Alien Diplomacy

C.I.A. and the various world governments was in on which plan or plans, and who wasn’t a lying sack of excrement. So far, this had meant a lot of strategic maneuvering I’d been too busy being indoctrinated into the D.C. lifestyle to be a part of.
    “Can’t argue with the ‘let’s not let anyone get murdered’ logic.”
    “If only we knew who the anyone was,” Jeff said. Chuckie grunted. I got the impression they’d been stressing about this the entire time I’d been gone.
    We pulled into the garage for the American Centaurion Embassy. It was underground, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t spacious. Like everything else the A-Cs did, the Embassy was big and had a lot going on underground.
    The Embassy was a full city block, long and wide, and it went up seven floors and down one. Well, it went down more than one, since we’d discovered a hidden elevator and a really hidden secret lab during what I referred to as Operation Confusion. Chuckie and I had destroyed the lab with the help of Richard White, in his last days as the Pontifex of the A-Cs, or, as I thought of it, their Pope With Benefits.
    White had retired to the active lifestyle and, on the rare occasions when we got to do something other than smile at politicians, was now my partner in the butt-kicking. Which, sadly, meant he was getting a good chance to catch up on his reading.
    The parking garage was under the basement level, meaning it was two stories down. That it only took up three-quarters of theblock should have been a clue to someone that there was something going on at the far side, but apparently these things only occurred to me. Then again, my specialty was thinking like psychos and megalomaniacs. A skill that should have made fitting into Washington a breeze, when I thought about it.
    Of course, the A-Cs didn’t care about cars like humans did, and the former, now eaten, Diplomatic Corps had been deeply involved in that secret lab and all the horror therein, so that had undoubtedly had a lot to do with everyone else’s dimness.
    We got out of the car and a new bundle of cuteness appeared out of nowhere. “Poofikins!” And then another. “Harlie!” Poofikins was mine and Harlie was the head Poof and belonged to Jeff, though the Poofs all seemed to prefer females to males. They both seemed to know I needed the extra Poofiness when I got back from class.
    The Poofs had their little purrfest, then Fluffy went back into Chuckie’s pocket, job, presumably, done. Poofikins and Harlie stayed on my shoulders. Poof adornments were not an issue.
    Of course, there was one bundle of cuteness severely lacking. Even if I hadn’t been thinking about her, my breasts were sharing that it was time to feed my baby. As per usual, I didn’t actually have breasts at the moment, I had torpedoes. “Jeff? Can we let Chuckie and the boys get upstairs by themselves?”
    “Sure, I know the way,” Chuckie said with a grin. “Go take care of Jamie.”
    Jeff grunted, grabbed my hand, and we took off at hyperspeed. I could do the hyperspeed now all on my own, but I was having some issues with control, so it was wiser to have an A-C holding onto me, preferably Jeff.
    For whatever reason, there was no elevator to the parking area—stairs only. I’d run track in high school and college under the most dedicated, and sadistic, coaches in history, so stair charges had been a part of my life for a long time. Having hyperspeed was better, but I’d spent the last three months discovering that the effort was the same even with the cool A-C powers.
    However, going up the nine flights to get up to the top floor was only about a quarter of what I used to run routinely, so we zipped upstairs. We’d discovered it was bad and embarrassing to take the elevator when I was ready to feed Jamie. The milk stains were gone, and the smell hadn’t really lingered, but the ribbing from everyone was still going strong. That Jeff and I were basically incapable of being in an elevator alone together and not making out was, in my opinion, a good thing.
    I could hear Jamie crying as we reached the top floor of the Embassy. Half of this floor was our living quarters. The other half belonged to Christopher White and Amy Gaultier. Amy had been one of my best girlfriends in high school and had gotten pulled into the fun and frolic of my new life only three months ago. They’d made the Action Love Connection during Operation Confusion and were officially engaged.
    We entered our