by Gini Koch
I saw the future, and it was looking very much like the end of the world as we might know it, only without Michael Stipe’s comforting twang sharing that we should feel fine about it. At least, presumably, unless it was Cool Bands Week at Good Day USA!, which I was fairly sure it was not.
Forced myself not to ask for someone to spin R.E.M.’s Greatest Hits and instead focus on the horrifying matter at hand. “So, you’re now an android and all jazzed about it?”
She smiled. “I see nothing wrong with looking young and beautiful forever.”
“Don’t you think that’ll be, um, noticed? After a while, I mean.”
The Kristie-Bot looked right at me. “No. Because, sooner than you think, there will be plenty of us. This is the greatest thing in the world. Better, faster, stronger, and never aging. Seriously, who wouldn’t say yes to that?”
“Not enough people,” I had to admit.
“Back in thirty,” someone called.
“Why do you think this will make me want to cast you?” Cologne asked. “In anything, let alone Code Name: First Lady?”
She gave us all a hard, cold, smug smile. “If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone that the fight wasn’t pretend, that you all forced me to act like it was for the movie, but that, in fact the First Lady is a homicidal maniac.”
CHAPTER 5
“WHO WOULD BELIEVE THAT?” Adam asked, sounding completely sincere. Decided he was indeed earning my undying love. Sadly, however, knew he’d be in the vast minority.
Cologne and I looked at each other. Heaved a sigh. “Honestly? I’d bet on everyone, on this planet and any other you’d care to name.”
“Back in ten,” we were advised.
“Share that I’ve got a part in the movie,” the Kristie-Bot said calmly, as she plastered her Perkiest of the Perky Smile back onto her no longer fully human face. “Or else it’s the FLOTUS is a homicidal maniac for the win.”
“Better her in the movie than me.”
Cologne snorted a laugh as we and our mics came back on.
“Welcome back to Good Day USA!” the Kristie-Bot said, perk at eleven on the one-to-ten scale. “We’re here with the reason for Code Name: First Lady, Katherine Katt-Martini, and the man who wants to bring her exciting story to the big screen, the utterly talented Jürgen Cologne!”
She looked at Adam, who managed to lurch back into standard formula. “We sure do! Kitty, Jürgen, what’s the Code Name: First Lady timeline?”
“Ahh . . . that’s not really up to me.” Hey, when in doubt, go with the truth. None of this was my responsibility.
Jürgen shared the megawatt smile. “We’re still getting the cast set.”
Decided that the most likely way to salvage this horrible situation was to do what the Kristie-Bot wanted. I didn’t like acquiescing to my enemies, and anyone blackmailing me was an enemy. However, that didn’t matter at the moment. It was time to cowgirl up and take a big one for the team.
Shot the cameras a beaming smile. “Honestly, Jürgen, if you’re looking for talented actors who are also attractive enough to portray A-Cs onscreen, I think you should consider Kristie and Adam both.”
The Kristie-Bot looked pleased, Adam’s jaw dropped, but Cologne shot me a look I wasn’t expecting—he looked impressed. “Kitty, that’s a great idea.” He turned to the hosts. “So, Kristie, Adam, what do you say?”
“Oh my gosh! Jürgen, Kitty, that’s such an exciting offer!” Had to hand it to the Kristie-Bot—she was selling that this was the first time the subject had come up. “If you really mean it, I’m totally in!”
“Ah . . . me, too,” Adam managed. He shot me the WTH look.
Patted his knee. “Adam, I just feel like you’re going to be perfect.” And I wanted someone around who knew the real Kristie before and after her presumed android transition. Couldn’t say why, but I’d learned to never argue with my gut. Turned to the audience. “Isn’t that right, folks? Adam’s totally handsome enough to play an A-C.”
The audience shared its agreement, and again women whooped. Adam looked bashful and flattered, which made him even more attractive. Yeah, Adam was definitely the right guy to play either Michael Gower or his older brother, Paul, in the movie. That I was now somehow enthusiastically involved in the planning of this film was a nightmare I was choosing to actively ignore.
“I agree,” Cologne said. “I think it’s going to be a Good Day USA! when we start filming Code Name: First Lady!”
The audience cheered and the conversation turned to moviemaking and all that jazz. I didn’t have a lot to add in here, but made sure I was paying attention, just in case. We didn’t discuss the Kristie-Bot’s Delicate Condition during the remaining commercial breaks because we all went into the audience to shake paws during these. No one seemed averse to touching me, no one seemed about to explode, and a few of the mainly female audience members even gave me Atta Girls. Chose to toss this into the win column, just ’cause.
Mercifully, the last hour of this three-hour marathon came to a close. We’d seen many clips from Cologne’s movies, a few more clips of me being Action Chick, talked a little bit about my Second Best Lady Cause that had transitioned to be my FLOTUS Cause, then Cologne gave everyone in the audience free passes to his current movie release, so the show ended on a high note.
Ripped the mic off as soon as possible. “I want to share that the President will want to be speaking with the three of you in the most urgent way possible. Today, most likely.” Hadn’t heard from Jeff, or anyone else, since my phone wasn’t allowed to be with me when I was “on,” but I knew my husband was watching this fiasco and therefore was going to send out an Executive Order sooner as opposed to later.
Raj joined us. “Yes, he does.” Sooner for the win. “Under the circumstances, we need you to come with us right now,” he said to the Kristie-Bot. “Under heavy guard.”
She shrugged. “Again, none of you need to panic. I’m not going to blow myself up. That’s not why I got the treatment.”
“What do you mean, the treatment?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “The treatment that made me the best version of myself possible.”
“You know, did you ever actually watch Death Becomes Her? I ask because that movie had quite the moral.”
“You mean the brilliant moral of don’t turn into a zombie?” she snapped. “I’m not. I’m better. I don’t need to worry.”
“I’ll bet,” Cologne muttered under his breath. “I’m happy to do whatever the President wants,” he said to Raj.
“Me, too,” Adam added. “Will we go with Kristie or Kitty?”
“Neither,” Raj said. “You gentlemen will be going straight to the President. The First Lady has a tight schedule, but she’ll join you later in the morning.” Raj looked at me. “The President won’t be alone.”
Meaning that Chuckie would be with him, and probably Alpha Team as well. At least, that was my hope.
Shocking me, though it shouldn’t have, Joe and Randy arrived. “Hey Kitty,” Joe said. “Len called us in. We’re here to handle certain situations.”
Randy took one of the Kristie-Bot’s arms. “She won’t give us any trouble. Guaranteed.”
The Kristie-Bot seemed unfazed. “You two look great.” She smirked at me. “They won’t be aging, either.”
“We might,” Joe said calmly. “We were saved from completion.”
She sniffed. “Whatever. You’re alive and well and look great. You’re excellent publicity.”
Raj and I exchanged the “oh really?” look. “Just who’s advertising what?” he asked.
“Doctor Rattoppare. And she’s advertising her skills.”
I was many things. A wife and mother. A former marketing manager. The former Head of Airborne for Centaurion Division. The former Head Diplomat for American Centaurion. The First Lady of the United States. The Queen Regent o
f Earth. But I was first and foremost two things—my mother’s daughter and Megalomaniac Girl. Meaning it was time to flip on my cape and make the leaps that were why we were all alive and I’d been sent here to spend three hours in hell.
“Is the doctor’s first name Stephanie?”
Stephanie was Jeff’s niece, the eldest daughter of his eldest sister, who’d been married to Clarence Valentino, aka one of the main A-C traitors we’d dispatched, finally, during Operation Sherlock. Stephanie had turned to the Dark Side years ago, in no small part because of her father’s influence. Only Clarence had been a follower, and Stephanie was definitely a leader. She’d also been one of the Mastermind’s special girlfriends. And she’d betrayed him because some adages never went out of style. Stephanie was the poster girl for hell hathing no fury like a woman scorned.
“Yes. Her grandfather is also a doctor and a part of the practice.”
Time to take another leap. This one was even easier. “Trevor Rattoppare?”
The Kristie-Bot nodded. “They’re both geniuses.”
Cologne snorted. “They’re tinkers? And you felt safe having work done?”
Looked at him. “Why would you ask that?”
“The name translates to ‘likes to tinker’ in Italian.”
Decided that, movie I didn’t want made or not, Cologne had just moved himself onto the team. Trevor had taken the last name that fit what he did the best. Interesting that he’d chosen the name, though, because I’d nicknamed him the Tinkerer well after that alias would have been established.
But then again, this was my skill. There wasn’t a crazed evil genius or wacked-out megalomaniac I couldn’t find the love with. Nice to know that, once again, I was batting a thousand.
“Your last name means perfume to most of this country,” the Kristie-Bot replied. “Does that mean we should expect your fragrance line, or that you smell extra special?”
“Per some women, I do,” Cologne said with a grin. “However, we’re not discussing me.”
“No, we’re not. Where are the good doctors working?”
The Kristie-Bot smiled slowly. “If you can find them, you can get treatment. I’m sure you’re going to need work soon to keep your husband from straying. Someone that handsome has women throwing themselves at him constantly. Someone that handsome and powerful? Everyone’s willing to do whatever they need to in order to get his attention. And, let’s face it—someone as willing to get into a fistfight as you are isn’t going to stay reasonably pretty for too long.”
Wanted to let my fists clench, but didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Due to my enhancement, I healed fast and pretty perfectly. All A-Cs did, after all. But that wasn’t relevant to what she was insinuating. And, in some ways, she wasn’t wrong.
Jeff was the classic—tall, with dark wavy hair, beautiful light brown eyes, a big and broad body that didn’t quit, and the best smile going. And I knew many women, and some men, threw themselves at him all the time.
However, a good marriage wasn’t built on jealousy and distrust, at least not on my side of things. Jeff was the King of Jealousy, which was rather flattering. Jeff could have had pretty much anyone, and he’d chosen me. I hadn’t lacked for offers, and I’d chosen him. A-Cs professed that they mated for life, and from what I’d seen, this was actually true.
But none of that mattered in this situation, because my marriage to Jeff wasn’t the issue. The Kristie-Bot was trying to antagonize me. And she had no real reason to do so. She was getting what she wanted, after all, and I’d helped sell that on live television. Meaning there was, as always, more going on. Not a surprise, but there was more going on with her, specifically.
Stephanie hated me, and this sounded a lot like what I’d expect from her. After all, the Mastermind had cheated on her, even though Stephanie was a Dazzler—my private name for female A-Cs. So far, I’d never met a Dazzler of any age who wasn’t a total hottie. And yet the Mastermind had slept with plenty of other women, including those who weren’t nearly as young and beautiful as Stephanie.
So, that meant that it was likely that the Kristie-Bot was either programmed to dig at me this way, or else Stephanie had asked her to do it. Either way, that meant that there was more to the Kristie-Bot situation than just an actress wanting to remain viable for as long as inhumanly possible.
“Keep her on ice until I’m able to be there,” I said to Joe and Randy. “That’s an order. No one questions her without my being present. Including the President and whoever’s with him, and whoever thinks they’re going to be questioning her before I get there.”
“Yes, ma’am, Commander,” Randy said, as he and Joe both hit attention. This was the flyboys’ way of letting me know that they knew we were in an action situation, even if it didn’t look like it. Wondered if the other three flyboys were nearby or if they were on standby at the White House. Didn’t matter. They’d ensure that what I wanted happened.
“What threat do you actually think I represent?” the Kristie-Bot asked with a disparaging laugh.
“No idea.” Stepped up so we were nose-to-nose. “But I can guarantee this—I’ll find out, and I’ll stop it, before you’re able to hurt anyone or anything. That’s a FLOTUS promise.”
CHAPTER 6
WE FINISHED UP at the Good Day USA! studio with Joe and Randy and my A-C security detail taking the Kristie-Bot to a secured room in the underground part of the White House Complex, Raj taking Adam and Cologne directly to Jeff and whoever he was with, and Len, Kyle, and my Secret Service detail taking me to my next scheduled appointment.
This was all done via gates, which were A-C technology that allowed the movement of life-forms and/or goods by passing through what looked like airport metal detectors. The gates let you go thousands of miles in seconds, though the payoff, for me at least, was total nausea. They were able to send you from planet to planet, too. So far, I’d managed to avoid space travel in that way, for which my stomach was truly thankful.
But Good Day USA! filmed in New York and we all had to get back to D.C., so we used floater gates—less visible to the naked eye than the stationary ones, but no less nauseating—and were back in the nation’s capital within seconds.
Meaning I was finally in a supposedly safe haven—the Offices of the First Lady—surrounded by my loyal staff who would never willingly turn themselves into androids. I sincerely hoped.
Of course, safe was a relative term. Safe from evil morning show hosts, Hollywood movers and shakers, and potential android attacks—probably yes. Safe from being force-fed information I was never going to remember when it mattered—definitely not. Because the next appointment on my schedule wasn’t with the public. No, it was time for Kitty Goes to Diplomat School 2.0.
Team commiseration about my latest media fiasco had been brief—everyone knew me well enough to know that I’d been dragged out of bed far too early today to have a lot of patience for being berated. Besides, berating would happen later, of that I was sure. Probably in the Large Situation Room, or the LSR. With many frowny faces staring at me. I was scheduled to be in there at eleven, after all.
“Okay, Kitty—which solar systems are our closest allies?” Vance Beaumont, my Chief of Staff, asked, once the Secret Service had left for more interesting locations and I was alone with my torturers. Vance was one of those people who always looked like he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ, had been a Washington Insider for years, and was married to the head lobbyist for Big Tobacco, Guy Gadoire. We’d started off as enemies, but somehow, Washington had worked its special kind of magic, and Vance was now my Right Paw in the White House.
Chose not to contemplate if Vance would be all for never aging and instead tried to come up with the right answers. “Alpha Centauri, Sirius, Tau Ceti, and . . . um . . . hang on . . . I have this . . .”
“Sloths and lemurs and lots of Y’s in their names,” Colette Alexis, the troubadour wh
o was my Press Secretary, whispered.
“Stop helping her,” Vance said sternly.
“Someone has to. I don’t know why you’re leaping onto this without us even having a snack.” The Green Room Breakfast had been long, long ago. “Um . . . Yggethnia?”
“Got it in sort of one,” Vance said, sarcasm knob already at eight on the one-to-ten scale. “And I’m ‘leaping in’ because you’re here late. We were supposed to have started at eight-thirty, and it’s close to nine.”
“That’s me, totally prepared. And pardon me. Did you schedule in a surprise potentially android attack?”
“Great on your preparedness.” Vance didn’t make this sound great, but I was already used to that by now. “And no, we foolishly didn’t plan for your usual life to hit during the morning show. Next time, we’ll be more prepared. So, what do you do if a representative of Bajooram challenges a representative of Themnir’s right to speak?”
“There will, please God, not be a next time. And I suppose saying ‘The nice slugs have the floor’ is out, right?”
This comment earned me a lot of different looks from my staff. Vance shot me a long-suffering look. Colette looked supportive. Len and Kyle were trying not to laugh. Abner Schnekedy, who was my Chief Decorator and Floral Designer—because I was doing my best to not waste taxpayer dollars—was trying not to look pained.
As with Vance, I’d met Abner in the most miserable of my D.C. experiences—the Washington Wife class. Abner was married to Lillian Culver, the top lobbyist for the defense industry who’d wisely chosen to keep her maiden name for business. And also as with Vance and Gadoire, I’d started out as enemies with Abner and Culver and yet, somehow, they were also now hugely loyal friends we relied on. Things like this never ceased to amaze me.
“Kitty, it’s not the Washington Wife class,” Abner said, right on cue, but as gently as he could manage.
“No. Frankly, it’s worse. At least the Washington Wife class had an ending time.”