Alien Diplomacy

superbeing exterminator to full-time diplomat. More than two years start to finish would have been nice. But, hey, I’m good with change and a challenge, right?
    Of course, nothing could really have prepared me for the superpowers that were my parting gifts for labor and delivery of our daughter. Like the Alpha Centaurions from Alpha Four, I now have hyperspeed, faster healing and regeneration, improved vision, andsuperstrength. Other abilities show up when I least expect them. I don’t have two hearts like a real A-C or any special talents, such as dream and memory reading or empathic skills. But being a super’s pretty much all it’s cracked up to be.
    Sadly, when it comes to diplomacy, superpowers don’t really help. At all. But that’s where my winning ways and charming influence over others come in.
    Hey, when it comes to diplomacy, I do practice the sweet science. Yeah, okay, the kind with boxing gloves. What can I say? Washington’s a tough town.



CHAPTER 1
    “M ISSUS MARTINI, CAN YOU PLEASE EXPLAIN the proper way to greet a visiting dignitary from China when you are also in the company of dignitaries from Japan, Russia, Thailand, and Bangladesh?”
    “This is a trick question, right?”
    My Washington Wife course instructor glared. “Hardly.” Mrs. Darcy Lockwood, a proud Daughter of the American Revolution, wife of the influential senator from Maine, and all around know-it-all, wasn’t fond of me. I’d only been in her class a few weeks, but the feeling was incredibly mutual.
    “I suppose a cheerful howdy-do isn’t it, right?” There were titters throughout the class. Sadly, I knew they were absolutely not laughing with me.
    Another glare. I wasn’t sure which one of us hated the other more, me or the instructor, but there was less than no love lost between us. To date, this summed up my entire experience with Washington, D.C.: I didn’t like it, and it didn’t like me.
    “Missus Martini, your husband’s career is affected by you—what you say, how you present yourself, how you act. As the wife of an ambassador, I’d think you would have more interest in representing yourself and your principality well.”
    “I’m also an ambassador.” I chose not to argue about the principality thing. I was representing the Alpha Centaurion, or A-C, population, and it was never clear to me what our exact status really was. It wasn’t as if we could tell the general population that most of those who called themselves A-Cs were aliens from Alpha Four in the Alpha Centauri solar system, with a goodlygroup of human agents and a few intermarried humans thrown into the mix.
    I’d been told we were like the American Indians, with reservations a little more spread out all over the United States and the world in general. I’d heard we were like Puerto Rico, only our islands were all landlocked. I’d also gotten the younger A-Cs listed as political refugees, and every A-C born on Earth was considered a legal U.S. citizen with all the rights thereof. I had no clear idea how this worked or who knew, or thought they knew, what, so I tended to just nod and forge ahead. This worked everywhere but in certain situations, the Washington Wife class being Exhibit A.
    “Missus Martini, as we’ve discussed, you are not the ambassador. You are part of the diplomatic mission, true, but you are not the ambassador, nor are you his Chargé d’Affaires. You are an ambassadress, the wife of the ambassador.”
    “No, as I keep on explaining to you, I am one of our ambassadors. My husband, the other head ambassador, says so.”
    She snorted. It was delicate and ladylike, but it was a snort, nonetheless. “Please. As I keep explaining to you , there can only be one Chief of Mission. Charming as it is of him to make you feel as if you’re his equal, the Chief would be your husband, not you. Now, let’s try to get back to decorum, shall we?”
    I opened my mouth to share that, as I kept explaining, we did things differently at our Embassy, but Eugene nudged me and I snapped it shut. Eugene was the only person in this horrid class who didn’t hate me or laugh at me, because he was as lame as I was with this stuff.
    “Besides,” Lockwood went on, “if you were the actual ambassador, this greeting would carry even more impact. Therefore, who can tell me what the proper procedure is?”
    One of the gay guys politely raised his hand and shared the proper greeting procedure. He did it perfectly. Everyone in class did