Alien Proliferation

to think and observe. Just be aware—at least one A-C’s fooled both your husband and his cousin, and if one can do it, so can others.”
    I got the impression Chuckie wasn’t done, but it didn’t matter because we were interrupted by Wayne. “I’m sorry, but we have incoming transmissions from Langley.”
    Chuckie nodded. “Keep some of the screens free and blocked from them, will you?”
    Wayne looked at me. “Commander?”
    “Do what he says.” Wayne shrugged and went out of the room. “Why do you want some screens free?”
    “I want to be able to speak to your husband and White, if necessary.” Chuckie’s jaw was tensed.
    “You don’t like whoever’s coming on, do you?”
    “They don’t like me, either, so it’s fair.” Chuckie didn’t sit. Of course, there was only the bed, and maybe he didn’t want to give the impression we were having an affair. Then again, maybe he just wanted to feel that he was in a position of strength.
    “Are they clear on what we do over here?”
    “Yes. They all have top-level security clearances.” Chuckie didn’t sound happy about this. The main screen in the room came to life. There were three men and one woman in the room. I vaguely remembered them—fainting tended to wipe out the little details for me.
    “Reynolds,” one of them said. He was sitting—they all were—but he looked as if he’d be about Chuckie’s height, though he was built more like Jeff, on the brawny side. Otherwise he was fairly average in looks, with dark hair and eyes. “Missus Martini.”
    “That’s Commander Martini, Cooper,” Chuckie snapped, eyes flashing. I got a little more alert. Chuckie was normally hard to rile and harder to read. That he was betraying this much emotion toward Cooper was proof positive he hated this guy.
    Cooper smirked. “My apologies. Commander Martini. When are you due?”
    “In a couple of weeks.” Tito hadn’t given me too clear a due date, but he felt the baby wouldn’t come until sometime in January.
    “Really? You look ready to pop.” Cooper said this with what I assumed was supposed to be a friendly, joking tone and expression. But our video equipment was top of the line, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. I decided to show solidarity with Chuckie and hate this guy, too.
    “Thanks so much.”
    The woman with them rolled her eyes. She was older, dressed severely, with short hair and cat’s-eye glasses. “Men. Commander Martini, congratulations on your upcoming happy event. I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you when we met before.”
    “Yeah, sorry about that. And thank you, I’m looking forward to it.” I had no idea who this woman was. I felt well within my rights to blame my pregnancy for this, even though I proved every day that I didn’t remember names unless I felt I had a real need to. And, with this crew, I clearly hadn’t felt the need.
    “This is Missus Madeline Cartwright,” Chuckie said. “She’s a liaison to the Pentagon. This is Esteban Cantu,” he pointed to a rather handsome Latin man. “He’s the head of our Antiterrorism unit.”
    “Reporting to my mother?”
    “Separate,” Cantu said quickly, but with a charming smile. “Your mother controls a very separate agency.” This was somewhat true. My mother, as I’d found out during my introduction to the A-Cs, aka Operation Fugly, was actually the head of the P.T.C.U. No ever told me anything until they absolutely had to. This news hadn’t reached me until I was twenty-seven. In some ways, I dreaded what my family would share with me when I hit thirty.
    “Vincent Armstrong,” the last man said with a little wave. “Head of the Senate’s subcommittee on anti-American activities.” He was older and had the Senior Senator from Wherever look going.
    “What state are you from?” I asked.
    “Florida,” he replied with a charming smile. I faked a return smile. My last experience with a politician from Florida had resulted in Jeff getting drugged, us breaking up, and me almost getting run over in the middle of the Arizona desert. I didn’t have too many fond memories from most of Operation Drug Addict, and the worst ones were of Leventhal Reid. I managed not to ask if Armstrong knew him, because, of course he would have. Whether he liked him, was an intimate crony, or was one with Reid’s plan to turn the A-Cs into the War Division were probably not the right questions for a pre-Christmas chat.
    “Our time’s limited,” Chuckie said,