Just the same, Alex was relieved when she got the call from Longview the afternoon of the attack, confirming the fact.  The Visitors had been successfully routed, all of them preferring to fight to the death than surrender.  Earth expected no repercussions for its actions in defending itself, especially since the Leader had denounced all the renegades scattered worldwide.  They had defied his leadership, so their fate was their own.  Even had there been prisoners to return to the mothership they could not have expected any great mercy other than to be executed for their treason.

"It'll take a while to straighten matters out here," Ham explained over the telephone, "But I should be back day after tomorrow.  Why don't you book us into someplace nice."

"You just don't want to taste my cooking," Alex accused.

"Well, I have already been through one battle this week," he conceded, then laughed, "See you in a few days, babe."

Feeling in a much better mood, Alex dashed back to the surgery.

"Mr. Ham is all right?" asked Willie as she came into the infirmary.  His favourite patient, Goliath the ginger kitten, was fast asleep in the pocket of his lab coat, and the alien was patting a porcupine that waddled along the benchtop instead.

"Yes, Mr. Ham's just fine," Alex said with a smile, "How's Spike?"

"Spike is just fine too," nodded Willie, "I think he is much fatter, and his skin is much better too.  No rough patches."

Alex made a quick inspection, and satisfied that Willie was right put Spike back in his cage.  "Come on, we have rounds to do," she said, heading out for her four wheel drive without waiting for him.  Willie reluctantly took Goliath from his pocket and put him in a straw-lined box and, waving a fond goodbye to his tiny charges, he trotted outside after his boss.
 
 

Alex advanced upon her husband, a completely lewd twinkle in her eye as she wound her arms around his waist and set her teeth delicately into his pectorals.  Chuckling, he tried to pull away from the ticklish nibble, but it wasn't that easy.  Alex launched herself gleefully at him, and they both tumbled back onto the bed, laughing.  Tyler easily turned her onto her back -- a development which brought no protest from Alex's lips, partly because Tyler's own already had them fully occupied.

Resurfacing from the embrace, Ham rolled aside in order to let Alex breath again, and the mood was suddenly shattered by a startled yelp.  Tyler shot off the bed, glaring at a moving lump under the covers.

"Christ, what was that??!!"

Puzzled, Alex threw back the covers, to reveal a porcupine that was almost as offended as Ham.

"Spike!  For crying out loud, how did...?  She scooped up the bristling animal in both hands and hustled it out into the hallway, shutting the door firmly after it.

"Sorry," she said contritely, but spoiled the image by having to smother a giggle.  Tyler was not amused.

"Oh come on," Alex chided, "He's just a little porcupine.  Willie brought him inside today to keep him from spiking Goliath."

"Hmph."

"Where's your sense of humour?"  She sidled up to him, dancing her fingers across his broad back.  She had lost none of her ardour, but then, she had not sat on the porcupine.  "Wait a minute, let me guess."  She stood back from him a little, ducking her chin and speaking in the deepest voice she could muster, "It's in my M-16."

"Cute, Alex."

"I thought so."  She wrapped herself around him.  "Now, let's start this all over again," she said, "And see if we can't get it right this time."  And once more, she gently nipped at his chest.

"What the hell," muttered Ham, giving in.  There couldn't be more than one porcupine in a night, could there?  After a surreptitious inspection of the covers to make certain it was safe, he drew her down onto the bed with him.  Then, abandoning all thought of the unhappy incident, he put all of his concentration into the matter at hand.

An angry bark, followed by a howl of despair carried from the living room to their bedroom.  Ham was determined to ignore it, but Alex was concerned.

"I won't be long," she promised, disengaging herself from his insistent embrace and donning a bathrobe.

"Uh huh."  He didn't sound convinced.

She took a little longer than expected, however, when she discovered that the indignant and quite frightened Spike had punctured Jay-nine's belligerent nose.  With all due hate she deposited Spike back in his cage in the surgery, patched up the suffering Jay-nine's nose, and returned to the bedroom, only to find the bed empty.  The sound of running water came from the en-suite, and she cautiously entered the room.

"Ham, I'm really sorry about..." she broke off into a stifled laugh as Tyler glared at her from the shower, which he had just discovered he was sharing with a turtle.

"I think we better call it a night, Alex," he said, and he grabbed a towel.

"But..."

"Alex," he ceased his vigorous towelling for a moment, "We live in a menagerie."  Then he continued to dry himself off.

"Look, I..." Alex gave it up as useless, crouched to pick up the turtle shell -- the turtle had retreated inside when it had discovered a stranger had joined him -- and hurried outside.  When she came back, Tyler was in pyjamas and in bed, reading a book.

"Goodnight Alex."

"But..."

He put the book on the bedside table, shifted down under the covers and closed his eyes.  "Good night."

With a disappointed sigh, Alex, too, gave up.  Shedding the bathrobe, she turned out the light and slid under the covers.  "Good night."

She lay there for a time in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, totally unable to sleep.  She sighed.  She turned on her side, away from Ham, and closed her eyes.  She sighed again, rolled onto her back, and stared at the wall for a bit of a change.  Finally, she closed her eyes once more, and tried to will herself to sleep.

For a moment she thought she actually had fallen asleep, and was dreaming, but the sensation was far too real for that to be true, and she opened her eyes a little.  Tyler smiled ruefully into her green eyes, sliding his hand upward from her waistline where he had been gently caressing her.

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted, "I figured we could watch television, or we could..."

Alex wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down into an enthusiastic kiss.  Television, he decided, was definitely out.
 
 

It had been a hectic few days down south; on the whole it had been a good reintroduction to the field.  Casualties had been limited to two killed and five wounded, and the enemy had been completely cleared from the area.  She'd been impressed, too, with Tyler's technique and skill.  His talents were comparable, she decided, with those of her former commander David Minowa, and that was no mean feat.  David was an accomplished soldier with an excellence for leadership Tash had never seen before.  Very few measured up to the stringent standards, for which Minowa was the role-model, that Tash had, and the fact that she thought Tyler was at least as good as David (though not better -- you'd have to be damned good to top David) was a high compliment indeed, though Tyler was not even aware of her appraisal, and nor would he have cared if he had been.

Ham Tyler, she had decided, was a worthy commander for her loyalty, and the Spirit Lake mission had ensured it for all time.  If he chose to have Visitors on his staff, that was fine, and if he chose to leave her on radio duty after this well, that was fair enough too.  A leader like Tyler knew how best to deploy his troops.

She sank lower into the mattress as the next movement of the 6th began.  Tomorrow she would have to make a few more phone calls to the Family Reunion Plan.  The war had been over for eight months; surely all the humans from the cargo holds of fifteen motherships had been thawed by now, and perhaps her family would be among them.  They had been taken a long time ago, during the First Invasion, but perhaps they were still alive.

It wouldn't hurt to call again, anyway, to see if there was any news.

Curling into the blanket, Tash fell into a dreamless sleep.
 
 

"Mornin' Thelma!"

The alien smiled brightly in return.  "Good morning Chris.  Did things go well?"

"Pretty good.  We... ah..."  He was about to tell her how they'd wiped out the Visitor brigade, but trailed off as he looked down into her frank and pretty face, and thought better of it.  "We finished it all up."

"Mr. Tyler says that all of the renegades were killed."

"Ah... yeah."

"They disobeyed the Leader," Thelma frowned indignantly, "It is the least they deserved."  Then the expression dissolved and she handed some folders to him.

"What's this?"  He flicked through the top folder, finding a memo and the name of their most irritating customer on the topmost page.  "I thought he said we were rid of Hathaway!"

"I thought we were."  Tyler walked over to Thelma's desk and handed her a bundle of handwritten sheets.  "The top five have to go out today, but the rest can wait until the end of the week."

"Ham," Chris reclaimed his partner's attention, "This memo says he wants one of us out there today."

"I'm booked through with clients all day, Chris."

"That's convenient."

"Yep."  Tyler took a few steps towards his office, stopped, and turned thoughtfully back to his partner.  "I was thinking -- if you need an assistant, Petersen might be suitable."

"She might.  I don't think Hathaway'll like her, though."

"Probably not.  It's up to you."

Not much appeased, Chris tucked the folders under one arm and went for the lift.

"Have a nice day, Chris!" called Thelma.  It was a common Earth farewell, she knew, and she was trying very hard to fit into a human lifestyle.  She was a touch puzzled, then, when Chris pulled a face at her, and glared at Tyler's closing door.  Willie was right -- humans were very hard to understand.

Chris called for Petersen to join him in his office as he walked through the communications room.  Leaving her monitor on, she walked past the other radio operators, who were all speculating what kind of trouble she was in that one of The Bosses wanted to see her.

"I've been looking for an assistant," began Chris once she had closed the door behind her, "Mr. Tyler says you might be suitable.  Would you be interested?"

She took a moment to reflect on it.  She would really prefer to work with Mr. Tyler -- frankly, she wondered how Mr. Faber and he had become business partners in the first place, they were so unalike.  But if Mr. Tyler had recommended her for the job, it might be worth her while to accept the offer.

"When would I start?" she asked.

"Today."  With a smile, he motioned for her to take a seat, "I'll fill you in on this case and you can come with me to see him."

Petersen pulled up a chair, and the work began.
 
 

They went over every aspect of the building's security, from the locks on the front gates to the patrol dogs to the trip wires which, for once, activated alarms and not four pounds of explosives.  At 11:30 Hathaway decided all the ground had been covered, advised Faber of what changes he wanted made this time, and bid Faber and his assistant a stiffly formal farewell.

"Don't know why he wants the arrangements changed every month," grumbled Chris, climbing into his car, "Can't figure who'd want to pinch any of that stuff anyway."

Petersen got in beside him, non-committal, and Chris decided to change the subject as he started up the car.

"How about lunch?  I feel like I've been working all day already -- I'm starved."

"That would be fine, sir."

"Call me Chris," he invited breezily, turning a corner without any respect for speed regulations.

"Fine... Chris."  The familiarity came a little awkwardly to her.

"What do I call you?"  He glanced at her as he planted a foot to beat a yellow light.

Unperturbed by the hazardous driving, she considered for a moment and finally said, "Tash."

"Tash.  I like that."

That admission meant nothing to her whatsoever, but Chris didn't seem to mind.  He brought the car to an abrupt halt outside a quiet cafe.

"Nice little place," he said conversationally, "They make real good coffee."

They took two seats by the window and Chris ordered a generous lunch for himself, whilst Petersen chose a slightly more frugal meal.

"You know," he said, waving a fork at her between mouthfuls of chili, "If we try long enough, hard enough, we might just get ol' Hathaway to give up on us."

"You could just close his account," Petersen pointed out.

"We could.  But every time he makes a security change, our profit margin goes up, and if he breaks contract, he's gotta pay a penalty fee."

She nodded her understanding, and Chris went on to discuss her other duties, interspersing the rather dry topic with his own brand of jovial humour.  During the course of the meal, Petersen was vaguely surprised to find that she was relaxing a little in his company; at least, she was not constantly on her guard.  His manner was personable and often humorous, but there was a real professional under that friendly exterior, and he never threatened to pry past the barriers between herself and the world.  His conversation was quite diverting, too, though never entirely frivolous.  In all, she found his company less difficult to bear than she initially thought she might.  As a matter of fact, she was even starting to enjoy it to a degree.  Chris Faber was entertaining, full of pertinent observations and witticisms, and most of all, he demanded very little of his companions; just the occasional comment and some consideration of the work-related problems.

At last, she began to appreciate some of the elements that had brought Chris and Ham Tyler together as friends and partners during the Vietnam War, and their association was no longer such a mystery to her.
 
 

He was on the main drag into Seattle when he realized he didn't have the paperwork Hathaway would doubtlessly want to scrutinize, and he knew the relevant file wasn't in the office -- Ham had taken it home, with a mound of other files, to review the procedures and to see what changes might be made in order to silence a couple of fastidious customers.  It would take too long to go all the way back to Redmond and then come back into Seattle's Saturday traffic to see Hathaway at his sports store.  He could ask Ham to bring it, he supposed, but his partner was busy enough already... Aha!  Tash could do it, and on that mean little motorcycle of hers she might even make up some time.

He pulled the Cortina over to a gas station and made a quick phone call, giving Tash the instructions and Tyler's home address and told her to meet him at Canton Sports Supplies, the actual store in the middle of Seattle, where he was to meet Hathaway.

That, he thought as he hung up the pay phone, was one problem dealt with.  Now to see what Hathaway was bawling about this time.  With a disgruntled sigh, Faber got back into this car and carried on with his journey.

Petersen mounted her two-week-old 750cc motorbike and powered the engine into action.  She had been working as Chris Faber's assistant for just over a month now, a development which had her up to her eyeballs in extra work, and she was revelling in it.  Besides going to clients' buildings with Chris to decide on the best method of security, she was also called upon to inspect a selection of armaments for possible purchase along with Faber and, more frequently now, Mr. Tyler himself.  Then, of course, there were the simple errands to be run, and the inevitable paperwork, but at least it kept her busy.

She turned the motorbike into the driveway of a weatherboard house set on three acres of land.  To the left was a large sign with the legend "Alex Bailey, BVSc" and the practice's business hours inscribed on it.  There was a Jeep Cherokee parked up beside the surgery annexe, at the rear of the house, and Tyler's BMW beside it.

"JESUS CHRIST!!!"

The curse caught Petersen by surprise as she walked up the front path towards the door.

"What's the porcupine doing on the lounge, Alex?" bellowed the unmistakable voice of Ham Tyler.  A woman's voice answered him defensively.

"Probably sleeping till you sat on him."

"Keep it out of the house."  There was a scuffle, and a startled yell, followed by a thump, which started up a chorus of barking from two large-sounding dogs.

Petersen knocked on the door with some trepidation.

"Can you get that Ham?  You scared Spike half to death here, I'll have to take him back to his cage."

Petersen stood with a deadpan expression as Tyler opened the door, his forefinger in his mouth as he made some attempt to repair the damage done to it by one of Spike's bristles.  He halted mid-movement, startled by the unexpected visitor.

"Chris sent me around to pick up the Hathaway file, sir," explained Petersen in military-proper tones.

"Oh."  Tyler took his bleeding finger out of his teeth and waved it gingerly in the air as he completed the opening of the door.  "Well, come in, but be careful of the..."  Petersen promptly stumbled on the cat, which yowled in fright and disappeared in a blur of ginger fur.

Two German Shepherd dogs, just over a year old, bounded out to see what exciting things their master was up to.

"Here," Tyler led her past the curious pups, who trotted happily at his heels, into the living room, "Take a seat and I'll get that file."

Petersen sat obediently, taking the opportunity to look around the room.  If she had ever stopped to think about Tyler's lifestyle outside the company, this was not what she would have imagined.  It was comfortably furnished, as far as she could see, but cluttered with sundry medical equipment, "Today's Soldier" and "American Veterinary Journal" back issues, and animals, who seemed to consider the Tyler living room their home away from home.

A paw suddenly reached out and poked imploringly at her leg, and Petersen looked down into the large brown eyes of a young Shepherd dog.  She had to smile, and gave the animal the petting it so desperately wanted.

"What's your name?" she asked it, scratching it behind the ears.

"Kay-nine."

Petersen looked up to the unlikely spectacle of a short brunette in a lab coat, sporting an eyepatch and a purring ginger kitten.  Alex regarded the girl with detachment.

"You must be Petersen," she said.  Tyler had mentioned the new protégé occasionally in the last few weeks, apparently very pleased with her work and field abilities.  Somehow Alex had got the impression that she was much older, but the Petersen that was sitting on the lounge talking to Kay-nine was no more than a girl, albeit a very tough looking one.

Petersen nodded, equally remote.  "Mrs. Tyler?"

Alex wasn't sure she liked this girl.  As a general rule, she found it easy to read people, but as soon as company had arrived this one had closed up and defied any attempt to see past the stony surface.

"Jay-nine, drop that!"  Both women glanced towards the hallway where a piteous whine indicated that the dog had lost possession of whatever he'd been chewing.  Tyler came into the living room, dropping a slightly punctured stethoscope into his wife's hand and passing a file to his employee.

"Petersen, my wife Alex," he made the introduction briefly.

"We've met," said Alex, putting on a smile.

Petersen got to her feet, ignoring Kay-nine who was most put out that the petting had ceased.  "Chris needed these in a hurry, I'd better go."  With a curt farewell to the Tylers she left.

Alex deposited the ginger kitten on the floor and gave Kay-nine an affectionately rough tug on her elegant ears, hearing the motorbike roar out of the driveway and back to the city.  Petersen was a tough one, for sure; taciturn, cold and completely shut off from the human race.  She wondered what Ham thought was so wonderful about her that he'd actually bothered to mention her, but she caught a glimpse of his face as he sat at the dining room table, shifting a squirrel to the floor, and remembered her first impression of HIM.  Maybe Petersen could have something going for her after all.
 
 

Lawrence conducted his business from a fortified building on the edge of Seattle, code named West Base One.  It was equipped with a sophisticated communications network and even an interrogation unit, though there had been no cause to use that for a while.  It never hurt to have it, however, just in case.

He sat there for a few seconds, thinking hard, then pressed a call button.  His personal assistant, Graham, entered promptly, coming to attention in front of his desk but stopping just short of saluting.  Lawrence smothered a sigh with effort and regarded the youth critically.  Such enthusiasm was admirable, of course, but his new assistant was barely out of the cadets and a careless slip with said enthusiasm could make for a short career.

"Graham..."

"Yes sir!"

"Sit down."

"Yes sir!"

"Graham..."

"Yes sir!"

Lawrence glared at him.  "Shut up."

"Yes sir!  I mean..."  The young Visitor stammered his way through an apology, then wisely decided to take his superior's advice -- he shut up and sat down.

Lawrence reached behind him and drew down a map of the Seattle area and surrounding districts.

"We need a morale booster, Graham," he began, surveying the chart, "Kahlil had ordered an attack -- a guerilla-style raid -- to announce our presence down here more pointedly, and I agree with him.  But we need something that will also give our people confidence, and be an example to other resistance groups."

Graham was nodding rapidly.

"Yes sir...  I mean, I may have a suggestion, sir."

"Well..."

Graham consulted his notepad hastily.  "I was about to bring this to your attention, sir.  It concerns a pre-election ball being held by Governor Worthingham... a week from today.  It's quite a major affair, from all reports -- lots of press coverage.  Perhaps..."

"Excellent, Graham!"  And for once, Lawrence meant it.  The older Visitor pushed out of his chair and stood up.  "Get on it at once."

"Yes SIR!"

Lawrence's fighting blood was up -- he didn't even notice the young Visitor leap for the door, or the smart, military salute before he left.  He'd be in action again in under a week...
 
 

When he was not tending to the animals who were in what Alex called 'post-op', he took care of other menial tasks, like the washing of the floors and sterilizing of instruments.  He didn't mind that; although he was trained as a technician he was perfectly happy to do any sort of work so long as he was being of some use.  He hated to be completely idle, so even when he had no actual work to do he could be found in the infirmary, making certain all the patients had what they needed and getting acquainted with them all.

At those times, he tended to think back on his old life in Los Angeles.  It, and the war, were far behind him now, but it didn't stop him missing his old friends.  Mike and Julie had been good to him, especially after Elizabeth had gone to join the Leader.  He missed Elizabeth most of all, he thought, but her destiny was greater than their very special friendship, and he comforted himself by keeping a scrapbook of the news articles she appeared in.  Once or twice she had even mentioned the Visitor who had been her teacher and friend, and he was gratified to know she hadn't forgotten him.  Thelma, too, made it easier to part company with his old life.  She loved him, and seemed to be adjusting to the human ways they had to adopt to live here on Earth.  She hadn't even minded when he'd asked her to join him in a human marriage ceremony, as testimony to their wish to live in peace with the humans.  Thelma was a wonderful person, and he was happy to have her as his wife.

He was pleased to know that Thelma was enjoying her work, too.  She had been quite nervous at first, put on edge by Mike Donovan's teasing comments.  Mr. Ham, however, had proved to be a much more lenient, and less vitriolic, employer than Mike had lead them to believe.  She was kept busy, but Thelma, like himself, preferred to remain occupied.

Their life here in Seattle, he reflected was going much better than either of them could have expected.  They both had jobs they loved, they had a beautiful apartment just out of town, and perhaps soon Thelma would be with egg -- both of them were eager to start a family, particularly in this Brave New World, Earth.

The door to the infirmary opened and Alex came in, reading a gold-embossed card that had arrived in the mail.

"It's an invitation to the Governor's Ball," she said in perplexion.

Willie looked confused.  "Ball?"

"Oh... it's a dance... um, a big party."

"Ah."  He nodded as comprehension dawned.

"I just can't figure out why we're being invited.  I know Ham's been working for the state, but I didn't think he was THAT popular."

"Perhaps Governor Worthingham just likes Mr. Ham.  Don't you usually invite people you like to parties?"

"Well, usually, but political parties are a bit different."

Willie twitched an eyebrow, not really understanding but sensing it would be a complicated explanation that he wouldn't grasp anyway.  "Perhaps Mr. Ham will know why," he offered, and Alex grinned at him.

"He might at that."  She went for the phone and dialled the office.  "Thelma?  Hi!  No, nothing wrong, I just want to speak to Ham... thanks.  Good morning, Hamilton," Alex grinned at Ham's disgusted reaction to the use of his full name, "Don't be rude, I just called to say hello... well, yes, there was one question.  We've just received an invitation to the Governor's Ball... oh, you knew.  Why didn't you tell me?...  You forgot?"  She turned to Willie with a sardonic quirk of the eyebrow, "He forgot."

"Hmm," said Willie sympathetically.

"So why are we invited?" Alex wanted to know.  "Really?... I didn't think Worthingham thought that much of you... Chris too?  Who on Earth is he taking?... You're kidding!...  I know, I know -- 'strictly business'...  I'll have to get a dress eyepatch... that is the Governor's problem.  He'd be really thrilled if I just let that eye stare out at his guests.  You know how it upsets some people... okay.  See you tonight, Hotstuff," she signed off throatily, then raised a challenging eyebrow at Willie's startled expression.  Willie cleared his throat and found something to fascinate him in a top drawer.
 
 

Not that it would have been much fun anyway, thought Chris, sliding a finger into his shirt collar, striving for comfort.  His partner for the evening was Tash Petersen, looking equally uncomfortable in a ball gown.  He looked enviously at Ham and Alex, waltzing elegantly around the dance floor, and wondered how they managed to look so unaffected.  He sighed, scanned the room for anything unusual, and tugged at his collar again.

"Everything looks clear this way," reported Petersen, covertly raking her gaze across the windows and exits.

"Won't be any gatecrashers tonight," Chris predicted, "Don't know who'd want to come here anyway."

Petersen's lips twitched in agreement.  She was feeling hopelessly restricted by the long dress, and the high heels were horribly impractical.  She could walk in them all right, but if anything should happen they would be a possibly fatal hindrance.  A long time ago, she had enjoyed parties, but those had been informal affairs with rock music and school friends; not swank get-togethers for the political aristocracy and ambitious hangers-on.  She was not having a good time.

"I suppose we should... mingle," said Chris in a pained voice.

"I suppose so."

"Can you dance?"

"I learned a Supremes routine when I was twelve for a school review.  How about you?"

"Barn dancing."  He smiled ruefully, and Petersen gave a short laugh.

"We're supposed to be unobtrusive," she said wryly.

"Then we better not dance."

"No," she returned his smile, "We'd better not."

Chris made an attempt to straighten his tie and cummerbund, and gave up in utter frustration.

"Come on," he grumbled, and lumbered towards a huge double door.  After another brief scan of the room, Tash followed.

On the vacant patio, Chris finally wrenched the detested bow tie free from his abused neck, and dropped into a convenient chair.  Tash followed his lead, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes.

"The rigours of being in the security business, huh Tash?" Chris grinned.

"Should get paid danger money," she agreed.
 
 

"Don't let it get around."  Ham's attention was not on the music or the footwork at all, but on the large number of glass double doors leading to small balconies and the huge front terrace of the Governor's residence.  It was a stupid design for a building if it was supposed to be fortified: not at all easy to secure.  It irritated him to have to bother with it at all, but the Governor's fears of a possible attack were not necessarily mere paranoia, so the place had to be guarded.

"Will you look at that!"

Alex had not meant to be taken seriously, and she was most surprised when Tyler whirled her sharply about, against the rhythm of the music, to inspect the phenomenon.

"What?" he demanded, his voice deepening further as he spoke quietly but urgently.

"Will you calm down!" Alex berated him in a harsh whisper, "I was only commenting about Senator Willis.  He's chatting up one of the maids."

"That's her problem."

"It'll be his soon enough if that journalist Teddington finds out.  God, what a silly... now, that's interesting..."

Ham nearly lifted Alex off her feet as he turned to see.  Chris and Petersen were heading onto a balcony together.

"They're just taking a breather," he observed after a moment, "he hasn't signalled there's anything wrong."

"For crying out loud!  Ham, you're going to break my back if this keeps up."

"Sorry," he mumbled, not sounding as though he meant it.  Alex sighed in exasperation.

"If you're so jumpy, why don't we take a breather too.  It might save me some spinal damage, in any case."

"Yeah."  He smoothly broke step and he escorted Alex from the dance floor.  He paused at a table, casting his eyes warily about the room.

"Christ, I hate tuxes," he muttered through gritted teeth, loosening the black bow tie a little.

"But you look very nice in them," Alex told him, straightening his tie again.

"Hmph."

"Ah... you must be Mrs. Tyler!"  Alex looked around as a grey-haired gentleman with a fixed smile and an ingratiating manner came towards them, hands extended for a warm greeting.  This was Governor Worthingham, and already she didn't like him.

"Yes, I must be."  She forced a tight smile at Ham's warning glance.

"I must say, I do like the eyepatch," Worthingham seemed fascinated, "The latest fashion, is it?"  He smiled at his own wit.

"I don't know... do you think it will catch on?"

"I couldn't really say," responded Worthingham, his jovial familiarity waning somewhat as her dislike of him registered.

"Actually," explained Alex, "I lost my right eye in the war.  Would you like to see?"  Instantly, she tilted the glossy blue satin patch upward and let the glassy stare beneath it rest on Worthingham's shocked face for a moment before flipping it down again.  Tyler was studiously non-committal, and managed a polite smile as the blanched governor turned briefly towards him.

"I trust the security is under control."

"Yes, Governor."

"Ah... well... oh, there's Senator Brumford.  I shall see you later perhaps."  He beat a hasty retreat, and Tyler lifted an eyebrow at his wife.  Alex shrugged.

"He's a pretentious bore," was her only defence.

"I know," agreed Ham, and he couldn't hide a smile.

A gunshot rang out from the darkness, and the ambience of the ball was suddenly shattered as a war seemed to break out on the residence grounds.  Machine guns rattled violently outside, and one of the answering bolts of laser light exploded against an exterior wall, starting a small fire.  Tyler shoved Alex protectively to one side, drawing the Magnum he'd kept tucked in a shoulder holster beneath his black jacket.

"Keep down," he warned, and pushed his way through to one of the glass double door, where one of his men was stationed.

"What is it?"

"Cooper just radioed in.  It's a Visitor force -- renegades, it looks like, but they've got a laser cannon.  They just pushed through the fence with one of those ground cars of theirs and started shooting the place up.  They came in from the south -- a really stupid place to break in.  It's too far away, and there's too much in the way between the perimeter and the buildings."

"Decoy," concluded Tyler swiftly, "Alert the internal staff.  There should be more coming in from the east."  Then he dashed back inside, trying to find the Governor.  Chris and Petersen met him, both with drawn guns, and Tash minus the hampering shoes.

"Lizards, coming in south," he explained tersely.

"That's suicidal," protested Tash, "They could never reach this far."

"Diversion force, right?" Chris said, quickly coming to Tyler's earlier conclusion.  "The strike force should be comin' in east."

"That's what I figure.  Find the Governor, and cover him."

Chris nodded sharply and disappeared into the throng, Petersen close behind.  Tyler's gaze darted about the room, where startled dignitaries and their spouses were milling about uselessly.  The sound of shattering glass brought him around in a crouch, gun held at the ready, but his line of fire was blocked by a careless figure in a tuxedo.  Tyler launched himself past the obstacle at the red-clad Visitor who had broken through the doors, tackling the invader and dragging him to the ground.

At the same time, a second Visitor burst in through another set of doors.  Before he had a chance to cause any major harm, however, two bodies descended upon him.  Tash, her elegant gown hitched up past her knees, dug a bare heel into the alien's abdomen, following it with a hard punch to the throat.  Chris seized the enemy from behind, and with a sharp tug broke the Visitor's neck.

Tyler was still busy with his own little problem.  He had lost his gun sometime during the tussle, and was attempting to beat down the assailant in hand to hand.  Any human would have been pulverized three times over, but the alien constitution was considerably harder, and the bastard wouldn't stay down.  Tyler found himself on his knees, his neck and chin held in an ominous death-grip.  Gathering his strength, he pushed up and backwards, catching the alien in the stomach.  The Visitor tumbled over Tyler's back, landing on the floor with a bone crunching crash on the carpeted floor.

A shot rang out, and the Visitor was still as green blood spilled from the hall in its chest.  Tyler looked askance at his wife, who returned the look.

"I was doing fine," he told her.

"He was creaming you," she disagreed, and threw him the gun.

Petersen appeared beside them.  "Reports are in, sir.  The attack's been repelled; the Visitors have withdrawn.  No prisoners taken.  Six of ours injured, none killed."

Tyler grunted, and that could have meant anything from 'Well done' to 'Christ, what a cock-up'.  The governor appeared at last from the middle of the stunned crowd, demanding explanations.  Tyler gave him one, brief and to the point, without embellishment.

"My people will stay on guard," Tyler finished, "You'll have a report tomorrow."

"For Christ's sake, Tyler!" exploded the Governor angrily, "You were supposed to prevent this from happening."

Tyler regarded Worthingham coldly.  "We're supposed to stop an attack from reaching its objective, which is exactly what we did.  Everyone's still alive here, so you've got nothing to complain about."

"They breached the grounds!"

"We can't stop them attacking.  We did stop them from completing their mission."

"What about the mess here?"  Worthingham changed his stance.  There was broken glass, wood splinters, blood -- mostly green -- staining the very expensive carpets, and two dead bodies.  Tyler signalled for a clean-up, wiping blood from a glass cut along his hand.

"Great party," Chris congratulated the governor as he left, his great fist dragging a dead Visitor by the collar, "Hope we can come again sometime."

Tash, stepping carefully over the broken glass in her bare feet, seized the other victim by the arms and started hauling it out of the ballroom.

"Sorry we can't stay," apologized Alex cheerfully, and she flipped her eyepatch up at Worthingham in a farewell salute.  Tyler went to Petersen's aid, and the Visitor was dumped outside with a number of his dead comrades.

Chris deposited his own burden with the others, and suddenly eyed Tash and the gun she had tucked in the waist-band of her dress.  "Where on Earth were you keeping that?"

She flashed a thigh briefly, revealing a holster where the small gun had been hidden.  "Standard issue -- never go to a ball without one."

"I'll have to remember that."  Alex stood, arms folded, watching the mop-up, "You never know when you'll be attacked at the Governor's Ball."

Petersen eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then, unexpectedly, she smiled.  "I got the idea from a James Bond movie," she confided, then she was all business again, helping remove bodies into a truck.

Alex shook her head in amazement.  So, Petersen was showing a sense of humour yet.  Wonders would never cease.  She looked around as Ham came up beside her, checking that everything was proceeding well.

"I don't think we're going to be invited to any more of the Governor's parties," he said, divesting himself of the bow tie and loosening the top buttons.  His suit was torn and bloodstained from the rumble in the broken glass, and any dry-cleaners would give up on it as a dead loss.

"Thank Christ," replied Alex.  "I don't think any of us could stand the excitement."
 

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