"The Emissary"

[HumanBean]

Outside Denver, Colorado:

Liam Nellis finished stacking his recently acquired cash into stacks upon his kitchen table. He laughed in delight. The personal defense business had exploded with the news that aliens were about to invade Earth. At least, that was what Liam and others were saying. Frightened people were good for a gun dealer's business.

He loved change. Presidential elections were great. Didn't matter who won. Democrat, Republican. Either way, people panicked and bought guns. They thought their guns would be seized. They thought immigrants were going to rape their daughters and murder their dogs. They thought, they thought, they thought. Liam didn't care what they thought. So long as those thoughts ended with one thing: "Does that come with a free box of bullets?"

He went to the front porch of his home with a beer in one hand and a Beretta pistol in the other. Liam didn't really need the firearm. His place was isolated and protected by that isolation. It sat high on the east-facing side of a mountain that looked down upon Denver. A four-mile-long private road lay between his home and the county road. A gate blocked the road. He had a contingency for someone breaching that gate, too. An old, fully loaded dump truck was positioned to roll down a slight incline to block the road. A quick call from his satellite phone would trigger the release mechanism. No one was moving that truck without a bulldozer.

Out before him, Denver was on fire. Oh, not like 1871 Mrs. O'Leary's Cow fire. Or 1906 shake-n-bake San Francisco fire. But there were at least 20 black plumes rising upwards from locations all about the city. Liam had never understood the rioting and looting that seemed to follow dramatic events. The Rodney King verdict. George Floyd. January 6th. What the fuck was wrong with people?

As long as it resulted in them buying guns. And as long as he was up here on his own when it happened. So be it.

Since the arrival of the Martians, Liam had sold more than $80,000 in firearms and ammunition. He'd very nearly cleared out one of his suburban storage units. Pistols, rifles, shotguns. They'd all gone. And most of those had been small sales. One or two guns at a time. He had had one sale of 14 weapons and more than 5,000 rounds of ammunition. He'd feared the sale was a sting, and he'd taken extra precautions. But in the end, he'd just been paranoid.

He looked up for the alien spacecraft. He'd seen it during the light of day when it first arrived. Everyone had, he thought. Now, you only saw it at night. And sightings were becoming less frequent from any one location. Liam hadn't seen it from here in days. Maybe it was gone. Maybe they'd taken a better look at Earth and said, "Fuck this! What were we thinking?"

All he knew was that they were good for business. As long as they didn't melt his face off with a death ray or send these "World War Z" flesh eaters to rip him apart with their teeth, what did he care?

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Handing out pamphlets all day between classes and talking about the VP was kinda boring, but if it got her an interview for the school paper she’d lick his asshole. Well, maybe not, but she’d think about it. Why did people do that? Ass licking? Sounded nasty to her.

She’d collected the pamphlets last night from the office after practice. They were heading for the championships if the baseball team won the game this weekend. If they didn’t... they were out of the running. Just like last year. And the year before. The baseball team had performance issues.

Didn’t matter, she was already 18 and this was her last year, then it was collage and journalism courses. And if she married a cute Poly Sci major it was even better. Unless the Aliens emptied out the cities and ate everyone.

Dropping her books and pamphlets on the bed she switched over to a bikini before grabbing keys and heading down to the boat. It wasn’t the biggest on the lake, but it was her fathers. She probably wouldn’t go out, but just in case she had the keys.

After turning on the radio she lay a blanket out on the bow and tied it down. Then she nudged her bikini bottoms down as far as she dared, undid her top and lay in the sun, listening to the news reports about the ship.

 

[HumanBean]

United States Naval Observatory
Washington DC

Vice President Clark Griffin rushed through his morning work. He had a luncheon in 40 minutes. He was meeting with potential campaign supporters. It had been less than a week since he'd begun contemplating challenging his own ticket-mate in next year's election. Already, Clark had dozens of financial and political backers. He wasn't the only person in DC who thought President Angela Paulson was making a mistake with the Matluk.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at a pile of manilla folders onto the corner of his desk.

The Aide who'd delivered them answered, "Applications for your new Intern."

"New intern? What happened to the other one ... Connie...?"

"Carla," the Aide corrected, for the umpteenth time. "She's working on the thing."

The thing the Aide spoke of was the organizing of his coup. Oh, it wasn't really a coup. Clark was trying to unseat the current President, yes. But he was doing it through the election process, not a military uprising. Though, honestly, if the alien shit hit the fan, he could probably find support for that as well.

"I have already filtered through them," the Aide said. "I've arranged them top to bottom according to your ... preferences."

The Aide had been with Clark since he'd been a Senator. The 30-something man knew what his boss wanted in an intern. Clark waved him away, asking for an espresso and something sweet from the kitchen. He opened the topmost folder and leaned back in his chair. Included were two photographs of the applicant. One was a portrait shot. The other was a full body shot.

Clark's Aide told the applicants that the pictures were to allow the Senator, now VP, to judge professionalism of appearance. The Aide knew better, of course. That was why the pictures his boss was looking at now were of a beautiful young woman with a killer body. Clark's lips spread in a devilish smirk. His cock woke up as well. He took a moment to glance over the resume, the letters of support, and the girl's letter of interest and introduction. He particularly made sure to look at her date of birth. The Aide shouldn't have taken applications from minors. But Clark couldn't be too careful as it had been done before.

His attention kept coming back to the pictures. The girl's face and body screamed fashion model, not political aide or lawyer wannabe. The blouse and dress in the full image picture were professional as expected. But Jesus, the girl could make a ratty pair of dirty gym sweats look good. The Aide returned with the coffee and cookies, as well as a glass of cold milk. Clark handed him the folder, saying, "Arrange an interview with this one sometime this week."

The Aide looked to the stack of folders. It was obvious that his boss hadn't looked any deeper into it. The Aide smiled, thinking, Can I pick'em, or can I pick'em. He took the folder, saying, "She's not local."

"Arrange transportation then," Clark said. His tone was firm and full of annoyance. How she got here and from where she came was not his concern. His concern was that she was sitting in a chair across from him saying Yes, I'd love to take the internship, Mister Vice President ... and then I'd love to drop to my knees and suck your cock until you fill my mouth with your hot, salty cum. He waved the Aide out once again. "Take care of it."

"Yes, Mister Vice President," the Aide said, departing with the file.

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Stepping off the plane Alaina walked down the gangway. She still couldn’t bbelieve she’d been flown to DC. Yeah, she’d applied to be an intern, but she thought that meant back in Washington.. STATE.. not Washington DC. Had she checked the wrong box? Missed a question?

Entering the lobby she saw a man in a suit holding a sign with her name on. “Hi, I’m Alaina,” she said holding her hand out. “I only have this carry-on and a checked bag.”

**

After getting her bag and the limousine they drove through town for her meeting with THE VICE PRESIDENT!!!. “This city is amazing,” Alaina commented looking at the Washington monument. “Do you have any suggestions or recommendations?” She asked.

 

[AnnieBloom]

Aboard the Mother Ship:

(Note: I previously wrote the attendant as a male but changed "him" to a female. I think I found and changed all of the "hes" to "shes" and "hims" to "hers".)


"Hello," the attendant in the hall said to the Secret Service Agent when M'Chel Starr emerged from her quarters. "How can I help you enjoy your stay with us?"

The Human only stared at him briefly, saying nothing, before turning to amble down the hallway. The attendant followed but not closely. It was obvious that the Human was checking things out and didn't want to be bothered.

Eventually, M'Chel asked, "So where is everybody?"

"Everybody is working," the attendant answered. It was in no way meant to sound, how would the Humans have put it, smart assed.

This was the attendant's home and workplace, and everything here was known to and understood by her. But it occurred to her that perhaps Human homes and workplaces looked and functioned differently. She stepped closer to the bulkhead, where there were a pair of vertical lines running about 2 meters apart from the floor to the ceiling. The bulkhead's surface was smooth, and a Human might not have realized just what was there.

The attendant reached out a hand toward the wall, and a previously unseen control panel appeared. Tapping it caused an also previously unseen door to slide to the right, Star Trek style. Beyond it, a room full of Matluk were working feverishly at stations that included interestingly arranged keyboards, multiple mouses, and holograms floating before them where Earth workstations would have monitors.

"Working," the attendant repeated, before quickly closing the door once more. She didn't know how much of the work beyond the door was need to know for the Human.

Then, just as had happened with the guard earlier, M'Chel began peppering the attendant with questions, and the Matluk answered them as best as she could and was allowed to:

"There are four medical bays. Decks 3 and 7, with two forward and two aft. What the attendant didn't say was that there was a fifth medical bay deep in the heart of the ship that was specifically for the Matluk-Human consciousness transformation. That, she knew without a doubt, was not for the Human's knowledge at this point.

Regarding the questions about her appearance beneath the mask, the attendant answered, "No, we are not clones. We are all unique individuals. The Matluk do not look that much different than do Humans. Two eyes, two ears, one nose with two nostrils." She wiggled his hands and waved his arms. "Two arms and legs, but you already knew that."

The attendant was actually sounding sort of playful. "Yes, we do have genders, just like Humans."

Again, the attendant's answer was accurate but not complete. The Matluk didn't have just two genders but had three:

The first was what Humans might have thought of as males. They were physically larger, stronger, and enduring in physical situations. They provided security and heavy labor when either was necessary. They were the guards M'Chel had been dealing with since the arrival of the Emissary's shuttle.

The second was what Humans of mid-20th century America would have thought of as a good woman. They did the vast majority of the rest of the work, from housekeeping to organizing to planning to, as M'Chel was seeing now, tending to guests. They were physically smaller but also more intelligent and quicker learners. Throughout the Mother Ship, they would be found at stations that controlled the ship, processed information, and more.

The third could most easily be described in one word: breeders. Physically, they were about the same height as the females but more stout. Their bodies had evolved to more easily support pregnancy and birth.

The inquisitive Human asked, "How far did you travel?"

"500 light years, I believe, to reach Earth from our previous location," the Matluk answered. "But our home planet is much farther away than that. I don't know, honestly. And I don't know how long it took either. Sorry."

The Matluk tended to say sorry to M'Chel quite often. Continuing, she answered more questions:

"There is a bridge, but I do not have the authority to show it to you..."

"We do not have the ability to control minds. Crew members guide the ship, operate its engine room, provide maintenance..."

"No, we don't explode if we eat meat. Though, I wouldn't know, because the Matluk have never in their history partaken digestively of other living beings. I would imagine that doing so would cause indigestion..."

Again, the attendant's answer was correct but incorrect at the same time. Going back far enough, you would find that the consumption of animal flesh had been important to the Matluk diet. But that era had ended millennia ago, far enough back to have been lost to forgotten history.

"We dance, we sing, we write and recite poetry," the attendant answered regarding Matluk entertainment? "Movies are a form of recording entertainment, yes? We do not record our entertainment. We perform and enjoy it, how would you say, live?"

"Do you eat Humans?" M'Chel asked.

The Matluk laughed aloud. "No, we do not eat Humans. You're not vegetables or fiber seed, are you?" She laughed again.

Regarding the questions about Matluk weapons, the attendant responded, "I wouldn't know anything about weapons. Sorry. And if I did, I'm sure I would not be permitted to speak about them with you..."

"The Matluk do not speak of their spiritual beliefs even between themselves..."

"Why are all of you the same height and build," the Human asked. "Are you reptilian under those helmets, or are you ugly, or so attractive we couldn’t handle it?”

Again, the Matluk laughed. "We are not reptilian. We are not mammalian. We are something in between. And it is my understanding from the history lessons that are part of our pre-contact orientations that many of the species we have interacted with have thought us ugly. At the same time, we have found many of them ugly as well."

She smiled, not that M'Chel could see it. "Humans, in my opinion, are a beautiful species. You have so many variations, between skin and hair color, height, weight, shape. Even so, I find most of you to be very beautiful. One of the more beautiful species I've ever met face to face."

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Moving through the halls Agent Starr realized rather quickly she wasn’t going to get anything other than basic non-informative answers from the ‘attendant’ either. Walking back to her ‘residence’ M’Chel looked at the ‘attendant’ “If you see the emissary tell her I’ll go back with the others when they are ready.”

Entering her residence she looked around again before laying on the bed. The attendant had gotten weird at the end, calling humans beautiful. They probably looked like the bastard offspring of Cthulu and a Yuatju. Fangs and tentacles. Make the Japanese side of the planet happy for sure. And Bob in accounting, he was always reading Manga and trying to ask her out. She should just report him to HR, but he was harmless. Weird but harmless.

 

[AnnieBloom]

Aboard the Mother Ship:

The attendant escorted M'Chel up one corridor, across another, back parallel to their original path. Along the way, she activated the transparency feature once to reveal the Earth to one side and a second time to reveal the moon on the other. But it became obvious that the Human was more interested in information that the Matluk simply couldn't or wouldn't provide. They returned to their origin.

“If you see the emissary," M'Chel requested, "tell her I’ll go back with the others when they are ready.”

"I will, Agent," she said. After the door closed, the attendant went to a nearby communications panel, passed on the Human's request, then stationed herself across the hall from M'Chel's door again.

****************

The night passed without Emelia getting back to M'Chel. Instead, the Emissary came to the Agent's door at what would turn out to be 6am Eastern Standard Time. "The Keens are ready to return, Agent. I've arranged a shuttle. It leaves as soon as you are ready."

An attendant stepped up in an apparent rush to whisper to Emelia, after which the latter said, "Please excuse me, Agent Starr. I must attend to something." She turned and hurried off as a guard stepped up, saying with a tone of expectation, "When you are ready, Agent Starr."

 

[HumanBean]

Reagan International Airport
Arlington, Virginia:

Kyle Watson hated this part of his job. Standing just outside the security zone holding a sign with a name. Some joker seeing him in a chauffeur's suit always stepped up and claimed to be his client. He asked for client photos when they were available. Sometimes he Googled people. Most people had at least one useful photo on Facebook, Instagram, or some other social media site.

He'd found Alaina Carmichael on a Facebook page for a high school cheerleading squad. There'd been something about State and National competitions, but Kyle hadn't read them. He'd skipped the text to instead beat off to the pics. Teenage cheerleaders. There was nothing like sexy teenage girls in short shirts and tight blouses.

Kyle had no trouble picking his object of lust from the crush of disembarking passengers hurrying from their gates to baggage. He lifted the sign and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Alaina,” she said, offering her hand. “I only have this carry-on and a checked bag.”

Kyle was surprised to see the hand stretched toward him. He worked for a company that dealt exclusively with the government. His clients were politicians, lobbyists, foreign dignitaries, and the like. To them, he was one step above a cab driver. People like that didn't shake hands with a cab driver. He took it happily, smiling.

"I'm Kyle, your driver," he responded. He laughed, joking, "Duh, right?" He turned and directed her. "Baggage claim's this way, down one level. I was listening. Your bag's coming into carousel 6."

Kyle took her carryon and escorted her to baggage claim. Ten minutes later, they were leaving the airport. He took every opportunity he could to ogle Alaina. She looked even better in person. He'd been masturbating to visions of her again after his shift.

“This city is amazing,” Alaina commented after they'd crossed the Potomac and come into viewing range of the many DC monuments. “Do you have any suggestions or recommendations?”

Yeah, I do, Kyle thought to himself. Come home with me, and I'll show you an obelisk like none you've ever seen. He may have thought that, as he looked at her in the rearview mirror. But instead, he began listing some of his favorite DC attractions. They weren't all made of granite and marble. Being a local and a limo driver, Kyle knew all the best dance clubs, sports bars, and more.

"I'm not supposed to do this, but," he said, hesitating. Is this a good idea? Fuck it. Go for it. "But if you are in town for the night or a couple of days, I'd be happy to show you around. I mean, if you don't already have plans. Or someone waiting for you."

They pulled into the Naval Observatory, where Kyle showed the gate guard both his District driver's license and his Federal ID card. The guard checked him out at the booth and returned. The man returned the cards, then pointed to Number One Observatory Circle.

"The VP's house?" he asked Alaina with surprise. "I didn't know that--"

He went silent at the guard's second wave to move on. They headed for the house. Kyle realized that his heart was beating hard. Had he just fucked himself out of a job? He'd been hitting on a beautiful woman associated to the Vice President of the United States of America. Who was she? What was she? Maybe it had nothing to do with Clark Griffin. Maybe she was related to one of the upper staff. Had to be someone who could wrangle a limo on the government's dime.

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

The ride back down to earth was just as fast as the departure from it, but this time The Keens were quiet, somber almost. “Just o you’re aware, you won’t be able to run off home. You’ll need to be in quarantine for at least seventy-two hours. Same as me. Alien pathogens and what not.”

Taking a seat in a ‘chair’ this time, she watched the others more than she did the view. Processing everything she’d heard and seen she was already writing the report in her head. She organized it with questions asked and answered, and then end it with those the aliens had refused to answer.

She felt the Keens wouldn’t like her very much after she spoke with the security team. So she sat and waited. Until they hit ground and the door opened. Making sure they Keens got off with her she looked at the security offier in charge of meeting them. “Debrief, everyone. Minimum seventy-two hours. And I need computer. No internet. Just in case. And a printer when I’m done with my report.”

“Oh, I need some water to drink. Bottled. And something to eat. I didn’t eat or drink shit up there.”

“And tell the doctors I want a full medical workup. I’m sure the POTUS will want to talk to me in person, so get me a space suit. Either her or I am wearing it to keep her safe.”

“It’s already taken care of Agent Starr, this way please.”

Turning around she saw two gentlemen in biohazard suits and a Chevy Tahoe with a driver wearing the same gear.

They were at the airport ten minutes later and she was aboard a medivac chopper as soon as the truck stopped on the tarmac.

An airman was typing her dictated report as two doctors were taking every vital and fluid she had. Nice thing was she’d had a physical a month ago and everything would be referenced to that.

After the doctors were done, she ate an MRE and drink enough monster energy drinks to finally quench her thirst. Then she was fitted into a space suit before she rested until the chopper was setting down on The White house Lawn.

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Arlington, Virginia:
Alaina:
“Yeah, I thought it was going to be his office. But he’s probably running late meetings here what with the Aliens and all.” Alaina said looking at the driver I the mirror. “Um.. did they say anything about my luggage? Is it going to a hotel? Are you waiting for me? Do you have hotel tickets for me?”

“Everything happened so fast I never got a chance to ask if I needed to arrange a hotel on my own or what.”

As soon as the Limo stopped the door opened and she looked at the new person with surprise. “Wow, that was .. quick.” she said as she stepped out of the limo.

“This way,” the new man said as he escorted her up the steps to door, where he passed her off to another man in a suit.

“Following him she stopped just outside a door. And when the man pointed at a seat she sat down. She had a tape recorder in her bag in case she needed to record the interview for the School paper. Or was it an interview for an Internship? Which ever it was she was ready.

 

[AnnieBloom]

New York City:

"I don't understand," Larry Keen was complaining, more confused than angry. "Sally, I mean Emelia, she told us that those things, the emitters, on the mother ship and on the shuttle, that they prevented us from getting something alien, something extraterrestrial."

The doctors, all of them in biohazard suits, once again repeated that they couldn't take any chances. "It's just 72 hours, sir, ma'am."

"Three days?" Rosemary asked in dismay. "We have to get home. We have a business, a farm. We have things that need to be done." She was on the verge of tears with this being the straw that broke the camel's back.

The complaints went almost unheard in the Keen's opinion. They were, however, allowed to make a call home to their younger daughter, who was watching over the family's organic farm and vegetable and fruit stand. This time of the year, the stand sold strawberries, spinach, and all of the brassicas, including bok choy, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, choy sum, kohlrabi, rutabaga, and turnip. They even had six varieties of wild mushrooms and fiddlehead fern sprouts, picked in nearby forests and delivered fresh every day.

As soon as they got off the phone with her, the Keens' younger daughter was on the phone hiring temp workers to do the work her parents would normally do. They'd make it work. They had to. They'd already lost their elder daughter, albeit temporarily according to the Emissary. They couldn't lose their farm, too, by sacrificing the profit from the spring season and, possibly, the fall season because Larry and Rosemary weren't their to complete the spring planting.

“I’m sure the POTUS will want to talk to me in person," M'Chel was telling the biohazard suit protected doctors and others tending to the return of the Agent and the Keen's, "so get me a space suit. Either her or I am wearing it to keep her safe.”

“It’s already taken care of Agent Starr," the supervisor said. "This way please.”

***********************
Washington DC:

Although the helicopter flight from New York City to Washington DC was barely over 90 minutes, M'Chel and the Keens were still in a sealed tent on the White House lawn three hours later. President Paulson had ordered that the three space tourists be brought directly back to DC, and yet POTUS was yet to make contact with the trio even after the doctors had finished up with them.

Finally, at almost 3 o'clock in the afternoon, contact was made, but it wasn't in the way M'Chel and the Keens probably thought it would happen. One of the team members brought in a laptop and opened it, revealing the smiling and obviously happy Angela Paulson. She explained, "I'm so very sorry that I am not there in person, Agent Staff, Mister and Missus Keen. But a whole gaggle of medical professionals, from my own personal physician to the Surgeon General to the Director of the CDC, have told me that I simply can't be in close, unprotected vicinity to you all until we are certain that there is no possibility of contamination or infection.

"I know that this is difficult and likely disappointing," Angela continued. "I know that it is for me. I had wished to sit with the three of you and listen to recount your visit with our new friends. But since this is all we have available to us for now, let's make the best of it. Mister and Missus Keen, please, will you tell me about your visit with your daughter, aka the Emissary. Did you come away feeling as though Captain Keen is safe and secure and still willing to play the role of liaison between the Matluk and us?"

The Keens took turns speaking to Angela, and for the most part they spoke positively of the experience and of Emelia's promises that their daughter would be home safe and sound soon. Angela turned her attention to M'Chel then. After a while, though, she told the married couple, "Would you mind giving Agent Starr and I a moment to speak in private. I've been told that the biohazard tent has separate little rooms, bedrooms if you will. Perhaps you could investigate one of those or, perhaps, Agent Starr, you could move to one of these?"

Once they had privacy, Angela took on a more serous tone. "Agent, is there anything you can tell me that I don't already know what would help me to understand whether we are being played here? Are the Matluk as benevolent as they say there are? Did you see an army of a million soldiers ready to pounce on poor old planet Earth?"

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Washington DC:
Agent Starr:
“Millions of soldiers? No Madam President,” M’Chel replied. “What I did get is a complete lack of answers and a gut instinct that tells me they’re something’s wrong.”

“I’m not a politician, I’m not an international advisor or part of the State Department. I’m a survivor. And when I see something that looks too good to be true, I know it isn’t true. I read body language, and they didn’t answer truthfully on a great number of questions. Or refused to answer the questions as all.”

“What part of national security is not telling me about their god, Gods, or lack of them? What part of national security is telling me about how many biological genders they have?”

“I don’t trust them. And with the number of guards I did see in the limited area I saw.. they have more than a million guard/soldiers.”

“Madam President, I don’t walk across the street to tell my neighbor to clean up his yard. I’m certainly not traveling... 500 light years to tell him his yard is a mess and I’ll show him how to clean it up. Not unless he’s paying me a ton of cash. So no, don’t trust them. They want something else.”

“My guess, they want something, whether it’s food, or slaves. Maybe water. Or something else. Gold? Silver? Copper? We have something and they want it. It might be the planet itself. They come and get us to clean our shit up, and then wipe us out and have a nice clean planet to colonize.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an invader has done that.”

 

[HumanBean]

Vice President's Residence
Naval Observatory
Washington DC:

“Yeah, I thought it was going to be his office," Alaina told Kyle as he drove the limo slowly up to the Vice President's residence.

So, she KNEW she was coming to see the VP, he thought to himself. How come I didn't know this. Better question, dummy: how come you didn't figure this out. You KNEW you were coming here. IDIOT!

Alaina continued, "But he’s probably running late meetings here, what with the Aliens and all.”

"Um, I don't think the Vice President has anything to do with the aliens," Kyle said hesitantly. He laughed, then explained. He spent half of his time listening to talk radio while driving. The other half was spent listening to clients talking behind him. Some were on their cell phones. Others were holding informal meetings while being chauffeured from Point A to Point B.

"I heard that the Veep is getting cut out of all the alien stuff," he continued. "Some say it's to keep a distance between him and the President. You know, continuation of the government. In case the aliens kill the Prez, the Veep is safe somewhere else, and all that. Personally, I don't think President Paulson wants to share the limelight with Vice President Griffin. But hey, what do I know. I'm just a limo driver."

He stopped before the VP's house. Turning, he offered Alaina a business card. "In case you want someone to show you around DC tonight. Or any night. My cell's on it."

Alaina began asking about her luggage, a hotel, and a connection between the two. It was obvious to Kyle that her itinerary had not been explained to her in great detail. He exited the car and moved to help her out of it. At the same time, a pair of men were already arriving.

“Wow, that was ... quick,” she said as a man in his 30s offered his hand.

"Hello, Miss Carmichael," he said. He'd obviously been expecting her. "My name is Frank Green. I am an Aide to Vice President Griffin. Would you please come with me?" Frank gave Kyle a glance. "Does she have luggage?"

"She has a bag in the trunk," Kyle informed the man.

"Please pop it," Frank said rather curtly. Kyle did as he'd been asked, and the second man, who was younger, retrieved Alaina's bag. Frank stepped away, leaving the rear door wide open as he looked to Kyle. He said with a dismissive tone, "Thank you."

And then they were just gone. Heading for the house. No goodbye from Alaina as Frank engaged her in conversation about her flight and her experience or lack thereof with Washington DC. Kyle couldn't help but ogle the young thing's fine ass. It might be the last time he ever saw it again. He wanted to remember it tonight. In bed. With Rosy Palm.

Inside, Frank gestured Alaina to an old, expensive, deeply comfortable armchair. It sat amongst other old, expensive pieces of furniture. They, in turn, sat in a historic building that was as much museum as residence. "I'll be back with you immediately, Miss Carmichael."

When he returned, Frank found Alaina checking on a small tape recorder and interview pad. He knew what that was about. He also knew that the whole interview thing was now moot. "Please come with me, Miss Carmichael."

He led her up a grand staircase, down a hall, and into a lavish bedroom. A pair of women in traditional housemaid uniform, one older and one younger, were putting Alaina's clothes away in the closet and dresser.

"You'll stay here tonight, Miss Carmichael," Frank said. His tone was a combination of polite hotel concierge and demanding boss. He began gesturing this direction and that as he talked. "The en suite is through that door. The mini fridge is full, and unlike motels, you can drink and eat what's in it to your heart's content without worrying about the bill at the end."

He smiled to her again. He thought he was sounding funny. He wasn't. He continued. "There are some alcoholic beverages, and I do understand that you are not of age. Drinking age, I mean." In the back of his mind, he was making the distinction between the drinking age and the age of sexual intent. "But if you won't tell anyone, I won't either."

Again, he tried to show his humor with a wide smile and a wink. Then, he began to see the confusion in Alaina's face. Or was it panic. Fear? He asked politely, "Is there a problem with the room, Miss Carmichael. The Vice President wanted you to have the best in town and didn't think a hotel would suffice."

In truth, Clark Griffin just wanted the young beauty under his own roof her first night in Washington DC. He knew what kind of men lurked about in this town. He didn't want one of them getting their hands on Alaina before he could. For all Clark knew, she might have befriended a local or a tourist on the plane. They may have already made plans. Or she might have been handed a business card with some horn dog's cell phone number on it.

"The Vice President is in meetings all afternoon, unfortunately," Frank went on. "He wanted to conduct the interview for the Intern position as soon as you arrived, but, well, it's happens. He has, however, invited you to sit down with him and his wife for dinner if you would like."

Again, Frank knew better. The VP's wife was out of town visiting family. She wouldn't be back for six, seven, maybe eight days. That gave Clark Griffin plenty of time to wine and dine the teenager. Plenty of time to get her out of her clothes and into his bed.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Carmichael?" Frank asked.

 

[AnnieBloom]

Washington DC:

Secret Service Agent M’Chel Starr expressed her concerns about the Matluk to President Angela Paulson. Angela understood and appreciated all M'Chel had to say. She herself had been in the military and had had to deal with superiors who didn't always tell the whole story, and then she'd followed that career up with one in politics, where getting the whole truth out of those who knew it was as unlikely as winning the lottery, twice!

“What part of national security is not telling me about their god, Gods, or lack of them?"

Angela could actually understand that part. Religion had been at the heart of conflict, between tribes and nations both, almost since the dawn of mankind. The Matluk's refusal to talk about their spiritual or religious beliefs could have simply been a desire to not engage in such a potentially divisive issue. Or, as M'Chel seemed to believe, it could have been something far more sinister. Who could know at this point?

"What part of national security is telling me about how many biological genders they have?”

Now, that was indeed strange to Angela. Every since learning about the occupation of Captain Sally Keen's body by the mind of an alien, namely Emelia, the Emissary, Angela had been questioning what the Matluk truly were. M'Chel had asked one of them Are you reptiles? Angela didn't know that had been asked, of course, but she'd considered asking it herself at some point. She'd watched both versions of the television series "V", in which reptiles had worn human flesh costumes over their scaly bodies to look acceptable to their Human hosts.

Emelia had done something completely different, of course, instead putting her own consciousness inside a living Human Being's brain. It was a marvel of science, of course, but also a potentially sinister one. Were the Matluk planning on taking over the consciousness of more Humans? Many, most, or even all humans, across the globe? Angela doubted that the Matluk had 8 billion consciousnesses just waiting in a big jar about their spaceship, of course. Could you store something like that in a computer, perhaps one that would fit neatly in a massive spaceship flown from one star system to the next?

So many questions.

“I don’t trust them," M'Chel continued.

Angela wanted to say I don't either, Agent, but didn't. Instead, she continued listening to M'Chel's assessment with occasional nods or smiles of understanding.

"We have something, and they want it," the Agent said. "It might be the planet itself. They come and get us to clean our shit up, and then wipe us out and have a nice clean planet to colonize.”

Angela had been thinking about that part of the Emissary's UN speech ever since it had been made. Were the Matluk really here to help the Humans save their planet. And if so, was it for the benefit of the Matluk or the Humans? When M'Chel was finished, Angela thanked her for the review, told her to tough out the decontamination process, and come see her in her office as soon as they were released. "I want to speak more about this with you but in person, Agent Starr. Thank you again, for going up to the ship with the Keens. I wanted them to have someone like you with them, but, more than that, I wanted eyes up there. You've done more for me regarding the Matluk than anyone on my staff."

She ended the conversation without a lot of farewell fuss, then sat back in her chair to consider what the Agent had told her. Looking to her Chief of Staff, Angela ordered, "As soon as Agent Starr is out of quarantine, I want her assigned directly to my office."

"To the Presidential Detail, Madam President?" her righthand man asked.

"No, to this office, to me, directly," Angela clarified. "I want her in an office down the hall close. From now on, anytime we are dealing with our alien friends, I want Agent Starr involved. I believe from what she said that she might have made a better connection with the Emissary than we could get from anyone else."

"But what about the Ambassadorship?" the Chief asked. "The Ambassador to the Matluk would--"

"Let's put that on hold for now," Angela interrupted. Even after just that one meeting with M'Chel, she was rethinking creating the Ambassadorship. She might still do it. But Angela liked the way the Secret Service Agent had so skillfully investigated the Matluk. She popped up out of her chair, asked her Executive Assistant for a fresh cup of espresso and a Danish, and went to the windows looking out over the grounds from the Oval. After a long silence, she asked her Chief, "So, what's this you were saying earlier about Vice President Griffin?"

"Still undetermined," the Chief said. He opened a folder as he explained, "In the past thirty hours or so since you returned from the United Nations, he's taken more than two dozen meetings with people he wouldn't normally have a need to see and, to be quite honest, who normally wouldn't take the time to sit down with him either."

"What do you make of it?" Angela asked, honestly confused. "What's he up to?" The Chief of Staff literally shrugged his shoulders. "I mean--"

She asked for a list of the names of people Clark Griffin had met with. Turning back to the windows, she contemplated the possibilities. There really only was one: her Vice President, a man she'd plucked out of obscurity from a Senate in which he'd accomplished very little but who'd be able to deliver wins in several battleground states during the general election, was considering usurping her as the Democratic Party's nominee for President of the United States of America in next year's election.

"That'll be all for now," Angela told her Chief without turning back. "Keep me up on, well, on whatever."

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Looking around the room she thought it unusual, but not totally bizarre. Politics was politics. And the world waited for no one. Not even the VP of the United States. The guy in the Limo had been nice, the Butler was rude, But then she’d had her fair experience with horn dogs trying to get their hands on her ass, and their cocks inside her.

She wasn’t a virgin, no matter what her parents thought. Not that she had a body count higher than her age, but she’d been with a couple guys, and maybe even a few girls.

Hopefully this Internship wasn’t because she was cute, but because she had brain cells as well as a nice pair. “If you could inform Mr. Griffin and his wife, I’ll stay out of their way tonight. Four hour shift in my schedule and all. I’ll just get a sandwich, or left overs from the kitchen if they don’t mind. And I don’t drink. I’ve tried it and don’t find it appealing to my taste, but thanks for the offer.”

“Oh and If I could get a 4am wake up call? I need to get my practice time in.” She said as she looked around the room.

Picking up the remote she turned on the news. She’d already looked up the VP and new his stance on various topics, and for the most part agreed with him, that was why she’d gotten the position in his Washington State office. And the Drivers opinion that the VP was being kept out of the loop was ridiculous, he had to be kept in the loop, just in case shit went south.

 

[AnnieBloom]

(This is a continuation of the story regarding a character introduced clear up in Post #26, fyi.)

Denver, Colorado:

"Mister Nellis," Annabelle said, reaching her hand out to the gun runner. "Nice to finally meet you."

The two of them had been trading text messages on burner phones for weeks, but this was the first time they'd be meeting in person. Annabelle, a beautiful, shapely woman in her early 40s with an odd, Eastern European sounding accent, invited the man to sit. They'd met per her request at a small cafe that sat on the edge of a plateau looking out over the city of Denver. The area was popular with tourists and locals alike for its wonderful view.

"Shall we get right to business?" she asked. "I'm not much of a coffee drinker, and most of the food in this place would go right to my thighs anyway."

Meaning to catch his attention, she crossed one knee over the other, her mid-thigh length dress showing off plenty of wonderfully fit leg. The man traveling with Annabelle stepped closer. He was a big man at 6'4" with a big semi-automatic pistol not so inconspicuously hidden under his jacket. He set a briefcase on the table in front of Liam, opening it just enough to reveal its contents: a double high stack of hundred-dollar bills in fresh, new bank currency straps.

"Two hundred thousand American dollars, as promised," Annabelle said softly, not wanting the people at nearby tables to overhear. "The balance, another six hundred thousand dollars, will be made available to you via the bank routing account you provided us upon delivery of the goods. Did I say that right? Goods?"

She nodded to the big man, who pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Annabelle. She in turn, unfolded the page and began explaining the details of the operation ahead of them as she indicated specific points on the map on the sheet. "The main gate here has extra security measures that we won't be able to circumvent. So, you'll make your entrance here, at the south fence. There was once a gate here, since removed. A fence was installed in its place, but the road still exists, so once you cut the fence and pull it back, entry and exit in wheeled vehicles is a snap."

She looked off toward the northern edge of Denver's urban landscape. The military base she was talking about infiltrating sat just beyond the 'burbs. She continued, "You will have no problem with the troops guarding the base or training at the reserve center adjacent to it. I assure you. It will be as if the whole of the base's population had board a bus for the seashore. Total vacancy."

She paused as cafe customers wandered past to find their own table. "You will deliver to use the goods requested. Anything else you decide to pack up, you can keep for yourself. I don't care. The only thing I care about is that our truck departs that base within 30 minutes. Do not delay transport by getting greedy and getting caught filling your own trucks. Do we have an understanding?"

To ensure that Liam did understand, Annabelle laid a small picture of a pair of twin girls on the table before him. As she stood to leave, all she had to say was, "They are beautiful."

 

[AnnieBloom]

Aboard the Mother Ship:

Emelia entered the craft's Command and Control center, more expeditiously referred to as simply C&C, and asked the assembled staff there, "Status."

The ship's Commander reported, "We will achieve geosynchronous orbit in 13 hours, Mistress. Our position will be as you requested, east by southeast of the United States' capitol."

"Visible?" she asked. "Even at this higher altitude?"

"Yes, Mistress," the man said. "Even with the sun behind the planet during the Western Hemisphere's nighttime, the reflection off our hull will be visible from the capitol at all times. We will also be visible during most daylight hours as well. Our navigation team has instituted an adjustment program that will adjust the ship's attitude to cause the flatter belly of the ship to reflect the sun's rays during daylight hours. During optimal atmospheric conditions, we should be visible to those on the planet's surface 24 hours a day."

"May I ask, Mistress?" one of the Matluk asked with a respectful tone. "Why this nation? Why the United States? There are other countries that have military and financial might that is comparable. The People's Republic of China, or the Russian Federation."

"No, we must concentrate our diplomacy and impress our potential to the United States," Emelia stressed. "Russia and China are powerful, yet. But their governments are--" She didn't finish her thought, instead looking to other officers as she urged, "Continue with the report."

Another of the Matluk reported, "Our mining operation of Geovik on the Australian continent is moving forward. Our First Wave Insert there has discovered and mapped a significant vein of the mineral, and our extraction team is delivering the necessary equipment as we speak."

The Matluk's face, visible as neither he nor any of the others wore helmets, showed some concern. Emelia asked, "What is it?"

"The Insert, he," the officer tried to explain. "He has formed a relationship with a Human, Mistress. A female." The officer saw in Emelia's face the desire, no the demand for more. He went on, "He married a Human female, has been living with her for a period of one to two years, and--" Again he paused, searching for a way to say this. "He told her who and what he was, as well as why he is on Earth. From the reports, this Human female seems to accept his mission without question or reservation. I'm, I'm gathering more details, Mistress."

To one side was an officer who, unlike the others, was carrying a weapon on his hip. He asked bluntly, "Would you like this Human female eliminated, Mistress?"

Emelia thought about the situation. "No. Not for now. I do want to meet this Insert though, soon. I have questions for him." She thought a few seconds, then added, "And have the Human brought aboard, too."

She looked to another officer, asking, "What about the disruption effort in the US's great plains?"

"Underway," the Matluk responded. "Our Insert there delivered the first payment to her Human contact. She reports that she has things well in hand."

Emelia knew what that meant: they were blackmailing the Human, threatening him, or both. Moving on, she asked, "Debilitation program?"

"Also well underway, Mistress," another officer said. He gestured to an operator at a control panel. A 3D hologram of Earth appeared in the air nearby, spinning slowly to reveal the entirety of the planet every 30 seconds or so. There were thousands of bright dots of light on it, most but not all in the northern hemisphere. "The sensors had located more than 14,000 nuclear weapons, most but not all of them missiles."

The dots came in multiple colors, with each representing a different country. While most of any one color of dot could be found inside the borders of a particular country, there were also many dots in the oceans, representing submarines and other naval vessels that carried nuclear weapons.

The officer continued, "Earth has eight declared nuclear states: China, France, India, North Korea, Pakistan, Russia, the United Kingdom and the United States. The country of Israel is not a declared nuclear power, but as you can see on the display, they, too, have several atomic weapons."

Emelia looked closer at the smallish country of Israel. "Why are there three colors here?"

The officer responded, "The blue dots represent atomic weapons manufactured by the United States of America."

He swiped a hand in the air, causing the holographic globe to spin 180 degrees, revealing the US and thousands of blue dots. He waved again, spinning the hologram back to show Israel and, more northerly, Russia, which was filled with green dots.

"The green dot represents an atomic weapon built by what was then the Soviet Union but is now called Russia."

"It is my understanding that the United States and Russia are adversaries in many areas," Emelia said. "Why would they both provide atomic weapons to this country of Israel?"

"We don't know, Mistress, that they did," the officer said. "Our First Wave Insert in that region tells us that in the Earth year 1948, an aircraft from the Soviet Union that was carrying an atomic device, a bomb, may have crash landed in the desert south of the current state of Israel. It is possible that that device is this device, Mistress."

"So crude," Emelia murmured. "Atomic weapons. How tragic." Looking about again, she repeated, "Update?"

Several officers spoke about operations taking place in countries around the globe. Most were going well. Most but not all included First Wave Inserts. Emelia had a great respect for those Matluk who'd volunteered to come ahead of her own ship to begin the work. They would all be hailed heroes once their stories could be told.

 

[HumanBean]

Naval Observatory
Vice President's Residence
Washington DC:

Alaina told Frank that she preferred not to dine with the VP and his wife, to which the man simply said, "That's fine. Long flight and all." He gestured to the phone on the bedside table. "Just pick it up. The operator can connect you with the kitchen. They can make you whatever you want. It's not the kitchen the White House has, of course, but they can still wrangle you up a cold sandwich or nuke a TV dinner 24/7."

Hearing that Alaina didn't drink was a letdown. Mixing teenager girls and alcohol was sort of a tradition around Washington DC. Teenage boys, too. Sometimes even both at the same time. Frank verified the girl's wakeup call. Remembering that she was a cheerleader back home in Washington, he said, first basement level has a full gym, complete with some exercising mats. The Vice President's daughter was a gymnast, so he had them put in for her."

Departing, Frank went straight to his boss's office. Contrary to what Frank had told Alaina, Clark Griffin was not in a meeting. Nor did he have more scheduled. He was spending his free time watching news programs on 6 different televisions all set in a wall. Clark muted the TV he was watching. There was a live picture from outside the White House grounds of the quarantine operation on the South Lawn.

"Can you believe this crap?" he snapped. "He sent those country bumpkins up to an alien space craft to, what, make cookies and jar jam?"

Frank began, "I believe they were the parents of--"

"I know very well who the fuck they were, you moron," Clark snapped. There was quiet between them. Clark finally asked, "Is she here?"

"Yes, Mister Vice President," Frank said. "She's in the blue bedroom."

Clark's lips spread in a smirk. "Does she look as good as you said she would?"

"If I did girls, Mister Vice President," Frank responded, "I'd do her."

His sexual preference and his skills while on his knees were the reason Frank had a job with the VP. There were only three people in this world, Clark, his wife, and Frank, who knew that on occasion the former emptied his balls into the latter's mouth. Marjorie was perfectly fine with her husband getting a little on the side. She didn't even care that sometimes that service came from another man. It meant that Clark didn't come to her bed in the middle of the night with an erection, wanting to partake of his matrimonial rights.

"We're having dinner together?" Clark asked about Amelia.

"She asked to pass, Mister Vice President," the aide said. He explained about the jet lag and the girl's desire to exercise in the morning.

"Fine," Clark said. He was disappointed, of course. But he'd live with it. He could always watch Alaina on the closed-circuit television while she worked out. Maybe he'd beat off. Or maybe his Aide would suck his cock. Whatever.

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Naval Observatory
Vice President's Residence
Washington DC:

After watching tv and catching up on the latest news for a few hours, Alaina took a shower, nice and hot and steamy. Walking through the bedroom she dried off, rolling her hair through the towel, her naked body tight, firm, toned. Her ass checks had been designed by a perverted god of lust, and breasts made by the mother goddess for suckling,

The trimmed hair between her thighs hid the desire of man and woman alike. Dried off to her satisfaction she crawled into bed, naked as the day she’ been born.

In the morning she slid into a matching pink spandex shorts and sports bra before she headed to the basement and the gymnasium. It wasn’t as much as she could hope for but better than she expected.

After an hour of practice she took a shower and got dressed for her meeting with the VP. A phone call and she ordered toast, a banana, and oatmeal. Nothing big. Just simple stuff. No need to piss of the kitchen.

 

[AnnieBloom]

(This is continued from all the way back at post 25.)

The Australian Outback:

Camille couldn't believe they were doing this, flying above Australia in an alien spaceship! Their cabin and the property around it disappeared below them as the entire Outback was soon revealed to them. She'd seen images of the continent on Google maps, of course, back when she was educating herself about Australia for her upcoming vacation. But actually being here, in the air, then in outer space, was a dream!

She couldn't believe how fast they were moving. The shuttle cruised out over the Gulf of Carpentaria and then Darwin in the north, Perth in the west, the Bass Strait which separated the continent from the island of Tasmania, and the more heavily developed and densely populated east coast with Canberra, Sydney, and Brisbane. In just minutes, Camille has seen the whole of Australia, and all she wanted was to see more.

"What do you think?" James asked. "Beats that balloon ride we took all to hell, doesn't it?

"It's incredible!" she said, leaning in to kiss him. She caught one of the Matluk turning his helmeted head her way and giggled, whispering, "If we didn't have an audience, I'd show you just how happy I am you're doing this for me."

She looked back out through the invisible shuttle wall, reaching out to touch it with a fingertip. It rippled like water on a pond, like it had for those riding the shuttle from the UN to the mother ship. She giggled again, pulling her hand back, then reaching out to repeat her touch. She turned her attention to the space above and around the shuttle.

"Where's the other ship, the big ship?" she asked. Looking to James, she inquired, "There is a big ship, right? You said they'd be coming someday. You didn't mean in this little thing, right? Can we go see it, too?"

 

[HumanBean]

(Continues scene from post 44 above. Also, images of the VP and Alaina are attached at the bottom.)

Naval Observatory
Vice President's Residence
Washington DC:

Clark Griffin awoke to find that he'd missed his opportunity to spy on Alaina as she worked out in his resident's home gym. He'd been operating on 4 hours of sleep a night since being selected as Angela Paulson's running mate. He hadn't set an alarm in four years and hadn't expected to need one last night either. Live and learn.

Showered and dressed, he headed for his office. Frank was waiting at the back entrance with an espresso and cream cheese Danish, his usual breakfast. His Aide told him, "Miss Carmichael is waiting."

"Give me a minute," Clark responded.

Frank headed out to the foyer. His desk sat just outside his boss's office. Alaina was waiting. He told her, "It'll be just a moment." Nearly 20 minutes passes before a buzz sounded at his phone. "You can go in, Miss Carmichael."

Despite his preference for other men, Frank couldn't help but look Alaina up and down as she passed. His boss was going to like her. A lot. Clark rose from his chair as the young beauty entered. He, too, looked her up and down. Smiling, he offered out a hand. "Wonderful to finally meet you, Miss Carmichael. Alaina, isn't it? Do you mind if I call you Alaina?" He was going to anyway. Asking was a waste of breath. He could have used it blowing on her clit to drive her wild. He gestured to a chair opposite his. "Please, take a seat. Let's talk."

He dove right into a description of what the job entailed. It was going to be a lot of go-fer work: copying, word processing, running papers and messages, retrieving dry cleaning, coffees, and food, and more.

Clark told her it was also a 24/7/365 on-call position. "It's not like you have to be sitting in a chair in the foyer waiting to work every second of the day. Your normal shift is 6am to 6pm Tuesday to Friday, 8am to 4pm Saturdays. You'll hardly ever work Sundays or Mondays. If we need you outside of those hours, you'll typically have 12 or more hours' notice."

This wasn't exactly true, but Alaina didn't know it. She learned that he'd fibbed eventually. Once she did, she'd either split or stay. They'd have to wait to see.

"Now, my job takes me out of the District, sometimes out of the country for work," Clark continued. "If I need you to accompany my team, we'll do our best to give you an equivalent number of hours or days off upon our return. Do you have a passport?"

He listened to her response. Finally, he said, "Now, most private sector intern jobs do not come with a paycheck. They are unpaid experience that you will take with you when you move on to bigger and better things. This position, however, is with the Federal Government, and federal law says we have to pay you. And because it is an on-call position, we pay a little bit better than, say, an 8 to 5 position as a Page at the Capitol building. So, will $1,200 a week be enough to get you to sign on with us?"

 

[HumanBean]

In the air above Australia:

"If we didn't have an audience," Camille whispered to her husband, "I'd show you just how happy I am you're doing this for me."

James joked, "Let them watch. They'd probably like it."

His wife asked about the mother ship. "Can we go see it, too?"

That wasn't something James was allowed to permit at this point. "I'm sorry. No. Maybe someday soon." To the pilot of the shuttle, he said, "Take us home. But I need you to pass over something on the way."

He gave the pilot coordinates. A few minutes, they were nearing the Pine Gap Listening Post. James asked, "Are we in stealth mode?" The pilot answered yes. "Take us over at a thousand feet. No reason to take any chances."

The shuttle's stealth mode used sensors and emitters to make the craft seem invisible. It wasn't bending light as many science fiction writers wrote. It more accurately reproduced and projected what was seen on one side of the ship on the other side. It made the craft seem invisible. The mode had problems, though. Often, there were distortions that a sharp eye might see. And certain atmospheric conditions could amplify those distortions. They could even cause the stealth mode to fail. Often the pilots and passengers wouldn't even know they were visible.

"Activate the cameras," James told the Equipment Operator, who also served as the Co-Pilot. "Still, video, infrared, Xray. Everything. Send it directly to the Mother Ship."

They passed over, turned back, circled, then left. They were getting out of the shuttle at home 12 minutes later. As it lifted off, James reminded his wife, "You said something about being happy."

 

[The_Weeping_Angel]

Naval Observatory
Vice President's Residence
Washington DC:

“Alaina is fine, excepting under professional events. Then of course it will be Miss Carmichael, I’d rather not be involved in a scandal my first week.”

"Please, take a seat. Let's talk." The VP said as he gestured at a chair. Then he asked about a passport and she smiled. “Cancun at fifteen, Port-Leucate at Sixteen, Bahama’s last year, And this year I was in Greece. Birthday presents from my parents.”

And then he talked about pay and she asked. “Before or after taxes? And I’ll need it filed under Washington State, not DC. Classify it as Remote work. And I’ll need a company cell and tablet with detachable keyboard for reports and scheduling. Otherwise I think we have an arrangement.” It was a hell of a lot of money, but this was DC and that would barely cover rent, if she lived in a slum.

“I assume I’ll be living on property? Or will I be getting an apartment nearby? I have a license, but no car.” Sitting across from the Vice President of the Unite States She crossed legs that were so smooth she had to have shaved them either just before the plane across the country, or this morning in her shower. “Oh, and I speak French, Italian, and a little Greek.” she added with a flirty smile.

 

[HumanBean]

Naval Observatory
Vice President's Residence
Washington DC:

Clark sipped at his espresso as Alaina spoke about the offer and her life experiences. He was conflicted on the latter. He'd learned a great deal over the years about accomplished young women. They weren't as easy to manipulate and misuse. Clark liked a girl who'd never left her rural hometown until she came to work for him. A girl whose life goal was to one day marry a professional athlete. Or see Paris. Or simply never have to go home to live with her parents.

Alaina would be more of a challenge. But as she crossed her legs, Clark knew he was up to it. It might be even more satisfying to conquer such a woman. He would tout Alaina to his friends and colleagues, impressing them. Then he'd take her to an upscale hotel or even to the bed he shared with his wife. How satisfying would that be?

She negotiated the terms of her internship with skill. Clark was impressed. She was, too. He'd seen the way she reacted to the pay scale. He saw the excessive pay as just another way to keep her in his life. If she was hesitant to get sexually involved with him, Clark hoped the money would be the deciding factor.

"Paying you out of Washington State won't be a problem," he said. "It's pretty common, actually. Phone, tablet. All part of the job. You'll be sharing an office, but at least it's not a four-by-four cubical."

“I assume I’ll be living on property?" she asked. "Or will I be getting an apartment nearby?"

"We have rooms for staff if you wish," Clark said. The idea of Alaina's bedroom being under his roof caused his cock to twitch and harden. The staff who weren't required to live on the campus but did had money taken from their paychecks. Clark should have applied this to Alaina, too. He wouldn't. Not for now. Not until he learned whether or not he'd be occasionally sharing her bed.

She spoke of not having a car. Clark told her, "We might be able to get you a low-cost lease on a government car. A sedan? Maybe a retired police cruiser. Something from the GAO." He smiled and chuckled. "Naw. That wouldn't suit a beautiful young thing like you. Maybe we can find you something fun and sexy? A hot, little, come-and-get-me-red coupe? What are all the girls your age driving these days?

Clark intentionally used the word girls with a flirty tone to see Alaina's reaction. He hadn't said anything that could be viewed as overly sexist. He could laugh it off as a joke. But it was important to gauge her reaction.

She crossed her legs before her. Clark couldn't have not looked at them even if he was as gay as Frank-the-yank. “Oh, and I speak French, Italian, and a little Greek.”

Clark returned her flirty smile. He liked where this was heading. He was reminded of the joke of the guy who was trying to commit suicide by jumping off a tall building. As he passed each floor, the residents inside heard him saying, So far so good.

"My wife will be happy to hear that," Clark told her. "She speaks French, I don't. She'll be tickled to have someone with whom she can practice. I speak Italian. A bit anyway. I was stationed in Naples for six years with the JAG Corps. Navy." He chuckled. "I know all the necessary obscene words to call myself a true sailor, as well as how to order local food, drinks, and ask a beautiful woman if she'll go out with me."

Clearing his throat and using his best Neapolitan accent, he said, "Penso che tu sia bellissima, e mi piacerebbe portarti a casa con me." Clark didn't realize the mistake he made, though. Instead of saying I think you are beautiful, and I would like you to go to dinner with me, he said I think you are beautiful, and I would like to take you home with me. Alaina might correct him. She might not. If she did, he'd apologize. This time. The next time he spoke those words to her, they wouldn't be accidental.

A knock at the door was followed by Frank entering. "Mister Vice President, you have that thing in thirty minutes."

Clark didn't immediately recall what the thing was. When he did, he responded, "Oh, the thing. Yes." He looked to Alaina. "You'll have to excuse me, Miss Carmichael. Frank here will give you directions to the Human Resources office. The paperwork is enough to choke a horse." He glanced at Frank again. "Make sure she has everything she needs from us to speed things along."

"Yes, Mister Vice President," the Aide said.

Clark looked to Alaina again, saying, "I'm assuming you've accepted the position, yes?"

 

[HumanBean]

(OOC: Images of Liam and Annabelle are attached at the bottom. AnnieBloom allowed me to pick her character's image. Thanks. Also, this post continues from Post #41.)


Denver, Colorado:

Liam Nellis was happily shocked at seeing his newest client. Annabelle was an absolute babe. He didn't often deal with people who looked like her. His typical clients were swastika-tattooed white supremacists, scar faced Colombian drug lords, and pimply faced teens. He'd actually ceased selling to the latter after a school shooting. Liam didn't have a lot of professional limits. But playing a part in the killing of a guidance counselor and two collateral damage teens had struck a nerve.

He gave Annabelle a very conspicuous once-over as she commented about fatty treats going straight to her thighs. With a flirty tone, he told her, "I think your thighs are safe." He could have said more. He didn't. He was sure men hit on her every day, all day. It was probably half the reason her bulky male escort was here. To prevent such things.

She showed Liam his down payment and explained the job. He hadn't known the robbery was to take place on a military base. He just about told her to take her briefcase and find someone new. But $800,000 was hard to resist.

She said they'd have no problem with the troops guarding the base. Liam asked with a skeptical tone, "How can you guarantee that? I mean, I'm not taking my men into an army base guns'a'blasting. That's not how I do things."

"I assure you," she promised. "It will be as if the whole of the base's population had boarded a bus for the seashore. Total vacancy."

"If you're thinking about gassing the place and killing them all," Liam said with a firm voice, "again, that's not how I do things."

Annabelle reassured him that that wasn't the plan. There would be no deaths. He understood that to mean that she would be laying down non-lethal gas. That brought up another question, though. If she had the gas and the people to dispense it, what did she need him for? He didn't make further inquiry, though. He just looked at the briefcase again: $800,000, and I get to keep anything else I steal.

She explained about taking delivery. She warned him about letting his greed cost her the goods she required. Then she dropped the bomb by presenting him with a photo of his brother's little girls. How did you learn about them?? he wondered in a panic. Liam had been very careful to hide all connections to his family. He'd never wanted them to become pawns in his business. Like now.

He looked around quickly for witnesses. He was contemplating pulling out his pistol and gunning down both Annabelle and her escort. He didn't. He couldn't guarantee that his nieces would be safe, even with Annabelle's death. Plus, there were at least 20 potential witnesses. AND he was known in this cafe by his real name.

He instead called his brother and told him to take the girls on a vacation. "On my dime," he said. "I'll make the reservations as soon as I get off the phone."

His brother, a lawyer, knew what Liam did for a living. Despite the danger, he told Liam, "No, we'll stay right here. Maybe this threat of yours will cause you to rethink your career choice."

"This job is going to make me over $2 million," Liam told him. "You go on vacation this one time, and I'll quit as soon as I unload the stock I'm collecting. One last job, and I'll retire and become an organic farmer. Whatever you want."

The brother eventually agreed. Liam made the reservations, feeling the load come off his back.