while I went and handled the kids.

Oren turned out to be the best babysitter in the world. He had the kids in their nightclothes and their teeth brushed before I got there. Told him there were things he needed to get caught up on downstairs, then tucked the kids into one of the two queen-sized beds in this room.

“Glad you're all small enough to fit, but no kicking or shoving. Share the bed nicely and equally.”

“We will,” Charlie said earnestly. “Where's Daddy?”

“Working. You're stuck with me.”

“Do you give goodnight kisses?” Jamie asked. Both boys stared at her, in shock as near as I could tell.

“I sure do.” Gave her a tummy tickle and a kiss. She squealed with laughter.

Gave the two boys a hug and kiss. “Stop looking surprised,” I whispered to them as I hugged them both at the same time.

The kids settled down. “Can we listen to music?” Charlie asked.

“Sure.” Dug through the purse to find the iPod. There was a nice stereo dock in the room and I plugged it in. “Who do you want to hear?”

“Jack Johnson!” Max said.

Managed not to ask if he was serious, but only just. Jack Johnson had been on the radio when I'd switched places, and, per Caroline, Other Me loved his snoozer tunes. No worries. Snoozer tunes were what was called for right now anyway. Got it going and the kids snuggled down. Couldn't bear to focus on the music, so I focused on getting undressed and ready for bed.

Apparently I wore a lot of nighties in this world. Most of them were not appropriate to sleep in the same room with the kids, let alone with a man who wasn't my real husband. Kept the T-shirt I was wearing on and found a pair of soft cotton shorts and went with that.

Decided I was exhausted and lay down on the other bed. Stripes left his bed and snuggled with me. Jack Johnson worked his magic—I was out like a light.

Woke up briefly when Chuckie came in. He changed quietly, kissed each of his sleeping children, then slipped into bed next to me. He sighed quietly but didn't touch me. Felt bad. Reached over and stroked his hair. “It'll all work out. I promise.”

He took my hand, kissed it, then moved it gently back onto the cat. “Thanks, Kitty. It's just been a hell of a day.”

“It has. Get some sleep. I expect tomorrow to be worse.”

He leaned over, kissed my cheek, then rolled onto his side, so we were back-to-back. Jack Johnson was still crooning away and I heard Chuckie's breathing go rhythmic fast. Relaxed and went back to sleep myself.

This time I had a vivid dream. We were facing off against Cliff and LaRue and they killed Chuckie and Reader and Buchanan. Disintegrated them. They couldn't get me, I was too fast, but they killed everyone—Dad, Caroline, Aunt Carla, the kids, the Israelis—until it was just them and me.

Cliff's face broke open and the Fugly of My Nightmares appeared. Mephistopheles was big and red, but I didn't smell his breath in the dream, so that was one small favor. “Why are you visiting me in my sleep again?”

“Because I like you.”

“And you don't like the current Mastermind?”

“No. For many reasons.”

“Okay. Not gonna lie, it's weird having you showing up and hanging out in my head, but at the same time, at least you're
from
my universe.”

He nodded. “We were joined once. And that means we will be joined forever.”

“Lucky me.”

“Some would think so.”

“So, why are you here, other than to put the finishing touches on my ‘everyone's gonna die' nightmare?”

“You have the power I had when I arrived on your world. You can use yours the same as I did, you know.”

“Except I'm not going to, and you know that.”

“I do. However, you are still acting as if you are in your own world. You are as alone as Superman here. But a frontal attack is not always effective. Sometimes, when you're the only one with the power, you have to use it. Alone. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Pulling out the comics clichés much?”

“You comprehend them so much better than other options.”

“True enough. But even Superman has a team, and Spidey does, too. I get no help? No backup? No sidekick? No mascot?”

“A mascot and a sidekick are acceptable. But they must
know
they are the mascot and sidekick.” He smiled at me. It remained a combo of nice and horrifying. Focused on the nice. “You have been given an opportunity I took away from you. Don't waste it.” He patted my head and, with that, he was gone.

Woke up yet again. This time, there was no reason, other than, you know, a nightmare and a Fugly Advice Session. Got out of bed quietly and checked on everyone, just in case. All sleeping soundly. Stripes woke up and came with me to investigate.

Sure, we were supposedly in a secure facility, but things were turned upside down here. Slipped my jeans and Converse back on, grabbed the hoodie, and slunk to the door. Stripes came with me. “You don't want to go fast with me. I'll be right back, promise,” I whispered to him. Then I carefully opened the door and stepped out of the room.

Nothing and no one in the hallway. Zipped off at hyperspeed and checked on the others. Everyone was fine. Checked out the entire embassy, what I could access anyway. All fine, most asleep, some on guard duty, but I moved past them at hyperspeed so they didn't see me.

Got back to our room in less than thirty seconds. Stripes wasn't at the door, though. He was sitting in my purse.

The problem with this safety check was that I was wide awake. Wide awake, revved up, and contemplating what my nightmare had told me. Looked at Stripes. He blinked slowly, got out of my purse, and trotted to his food.

While he ate, I wrote Chuckie a quick note so that he wouldn't panic if he got up before I was back. Double-checked that the Glock with its single clip was in my purse. Hadn't had the brains to grab more clips, but if I thought about what Chuckie had said earlier and Mephistopheles had said in my dream, I was a superhero. I was Wonder Woman. Well, really, still Wolverine with Boobs. But either way, I could kick butt and take names in a way that no one else on this Earth could. I didn't need backup or the cavalry. I
was
the cavalry.

Made sure I had hair spray in here, because, hey, you never could tell. Took the iPod, too, and happily found that Other Me carried portable speakers, just like I did. Tossed whatever else had worked in the past in there, because why not?

Stripes finished when I did and sauntered over to the purse and jumped in. He was taking the role of Approved Mascot, thank you very much. Decided not to argue—cats could yowl to wake the dead and I knew without asking that Stripes was going to raise hell if I didn't take him with me.

Kissed Chuckie on his forehead, did the same with the three kids, and then Stripes and I slipped out of the room again.

Hyperspeed meant I was able to get in and out of a door so fast that it wouldn't trip an alarm system. The downside of doing this was that I couldn't take one of the cars—they were in the underground garage and I couldn't access it or get a car out without waking the entire embassy.

My original plan had been to figure out where Cliff was headquartered and use Raul's car to take us there, giving us the potential of camouflage and surprise. Since the house had been blown up, it was clear that wasn't going to work. Any of us driving up in Raul's car would just indicate it was time to shoot to kill.

No worries. I was used to discarding plans, after all, and if it was just me, I didn't actually need a car. And per Mephistopheles, it needed to be just me. And, frankly, I'd do anything to avoid seeing my latest nightmare come true.

But that meant I was going to have to use hyperspeed for everything. Again, no worries. So many people I loved were dead here, it was easy to get the rage going. It was an impotent rage, focused generally, but it was enough. Did a running jump and cleared the fencing easily. Go me.

Stripes meowed softly as we trotted off down the street. He felt he was superhero material and that he could take the hyperspeed. And if he did toss his kibble, he'd do it outside of the purse.

“You rock, Stripes. Plenty of barfing area where we're headed.”

Fortunately, I knew these parts of D.C. well enough to not get lost as I headed us to the Lincoln Memorial. Got there fast—not as fast as Jeff, definitely not as fast as Christopher, but darned well up to Top Field Agent status.

Would have gone to the bushes first, but things were so different that I wanted to check something. Went up to the Memorial itself and stopped running. Stripes showed that he was the Cat of the Ages because he only hacked a little and really didn't throw up. And he'd just eaten, too. I was impressed.

Happily, the Memorial looked the same—same words, same sad, tired Lincoln looking down on me. I was about to leave and go handle what I'd come here to do, when I heard a man's voice, talking softly.

“I just don't know, sir. They say you're a hero if you're the only one who survives, but I don't feel heroic. I feel sad and tired and useless. And this new assignment . . . it's not what a hero does, sir. It's . . . cushy and a reward. But it's a reward I don't want. And it's a reward I don't trust, either.”

Crept around to see who was talking to whom. The guy talking wasn't speaking to anyone I could spot. Then I realized he was talking to the Memorial, to Lincoln.

The speaker was a slender guy a little younger than me with strawberry blond hair, dressed in Navy dress whites. He wasn't smiling, but I knew who he was. Gave an involuntary gasp.