Alien Education

by Gini Koch

  “Dear,” Mrs. Nancy Maurer, who was my White House Social Secretary and the Head of the Graphics and Calligraphy Office that I still wasn’t sure why we needed in this day and age, said with far more gentleness than Abner had managed, “perhaps you need to stop resisting this so very much. It might go easier that way.”

  Cameron Maurer was her son. We’d saved her and then him during Operation Defection Election, and that had, as was so often our way, meant that the Maurers were now a part of our extended family.

  “That whole spoonful of sugar helping the medicine go down stuff only works in Disney movies.”

  “Oh, look what’s on TV!” Elizabeth Jackson exclaimed, in a tone of voice that indicated she was totally doing this to save all of us from this situation. This was but one reason I loved Lizzie like a daughter.

  Due to the overall way my life rolled, somehow I’d gotten a teenager assigned as my ward, in a very Batman and Robin kind of way. Thankfully she was a totally awesome kid. And she really did make a great Robin, in no small part because she’d been adopted by the remaining member of Team Assassination and one of my go-to men on Team Tough Guys, Benjamin Siler. He and Lizzie were known as the Vrabel Family to the rest of the world due to a variety of factors, Lizzie’s parents having been murderous traitors, Siler being a semiretired assassin, and our myriad enemies only being three of those reasons.

  Normally Lizzie wasn’t hanging out in my office, the First Lady Duties tending to be too boring in her, and my, view. However, I wasn’t the only one being forced into schooling I wasn’t excited about, and Lizzie was hanging out in the hopes of convincing me to keep her schooled in the American Centaurion Embassy instead of going to school outside of our particular confines.

  She was turning up the heat on this one in part because the kids started school tomorrow. Why they were starting on a Wednesday instead of a Monday was beyond me, but Vance had said there were good reasons and I’d chosen to believe him.

  Lizzie wasn’t the only one not wanting to leave the Embassy School and Daycare setup. Even Mrs. Maurer’s grandkids, Chance and Cassidy, didn’t want to go to “regular” school anymore. Had no idea if Sidwell had some sort of bad Kid Underground rep the rest of us had missed, but never had I seen so many kids so unwilling to go school. Of course, maybe they were looking at me as their role model, meaning I might have to pretend to enjoy this learning a little more. Later. Right now, something on television called.

  We all turned gratefully to the TV screen while Lizzie dutifully turned up the volume. “In an unprecedented move,” the Serious Newscaster shared, “the United Nations has voted to include flags representing not only American Centaurion, but also New Themnir, Free Lyss, Nova Netu, and the Galactic Freehold.”

  True to expectations, the majority of the aliens who’d fled to Earth during Operation Immigration were sticking around. The Vrierst were looking at moving to Jupiter, but for the time being had declared their little patch of Siberia to be their new homeland, and Russia had nicely acquiesced to having Nova Netu be within their confines, separate but equal, just as the A-Cs were in the U.S. and elsewhere.

  The Galactic Freehold was what we were calling all the ragtag remains of alien life that the Yggethnian Jewel of the Sky and the Faradawn Treeship had managed to rescue on their way out to our neck of the space boondocks, along with any aliens from stable planets who just wanted to hang out on Earth because they liked it here. These, like Free Lyss, were actually staying on American Centaurion and U.S. soil, nestled nicely in the Arizona and New Mexico deserts, with some overlap into Mexico, which that country, like Russia, had kindly allowed.

  The Galactic Freehold had originally intended to stay in the Middle East, but due to a couple of major factors, had moved to the U.S.

  “The Intergalactic School opens this Wednesday,” the Serious Newscaster went on, sharing one of the two big reasons the Galactic Freehold had chosen a different location. “President Martini will be on hand to greet the students for the inauguration of Earth’s first school dedicated to educating all our new population from different worlds.”

  The Intergalactic School was situated pretty close to the Dulce Science Center in New Mexico. Despite its size, the A-Cs had built it in less than a week, because hyperspeed remained the coolest superpower ever. The school buildings went up three stories and were connected underground, where they went down six stories, which was the A-Cs taking one for the team by letting the kids see the sun now and again. A-Cs were, at their cores, burrowers. Most A-C Bases had one floor on ground level and the rest went down many stories. Some started below ground. They didn’t look like gophers, but they sure acted like them.

  The school was wider than the Science Center, at least as far as I could tell based on the video, though not nearly as dull and institutional-looking, which was nice, and despite being in the middle of the desert, the grounds had been turned into lovely desert-appropriate landscapes and such. I hadn’t spent much time there—my kids weren’t going to go there, I’d had plenty to do while it was being planned and built, and architecture wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t against it, and I could admire a cool building as much as the next girl, but my input wasn’t needed. I’d given the “make sure it’s as safe as the rest of our Bases” command and that was the extent of my involvement.

  “I’d be willing to go there,” Lizzie said. “So would the other kids.”

  “You’re getting to go to the best school in, literally, the world,” Vance replied. “You’d think all of you would appreciate that just a little bit more than you’re managing.”

  “The alien kids will be interesting,” Lizzie countered. “New worlds, new histories. We could help Kitty by learning all about them.”

  “I appreciate the support, don’t think that I don’t, but, right now, you’re going to Sidwell as planned.” Of course, Jeff was going to have to be at the Intergalactic School instead of being able to go with me to take our kids to Sidwell. Yet another “these jobs suck” moment for us. There were a lot of those included in the POTUS and FLOTUS gigs.

  “However, one serious question remains,” the Serious Newscaster went on. “Why are the children of the President not attending the Intergalactic School? The school American Centaurion has both created and is managing?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “THEY’RE GOING TO SIDWELL because we don’t want them murdered or kidnapped,” Vance muttered. “And we want them educated in ways that ensure they know how to handle this planet.”

  The camera turned to the Serious Newscaster’s coanchor, the Intent Chick. After this morning, I was just relieved neither one of them seemed perky. “Well, per what we’ve learned about the Intergalactic School, it’s doubtful that human or even A-C children would get the education they need there. The school is focused on allowing all the alien races to learn about their own planets’ histories. Some Earth history will be taught, along with present-day galactic politics, but it does make sense for the President’s children to school in a normal American school.”

  “Wow, someone’s on our side? How did that happen?”

  “Not all media is against you, dear,” Mrs. Maurer said, as the Serious Newscaster and Intent Chick chatted back and forth about Education In America. “Though I can see the advantage for the children to learn about the other planets in our galaxy as well. By the way, you have a message from King Raheem. He called while you were at Good Day USA! and did express that he wanted you to call back as soon as you had a moment.”

  “Why didn’t anyone mention this earlier? I see no reason for my having kept Raheem waiting.”

  “Because you need to be prepped for your new role in the Galactic Council more than you need to exchange recipes with Raheem.” Vance was up for covering jealousy duties if Jeff wasn’t available, which was nice, in a weird way.

  “Raheem is the King of Bahrain, one of our now-closest allies, a dear friend who helped us literally save
the world and the galaxy, he has his staff send his recipes directly to Chef and Pierre and vice versa, and no amount of prepping is going to matter.”

  “That’s true, in a way,” Abner said. “Remember how you told me she handled the King when they first met? Washington Wife Best in Class all the way with that.”

  “True,” Vance said slowly. He gave me the hairy eyeball look. “But you could only do that because you’d heard all the information, even if you only pulled it up under extreme duress.”

  “Stop selling her short,” Len said.

  Kyle nodded. “Kitty can handle anything.”

  “Dudes, I appreciate your support. And Vance, you guys have been barraging me, Jeff, Raj, Colette, Richard, and a host of others with this information for months now, in preparation for what the damned UN chose to make official this past week, despite my hoping to be overlooked as the Galactic Council Rep O’ Choice. I’ve heard the information. I’m sure it’s lodged in my brain somewhere. But unless I’m supposed to go be the principal at the Intergalactic School along with everything else on my plate, I honestly think I’ve got all that I’m going to get.”

  “Isn’t responding to foreign dignitaries part of your job as First Lady?” Lizzie asked, radiating innocence.

  “It is.” Vance shot a glare at Lizzie. “As we all know you well know.”

  “None of us fell for the Innocent Approach,” I added. “Just so you know, the person you should hone your Teenaged Conning Skills on is my mother. If Mom falls for it, then you’re good to go.”

  “I was only trying to help and to point out that Kitty’s first duty is to the Office of the First Lady,” Lizzie said virtuously. “You try to help and they complain.”

  “Get used to it, that’s how things tend to roll.” Went to my desk and picked up the phone. D.C. still believed in landlines and I wasn’t going to argue with that kind of protocol, mostly because it meant everyone might stop trying to teach me things. “Going to call Raheem now. Please bicker quietly amongst yourselves.”

  This earned me resigned looks from Vance and Abner, amused looks from Len and Kyle, and Atta Girl looks from Mrs. Maurer, Colette, and Lizzie. Decided I’d stick with Girl Power and ignore the dudes for a bit.

  King Raheem of Bahrain had been our guest last month. He’d stayed in the Lincoln Bedroom, though his entourage had bunked over at Blair House, where all foreign dignitaries went. Raheem and I chatted regularly, as well—going through much of Operation Immigration together had definitely bonded us. I even had him on speed dial on my cell phone as well as the White House landlines.

  He answered right away. “Ah, Queen Katherine, thank you for returning my call. How are you?”

  There were so many ways to answer that question. Went for the most comprehensive. “As well as can kind of be expected, King Raheem. And why are we being so formal? Is everything alright?” Maybe Raheem was in danger and was trying to pass a secret message.

  “Yes, all is well, but I saw the television show and in case you were not alone or on speakerphone, I felt a formal greeting was best.”

  “Gotcha. Nope, no speaker, with my normal staff and, for me, this was, sadly, business as usual.”

  He chuckled. “I look forward to knowing what’s going on when you’re able to share it with me, Kitty. However, that’s not why I called earlier.”

  “Okay, Raheem, and good to know. I have to debrief the President and such before I can share, but be sure that you’re using that OVS we gave you liberally and constantly.”

  “Interesting. I will ensure that it’s always about my person.”

  “Do. Trust me, do.”

  “I always trust you. Which is why I needed to speak with you. Wasim will be arriving shortly. While he can stay at our Embassy and we have procured an apartment for him staffed with retainers we can rely upon, I would like to request that he stay with you until he acclimates.”

  Ran this over in my mind a couple of times. “Wasim is coming here?” Had no idea who Wasim was. Could not, for the life of me, remember meeting anyone named Wasim. Not that this meant anything. I barely recognized A-Cs I’d known for years now, and the less said about my ability to name most of the Secret Service agents and White House staff the better. I could have met this Wasim many times, but if so, he hadn’t registered.

  “Yes. We have decided that it will be best for him to be schooled in America.”

  “Gosh, can’t argue with that mindset.” Raheem wasn’t giving me much here, other than the fact that Wasim was of school age, which meant anywhere from kindergarten to advanced college degrees.

  “Exactly. And I believe it will be helpful for him to have a friend already.” And now Raheem was giving me exactly nothing. Fantastic.

  “Um, yes?”

  “Yes. Your ward is, I believe, only a year younger. Wasim will have a car, so he will be able to drive them both to school.”

  My brain scrambled quickly. There was no way Siler was going to allow Lizzie to be driven to school by a teenaged boy. Jeff wouldn’t, either. My parents would also put their feet down, Mom’s foot in particular. And I also wasn’t an idiot. Teenagers and cars were a dicey mix, particularly a teenaged driver who was just coming to America.

  “Oh, um, frankly, no. The kids will take gates or they’ll be driven in our really secure cars.” This was a safe response. Lizzie, as my ward, was given the same security level as the rest of our family was—a tonnage.

  Raheem chuckled. “Wasim’s car will be as safe as yours, trust me. I would not allow my beloved grandson or any of his friends to be in danger, particularly your ward.”

  Finally, the clear statement of familial relationship. “I can’t remember, is Wasim your eldest grandson?” I honestly had no idea, but eldest or youngest seemed like the best bets and Raheem wasn’t really all that old, so went with what I hoped was the best guess.

  “Yes, he is, and see? You remembered perfectly.”

  “Go team. When does he arrive?”

  “His plane has landed, and Ambassadress Nejem and her retainers have retrieved him at the airport. If they may bring him right over, that would be best.”

  “Sure, absolutely. I’ll be happy to see Wasim, and Mona and the others, too.”

  “Wonderful! I truly appreciate your allowing Wasim to be a part of your family.”

  “Um, happy to? Also, if he’s sixteen, why did you rent an apartment for him? Shouldn’t he stay at the Bahraini Embassy? For safety and supervision?”

  “Wasim is a Prince of Bahrain and will comport himself properly.”

  Managed not to say that Wasim was actually a teenaged boy, and the idea of proper comportment and a teenaged prince with a car and a place of his own didn’t mix. “Good to hear.”

  “Your ward will have no worries about Wasim doing anything inappropriate until such time as they are good, close friends, and only as the relationship progresses appropriately.”

  Opened my mouth but no words came out. Managed one sound. “Ahhhh . . .”

  “Excellent. At any rate, I need to advise the Ambassadress that she is to bring Wasim to the White House, so I must end our call. Thank you again, Queen Katharine—the Kingdom of Bahrain appreciates the kindness of the Annocusal Regency.”

  And with that, he hung up.

  CHAPTER 8

  MY MOUTH WAS STILL HANGING OPEN. “What is it?” Lizzie asked, sounding worried.

  Managed to slam my jaw shut. Hung up the phone. Then turned to face the rest of the room. Everyone was looking at me with worried expressions.

  “Dear?” Mrs. Maurer asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “So many more things than were wrong only yesterday.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Colette said.

  “Care to elaborate?” Abner asked. He had a point. Why not share the horror with everyone?

  “Um . . . as I understand things,
Raheem’s sixteen-year-old grandson is about to arrive on our doorstep. He has a room at the Bahraini Embassy and also, apparently, an apartment somewhere in the city, but Raheem wants him to stay with us until he acclimates.”

  “Excuse me?” Kyle said.

  “There’s more. Wasim has his own car as well. And, I think he’s registered at Sidwell, because Raheem insinuated that Wasim could drive Lizzie to school.”

  “The hell he will,” Len snarled.

  “How the hell did he get in there last-minute?” Vance asked. “I have the entire student body roster, as well as faculty and staff listings, and no one from Bahrain was on the lists.”

  “His grandfather wants him there? That’s all I’ve got for you.”

  “Why would he want to?” Lizzie asked. “Either send this Wasim kid to Sidwell or have him drive me to school?”

  “Oh, dear God,” Abner said. “He’s trying to arrange a royal wedding, isn’t he?”

  “I think so, yeah.” Always nice to know that Abner was pretty much as smart as the rest of my staff and associates.

  “Wedding with whom?” Lizzie asked. We all looked at her. “Oh, hells to the no! I’m not getting married to some spoiled rich kid I don’t even know!”

  “Prince,” Vance corrected. “He’ll be a prince. And if we insult this teenaged prince in any way, then the tenuous peace Kitty’s managed to force the Middle East into will shatter, because there are still factions there looking for reasons to freak out.”

  That there were. Because the other reason the Galactic Freehold had chosen to live on American Centaurion land in the U.S. was that the most anti-alien lunatics on planet Earth, aka Club 51 True Believers, had somehow not only infiltrated the Middle East but had moved their entire base of operations there. They were instigating whatever hatred they could—be it religious, xenophobic, homophobic, misogynistic, racial, or anything else they could think of—and sadly they’d found fertile ground. Just as most of the people of Earth had banded together to be better than we’d been before and enter a brave new world of galactic interaction, the extremists had also made their own love connections, and Club 51 True Believers were still in action, albeit underground.