Alien in the Family

It manifested again six months later.” He let that one hang while we did the math. Six months later was right about when I was flying a stolen Mazda3 through the desert with a scary sociopath who also happened to be a politician chasing me. Though from what my mother and Chuckie both said, that description was redundant. Operation Drug Addict gave me nightmares only a few times a month now. Martini, who could pick up emotions even when others were sleeping, was possibly happier about that than I was.
    “How soon after?” Martini asked, his voice clipped.
    “The next night. Then it happened again, three months later. To the day.”
    I thought about it. “Um . . . you mean on my birthday?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, I don’t like where this is going,” Reader said.
    “Neither do we,” Chuckie continued. “It showed up again six weeks later. Then one month later. Then three weeks later. Then two weeks. Then one.”
    “What’s it on today?” My stomach felt as queasy as if I’d just walked through a gate from Arizona to Moscow.
    “It’s been daily for the past week.” Chuckie sighed. “Anyone besides me find the light pattern somewhat familiar?”
    “In a way,” I admitted. “But I can’t place it.”
    “Same here,” Reader said.
    Confirmation of familiar but not recognizable came from everyone but Martini. His grip on my hand was tighter, though.
    Chuckie looked over at him. “Martini? Surely you recognize it?”
    “Why the hell didn’t you bring us in on this sooner?” Martini growled.
    “We had to verify where it was coming from.”
    “That’s bullshit.” Martini sounded ready to get into a physical fight with Chuckie, and I started to get really worried.
    Chuckie sighed. “True. We wanted to be sure it wasn’t something your people were doing intentionally. Point of fact, something you, personally, weren’t doing intentionally.”
    “You have some goddamned nerve,” Martini snarled.
    “It’s my job. Surprising as that may be to you after working together for the past three years.”
    “We don’t work together,” Martini said through gritted teeth.
    “Not so much, but we will be. You’ll find the orders when you get back. Until we have determined whether this is benign or a dangerous threat, Centaurion Division, Alpha Team in particular, will be reporting in to me. Oh,” he added, “and don’t try calling in the P.T.C.U. on this. Angela’s as worried about it as the rest of us are, and she already gave the final authorization.”
    “Why did you call my mother in for whatever this is?” For some people, this would have been an odd question, all things considered. And a year ago, for me, it would have been. A year ago, I’d thought my mother was a consultant, my father was a history professor at A.S.U., and my best guy friend was merely a brilliant, globe-trotting multimillionaire.
    Discovering aliens walked among us had opened up a whole new world at home for me. Turned out my mother was the only non-Israeli, non-Jew ever in the Mossad, albeit retired now, so to speak. In between directing grad students and writing papers, my father moonlighted as an active member of NASA’s ET cryptology division. And Chuckie was seeing the world because he was not only in the C.I.A. but was the guy in charge of dealing with Centaurion Division. Discovering that my mother had suggested him for the job was merely icing on the liar’s cake my nearest and dearest had been feeding me for my entire life.
    My mother was now the head of the Presidential Terrorism Control Unit, a federal agency most regular folks didn’t know existed. Of course, they didn’t know the C.I.A. and NASA both had Extraterrestrial divisions, nor did they know we had a full-on, ninety percent alien-staffed division called Centaurion, either. Most people probably slept better because of this ignorance.
    “Because it clearly affects her daughter.” Chuckie sounded angry, just a little, and I didn’t think he was angry with me.
    “Jeff? What’s going on?”
    Martini didn’t answer. Chuckie sighed. “Kitty? What are you wearing around your neck?”
    “The Unity Necklace Jeff gave me. Why?” By Alpha Centauri custom, this meant Martini and I were engaged to be married and both off the market. Which was great in terms of any and all A-Cs. But I didn’t have an engagement ring, so the majority of the humans I knew didn’t believe we were getting married.
    “Oh . . . hell.” Reader sounded freaked. “What’s