Alien Collective (55 page)

“Or what?”

“Or we can agree that you want to be president and Vincent Armstrong wants to be president, as well, and just run normal campaigns. Less mudslinging, more issues. I realize this goes against the majority of political precedent, but let’s agree to be the first in a long while to give it a go, shall we?”

“What if I refuse?”

“We empty your coffers. Easily, I might add. We call back our friends who think we’re sort of worth helping and who also think you are not, and we let them wave their very powerful hands around. We do other things you aren’t aware that we can do and make your life, or what will be left of it, a living hell. Or, you and I just agree to be polite, decent human beings and run non-smear campaigns, keeping each other’s skeletons safely in each other’s closets.”

“I can see you’ve given this some thought.”

“Yeah, despite my reputation, I do, occasionally, think.”

“How long can I have to think about this?”

“About now is long enough. Pick your side, Gideon. Choose Team Escalation or Team Truce, but pick it now. I’m a busy woman and I have an acceptance speech I need to give.”

He was quiet for a few long seconds. Used the time to look in the mirror again and try to decide what fixes to my so-called look I could possibly manage.

“If I pick Team Truce, how do I know you won’t use that advantage against me?”

“Because I’m not like you.”

He laughed. “Frankly, I think you’re just like me.”

“No. I have morals, scruples, and things I’m just not willing to do.”

“But you have other people do those things. So we are alike. And despite your likely expectations, I’m going to take your offer of a truce and . . . accept it. You probably think what happened today will help your side, but I know people. You’ve just shown how frightening you all can actually be. We won’t need to resort to dirty tricks to beat you, so I accept your offer of truce.”

“Super. Oh, and as for your whole beating us fair and square without using dirty tricks boasting, we have a little saying where I come from—prove it.”

“I will. See you on the campaign trail, Ambassador. I look forward to hearing your husband’s concession speech on the first Tuesday in November.”

“And I look forward to hearing yours. I’ll be in touch should it seem as though your side isn’t holding to our agreement, and I’m sure you’ll do the same.”

“Yes. Good chat, Ambassador.” He chuckled. “I’m quite looking forward to the next few months now. A new challenge is always invigorating, don’t you find?” He hung up without saying goodbye. Decided I could find the will to go on.

I could either go home and have Pierre fix me up or give that idea up and just go for being me. Chose what had been working for the past four or so years. Washed the sad remains of my makeup off, brushed my hair, pulled it back into a ponytail, and headed out of the bathroom.

Jeff was waiting outside, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, holding my suit jacket. He was a little rumpled, but that just made him look rakish and, if possible, even more handsome. “Want to tell me about it?”

“When we’re home I’ll fill you in on anything you somehow missed while you were out here reading me.”

He grinned as I pulled my hairbrush back out and ran it through his hair. “I just missed being fussed over. You think they’ll stick to the offer you made?”

“Yes, because I just gave them another Get Out Of Jail Free card. Cleary’s many things, but stupid and foolhardy aren’t two of them.” Jeff helped me back into my damp jacket. “Can’t wait to give a speech looking like this.”

He laughed. “You looked good before, baby, but you look like you now, and that means perfect.”

“Flatterer.”

“Nope. I only tell the truth, remember? Ready to go accept the party’s nomination?”

“About as ready as I was to become a superbeing exterminator way back when.”

He kissed me. “Then that means you’re not only ready, but you’ll be the best. Just like always.”

“Well, to paraphrase someone I love, adore, and respect, as long as you’re with me, I can do anything.”

Jeff put his arm around my waist and we headed back to smile, wave, and try, in whatever ways worked best, to continue to do what we truly did best—protect and serve.

T
RADITION SAID
that the candidates watched the election results in their home states. This meant that both campaigns were hanging out in Florida.

While the opposition had rented out the Miami Beach Convention Center for their election night viewing party, the Armstrong campaign was hanging out at Jeff’s parents’ estate, what I called Martini Manor.

Per the truce I’d brokered with Cleary, the campaign had actually been fairly civil. They’d left our many skeletons in our closets and we’d done the same for them.

Oh, sure, the usual anti-alien muckraking and mudslinging had reared its ugly head, coming mostly from Club 51, the Church of Hate and Intolerance, and the various news channels that loved them. But the hysteria or accusations or whatever were always quelled from the top before they got too in-depth or too close to real facts. In fact, we’d ended up sort of covering for each other when the press asked awkward questions.

The debates had been decent—if you ignored all the “why are you aliens really here” and “what are you hiding” questions, all of which were softballed and easy for Armstrong and Jeff to sidestep or answer safely—and kept to the issues. As well as any other debates over the past few decades had at any rate. Plus, no one had taken out contracts on the other side, and our various enemies had left us alone, so it was definitely the best option we could have hoped for.

This was good for us in a lot of ways, but not necessarily in the polls. Sure, Cleary-Kramer was still the Hate Ticket, but Cleary had been correct—they had a lot of support. A lot of people still feared us because, well, aliens. Plus, Sandy’s “miracle” meant that many people expected us to perform daily miracles and when we didn’t, they turned against us, too.

So much so that, despite what felt like nonstop campaigning for three straight months—or as most of us called it, Our Own Private Boot Camp In Hell—we had no idea which candidate was going to win. Pollsters, pundits, and every reporter we knew, including Jenkins and Oliver, felt that Cleary-Kramer were going to take the election, potentially in a landslide.

Martini Manor was packed, though. We had people in the giant Guest House and the giant for normal people Servant’s Quarters. All of our people, all of Armstrong’s staffers, press, Secret Service, and more.

A huge outdoor tent had been erected on the grounds, and this was where Armstrong and Jeff would either wave and thank everyone for electing them, or wave and thank those who voted for them but concede to the opposition.

We’d voted in D.C., since that was where Jeff and I officially lived, as soon as the polls had opened in the morning. Then we’d gated it down to Florida and spent the rest of the day pretending we weren’t stressed out and worried.

Despite the National Convention, or because of it, I was in an iced sky blue dress. Jeff was, of course, in the Armani Fatigues. Jamie was allowed to be all in pink, which was still her favorite color in the world. We all looked great, Pierre having done his magic and no one having dumped water all over us. The Armstrongs looked great, too. As did every other political ally who was here with us. All dressed up and potentially nowhere to go.

The first few states came in. Cleary-Kramer had Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Pundits immediately started suggesting Armstrong-Martini start preparing those concession speeches.

Then more results. Cleary-Kramer got West Virginia and South Carolina. And more. They had Tennessee. Armstrong-Martini concession speeches were being discussed, along with the Cleary-Kramer landslide.

Until, all of a sudden, we got New York and Pennsylvania. Then Virginia and Maryland. And D.C. and North Carolina. And on it went, rolling across the country.

I was sitting with Jenkins and Oliver when they both started laughing. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“We just got Texas,” Jenkins replied.

“Yes?”

Oliver smiled at me. “Get ready.”

“For the concession speeches?”

He shook his head. “No. To win. We have Ohio, thanks in no small part to the Maurers, Illinois, and Indiana, along with several others with double-digit electoral votes. We know we’ll get both New Mexico and Arizona because they’re your home states and were the only two polling Armstrong-Martini from the get-go. If we get California, it should seal the deal.”

“Florida’s results are coming,” Jenkins said.

This was a biggie, not only for the votes, but because both presidential candidates were from this state. Cleary was expected to take it; the state had polled Cleary-Kramer from day one.

And yet, when the results were in, Armstrong-Martini had taken Florida. By a wide margin.

The realization that we were suddenly winning a race we’d been told we were about to lose sank in, as the pundits started changing their tunes. The word landslide was still being bandied about, but the word “unexpected” was added to it, as were the words Armstrong-Martini.

Time rolled on, and the party actually started. It was a cautious party, based on the fact that pretty much everyone had expected to not be partying at all, but it was a party nonetheless. Some of the younger staffers were dancing. Realized music had been playing but I’d been too nervous to hear it. Was still too nervous to focus on it.

I rejoined Jeff, who had Jamie cradled on his shoulder. She’d fallen asleep. “You’re such a good daddy.”

He smiled. “Doing my best.” We sat down a little apart from the rest and he put his arm around me and I snuggled next to him, put my hand on Jamie’s back, and closed my eyes.

Heard a snapping sound and something bright went off. Opened my eyes. What looked like the nation’s entire press corps was standing there, taking pictures of us. “What the hell?”

Jeff chuckled. “Sorry. You fell asleep, baby, and I didn’t want to wake you. But the press felt this was a good photo op, so I let them have it.”

Yawned. “Good photo op for what?”

“To show how confident and relaxed the Martini family was about the election,” Jenkins replied.

Managed not to say we were tired and stressed. I’d learned to shut up faster these past three months. “So, how much longer until we know?”

Someone screamed. Not out of fear, but excitement. Then more screams. Then cheers.

Raj took the stage and the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, they said it couldn’t be done, but hard work, perseverance, and fighting for what’s right pays off. It’s official—despite the polls, the voters have spoken and Vincent Armstrong and Jeffrey Martini have taken this election by a landslide. Please help me greet the next President and Vice President of the United States of America!”

Lots of applause, cheering, and far too much flash photography. Jamie woke up a little fussy, but Jeff kissed and cuddled her as we walked to the stage and she cheered up and stood next to me, holding my hand.

On stage with the Armstrongs. Hugs all around. While “Hail to the Chief” played, Armstrong took center stage, grabbed Jeff’s hand, and threw their hands up in the victory clench. The crowd went wilder than it had been.

Elaine and their children and grandchildren joined Armstrong, and Jamie and I joined Jeff. Everyone waved, myself included. I kept on waiting to wake up.

As we stepped back and Armstrong gave his acceptance speech, the reality of the situation hit me. “You’re really about to become the vice president. Wow. What does that make me, the Second-Best Lady?”

Jeff grinned, swung Jamie up into his arms again, and put his free arm around me. “Baby, you’re second best to no one. And you can have whatever title you want.” He looked around. “We won. We really won.”

“Yeah. And let me be the first to say how proud of you I am.” Saw all our friends and family clapping and cheering. “Nothing’s ever going to be the same, is it?”

“No. But you know what we call that.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I do. Routine.”

Available December 2014,

the tenth novel in the Alien series

from Gini Koch:

UNIVERSAL ALIEN

 

Read on for a sneak preview