“You two know I can just veto this, right?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah? Let’s see what my mother thinks before you toss your Presidential muscle around.” Other than in the bedroom. Jeff could toss the muscle in the bedroom better than anyone else in, by my estimate, the entire galaxy. The only downside to this plan was that I wouldn’t be with him, so I would miss out on countless orgasms.
I found this thought depressing, and Jeff clearly picked it up because he shot me a look I was both familiar with and totally loved—his Jungle Cat About To Eat Me look. “We’ll discuss it later,” he said quietly, right before he put his Serious Leader Of The Free World look back on his face.
“What about the flyboys?”
Chuckie shook his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t want Jeff without plenty of people we know we can trust implicitly. Just because we’ve foiled a variety of assassination attempts, and haven’t foiled others, doesn’t mean that more aren’t in the works.”
“It doesn’t mean that more aren’t on their way in six spaceships,” Christopher snapped. “One spaceship in particular.”
“I’ll try to reach ACE tonight, I promise.”
Christopher heaved a sigh. “I don’t want to hurt Jamie just for intel.”
“But in this case, it’s vital intel. ACE is very good about ensuring that she doesn’t hear us talking when she’s asleep.” And I did have at least one other option, too. It would be just as tricky to get information out of him as it would be from ACE, but for entirely different reasons. Still, this appeared to be the right time to try to reach our various Powers That Be Hangin’ Out On Earth.
“Tonight would be good,” Chuckie said. “As long as Jamie’s not at risk.”
Took a good look at him. He looked tense and kind of excited and also just a little worried. “Huh. Those ships are going to be here a lot faster than we’d like, aren’t they?”
Chuckie nodded. “Less than a week, if none of them use a hyperjump of some kind.”
CHAPTER 10
THE ROOM WAS once again stunned into silence. Chose to be the one to break it. “Always the way. Well, at least we have the forewarning. Such as it is.”
Jeff grunted. “I officially hate this new plan and don’t want anyone doing this, let alone Kitty and the kids. But I also see that, despite supposedly being the most powerful man in the United States, I’m going to be overruled by my wife, my uncle, and my friend.”
White laughed. “Yes, Jeffrey. Or as we call it, routine.”
“Don’t worry, my mom will probably overrule you, too.”
“Great.” Jeff ran his hand through his hair. “So, before we go back to the meeting and have Walter send what we’re seeing here over so that everyone can share in the stress, and then tell them how fast this is all going down so everyone can share in the panic, do we know of anyone still alive who dealt with our arrival here in any kind of meaningful way? I’m looking for someone to advise us.”
White and Chuckie both chuckled. “Yeah, we do,” Chuckie said. “Many, but you’ll be happy to know that the one I and, I’m sure, Richard are both thinking of will be more than happy to help.”
“You know him as the new Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” White added.
“Wow, my Uncle Mort really gets around.” Uncle Mort was my father’s older brother and a lifelong Marine. He was also totally badass and I enjoyed the rare times when I got to work with him. It didn’t hurt that he was my favorite uncle and I was his favorite niece.
Uncle Mort was hugely pro-alien, at least pro our Earth A-Cs, and if there was anyone you wanted around when aliens were coming to either defect, beg for asylum, or attack, it was Uncle Mort.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Jeff said. He looked at Walter. “Please reach General Mortimer Katt and let him know we need him to gate it over here. Ask him to meet us in the Large Situation Room.”
Walter nodded. “Anyone else?”
“Let’s get Colonel Franklin, Drax and the other Vata, and the flyboys here, too. You know, so we can make it a real party,” I suggested. “The other Joint Chiefs might be a good idea, too, but only if we can keep them from declaring World War Three or Independence Day Three-D.”
Walter looked at Jeff. Who shook his head. “Franklin, all the Vata, and the flyboys, yes. The other Joint Chiefs, no. I haven’t worked with any of them enough to know how they’ll handle this news.”
“Yes, sir, Mister President,” Walter said, clearly completely done with No Title Time.
Jeff took my hand and led us off. “I can’t believe you’re all okay with Kitty leaving for a world tour right now,” he grumbled as we walked at human speed.
“Well, it’s not like I’m desperate to escape your clutches or anything, but Richard and Chuckie’s plan makes sense.”
“For the job we need done it would be either Kitty or Elaine,” Chuckie said. “And I think you need Elaine here with you right now.”
“I need my wife more.” Jeff heaved a sigh. “Have I mentioned how much I never wanted to get into politics in the first place?”
“Once or twice,” White said, clearly trying not to laugh and showing zero sympathy.
Jeff grunted at him. “You’re the reason all this started, Uncle Richard. I blame you for all of this.”
White grinned. “I know and I’ll take that blame happily because I’m incredibly proud of you, Jeffrey. You’re everything I knew you would be.”
Jeff stopped walking, let go of my hand, and hugged his uncle tightly. “Thanks,” he said as they pulled apart. “It’s nice to know that I’m not failing everyone’s expectations.”
Christopher, Chuckie, and I exchanged the WTH look. “Um, Jeff? Who do you think you’re failing?”
“He’s listened to the media,” Alexander replied before Jeff could. “And if you allow it to, what people who have no idea what you have to do on a day-to-day basis in order to keep things running will say about you can be hurtful.”
Gave Alexander a hug, just ’cause, since I had to figure he was speaking from experience. “Ah. Well, haters gonna hate, Jeff. You’re an awesome president.”
“Yeah?” Jeff said as we started off again. “Let’s see how everyone feels when I share that we know we have space invaders coming and they’ll be here in a week or less.”
“I’d ask how that’s your fault, but apparently it’s my fault, so I’ll brace for the haters to turn on me. Which I expect no matter what, anyway.”
“Fault is the wrong word,” Chuckie said.
“Not if they’re coming to attack,” Christopher muttered.