Alien in the Family

that’s what I’ve called him since ninth grade, and calling him Mister Reynolds seems sort of stupid, calling him Charles sounds like I think he’s my uncle, and if I’m going to call him Chuck, then I’m going to add on the ‘e.’ ” Of course, I knew the real reason Martini wasn’t happy. But I wasn’t going to bring it up. We’d had the jealousy chat months ago, and he was supposed to be working on dealing with the fact that other men occasionally found me attractive and trying not to be a jerk about it. Tonight he wasn’t doing so well.
    “Jeff, you know you could go on back to the Science Center and let me and Kitty handle it.” Reader winked at me where Martini couldn’t see.
    “Right, thanks for the offer, James. But just how would the two of you get out of here if there were any problems?”
    Martini had a point. We were perched on the top of Animas Peak in New Mexico, staring at pretty much nothing. Reader and I, being human, would have a hard time getting anywhere fast if Martini or another Alpha Centaurion wasn’t with us. On the other hand, we could drive and fly because our reflexes weren’t so good that they destroyed Earth machinery. So we had that going for us.
    On the other hand, we’d gotten to this point via a gate, which was alien technology that let you move hundreds or thousands of miles in seconds and had the added advantage of making you completely nauseated. On the other hand, because we weren’t aliens, neither Reader nor I could actually see the gate that had deposited us here, on top of a really high mountain, in the middle of the night. (Yeah, I know, that’s a lot of hands.) I thought about the drop and sidled a little closer to Martini.
    My walkie chirped. “Kitty, you there?”
    “Hi, Christopher. How goes it at your location?”
    “Dull, dark, and boring. You sure the C.I.A.’s not trying to kill us or freeze us to death?”
    “Somewhat positive. We’re supposed to see something. Soon.”
    “I’m seeing my bed. It’s nowhere near me, but I can see it.”
    “Hilarious. How’s Tim doing?”
    “He’s as bored as I am. So’s Paul, should you care to know. ACE, however, seems fascinated.”
    “Glad one of you, or at least part of one of you, isn’t sitting around complaining like an old lady.” ACE was a superconsciousness I’d managed to channel into Paul Gower a few months back so it couldn’t accidentally destroy the entire world. ACE usually did its best to hang in the background, but whenever Paul was bored, it tended to show up a little more.
    “At least it’s stopped asking about our sex life,” Reader muttered.
    “ACE is just interested in things.”
    “Girlfriend, I don’t even want to get into how totally unromantic you get when you have to clinically explain kissing, let alone any other sexual act, to an entity that didn’t have a body for most of its existence.”
    I thought about it. “Um, ick.”
    “In a word, yeah.” Reader had been the top international male supermodel for several years running. Then he’d joined up with the boys from Alpha Centauri, or A-Cs as they called themselves. He’d been an agent longer than I had, but he had somehow become my best friend in my new life. We had a lot in common, including being in love with an alien. Reader and Gower had been a couple longer than I’d known them, which was going on a year. In that time, they’d fought all of once. I’d been with Martini almost a year, and in that time we’d fought . . . a lot more than once.
    I could tell Martini picked up my emotions, because he reached out and pulled me to him. As he was the most powerful empath on Earth, this wasn’t a surprise. He didn’t go insane from all the myriad emotions batting around everywhere and from everyone because of the blocks and other empathic-protection goodies the A-Cs knew how to install in their brains and use. Martini didn’t have blocks up against my emotions. Sometimes I wondered if that was a wise choice on his part.
    “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m just tired and tired of waiting. And you’re freezing.”
    “A little.” Okay, a lot. I just didn’t want to complain. I was in the standard-issue clothing for working female A-Cs—white Oxford button-down, black slim skirt, and a long, black trench coat, all Armani. I was also in Aerosole pumps because the A-Cs believed in looking good while feeling comfortable. But we were on top of a high mountain, and while the guys were in their