Текст книги "Alien in the Family"

Автор книги: Gini Koch

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CHAPTER 8

MY TEAM HAD THE MOST HUMANS ON IT, and all of them looked pleased. Claudia and Lorraine looked confused. And Martini looked beyond annoyed. “Vegas. Great.”

“Oh, come on, Jeff. It’ll be fun.”

“Right. We aren’t going to be having fun. We’re going to be figuring out how to stop my relatives from ruining our lives.”

“True, but . . . it’s so cheap and tawdry and glittery and loud. And it never sleeps!” I loved Vegas, when you got right down to it.

Martini sighed. “Can’t wait. Truly.”

We walked to a gate and calibrated for the McCarran International Airport. Martini sent Tim first, then the rest of our team. He recalibrated quickly, his hand a blur. Then he swung me up into his arms.

I hated going through the gates. They still looked more like airport metal detectors than anything else to me, but they also brought new meaning to the term “sick to your stomach.” About the only way I could get through one without wanting to barf my guts out was in Martini’s arms, with my face buried in his neck. He stepped us through, and in a second we’d gone from the middle of the New Mexico desert to the middle of the Nevada desert.

McCarran was one of the few airports where a bunch of people coming out of a stall, three of them women, didn’t cause too much notice. Anything went in Vegas. We lucked out in that there weren’t any men in the bathroom, and our little parade coming out of the men’s room didn’t attract any looks—there were slot machines all over the airport, and people were paying a lot more attention to them than to us.

However, once we were in the area to get to a taxi stand, I noticed someone watching us. He was hard to miss—he had a camera the size of his head. And it was aimed at us.

I nudged Martini. “Why are we getting our pictures taken?”

He looked over and shrugged. “Guy likes to take pictures of pretty women.”

“Um, Jeff, really? That’s what you’re picking up?”

He sighed. “Baby, we’re in an airport. Loaded with people with their emotions going off the charts.”

“Oh. You have all your blocks up on full.”

“Right. He’s not giving off any kind of threat emotions—those I can still feel. So what if he takes pictures of us? We’re in a tourist spot, and Christopher’s people will alter anything we don’t like.”

The man had snapped several shots while we were talking. He lowered the camera and grinned at me. He was under six feet, dressed in casual, baggy clothes, well worn but clean. I couldn’t tell if the clothes were hiding muscles or a slight pudge. Black hair, beard, and, as he walked closer, I could see twinkling blue eyes. I couldn’t tell his age—maybe 30s, maybe 40s, maybe not.

“How’re you folks doing?” he asked. He had a slight twang in his voice, but I couldn’t place it, other than to say I’d bet he was from the Southwest somewhere.

“Fine. We don’t want our pictures taken.”

His grin got wider. “Pity. You shouldn’t be out of Home Base then, should you?”

Chuckie had trained me well. The only people who referred to Nellis Air Force Base or the Groom Lake portion of it as Home Base also called it Area 51. Based on how he looked, this man wasn’t an A-C, and based on how he dressed and was acting, he wasn’t a human agent, either.

“Just who are you?” I tried to ask nicely. His grin managed to get wider, indicating I’d failed.

“Mister Joel Oliver. World Weekly News.” He put out the hand not holding his humongous camera.

None of us extended ours in return. “What does a rag photographer want with pictures of tourists?” Tim asked, more politely than I’d have managed.

Oliver shook his head as he retracted his hand. “You’re not tourists.” He leaned closer. “I know who . . . and what . . . you are.” He straightened up. “And I’d love to do an interview. I’m our top photojournalist.”

“I’m sure that’s impressive to someone, Oliver,” Martini said casually. He seemed so calm and cool. Glad one of us was.

“Mister Joel Oliver, please. Full name.”

“Why?”

Oliver shrugged. “Ensures my byline’s always right, my sources are sure who they’re talking to, and I like hearing the Mister.”

“Like Mister T?”

“And for similar reasons.” Oliver shook his head. “You’d be amazed at what names I get called.”

“I’ll bet you twenty dollars none of them would shock or surprise me.”

He laughed. “I don’t take sucker bets.” Oliver looked straight at Martini. “I know your people alter my photos. But they can’t alter what I write. You have powerful friends who do that, though. But it won’t stop me.”

Martini shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a meeting to attend.” Martini jerked his head at us, indicating it was time to move on.

“With the head of the C.I.A.?” Oliver asked as we headed for the limo line.

Martini smiled. “Nope.” He clearly wasn’t lying and it was obvious Oliver could tell if the look of disappointment that flashed across his face was any indication.

Of course, that’s because Oliver hadn’t asked the question properly. Chuckie wasn’t the head of the C.I.A., so Martini wasn’t telling an untruth. He was avoiding telling the truth, which was about the only way the A-Cs could manage lying. It was nice of Oliver to have made it so easy. I didn’t want to count on that happening again.

Oliver followed us to the limo stand. “So, Miss Katt, how have you recovered from your recent ordeal?”

“How do you know my name and what ordeal are you talking about?”

“You were pursued by crazed madmen through the Arizona desert not too long ago, weren’t you? By Representative Leventhal Reid and an associate, I believe?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I said airily. I was human, and lying was a natural extension of my former career as a marketing manager. “I think you have me confused with someone else. As I recall, that politician was high on meth and after some poor college co-eds.”

“I doubt I’m confused. My sources say that Representative Reid was high on the idea of killing you. In a particularly gruesome way. You had a long call with Emergency Response during that time, too.”

I did my best to think about flowers, not to hide anything from Martini but so that I wouldn’t give anything away to Oliver. I’d thought that tape had been confiscated and the A-Cs had done some kind of memory alteration on the Emergency Response phone team. Guess something had slipped through. Or one of the military personnel called in had talked.

As I thought about it, there were a lot of ways this could have leaked. Then I thought some more. The only person who seemed to think we were a story was Mister Joel Oliver. Who worked for the biggest rag tabloid in existence. I stopped worrying.

“Whatever, dude. You believe what you need to believe to get you through the day.”

Tim had two limos waiting for us now. We couldn’t really use hyperspeed under the circumstances. Martini ushered the others into one, and he and I went into the other alone. As we drove off, I looked out the back window. Oliver was still there, snapping pictures. He waved at us just before we moved out of sight.

“Why, just out of curiosity, are you so tense?” I asked as we settled into the back, far away from the driver. “You worried about our new friend, the photojournalist?”

“Not too much. No, I know why Reynolds chose this location.” Martini had his arm around me, but his body felt rigid.

“So what? Jeff, you’re worried about nothing.” I felt Oliver was a better thing to worry about, but I didn’t want to bring it up. If Martini wasn’t worried that we had our own paparazzo following us, I probably shouldn’t be, either.

“Right. He’s rich, he’s successful, you’ve known him years longer than me, you love him almost as much as me, and we have a nightmare headed toward us.”

I considered mentioning that I didn’t love any man as much as I loved Martini, not even Chuckie, and having the jealousy chat with him again, but I’d accepted a long time ago that he was always going to be possessive and jealous. Besides, it was flattering, considering he could have landed any woman on Earth.

“I don’t want any woman on Earth,” he muttered. “I only want you.”

“Good. Because I only want you.” I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him until we were lying down on the seat and about to become part of a reality TV show.

“You folks need to sign the release form,” the driver called to us.

Martini snarled, sat up, and pulled me up next to him. “Not just no, but hell no.”

“Fine. The way you two were heading, you were gonna end up the top-rated segment.” He sounded disappointed.

“Sorry, maybe next time.” I straightened my top. “By the way, why are you taking the long way?”

“Because I thought you two were going for it.”

“Get us there, now, or I’ll sue your ass,” Martini growled.

“Whatever.” The driver turned off the main street, and we started moving faster. We pulled into the hotel’s parking garage while I brushed my hair and straightened the rest of my clothes. “You’re sure?” the driver asked me as Martini paid up.

“Positive. I charge a lot for visual proof.”

“Ah, well, I can see why.” The driver gave me a wide grin. “Here’s my card. Call any time.”

Martini took the card from him, tore it into little bits, and dropped them back into the driver’s hand. “She’s not a hooker, she’s not a porn star, she’s not on the market, and if you don’t stop looking at her chest, I’m going to rip your throat out.”

“Have a nice day!” I called to the driver as Martini dragged me into the hotel.

“Stop flirting.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m being nice after you were rude.” A man I’d never seen before who was really great looking held the door for us. “Thanks!” He gave me a big smile and an appraising look.

Martini growled and dragged me to the desk. “I hate it here already. Just so you know.”

“Oh, Jeff, relax.” Another good-looking guy came out of the elevator banks and gave me the big smile and obvious once-over. I loved Vegas.

“Right. Stop flirting with strangers. It’s bad enough you flirt with Reynolds. Still. And James.”

“Chuckie’s clear on who I’m engaged to, and James is gay.”

“Can’t tell that it matters, to either one of them.” Martini went to the front desk. “We’re here to see Charles Reynolds. I think he’s registered here.”

“Yes, Mister Reynolds is on the top floor.” The desk clerk pointed to the elevator banks. “You don’t need a key to get up there. He’s expecting you.”

As we headed off, I spotted the two guys who’d checked me out. They were chatting at the main intersection between check-in, the elevators, the parking garage, and the exit to the casino. They were handsome enough to be A-Cs, but since they were both in jeans and casual shirts, it was a good bet they were just hunks. Both looked at me and gave me the big grins while they checked out my assets. I tried not to be flattered and failed utterly. I really loved Vegas.

“What part of stop flirting with strangers isn’t coming through?” Martini groused as he dragged me into the elevator banks and out of view of my admiring public. I chose not to be annoyed. It wasn’t as if I were here looking for someone to pick up, after all.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone was in an alcove to the side of the elevator banks. I hadn’t noticed anyone when we’d walked by. I nudged Martini, but before either one of us could move, a man walked briskly out of the alcove and away. “Mister Joel Oliver, what a surprise. How’d he find us here?”

“Listened to the directions we gave the limo driver, I’m sure.”

“I guess. You didn’t pick him up?”

Martini grunted. “No, though I can recognize his emotional feel now. But there’s a lot of interference here, even more than at the airport.” Made sense. Most emotions ran higher in Sin City, especially the closer you were to a casino, and we were very close. I decided not to worry about Oliver right now, especially since Martini still sounded annoyed.

“Think the rest of the team is here already?” I asked as we waited for the elevator to arrive.

“Unless they’re filming an orgy, yeah. I assume Oliver followed them here, not us.”

“Good point. I think Tim and the girls might be open to the orgy idea, though.”

“Thankfully, I know without asking that the flyboys are not.”

“Your Puritanical attitude is rubbing off on them, I see.”

“Like you wanted to be filmed?” he asked as we got inside the elevator.

I shrugged. “Might be fun to watch.” I didn’t actually think so, but it was fun to needle him sometimes.

Martini grabbed my waist with both hands, lifted me up and put me against the side of the elevator. “How fun?”

I put my legs around his waist and pulled him into me. “Lots of fun.”

We practiced for our next Vegas limo ride the entire way up. Fortunately, it was a high hotel. Unfortunately, we knew hitting the stop elevator button would cause alarms to go off. We compromised by making out wildly. I had to brush my hair again, and his, when the elevator stopped.

Clothes adjusted, hair faking it, we got out and walked down the hall. I could hear voices as we neared a large set of open double doors. The suite Chuckie was in took up at least half of the top floor. Martini was muttering under his breath again before we were through the doors.

Which was funny, considering his family was loaded and lived in a palatial estate in Florida. I hadn’t realized until today that it must have seemed like home on Alpha Centauri to Martini’s father. From what Christopher had said, they’d lived in a pretty palatial embassy when Terry was alive. Again, must have seemed normal to her. Chuckie’s money started to seem a lot more natural. I was an American, after all—royalty was interesting, but I was a lot more comfortable with the idea of success through capitalism.

Everyone else from our team was there already, and so were Reader, Gower, and Christopher. The Pontifex, who also was considered a part of Alpha Team when it was convenient, was noticeably absent.

This was the most comfortable briefing room I’d ever seen. The suite had a conference table, but it was loaded with food and drink, none of it alcoholic, I noticed. All the chairs were sleek and comfortable looking, and there were settees where the couples were perched.

A can of Coke flew through the air. I caught it automatically. “Dude, you have got to stop that. I hate it when it sprays all over.”

Chuckie laughed. “Sure you do.” Martini’s muttering got more intense.

“Nice spread. I didn’t know we were moving in.” The place was huge, and the view was incredible. I stared down the Strip and found myself hoping we’d be here when it got dark.

“Not at the moment.” Chuckie indicated we should sit as he went and closed the double doors. I heard him lock them.

I decided not to rub it in and sat in a chair. Martini sat next to me and gave me a look. “His place, we play nicely,” I said quietly.

“You’re so damned willing to play nicely with him.”

“Because she’s smarter than you, Martini.” Chuckie sounded amused. He made eye contact with me, and I recognized his expression—there was someone nearby he didn’t like who didn’t like us right back. “But I’m willing to make allowances for Centaurion to be . . . adjusting to the way things are now.”

“For the time being,” Martini corrected. I nudged him and tried to send an emotional “hush.” I caught Reader’s eye, he cocked his head, and I shook mine. He nodded and scooted his chair closer to Gower’s. I saw him put his hand on Gower’s wrist and assumed they were communicating in some way.

“For the time being,” Chuckie said with a small smile. He seated himself in the chair on my other side. “How do you like the place?”

“It’s okay. Is this room clean?”

“It’s spotless. The maid service is impeccable.” Chuckie looked at me, and pointed to the centerpiece on the table. It looked like a bizarre pineapple, only it was orange and purple and pretty freaking ugly.

Gower’s eyes looked glazed. I assumed he was having ACE share with everyone that it was quiet time.

“Ah, good to know. I’d love to stay here, then.” Great. Bugged. Presumably by the C.I.A. But I figured I’d better be sure. “How’s things with your parents?” They were both in Temecula, California, where he’d moved them once he’d made his money. It had been their dream to retire there, he’d just moved them a lot sooner than they’d expected. And I knew how they were, because I kept in touch with them, just as he kept in touch with my parents.

“Oh, they’re fine. I don’t see them very often, but we talk all the time. They send their love.” He shook his head.

Okay, it was an audio bug, not visual, thank God for small favors. And it wasn’t from the C.I.A. So, why was Chuckie letting it sit there? “Your sisters and brothers?” Like me, he was an only child.

“Fine, you know, the usual.” He shook his head again. Okay, so not an American agency. So, who?

“How’s Australia been?”

“Great, you know how I love the travel.” He shook his head again, harder.

Not foreign. Not national. So, who? I could only come up with one other idea. “I’ll bet the view of the Luxor’s pyramid laser light show must be awesome from up here.”

“Best view you could hope for. Like being on top of a mountain watching it.” He nodded, emphatically.

Bingo. But how?

CHAPTER 9

MARTINI GOT UP. “You mind if I have a bite to eat?” “No, go ahead, that’s what the food’s for.” Chuckie nodded and Martini shrugged.

“Christopher, you look a little pale. You might want to eat something too.” Martini jerked his head, and Christopher got up.

They started talking about baseball while Chuckie and I continued to chat about family members who didn’t exist. The others got the clue, and soon the whole room was filled with aimless chatter.

Martini picked up the centerpiece and examined it. He shot a look at Chuckie while discussing the merits of the Diamondbacks over the Dodgers. Chuckie shrugged and pulled a small, black, rectangular thing out of his pocket. He put it near me: nothing. He got up, wandered around the room, still talking about his nonexistent siblings, while he put it near the others in the room. When it was by humans, nothing happened. When it was by Gower it turned purple, and when it was by Martini, Christopher, or the girls, it turned green.

Chuckie waved the alien-detector near the centerpiece. It turned red. He then pulled the Unity Necklace out of his pocket—I hadn’t realized he’d taken it, but then, I hadn’t been thinking about wearing it after what had happened earlier. He put the box near the necklace, and it turned red.

Martini nodded, and he looked seriously pissed, but not at Chuckie for once. He and Christopher started to take the centerpiece apart, carefully. Inside the ugly pineapple thing they found an oddly shaped piece of metal. I could see it and, like the necklace, it didn’t look human-made.

Martini put his hand out, and Chuckie gave him the Unity Necklace. Martini played around with it a bit, and all of a sudden the two pieces fit together. Martini looked angrier, and Christopher looked pretty pissed off, too.

His hands moved so fast I couldn’t see them, and I had to look away or get sick. So I looked at his face. Hey, I didn’t have to look far away. Martini finished whatever he was doing and held out the combined pieces of metal to Chuckie, who held the little black box near it. It still glowed red.

Martini grimaced and looked thoughtful for a few long moments. “Kitty, you need to fix your hair.”

“I do?” Everyone gave me “duh” looks, even Chuckie. I pondered. “Oh. Right you are.” I pulled out my hairspray and handed it to Martini. He sprayed the combined metal all over, then held it out to Chuckie again. The black box glowed a weaker red.

Martini continued spraying and Chuckie continued testing until the red glow dissipated. Once gone, Martini went into the bedroom, came back with a bath towel, and wrapped the metal up inside it.

Martini put the towel-wrapped package down on the table, then he, Chuckie, and Christopher sat down. I could tell Martini was furious, but he was controlling it well.

“You sure it’s . . . clear?” Chuckie asked.

Martini nodded. “It’s neutralized. I’d guess if we wash the hairspray off, it’ll spring right back into action, but I don’t think it can function right now.”

“Makes sense,” Chuckie said.

It did? “So, what’s that black box thing, what was the metal thing inside that freaky fake pineapple, and what did you do?”

“This is an alien-detector,” Chuckie answered. “Oh, and duh.”

“Yeah, fine. I didn’t know we had those.”

“Well, ‘we’ don’t,” Martini snapped. “Apparently, however, the C.I.A. does.”

Chuckie rolled his eyes. “As this incident has just proved, there are aliens we don’t know about.”

“That metal stuff is alive?” I’d been wearing a living thing? I felt freaked out.

Martini took my hand. “No, it’s not alive.”

“Just sentient,” Chuckie added. “You didn’t mention that when you gave it to her, of course.”

“Because I didn’t know,” Martini snarled.

“Boys? Enough of the caveman stuff. What’s going on?”

Christopher answered. “The necklace responded to the bug. It’s not called a bug, but that’s how it works.”

“Wow, the words all make sense individually, and yet, when put together, not so much.”

“ACE can explain for Kitty.”

“Thanks, ACE, I’d appreciate it.”

Gower nodded and spoke in the ACE-voice again. “Like with ACE, the A-Cs on home world can put talents into . . .” Gower twitched and I figured he was having to help ACE with the right words. “Into inanimate objects. Useful for many things.”

“Like spying.”

“Yes. A-Cs are most advanced of all species in their solar system.”

“So, they used these things to spy on the other planets?” No wonder they’d been able to stop the warlike planets in their solar system from doing anything—they’d nipped them in the bud before they could be a problem. Logical and tidy, which were A-C traits. Vicious and nasty, which were also A-C traits, just not traits the Earth A-Cs had. Thank God.

“Yes. Have sent this here to spy on Kitty.”

Something about that didn’t make sense to me. “Um . . . how?”

“What do you mean, how?” Christopher asked. “Through a gate or something.”

“So, this metal stuff can move on its own?”

“No,” Martini said. “It can’t move at all. It doesn’t think, either, despite our Supreme Leader’s comments to the contrary.”

“It just transmits information, like a good bug,” Chuckie said, and I could hear the knife in his voice.

“Guys? If it can’t move via its own steam, then how the hell did it get into this room?”

There was dead silence. Aliens and humans trained to work with aliens think time.

ACE answered. “Someone must have put it in here. ACE does not understand why Kitty did not know that.”

“The hero worship is particularly nauseating during intimate moments,” Reader tossed out. “If I get one more ‘would Kitty do that?’ question—”

“He’s kidding, ACE,” I said quickly. Not that I thought he was, but I didn’t want ACE to get its feelings hurt. “And, sometimes it helps to ask a question aloud, even if you think you know the answer.”

“Ah, a human thing. ACE has data for that.” ACE had the consciousness of any human who’d died in space joined to it. It sort of made them part of the God in the Machine, and I was happy they were there, since their presence had altered ACE’s mind-set toward protecting the Earth from the other races, not the other way around.

“Jeff? What did you do with the necklace and the bug? And why did my hairspray neutralize it?”

“The hairspray was a guess. Since we’re all allergic to alcohol and there’s alcohol in it—and since hairspray worked so well against Mephistopheles, and this clearly comes from our home world—I figured it might work.”

“Whoever wants us followed knows we’re all here now, however,” Chuckie mentioned.

“True.” Martini sighed. “And as for what I was doing, it’s a game my father taught us,” he inclined his head toward Christopher. “We used to think it was fun. He’d give us different metals, and we had to make something new with them without hurting the original shapes. Most of the time, he had us play with the metals and the Unity Necklace, but not always. I didn’t know it was anything but a child’s game before. But I’d guess once I make another call, and, you know, get through all the haranguing from my mother, I’ll find out this was commonly used by the royal family.”

“To spy on their underlings,” Christopher added with a snarl.

“Or their enemies.” Chuckie let this one hang on the air for a bit. “I think we need to stop pretending the only issue will be Kitty passing whatever marriage test they’re going to administer. We didn’t send bugs or spies over to check out Charles marrying Camilla, so this isn’t what I’d call standard royal wedding protocol.”

“It’s not, as far as we know,” Claudia offered.

“You’re confirming that?” Chuckie asked her.

“Sure.” She shrugged. “Girls care more about this stuff than boys. My mother told me about how weddings on our home world were handled. Spying on the bride-to-be wasn’t mentioned.”

“My mother didn’t say anything about this, either,” Lorraine added. “And she told me all about the last royal wedding she’d seen, right before they left our home world.” She shot a look at Christopher. “I think it was your parents’.”

He looked shocked. “But they disowned my mother, that’s what my father said.”

Lorraine looked uncomfortable. “They probably did. My mother would know for sure. But, disowned or not, I think they still had a royal wedding.”

“Maybe we should ask your father if they got bugged.”

Christopher sighed and pulled out his phone.

While he was engaged, Chuckie leaned over to me and Martini. “Regardless of the Pontifex’s answer, this creates some serious issues. So, Martini, before the rest of the C.I.A. starts demanding I allow them to move into every Centaurion stronghold, any idea of what’s really coming?”

“Not really. We should pull my father in, sooner as opposed to later. He’s the one with the information.”

My brain kicked at me. “Uh, guys?”

“Yes,” Chuckie agreed. “But I’d like you to ask him, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to give the impression we’re demanding his cooperation.”

“Guys?”

“Well, that’s so nice of you,” Martini said, sarcasm knob turned to full. “How is it my father rates consideration when our Sovereign Pontifex doesn’t?”

“Guys.”

“He rates consideration because he’s the only one with any real idea of what’s going on, and, just in case, the C.I.A. doesn’t want to create an interstellar incident by upsetting a royal scion.”

“Guys, oh, guys.”

“I’m supposedly a scion and so’s Christopher. You don’t seem to mind upsetting us. In fact, near as I can tell, you live to do it.”

“Guys? Really, need your attention.”

“You really have a problem with authority, don’t you, Martini?”

“Guys? Please, focus.”

“I have no problem with my own authority, Reynolds. I have a big problem with yours, or what you think is yours.”

“Guys, don’t force me to get tough with you.”

“Keep pushing it, Martini. I’ll be glad to show you just how much authority I have over you and anything you want to do.”

I stood up, turned my back to the rest of the room, and lifted my shirt up. Both of them stopped with their mouths open and turned to stare at my chest. I was in the A-C version of a WonderBra and the twins were looking particularly large and perky. The men looked like deer trapped in headlights. “Wow, now that I finally freaking have your attention, can the two of you stop fighting with each other and listen to me?”

“Gah,” Martini said.

“Ummm . . .” Chuckie sounded no more coherent.

Martini recovered first. “Put your top down.” He was trying to sound growly but it was coming off more like an embarrassed, possessive hiss.

“Ummm . . .” Chuckie hadn’t seen the twins in a while, but I could tell he wanted to get back in touch with them.

“I want you two to listen to me, and listen carefully.”

“Top . . . down . . . now.”

“Ummm . . .”

“You both going to listen?”

“Down.”

“Ummm . . .”

“Nod your heads if you’re going to listen to me when I put my top down.” Two heads nodded. Two pairs of eyes didn’t move, however. I lowered and resisted the impulse to pull my shirt up and down for a bit. “Now, look at my face.”

Both sets of eyes moved up to meet mine.

“Good. So proud.” Martini opened his mouth, and I lifted my shirt over my stomach. He snapped his mouth shut. “Good boy, Jeff. Now, I’m going to say something, and I want the two of you to listen to my words. Okay?”

They both nodded, eyes still wide, expressions still shocked.

“If the metal cannot move on its own, and we can be fairly sure no one in this room brought in that horrid pseudo-pineapple centerpiece, then logic demands that we ask ourselves these very important questions. You ready?”

They both nodded again.

“Who bugged the room? And what planet do they call home?”