Maple Street had become the center of the universe—or at least, of suburban Seattle. Police cars, fire trucks, and local news vans formed a chaotic cordon around the smoking crater that was once the street. Neighbors, wrapped in blankets of shock, were being interviewed by eager reporters.
Inside the Smith house, the atmosphere was a strange mix of relief and impending panic.
"My lawn! My prize-winning geraniums!" Jerry wailed, looking out the window at the lunar landscape that was his backyard. "The homeowner's association is gonna crucify me!"
"Shut up, Jerry!" Rick snapped, who was already picking through the fighter's wreckage with a blowtorch. "I just got a nearly intact dark matter converter! This is worth more than your stupid house!"
Meanwhile, Kaelen and Padmé tried to plan their next move. The house was no longer safe. They had revealed their location.
"The Reality Anchor is running out of power," Kaelen said, consulting a scanner. "In an hour, I can open a portal and get us out of here."
"And where will we go?" Padmé asked. "Everywhere we go, chaos seems to follow us."
"That's my specialty," Rick said from the yard.
Just then, the sky above the house darkened. It wasn't a Citadel ship. It was helicopters. Three of them, black, bearing the seal of the United States government. They descended and settled on the street, their rotors kicking up clouds of dust and debris.
A Presidential Visit
From the helicopters descended men in black suits and earpieces, securing the perimeter with professional efficiency. Local chaos had just gone federal.
Rick sighed wearily. "Great. The suit guys. Always ruin the fun."
A tall, bald African American man, in an immaculate suit and an expression of infinite exasperation, approached the house, flanked by two agents. It was none other than the President of the United States. A man who, unfortunately, already had Rick's number on speed dial.
"Sanchez!" the President yelled, his voice booming over the helicopter noise. "I just got off a call with the Pentagon telling me an unidentified object has entered the atmosphere and been shot down over this address! My CIA director is informing me that object defies all known laws of physics! And my gut tells me, somehow, you're in the middle of all this with your pants down!"
Rick walked up to the President, wiping grease on his lab coat. "Mr. President! What a... pleasant surprise. Fancy a beer? I think Jerry's got some of that cheap stuff he likes left."
"I don't want a beer, Rick!" the President barked. "I want an explanation! What happened here? And who are they?" His gaze landed on Kaelen, his metal arm now visible, and on Padmé, whose regal bearing was unmistakable even amidst the disaster.
"Ah, them," Rick said nonchalantly. "They're... family. He's my long-lost nephew from a space opera dimension, and she's his wife, a queen or senator or something. It's complicated. They're just visiting."
The President stared at him, his face a mask of disbelief and exhaustion. "Rick, every time you say 'it's complicated,' it ends up costing the taxpayer billions of dollars and giving me a new ulcer. Explain it to me in simple terms."
The New Normal
It was Padmé who stepped forward, her diplomatic training taking over.
"Mr. President," she said with a calm and authority that made the Secret Service agents stiffen. "My name is Padmé Amidala. I am a Senator of the Galactic Republic."
The President looked her up and down. "Galactic Republic? Is that some kind of Star Trek fan group, ma'am?"
"I'm afraid it's quite real," Kaelen interjected. "And we are, so to speak, in the middle of a slight international dispute. Or, rather, intergalactic and interdimensional."
The President massaged his temples, feeling an impending headache. "Alright. Alright. Let me get this straight. You two are aliens, from a... Galactic Republic. And you're related to him," he gestured to Rick with disdain. "And the smoking junk in my street was one of your enemies?"
"An admirably concise summary, Mr. President," Kaelen said. "Yes."
"And I assume this enemy has more ships like that."
"Possibly," Kaelen admitted. "And there's also another group of enemies, my 'relatives,' who can literally appear out of nowhere at any moment."
The President fell silent for a moment, absorbing the scale of the national security disaster that had just landed on his lawn. He looked at Rick, then Kaelen, then the smoking wreckage.
"Alright, Sanchez," he said finally, his voice a low growl. "You and your... family... have just become a matter of planetary security. You're coming with me to a secure location. A bunker. A very, very deep one. And you're going to tell me absolutely everything. And then, you're going to help me figure out how to stop more of your 'disputes' from blowing up my suburbs."
Rick rolled his eyes. "Ugh, paperwork! I hate bunkers! They don't have good reception!"
"It's not a request, Rick! It's an executive order!" the President yelled. He turned to his agents. "Take them all. The family too. They're witnesses. And for God's sake, get me some painkillers. A very strong kind."
As the men in black began to escort them towards the helicopters, Kaelen and Padmé exchanged a look. Their plan for a quiet escape had vanished. They had just gone from being interdimensional fugitives to being the honored guests (and prisoners) of the most powerful man on Earth. The situation had, somehow, become even more complicated.