Gini Koch - Alien Research

So, I was now kind of half A-C, though differently from how Jamie was truly half A-C. I had the super-strength, which wasn’t quite as good as the regular A-Cs under most circumstances, but was still pretty darned good for any human who wasn’t nicknamed “The Rock.” I also had faster healing and regeneration, which was excellent.

I also had hyperspeed. Jamie was eighteen months old, and I was just now sort of getting to a place where I could use hyperspeed for normal, mundane things without crashing through a wall or knocking myself out.

Jeff’s cousin, Christopher White, had also become enhanced—though he’d done it intentionally—and he and I worked on my skills all the time. This month, the focus was on completing my personal routine using hyperspeed. So far, showering and drying off had gone well, but I used regular human for hair care because I didn’t want to look like I had mange, and it was really easy to yank your hair out when you were super strong.

As “Looking Hot” from No Doubt hit my personal airwaves, I trotted to our huge walk-in closet to choose today’s ensemble. A-Cs were in love with the colors black and white, and Armani, in a way that made casual obsessions—like mine for all things Aerosmith or Gollum’s for the Ring—seem to be merely pale imitations of fidelity.

Therefore, my closet had a lot of black slim skirts, white oxfords, and a variety of black or black-and-white high heels in it. Happily, because I was both human—well, mostly human—and the Ambassador, I got to wear colors and other styles, at least occasionally. And because I was me, I also had a lot of jeans, several pairs of Converse, and an extremely large and eclectic set of concert T-shirts and hoodies.

For some diplomatic missions, going out to be seen all day would mean dressing up. However, I wasn’t your average diplomatic bear, and it was the middle of July, ergo I was going for casual. Got into jeans, my Converse, and my newest Aerosmith T-shirt, because having Steven, Joe, and the rest of my boys on my chest ensured I would prevail over all obstacles, even if the only obstacle I could foresee this morning was picking between orange juice, cranberry juice, or a combination.

In honor of “Looking Hot,” I selected a cute No Doubt hoodie, because summer back east was still nothing like summer in Pueblo Caliente, Arizona, or Dulce, New Mexico, and I could easily get chilled. Or sweat to death, if it was a high-humidity day, and a hoodie helped hide sweat stains. Plus it looked hella cute with this particular Aerosmith shirt.

“You look great, baby,” Jeff said as he swung Jamie down and into my arms. He hugged both of us. “You’ll be home for dinner, right?”

“I should be asking you that, but yes, we will be.” Turned off the alarm clock as “Honey, Honey” from ABBA came on.

“Good.” Jeff kissed us both goodbye, then headed out, holding the door open for our Embassy’s Cultural Attachés, aka Naomi Gower-Reynolds and her younger sister, Abigail.

Naomi had only been married to Chuckie for about six months, so I still tended to think of the sisters as the Gower girls. They, like Jamie, were hybrids, but their human mother, Erika, was a stunningly beautiful African-American human, and while A-C genetics were dominant for all internal hybrid workings, human genetics were dominant for the outside. Like their mother and two older brothers, the Gower girls had beautiful dark skin, but when they smiled I definitely saw their father, Stanley.

Basically, the Gower girls were typical Dazzler gorgeous, which was what I called the female A-Cs, because there still wasn’t one of them I’d met who was anything less than an eleven on a scale of ten. That the dumbest Dazzler was still MENSA material when stacked up against humans would have been even more unfair if almost all of them weren’t also incredibly nice.

Naomi put her arms out. “Mine.”

“Auntie Mimi!” Jamie squealed, while Naomi grinned.

“I resent that Sis is the favorite,” Abigail said with her own grin as I handed my squirming daughter over.

“I’m the godmother. I rank higher,” Naomi said as she cuddled Jamie and they did a set of hyperspeed kisses that was their personal thing. They looked like woodpeckers touching beaks at hummingbird speed to me, but they both loved it, and who was I to argue with what made my daughter happy?

Because she was a hybrid, Jamie had two sets of godparents—A-C and human. While we’d chosen the male godparents when she was born, the godmothers had been picked later. Amy Gaultier-White had won the human side based on her being one of my oldest girlfriends and also being married to Christopher, who was Jamie’s A-C godfather.

Naomi had lobbied for, and won, the A-C godmother role well before she and her husband, my best guy friend since ninth grade, had really officially started dating. Since her eldest brother was the A-C’s Supreme Pontifex, and also married to Reader, who was Jamie’s human godfather, it seemed logical. Plus Jamie adored her, and the feeling was clearly mutual, so there was that, too.

“I love you, too, Auntie Abby,” Jamie said, once she and Naomi were done being cutely nauseating in their shared adoration. “Don’t worry.”

Abigail gave her a kiss. “Good. Now, let’s go to breakfast. You need to help us at an important meeting.”

Jamie beamed and started sharing what she and her daddy had done this morning while I went and grabbed my purse. These days, I had a lot of different purses and handbags available to me, but Old Trusty, my big, black, cheap leather purse was still my go-to option. It took a licking and kept on holding everything and not falling apart. Ensured my Glock, my iPod, speakers, earbuds, Jeff’s adrenaline harpoon, my wallet, a bottle of extra-hold hairspray, my brush, a scrunchie, and anything else I could think of were in it. Shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

“I’m set. Com on!”

“Yes, Chief?”

“Walter, I need the pet sitters to come on by and ensure all the animals are living large and feeling spoiled.”

“So, just like every other day,” Walter said.

“You got it. Tell whoever’s drawn the short straws today that they’re the best agents in the world and we totally appreciate them. Call me if I’m needed—we girls are going to be out for most of the day.”

“Yes, Chief, Embassy is advised.”

“Len and Kyle are waiting for us in the garage,” Abigail said as the com went off and we headed downstairs.

The American Centaurion Embassy went up seven floors, down two for basement and parking garage levels, and then went down a lot more thanks to the hidden elevator that connected us to the Tunnels of Doom. It was a city block long and wide and, since Operation Destruction, was connected via a steel and bulletproof glass walkway on the second floors to the neighboring building we now owned, operated, and had personnel living in, which was nicknamed The Zoo.

The stairs, like the two elevators, only went down to the first floor. Then we had to cut through the first floor to either get to the stairs leading to the basement or the different set of stairs leading to the garage.

The sounds of the Embassy staff working filtered through as we walked by offices and salons. Everything sounded calm and normal as we went to the garage.

A gray limo was pulled out, idling. Officially, Len was our driver and Kyle was our bodyguard, but Len was happy to provide guarding as well. They were both former USC Trojan football players, Len as quarterback, Kyle on the line. I’d met the boys in Vegas right before Jeff and I got married, meaning during Operation Invasion. Now they officially worked for Chuckie at the C.I.A., but were assigned permanently to me and American Centaurion, in that order.