by Gini Koch
“Kind of. For us.” I mean, why would anyone save a spot for the President, right?
Mom was on her phone. “Charles would prefer all of us in the garage. He has agents, CIA and Field, assigned to it, so feels it’s safer than parking in the regular lots, though they have security, too.”
Siler was waiting for us at our assigned parking place. He smiled at me, but when he spotted Lizzie, he got a look on his face I’d seen on my dad’s—wistful pride. Then he looked at Wasim and was instantly channeling Jeff. Once we were all out of the car, he offered Lizzie his arm, which she took. “You look amazing, Elizabeth. You’ll be the prettiest girl there, without even trying.”
I’d never heard him use her full name before, but it made Lizzie stand up a little straighter and look proud, though she blushed, too. “Thanks . . . Dad.” He smiled and kissed her forehead, careful not to disturb her hairdo or muss her makeup.
Wasim looked disappointed that Siler was escorting Lizzie, but Gadhavi nudged him and he wiped the look off of his face. Apparently Gadhavi had chosen to take the role of surrogate parent, or at least adult pal from the same region, for Wasim while he was in town. Hoped this didn’t mean that Wasim learned how to run an illegal operation and kill people, but then again, we were probably a master class in the killing of bad guys, so perhaps Gadhavi just wanted to ensure the kid got some game romantically.
Took Jeff’s arm as Mom took Dad’s, then we headed off, Kyle and Naveed in front, Siler and Lizzie between them and us, Mom and Dad behind us, and Len, Daniel, and Joshua at the rear, with Marcus and Lucas on either flank.
Thankfully the parking garage had an elevator. We had to split up for the ride, but we all made it down without issue or loss of personnel. Put that firmly into the win column. Sure, it was a tiny win, but it was a win nonetheless and the day had not been chock-full of them.
Secret Service lined the path to the ballroom, which was great, because it was dark and I had only been here once. Was greeted by Camilla at the door. She was dressed like someone who worked on a small salary would be—her outfit was clearly store-bought and not from an overly expensive store, her hair and makeup were normal person good, and she looked thrilled to be here. In other words, she was dressed exactly how I would have been before I’d run into the gang from Alpha Four, and she matched the expressions of most of the people I could see behind her.
“We’re so thrilled to have you here, Mister President,” she said to Jeff, looking and sounding as if she’d never met him or the rest of us in her life. Had to admit it, she was damned good at infiltration.
Jeff gave her his Charming the In-Laws Smile, which worked on everyone, everywhere. Not on Camilla normally, however, that I’d ever seen. But she was in character and she visibly melted. Realized just how she’d been able to get in so well in so many places. If I didn’t know her well, I would have thought she just resembled the woman I knew.
“Thank you,” Jeff said. “We’re happy to do whatever we can to support this fine institution and all the hardworking people who make it a safe place of learning for our children.”
Had no idea if Raj had written that for Jeff or if Jeff had come up with it on his own, but Mrs. Paster was headed for us and near enough to hear, and she beamed.
Which was my cue. After all, the FLOTUS wasn’t supposed to hang out with the girl checking everyone in at the door. The FLOTUS was supposed to be gracious and take the POTUS in to meet the big cheeses she knew.
Smiled at Camilla in the way I would at anyone I didn’t really know and didn’t have anything much to say to, then headed us straight for my intended target. “Jeff, this is Missus Paster, the principal of the school. She’s amazing. Missus Paster, my husband, Jeff.”
I let go of Jeff’s arm and he shook Mrs. Paster’s hand while giving her the Charming Smile as well. “Kitty’s told me so much about the school and how well she feels you’re running it. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and so soon.”
Mrs. Paster gave the feminine laugh that was between a giggle and a real laugh. Yeah, Jeff had that effect. “It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mister President.”
“Oh, please, call me Jeff. Kitty and I don’t stand on a lot of formality.”
Raj came over now. “Excuse me, Mister President, there are some people here who’d like to meet you. Missus Paster, if you could come with us and perhaps give the President the heads-up on who he’s meeting?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’d be more than happy to.”
With that, Jeff gave me a kiss on the cheek, offered his arm to Mrs. Paster, which she took with what seemed to be great joy, and they all headed off.
Which was fine with me because I wanted to get the lay of the land and see who was where. Though I had no idea where to start, really. It was a big room, and it reminded me a lot of the ballroom we’d been in for the President’s Ball—lots of food and beverage stations, lots of little tables, a dance floor, a stage, and a tonnage of people. If everyone only gave $100 each, Marcia’s event would be a success.
Someone came up and put his arm around my waist. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing alone in a place like this?”
CHAPTER 63
MANAGED NOT TO JUMP, but only because I recognized the voice. “James! When did you get here?”
He gave me a shot of the cover boy grin. “Gates are amazing things.” He kissed my cheek. “We need to walk and talk so we’re not obvious.” Then he wrapped my arm in his and we started to wander.
“So, you scored the Kitty Wrangling?”
“Nope. Your replacement for me is busy, so I’m taking it retro.”
“Oh, my God, you and Vance need to stop your Jealousy Wars. He’s him, you’re you, I need you both. And you’re still my best friend, you know that.”
“True enough. He’s busy getting intel, which is why he passed me the signal to take care of you. We can’t have the FLOTUS standing alone like she’s been dumped.”
“Did I look that pathetic?”
He chuckled. “Honestly? No. You look like I wish I could manage to go straight or at least bi.”
“Awww. I’d still leave it all behind for you.”
“That’s what keeps me going. No one’s seen Stephanie yet. We have Richard looking for Trevor, however it’s been decades since he’s seen the man, so Jeff might get introduced to him before we find him, if Trevor’s the Doctor Rattoppare who’s here. Meaning we probably have a little time, so tell me what all I missed. I’ve heard it from others, but I want your impressions. Loved your dance moves, by the way.”
“I’m hoping they play that song tonight so I can see yours.” Tossed on my good ol’ Recap Girl cape and brought him up to speed on all he’d missed, including what the Christopher-Bot the Second had shared and my short and not sweet phone call. “So, it’s the same crap, different hour of the day.” Would have loved to tell Reader about my dream and conversation with Algar, but that wasn’t possible and was definitely against The Rules. “What did you guys find?”
“Things I can’t tell you about here. Suffice to say that I think we have a huge issue brewing with the True Believers and their best friends, bigger even than what Gadhavi thought. But we can’t do anything about it right now.” He looked back at the doorway then turned back to me. “We’re going to need our best infiltrator on it. And even then, I don’t know if we can move.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when it falls on us. So, thoughts about the Bots?”
“No one at Dulce nor any of the Hackers are convinced that the Christopher-Bot is sentient, some gray matter or not. However, I had a long chat with Butler, and he and Maurer make a good case for the Kitty-Bot having become sentient even without gray matter. Reverse engineering a sentient being is likely to kill it, which is why they’re so adamant about not letting us touch her. So, we’re leaving her alone for the time being. But that still leaves the Christopher-Bot questions
open. As in, is it sentient and how many more of them are there?”
Now was the time for all good Kittys to figure out how to share what they thought they knew without sounding insane. Wished the Kitty-Bot and her sentience were here for a moment, but soldiered on alone. “Um, you know, I had a kind of weird thought.”
“Yeah? Normal weird or Kitty Weird?”
“Oh, I’m betting on Kitty Weird. So brace yourself. What if there’s more to the Christopher-Bots than we realize?”
“I’m sure there is, but that hardly seemed brace-worthy. What are you getting at?”
“The Christopher-Bot the First morphed into something else entirely, twice, and both of those things could fly. What if . . . what if the Christopher-Bot was made with some kind of polymer that’s not really from Earth? Or is, but is a superpolymer?”
“Okay. And?”
“And what if that polymer can not only morph, but can divide? It would explain why the brain is half the size we’d expect and why both of them said and appeared to think the same things—because they’re really the same robot, or whatever it really is, divided in half. I mean, I would think this tech is alien, and by alien I mean from far outside our or the Alpha Centauri system.”
“Seems a little like a reach. Wruck hasn’t said that the Anciannas have anything like that, and if the Z’porrah did, then I’d think we’d have seen a lot more of this and a lot sooner.”
“Dude, Cliff had the freaking Killer Octopus, and Drax confirmed there was no way that puppy was made with things a hundred percent from Earth. We keep on thinking that the only evil aliens out to affect Earth are the Z’porrah, but I’m really sure that, in a galaxy with billions of stars in it, there are plenty of others who’ve noted what a cool little out-of-the-way vacation or experimental hot spot we are and are meddling accordingly. Drax is merely a benevolent example, and let’s be honest—if we hadn’t gotten to him when we did, he could easily be a member of the Cackling Megalomaniacs League right now.”
Waited. Could see the wheels in Reader’s head turning. “Fair, and accurate, points. I think this is something we need to run by Chuck, honestly. But in a way your theory would fit. So, when would the Christopher-Bot division have happened? Before or after the Bot visited the Bahrainis at the airport?”
The music started up. “Open the Gate” by No Doubt. Had doubts that the school had chosen this for their swanky soundtrack, but was happy to be on the Algar Channel once again. “What if the polymer can’t handle gate technology and the division happened then?”
“The gates handle everything.”
“Au contraire, mon ami. Your husband told me only this afternoon that the gates had to be altered to ensure that all the new aliens here and that they knew about could safely use them, indicating that gates were originally only made to handle Alpha Centauri and Solaris systems matter.”
“Yeah, you’re right, and it’s nice to see you going fancy with the French and all that. So what you’re saying is what if whatever the Christopher-Bot is made of is something that can’t handle the gate transfer?”
“Yeah, I’m willing to bet they are. The living beings that are shapeshifters are organic. Maybe the gates aren’t created to handle an inorganic substance that can also morph. Or if they are, those substances would be from our two systems. If the polymer is from elsewhere, or has something extra in it from elsewhere, and either isn’t from a planet represented on Earth now in some way, or is from a planet we don’t know about, then it’s very possible that it was affected by the gate transfer. I mean, they always make me sick and I’m organic. And, while I realize I don’t pay attention all that often to things of this nature, I’ve never considered that a substance might not get through the gates. Worrying about electronics was different. I swear.”
“I’m letting all the comments pass, girlfriend. But yeah, I think you’re onto something. So you think the split happened after the visit with the Bahrainis at the airport?”
“Right after, yes, because, as far as we know, that’s the only time the Christopher-Bot used a gate. And the timing would work out for both of them—one heads for the mission, the other sees his duplicate, and determines that said dupe is up to no good.”
“That would also explain why there aren’t any others around. There was one, probably the prototype, like the Kitty-Bot was a prototype. At least, let’s hope there was only one, but we’ll attempt optimism for a change and say only one. It was sent on a mission, and that mission created something no one was prepared for. Unless you think this was planned, which I don’t.”
“I don’t, either, because it seems more random than even the most baroque of our supervillains has managed prior. As we know, anything’s possible, but I call knowing the gate would divide your snazzy new creation highly improbable.”
“As long as whoever’s behind that is from Earth,” Reader said.
The music changed to Pink’s “One Foot Wrong” which was even more unlikely to be on Sidwell’s or Marcia’s party playlist. Took this to be Algar explaining that Reader’s last statement was incorrect. I agreed, so that was nice, too. The song was a slower one, at least, as far as rock songs went. Reader led me onto the dance floor. We started doing a quickstep.
“No, they wouldn’t have to be, because even if you were from far away, you’d see what looks like literally everyone using the gates and you might not consider that you have some element in your special morphing substance that wouldn’t get through a gate safely. Not everyone plays chess eight moves ahead.”
“Yeah, you and Reynolds do, though. So did Cliff.”
“And he’s dead. So they could be from anywhere and just not have given this enough thought. And let’s hope that we can contain the information so that they never find out.”
“Agreed. But answer this—how did they calibrate the gate?”
“Really? They have A-C vision, they have an A-C helping them, Clarence and/or Stephanie wrote a manual and passed it out to all our enemies, cough up another idea, they’re all possible. It’s not hard to do it if you’re taught how and can see the dial.”
“That might be why the division of the Christopher-Bot happened, too, then. Slightly off calculations that caused the split.” Reader was a great dancer, as good as Jeff, and we were gathering an audience, since we were the only ones on the dance floor.
“That’s for all the Dazzlers and Hacker International to enjoy determining. I’m the big picture girl.”
“Well, it might also explain how the busses arrived to attack the Intergalactic School. Unless you have another answer for that.”
“Um, their wheels go ’round and ’round and all that nursery song jazz.” My brain nudged. No idea why. Forged on. “And we must assume said busses were driven by underage Lizzie-Bots because we found no one else, Bots or people.”
Reader dipped me. “That’s for the highway patrol to worry about, I’m the big picture guy.”
“You’re the research dude and you know it.”
He grinned as he pulled me back up. “I can multitask, too, you know. No, I mean how did the busses get all the way out there in the middle of the nowhere that Dulce and the Intergalactic School are in without anyone spotting them before you all did visually?”
“Ah. I have no idea. When did the Science Center spot them?”
“Based on what William said, about the same time you did.”
“Our enemies are using a big gate, then.”
“But the only one left who can create an impromptu gate is locked up tight in the Zoo.” Reader pointed out. “Barring Kozlow and Gadhavi running all this.”
“I don’t buy that. I could be wrong, mind you, but it doesn’t fit their characters at all.”
“So, again, that means someone has access to a large gate,” Reader said as the music changed to “Come Dancing” by The Kinks, and he swung us into a cha-cha. Other people started to
get onto the dance floor, too. About time and I figured this one was just a song, versus a clue. Though I stayed alert, just in case.
“Who doesn’t? I mean that literally. There are large gates at the Dome and Home Base, but over time we’ve put a lot of big ones in due to Jeff’s moving up in the political ranks. All it requires is a traitor or someone who needs some extra cash who can calibrate the gate and Bob’s your uncle, seven busses roll into the desert.”
Reader shook his head. “It would have to be from a site we don’t monitor.”
“Well, I’m pretty certain I know which site, then.”
CHAPTER 64
“I’M ALL EARS, GIRLFRIEND,” Reader said, as he danced us away from the few other couples who’d chosen to actually try to have fun.
“Dude, how quickly you forget. The NSA is involved with the Fem-Bot Factory. Meaning the NSA has a gate.”
“Well, yes, they do, just like all the other Alphabet Agencies. Not big enough to send busses through, though.”
“Really? I point to the NSA black site no one knew existed that was really close to home. If there’s one NSA black site out there, then who’s to say there aren’t a dozen? It seems to me that half of the covert ops in this country are focused on hiding themselves and what they’re doing from Mom and Chuckie as if their lives depended upon it.”
Reader swirled me out, then swirled me back. “Which they do, in that sense. And Goodman could have put in a lot of things we don’t know about, too.”
“I agree, and I think it’s safe to call it a fact. He could have gotten a gate installed that no one told us about simply by using his various connections.” Maybe Z’porrah power cubes could do more than just move someone via thought, too. Sure, we had the one Cliff had used, but the Z’porrah had been back since then. Of course this was, like so much else, currently unprovable. We could test it, but only if Algar and the Poofs allowed it, which I wasn’t betting on.
“It’s hard to argue with the fact that we found that factory on the NSA’s turf,” Reader admitted. “I’ll give you that. But we have no proof and less than no idea of who at the NSA would be the big cheese. As you said, they’re hiding well from Angela and Chuck.”