Touched by an Alien

“We’re also considered political refugees, almost like the Indian Nations.”
    “We have various areas assigned to us,” Gower added. “All over the world but centered here in the U.S. Superbeings can and do form anywhere and everywhere, but for whatever reason, they seem to land in the U.S. about twenty times more often than elsewhere.”
    “Go U.S.A. What about you?” I asked White. “When did you arrive?”
    “I came as a young man,” he said. “Those of us who weren’t born here are naturalized citizens. It’s important that we show loyalty to the country that accepted us.”
    “So you’re a native from Alpha Centauri?”
    “Yes, I was born on A-C, though I now consider myself an American. My wife came with me. She felt the same.”
    I thought about it. Christopher’s surliness was suddenly even more understandable. “Your son favors his mother, I see. Must be hard, screwing up in front of your dad.”
    Christopher turned around, and he looked furious. But I could really see it now—the same eyes, nose, and mouth as White. “Better than lying to my father,” he spat out.
    “But not as useful or fun.” I looked up at Martini. “So, where do you fit into the family?”
    He grinned. “I call him Uncle Mr. White. And that’s Cousin Paul,” he added with a nod toward Gower. “His father is my mother’s sister’s husband’s brother.”
    “I can’t wait to see how you all handle Christmas. So, your father is Uncle Mr. White’s brother?”
    “Nope, my mother is his sister. Keep the last names straight.” He looked over at Gower. “She’s starting to slip. Christopher might get interested after all.”
    “Not likely,” he snapped.
    I gave up trying to keep the family relationships straight. I figured I’d ask Dad to map them into his family tree software program once I knew if I was making it out of this alive or not. “So, how many Alpha Centaurites are there here on Earth?”
    “Alpha Centaurions,” Christopher corrected in a snippy tone.
    “We call ourselves A-Cs,” Gower said quickly. “Trust me, it’s easier. And, there are several thousand of us. Not all are working as agents, of course.”
    “Not all are amazingly hot looking men? Wow, crushing news. Of course, I don’t have any really moronic girlfriends to fix Christopher there up with anyway.” He didn’t reply, but I could see his neck turning red. I wondered if I’d ever see my car again, then decided that was the least of my worries. “So, what do all the female A-Cs do for fun and profit?”
    Reader was the one who answered, as we pulled up to an area enclosed by a high, nasty-looking chain-link fence topped with barbed wire that meant business. “They’re the scientists.”

CHAPTER 6
    THE GATE SWUNG OPEN , but there was no indication of an electronic eye or any kind of mechanism. There were also no people around.
    “How does it do that?” I asked Martini.
    “Well, there’s these things called hinges, they move and let the part we call a gate open up, and—” I elbowed him in the ribs, hard, before he could finish.
    “I have the beeper,” Reader told me. “It’s just a garage door opener, really.”
    This was a letdown, but, oh, well. I looked out the windows. There wasn’t much around, but the fencing seemed to go on for miles. “Where are we?”
    “The ranch where the Ancients’ ship crashed,” Gower answered.
    “This is the real one,” Reader added. “There’s a fake the government runs that tourists and UFO theorists think is the real crash site.”
    “Why? I mean, why show me a crash site? Wasn’t it picked clean years ago?” The wisdom of hiding a real UFO crash site wasn’t something I needed explained.
    “As far as the fake site and the general public knows, yes.” Gower gave me a friendly smile. “Relax, we’re not taking you out here to kill you and bury your body off the beaten track.”
    “It’s just stop two on the UFO Tour,” Martini added. “You’ll love it. Most women want to marry the first alien they’ve met after seeing the crash site.”
    “I killed the first alien I met,” I reminded him.
    “Nope, that was a superbeing,” Martini corrected cheerfully. “None of us from A-C are superbeings, other than in the sack.”
    “I’m sure. Just in case, though, I have great cell phone reception, and I’m sure my dad can get a call through.”
    “You worry too much,” Martini said. “Want a Coke?”
    “You have that?”
    “It’s a limo,”