Alien vs. Alien

tended to the rest of his thankfully minor wounds, then we sat back down on the bed, staring at the Peregrines. “Richard, are the colored ones the males and the white ones the females?”
    “Yes, well done, Missus Martini.”
    “I did amazingly well in my animal life sciences courses in college. So we have, what, thirteen mated pairs?”
    “I believe we have twelve pairs. Enough to start a new flock, yes.” White didn’t sound perturbed. I decided not to ask who’d lucked out into not getting the special avian present right now.
    “Guys, I’m thinking two words here—Washington Zoo. We make a lovely donation of, erm, native birds, and maybe the dirty pictures and whatever else is coming won’t matter.”
    “You’ll hurt Alexander’s feelings to no end,” White said.
    “Richard, where in God’s name are we going to keep them? They’re big-ass birds! We don’t have an aviary, let alone a yard. Bellie taking up my entire living room is already more bird than I want in here. And, lest anyone other than me not realize it, birds are dirty. Unlike Poofs and cats, who understand the concept of the litter box, or dogs who can learn to hold it for their walkies, birds crap wherever, whenever.”
    “Bellie doesn’t,” Jeff said. “But I agree—she’s different.”
    Now wasn’t the time to mention how different Bellie appeared to be. She was also still silent, which I was sure was because she was still afraid. I couldn’t ignore that. “Jeff, get her and a perch and get her into the nursery with the other terrified animals.”
    He gave me a quick kiss and hypersped off. He came back and edged around the Peregrines. Bellie was on the perch, huddled. The Peregrines turned and stared at her. Bellie stared back. The Peregrines stared harder, clearly sharing that they could stare like this for days. Bellie looked away.
    I closed my dropped jaw as Jeff came out of the nursery, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll move the dog beds in there later. The animals are terrified.”
    “Who can blame them?”
    There was a knock at our door. Jeff went to answer it while I did a very slow version of the Mommy Dance. Jamie was calming down now that the horrid screeching birds weren’t attacking her father, but she was still crying, albeit quietly. Jeff came back with Tito and everyone else in tow. They’d brought all the birds with them.
    “Wow, great. So I get to have two dozen of these things in here with my baby? You’re all thinking, good, good.”
    “We just don’t want to let them out of our sight,” Christopher said, snark on full, Patented Glare #5 going strong. I couldn’t really blame him. “Where’s your Glock? I’m open to just shooting them. Maybe they cook up nicely.”
    Tito sighed. “We can’t get rid of them.” He handed a card to Jeff. “This came on my set.”
    Jeff read it aloud. “Doctor, please be aware that these birds provide more than protection and beauty. They are considered essential in helping the particularly talented deal with their gifts.”
    We were all quiet. “Richard, did you know that?” I asked finally.
    “It’s considered what you’d call an old wives’ tale,” White said. “However, my father did have a pair of Peregrines. They were killed by the King’s order when he was exiled to Earth.”
    Interesting. I moved a little closer to the birds. The white one that had come in our special Box o’ Fun craned her neck up. I squatted down and let her look at Jamie. I was enhanced—I could get us away from the birds if they tried anything.
    But the birds tried nothing. The white one looked at Jamie and cooed. Jamie stopped crying. The bird cooed again, and Jamie giggled. The bird extended her neck slowly and put her head down so her beak was pointing at the floor and the top of her head was right by Jamie.
    Jamie reached out and patted the bird, then squealed with what certainly sounded like joy. The bird put her head up and gave me a look that clearly said I could take the clue and relax now.
    “Huh. Um, good Peregrines.” Got happy bird looks. At least I chose to think they were happy. Who could really tell with birds? “Richard, truly, where in God’s name are we going to put these things?”
    He studied them. White resembled Timothy Dalton, only a little younger and hotter. He made the Thinking Frowny-Face, which reminded me of when James Bond was deciding on whether or not the minor evil henchman needed to be taught a lesson or killed for