Alien Tango

they’re not ... ”
    “Yeah. Well, I’ve been trying to meet them. I’ll keep on trying.”
    “Keep on thinking about your options, too,” Mom said seriously. “Your father and I both love Jeff, but we want you happy, and disapproving in-laws aren’t a recipe for happiness.”
    “I will, but Jeff can pick it up.” And he didn’t like me considering other men as romantic options almost as much as he didn’t like that I still talked to Chuckie regularly and hadn’t changed his ringtone. Martini’s jealousy was almost as impressive as his bedroom skills.
    “A little competition now and then is good for him, I’m sure.”
    “As soon as I identify this supposed competition, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
    Mom sighed. “You are so dense sometimes.”
    “It’s a gift.”

CHAPTER 7
    MARTINI ARRIVED JUST AS THE roast was coming out of the oven. He looked pissed. “I hate dealing with the C.I.A.,” he said by way of hello. “Any way we can get rid of them?”
    “Not that anyone’s ever discovered,” Mom said dryly as the cats all started purring and sashayed over to Martini for petting. He had one cat on either shoulder and one in his arms in a matter of moments.
    The dogs heard Martini’s voice and shrieked their demands to see him. Our dogs loved us, but they adored Martini. The dogs’ and cats’ love of Martini carried great weight with my parents for some reason. Funny, but true—they took the animals’ opinions as more important than mine.
    As the cats leaped for safety, Dotty, our Dalmatian, reached him first, but Duke, the black lab, and Duchess, our pit bull, were right there, too. Our Great Dane, Dudley, actually took his time, but that was so he could monopolize Martini by putting his paws up onto his shoulders and giving him a face wash.
    Standard animal greetings over, Martini went to clean up, and we got dinner on the table. Routine chitchat ensued, until the subject of my high school reunion somehow surfaced. My parents and Martini all tried to convince me attending was a great idea. To avoid running screaming into the street, I strove for distraction.
    “So, why are you guys going to Washington tomorrow?”
    Mom sighed. “We have some politicians making problems.”
    “What kind of problems?”
    “High-level security problems,” Mom said pointedly.
    “High-Level Security Girl, here. Spill it.”
    Mom glared at me. “No.”
    I looked at Dad. He looked uncomfortable. “Oh. It’s about Centaurion.”
    Martini’s eyes narrowed. “What now?”
    Mom sighed again. “Not about Centaurion all that much. Though the incident in Paraguay is worrisome for a variety of reasons. We have various pressures coming at us from a variety of sources. Several House and Senate subcommittees are dealing with issues that either directly or indirectly affect Centaurion Division.”
    “Wow, that was a lot of confuse-speak.”
    Now I got the mother-glare. “What part of ‘I’m not telling you’ isn’t coming through?”
    “All of it. What part of ‘tell me anyway’ aren’t you catching?”
    She rolled her eyes. “Why me?”
    “Like mother, like daughter,” Martini offered. “I’m interested, too, of course.”
    Mom snorted. “And as you’re the head of all A-C military operations, which means the head of the A-C government, I’m not at liberty to tell you, Jeff.”
    He shook his head. “Richard is the leader of our people.”
    “Religious leader, yes,” Mom agreed. “However, when it comes down to it, who gives the orders to shoot or cease fire, who gives the orders to fight or not, who gives the orders for what scientific research is done or ignored? You do.”
    Martini shrugged. “Christopher does some, too. So does my father, honestly. And Richard does as well.”
    I coughed. “And yet, when it all comes down to it, the person whom those three people have to obey is . . . you.”
    He looked embarrassed. “I suppose.”
    Dad cleared his throat. “It’s not quite that simple.” We all looked at him, and he shrugged. “It’s not. I’ve actually studied the Centaurion agreements with the United States government. The ranks are set up, yes, but there’s a check and a balance.”
    “Jeff and Christopher are the check and Richard’s the balance?”
    Dad smiled at me. “Pretty much, yes. Scientific research, though, is more of a general bailiwick. However,” he added to my mother’s glare, “if Jeff were to say that a project should or shouldn’t be done,