Alien in the Family

people on anything.” Martini sounded like he was heading toward angry with a potential stop at furious.
    Chuckie raised his hand. “Look. This was being discussed before I had to assume control of Centaurion. Make a scene, start shouting up the channels? They’ll make sure I keep control of Centaurion. Shut the hell up and let us do the tests of your personnel with your permission, and everyone’s so pleased Centaurion is playing nicely with others that they won’t notice control’s returned back to you.”
    Martini shook his head. “We don’t trust you.”
    “Jeff, has he lied to you about anything yet? Not trusting the C.I.A. I can agree with. Not trusting Chuckie seems more like kicking the one guy who hasn’t done you wrong just because you can. Of course, if he’s really that evil and my mother and I’ve just missed it for fifteen years, we could just not go on a honeymoon, and you could fight the C.I.A. about this.”
    Martini gave a martyred sigh. “I do have a job to do.”
    “Yeah, Jeff, you do. And, right now, your job is to marry Kitty and go on your honeymoon. My job is to cover your job when you’re on vacation or out of commission, remember?” Christopher sounded somewhat annoyed, but not overly so.
    “Oh, fine,” Martini grumbled. “You could have shared this sometime other than right now.”
    “It was relevant right now,” Christopher snapped. He looked at me. “So don’t worry—the friends and family members who need to have a different memory will all have the same one, congratulations, you’re marrying into the Martini and Rossi fortune. The others will have a suggestion implanted that makes them loath to talk about Jeff’s side of the family except in nice, vague, very human terms.”
    “Hope it works. Claudia and Lorraine told my sorority sisters I was marrying royalty.”
    Christopher shrugged. “If they buy it and they’re happy with that story, Naomi and Abigail will know. If not, Martini and Rossi.”
    “I hate being royalty,” Martini grumbled.
    “It’s a better cover than being a space alien,” Chuckie said. “Politically and just from a common sense standpoint.”
    Martini glared at him. I heaved my own sigh. “Chuckie’s right. Jeff, you done sulking and stomping and attempting to wreck my cool coed bachelorette party?”
    “Yeah, I suppose.”
    Christopher shook his head. “You get to go have a slumber party. I have to spend the night with him.”
    “I’ll trade.”
    Christopher snorted. “As if James will allow that.” He looked around. “Where is the drill sergeant, anyway?”
    “Managing the photographer.” Chuckie sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
    “What photographer?” I hadn’t seen any flashes.
    “The one you were too into the concert and far too into making out with each other to notice,” Chuckie said, now openly laughing. “Ah, to be a rock star of any age. Walk on stage with a guitar, watch the women swoon.”
    “Did the photographer take pictures of us making out?”
    “Yeah,” Christopher said with a grin. “Glad Jeff’s been carrying you the whole time. You’re showing a lot of leg.”
    “A lot of everything,” Chuckie added with an exaggerated leer.
    Martini shrugged. “My arm’s covering anything you’re not allowed to see.”
    “I hope.”
    “Truth’ll come out in the darkroom.” Chuckie winked. “I paid for the photographer.”
    “Oh, great.” I looked hard at Chuckie’s expression. He was definitely laughing at his own private joke. “Oh. No way. Is the photographer who I think it is?”
    He grinned. “Yes. We wanted someone who was good at avoiding your notice while getting your picture at the same time.”
    “Are you and James both high?”
    Chuckie laughed. “No. We gave the World Weekly News the exclusive on the party. White’s team will alter anything necessary photographically, the rest of the paparazzi are shut out because the WWN people are keeping them out, and nothing’s happening here that would give anyone a reason to believe the A-Cs are anything other than what we’re saying they are.”
    “While I can appreciate the brilliance in having one set of paparazzi in place to keep all the others out, Mister Joel Oliver is supposedly a photojournalist. How are we going to ensure the journalistic portion doesn’t get out of control?”
    Christopher shrugged. “No one believes him, Kitty. And, frankly, it’s safer to keep him close so we can monitor what he’s photographing