Kitty Katt 11: Alien Separation (2 page)

E
ARLY MORNING AND I
are not best buds. I'm not a girl who sees any virtue in watching the sun rise. However, it was the morning after I'd come back from an unintended vacation, and my husband and I had spent the night wide awake and extremely active in the best possible way.

Now we were lying next to each other, relaxing in the afterglow of a night very well spent.

“I know who the Mastermind is.” As post-coitus comments went, this was probably not going to go down as the World's Most Romantic Statement.

“Yeah?” Jeff rolled onto his side to face me, leaning on his hand. His other hand stroked my body. It was great to feel his hand on my skin—I'd spent the last couple of weeks wondering if that would ever happen again.

We had music on, and as Weezer's “My Best Friend” hit our airwaves, I shifted likewise so we were face-to-face and I could also stroke Jeff's chest and such. And I could look at him. Considering I hadn't been sure I'd ever see his face again, it was nice to be here, like normal, as if nothing much had gone on.

We were in Sydney Base, so the standard nightlight glow was in the room, meaning we
could
see each other. Aliens, of which Jeff was definitely one, were different from humans in many ways, not all of them physical. As near as I could tell, no A-Cs liked to sleep in the extreme dark. I'd never asked why—and as I'd learned during my foray out of this world, I probably needed to be a bit more curious about many things.

However, since we'd moved into the American Centaurion Embassy in Washington, D.C., I'd gotten used to sleeping in the actual dark again. But this was kind of a nice retro moment. I'd spent my first night after discovering aliens were on the planet in a room very like this one, half of it with Jeff. The best half.

I was willing to stay in bed with Jeff forever but, partially because I'd had a two-week “vacation” in another universe, duty was calling in a loud and insistent manner. Also, Mr. Clock shared that it was six in the morning, and that meant that our daughter was going to be up in an hour, give or take.

“Yeah. Only . . . I don't know if I can tell you.”

“Because you're worried I'll give away the fact that I know because I can't lie any better than the rest of the A-Cs, right?”

“Right. You sound like you had this conversation already.”

“I did. With you, in that sense.”

“Oh. Other Me figured it out?” I'd switched universes with another version of me. Yeah, my life was just that kind of exciting. Hers was, too, now, come to think of it. Oh well, she was me. She'd roll with the punches.

“Pretty much.”

“How? I mean, I realize I'm great at looking at accepted truths and quickly spotting the flaws and all that, but she couldn't have had a lot to go on.”

“Oh, she didn't. But she had the one key piece of information we've never had. The same new fact I figure you discovered while you were in her universe—her Chuck hates the Mastermind's guts, with good reason.”

Other Me was married to my best guy friend since high school, Charles Reynolds. Well, her universe's Charles Reynolds, at any rate. It had been instructive and interesting to see how my life might have been different. Hoped she'd enjoyed seeing how the other universe lived.

“Wow, yeah. So, you know who it is?”

Jeff nodded as “Bad Blood” by Ministry came on. “Almost the worst person it could be.”

“Got that right. So, does Chuckie know?”

“No.” Jeff sighed. “We've managed to keep it from him. For the whole week and a half that we've known. And only because we've been so busy and focused on fixing things with the Australian government and getting you and your Cosmic Alternate to switch back.”

“Did Malcolm already know?” Malcolm Buchanan had Dr. Strange powers. At least as far as I was concerned. If he didn't want you to see him, you didn't see him. If he said it was so, it was probably so. Luckily for me, my mother had assigned him to be my bodyguard when we first got to D.C. She'd assigned the Buchanan in the other universe onto Other Me a lot sooner. Apparently things were dicey wherever I was. Go me.

“Yeah. Buchanan's known for what sounds like three years. But he has no actual proof. None of us here do.”

“We had no proof, either, other than the fact that Cliff Goodman was that universe's Charles' lifelong enemy. And the fact that he tried to kill Other Me, their kids, Charles, James, and Malcolm. He'd already . . .” Murdered my mother in that world. Along with the rest of her and Buchanan's teams, which included other people I knew and loved in this world.

“I know,” Jeff said gently. “We figured it all out. Well, most of it. I'm sure we're both missing parts of the whole nightmare.” He grinned. “And I know I don't have the full story of how you kicked butt and saved the day.”

“You just assume I did that?” I hadn't really had time to brief everyone on what had happened, in part because Chuckie was here with the group that had come to fix things with Australia and I hadn't wanted to let anything slip.

Jeff kissed me, his typical awesome kiss. “Yeah, that's my default assumption,” he said after his lips and tongue had owned mine for a good, long time, emphasis on good. “That you're going to do what has to be done, better than anyone else ever could.”

“I could get used to this form of hero worship.”

He laughed. “There's nothing wrong with accurate hero worship, baby.”

Snuggled my face in between his awesome pecs and rubbed against his chest hair as the Veronicas sang “I Could Get Used To This.” “Works for me. After all, I hero worship your bedroom and leadership skills, so we're even.”

Jeff chuckled. “Always nice to be appreciated.”

“Back atcha. So, what do we do? I don't know how to tell Chuckie that the guy he thinks is his best friend is the reason his wife is dead. He's normally laid back and able to roll with whatever's thrown at him, but I'm not willing to bet he'll be able to deal rationally under the circumstances.”

Naomi Gower-Reynolds wasn't really dead in the technical, universal sense. She'd taken so much pure Surcenthumain—what we called the Superpowers Drug—in order to save Jamie and Chuckie from being destroyed by the Mastermind that she'd become something far more than human or alien. She'd become a superconsciousness. And she was never allowed to come back to Earth. Our Earth. However, she'd found a way around that rule by covering the protection of her beloved goddaughter and husband in every other universe they existed in. And I was the only one who knew this. Well, me, and my daughter Jamie. Daughters Jamie, I guess.

There was a multiverse out there, and I discovered that I'd seen it before. In the past, when I'd seen the Universe Wheel, I'd never remembered it when I'd woken up or come back to life or whatever. But now, after this trip, I remembered it all. And I was pretty sure I did because of Naomi's influence.

I existed in a large number of the universes out there, and in every one I was in, Jamie was there as well. Same birthdate for every Jamie throughout the multiverse, though her father was usually Chuckie, or James Reader. This was the only universe where Jeff was on Earth, so it was the only one with him as her father.

Jamie had learned how to communicate with her other selves. I wasn't sure if it was because my Jamie housed a superconsciousness in her mind now, since ACE had taken up residence there, or if she was just that highly talented. Probably both.

“None of us have a plan for that yet,” Jeff admitted. “It needs to be broken to him gently, if that's at all possible.”

“There's a slight possibility that I'm wrong about Cliff being the Mastermind in this universe. Very slight.”

Jeff shook his head. “No, you're not. Too many pieces fit.”

“Yeah, they fit to me, too. I don't know what to do. Other than get a three-way mirror pronto.”

The Jamie I'd spent time with in the other universe was also special—she could see every other Jamie in all the other universes. But she needed help to do so—a large three-way mirror set up as if it was in a department store's dressing room. I was pretty sure that she didn't need a magic mirror, but I wasn't completely confident—in my experience it didn't pay to assume.

“Yeah, you told me that when you, ah, came back. I ordered a set. Should be at the Embassy when we get home. But unless those mirrors are going to give us proof that Cliff's the Mastermind, or show us how to break the news to Chuck safely, I don't think they're what we need the most.”

“Yeah. What we really need to know is if Cliff and LaRue have a death ray.”

“Excuse me?”

Before I could explain what I was talking about, “Trouble” by Pink came on and we were interrupted by a voice on the intercom. “I'm sorry to wake you, Vice President and Ambassador Martini,” a woman I'd never heard before said in an Australian accent. “But we have an incoming call from a restricted number.”

“Did the caller give a name, Melissa?” Jeff asked as he sat up and turned the music off.

“No, Mister Vice President, he did not.” Apparently Melissa was as big on the titles as Walter and William Ward were. Walter ran Embassy Security and, since Gladys Gower's death, his older brother William had taken over as Head of Security out at the Dulce Science Center.

“Why are we taking this call then?” I asked as I sat up as well. This was far too reminiscent of the start of Operation Confusion for my liking.

“Because the caller said it was a matter of life or death, Ambassador.”

“I
T SO FIGURES.
Can we take that call in here . . . Melissa, is it? Or do we have to go somewhere else?”

Jeff shot me the “shut up, shut up” look.

“Yes, Ambassador, it's Melissa. We've met.” Her voice was rather icy on the last sentence.

Crap. The reason for the “shut up” look dawned on me. Now that I was back, I'd forgotten that Jeff had told me that everyone had done their best not to let on that Other Me was here instead of Real Me. “Oh. Right. I'm sorry. You just sounded different on the intercom and this early in the morning. We, ah, didn't get a lot of sleep.”

“Ah. Well, I can patch the call through to your room, if you'd like.” Melissa sounded appeased and Jeff looked relieved, so assumed I'd handled it well enough.

“Just asking . . . why wouldn't we like? It's not a video call or something, is it?” We were naked and I didn't feel like sharing the wonder that was Jeff's naked body with random strangers, restricted calls or not. Frankly, I was a selfish girl and didn't want to share his naked body with anyone. Shoved the worry about how much of his naked body Other Me had seen and/or enjoyed away. Clearly, the game was afoot. Sometimes I hated the game.

“Mister Buchanan feels he should be with you for this call, Ambassador.”

“Gotcha.”

Jeff zipped out of bed, grabbed our pajamas, and zipped back. He was dressed in a second. Hyperspeed, the savior of decorum. “Give us a minute, no more, Melissa,” Jeff said. “Then have him come to our room.”

“He's outside, Mister Vice President.”

Pulled the pajamas on at human speeds. Didn't need to rip my clothes in half right now. “Now is fine,” I said as I pulled the T-shirt down.

We headed into the sitting room portion of the standard A-C transient housing section. All A-C facilities had transient sections and they all resembled a nice, austere hotel setup, just like the regular living quarters did. Aliens had their funny ways, was how I looked at it.

The door opened and Buchanan came in. He was built a lot like Jeff—tall, buff, handsome for a human. Unlike Jeff, his brown hair was straight, not wavy, and he had blue eyes instead of Jeff's light brown. The perks of my job and life were many, and being surrounded by the best looking aliens in the galaxy somehow meant we scored the best looking humans on Earth, too. It wasn't fair, but I wasn't complaining.

“Secured line, Melissa,” Buchanan said, without even a howdy-do. “No one else listening in other than those in this room. Caller unaware that I'm in this room, as well.”

“Yes, Mister Buchanan.” Melissa clearly liked Buchanan more than she liked me. Oh well. I'd have to find the will to go on somehow.

The sound in the room changed to the crackle of a poor connection on a long distance line. “Missus Martini?”

Recognized the voice. “Gideon Cleary, it's been a while. It's Ambassador Martini to you, though, dude.”

“Yes, sorry. I wasn't trying to be offensive.”

Considered this. His tone didn't sound snide or condescending. Frankly, he sounded worried. “You were trying to be sure it was me.”

“Yes.” Now he sounded relieved. “It
is
you. Good. We have a problem.”

“How is that? And why wouldn't it have been me? You called for me and my husband and it's dawn over on this side of the world. Who were you expecting to be sleeping in our bed, so to speak?”

“No idea, honestly. There have been some . . . rumors these past couple of weeks that you haven't been, ah, yourself.”

“A concussion will do that to people,” Jeff said dryly. And before I could blow it again. Though I had remembered that my excuse for anything and everything was supposed to be the concussion I'd gotten falling headfirst onto some concrete stairs at the start of Operation Bizarro World. Of course, I hadn't used said excuse with Melissa. Jeff's intervention made a lot of sense.

“Yes, I know, Mister Vice President.” Interesting. Normally when Cleary was speaking to Jeff, he sounded like he was eating the sourest lemon on the planet. Right now, however, he just sounded normal, and still worried. “However, that wasn't my concern. And I don't mean that in an insulting way, Ambassador.”

“You were worried that I'd been turned into an unwilling android, weren't you?”

“Frankly, yes. You're clearly still yourself, which is a relief.”

Hadn't been hard to guess. Since he'd at least known about if not helped to turn Cameron Maurer into an unwilling android, and Maurer had been Cleary's VP running mate. “Seriously? I know we reached an understanding during the campaign, but I find it hard to believe that you consider yourself a pal of mine, and vice versa.”

“Politics makes strange bedfellows.”

“Dude, that is like
the
Washington saying, isn't it? But, fine, what do you want us to be in bed with you about, to the point that you've called on the restricted, we can't trace it line?” I had no way of knowing this, though Buchanan nodding at me indicated that I'd guessed correctly.

“Stephanie Valentino is missing, and has been missing for a week.”

Let that sit on the air for a bit. Stephanie was Jeff's eldest niece, and the daughter of one of the biggest traitors the A-Cs had ever had. She'd been turned, too, probably for far longer than we'd realized. We'd given up on trying to win her back to the side of right—in part because I'd had to kill her father or let him kill me and a whole lot of other people. But Stephanie wasn't going to ever forgive me or the others for that. Hard to blame her, until I considered all the evil she was doing to make us pay for ending her father's betrayal habits in a very permanent way.

“Have you gone to the police?” Jeff asked.

“Not yet. I don't want to create a scandal if none exists. I was hoping she'd gone home to visit her mother or other family members.”

“We can check.” My phone beeped and I got it. Buchanan had sent me a text. Showed it to Jeff. “Ah, we
have
checked. There is no sign of Stephanie anywhere, including with any of her immediate family.”

“Are you certain? I know she's considered an outcast and a
persona non grata
in the alien community right now.”

“That was her choice,” Jeff said sadly. “But we'd let her back if we felt we could trust her. And her mother would never turn her away.” He was texting on his phone. “However, I've just asked every immediate member of my family—they swear they think Stephanie is with you, Cleary.”

“Did your wife get tired of the affair and kick her out or get into a fight with Stephanie about something else?”

Cleary heaved a sigh that sounded exasperated. “I realize you think that I was sleeping with her. And she's a beautiful young woman, so I admit the temptation is there. However, I truly don't sleep around, let alone with a girl young enough to be my daughter. My wife and I honestly have done our best to take Stephanie into our family. As a daughter. Stephanie's father was murdered—she needs the stability we felt we could offer to her. My wife was even hoping Stephanie and our middle son would connect romantically.”

“Since when did your family become pro-alien?” Jeff asked.

“We were never anti-alien,” Cleary said. “Surely you understand how politics works by now, don't you?”

“We do. Find a scapegoat, attack the scapegoat to divert attention away from the actual issues that matter, lather, rinse, repeat. But I have a question in regard to Stephanie. What were
you
hoping for when you took her in, Gideon?”

“That I'd have an assistant who could and would give me all the information on your people I could ever want. And I had that. Stephanie, however, has a romantic interest other than my son, despite my advice to the contrary.”

I was shocked by his honesty, but it was rather refreshing. I wasn't used to anyone in D.C. ever being honest on the first try. My brain nudged. Who Stephanie's bad romantic choice could be was oh so likely. Why not ask, just for grins and giggles? “She's dating Cliff Goodman, isn't she?”

Jeff stiffened as Buchanan nodded and shot me a look that said he was pleased that I hadn't lost any steps going back and forth between universes. There was no need for any of us to ask why Cliff hadn't shared who his squeeze was—that would have made Chuckie, and the rest of us, suspicious. Though Cliff probably could have spun it as his attempt to get Stephanie back on the side of good.

“She is.”

“Why don't you approve? Aside from the fact that he has to be sneaking around with her, since none of us knew of this relationship until right now. He's well connected politically.”

Cleary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don't trust him. And not because he appears to be a friend to all of you. In part because he is indeed sneaking around with Stephanie and their relationship is a secret to all but a few of us. There's no reason for that—he could easily say that he was trying to rebuild the bridge between her and all of you.”

Chose not to say that, again, Cleary was impressing me with his intelligence. I was about 99 percent sure that Cleary was aware that Cliff was involved with the Mastermind. Doubted that Cleary knew that Cliff
was
the Mastermind, but he definitely knew Cliff was involved with our biggest enemy. So, if Cleary was coming to us with this, he was either trying to determine if we'd figured out that Cliff was the Bad Guy Supreme, or else he was afraid of Cliff and afraid for himself and Stephanie.

The word “appears” also indicated that Cleary didn't think Cliff actually was our friend and might be trying to tell us so in a safe way. Which was, of course, true. “Makes sense. So, what are the other parts of why don't you trust him?” Figured it was safer to ask than guess at this juncture.

“Because Cliff is a master at playing both sides against each other. Frankly, he's a master at playing everyone against each other, regardless of side.”

“Why don't you want Stephanie dating him?”

“Because I'm certain he doesn't care for or about her. No one who sneaks around and dates a girl on the down-low cares about her. And, as I may have mentioned, my feelings toward her are fatherly.”

“Okay, let's say I believe you,” Jeff said. “Why are you coming to us, and not the police? In fact, why aren't you just asking Cliff where she is?”

“I asked him where she was the first day she didn't come home. He claims that he has no idea and is as worried as I am.”

“You think he killed her and dumped her body in the river?”

“I have no idea, Ambassador. Stephanie was acting oddly the week prior to her disappearance.”

“That coincides with when we know she murdered eight Secret Service agents in Paris on Goodman's order,” Buchanan whispered to me. Apparently I needed to get caught up on what had gone on here, pronto.

“Oddly how?” Jeff asked.

“She seemed furtive and evasive. Her moods went up and down—one moment, she was happy, the next wringing her hands, then laughing, then crying. My wife asked if Stephanie was on drugs or if someone might have slipped some to her. Stephanie insisted she was clean. Your people don't drink and she still follows that rule.”

She'd better. Alcohol was deadly to A-Cs, as Jeff could attest—he'd almost died from one swig of vodka way back when. And Stephanie knew about this, so she wouldn't drink. And if she did she'd be convulsing, not acting like the poster girl for Just Say No.

However, while she'd tried to kill all of us during Operation Defection Election, she hadn't actually succeeded. If she'd indeed murdered eight people in cold blood while I was gone, her reactions made a lot of sense.

“What do
you
think has happened, Gideon?”

“I think Cliff has done something with or to her. Whether he had her do something illegal, she's pregnant and he's not willing to do the right thing, or it's something else, I believe he's responsible for her disappearance. She might have willingly disappeared, though, which is why I haven't gone to the police.”

“Why would she be willing to disappear on her surrogate family and employer?”

“Or,” Jeff said, “to put it another way—what did you, someone in your household, or someone on your staff do or say to her that would make her disappear without a trace?”