Alien Diplomacy

all.”
    “I’ll ponder while I’m doing the fashionista thing with Pierre.”
    “Do. Because time’s nearly up, and we’re possibly in a worse position than when we started.”
    “Will do, Voice of Doom. Find out if Vance told my mom anything. He claimed to know who the target was.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “And let me know what he said whenever you find out.”
    “Oh, absolutely.”
    “Thanks ever, Mister Pissy.”
    “Sorry, just in a bad mood.”
    “I noticed. Why so? I mean more than the obvious reasons.”
    “All the stuff the K-9 unit stole from us was in their taxis. You know, the ones that are buried under rubble now.”
    “Crap. Have you sent agents out to check on the scene?”
    “Gosh, thank God you’re here, what would I do without you?”
    “I’m close to getting offended.”
    “Don’t be. Yes, we sent them. Everything was burned. We have nothing left.”
    “Did Ishmael and his crew look at any of it?”
    “Why no, of course not. Because they were too busy playing Catch the Cat.”
    “I think I’m going to be offended by that remark.”
    “Does this mean that, should I turn straight, you’re not going to run off with me?”
    “No, don’t worry, I’m still holding onto the dream.”
    “Thanks, babe, I feel better.”
    “But do you feel straight?”
    “Doing a sound check. Nope, still gay.”
    “You’re a tease, James, you know that, right?”
    “And you’re still my girl, you know that too, right?”
    “I do indeed.”
    “Good. Then everything’s still right with the world.”



CHAPTER 74
    W E HUNG UP, AND I JOINED PIERRE’S CATWALK. At least, that’s what it felt like.
    The salon was already tastefully done up in an Early American Expensive motif, presumably to fool whoever was in it into thinking American Centaurion had been around during Colonial times. Well, they had been. They just hadn’t been on Earth.
    It was also reminiscent of what Reader had done for my wedding, only with more black. Because, despite my hopes to the contrary, everything was in a black, white, or black and white pattern.
    “Pierre, they’ve indoctrinated you into Armani’s Black and White Army already? You’ve been here less than three full days.”
    “Oh, no, darling. But for the President’s Ball everyone’s supposed to show their country’s colors.”
    Well, black and white were certainly the A-C’s colors of choice. Clearly, even at the biggest shindig we’d been invited to so far, we were going in the formal version of the Armani Fatigues. I refrained from asking what our flag looked like—so far, I’d never seen one flying anywhere. Considering the A-C’s color preferences, maybe it was because we flew the Jolly Roger.
    I heaved a sigh. “Well, black hides stains.”
    As I was hustled behind the tasteful Oriental screen Pierre had clearly had brought in which was serving as the changing area, I looked at what the other gals were going to be wearing. I had to admit they looked good.
    Amy, our rather willowy redhead, was in a one-shouldered white charmeuse sheath dress that managed to make her look as if she were stepping out on the red carpet, with a long, silky blackwrap. Caroline was in a form-fitting confection of organza, satin, and white lace sprinkled with glittery black beads I prayed weren’t actually black diamonds. Her wrap was a bolero jacket in a reversed pattern of the dress, black lace and organza sprinkled with white please-God-not-real-diamonds. Doreen was draped in what I could only think of as a black Grecian Pregnancy Toga I was fairly sure was made out of raw silk. But she was a Dazzler so, even as extremely preggers as she was, she looked gorgeous.
    All the dresses were long, which made sense for the event, just not if we had to run for our lives, which I expected.
    My dress options were handed back to me. I had one white, one black, and one two-toned option. “Can I just say no to the all-white one right now?”
    “No, darling. Let’s at least have a look.”
    “Pierre, white and I don’t mix well.”
    “You look lovely in white.”
    “No argument. However, I will stain it in under an hour. An hour might be a generous estimate.”
    “She’s not making that up,” Caroline said.
    “I’d give it about thirty minutes,” Amy added.
    “Less if there’s a punch bowl nearby,” Doreen shared.
    My friends, there for me when I needed them. However, they did shove Pierre and the designer who’d apparently won the exciting contract to dress