Alien Diplomacy

in-control fuglies had stunk up the joint, so there was no reason to assume their sorta-progeny would have had breath mints added during their creation.
    Olga nodded. “You must destroy the project. There are indeed several, but the one in Paraguay is the closest to success.”
    “That’s why Titan’s down there, and that’s why they had Caro and everyone being watched. They’re not protecting our congressional fact-finding team, they’re protecting the supersoldier project.”
    “Then why try to kill you?” Jeff asked.
    I looked at Olga. “Because we get in the way. All the time.”
    “And you get in the way the most,” Chuckie said. “You were Enemy Number One per the last major operation.”
    “But they wanted Jamie last time,” Jeff said, as he cuddled her protectively. “The assassins would have killed her, too.”
    “So we have different groups with different goals. You know, like always.”
    “Is it always?” Chuckie asked.
    “Often enough. Though, yeah, we usually have one lunatic mastermind per operation. But the Puppet Masters always seem to throw lots of different crap at us, just to keep it fresh and exciting.” I was going to say more, but my phone rang. Mercifully, it wasn’t an unknown number. I stepped away so that I was by the window that faced the Circle and the others could continue our Discussion of Doom. “Hey, James, what’s up?”
    “Girlfriend, answer these questions for me, would you? Why did Pierre send six teams to Romania on a ‘mission of vital importance’? Where the hell are you, Jeff, Richard, and Reynolds? And why are your dogs sitting on my feet?”
    “The dogs love you, we’re across the street with the Romanian Ambassadress, and Pierre is doing his job. He’s the only one adapting with poise and competence, which may be why you’re confused. Maybe we can make him the Chief of Mission.”
    “I wish. I don’t want to even ask why you’re all over there. I just want to request that you come back soon and have some actual intelligence to report when you do.”
    “You miss me?”
    “Always, babe. However, I’m really missing information, a game plan, or a hope of averting domestic and international tragedy.”
    “You were a lot more fun when you weren’t the Head of the Field.”
    “I’m designing the posters for ‘Give Us Back Our Old Jobs Week.’ However, that won’t happen if we have nothing. Like we do right now.”
    “Working on it.”
    “With Romania?”
    “You’d be surprised.”
    “Always am. Time, it’s of the essence.”
    “Gotcha, Mister Main Man. We’ll be home soon. Soonish. Pronto.”
    I heard voices in the background. “Oh, and Tim says that Walter says that Pierre says that Amy says that some guy named Vance came by to see you. When he found out you weren’t here, he didn’t stay.”
    “Why was Vance around, and why was Amy answering the door?”
    “No idea. I’ve been in what we call War Room discussions, mostly discussing how we’re all going to fail and die, most likely in a few hours. It’s amazingly unfun to tell our friends in the P.T.C.U. about our lack of results.”
    “Be home soon, just have to stop by a park and score some uppers, ’cause boy, does it sound like we all need them.”
    “Sounds good, but you don’t need to score for everyone. Lack of information just seems to make your mother more determined to kick butt.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “I’m not either, girlfriend. I know where you get it from.” I heard more voices. “Kevin told me to tell you that he’s viewing this like being down at halftime during the Super Bowl, so I think he’s prepping a ‘go team’ speech. Paul says he’s looking on the bright side of life, too. And Tim says he’s not willing to give up having his own driver.”
    “Nice to know. I’ll score extra uppers just in case you and Serene bring the others around to our way of thinking.”
    “Come home first and take your dogs with you to the park. They’re really demanding a lot of attention.”
    “Rub their tummies. They like that.”
    “Trust me, babe, I know. Everyone knows. To the point where I tried to assign some teams to dog petting duty, but your hounds wouldn’t go for it.”
    “They’re selective.”
    “So am I. I select that we solve our mystery crisis.”
    “Demanding, aren’t you?”
    “Will demanding help?”
    “Who knows?”
    “Not me, girlfriend. Not me.”
    We hung up, and I turned back to everyone. All of whom were