Alien Collective

by Gini Koch

  “Glad you’re here, Mister White.”

  “I realized I’d be waiting for you for hours if I didn’t ensure I was with you to navigate.”

  “I’ll hurt you later, Rick honey.”

  “Is it time for our supersecret code names, Kathy?”

  “Could be.” Brought White up to speed on what had transpired since Prince and I had gone outside. “So, I don’t even know where we start to figure out what the hell is going on,” I said as we reached an alley near the park where we could stop running at hyperspeed and so “appear” to human eyes without any humans seeing us do so.

  “I believe we’re heading for the most urgent issue,” White said as he put Prince down and the dog started to again barf his guts up. White handed me sunscreen.

  “Wow, call you Mister Thoughtful. Thanks. How’d you know I’d need a refresher?”

  “I know how fast you sunburn, we were heading to and are at an outdoor location, and what with all the excitement, it seemed likely that reapplication of protective creams hadn’t occurred to you.”

  “Wise man always plans ahead. But,” I said as I slathered the sunscreen on my face and any other exposed skin, “I think bombs all over the place, some containing poisoned gas, are more urgent than even my remaining sunburn and skin cancer-free or Missus Maurer’s suspected abduction.”

  He shook his head. “No one, and I do mean no one, has been harmed. You yourself remarked on this earlier. The status remains the same. More bombs have gone off around the city, however. Key locations, no one injured, not too much damage. No one has claimed responsibility yet, not even the Al Dejahl group.”

  “Really? That seems . . . even odder than everything else.”

  “We all agree with you. James has kept all bases on high alert. Dulce in particular is being searched from top to bottom, drainage pipe included.”

  Didn’t say anything about the pipe—because I couldn’t. I was prevented from speaking about what was unusual about the drainage pipes in the Science Center, even when I was with White or Gower, the only other people who knew the truth about the A-C’s God in the Machine. Said “God” prevented us from talking about him unless we were in his presence.

  Algar wasn’t really a god, though. He was one of the Black Hole People and a major criminal as far as they were concerned. In our part of this galaxy, he was the Operations Team for all of the A-Cs worldwide.

  When I’d first joined up, I’d nicknamed the Operations Team the Elves, because they did all their work by what seemed like magic, even though Christopher had given me a very scientific answer, and I’d never, ever seen or met one of them.

  Turned out, my magic idea was closer to the truth, not that I could crow about this to Christopher, or anyone else for that matter. Since the beings from the Black Hole Universe, which included the Poofs, were so far advanced from those of us in the Milky Way galaxy that the tricks they could pull certainly seemed like magic. Algar had an entire planetary population thinking that there were A-Cs, and lots of them, doing the Operations jobs, when in fact all of Operations was made up of just one rakishly handsome dwarf from another universe with a seriously impressive set of skills.

  Algar was also something of a jerk, though a jerk who cared about us, at least in his own way. I called him the King of the Elves whenever we were talking, and I always meant it sarcastically.

  For certain, Algar knew what was going on. But now wasn’t the time to try to contact him to see if I could extract any kind of hint.

  There was another entity I’d have liked to talk to. ACE was a superconsciousness that had been set up by the Alpha Four system to watch over Earth and keep us all, Jeff and Christopher in particular, basically on the planet. Like Algar, ACE’s powers were so vast that, compared to the rest of us, it was a god, too. I’d channeled ACE into Gower and that had been great. For a while.

  But ACE had done more than it was supposed to in order to protect Earth and the beings on it that ACE cared for—and our observer loved all of his “penguins,” though he did have his favorites. Turned out that even gods or godlike entities have to answer to their own versions of the Supreme Court. ACE had been taken from us, and only Naomi’s last minute mega-power surge and sacrifice had brought ACE back. But not as he’d been before.

  ACE now resided in Jamie, which partly helped to control him, and in a larger part protected her. Due to the fact that I wasn’t willing to have scary discussions about people trying to destroy the world with my little girl, I couldn’t talk to ACE as I’d been able to in the past. Now, Jamie needed to be asleep—so ACE could keep the conversations from her—and it didn’t hurt if I was asleep, too. My dreams were a lot funkier than they had been, but I was getting better with interpretation. However, now was a poor time for a nap.

  Prince finished barfing as I finished with the sunscreen. Dropped the rest of the sunscreen into my purse and we started off.

  As the three of us wandered around the park area, looking and sniffing for a little old lady who was crying, looking scared, or being dragged off, I really wanted to ask either ACE or Algar what the hell was really going on. But while ACE would want to tell me but probably couldn’t, and Algar could tell me but undoubtedly wouldn’t, accessing either one of them was out of the question for right now.

  “You see or smell anything?” I asked finally.

  “Nothing untoward,” White said.

  Prince wuffed that he smelled and heard a heck of a lot, but no one nearby was in distress, at least not the kind of distress we’d been expecting.

  “Think it’s a trap?”

  “I believe that Mister Buchanan has a tendency to be correct. However, that doesn’t mean Missus Maurer was lying to you. Your penchant for protecting the weak and innocent is well known.”

  “Yeah, Lillian Culver said the same thing earlier.”

  “She thinks quite highly of you.”

  “Oh, fantastic. She’s one of the Dealers of Death, you know.”

  “I do. However, we need her and she needs us. And of course Monsieur Gadoire.”

  “Two out of three ain’t bad, right?”

  White stopped walking and looked at me. “There’s another Dealer, correct?”

  “Alcohol, since Lillian covers weapons and Gadoire tobacco. Probably others. I don’t pay a lot of attention.”

  “I’m shocked to my core.”

  “Sarcasm is still such an ugly trait in a Retired Pontifex.”

  “And my shame still knows no bounds. Who is the person in charge of the Alcohol lobby?”

  “No idea, I’m sure Lillian or Vance know. Why?”

  “Why hasn’t that person tried to curry favor with us?”

  “Because we don’t drink?”

  “We don’t smoke, as a rule, either. And yet, Monsieur Gadoire wants us on his side.”

  “The Cabal of Evil didn’t include an Alcohol person, that’s true. But why does it matter? Or, more importantly, why does it matter right now?”

  White sighed. “Gideon Cleary’s family own one of the top distilleries in the world. Per Mister Joel Oliver.”

  “Other than pointing out how at odds with him we are and how well funded his campaign will be, I’m still not seeing your point.”

  “We’ve been on this planet for decades. The assumption, which no one has said anything to alleviate, is that those who approached you and Jeffrey when you became the ambassadors were those who already had relationships with the former Diplomatic Corps. And yet whoever lobbies for the quite large, powerful, and wealthy alcohol collective has never approached either one of you. I find that odd.”

  “I find myself again thinking you should be our Head Diplomat. I also find myself thinking that we’ve wandered this entire lovely park and haven’t found our target. I realize you’re passing the time by trying to make me think of whatever you think the bigger picture is, but honestly all I see is a lot of crap flying at us from all directions, and all I really want to do is hunker down and avoid getting hit.”
r />   “Could that be the plan?” White asked.

  “It does seem like everyone wants us herded to Dulce, yeah. But why is the big question. We don’t seem infiltrated, or if we are, everyone over there is acting completely naturally and doing their jobs just like always.”

  “I don’t believe we’ll be infiltrated as easily, or at least in the same way, again,” White said quietly. “Gladys killed Ronaldo and sacrificed herself for a reason.”

  Prince pricked up his ears and listened intently before I could reply. It wasn’t exactly silent around here, so I wasn’t sure what he was picking up, but he was clearly hearing something. Something that, as he shared while he trotted toward the street, we needed to investigate immediately. He waited for us and we crossed the street together, going into the main Gardens.

  “Think she went in here or was taken here?” I asked White as we trotted along behind Prince, who remained quite intent.

  “I think it’s the most secluded and likely to be unpopulated area around here, at the moment.”

  “Normally I’d disagree with you, because this is prime wandering the gardens time if you’re a tourist. But what with all the bombs going off, I’d bet most tourists and everyone else are trying to stay inside. It’s sure less crowded around here than I’d have figured, especially since there was a protest nearby not all that long ago.”

  White and I looked at each other. “That would seem to be the case, wouldn’t it?” he mused. “And as you frequently point out, our enemies like to have their attacks do double duty, at minimum, if at all possible.”

  We were pulled away from this line of reasoning by Prince’s low growl. The Gardens had a pretty, sunken water fountain at the far side from where we’d started, and we were now close to it. You took a short flight of steps down from the main Garden area and there it was, looking sort of geometric and sort of Alice in Wonderland, at least to me. It was very shallow—so shallow that a parent wouldn’t worry about letting their toddler play here, not that this was a play area.

  There were a few tables with umbrellas and chairs scattered about. But what Prince was growling at wasn’t the tables—it was the fountain. Or, more correctly, what was in the fountain.

  A woman was facedown in the water. And while the water wasn’t all that deep, it was deep enough for someone to drown in if they were unconscious.

  White and I didn’t hesitate, we both ran to her at hyperspeed. He picked her up and got her out of the fountain. He had her down on the ground and was doing CPR on her within a second.

  To prevent myself from cursing the fact that I hadn’t insisted Tito come with us, I looked around. There was no blood that I could see, either in the water or around the fountain. Did a fast check for lurkers nearby—none.

  Prince did his own check and I went with him. He went to the edge of the street and stopped. The assailants had taken off, probably in a car. “Good try, boy. We’ll find them later. I’m pretty damn sure they work for her son’s campaign.”

  We trotted back to White. Our victim was sitting up. She looked soaked in front and banged up, but miraculously she both wasn’t bleeding and was breathing. The tightness in my chest relaxed. “Squeaky?”

  She nodded. “I said I was going to meet a friend in here. Those thugs insisted on coming with me. I went to look at the water and someone hit me on the back of my head and shoved me down. I . . . I don’t know how you found me.”

  Patted Prince’s head. “We have the best police dog in the world on our team. Squeaky, meet Prince, the Dog Who Always Saves the Day.”

  Prince gave me a lick to show his appreciation for his Special Title, then trotted over to Mrs. Maurer and gave her a good sniffing. He then snorted, growled, and wuffed.

  “Yeah, got it. Richard, Prince says the scent he was following is on Squeaky here, too. He’ll recognize it if he smells it again. Apparently her assailant is dedicated to the entire line of Axe Apollo products and has a particularly icky sweat signature to go along with his less than stellar taste in personal fragrances.”

  “I’m overjoyed to not have a canine’s sense of smell,” White said. “How did he recognize the specific personal body care product, though?”

  “Officer Melville is very thorough. Prince can identify every manufactured scent on the market today. Along with every illegal substance. He’s The Super Sniffer.” As he’d proved during Operation Sherlock. I had full faith that if Mrs. Maurer’s assailant was in range, Prince would find him.

  “Impressive. We need to get Missus Maurer to Doctor Hernandez.”

  “I feel fine, now that I’m conscious and can breathe. I’d like to get into some dry clothing, though.”

  “Not sure we want to take you home. I’d normally suggest that we just take you back to our Embassy and have our people outfit you, but that’s not an option right now.”

  “I think I’ll go wherever you suggest, Ambassador. And Mister White.” She gave White a fluttering smile while he gallantly helped her up and gave her a manly, comforting smile in return. He was dating Nurse Carter, but White was absolutely a ladies’ man of the highest, smoothest order. Realized that he’d probably inherited that trait from his father and filed it away for later consideration.

  As White stood Mrs. Maurer up, the sky darkened. Not a lot, but as if there were cloud cover. In Arizona, where I’d grown up, or New Mexico, where I’d lived once I’d met Jeff and the rest of the gang, cloud cover in July and August indicated a potential monsoon. We hadn’t lived in D.C. long enough for my natural weather instincts to alter. I looked up, to see whether we had heat, a passing overcast, or storm clouds overhead.

  Only, there were no clouds in the sky at all.

  There was what looked like a sort of film, like a tint you’d put on your windows to limit the amount of sunlight coming through. The film went as far as I could see.

  My gut, always on duty in danger situations, mentioned that this didn’t look natural. Or good.

  “Ah, Richard?” Pointed up.

  “What? Oh. Oh dear.”

  “What is that?” Mrs. Maurer asked. “It doesn’t look . . . right.”

  “To me, either, Squeaky. And I just want to be on record that I have a very bad feeling about this.”

  CHAPTER 22

  OF COURSE, I was correct. I’d have been proud of my ability to never be wrong about horrible crap happening, but I’d have given a lot to be able to say I was merely a Nervous Nellie.

  The film or whatever it was got closer, as if it was contracting, and doing so at a very fast rate of speed. I was pretty damned sure that it was contracting.

  In less than a minute, I felt rather than saw something go through me. Saw it go through everything else. Which was nice, since I hadn’t had anything freaky happen to me for at least thirty seconds and I was feeling the withdrawal symptoms.

  The film going through me felt like I’d heard people describe a ghost walking through them—like something cool and clammy had passed through my body. I was good with never feeling this again.

  “What just happened?” Mrs. Maurer asked weakly. “That was rather . . . awful.”

  “ACE is not . . . alone in the universe, is he?” White asked, voice carefully guarded.

  “No. Oh, wow, you think?” There were other superconsciousnesses out there. Some had been put in place in the same way ACE had been—by Alpha Four or another planet with some really bossy, controlling beings in charge who wanted to keep other beings firmly on their own planets. Some were different in their reasons for being. But those other superconsciousnesses were the ones who had held ACE captive, for want of a better word, before Naomi had somehow freed him.

  I had no idea what ACE’s release status was—we didn’t talk about it, the few times we’d talked over the past year. But if it worked even remotely like our prisoner releases did, then ACE would have some kind of superconsciousness parole officer.

  My hopes that said officer had come by, taken a look, and left were quickly dashed. The fountain started bub
bling oddly. We all watched as the water coalesced and formed into the figure of a humanoid. Since it was literally made of water, it was hard to guess if it was supposed to be male or female, but a lack of curves indicated male.

  The Water Man turned toward us. “We wish to speak to the leader.” Its voice was bubbly with a weird echo, like a lot of water going down a drain quickly. It wasn’t the worst sound in the world, probably no worse than Mrs. Maurer’s voice. But I wasn’t a fan.

  “Awesome. I can call my mom and see if she can arrange a meet and greet, but before we take you to visit the most powerful man in our country, who the hell are you, why the hell are you here, and what do you expect to gain from coming here in this way?”

  The Water Man stared at me. At least, I thought he was staring. He was literally made of water, features and all, so it was hard to be sure. It was easy to see through him—it was like looking at a person-sized aquarium with really clean glass—but not to see “him,” so to speak. Wondered if I put my hand into him if it would go through easily, come out wet, or something else. Was so glad my mind had added these thoughts into an already overcrowded mix.

  “The leader is here.”

  “Yes, yes, the President’s in D.C. But, impressive water show or not, he’s not hanging about waiting for weirdoes from outer space to drop by to shoot the crap or make bizarre demands. He’s actually, you know, running the country.”

  “We are here to speak to the leader.”

  “Yes, leader, got it. Why you chose to do your big manifestation right here, in front of the four of us only, is beyond me, but whatever makes you happy. Or watery. Or whatever.”

  Water Man turned to White. “We came directly to the leader.”

  “Richard, do they think you’re still the Supreme Pontifex?”

  “I don’t know that they’d know me,” White said slowly. “If that were the case, my thought would be that they would want to see Paul, versus the President, but I could be wrong.”

  Mrs. Maurer spoke before I could reply. “Excuse me, but do you feel that the leader is one of us who are right here with you?”