Alien in the House by Gini Koch Page A

of the House of Representatives. The former rep from New Mexico’s 2nd Congressional District had died in office a few months ago. The only new elections allowed this year were to fill seats opened due to the death or disablement of a congressman. Reyes had won the special election and had arrived in D.C. at the start of December.
    Normally that would have meant he’d have had about two weeks to unpack and shake hands and then head back to New Mexico for the holidays. But of course this year, no one in the world was functioning on “normal.”
    An additional presidential decree—added as a coda to the main suspension of general elections decree—and plain old common sense had held all of Congress in Washington for most of the year, holidays included.
    Congress hadn’t complained, much, because they knew without a shadow of a doubt that all the planets in the Alpha Centauri system were watching us, along with God alone knew who else. The last thing the U.S. or other world governments wanted was to look like they weren’t busy, efficient, and, most importantly, paying attention. Stable and hardworking, those were the current Earth Government Watchwords.
    â€œOh, I don’t know that we’re the most important, Santiago,” Jeff said as he and Reyes shook hands. “But it’s always nice to be appreciated.”
    Pierre’s unsubtle hint was also to remind us that Reyes was our “assigned” politician. Now that he was here, we could stop being the Reception Committee and focus on our one dude. Reyes had run on the “Aliens Are Our Friends” platform, and we wanted to be sure he still felt that way after the party.
    We left the small salon and joined the others in the dining room, exchanging the usual chitchat that was expected in these situations. Jeff excelled at it, God alone knew how. Me, I focused on smiling a lot and not allowing my body to move to the beat. Hey, Pitbull’s “International Love” was on.
    Pierre and the Elves had moved things around so the room now looked easily as nice as any fancy hotel ballroom. A-C agents, both male and female, were mingling with the guests, some in serving capacities, some functioning as our version of Booth Babes at a trade show, all focused on security. We had a complement of Security A-Cs around, too, but they were being very obvious. The agents were blending in nicely. So far, so very good.
    One of the agents who was on server duty came by with fruit juice cocktails. Pierre and the Elves had come up with a variety of drinks that were so good you didn’t really care that they didn’t have vodka or rum in them. “Tempt you to something completely nonalcoholic, Congressman?”
    â€œSantiago, please, Ambassador Katt-Martini. And yes, thank you. I don’t drink, either. It’s nice to be at a party where that’s celebrated.”
    Personally, I missed having a drink now and then, but I’d gotten over it. Kissing Jeff was so much better than any alcohol in the world.
    â€œOkay, Santiago,” I said, as we sipped our drinks. “And it’s Kitty.”
    He smiled. “I’d been told you weren’t the, ah, formal type.”
    We were being eyed by the Cabal. Tried not to feel like a zebra being appraised by a pride of lions, or a pride of perverts, which was probably a more accurate description. Failed.
    â€œDepends on the situation, Santiago.” And my level of nerves, which were, on the scale of ten, heading toward eleven. Prayed I wouldn’t spill anything on my dress—it would make Marcia far too happy. Apparently, though, nervous meant I was giving the short, politically correct answers. Score one for nerves.
    Reader and Tim, who were both in different parts of the room, came over as soon as they saw us. “Santiago, good to see you,” Reader said.
    â€œI second that,” Tim said as Reyes shook their hands.
    â€œGreat to see you,