Alien Tango

hugged me. A-Cs were a lot more in tune with things, even the ones who weren’t empathic. Reader put his arm around me, and we had our own group hug going.
    “I’m seriously talking to Paul about that bi option of yours,” Reader whispered to me. I started to crack up. Thankfully, I managed to keep from moving into hysterics, but that was due more to Turco’s men racing back with a lot of paper.
    Kevin took over. “We’re in the Kennedy Space Center and you bring paper printouts? What year is this, nineteen-sixty-two?”
    “She wanted something in her hand,” one of them panted.
    “Fine,” I said. “We’ll take the paper.” I finally took a calm look around. We were in what looked almost like an auto shop—concrete floor, lots of hoses, what looked like oil stains—only bigger and without cars up on hydraulic lifts. There were a lot of Authorized Personnel signs in evidence, but no offices or even desks; however there was a lot of equipment, most of which I couldn’t identify. Whatever they did here, it seemed to involve big drums with the various warnings plastered on them.
    The fire had started among what looked like a group of five these drums. They were all charred and melted, what was left of them, anyway, but unlike the other drums and equipment, they weren’t against the far walls. They were nearest to a door that said Essential Personnel—not right next to it, about ten paces away. We were lucky the fire hadn’t spread—clearly there were enough drums around to have created a fireball. But it hadn’t.
    I looked at Alfred. He was in the standard-issue Armani suit, so there was no way he worked in this area normally. He’d undoubtedly come through that Essential Personnel door. I turned around. There were other doors, marked for mechanics, maintenance, and deliveries. There were security cameras trained on every, single one of them.
    The path we’d come through was marked Air Arrivals, and it had a little stand, under a sign labeled Security Check, that was clearly where the persons who verified who was entering were supposed to be. There were security cameras here, too, but there was no one there, and another look around told me the only people in Security uniforms were the ones who’d come in with Turco. They were all dry.
    I filed this all away and got back to the matter at hand. “Paul, I want to keep James with me, but can you and Tim take Chip and Matt and go with Kevin to wherever these guys keep their computers? Please make sure whatever terminals they have are safe to use.” Gower nodded. “Oh, and take your special case, too.” I had no idea where their invisible rocket launchers were, but I was now firmly on the side of our carrying them with us everywhere.
    This team went off with Turco’s men. Turco himself was coming around. I resisted the impulse to give him a side blade kick to the head. Claudia and Randy had rounded up everyone’s luggage, including what Christopher and I had left in the ramp area. Claudia gave me my shoes, and I kept them in my hand—they were the only part of my outfit not wrecked. My Motley Crue shirt I draped over the handle of my rolling bag. It was black and would probably recover.
    “I want to change clothes.”
    “Brushing your hair wouldn’t go amiss, either,” Reader offered.
    “Wow, trying to remember why I wanted you with me.”
    Reader took the pack of paper out of my hands. “Because I live for the light reading.”
    I looked at Alfred. “Is there somewhere I can go and change?”
    “There is, but the jet is probably the safest place right now.”
    “Unless someone tries to blow it up while I’m in there.”
    “I’ll go with you,” Martini said. “Can I put a shirt back on?” he asked Lorraine.
    “Cotton undershirt only,” Lorraine said briskly. Martini glared at her. She glared back. He won. “Fine,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Shirt over cotton undershirt, only, no jacket, no tie, at least not yet.” She gave us both a glare and I found myself wondering how closely related to Christopher she was. “No strenuous physical activity for Jeff for hours. Days would be better.”
    Martini snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the people trying to kill us. Maybe they’ll lay off for a while.”
    I had to give it to the A-C clothing choices, or, as I thought of them, the Armani Fatigues. The clothes were wet but still managed to look good on everyone. My flyboys were in Navy uniforms, and they looked pretty