And along this particular way, somehow Jeff became the President of the United States. He’s great at it, because he’s a born leader and, since he’s the strongest empath in, most likely, the galaxy, he really and truly cares about everyone. Sometimes that almost kills him, but I’ve gotten really good at stabbing him in his two hearts with a giant needle full of adrenaline to keep him going. Hey, I’m totally a good wife that way.
On the plus side, these various and sundry alien visits have forced the majority of humanity to embrace their inner Woody Guthrie. On the not so plus side, the small, violent minority of humanity has chosen to embrace their inner Kanye West. So, we’re working on that, but it’s a process. A slow, painful, dangerous process. But we do persevere.
Meanwhile, in the past year and a quarter I’ve actually gotten to focus on only being a wife, mother, First Lady of the United States, Queen Regent of Earth for the Annocusal Royal Empire, and Galactic Delegate representing Earth in the Galactic Council. Sometimes I even get to sleep, too.
But Jeff, our kids, and our extended family and friends make it all worthwhile, and I’m feeling like we’re pretty much getting the hang of everything and might, someday soon, even get to take a little vacation. Though knowing my luck, it’ll be a working vacation we aren’t prepared for, going somewhere we’re not wild about going, filled with death, danger, and warfare. You know, somewhere like Detroit.
That’s right. These are my continuing missions. To be forced to explore strange, new worlds. To meet new civilizations, usually in the middle of some kind of battle. To accidently and sarcastically go where no one has willingly gone before.
In other words, I’m going to go find Major Tom and hope that David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” will somehow work as a star map.
CHAPTER 1
“HELP ME.”
“Huh?” I’d been having a really great dream, where my husband and I were in Cabo San Lucas without our kids, our family or friends, anyone political, any press, any aliens from any planet, or any paparazzi. We were having sex on the beach, and it was great, and no one was bothering us. At least until someone asked for help.
“Help me. I’m an alien and need your assistance.”
Well, that left a wide-open field. My husband was an alien—an A-C from Alpha Four in the Alpha Centauri system. His entire huge extended family had been exiled to Earth before Jeff was born and they’d been here for decades. All of them were American citizens, though A-Cs were all over the world. But the voice didn’t sound like any of them.
Recent events had brought more aliens to Earth, though. We had representatives from every inhabited world in the Alpha Centauri system—and there were a lot of those—here, as well as residents from other solar systems both nearby, galactically speaking, and as far away as the Galactic Core.
They, too, were scattered all over Earth and the Solaris system—alien relocation for immigrating aliens having been going smoothly, as had terraforming of some of the planets and various-races-forming of the others—because we had all those extra planets and moons we weren’t using and most of these aliens were refugees from some really horrible galactic wars. So Earth was no longer a lonely inhabited planet of one with a single race of aliens living on it in secret, but part of a bustling, expanding planetary system with many different types of aliens hanging out. And more coming by to visit or apply to move in every day. Though not, normally, via my dreams. And the voice didn’t sound like any of them, either.
That all of this New Age of Intergalactic Harmony stuff had happened in the less than year and a half since Operation Fundraiser had ended in a truly dramatic Zamboni drag race, so to speak, had much more to do with the fact that all the aliens from various solar systems were helping out than that Earth had suddenly leapt into the far Star Trek future on our own. We were still number one with a bullet when it came to being nasty and warlike, but we were definitely reaping the benefits of having made some swell new friends. I just wasn’t in the dream mood to make another new one.
“I really can’t help you. We have an office of Intergalactic Immigration you might want to apply to. I’m sure they’ll be as excited to talk to you in their dreams as I am.”
“No. I’m an alien to you but like you.”
Nice, but the speaker wasn’t saying anything exciting because I’d discovered that people—be they the best-looking humanoids around who happened to have two hearts, superstrength, and hyperspeed, be they giant humanoid slugs or honeybees, be they ethereal cloudlike manta rays or gigantic Cthulhu Monsters from Space, or be they anything and everything in between—were basically people, no matter where they were from, what they looked like, what planet they called home, or who or what they considered God.
“I doubt it. And I don’t care.” My dream was getting hazy. Did my best to concentrate on Jeff and the beach and the sex.
“Help me. You’re my only hope.” The voice sounded female, maybe, and alien, most likely. Most humans couldn’t get that kind of reverberation going without the use of electronic equipment. And, just like the voice, the reverberation wasn’t familiar, so, again, not an alien race I’d already met, at least, unlikely. My dreams, they were really the best.
“Um, I wasn’t really trying to add Princess Leia or Obi-Wan Kenobi into this dream. If that’s okay and all that. Especially not Old Obi-Wan. Young Obi-Wan, yeah, maybe.”
I could, quite frankly, find it in my libido to add Ewan McGregor into many things. Then again, Jeff was the strongest empath in, most likely, the galaxy—because A-Cs also had a variety of psychic talents that showed up pretty often—and he was also easily the most jealous man in it, too, under the right circumstances. Me fantasizing about Ewan McGregor was likely to spark some jealousy, especially since I’d seen The Pillow Book. Twice. And the second time was not for the story.
Not that Jeff had anything to worry about. He was the classic—tall, with dark brown wavy hair, dreamy light brown eyes, built like a brick house, and definitely the handsomest man in the universe. And that wasn’t me being biased. Well, maybe biased, but only a little. The A-Cs were, to human eyes, the most beautiful things around. They came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and builds, just like humans did, as long as you included “hardbody” in their definition.
Humans had lucked out, though. In addition to the fact that A-Cs and humans could and did create healthy hybrid offspring—with the external favoring the human parent and the internal favoring the A-C—the A-Cs thought humans were great. Well, most of them thought that.