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# Assiyah Rising

# Part One

#  T.H. Ansz

To Peanut and Cheeza, you know who you are...

© 2017 T.H. Ansz

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

For permissions contact: Assiyah.Rising+copyright@gmail.com

# Legal Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Where real-life historical figures are mentioned, the situations and dialogues are entirely fictional and do not depict actual historical events.

Assiyah (ah-see-YAH): Noun. Hebrew.

The physical world we currently live in. A world of action. The fourth and lowest realm of existence. A place where the Creator hides from its creation.

# Prologue

October 27, 1962

Cuban Missile Crisis, International Caribbean Waters

The cramped, dimly lit operations room of the Soviet submarine was filled with hot, sticky tension. Three naval officers stood around the periscope, sweat covering their brows, their voices raised over the loud humming of machinery.

"We are in international waters, Commander Arkhipov!" the captain exclaimed. "The Americans came at us. It is our duty to launch."

Just then, the submarine rocked from another explosion, a hollow boom echoing through the metal hull. The officers all grabbed at a nearby railing to stay on their feet.

Vasili Arkhipov maintained his composure, briefly glancing around at the nervous sailors piloting the sub. "They did come toward us, Captain Savitsky, they did, but I don't think they mean us harm. I believe they are trying to contact us."

"With depth charges? Are you mad?" the captain responded. "Who the hell would use depth charges as a signal?"

Another boom rumbled through the vessel, but this one sounded duller and further away, closer to one of the other two submarines forming the Soviet flotilla.

"You dived once visual contact was made with them—there was no way for them to communicate with us after we went below water." Vasili felt his right temple throbbing; the heat was slowly draining him and the other men on this vessel. Of all the times for the air conditioning to fail...

"You don't send eleven warships to send a message of peace!" Captain Savitsky said. "It's pretty clear what their intentions are. Again I demand, Commander Arkhipov: authorize the launch."

Vasili took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Unknown to the American warships floating above them, the Soviet submarine was equipped with a nuclear torpedo. A direct hit would obliterate both American and Soviet ships. Launch protocol required the consent of all three senior officers. Captain Savitsky and political officer Ivan Maslennikov wanted to launch the torpedo; Vasili was the only hold out.

"I respectfully decline, Captain Savitsky. We must surface and establish radio communications with Moscow."

The captain shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow using his arm. "War is already happening! We will not fail our comrades; it is our duty to launch." He pointed a thin finger towards Vasili. "You dishonor these brave sailors and your country if you do not consent."

Valentin Savitsky was captain of this vessel, but Vasili Arkhipov was the flotilla commander and respected throughout the naval fleet as a courageous leader. The two men were equals in a tug of war: one pulling to fight for his country; the other pulling for caution.

Vasili could feel the uneasy glances of the sailors weighing upon him as his right temple continued to throb. He tried breathing through his nose but the stifling air made it difficult to inhale.

Another nearby explosion rocked the submarine. For a moment, the officer felt the room spinning around him. He took another deep breath. "No, Captain Savitsky, you do not have my permission to fire." Vasili maintained his composure.

"Damn you, Arkhipov! Damn you!" The captain surveyed the brave men under his command, taking several seconds to acknowledge each sailor. "These men's souls, the souls of all our countrymen, are in your hands!" He turned to face the main pilot. "No launch authorized," he bellowed. "Bring us up to the surface. We will find out soon enough the American intentions, or die trying."

# Chapter 1

Present Day

The Pentagon, Arlington County, VA

Lieutenant Michael Grant was busy preparing the daily intelligence briefing for his unit commander at the Pentagon. Every morning, his unit was responsible for summarizing overnight major intelligence information for the Pacific Asian region. It had been a hectic evening, most of them were. Peering behind the curtain of commercial news sources, Michael saw a world on fire. When one threat subsided from the precipice of conflict, two more rose to take its place.

As a West Point graduate, Michael had spent two tours in Iraq as an intelligence officer. Those were difficult times. Missions were created and soldiers were deployed based on the military assessments Michael authored. Really just educated guesses most of the time. Sometimes the missions paid off. Many times they didn't. In both cases, it was not unusual for some soldiers to pay the ultimate price, while others sustained serious injury. Despite the repercussions, Michael knew his intelligence work was better than most. His mind could untangle a web of seemingly unrelated facts into a narrative that often matched the reality of the situation. Military intelligence was known to be flawed, it was the nature of the beast, but Michael knew he was often the best chance for directing and forming the mission profiles. Sure, he was a lowly lieutenant, but a comment here, a specially worded summary there, and he could often get the top brass moving in the right direction. Michael was able to cope with the difficulty of his tours knowing that if he didn't do his job, somebody else would take his place. Somebody not as talented, or perhaps not as lucky. He owed it to his military brothers and sisters to do his best.

Michael's achievements gained the notice of his commanders and it was determined that someone with his talent would best be put to work at the Pentagon. The young officer found himself in meetings and SATCOM calls that should have been way above his pay grade.

Transferring from a zone of conflict where his input would have immediate and visible impact to the mission objectives, to the air-conditioned office of the Pentagon, was difficult. Despite his reservations, he was able to adapt and learn his new role. The webs were made of different patterns, but Michael soon learned the new strands and became a trusted advisor for his commander.

This morning's summary was almost ready. Michael was making some final adjustments and proofreading when his phone rang. Caller ID was blocked. Oddly, Michael had never seen it blocked before. He picked up the receiver.

"Lieutenant Michael Grant speaking."

The familiar voice of his commanding officer came through on the line. "Mike, this is Major Pardo. Come down to my office immediately. Bring your full uniform." A soft click indicated the call was over.

Michael ran a hand along his strong jawline, grabbed his jacket and hat, then proceeded to navigate past cubicle walls to the major's office. He was raising his hand to knock on the open door when he heard the major call, "Come in. Close the door and have a seat."

Michael obeyed orders and made his way to the chair in front of the desk. Major Pardo could often be curt—the nature of command tended to promote direct communication—but Michael sensed something was off. The major sat with his elbows propped on the desk, fist in hand, covering his mouth. His eyes were focused on Michael, taking in every movement.

"Michael, there are military police coming to this office. You will be escorted to the parking garage, where General Arnold will meet you." He waited for Michael's reaction.

Michael paused. THE General Arnold? The four-star general who led the military intelligence community at the Pentagon? Why would Michael be getting an MP escort to meet with him?

"Yes, sir," he responded after a second of silence. This was highly unusual, but Michael was a trained military officer.

"Meet the MPs at our unit's door. Do not enter the hallway. You are dismissed."

Michael stood at attention and saluted. Not taking his eyes off his charge, the major stood and returned the salute. The lieutenant turned and made his way to the office doors. Coworkers offered friendly smiles as he passed, and a few greeted him verbally. Michael reciprocated politely but never slowed. As he reached the front of the office, the doors opened and two MPs walked in.

"Lieutenant Michael Grant?"

"Yes."

"We are to escort you to the parking garage immediately. Please follow us." One MP moved to lead Michael through the hallway, while the other moved to the side, allowing Michael through the doors. The three of them travelled down the halls in a single line—one MP in front, one behind, and Michael in the middle, slightly taller than the men escorting him. He could feel the curious stares as he was marched through the Pentagon, not in handcuffs but clearly being escorted. While somewhat embarrassing, the walk gave him time to think.

Obviously the situation was important; a four-star general would not be involved otherwise. Urgent, that much was clear from the escort. Impromptu, to pull a lieutenant right from his desk after a long night of intelligence work. Something unanticipated had occurred. Michael needed to be observant. The general would steer the conversation and provide him with the information he needed to know. Let the general talk, he told himself. Only ask questions if there is time and if they are pertinent.

The trio arrived at the parking deck, where a line of vehicles stood at the ready. A civilian police car idled at the front. A military Humvee was right behind, followed by a black SUV. Another Humvee completed the escort. Michael was directed to the open back door of the SUV, where what looked like a Secret Service agent stood waiting.

As he ducked his head to enter the vehicle, Michael saw General Arnold sitting on the other side, watching the lieutenant in silence as Michael awkwardly climbed into the back seat.

"Sir!" Michael brought his hand up in a brisk salute.

"At ease, Lieutenant."

As Michael settled himself in, the door behind him closed and the suited man entered the front passenger seat of the vehicle. The agent spoke into his wrist, "Move out." The line of cars drove off, the sirens of the front squad echoing within the confined space of the parking garage.

The general turned to Michael. "Lieutenant, we are taking you to Reagan National Airport. There you will board a military jet that will take you to your destination. You will be briefed in-flight. I won't go into detail here. It's better for you to get everything on the plane. This is a fluid situation. You are to be my eyes and ears on the ground. Your role will be strictly observational. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll need your cellphone for now."

"Yes sir." Michael responded while he fished a hand down the inside of his jacket. He produced a cell phone, which he promptly gave to the General.

The escort had reached the highway, minutes from the airport. Michael could see that the highway had been cleared from civilian traffic.

"Good. Look..." The general leaned in. Michael could see the briefest hint of unease in his expression. "Take everything in. Lose any preconceptions that you have."

"I understand, sir."

The general squinted, taking in the man sitting before him. Michael knew he was being evaluated. He suspected he was falling short.

General Arnold turned to look out the SUV windows. His eyes seemed to be searching for something. Michael sat there quietly, glancing in the direction of the general's gaze. After a few moments, the measuring eyes of his senior returned to Michael.

"Remember, son, observational only. You come highly recommended: don't disappoint your country."

"Yes, sir," Michael replied. Don't disappoint your country? No pressure, he thought.

Could this be a training exercise? As he considered recent events, that made the most sense. A high-level training exercise to see how smoothly the gears worked. Response times measured, actions measured. All destined for a report that would end up in front of the president. Because four-star generals didn't meet lieutenants in the back of an SUV unless the president was somehow involved.

Soon, the entourage arrived at the airport. The line of vehicles was waved through a chain-link fence and brought to a hanger. The general's eyes rarely left Michael as an uncomfortable silence settled in the car. Waiting in the hangar was a sleek jet with its stairway down, two camouflaged marines standing on either side. The SUV circled around the jet, stopping in front of the marines.

The agent at the front of the vehicle exited, saying something unintelligible into his wrist and opening the back door so the occupants could leave. The general walked up to one of the marines and turned, waiting for Michael to follow. Michael saluted and stood at attention. The general returned the salute, staring at the young lieutenant with a scrutinizing gaze. With that, Michael marched past the marines and up the stairway. As he entered the jet, there was only one thought occupying his mind.

What the hell have I just gotten into?

# Chapter 2

Michael strode into the cabin where a saluting master sergeant stood at attention.

"At ease, Sergeant." Michael returned the salute while continuing his way down the aisle. A lone woman drew his gaze, her fiery hair a beacon framing an angelic face, almond eyes focused on an electronic notebook resting in her lap.

He walked into an invisible quicksand that slowed his gait to a halt.

Stop staring, start walking.

Casting aside the nervous energy pulsing through his body, Michael forced his legs back into action. As he approached, the woman raised her head and flashed a smile of perfect white teeth while extending a delicate hand in greeting.

"Lieutenant Michael Grant, pleasure to meet you. I'm Jennifer Smith, NSA."

Her grip was firm. The faintest scent of lilac met his nose.

"Pleasure to meet you too, Jennifer."

"Please, have a seat and we'll get started."

Michael eased himself down into the luxurious grasp of the chair. He recalled his last flight home from Iraq, a hulking air transport packed with troops like sardines in a tin. The hot, spartan interior favored utility over comfort—strike that, utility over any comfort. The memory lay in stark contrast to his current surroundings.

"Let's get started, Michael—may I call you Michael?" Jennifer asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Call me Mike."

"Okay, Mike," her eyes twinkled with amusement, "I'm going to brief you on the information I have available right now, but things can change at any moment and there isn't a lot to go on." She passed him a thick manila folder. "We are flying to Plainfield, Illinois, a city approximately forty miles southwest of Chicago. Once there, we will make contact with a civilian named Todd Miles. We are to convince Mr. Miles to accompany us back to Washington, where he will meet with the president. I will be the primary contact; your role is strictly as observer."

"Is Mr. Miles expecting us?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Michael looked at her incredulously, framing the sleek interior of the jet with a sweep of his arm. "A simple phone call wouldn't suffice?"

"I know, it's unusual as hell, I'm just telling you what we are ordered to do."

Frustrated, Michael flipped through the pages in the folder.

Jennifer leaned forward. "That last part about me talking and you watching is important, Mike. Understand?"

Her talking? Yes, that part he understood. At least that piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Her physicality, her demeanor, her presence—all of it was primed to help convince their unsuspecting male guest to come with them.

"Yes. You talk, I observe. What exactly should I be observing?"

"I'm not sure," she replied with a sheepish grin. "I just know General Arnold wanted you there, watching. The brief does not say for what specifically."

"Very well," he said, trying to relax, "what's all this?" He raised the folder of papers.

"It's our current dossier on Mr. Miles. I have an electronic copy here." She raised the thin notebook. "It would be best for both of us to learn as much as possible about our contact."

"Will do. Before we start studying though, can I ask why the sergeant is here?" Michael nodded to the front of the plane where the soldier had taken a seat.

"That's Sergeant Reyes. He has a direct order from the president to ensure the safety of Mr. Miles on the return flight in case of an in-air emergency. It's been made clear that Mr. Miles is the priority if anything goes wrong."

Why would the president issue a direct order to a lowly sergeant?

Uncomfortable answers wound their way up from the dark recesses of Michael's mind, the kind of thoughts people shied away from in the hopes they would slither back from where they came. He forced himself to examine the facts; it was why he excelled in the intelligence field.

A direct order could not be countermanded, and left little room for interference. But who could interfere? Those ranked between the sergeant and the president.

The president doesn't trust the chain of command.

Michael tucked the unsettling idea away for later evaluation, when he had time to mull it over. "And if Mr. Miles does not comply and decides to stay in Plainfield?"

"We can only request that he come with us; we can't force him. If he refuses, then we regroup and wait for new orders."

"Anything else?"

"That's it. It would be best if we both studied up on Mr. Miles." Jennifer briefly touched his knee. "I know this is frustrating Mike, I really do. We're in the same boat here; I hope we can work together on this."

Michael anchored his attention on her almond eyes. She's good. And right. No point in blaming the messenger. "Of course. We'll get through this." Michael smiled as he opened the dossier, ignoring the drop in his gut as the jet took off.

A puffy face looked up at him from a Driver's License photo; the man's hairline conducting a slow retreat from younger days. The next several pages contained nothing but cold facts: forty-two years old, married with two daughters, a college-educated CPA. Nothing reached out to grab Michael's attention.

The next section was a trail of electronic breadcrumbs left behind by the Miles family: GPS coordinates from cell phones, websites visited, shopping activity, emails searched and categorized. The scraps of bits and bytes were brought together to form a mosaic of Todd's mind. Michael was astounded by the depth of the psychological profile and raised his eyebrows in disbelief when he saw it was created only hours earlier. There was no way an analyst, or a team of analysts for that matter, could have created a report like this on such short notice. This had to be the work of an automated system, something much more complex than anything he had been exposed to.

The report neatly summarized key aspects of Todd's personality. Introvert, craves stability, strong numerical talent, politically liberal, fiscally conservative—the list went on and on. Following each heading was a more detailed section composed of technical terms, only some of which Michael understood.

He let the information stew in his mind as he looked out the window, watching thin wisps of clouds pass by. A word, a single word, came bubbling up to the edge of his awareness.

Boring.

Todd's life was a boring plod down the middle path of mediocrity. Or, as Michael chewed on the thought, it was the perfect cover.

He looked across at Jennifer. "So, how do you plan on approaching Mr. Miles?"

She looked up at him, welcoming the brief interlude. "That's a great question, Mike. They haven't given me much to work with here."

"Have they given any reasons why the president wants to meet with him?"

"No, no they haven't." She bit her lower lip unconsciously. "And that's obviously a problem. Right now, all I can do is make the introduction and extend the invitation. I have no reason for the invite and can't answer any questions he may have. I'm going into this blind."

For a brief moment, she was vulnerable, laying bare her insecurity. Michael couldn't help but find it endearing.

He leaned forward. "Let me ask you something, and I understand if you can't answer it. Have you ever been involved in a mission like this before?"

"No. Never." Her tone was final.

"Neither have I, Jennifer, neither have I. At least we're in this together," he offered as encouragement.

Jennifer smiled, holding his stare for an instant before returning to her work.

# Chapter 3

Plainfield, IL

The plane touched down at a small university airport, nestled among manufacturing towns that had seen better days. As Michael and Jennifer stepped out into the fresh morning air, a small group of officers and FBI agents turned with appraising glances in their direction.

Michael trailed Jennifer as she approached the men and made the introductions. Her attitude was different, having discarded the friendly persona on the flight and slipping on an air of weighty authority. She explained that they were going to be stopping a civilian on his way to work. He may be coming back with them to the airport, maybe not. Their job was to stay out of the way. Michael could see begrudging respect in some faces, apathy in others.

She asked if the SUV was equipped per the submitted recommendations. An older agent half raised his hand, and sluggishly escorted them to the vehicle. With thick fingers, he pointed to the rear-view mirror where a hidden camera was installed, the overhead door light that contained a thermal imaging device, and the top of a shoulder strap that housed respiratory sensors. Due to the limited preparation time, he explained in a spiritless voice, they could only capture data on the middle back seat.

Michael suggested that on the return trip he would get in first and Jennifer last, ensuring that Mr. Miles was in the middle. Nothing about the equipment had been in the briefing; it was yet another observation to be filed away for later. Right now, he needed to help his partner.

Jennifer nodded in agreement.

Minutes later, the motorcade of vehicles spilled out onto the road, making their way to Plainfield. They waited on a lazy suburban street, the rumbling of idling engines merging with the sounds of a waking morning. Jennifer had ordered them here. The analysis of Todd's travelling patterns told them he would pass this street on his way to work. It was the perfect place to ensnare their quarry.

In the back of the SUV, Michael watched as Jennifer engrossed herself in the satellite feed streaming into her tablet, an electronic eye tracking Todd's car from above.

"His car will be passing in thirty seconds," she announced, her eyes never leaving the screen. From the front passenger seat, an FBI agent gave the update over the squeaks and hisses of his police radio.

Watching the sputtering stream of cars and trucks passing by, Michael found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Relax. You've dealt with more dangerous people than an accountant. He exhaled, letting the tension slip from his frame.

A blue compact car drove by. Todd's car.

"Initiate the stop!" Jennifer commanded.

The line of vehicles snaked their way onto the road, quickly maneuvering behind the blue vehicle.

"Lights and sirens," she ordered. A piercing noise punctured the tranquil morning air.

A few moments later, they had the car pulled over on another side street, away from the traffic of the main road.

Jennifer put her tablet away. "Mike, follow me."

The two approached the stopped vehicle in measured steps. The window was already down. Staring straight ahead, pudgy fingers of both hands gripping the steering wheel, was the man from the driver's license photo.

Jennifer slowed down just short of the door. "Mr. Todd Miles?"

The man looked up at her. "Yes?"

"Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle for a moment, please?"

"Okay," he replied, unbuckling his seat belt.

Jennifer looked at Michael, then directed her gaze to the sidewalk. Taking the hint, Michael moved to the open spot, all the while watching as Todd exited his vehicle.

"Just over there, please," she directed, offering a pleasant smile as she ushered the driver to where Michael was standing.

"Did I do something wrong?" the man asked, mild confusion etched on his face.

"No, not at all, Mr. Miles. Please allow me to make introductions. My name is Jennifer Smith and I'm a liaison with the National Security Agency. My companion is Army First Lieutenant Michael Grant."

Michael nodded his head in greeting, as Todd looked him over.

"I have an unusual request to make," Jennifer continued. "I am here to personally extend an invitation for you to meet with the President of the United States. We would like you to leave with us immediately. A jet is waiting at Lewis Airport, ready to go."

After the briefest of pauses, Todd replied, "Very well." His tone, like his face, was flat.

A startled look flashed across Jennifer's face, quickly replaced by a warm smile. "Okay. Thank you, Mr. Miles. If you would follow Lt. Grant to the SUV, please. Pass me your keys, I'll give them to an officer and they will drive your car back to your home."

After giving his keys to Jennifer, Todd followed Michael back to the waiting SUV.

I have to be the first one in, Michael recalled. He stepped into the vehicle, sliding all the way across the leather seat. Todd Miles followed, no expression on his face. They both sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Finally, Jennifer entered the car, and the escort started its procession back to the airport.

The thick curtain of awkward silence settled on the trio and did not lift after they boarded the jet. Guidance to a seat wrested a brief acknowledgment, an offer of water would be met with a short utterance of gratitude, but otherwise Todd volunteered quiet obedience and little else. His unconcerned gaze, occasionally moving from one inconsequential view to another, marked the crawling passage of time.

Michael did not know what to do as he waded into these uncertain waters. Jennifer had her notebook to occupy her time, a small oasis from the dry silence they travelled through. The folder of papers was gone upon their return. Michael had nothing but his naked intent to watch their guest, an intent he had to hide to avoid suspicion. He shuffled in his seat, trying to shake off the creeping agitation building in his shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Michael started unpacking mental notes and memories from the last few hours, fighting the alluring pull of sleep tugging on his conscious mind, already tired from the previous night's shift. So much to think through, so much to evaluate...

"Wake up, Mike." There was a gentle shaking of his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open. Jennifer stood over him with a sympathetic gaze. Michael quickly turned to Todd's empty seat, then saw their charge being escorted down the aisle by Sergeant Reyes.

Shit. Of all the times to fall asleep!

"Sorry," he murmured while scrambling to his feet and following Jennifer's lead to the exit door.

The bright sun greeted them as they stepped out of the jet. Michael had to squint in order to see Todd Miles being led into the back of yet another SUV. As Michael and Jennifer reached the bottom of the landing steps, a man in a dark suit approached them, his somber face looking as if it had never known a smile. He identified himself as a Secret Service agent, the humanity stripped from his voice.

"Lt. Grant, you will accompany Mr. Miles back to the White House." The agent turned to face Jennifer. "Ms. Smith, another group of vehicles will be picking you up shortly."

"Will I be going to the White House as well?" she asked.

The agent didn't answer, instead sweeping his hand towards the waiting SUV, an invitation for Michael to start walking.

Jennifer halted, considering a measured response, then gave up. She reached out and squeezed Michael's hand. "It was really nice to work with you, Mike. I hope we see each other again soon."

Michael returned the squeeze. "I hope so too, Jennifer. Take care of yourself."

# Chapter 4

September 26, 1983

Serpukhov-15 bunker, near Moscow

Sitting inside the cold concrete bunker, illuminated by the warm lights of computer equipment and his desk lamp, Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Petrov watched the radar screen in front of him with intent. The fuzzy green dot traversing the screen indicated an ICBM making its way to destroy a Soviet city. A city filled with innocent civilians—families sitting down for a late dinner, mothers tucking their children into bed, workers enjoying a drink to forget about the day's toils. All unaware that a nuclear angel of death, riding a pale green dot, sped towards them through the brisk night air.

The Americans had been poking the Russian Bear again and again for the past several years, bringing tensions to a boiling point between the two countries. The latest American stunt involved flying bombers right to the edge of Soviet borders and then turning away at the last moment, testing the enemy's response.

These tests made raw the already frayed nerves of the Soviet military community. Just three weeks prior, an anxious intelligence officer identified an aircraft entering Soviet airspace. Only hours before, the very same officer had been briefed that the Americans may try to fly aerial reconnaissance aircraft over his territory. The officer scrambled a jet to intercept and destroy the spy plane, which it did within minutes. Shortly thereafter, government channels started to receive word from news sources that a commercial Korean jet had just been shot down. There was no spy plane.

But now, for the US to launch only one missile was not expected. In all the drills and war games in which Stanislav participated, the Americans launched an overwhelming number of missiles in an effort to wipe out as much of the Soviet arsenal as they could in one fell swoop. What was the point of launching just one missile, horrifying as the aftermath would be? Was this another test, another prodding of the bear?

The green dot moved forward.

Stanislav brought his hands to his throbbing temples, knowing he had to make a decision, a decision that may echo for eternity through a nuclear wasteland of decimated cities and broken countries. He had only to pick up the phone, press a button, and notify the launch commander. From there, the dominos would fall according to Soviet nuclear doctrine. Underground silos would rumble open, submarines would surface from their icy depths, and long-range bombers would veer to new coordinates—all would unleash their weapons of atomic death. He had only to do his job, the one job that really mattered, before it was too late to do anything at all.

But something was wrong. He couldn't believe the Americans would launch just one missile. The computerized early detection system was just upgraded several days prior. Hadn't there been problems while going through the hourly checklists? Perhaps the system was malfunctioning.

The green dot moved forward.

It wasn't Stanislav's decision to make. The process relied on him not making decisions; that was the computer's job. He was an extension of that process. An extension meant to relay information up the chain of command, that was all.

He extended a shaking hand to pick up the receiver, then fell back in his chair, his temples throbbing to the point that he felt his head would explode. He paused for a breath, a moment of time he didn't have to spare, then straightened his back. In that instant, he had come to a decision: the launch detection was a malfunction. To call his superiors would start a nuclear war, all because some wires were crossed or a programming bug had been introduced. He would not tip the first domino towards oblivion.

He eased back into his chair, watching the green dot continue its slow march across the screen. A small prayer escaped from his lips, a humble petition to God that the unsuspecting souls in the target city would see the morning light of a new day.

# Chapter 5

Present day

The White House, Washington, DC

It was a white door. Plain. Solid. On the other side was the Oval Office, the epicenter of presidential activity. This door could be found in Michael's secret hopes and dreams, but those images were different from this one. In those private scenes, Michael was older, grayer, more experienced. He was a senior officer with decades of service. Instead, there was this scene. Before the gate of Beltway politics and national influence stood a young, tired lieutenant and a nondescript Midwestern man wearing wrinkled khakis.

The president greeted them warmly at the door, inviting them into the stately interior. Behind him stood General Arnold and a tall African American man with a strong build, dressed in civilian clothes. It took a moment, but Michael recognized the man as Doctor Richard Markham, Professor of Astrophysics and host of many educational television shows. The president stood at the front of the line, a welcoming smile on his face as he extended his hand to Todd Miles. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. To my right is General Arnold and standing next to him is Dr. Markham."

Todd went down the line, shaking the hands of the president and the other two gentlemen. As he did so, the president approached Michael and performed a salute. "Lieutenant Grant, thank you for your assistance."

Michael returned the gesture. "Thank you, Mr. President." He saluted the general and then shook Dr. Markham's hand.

The president walked the men to the center of the room, guiding them to opposing couches. Todd and Michael on one side; General Arnold and Dr. Markham on the other. The president sat in a chair at the head of both groups.

Just then, a man dressed in attendants' clothing entered the room with a silver trolley, asking if anyone would like a beverage. After dispensing some coffee and with a polite nod, the man departed amongst the sounds of clanging silverware and squeaky wheels. The door closed behind him, giving the group privacy from the rest of the world.

The president turned towards Todd. "Thank you once again for coming, Mr. Miles. Do you know why you are here?"

"As host, I would hope you know why you requested my presence," Todd countered.

"Oh, but I do!" The most powerful man in the Western world smiled at his guest. "I figured you might be curious as to the reason behind the invitation." He leaned forward, an expectant look on his face.

Todd sat there, not saying a word. A sense of unease filled the air. Keeping his face still, Michael's eyes moved to take in General Arnold. The man sat there like a mountain, observing the exchange like a hawk tracking its prey.

The president looked at Todd. Todd looked at the president.

Todd's got balls, Michael thought, as the staring contest continued.

After a long, drawn out silence, the president leaned back into his chair, assuming a more open posture. "So why are you here, Mr. Miles?"

"You invited me."

A look of amusement unfurled across the president's face, "But why did I invite you?"

"I already addressed that question, Mr. President."

The president exhaled through his mouth, coming forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees, one hand in the other. "May I ask why you won't address the question, Mr. Miles?"

"You are fishing for information. I'm really not interested in having this conversation if you continue in this manner."

"This is the president you're talking to!" came the general's rebuke, his gravelly voice reverberating throughout the room.

The president raised his hand. "It's okay, Arnold. This is an unusual situation."

"I can honestly say I have no idea what's going on."

The moment the words came from his lips, Michael saw his career flash before his eyes. The army officer had just broken the seal of ordered observer and interjected himself into a conversation way above his pay grade.

The president looked over to Michael. "Let me do my best to explain, Lt. Grant. The United States recently received a communication thought to be of extraterrestrial origin. I won't go into the specifics about the communication right now, but I can say that at a high level we were told to seek out Mr. Miles."

Michael's throat dried up and he leaned back into the sofa in confusion. He must not have heard the president correctly. "Extraterrestrial contact?"

"Yes." Turning to look back at Todd, still patiently sitting there, the president smiled and rose from his chair. "Mr. Miles, on behalf of the people of the United States, and of all the people of planet Earth: Welcome."

Todd Miles stood up and shook the president's hand. "Thank you, Mr. President."

"We have a lot of questions and we're not sure the best way to begin," the president continued after both men sat down. "To get the conversation started, may I ask why we have been contacted?"

"I think our planet will soon be in danger, Mr. President. I feel these beings want to help us." Todd pulled at his jowls. "To be honest, this is all a little strange for me as well." He offered a small, sheepish grin.

"Please, do tell."

As Todd spoke, Michael witnessed a transformation in his expression. It was as if his reserved mask melted away, exposing a bewildered face, a fatigued face, a human face. It was almost as if a different person was sitting next to him.

"I'm a normal guy. I have a wife and kids. A good life. I'm not an alien. I don't even like science fiction! And yet, when officials from the government pulled me over and asked me to meet the president...I...I don't know, I just felt it was the right thing to do. Even talking right now, it's...cloudy. I'm saying things, but I'm not sure why or even if I even believe them myself. It's all very confusing. I'm very tired...All I can say right now is that things are unclear. I'm as surprised as you are that we are sitting here having this conversation. As to the 'why' question, I don't think I can address that right now. What I can tell you is that I believe these beings have come here for the benefit of Earth."

For a moment, Todd's focus drifted to a vacant stare at the wooden coffee table between the sofas, before his head snapped up to meet the president's eyes.

"I would also like to say that I am pleased to be meeting you in person, Mr. President." His speaking voice was different; there was a quiet gravitas he hadn't exhibited before. "I'm sure there were security concerns regarding this meeting, and those concerns are understandable. I'm glad that we could meet face to face."

Todd made a good point, a point Michael should have thought of sooner. He glanced at the general, who was leveling a steely-eyed glare of naked suspicion at Todd.

"I know you have a lot of questions," Todd said, rubbing tired eyes. "But it's been a long morning. I'm tired and would like to speak with my family. Would it be possible to take a break?"

"Absolutely. We have a lot of ground to cover," answered the president, "but I realize you are probably exhausted from the trip. How about we take a small recess and then reconvene with a slightly larger group?"

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Well, I'm sure we'll have more than enough time to discuss things when we meet later today." The president started guiding Todd to the door. "Mr. Miles, I'm honored to have met you and look forward to a promising future."

"Thank you, Mr. President," came Todd's weary reply. A Secret Service agent met them at the door, leading Todd out of the office.

The president meandered back to his chair, his head bowed down following some invisible path on the carpet. He took his seat, bringing steepled fingers to his head as he composed his thoughts.

After several moments, two men swept silently into the room, collecting the coffee cup Todd had drank from with gloved hands. They left, closing the door behind them.

"Thank you, Lt. Grant, for helping to restart the conversation." The president said as he slowly leaned back into his chair.

"I'm sorry for my outburst, Mr. President."

The president let out a small laugh, "It's okay, Lieutenant. Things started off on the wrong foot, we needed a reset and you helped provide it."

From the way the general was looking at him, Michael sensed that not everyone shared the president's feelings.

Straightening himself in his seat, the president turned to face General Arnold. "Well, General, our initial intelligence attempt did not go so well..."

"Mr. President," the general nodded to Michael and Dr. Markham, "perhaps we should have this conversation privately?"

"No, Arnold, I told you before, I want Lt. Grant and Dr. Markham involved. I'm not sure exactly what's going on here, but we need multiple heads on this."

"But Mr. President, there are more senior military aides better suited—"

"No! We talked about this, Arnold. Lt. Grant and Dr. Markham stay."

The general acknowledged the president with a tight-lipped nod.

Turning to face the three men, the president said, "Now, gentlemen, keep in mind there are things I will not be able to go into detail about. What kind of immediate questions do you have? We'll do our best to answer them."

Dr. Markham tilted forward. "Mr. President, can you tell us more about the initial contact?"

"I'm sorry, that happens to be one item I can't go into detail about right now."

"Do you truly suspect it's extraterrestrial in origin?"

"It's a distinct possibility, although we are trying to determine what possible terrestrial influences could be involved as well."

"Is this the first known possible contact with an alien intelligence?"

"Good question, yes it is. Regardless of what people think, there was no UFO crash in Roswell or anything like that. We don't have a bunch of alien corpses sitting in a government freezer somewhere," the president said with a wry smile.

"Did the message include anything else that would give motive for their outreach?"

"Not that we know."

"What do we know about Mr. Miles himself?" the doctor asked, finally able to vent his eager questions.

"Well, in the short time period we had, an initial summary was generated based on what we could gather from various intelligence sources. To my knowledge, the only picture they painted was of a middle-aged CPA living in the Midwest. There are teams gathering biological tracings, like hair and skin, gathered from the cars and jet. His DNA and cells will be analyzed. We also captured some biometric information from him that is being looked at. Historical information is being gathered from his whole family tree."

"Mr. President," Michael started, "I'm somewhat surprised in the response to the communication. No disrespect, sir, but isn't there a risk having a possible alien being transported across the country, and meeting with you in person, specifically—"

"Your concerns are well founded, Lt. Grant, and you are not the first to raise them." The president's eyes flickered in the direction of General Arnold. "It was ultimately decided that if this truly was some type of extraterrestrial intelligence making contact, there was little we could do if they had bad intentions for us. I had to weigh many things and decided it was best to try and provide an open and honest front. But you saw for yourself that my initial attempt to see what Mr. Miles knew did not go over well. It was part of an internal compromise," he said, with a pained look on his face.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"No, thank you, all of you." The president's eyes made contact with each of the men in the room. "This is a historic moment. We will all be called upon to do our very best in navigating these uncertain waters." The president rose from his seat, the other men following suit. "Gentlemen, I know some of you have travelled a fair distance. Take this opportunity to get some rest before we reconvene. Your country needs your very best."

# Chapter 6

In a room underneath the White House, Michael fidgeted under the sterile light of fluorescent bulbs. The momentous news of alien contact was pushed aside by thoughts of his floundering outburst, interrupting the silence between the president and Todd. The president had dismissed the faux pas as a minor incident, but Michael doubted the general would be so forgiving.

General Arnold walked in, letting out a sigh as he took a seat across from Michael. Reaching into his jacket, he set a rattling prescription bottle onto the table. "You're tired. Take these."

Michael knew what they were without reading the label. Go pills. Sanctioned amphetamines. A way for soldiers to keep up with the frenetic events in the theatre of war, events that didn't adhere to a nine-to-five schedule.

The general sat there, waiting. The pills weren't a suggestion.

Michael popped the cap, swallowing two bitter pills.

"Tell me everything that happened between when I left you on the jet until we met with the president," the general ordered.

Calming his nerves, Michael started with a description of the events. He kept everything brief and factual. Years of providing reports to those higher in the chain of command taught him he was a filter. His job was to remove the dirt and small rocks of non-critical information, leaving only nuggets of intelligence gold. Extract, prioritize, describe. Based on Todd Miles's behavior, there was not much to tell. He soon finished his briefing, watching the general and waiting for his response.

The general regarded Lt. Grant with a calculating stare. "You shouldn't have been involved in this, you realize that?"

"Yes, sir."

"The president has decided, against my judgment, that you are to be involved in whatever happens next. So, Lt. Grant, let's take a moment to address any questions you may have."

Michael remained silent, waiting.

"Although I don't like it, you are part of the team, and it's my job to make sure we address the situation as best we can, for the sake of our country. Going forward, all communication with the president comes through me. Do you understand?"

Michael could tell the general was referring to his previous outburst in the Oval Office. "Sir, let me begin by saying that I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve my country in this capacity."

The general sat stoically without moving or saying anything in response.

Michael cleared his throat. "Sir, may I ask how I was selected for this assignment?" He had felt inadequate during the entire trip. There was not a single reason he could think of for being chosen to be a primary contact with what turned out to be a possible alien representative.

"The president wanted an impartial choice as to who would be observing Mr. Miles, someone not too senior in the military. He asked me to come up with a list of young officers that already had a high level of clearance and some type of intelligence work. People that were stationed nearby. He randomly picked you from that list."

"I see. So he wanted two people to meet Todd Miles; a military observer and a separate point of contact?"

The general squinted. "Sending a military attachè was my idea. An event like this is too important not to have someone from the armed services there to observe and evaluate events."

And to have someone that could report back to you in private and to anchor your involvement, Michael thought. The president may not have wanted a military presence at the initial point of contact. He suspected that the general must have pressed his argument for having someone there. Randomly selecting a young officer like Michael would have been a good compromise. "How long ago was the initial contact?"

"Approximately eight hours ago."

"Can you tell me if the contact was specifically directed at us, or if other world powers were included as well?"

"Nothing is confirmed, but we strongly believe that other world leaders were contacted. Right now, our intelligence sources indicate a large amount of government activity in a number of countries, with a high probability it's related to possible extraterrestrial contact." The general rubbed his hands together. "Unofficial sources have confirmed we are not the only country being targeted."

"Sir, from what you know, do you really think alien beings are making contact with us?"

General Arnold paused a moment, looking at his knuckles. "I don't know. I'll tell you this: either there are alien beings trying to make contact with us, or someone has somehow managed to fool the president and other world leaders. Quite frankly, son, I'm not sure which possibility is worse."

Michael felt his stomach drop. This was not a drill. Today's events were live fire.

"I need another set of eyes on this, Lt. Grant, another set of eyes on the president. I don't think any of us fully understands what's going on here, but it's our duty to make sure the people of this country are protected. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," came the conditioned response. Michael had sworn an oath to protect his country, but having another set of eyes on the president? He was edging up to an invisible line that once crossed, he may never be able to recover from.

A knock on the door interrupted the two, prompting the general to investigate. A conversation in hushed tones took place between the cracked doors.

"There are some things I need to address before our meeting with Mr. Miles. Remember, Lt. Grant, I'm depending on you."

# Chapter 7

Nine hours earlier

NASA Goddard Space Flight Center, Maryland

Two satellite technicians studied the screen in front of them, their faces aglow in the soft light emanating from the monitor. They were alone in the cavernous operations center, where row after row of empty terminals ended in a large display covering the front wall. There, an array of graphs and charts displayed the health and status of the satellites and space telescopes circling above.

The two men worked during the third shift, a quiet time when most of the country slept and dreamed. During these twilight hours, the technicians would progress through a series of checklists and programs to ensure that US space assets were operating normally.

The usual ebb and flow of their assignments was interrupted when they received a call from the center's Director of Operations. In a groggy voice, he told the men to immediately cut off all external access to the Fermi Gamma-ray space telescope. Once that was done, they were to reposition the telescope to an unscheduled set of coordinates. One of the technicians balked at the request, trying to explain that there were many astronomers and universities counting on the regular stream of data the telescope provided. Coupled with the repositioning, it could take days before those groups could secure access again.

"I don't care, move the telescope now," was the director's curt reply. So the technicians started the plodding process of adjusting the telescope's position in space. One of the men muted the speakerphone, complaining bitterly about the flood of angry emails and phone calls that was sure to pour in.

The director stayed on the call while the telescope completed its maneuvers. Once in place, the director ordered the technicians to monitor the telescope's data feed. They asked if there was anything specific they should be looking for, but he simply restated his original request. So there they sat, shadowed by the director's silent presence on the phone, watching a monitor as it displayed the cascading wall of data being streamed from the distant telescope.

Time passed slowly, with the tired technicians trying to fight their drooping eyelids. Amidst the boredom, something unexpected came across the screen, startling both men. They looked at each other for confirmation.

"Director," one of them said into the speakerphone, "we are seeing some unusual data coming through."

A different voice responded from the speakerphone, deeper and more authoritative. "This is the President of the United States. Tell me exactly what you are seeing."

# Chapter 8

Present time

The White House, Washington, DC

The situation room was cramped as last-minute attendees squeezed themselves up to the table. Dr. Markham, General Arnold, and Jennifer Smith were present. Michael recognized others from television, political sites, and the comings and goings at the Pentagon. Scattered among the group were unfamiliar faces, their roles at the meeting a mystery. Two seats were reserved, each capping the heads of the table. They were the only empty seats left in the room.

The president's name was announced as he made his entrance, all the guests standing in respect. Todd followed behind him and was escorted by an agent to the other side of the table.

As the doors closed, the president looked out across the group. "Thank you everyone for coming. I know many of you had to make sacrifices so you could attend and it is appreciated. Please, be seated."

The group sat down in unison, people shuffling their chairs in an attempt to get comfortable.

The president looked down briefly, then brought his head up with a confident smile. "What's about to be revealed in this room is considered to be at the highest level of national clearance. Some of you have not gone through the traditional vetting process that is normally required for what you're about to hear. Events have occurred that are time sensitive, events that we think each of you can help us understand and navigate. For that reason, we are including you in this process." He scanned the room at a measured pace. "If for whatever reason you do not want the responsibility of maintaining the secrecy that would be required, now is the time to leave."

The room fell silent. Nobody moved.

"What you are about to hear will be difficult to accept. I ask that everyone listens calmly and objectively to what I have to say."

Michael reached for the glass of water in front of him. It was clear that not everyone in the room knew they were sitting with a possible alien.

"Earlier today, we received a message from what we believe to be an alien intelligence. I can't go into the exact details of how the communication occurred, but it did direct us to what I can best call their representative, Mr. Todd Miles." He gestured across the table to where Todd sat. All heads in the room turned to face the unassuming man with an almost practiced synchronicity.

Todd raised his hand in greeting. "Hello."

"Mr. Miles, how about we go around the room and introduce everyone?"

"That would be great, Mr. President."

One by one, the guests listed their names and professions. When it was Michael's turn, he couldn't help but feel out of place. He quickly gave his name and rank, letting the group move on to the next person.

Soon the entire table had introduced themselves. The unsettling announcement had clearly had an effect on some of those present.

The president resumed control of the room. "How would you like to begin, Mr. Miles?"

"Please, call me Todd."

"Very well, Todd," the president responded with a relaxed smile.

"Well, this is going to sound odd, even odder than finding out that an alien contacted the president." He let out a nervous giggle. "I think I am here as some sort of envoy, although I can't say for sure."

"Why do you think you are an envoy?"

"It's hard to say. I just...I just do. This morning, when I was stopped by that young woman and Lt. Grant, I just felt that I had to go with them, but I wasn't sure why."

Michael recalled Todd's calm demeanor during the trip, which stood in contrast to the uncertainty he'd just expressed.

"There were times on this trip where the answers and behaviors just came to me. It's hard to explain, but it's almost like correctly predicting ninety-nine coin flips in a row. You don't know what the next one is, but in a way you feel that you do. I want everyone here to understand this. It's hard for me to talk about things that I don't really understand myself. I thought it was important for all of you to know this upfront. I don't want to say something wrong and everyone thinks it's the aliens. It may just be me screwing up."

"Thank you for that, Todd. I can only imagine how difficult all this has been for you." The president's tone was reassuring. "Have you always thought of yourself as an alien envoy?"

Todd shook his head while looking down at the table. "No, Mr. President. Occasionally I would have weird daydreams, just like everyone does. But it wasn't until I was asked to come meet with you that I thought I might be an envoy. I wasn't sure until you mentioned the message."

General Arnold spoke, "Are you the only one?"

Todd glanced away in thought. "No, I'm not. There are more envoys, eleven others, most talking to other governments right now."

"Is there some sort of ranking among you? Is there a leader?"

Todd thought again. "Yes. I am high up, near the top. There is one that is above us all, he's...different somehow."

"Who is this one?" the general asked.

"I don't know, General, it's not important right now."

"Are you determining what's important?"

The president laid on a hand on the general's shoulder. "Tone it down, Arnold."

"I'm...sorry, Mr. President."

"It's okay," Todd said, "I just don't think the aliens view it as important right now, but again, it's all hard to tell."

The president nodded. "From what you say, there are eleven other envoys out there. Is there some type of message that you have for us?"

"I want to be very, very careful in what I say here." Todd's brow furrowed in concentration. "It's hard to speak when so much hinges on words and I don't fully understand why I'm saying them." At that, the impassive mask that originally greeted Michael and Jennifer slipped back over Todd's face. "Humanity will receive a message tomorrow afternoon at 1:00 pm our time."

"What is the message, Todd?" The president's concern was apparent to all.

Todd became unfocused, ignoring the gazes of the people assembled around him. He exhaled, the mask slipping from his visage. He started rubbing his temples. "I don't know the full message, but it's a warning. Humanity is sprinting headlong to the precipice of destruction, quite possibly to the destruction of all life on this planet. Part of the message is to educate us on this peril, to give us a chance to turn away."

A pensive air blanketed the room as the guests contemplated the alien warning delivered from their fellow human.

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know if there is a timeframe, just that we are extremely close."

"Do you know what will cause this calamity?"

"Our greed. Our immaturity. This planet will not be able to sustain the billions that have poured forth, stripping the Earth of her bounty to enjoy a standard of living unmatched throughout history. We are destroying the very atmosphere that keeps us alive. Resources will become scarce, people will be displaced from their homes as seas rise, great nations will impose their will upon lesser states, then against each other. All gathering the scraps left over from our feast. Nuclear war will commence. And then we will be no more."

The general leaned forward. "Why do these aliens care?"

Todd smiled at him as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "There is life throughout this universe, but not much is able to grow into the rich variety of life here on Earth. There are so many creatures that have developed intelligence, not just humans. I think they would see it as some type of universal loss if they let us go ahead and destroy ourselves and the Earth in our ignorance."

"Will you give us technology to help us combat this problem?"

"No. Technology has outpaced wisdom; it's what threatens us today. The moment we created nuclear weapons, humanity placed its collective head under the guillotine. The threat will always hang over us, ready to be pulled down by the weight of consequence. Our creation has become our curse, a burden that will be carried by all future generations."

"Do you have anything to offer us?" the general asked, exasperation in his voice. Michael noticed the president sitting back, letting the general take the lead.

"Three things," Todd replied, while holding up matching fingers. "One, the knowledge that we are not alone in this universe. Something greater than our kind resides in creation. Two, that we as a species march toward our doom. And three, that we can change our fate. That is why they have come."

"There's an important element missing from this 'message,' sir," the robust man sitting across from Michael announced in a southern drawl. It was Pastor Bob Johnson, a television evangelist riding a recent wave of popularity. "You're missing the most important piece: God." The preacher looked at Todd down the bridge of his nose.

"Your religious figures are not relevant to this discussion," came Todd's blunt reply.

"What?" Bob slammed the palms of both hands onto the table. "You mean to tell me that you're going to try and deliver a message to the people of the United States, a Christian nation, and not bring God into this?"

Todd looked at the man, offering no comment.

Bob turned to the president. "Mr. President, are you telling me that you believe all this? This man is claiming to speak for an invisible alien, trying to pass a supposed message to the citizens of this fine country?"

"Excuse me, Pastor Johnson," came an unexpected voice. The woman had previously introduced herself as Dr. Edith Gibbons, a biologist working for DARPA. She stood out from the otherwise well groomed crowd, her chunky frame highlighted by an ill-fitting blouse and old glasses too large for her round face. "Excuse me, but aren't you a man passing along the teachings of someone who lived two thousand years ago, claiming to speak for an invisible being? At least our guy is sitting right here in front of us."

The pastor slammed a meaty hand to the table, his face red with fury. He started to stand from his seat, a rebuke ready to erupt from his quivering lips.

"That's enough."

Michael respected how the president's delivery of those two words brought the arguing pair to an immediate halt.

"Take a seat, Pastor Johnson," the president requested, "please."

The pastor lowered his bulky frame back into his chair, his eyes never leaving Dr. Gibbons' unconcerned face.

"Todd, you mentioned that the full message will be delivered tomorrow afternoon. How will it be delivered?" the president asked, deftly changing the subject.

"That is up to you and the other world leaders, Mr. President. You can choose to come together and, along with the envoys, help us bring the message to the world. Alternatively, there are other means of communication that will be used if the world's leaders choose to not participate." Todd paused, placing his head into the palm of his hand, and looking sickly. "Mr. President, I'm not feeling well and haven't been able to talk to my family yet. There's not much more I can tell you before tomorrow. I need to rest."

"Of course, Mr. Miles. Many people in this room have a lot of work to do if this message will be delivered tomorrow. It's a challenging timeline that's been set." The president thanked everyone for their participation and left the conference with Todd. Michael remained seated as the other attendees stood and conversed among themselves.

Todd's latest revelation about a global communication happening in less than twenty-four hours gnawed at him. The whole process of finding Todd had been rushed, and now world leaders would scramble to meet this deadline set by unseen forces. Michael had no doubt the world's leaders would try to meet the challenge. Who would want to be the odd man or woman out, left behind as other leaders showed their initiative as representatives of humanity? There would be a race to the front as heads of state ensured they were displayed prominently to be on the right side of history. Old lessons from Michael's trade in intelligence echoed in his thoughts, lessons about pressure, creating the feeling of urgency. Michael could see glimpses of those lessons in the unforgiving schedule set by these aliens. It did not sit well with him.

# Chapter 9

After the meeting, Michael was escorted to a smaller version of the situation room. The computer terminals at the table were the main difference. The military police officer escorting told him to wait in the room; General Arnold would be arriving shortly.

The day's events were wearing on Michael. It felt as though his patience was being stretched so far that tears were appearing, like pulled pizza dough. Collapsing into a chair, he sat slouched with his feet stretched out before him, crossed his arms, and stared at the table.

His head snapped up at the sound of the door opening and he awkwardly got to his feet as Dr. Gibbons walked in, her escort closing the door behind her.

"Hello, Dr. Gibbons, I guess there's no rest for the wicked, heh?" He tried to flash a charming smile at this plain woman as he started to take his seat again, but in his tired state, he felt there was a good chance he looked like he was having a stroke instead.

The biologist looked directly at him, oblivious to his charms. "Why are you here, Lt. Grant? You're a first lieutenant intelligence officer, a dime a dozen. What gives?"

Michael liked her directness. It was a refreshing change of pace from the lies and misdirection found in the political games he witnessed here in Washington. "Dr. Gibbons, I can't go into the details, but I can tell you I'm as surprised as you are." He leaned back in his chair, trying to iron out a kink that had worked itself deep in his back. "And you're here because of your work with DARPA?"

"I presume so."

"Not a big believer in God either?" he joked, recalling the recent confrontation with the pastor.

"I do believe in God; I'm Catholic."

Michael sat up, frowning. "Catholic? After what you just said in there?"

"Yes, why does that surprise you?"

"You just called a nationally famous preacher an idiot for believing in a deity he cannot see."

"No, I did not. I pointed out to him that he's measuring this recent disclosure by the president with a different set of standards than the ones he uses for the faith he advertises to others. We would not be here unless there were very good reasons supporting the premise that some type of alien intelligence has made contact. It may not fit neatly into our comfortable world view, but reality rarely does, Lt. Grant."

"Okay. Point taken. Still, you didn't make any friends back there."

"Does it look like I have a lot of friends?" Edith's tone was sarcastic but the twinkle in her eyes and the mischievous smile spreading across her face took the bite out from her reply.

General Arnold entered the room with Jennifer Smith and Dr. Markham in tow. Michael once again scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as the general and others took their seats.

"Sit down," the general growled. Michael obeyed quickly, catching Jennifer's eye as he did so. He couldn't suppress the smile that came to his face.

The general addressed the group. "We are breaking up the meeting participants into brainstorming teams until our next session. You will all be working together until I say otherwise. Everyone here has met everyone else at one point or another, so let's cut to the chase. Ms. Smith was the initial contact and liaison with Todd Miles. Lt. Grant accompanied both of them. We had equipment trained on Mr. Miles on the car ride back in Illinois. We have also captured audio from the point he joined us until right now, including what happened in the conference room. DNA and cellular analysis is being performed on biological material collected from sources including his water bottle, bathroom towels, etc." The general looked over at Jennifer. "Give us a summary of your findings."

"Well General, no anomalies have been detected so far based on biological samples. From what we can tell, he's human. Biometric readings showed Mr. Miles to be calm on the trip here, which is somewhat in conflict with what he said in the Oval Office."

The meeting had not been as private as Michael had thought.

"Despite that disparity, from what our analysis systems have shown us, he seems he was telling the truth. Linguistic analysis is the most interesting—it shows that Mr. Miles classifies himself as a distinct entity from these 'alien beings'. He does not consider himself to be one of them. He also uses the plural form when discussing them, indicating more than one. Looking at sentence structure and word choice, we can infer with seventy-three percent accuracy that Mr. Miles believes there is a group mind at work. A large number of 'aliens' working as a collective toward a common goal. The closest analogy we have is a human government, although it's a leaky abstraction at best."

"Anything unusual in terms of the electromagnetic spectrum?" the general asked, rubbing his hands together.

"No, the NSA was already well prepared because the meeting took place in the White House. We added some extra hardware, but we found nothing unusual on any detectable bands."

"What were Mr. Miles's biometrics like when specific questions were addressed to him in the last meeting?"

"Those are currently undergoing analysis, so it's too early to tell."

"Damn! Someone or something is communicating with Mr. Miles and we have no idea how they are doing it." The general looked down at his hands, then over to Dr. Gibbons. "What are your thoughts?"

A smile crept across Edith's face as she started speaking, "This is exciting. Possible first contact with an alien intelligence; confirmation that we are not alone in the universe. At least corporeally—"

"What are your thoughts on how they are communicating with Mr. Miles?" the general interrupted.

After a brief pause, she blurted, "Consciousness."

The general stared at her, fatigue starting to show on his face, "Excuse me?"

"You asked me my thoughts on how they are communicating with Mr. Miles. If I had to hypothesize—well, guess is a more appropriate word—I would say they are communicating with Mr. Miles and the others directly through consciousness. If that's true, it may be how they are observing our world as well."

"Why do you think that?" There was a hint of sarcasm in the general's voice.

"The universe is big, General. So big, our monkey brains aren't good at comprehending how big it is. We're optimized to calculate the best angle to throw feces at our enemies in the next tree, not to understand many light years in distance."

"What?" came the general's exasperated reply.

"Look, our current understanding of physics has limits, like the speed of light in a vacuum. From what we know, nothing can travel faster than that. Even going that fast, it would take forever to traverse space. But what if there were other mechanisms that we didn't understand, mechanisms that somehow were not constrained by things like the speed of light?"

"That may be," Dr. Markham spoke up, "but it's pretty likely the aliens would have a more complete understanding of physics than we do. They may not be constrained by the speed of light."

"Indeed, Dr. Markham," Edith conceded, "but so far we have not been made aware of any type of physical interaction or presence, have we? It's within the realm of possibility that a medium other than physical space is being used here."

"So our brains? That's your idea?" the general asked, resuming control of the conversation.

"No, I'm saying consciousness. We don't really understand how it works, but it's something that separates us from most of the other stuff out there. It's clearly important for whomever Todd Miles speaks for, because they expressed their message through him. There is intelligent life on this planet other than humans; they seem to be showing a broad concern for all life on this planet. Evolved intelligence at some point brings consciousness, at least with people. Probably with some other creatures as well."

Jennifer leaned forward. "There is no way you can know this for sure."

"Of course not, Ms. Smith," Edith snapped back. "The general asked my opinion based on a brief observation I had with a person that made the unprecedented claim of being an alien ambassador. It's the best I could do under the circumstances."

Michael saw a flicker of emotion cross Edith's face as she spoke to Jennifer. It was the look of thinly veiled contempt. Michael felt sorry for her, the ugly smart girl trying to explain things to the pretty but stupid cheerleader. Except Michael knew that Jennifer was anything but stupid.

"All right, all right," the general interjected, raising his hands up so his palms were showing, "we're all tired here."

Edith brought her attention back to him. "This all brings up a very interesting point. If these aliens can communicate via consciousness, how far does their influence extend? Can they directly control people if they so desire? Is there a limit to the number of people they can control? This has direct security implications regarding the independence of the president and other world leaders. If they were somehow compromised—"

"That's enough, Dr. Gibbons," the general commanded. "Right now, I want you all to assume that the contact is legitimate. This team is responsible for going through Todd's history and family line. Find any anomalies that may link him to these aliens. With the different expertise you all bring to the table, we can cast a wide net. That's your focus, understood? Other teams are investigating additional themes."

The sudden change in the general alerted Michael's suspicions. Was it possible the general was concerned about the president somehow being under the influence of this alien intelligence? Could this be the reason for his odd requests earlier today to keep an eye on the Commander In Chief?

Edith looked perturbed at the general's interruption, visibly stopping herself from responding. Michael could almost see the turmoil in her head as she grappled with some thought. "Okay, General, but I would like to make one request."

"What is it?"

"I would like to get Adam involved."

The General looked at her but said nothing.

"Dr. Brown's Adam to be specific: his analysis would be most valuable here."

"That's not possible."

"Why not? We are dealing with a presumed alien intelligence communicating with world leaders, and potentially the people of Earth. What possible reason could there be for not involving Adam?"

"I'm sorry, but who's Adam?" Michael asked, seeing Dr. Markham sharing his confusion.

Jennifer glanced nervously at the general, indicating that she knew who this Adam was as well.

The general turned to Michael, looking him up and down. "It's a what, not a who. Adam is a computer program used for high level analysis and simulations—"

"Oh, he's more than that," Edith interrupted, "Adam is strong AI, artificial intelligence. He's the most sophisticated system we have today to perform the most challenging of analysis." She turned to face the general. "I know he's been used since Dr. Brown left, even though the doctor wanted him shut down. Why can't we use him here?"

"Because I said so!" The general slammed his fist down onto the table.

Edith retreated into her shell.

The general collected himself. "Adam is not available right now. We'll all have to make do without it." He stood, checking his phone. "I need to leave," he said distractedly, exiting the room without another word.

# Chapter 10

In the hours that followed, Jennifer led the group through reams of information gathered on Todd's history and family line. With no defined leader, the conversation would sometimes stray outside their specific mission objectives. Michael understood that these were civilians, not people with military experience. His attempts to bring them back to the task at hand were challenging, like trying to herd cats.

Almost two hours had passed and he was about to request a break when two MPs entered the room unannounced. They directed the team to follow them, taking everyone back to the situation room. As Michael looked around, he saw they were one of the last groups to enter; all of the previous attendees were already seated.

Everyone stood as the president entered the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Please be seated. Mr. Miles will be here shortly. The purpose of this meeting is to learn the exact nature of this message that we are supposed to deliver by tomorrow afternoon. I understand that we all have many questions we want answered. Trust me that we are doing everything possible to learn as much as we can about our new friends. That being said, we need to be as prepared as possible, so that we can help sculpt the dialogue that will be taking place."

Todd was clear that he couldn't share much more about the message, Michael thought. Perhaps the president had something up his sleeve?

"Now," the president continued, " is there anything anyone wants to get out of the way before we bring in Todd?"

Edith immediately raised her hand. "I do, Mr. President."

"Please, go ahead."

"I know you couldn't talk about it earlier, but I think it's important to know what happened that triggered this event. It's a question that the general populace will want to know. If we are framing a message for them, we will need to be prepared."

The president and General Arnold exchanged glances, then the president brought his gaze back to Edith with a smile. "You are absolutely correct. I won't go into the details now, but I expect to be able to share that with everyone later today." He looked around the room. "Anything else?"

Nobody responded.

General Arnold went to the door, bringing a waiting Todd Miles into the room. Michael frowned. There was something decidedly "off" about Todd as he took a seat across from the president.

"Hello Todd," the president greeted him. "There are some additional items we wanted to address, is that okay?"

"Where is my family, Mr. President?"

For a moment, the president looked taken aback, but he quickly composed himself. "I'm sorry, Todd. They are not here yet due to some technical difficulties."

"I haven't heard from them at all," Todd interrupted. "I clearly told you that I expected to see them. If you are able to bring me here on such short notice, you can do the same for them."

"Again, Todd, my apologies, let me look into where things are at and I promise I will get back to you."

"We won't proceed until my wife and daughters are here with me, unhurt."

"I promise you, Todd, your family will be here soon. Now, I have been on the phone with many of the world leaders, not all, but many. Along with the envoys, we've decided to meet here at the United Nations building in New York. That doesn't leave much time—"

Todd stood up from his seat, cutting the president off once again. "I would like to go back to my room now, Mr. President."

"Todd, please, sit down."

"For the second time, I would like to go back to my room now."

The president exhaled, visibly struggling to keep his frustration in check. "Todd. Please. Sit down."

Todd started walking to an exit door. General Arnold stood from his chair. "Mr. Miles! You will not be allowed to leave this room unescorted. Now take a seat!"

Todd stopped. He turned around slowly and walked toward the wall directly opposite the president. He stopped within a few inches, and sat on the floor with his legs crossed, his back to the room.

A look of disgust crossed the general's face. "Stand up, Mr. Miles! Your president is talking to you."

Todd remained motionless. Michael had to raise himself slightly from his chair just to see over the table.

Everyone but Todd turned to face the president as he stood up from his chair. Keeping his eyes on his guest, he made his way around the conference table and over to Todd's side. The president squatted down, speaking to Todd in a low voice that Michael could not quite make out. The rest of the room was silent as the president tried to bring Todd back to the table.

Todd sat like a statue, ignoring the president's attempts. After about thirty seconds, the president stood up, a look of frustration on his face. He was walking back to his seat, when there was a knock on the outer door to the conference room. The door opened and an agent entered. "I'm sorry, Mr. President. I know that you asked not to be disturbed, but I need to speak to you immediately."

The president turned to the agent, then over to the figure seated on the floor. "Fine," he replied, following the agent into the hallway.

Michael could see the awkwardness on everyone's faces as they glanced up, down, or to the side. Nobody wanted to make eye contact. They pretended to be deep in thought, so they didn't have to acknowledge the fact that an alien envoy was sitting on the floor facing the wall, like a child in timeout. The general, however, was the only one not pretending to be distracted. He remained standing at the table, his eyes boring a hole in the back of Todd's head.

A different agent entered the room and pulled a few high level officials into the hallway, including General Arnold.

It was clear something big was happening. Michael couldn't help but look over at Jennifer, who was already looking at Michael.

A minute passed before General Arnold came back into the room with two Secret Service agents.

"Todd Miles, you are being returned to your room. If you don't wish to walk, I'll have these agents carry you out."

Todd stood as the agents flanked him. He turned around, looking directly the general. The two men stared at each other. The general had fire in his eyes. Todd, on the other hand, had a cool aloofness to his gaze. Michael felt a shiver pass down his spine. The agents took hold of the envoy's arms, and escorted him out of the room. As they started to leave, Todd switched his gaze to the space in front of his feet. General Arnold stayed in position, waiting for the doors to close. As soon as they did, he turned to face the others.

"Just a few minutes ago, the president's ten-year-old daughter fell unconscious while walking with the First Lady just outside the White House. She just fell, for no known reason. She's being sent to the hospital as we speak, but has so far been unresponsive."

Michael felt his gut drop. Deep down he knew that alien intelligence was behind this medical emergency. He hoped that he was wrong, that the fall was an unfortunate coincidence, but that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise.

Pastor Bob Johnson raised his hand. "General Arnold, I would like to be with the president and his family at the hospital during this difficult time. It's important for them to know that God is with them and their child."

"Very well, Pastor. Go outside and wait in the hall, I'll be out there shortly."

The pastor stood from his seat, looked to the seated participants, and nodded goodbye.

Once he had left, the general turned to the others. "Everyone else, you will all break out into your original teams. We are now at FPCINN Delta, you are all cleared to reveal whatever is necessary in order to move our knowledge about this alien intelligence forward and to protect us from further attacks."

FPCINN Delta was the highest security threat level, indicating a terrorist attack had occurred or was about to occur. The general thinks the alien intelligence was behind the president's daughter's ailment as well, Michael realized.

The general motioned for Michael and his team to stay in their seats as the others filed out the door. Once the room was empty, he addressed Michael. "Lt. Grant, I am going to the hospital with the pastor and a few others. This is now a military operation: you're officially in charge of this group. You will be given a secure phone where you can reach me if anything comes up. Don't hesitate to contact me, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know everything up until now has been difficult and that we were unprepared," he said, surveying the group. "Starting now, we take back control."

Michael kept quiet as he strode out of the room.

Now it was time for fire and motion.

At West Point, Michael had been taught that when engaging with the enemy, if unsure what to do, engage in fire and motion. Keep the enemy pinned down with suppressing fire and advance your position. Don't give the enemy pause or time to think. Take initiative and own the conflict, or risk your enemy doing the same to you. Michael didn't know what to do, but his training and overseas experience was starting to kick in. He knew he wasn't smart enough to figure all this out alone, but with the others here, they actually had a shot. His job was to help them get there. He took a deep breath, then stood up from his seat.

"Guys, I know this is difficult, but I'm confident that we can make sense of at least some of this. I...I know I'm the youngest and most inexperienced person here, but that's irrelevant, because I'm not the one who's going to be solving this problem." He scanned their faces, making brief eye contact with each one. "You're the ones that can solve this, or at least you're the best qualified to try. In the short time I've worked with you, I genuinely think you're our best shot."

Jennifer smiled up at him, a twinkle in her eye. "I'm with you, Mike." He couldn't help but smile in relief.

Dr. Markham looked at him as well, laughing a little. "I don't think any of us here has experience in dealing with actual aliens, so don't worry about being 'unqualified!' That fact aside, you'll have one hundred percent from me."

Michael turned to Edith, who was watching him with that impassive face. "Kind of sappy, Captain America, but of course I will help."

# Chapter 11

The team was escorted back to the room they had been in earlier, passed occasionally by rushing figures in the hallway. As the others took a seat, Michael paced around the table.

"Our immediate job is to determine the best course of action in light of recent events. If these aliens had something to do with what happened to the president's daughter, how can we best proceed?"

Dr. Markham spoke up, "Well, I think it was a mistake to begin with trying to address first contact like we would some type of human conflict. If there is an advanced alien civilization making contact, there is no conflict: they can do whatever they like. We need to wipe the idea that we can have any type of upper hand from our minds and try to determine how best to work with them."

Michael sighed. "We have an obligation to put forth our best efforts in trying to protect the people of the United States and the world. We can't just give up, Dr. Markham."

"Please, call me Rich. I'm not talking about giving up, Michael." The doctor's gaze moved to an empty spot on the table. "Let me pose a scenario to you, as a military man. Would you mind?"

"Go ahead."

"It's a simple thought experiment, just go along with it for now. If we could somehow pit the current US military against the military of one hundred years ago, who would win?"

Michael smiled; he could even hear what sounded like a snort coming from Edith. "The military of today would win, Rich."

"Yes, you are absolutely correct. Just to provide more perspective, let me outline for you what the conflict would probably look like. It would start off with the US general from one hundred years ago showing up on the field of battle, his soldiers behind him. Awaiting him would be this large rectangular object: a television. Of course, he wouldn't know that, since television hadn't been invented yet. All of a sudden, an image would appear on the rectangle. It would be the face of General Arnold today, in crisp, high definition. To the early twentieth-century general, he would probably think it was some type of magical oracle, since nothing like it existed at the time.

"General Arnold would start by congratulating his opponent for bravely meeting him for this conflict. He would explain that he could see the general's soldier formations along with the heavy artillery, which at that time would consist of canons moving on wheels. He would note the position of horse cavalry protecting the flanks of his main soldiers. General Arnold would then tell him he could see all these troop positions in real time since he was watching them from outer space. The twentieth-century general would have no concept of satellites, so he would probably imagine people literally in space looking down at him and his troops.

"Then, our general would let him know that something called a missile had been launched at them from over a thousand miles away. He would explain that this 'missile' was a large metallic object that could fly through the air without direct human interaction. He would relate that it would hit exactly where the twentieth-century general was standing, and that it would instantly and completely obliterate all the troops the general brought with him. Nobody would hear it coming, since it would be travelling faster than the speed of sound.

"At that point, the television would power off, and some poor soldier would point up at the sky. 'Hey, what's that shiny object—' BOOM! The missile hits, they are all dead.

"The current US military would not suffer a single casualty in a conventional wartime scenario. We would unquestionably dominate the opposing army. That is what a one hundred-year technology difference looks like, Lt. Grant." Dr. Markham looked around at the others, then back at Michael. "Now imagine a civilization that is a century, a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, even a million years ahead of us. What could we possibly do to them? Any attempt at fighting them would be like a group of ants on the White House lawn declaring war against humanity. It simply wouldn't register; it would be a non-event."

"Point well made, Rich. So are you suggesting we give Todd and the aliens he represents free rein, letting them do as they please?"

"No, not at all. To their credit, these aliens seem to want to work with us—they haven't come in and taken all of our autonomy. Couldn't we just meet them halfway? Todd's request to see his family was hardly unusual, did we really have to keep them from him?"

"I'm not sure why we did that, Rich. Unless there was a good reason, I agree that shouldn't have happened. The question is, what can we do now to move things forward?"

"Let Todd see his family. That's what we can do," Rich replied.

Jennifer addressed the group, "Guys, I agree with your sentiment, but we don't know what, if anything, was done to Todd's family. Letting him see them, especially if anything bad happened to them, might only make things worse."

A silence fell over the group, acknowledging the unpleasant but very real possibility that something unsavory might have happened to Todd's wife and children.

Michael turned to Jennifer and pointed at the computer she was seated in front of. "Well, let's see if our clearance and these tools can help clarify things. You seem familiar with this system, can you take a look?"

Jennifer started typing, "On it, Mike."

Edith raised a hand for permission to speak. Michael smiled inwardly at the schoolgirl politeness she was showing, which contrasted with the brash attitude she had demonstrated before.

"Yes, Edith?"

"I know you're a soldier and it's your job to think along lines of conflict, know your enemy, all that stuff. Todd's actions today may have given us some clues about the aliens' actual abilities."

"How so?"

"Well, Todd asked to see his family. Why would he do that?"

"I'm guessing he wanted to make sure they were okay," Michael replied.

"Exactly. And why would he want to know if they were okay?"

A confused look crossed Michael's face. "Because he cares for them and this is an unusual situation?"

Rich clapped his hands together. "Because he didn't know how they were doing!"

"Exactly," said Edith.

Rich looked at Michael. "Dr. Gibbons touched upon a very good point."

Michael thought for a moment, trying to drown out the pitter-patter of typing coming from Jennifer's keyboard. The aliens might have limitations or blind spots. If they knew Todd's family was okay, wouldn't they somehow let him know? Michael nodded slowly while a small smile started to cross Edith's face as she spoke again.

"These aliens can obviously communicate with these so-called envoys. It's possible they are the only people they can communicate with, or maybe there is a maximum number of people they can communicate with. In any case, maybe Todd wanted to see his family because he didn't know if they were okay."

"Which brings us to another point," said Rich. "It's just conjecture but it's still something to consider. We are guessing what happened to the president's daughter was in retaliation for not letting Todd see his family. If that is really the case, then these aliens can influence humans other than the envoys. But perhaps, that influence is dependent on some type of physical proximity to the ambassadors."

"One of whom we just invited into the White House to meet with the president," Michael said. "I was somewhat surprised to see that the president met directly with Todd considering he was a possible alien..."

"I think the president understood what I was just suggesting," said Rich, "that conventional human tactics would not work well when dealing with something that is not human."

"Okay, Rich, fair enough. But let me ask this, where did that openness get us? We have a young girl in the hospital right now that is comatose. Even if she comes out of it, which I sincerely hope she does, it's going to be in all the papers and other media, right before the entire world learns of alien first contact. That's going to paint a very dark picture for a lot of people, don't you think?"

"Yes, Mike, I do. But let me respond using another question. Who put us there? Unless some unlucky event happened to Todd's family that the US government wasn't responsible for, we did this to ourselves. Collectively speaking, Todd clearly laid out multiple times he wanted to hear from his family. We're the ones that ignored him."

Jennifer interjected, "Sorry guys, I've only been half listening but you'll want to hear this. Nothing unlucky happened to Todd's family, unless you consider our government unlucky. They were picked up by the FBI and brought to a classified facility in the Midwest. It doesn't look like anything bad was done to them, although some medical doctors examined them, took some non-invasive samples and ran some tests. From the notes I'm reading, they have pretty much been left in the dark."

"Why would the president be so forward-thinking and meet directly with Todd, but then have his family swept up by some government goons just a little later?" Rich asked.

The first thought that popped in Michael's head was the face of General Arnold. He knew there was mistrust between the president and the general. Perhaps the general did this as a precautionary maneuver? Michael couldn't be sure, and couldn't tell the others his thoughts, so he had to get them past this point.

"I'm not sure, Rich, but that's irrelevant right now. We have an immediate situation to resolve." He looked over to Edith and then Jennifer, whose face was slightly glowing from the terminal's light. "Even though we picked up Todd's family and are keeping them secluded, the good news is nothing untoward has happened to them. The worst thing for them right now is that they are scared and confused." He looked over to Rich. "You've made an excellent point about our prospects in a straight-up conflict with these aliens. At this point, I think it's best we let Todd see his family. That being said, I'm taking into consideration what Edith mentioned. Perhaps there is some sphere of influence that these aliens work within, with the ambassadors at the center. I'm recommending that we move Todd from the White House to a secure facility within driving distance of here. We can tell Todd that it's to see his family, which will be the truth. If the proximity theory is correct..."

"It's not even a hypothesis, Mike, we're just guessing here," Edith started to respond. "There's not enough data to—"

Michael held up a hand. "Okay, understood. In any event, if what you said is possibly true, then removing Todd from the White House isn't going to hurt anything. Does anyone have any objections?"

He looked around the room. Jennifer shook her head, and Michael knew he could count on her support. Edith replied with a simple "No."

Rich was looking off into space, deep in thought. He too was shaking his head back and forth. "No...no. I think that's a good plan."

"Okay," Michael said as he started dialing into the intercom device at the center of the table, "let's contact the general."

# Chapter 12

Michael was soon connected to General Arnold on a secure line. He put the intercom system on speakerphone, so everyone in the conference room could hear the call. They all waited quietly for the general's voice.

"General Arnold speaking," came the abrupt greeting through the intercom.

"General, it's Lt. Grant. Just so you know, you are on speakerphone and the entire team is present."

"What do you have to report?"

Michael looked around at the others in the room, catching their eyes as he responded to the general. "Sir, we've been analyzing the situation regarding the president's daughter and would like to propose something. Before we move forward, may I ask how the girl is doing?"

"She's still in a coma and non-responsive. What's your proposal?"

"Sir, we have a two-part recommendation. First, we believe Todd Miles should be moved out of the White House to a different facility. Preferably one that is still close. We don't know how much these aliens can influence human behavior, but one theory is that control is based on physical proximity to the envoys. It would be prudent to have Todd removed from the immediate vicinity." Michael caught Edith's head shaking back and forth in disappointment at the word "theory." She's just going to have to live with it, he thought as he prepared for his next statement.

"What's the second part?"

"Sir, we recommend that we reunite Todd with his family. We can tell Todd that we are moving him as part of the reunion process. We believe that the president's daughter falling ill and Todd not being able to see his family are connected. If they are, bringing the Miles family together will accomplish multiple objectives."

"Such as?"

"First, if there is a connection between the two events, it may influence the aliens to allow the president's daughter to wake up and recover. Second, it will help smooth over any feelings of provocation that Todd may feel. Third—"

"Are you suggesting we provoked them, Lt. Grant?"

Careful here, Michael thought. "General, I am suggesting that Todd may feel provoked, regardless of whether that feeling is legitimate."

There was silence on the other line for a few moments. "What was your third point?"

"If the girl recovers, that helps us understand what some of their capabilities are and how they view the terms of engagement, sir."

More silence on the line as Michael once again looked at his team seated expectantly at the table.

"Stand by."

"Yes, sir." Michael looked for the mute button so he and his team could talk. He pressed the button, seeing a small red LED light up indicating their conversation was private.

"Well, what do you guys think?"

"My idea is not a theory, Michael, you're imprecise with your words!" Edith hissed at him, whispering even though they were on mute.

"I know, I know, Edith." Michael held up his palms to her in a pleading manner. "I'm a soldier, not a scientist—I said that because I thought it would help the general to agree with us."

Edith sat back in her seat and crossed her arms, looking away from the others.

Michael glanced over at Jennifer, who said, "I think you explained it well. There's not much there, but we don't have a lot to work with at this point."

"Agreed," said Rich, "Let's hope they see the light and do the right thing."

This is the military, Rich, we don't always do the right thing, Michael thought.

General Arnold's voice came through on the intercom, "Lt. Grant, the president has agreed to have Todd Miles meet his family at a secure location away from the White House. We'll see if your theory is correct. In the meantime, I want you and your team to try and determine any weaknesses we can exploit. Is that understood?"

Michael quickly un-muted the call. "Yes sir, we'll start work—" The line went dead. The general had hung up the call. Michael shut down the comm system and looked at the rest of the team. Jennifer was typing into her computer terminal.

"What's going on?" Michael asked her.

"I'm registering for any events associated with the president's daughter. As soon as there is an update, I should receive a notification. I'm glad they listened to you, Mike, fingers crossed that it actually works." She held up one hand with two of her fingers crossed, a smile stretching across her face. Michael couldn't help but smile back.

Rich spoke up, clearly agitated. "He wants us to find weaknesses? Is he kidding? Does he have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I know it sounds difficult, but that's what he wants," Michael responded. "It wouldn't hurt to take inventory and see if anything stands out, would it?"

Rich shook his head. "We should be reaching out to them and trying to learn, not sitting here and treating this like a military conflict. As I pointed out earlier, that would not go well."

Edith leaned her crossed arms on the table and looked directly at Michael. "We could take a look at how the president was contacted."

Michael sat up straight. "Uh, what do you mean?"

"No, no, no." Jennifer shook her head. "That would not be a good idea." She looked up at Michael. "The president has not disclosed that information to us yet."

"He said he was going to tell us later today," Edith interjected. There was a glint in her eye. "Considering the course of events, it could give us some valuable information. Perhaps we could even find a weakness that was overlooked." Edith fell silent and waited. She dangled the shiny lure in front of him, was it worth taking the bait?

Jennifer turned to look directly at Michael. "That's not a good idea."

He could see the seriousness on her face. In their previous meetings, the president clearly did not want to disclose how contact was made. He was biding his time. The question was, why?

"Could it be done?" Rich asked.

Michael looked at Jennifer with raised eyebrows, silently repeating the question.

Edith turned to face Jennifer. "We probably have access. We could search on recent confidential presidential orders, special communications with the NSA, things like that."

Jennifer kept her eyes on Mike. He could see the hesitation on her face as she said to him, "I don't know if we would find anything, Mike. Even if we did, again, I don't think it would be a good idea. Someone will eventually know that we looked."

He knew what she was saying. And you can kiss your military career goodbye! Do the prudent thing here; don't poke your nose where they don't want it. "Can we do it?" he asked.

Jennifer looked down. Michael couldn't quite tell if it was disappointment in her eyes or sadness for his soon to be ended career.

"I can try," she looked up at him again, "if you're sure you want me to."

Michael took a moment to think. She was probably right. Once the dust settled, assuming humankind was still around, he would be booted from the military. Not doing the search was the safe choice. But this wasn't a safe situation now, was it? The president and the general seemed at odds. They made a bumbling error keeping Todd from his family. The president's daughter was in a coma. If there was a chance, even the slightest of chances, that finding out how the president made contact with the aliens could help things, it was the right thing to do. The right, but potentially stupid thing to do.

"Do it," he ordered. Now was not the time to be meek.

# Chapter 13

Fourteen hours earlier

Paris, France

At the head of the long conference table sat Prime Minister Marie Jacotin. Despite her advancing years, she still maintained a striking, lithe figure. The jet-black business suit she was wearing accentuated her perfectly manicured red nails and the silvery white hair she had pulled back into a neat bun. She carried herself with grace and poise, leading the small conference that had taken most of the afternoon with expertise.

Seated along the length of the table, numerous dignitaries and politicians were engaged in lively discussions. Their day was winding down, the process of negotiation and deal-making coming to a close. Formal business discussions were being replaced by more relaxed conversations about dinner reservations and wine.

The prime minister had been listening with rapt attention to the foreign dignitary sitting next to her. Midway through the conversation, her eyes meandered to a spot just over the man's shoulder. As the dignitary continued speaking, she leaned away from the table and into the resting back of her chair. Her gaze leveled off, unfocused and wide, almost as if she was seeing another room, another place, another reality.

The men sitting to either side of her noticed her internal retreat. They glanced at each other in concern, before they both stood from their chairs to come to the prime minister's aid. One of the men gently shook her shoulder, asking in hushed tones if she was all right, all to no affect. The islands of conversations happening around the table died down as attendees brought their attention to the fading prime minister. Concerned guests shouted into the hallway for help, and moments later agents in black suits marched into the room towards the slumped figure in the chair.

As the agents approached, her eyes fluttered for a few seconds, then closed completely. Her body slouched in her seat as any remaining rigidity melted away. Some of the meeting participants raised their voices in concern as the agents lowered the prime minister to the floor. The attending agents barked orders into their sleeve microphones: "Have an ambulance meet us at the front doors, send a gurney up to the room, notify the local hospital that the prime minister will be brought in."

Tense minutes passed slowly before a pair of paramedics made it to the room and took control of the situation. After taking the unresponsive prime minister's vitals, they moved her onto a gurney and brought her down to the waiting ambulance. The prime minister's aide insisted on accompanying her to the hospital, pushing his way to a seat inside the ambulance. Across from him, an attending paramedic calmly and efficiently applied an IV to her arm.

The ambulance took off, its shrill siren echoing between the old buildings lining the narrow French streets. The aide was peppering the attending paramedic with questions when the prime minister's eyes shot open and her body visibly tensed. Panic crept into her face as she took in her surroundings. The paramedic spoke to her in practiced tones as he explained where she was. When she saw her aide, her eyes locked with his as her hand shot out and tightly gripped his arm.

"Philippe," she said to her aide, " I need to talk to Albert Laurent immediately." A confused look crossed Philippe's face. Albert Laurent was the head of their space program. It was clear that the prime minister was disorientated from her fainting spell.

Marie Jacotin's face transformed as her gaze became deadly serious and calm, her grip never lessening in its intensity. "Philippe, I know this seems strange, but really, I'm fine. I need to speak to Albert. Now!"

# Chapter 14

Present time

The White House, Washington, DC

As Jennifer started her search, Michael sat down at his own terminal and logged in. In part, he wanted to get familiar with the system in front of him. But also, he wanted some private time to process the decision he had just made. Rich and Edith were also logging into their terminals, and everyone in the room was soon absorbed into their own little world.

Michael found he was able to bring up an application that looked like a basic web browser, except he was directed to an internal NSA site instead of a traditional search engine. Where to start? he thought, as he looked at the screen in front of him. He decided to enter his own name into the search criteria, just to see how the results were returned. What came back was a litany of information regarding his life, sorted by some type of priority based on classification level and recent activity. Michael could even see the search he'd just ran at the top of the list. Also near the top was a link regarding tactical strategic groups involved with the recent alien communication. Michael's team was listed as one of the groups, with Michael listed as the team lead. It looked like there were three other active teams assigned to the alien contact.

The teams varied in size. Michael's happened to be the smallest at four; the largest team was composed of twelve people. There was an interesting mix of military, scientists, mathematicians, and linguists. Michael also noticed that not all the teams had the same level of security clearance. He was surprised to find that his team was the only one cleared for full access. As he was browsing the different profiles, Jennifer spoke up.

"Hey guys, I think I've found something. Mike, I'm sending you a link, it should pop up as a notification on your terminal. I would like you to give access to both Dr. Gibbons and Dr. Markham—we'll need their help understanding this."

Within a few moments, a message popped up on Michael's screen. At the top was a link that said:

PRES. ORDER: FERMI GAMMA-RAY TELE REPOSITION

Just below were the faces of Dr. Markham and Dr. Gibbons, with checkboxes next to the pictures to indicate if access should be granted. Michael clicked on the link, which opened another window filled with a wall of text. Quickly perusing the document, it looked as though the president had ordered a deep space telescope to focus on a particular area of space. Michael soon found himself lost in the technical wording used to describe the order and what appeared to be results from the telescope itself.

"Alright," Michael said, "I'm sending over the links."

Within seconds, Rich and Edith were focused on their terminals, absorbing the information like sponges. While they were reading, Jennifer turned to Michael. "From what I can see, early this morning the president issued a direct order for NASA to immediately have some type of specialized space telescope focus on a particular set of coordinates. It appears that during that same time period, lesser powered satellites managed by various governments in the EU, China, India, and Russia, were also focusing on the same point in space."

"It's the Fermi Gamma-ray space telescope," Rich said, his eyes glued to the screen. "It normally scans the entire sky in three-hour intervals, but this order requested to focus on only a very small area..." The doctor's eyes squinted while he scrolled with his mouse. "At first, it doesn't look like anything interesting happened...then we started picking up gamma rays in bursts...burst durations with variable pauses...it almost looks like a sequence is forming..."

"Holy shit," Edith interjected, glancing up at her colleague, "those are prime numbers! After the first burst there was a 137 millisecond pause. Then another burst, with only a 1.5 millisecond pause, followed by a burst with a 137 millisecond pause. The bursts are sequenced by 1.5 millisecond intervals. The sequence sets themselves are separated by 137 millisecond pauses."

"Yes, you're right, Edith," Rich said. "And the sequences seem to be prime numbers."

Michael looked from one doctor to another. "Guys?"

"These are gamma ray bursts, Michael, very high energy, almost like they came from a pulsar." Edith's excitement was evident to all.

Michael held up a hand. "Okay, before you go any further, what's a pulsar?"

"Fast-spinning neutron stars that emit radiation. As they spin, we occasionally line up with the radiation they're emitting. Think of a lighthouse at night. From a boat on the sea, sailors would see flashes of light at regular intervals. A pulsar is similar, but instead of light, it's normally some other type of radiation."

Michael was beginning to understand. "Okay, so this so-called 'burst' we received looks like something from a pulsar, then?"

"The beam of energy does, but the sequencing here is fundamentally different. A planet like ours normally receives pulsar radiation at regular intervals. You can almost think of a pulsar as nature's clock. The beams in this data set are counting primes. It started off with two bursts, bzzt, bzzt, then another set of bursts, bzzt, bzzt, bzzt, then another, bzzt, bzzt, bzzt, bzzt, bzzt. Counting up using only prime numbers, all the way to—"

"137 bursts," Rich interjected.

"So the last burst was equal to the time between intervals." Edith paused to make sure Michael understood.

He nodded for her to continue. From her seat, Jennifer listened intently.

"Anyways, this 'pulsar' is sending out prime numbers up to 137. Can you imagine the energies involved in this transmission?" Edith turned to Rich in excitement.

Rich's eyes were wide. "Each individual burst requires a tremendous amount of energy to send. We're talking about a Kardashev Type II Civilization."

"A what type of civilization?" Michael asked, struggling to keep up. He looked over at Jennifer, who seemed equally lost.

Edith broke in, "There is a theoretical type of ranking system for civilizations based on the type of energy they can consume and use. Humanity would be considered a Type I, still trying to harness the power of our sun. The type of civilization that could transmit signals at this level would have to be able to harness the complete power of a star, if not multiple stars. Only a very advanced civilization could generate a series of signals like this!"

"Written by the hand of God," Rich murmured to himself.

"Yet we don't know how He pushed His pencil." Edith finished what appeared to be an inside joke.

"Excuse me?" Michael asked.

"Oh, sorry, Mike." Rich pushed himself away from the table. "I was quoting the famous physicist, Richard Feynman, regarding the number 137. Apparently, Edith is familiar with the quote and finished it for me." The doctor was looking at Edith with newfound respect.

"Why did this physicist say 137 was written by the hand of God?" Michael asked.

The doctor laughed. "Oh, he didn't mean literally. Look, the number isn't even exactly 137, there's a fractional component. There's a lot of physics involved. I'm more intrigued right now as to when the message was sent."

Jennifer spoke from behind her computer, "It was sent this morning."

The doctor chuckled. "No, no it wasn't, although I can understand why you think so. It was received this morning, but as that signal originated from deep space, it was sent a long time ago."

Michael stayed silent, taking everything in. After a few moments, he asked Edith and Rich, "Are there examples of prime numbers occurring naturally? Could this be an unexplained natural phenomenon?"

"There are some examples we can find in nature," Edith replied. "Cicadas tend to come out in years that are prime numbers; humans have twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, which is a prime. So small examples like that, Mike. But these are things that just happen to be prime numbers. In terms of these bursts, there is nothing that we know of that can generate these types of emissions. It's likely not a natural phenomenon."

"It's a signal, an indication of intelligence using the language of math," Rich added. "Pretty much any civilization developing a system of mathematics would identify prime numbers early on. Using these primes sends a clear message—something with intelligence is creating these emissions. And any civilization with even a rudimentary understanding of mathematics, which they would need to build the technology necessary to even detect such a signal, would immediately understand that there is an intelligence behind the source."

"In your opinion, Doctor, does this constitute a valid alien signal?" Michael asked.

"Yes. Based on this data, it looks like an alien intelligence is making this signal."

"I agree," Edith said.

"Did the signal ever start up again?"

"No, it doesn't look like that's the case," Jennifer responded.

"Could those other telescopes pick up the signal?"

"It's hard to say. The Fermi telescope is the most sensitive instrument we have. The others could have picked something up, but we would have to check some of these links in more detail."

"Based on international chatter, I think they did." Jennifer said, standing from her chair. "From various intercepts, it looks like all the telescopes picked up the signal. There was quite a bit of chatter after the signals stopped."

"There's something else we need to consider here." Jennifer's expression was deadly serious. "It looks like all these telescopes were moved following orders coming from the very top of the respective governments. In our case, that would be the president..." She let the sentence hang as she looked deeply into Michael's eyes.

Michael could see the direction Jennifer's thoughts were going. "Which begs the question, how did these world leaders know to reposition their telescopes?"

"Exactly, Mike. There's nothing in these files that would indicate they received these coordinates from anyone. Multiple world leaders serendipitously ordered the repositioning of powerful deep space telescopes to the same coordinates within hours of each other. From my brief skimming of the reports, there was nothing that would indicate why they would all do so."

"So you're suggesting the aliens somehow influenced these leaders to reposition their satellites?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just letting you know the decisions seem to be sudden and spontaneous. Also keep in mind, there is nothing here about Todd Miles until the president delivered the order to have him escorted to the White House."

Edith readjusted her glasses as she cleared her throat. "So it's possible our president and other world leaders were somehow communicating with these aliens even before meeting with the ambassadors? They could be somehow compromised?"

Compromised. Now there was a dangerous word. The military's entire command structure all led to one person. That one person may now be directly or indirectly influenced by an alien mind.

Michael addressed the group. "There are too many 'maybes' here, let's review what we know and see what concrete recommendations we can come up with."

The team resumed work, switching between periods of utter silence as they studied the terminals in front of them, and loud and intense conversations. After several hours, there was a knock on the door, and General Arnold entered the room.

Michael immediately stood at attention while the others remained seated.

"At ease." the general commanded, scrutinizing the occupants as if he was a soldier entering enemy territory.

Michael took a relaxed stance but remained standing as he waited for the general to speak.

"I wanted you all to know that Todd has been reunited with his family. Shortly after the reunion, the president's daughter came out of her coma. She's somewhat weak but seems to be okay." He scanned the faces looking up at him, finally resting upon Michael's. "Lt Grant, I would like to speak with you in private." He looked over the others. "Continue with your work."

With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving the door open for Michael to follow.

# Chapter 15

Michael followed General Arnold back to the small sterile room they were in right after the meeting in the Oval Office. The general remained standing by the door as he directed Michael to take a seat. "So, Lt. Grant, your theory seemed to be correct. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir."

"Has your team come up with anything else in the meantime?"

Michael knew he had to be careful here. "Sir, after our initial recommendations, I thought it would be prudent to investigate the first documented contact to see if we could find anything to our advantage." He looked up at the general's face and was met with stony, cold silence. "Sir, we came across the initial orders from the president to reposition the Fermi Gamma-ray Telescope. We also identified several other nations doing the same with their telescopes. What we couldn't determine, General, was the event that caused the orders to be issued. From the intelligence available to us, it looks like multiple world leaders spontaneously made the orders within hours of each other. We couldn't detect any type of intelligence leak."

The general was glaring at him, his frustration held back only by a life-long practice of military discipline. "Well, Lt. Grant, since you were so thorough with your investigation, let me tell you what precipitated the orders. Your president had a dream. A dream, Lt. Grant. Something in that dream gave your president those coordinates and convinced him to act on it. I'm the only one he shared this information with and now I'm sharing it with a green fucking lieutenant so as to impress upon him how goddamn fucked-up this situation really is!"

Michael could feel exasperation oozing from every word the general spit from his mouth.

"It seems as though other world leaders had dreams as well, while some fell into a waking stupor. After they came out of it, they issued similar orders. So even though foreign intelligence services don't directly know about the president's dream, I'm sure they can put two and two together. After we received the signal, the president started giving me information on Todd Miles, telling me he needed to be brought in. Do you see an issue with any of this, Lt. Grant?"

Yes, Michael saw the issue clear as day. A part of him didn't want to say the words, as if their utterance would solidify into reality what the words meant. But he knew that here in this room, he would have to be brutally honest.

"Sir, you're concerned that the president and other world leaders have been compromised by this alien intelligence."

"You're goddamn right I'm concerned our commander in chief has been compromised!" Spittle flew from the general's mouth. "What do you suggest we do, Lt. Grant? We both swore an oath to protect this country from its enemies, both foreign and domestic. What happens if we can't even be sure in the integrity of our leaders? What if the president is compromised, or the head of the NSA, or even yourself, Lt. Grant?"

Or yourself, General Arnold, Michael thought.

"Is the president being guided by benevolent aliens or is he being manipulated by them to our detriment? Even if I believed they were completely controlling him, what could I do? Tell the US citizenry we are forcing the president down from his duties because alien beings, which nobody has even fucking seen, are controlling his mind? Do you see the difficulty there, Lt. Grant?"

Michael kept silent, knowing better than to speak right now.

"So while you were quite clever with your suggestion about removing the president from the physical proximity of Mr. Miles, that really didn't matter now, did it? Either they can directly reach the president or there are other 'envoys' that haven't yet been announced. Perhaps it's the kitchen cook, or a hospital nurse? Our entire organization may be infiltrated by people who don't even realize they're under the influence of alien beings." The general raised a hand and pointed a single finger up towards the sky. "And if that wasn't enough, there is nothing we can do from a military standpoint. There's no target except for these 'envoys'—our enemy is ethereal, Lt. Grant. They know everything about us; we know nothing about them. That's not what you would call a position of advantage now, is it?"

"No, sir."

"And to make things more interesting, the cat is out of the bag, Lt. Grant. We couldn't keep the alien contact a secret even if we wanted to. So now it's a race, not to this deadline the aliens set, but to try and tell the people of this world before it leaks through the news agencies."

Michael could only imagine the government machinery set in motion to make things happen so fast.

"Aside from alien intervention with our leaders' minds, we have to deal with the conventional threat of having every major world leader coming to one physical location on such short notice. There are people in planes right now, flying in. It wouldn't take an alien death ray: a human bomb could very well wipe out all the world's leaders and throw this planet into chaos."

Michael could see cracks forming in the general's demeanor. This was a man who had known war, ordered men to their deaths, and dealt with military and political bureaucracies for decades. General Arnold was as hard as they came, and yet despite his experience and grit, there was nothing he could do to prevent the torrent of events over the past several hours. Multiple governments were converging in New York at this very moment. Governments with their own militaries and security services. Governments with their own generals trying to make sense of all this madness. Alien contact with no aliens, leaders influenced and possibly subverted, no way to restore order, possible spies all around, and no enemy to point a gun at. Amidst this chaos, the only person the general could confide in was a young army lieutenant who was in way over his head.

General Arnold looked away as he straightened out his jacket and calmed himself down. As he pulled on his cuff links, he looked at Michael once again. "We need to understand the intended alien message for the people of Earth. It was decided that the president would not directly talk with Mr. Miles until the UN meeting. In the meantime, a number of people have been identified that will be communicating with Mr. Miles. You're one of those people, Lt. Grant. You need to find us some type of advantage, understood?"

"Understood, sir."

"You'll be returned to your team in the meantime and will have approximately an hour with them. We'll get you some food and then take you to the facility where Mr. Miles is located." The general looked Michael up and down, "You may tell your team about your upcoming conversation with Mr. Miles, but everything else about our conversation remains private. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Michael stood from his chair. But the general didn't even wait for Michael to finish, as he was already exiting the room.

# Chapter 16

Upon entering the room, all three of Michael's teammates looked up in unison. As he walked around to his seat, Jennifer asked him, "So Mike, how did everything go with the general?"

Michael waited a moment as he sank into his leather-bound chair and shifted his weight around. "The good news is the president's daughter is feeling better."

"Yes, it's nice to get a bit of good news."

"It is," he replied. "I was also informed that most of the world's leaders will be at the UN tomorrow. They will broadcast to everyone that we have made contact with an alien civilization and will introduce the envoys that are among us."

Jennifer raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. With the activity regarding the telescope repositioning and now this emergency meeting, it's going to be a wild ride for everyone."

Mike steepled his hands together and raised them to his lips. "Yes, there is going to be a lot of activity. Keep in mind many of these governments are aware of alien contact, and some even have their own envoys. There's a lot of political machinery being moved to make this meeting happen, without notifying the world at large. But it's only a matter of time before something leaks and everyone knows. I don't think we can keep this from the general public much longer."

"So, we have confirmed there are envoys present in other countries?" Edith piped up as she leaned forward with eager curiosity.

"Yes, Edith, that is correct."

"So how did the president and the other world leaders learn of these ambassadors?"

Michael paused as Edith and the others waited for his reply. He couldn't tell them the real answer, but he couldn't lie to them either. "I'm sorry, Edith, but I can't answer that question."

His response had an immediate cooling effect on the group. Everyone's face became more guarded as they leaned back in their chairs, subconsciously putting distance between themselves and Michael.

"I see. I'm guessing you also can't answer how those same world leaders all knew to reposition those telescopes and look for the signal sent by the aliens?" Edith asked, her question sounding more of an accusatory statement.

Michael exhaled through his nose before answering, "No, Edith, I can't."

"Of course," was her icy reply.

Jennifer turned her chair to face Edith. "You do realize that there are things Mike is not be able to talk about, right? It's nothing personal, Edith."

"Yes, dear, it's not my first rodeo."

"Don't speak to me like that."

"Then don't talk down to me. Got it?"

Michael stepped in. "We don't have time for this! Edith, I'm sorry I can't tell you guys everything, but it's my job. It wasn't my decision to hold anything back but it was never my decision to make in the first place. There will probably be some things that happen in the future that I won't be able to talk to you about as well. But I promise you this: unless it endangers national security, I won't lie to you. The truth may be I can't tell you, and that's exactly what I'll say. But I won't bullshit you." As Michael finished, he made sure to end with his eyes on Edith.

Edith twisted her bottom lip a little and started to bite it. Michael found it incredibly endearing in that moment.

"I know, Mike, and I trust you," she said. "I'm disappointed, but I understand."

"I understand as well, Mike," Rich said.

"Thank you, everyone. I understand the frustration with the lack of answers...although I may have something that will cheer you up." He looked over to Edith with a sly smile.

She returned the smile. "Okay, army man, tell us your secret."

"Well, as you already know, Todd Miles has been moved to a remote facility and reunited with his family. A number of people are being scheduled to have interviews with Mr. Miles. For some reason, I have been selected to talk with him too."

Edith's face lit up, unable to contain her excitement. "So you're actually going to have a chance to speak with him!"

Michael couldn't help but laugh a little, partly because of Edith's almost childlike glee, and partly in relief as the tension in the room dissipated. "Yes, I'm actually supposed to meet with him in an hour. The reason I'm here is to find out from you guys what I should be talking to him about."

Rich spoke, "Well, Mike, there is a whole host of questions I would love for you to ask him, but Mr. Miles has already made it clear that he will only address questions regarding his main purpose here, which is to prevent mankind from killing itself."

Edith turned to the doctor. "You know, there's something about that statement that has been bothering me. Todd Miles says these aliens are concerned we will destroy ourselves and the planet, but why now?"

"Well, I would think it's because we have weapons of mass destruction. He also mentioned the damage we are doing to the environment, something exacerbated by the largest population of human beings ever wanting a lifestyle requiring an unprecedented amount of resources to maintain."

"Okay, okay, I understand your second point, but not your first. We've almost blown ourselves up with nuclear weapons in the past with the Cuban missile crisis. Where were they then?"

The room was quiet for a moment, then Michael said, "Maybe they did intervene."

"How so, Mike?"

"Vasili Arkhipov," he replied.

Jennifer whispered, "The man who saved the world."

Rich started snapping his fingers as he tried to recollect some old memories. "Yes. Yes! He was the Soviet naval officer that almost single-handedly prevented a nuclear escalation!"

Michael stood from his chair and started to walk around the conference table. "That's correct, Rich. Arkhipov was on a submerged submarine near Cuba during the height of the crisis. Nearby US naval vessels started to drop practice depth charges, even though they were in international waters, in an attempt to signal the subs. The Soviets submerged deep into the water to avoid detection, but in doing so could not communicate with Moscow. The main captain on board of the Soviet submarine thought war had broken out and wanted to launch a nuclear torpedo, but he needed the other two officers to agree. The other officer wanted to launch, but Arkhipov refused. He was well regarded by the sailors, which placed political pressure on the remaining two officers. Many believe that if Arkhipov hadn't refused, the launching of the nuclear torpedo would have triggered a chain of events leading to all-out nuclear war."

"And you believe the aliens may have had something to do with that, Mike?" Rich asked.

"I don't know, Doctor, but if the aliens' concern was mankind's survival, and we know that they can to some degree affect human beings..."

"Some human beings, Mike," Edith broke in. "It's possible these envoys are the only ones that can communicate with the aliens."

Well, I happen to know that they communicated with the president and other world leaders, Michael thought but refrained from saying. "It's possible, but it's also possible they intervened and somehow manipulated Arkhipov so that he wouldn't approve the launch."

Jennifer stood from her seat as well, so the computer terminal no longer masked her face. "There's also Stanislav Petrov, Mike."

Michael nodded. "Yes, I forgot about him."

Rich's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not sure who he is."

"Stanislav Petrov was also a Soviet military official, but this time it was in the early eighties," Jennifer explained. "He was the duty officer for an early-warning nuclear strike facility. The warning system indicated that a nuclear missile was being launched at the Soviet Union from the United States. He didn't believe the warning to be accurate, although there was no way to be sure, and he did not immediately report the event. If he had, considering the time constraints and existing doctrines concerning retaliatory strikes, it's likely the situation would have led to a nuclear war between the Soviets and the US and NATO. I believe there were several additional false reports in the hours that followed. It turned out that the warning system had a malfunction: some unusual cloud formations had confused the system."

"So another nuclear catastrophe averted by a single man," Edith said.

"Possibly a single man directed by an alien influence," Michael added.

Rich rose to his full height, standing well above the others. "So it's possible these aliens intervened in past events, but without announcing their involvement. I think it would be good to try and find out if that was really the case and if so, why now is different."

"Agreed," Michael said. "I'm also curious how they plan to convince all of humanity of their existence. I know we have the pulsar signals from space, but messages coming from Todd Miles aren't the same as coming from an alien creature."

"Choosing a human being like Todd Miles is actually perfect," Jennifer said.

"How so?"

"Communicating with humans is hard, Mike, we just find it easy because we happen to be human. Let me ask you this, if the general walked into this room and told you to follow him out the door, would you?"

"Yes, I would."

"Of course you would. Now let me add one twist. The general walks into this room and tells you to follow him out the door, but this time he's wearing a bright red dress, high heels, and has makeup caked all over his face."

Michael couldn't suppress a small laugh from escaping. "Well? I probably would, but more out of concern for the general."

Jennifer smiled at his reply. "You see, Mike, we as humans take a million things into consideration when we are communicating with each other. Things we aren't even conscious of. For example, we wear clothes to protect us against the elements..." As she outlined her outfit with one hand, Michael could not help but appreciate the gentle curves of her body. "...But we as humans assign much more to them. Whether it's a dress or a military uniform, there are expectations regarding position, authority, and gender all wrapped into that. We also use a tremendous amount of body language to communicate with each other. We instinctively know what to look for in each other's gestures, postures, and facial expressions. Body language conveys a tremendous amount of meaning."

"And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Our biological makeup means we can only see things like body language in a specific spectrum of light. We use bursts of sounds at specific frequencies to speak with each other. I doubt an alien's biology would be aligned with the visual and audio spectrums we use, if those modes were even used as primary communication for them." She took her hand and brushed it through her silky hair as she straightened her back. "So these aliens are choosing to speak through other human beings. Think about how much easier that makes the communication process. It not only sets us at ease, but it opens the full range of human communication for both parties.

"And then you look at who they chose, Todd Miles. A middle-aged suburban family man who happens to be a CPA, can you think of anyone more pedestrian than that? But notice what that doesn't do. It doesn't incite fear, or passion, or awe. It's just an average human being talking to other human beings. The messenger does not eclipse the message. Trust me, that's amazingly important."

Michael couldn't object. While Jennifer spoke well and was at ease with communicating with others, he couldn't deny that her sensuality sometimes didn't distract him while she was speaking. He regretted that they didn't have time to get to know each other better. He hoped that after the UN meeting, that might be possible. But for now...

Edith joined the others at the table. "It's actually amazing that they could talk with us at all."

"How so, aren't they smarter than us?" Michael asked.

Edith snorted, "Are you smarter than a dog?"

"Wh...what?"

"Are you smarter than a dog?"

In a deadpan voice, Michael replied, "Yes, Edith, I am smarter than a dog."

"So if I brought a strange dog into this room, you could tell it to walk around the table, then walk over to that corner," she pointed to the far side of the room, "spin around three times, jump twice, then walk over to the door it just came in through?"

"Not just by talking, no. But given enough time, I could train the dog to do so."

"You probably could, but that's not the point. Just because you are smarter than another creature doesn't mean you magically understand how it communicates. There are scientists all over the world trying to understand various species' communication methods and the results are...not inspiring. And these are creatures that share a common biological base with us! These aliens seem to understand human motivation and emotion. They would have to in order to properly communicate with us. While that may not seem like a lot to you, it's actually really impressive. That to me illustrates just how advanced a civilization they must be."

"Because they can talk to human beings?"

"Yes, army man, exactly because of that."

"Okay, so we are outmatched here when it comes to these aliens. What tools do we have available that can help us here? Edith, I remember you mentioned this computer program called Adam that the general shot down. What made you mention it before and would it be worth it for me to bring it up again to the general?"

"I mentioned it because I think Adam would be one of the few things at our disposal that could help us truly evaluate our options."

"So what is it, exactly?"

"Adam is an artificial intelligence created in the early nineties by Doctor Stephan Brown. It is the only known instance of strong artificial intelligence."

"I never heard of this; we're still a long way from strong artificial intelligence," Rich said.

"Yes, the commercial world is a long way off. But in the classified world of military research, it exists. My father was a researcher under Dr. Brown."

"Okay, so why was the general so against using this program?"

"I don't know why it was shut down, but there was some conflict between the scientists and the military. As Dr. Brown was creating Adam, he grew increasingly concerned that he was creating an intelligence that could not be controlled or understood by human beings. He erected a set of protocols regarding how the researchers could interface with Adam, in order to prevent Adam from understanding too much about human beings and the world around him. These protocols came to be known as the Brown Protocols, coined by the scientists working on the project. Dr. Brown insisted they were used, but the problem was it significantly slowed down their interactions with the program."

"Slowed down their interactions?"

"Yes. For example, there was a binary protocol that was used to communicate with Adam. Dr. Brown was eventually able to communicate with Adam using English text, which is amazing in its own right, but he also noticed that Adam could determine the scientist behind a particular session based on word and sentence structure. So one of the Brown Protocols was that all communication with Adam had to be created by a multi-person team and then put through a separate computer program so as to anonymize the communications. That took a lot of time and the military was not happy. There ended up being a falling out between General Arnold and Dr. Brown, and Dr. Brown resigned."

"Did you ever work on Adam?"

"No, but my father had access to the simulations and models it was involved in. I can't go into details, but I will tell you it was truly amazing, I've never seen anything like it. If there was a tool we could use to understand this alien contact, Adam would be our best bet."

A knock at the door startled the team, who turned to see an agent letting himself into the room.

"Lt. Grant, you are to follow me please."

"I just got here with my team. I didn't know I was to leave so soon."

"Sir, please follow me."

Michael found it difficult to walk away from this motley crew. They were just getting started, finding their feet with each other and beginning to work harmoniously. He took in each of them, saving Jennifer for last. She wished him the best. He was going to need it.

# Chapter 17

Michael was escorted to a remote facility several miles away from the White House. The building looked plain and rundown from the outside. Once past the initial drab interior, however, was a modern facility operating below the main level.

Michael was brought into a small gray room. Inside was a table alongside the wall carrying an assortment of different colored pens, some paperwork, and a small plastic bin. In the far corner near the ceiling was a small video camera, recording everything happening in the room. On the far wall was a plain wooden door.

Two men in lab coats greeted Michael. One of them was an older man that must have been in his sixties, wispy gray hair framing a narrow face. Slightly behind him stood a much younger man who couldn't have been a couple years out of grad school. As the escorting guard left the room, the older gentleman approached Michael.

"Lt. Grant, so nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Arronson and this is my assistant, Dr. Kay." The older scientist reached out with a thin hand to greet the young lieutenant.

"Hello, Dr. Arronson, Dr. Kay," Michael shook the older man's hand, then nodded to Dr. Kay. "I believe I'm here to talk to Mr. Miles."

"Yes, yes, you are. First, if you wouldn't mind, there are a few administrative items we'll need to address. There are some forms on the table over there, would you mind filling one out? Dr. Kay and I are here to answer any questions you may have."

"Sure, no problem." Michael walked over to the table and was struck by the selection of ten pens on the table, all a different pastel color. "You have a lot of pens here, Doctor."

"Oh, yes," Dr. Arronson let out an embarrassed laugh, "Don't mind the pens, just some over exuberance from some of our staff."

Michael could not ignore the odd feeling that came over him as he chose a pen and started rifling through the small stack of papers on the desk. The two doctors were poorly hiding the fact that they were watching Michael's every move. It was almost comical how badly they disguised their interest in him.

The papers were similar to the forms one might fill out at a medical office. There were standard fields for Michael's name and date of birth, and a section asking for his full medical history. The military already had all this information. Michael wasn't sure why he was going through this charade, but he knew there wasn't any point in questioning it.

When he was done, he turned and handed the forms over to Dr. Arronson.

"Ah, thank you, Lt. Grant," the doctor said as he handed the papers over to his assistant. "Through that door is a small hallway. At the end of that hallway is a small conference room where Mr. Miles is waiting. There is a table in the conference room with a small light on it. When that light turns red, I would ask you to please leave the room. Of course, you can leave the room earlier if you so choose. You will have approximately twenty minutes with Mr. Miles. Any questions?"

"No," Michael replied.

"Very good, Lt. Grant. Good luck!"

The assistant opened the door and Michael walked into a fifteen-foot long hallway. The floor was linoleum, but the walls were a darkened plastic. The ceiling consisted of a dark, cloudy plastic, but interspersed with canned lighting. Michael walked down the hallway to another door. His hand moved to the handle but then stopped. He thought of Todd Miles on the other side, sitting in some conference room while people were constantly coming in and out. So Michael knocked. A small gesture, but a sign of politeness Michael wanted to extend. He then opened the door, which led into a brightly lit conference room. There was a large steel table in the center, where Todd Miles sat facing Michael, a tired smile on his face.

"Lt. Grant, we meet again."

"Hello, Mr. Miles, may I come in?"

Todd's smile grew slightly wider. "Of course." He raised an upturned palm over to the empty chair across from him in a welcoming gesture.

As Michael made his way to the chair, he noticed there were no windows, mirrors, or visible cameras in the room. On the table were a water bottle in front of Todd, and a small light bulb that was currently off.

Michael settled himself into the wooden chair as he looked Todd over. He was dressed in civilian clothes, which looked slightly worn in.

"How are you doing, Mr. Miles, are you being treated well?"

"Yes, I am now that I've met my family. Please, call me Todd."

Michael smiled. "Glad to hear it, call me Mike."

"So Mike, what would you like to talk about?"

"To start, what should we call these alien beings?"

"Well, I'm not aware of a formal name that they wish to go by. I think they genuinely want to help mankind and the planet. Perhaps we could call them...call them our Friends."

"Friends. I like that. So, Todd, you explained that these Friends have made contact with us because we are facing some grave danger of our own making. Can you go into more detail?"

"They are concerned for life on this planet, Mike. Our species is approaching a line where our destruction, and the destruction of most life on Earth, will happen unless dramatic changes are made."

"Have they been watching us for a while?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Well, we've certainly had the capacity of conducting large scale damage for over half a century now in the form of nuclear weapons. And with events like the Cuban Missile Crisis, we've come awfully close to blowing ourselves up. Did your Friends know about our planet and the situation we were in back then?

Todd smiled as he leaned back into his chair. "They may not have made themselves known, but these aliens have been monitoring our world for quite some time. Yes, they were observing the events back then."

"So why didn't they do something when it mattered the most? Why show themselves now when we aren't on the cusp of nuclear war?"

Todd leaned forward onto the table. "Perhaps they did do something, Mike. The details of those past events are unimportant since nothing can be changed. What is important is avoiding the catastrophe right in front of you."

Michael leaned forward as well, mirroring Todd's motion. "But if they helped alter events in the past, even in secret, why not do so now?"

"They are trying to help, Mike. The problem is much larger in scale, which requires a different approach. In the past, humans did not have the ability to wipe out the planet. As you developed that technology, it was in the hands of major state agencies, with only a few people at those agencies able to do anything. Over time, the knowledge and technology to create weapons of mass destruction have proliferated, making these weapons available to a larger group of people. While that makes the world a more dangerous place, that's not the main reason why our Friends decided to make themselves known."

Todd glanced down at his hands in thought for a moment, then looked directly into Michael's eyes. "Look, the world population in 1965 was about three billion people. Today it's over seven billion people. During that time period, our standard of living has increased dramatically. With the advent of the internet and easy global communication, the entire world sees how the better half lives and want to match that standard of living. Of course, all this takes resources, resources that we acquire without much thought as to the impact or consequences...at least, not until we are staring the consequences in the face.

"One of those consequences is the rate of climate change that is occurring right now on our planet. It's something that many scientists have noted and voiced concerns about, but most people simply don't care. What all of you don't realize is the complexity of Earth's climate. There are feedback loops and systems that maintain a certain status. Once the loops are broken down, new loops go into effect, loops that will make life hard for human beings. Loops that you can't reset. Once this happens, life is going to be hard for us. You will have the largest population of humans ever in recorded history, facing changes and conflicts on a scale never seen before, with weapons that can destroy the planet."

Todd leaned away from the table and took a deep breath. Michael remained quiet, seeing that he had more to say.

"Have you heard of a behavioral sink, Mike?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Well, there was this scientist, back in the sixties, I think, who ran some experiments involving rats. He constrained the environment the rats were living in and let their population grow. Over time, the rat population became dense and the rats started exhibiting abnormal behavior. Some became overly aggressive, while others tried to isolate themselves from the other rats. It became more difficult for female rats to carry their litters to term, and when they did, they often ignored the babies. The rats went crazy and became self-destructive, some even turning to cannibalism. I suspect the same thing may be happening to us. If the climate changes so much we can't grow the food we need, or forces population shifts from coastal areas, things are going to get crowded and nasty."

Todd raised his hands to cover his face, then brought them down in a wiping motion. His face was starting to show the exhaustion he had been trying to hide.

"You know, Mike, I have all these thoughts just rushing into my head. Someone can ask me a question and I start spewing out these answers I never knew I had. But as I have been talking to other people like you throughout the day, getting asked many of the same questions over and over again, I thought about this problem. It's crazy how we are treating this planet. I mean, we live on this giant rock that is hurtling through space. The only thing keeping us and every living thing on this rock from a cold death in the vacuum of space is a thin veneer of gas we call an atmosphere. If we fuck this up, we're done. There's no backup option. I'm glad these aliens are stepping in. I mean, I'm witnessing this first contact, even if I'm a puppet for some of it. I hear the questions, see the responses, and even though I think people recognize the self-imposed threats to some degree, they are still asking the wrong fucking questions. Can I tell you a story, Mike?"

"Umm, sure."

"It's an old Buddhist tale. A man goes into battle and is struck by a poisoned arrow. His brothers and fellow soldiers pull him off the field and take him to the doctor's tent. The man is alive, but is not going to last long. The doctor prepares to pull the arrow from him, but the man stops him! He tells his friends that before he allows the doctor to pull the arrow from his flesh, they must first learn the name of the man that shot him. They must learn who made the bow and the arrow. They need to find out what type of wood was used to make the bow, and who it was that created the poison. He comes up with this whole crazy list of questions, but they were the wrong questions."

"The point of the story is that the guy would die before getting an answer to any of those questions. They simply didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting the arrow out of him. We are causing our own problems, Mike, but stick our heads in the sand thinking they will just go away. People right now are more concerned with learning about these alien beings than about addressing the threat staring them in the face. I mean, I get it: it's aliens! But what are they trying to tell us? We are about to walk off a cliff! We keep on walking, ignoring the message, trying to catch a glimpse of the messengers. It doesn't matter!"

Todd's frustration was evident and Mike waited while he took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down.

"Sorry, Mike," he said, "I know you have a job to do. What else do you want to know?"

A thought popped into Michael's mind. These aliens were able to communicate with the minds of humans. They talked about all life on this planet, not just humans. What if they could also communicate with non-human intelligence as well?

"Well, I'm not sure how to phrase this, but are humans the only intelligent beings the aliens have contacted?" he asked.

Todd's face lit up and he leaned forward. "Now that's an interesting question, Mike."

At that moment, the small red bulb lit up at the table, indicating the session was over.

Todd's gaze slid over to the bulb, while the rest of his face remained still. "Looks like our time is up," he said with a smile.

# Chapter 18

Michael was immediately escorted out of the room by the researchers he had met earlier. Any attempt to ask why the interview was cut short was shut down. Despite the rush to have him leave the interview room, they made him do another silly administrative dance of filling out additional forms with one of the many colored pens on the table.

Once he had finished, a Secret Service agent brought Michael to another section of the underground bunker and led him into what looked like a hotel room. Personal clothes and toiletries were resting in his open suitcase at the end of the king-sized bed. When Michael asked when he would be returning to the White House, the agent told him he would be spending the night in the room. He needed to get sleep—General Arnold's orders.

After a warm shower, he flung his weary body onto the bed and turned on the TV. He flipped through the news channels, all of them abuzz with stories about world leaders falling ill. The US stations were covering reports of the President's daughter being hospitalized for unknown causes. Biological agents, chemical weapons, terrorists—the reporters touched upon many possibilities, but provided no answers.

Michael's eyes were beginning to close when something caught his attention: an interview with Pastor Johnson outside the hospital where the president's daughter was staying. He told the reporter the girl was fine. God and His angels protected the United States and its citizens. As long as its people held firm in their faith, they would continue to stay under the Lord's protective umbrella.

Michael closed his eyes. The pastor walked a fine line before the news media; it would be too easy to let vital information slip. Succumbing to his fatigue, Michael drifted into the calm pool of sleep.

He was soaring above the world, soaking in the warmth emanating from the fiery ball above. His body sliced through undulating currents of air with ease, propelled forward only through his sheer will to fly. Laid out before him were rolling hills of clouds, wrapping the glories of creation in a thick blanket of white brilliance that stretched to the horizon. His purpose was to witness these depthless wonders, for they were worthy to be witnessed. They demanded a witness.

While swimming through the grandeur of what is, a creeping sense of wrong grew from within his chest. He turned his majestic face side to side, as if to catch the scent of this rot, this imperfection. To his right, at the edge of his vision, an oily black sickness spilled through the clouds, poisoning the air with its impurity.

He willed himself to the offensive sight, appearing instantly above the spreading blemish. Below him was a gaping hole ringed by thick black smoke, presenting a vision of an earth covered in writhing, grotesque figures. He descended through the opening, wanting to know more about the cancer before him.

The figures were men and women fighting to stay above the crushing mass of their fellow humans. Most wore only tatters, but all had the filth of mud and blood smeared over their emaciated bodies. They crawled, scratched, and kicked at each other in a desperate attempt to stay above the suffocating crowd. Poking through the squirming mass of flesh were the charred stumps of trees, overturned vehicles, and broken machines. Beyond the vast pile of agony was a brown body of water, the carcasses of fish and other creatures floating upon its surface.

Surrounding it all was a ring of fire, the source of the black smoke rising into the sky. Watching the flames, he knew it to be a fire of their creation, a blaze that had become their prison and would soon destroy them all. With a heavy heart, he unfurled his awareness, penetrating the mass of flesh to see what lay beneath. The groping bodies above clamored upon the corpses of their children, their broken limbs and crushed faces pushed into the greasy earth.

He collected his awareness unto himself, and then let it drop like a weight into the pool of time, sinking deeper and deeper until it settled upon the floor of first causes. From there, he let his knowing spread across space as he raised the anchor of perception, observing changes at a dizzying pace.

Small patches of green sprouted upon the barren landscape. The patches grew into a network of simple life that soon blanketed the land. Small beings appeared, in time becoming other beings, growing in both size and complexity. Some of those beings left the now teeming oceans to make their way onto land and, as more time passed, some of the beings took to the air. He witnessed the breathing of the world. Each inhalation contracting the life around him through some type of calamity, each exhalation spreading more life than there was before.

Across the vista of earth and water, he saw the flickers of intelligence emerge. A few of those flickers grew into small flames. And then, in a moment of shining glory, the beings known as humans cultivated those flames into a fiery crown upon their heads, for they finally became aware. The flame illuminated forms unseen among other creatures: love, compassion, and knowledge. Amongst all of the creation before him, only they could witness as he could witness. They were above all others; their awareness could be cultivated and grown into stewardship and love, leading this world deeper into the great mysteries.

Humans had the power to create, mastering the environments in which they lived. Tall towers sprang up into the sky; metal objects whisked them away to wherever they wished to go; a mesh of knowledge and communication contained more information than any single being, not even a generation of beings, could possess. Creation within creation.

But there was a shadow lurking beneath that fiery crown, the burden of the past sinking its sharp claws into their shoulders. Primitive impulses worked to drag these noble creatures down into the dirt. He saw the struggle between the higher and the lower, spurts of enlightenment contrasted with bouts of savagery.

It was not the first time he'd witnessed such struggles.

As time passed, their love for their creations eclipsed their love for each other. What was once gained through struggle now came to them through ease. They grew lazy and fat, consuming the empty food of sensuality. They began to care more about their individual comfort than the wellbeing of their children and future generations. They paid for those brief moments of pleasure by taking from their collective future, stacking up debts that could never be restored.

Such callousness. Even lesser creatures protected themselves and their kin. What kind of creature would work to its own demise?

Finally, he came upon the tangled mess of the present. The humans dragging the entire world into their violent death throes. All of this creation would pay for the hubris of these beings. Nothing would be spared.

Flashes of white light appeared at the edge of his vision. The flashes grew in size and intensity. The energy of the atom, the height of their creation now used to annihilate them all. The acrid scent of burning flesh reached his nose, a final sacrifice and testament to what no longer is, but forever to be left as was.

Ringing, again and again. It called Michael forth from his dream, the phone on the bed stand demanding his attention. He struggled to sit up and gather his bearings, then reached for the receiver.

A calm voice addressed him on the other end: he was to be dressed and ready in sixty minutes. He and his team were going to the UN.

# Chapter 19

United Nations Headquarters, New York

Michael was the first to arrive at the UN, his escorts pulling up to a chaotic scene of news vans, state security services, New York police, and curious onlookers. Helicopters hovered above the pandemonium like angry wasps, looking for dangerous needles in an unkempt haystack.

His escorts bullied their way through, eventually bringing him to a room above the main assembly. Inside, a large window provided a full view to the floor and podium below, while imposing television screens covered the walls, providing close-up views of the podium and main microphone. Michael stood by the window, watching a river of people trickle in the room below, collecting into pools of excited gossip.

An hour later, his team entered the room, a collective look of relief on their faces. Rich grabbed Michael's extended hand and pulled him into a brief, but strong hug. The scientist's relief to see Michael and excitement for this historical event could barely be contained.

"It's good to see you, Mike!"

"You too, Rich. It's good to see all of you!" Michael caught Jennifer's eyes in a silent greeting.

"Well, so much for my theory that they would cut you open after your meeting with Todd," Edith said through a smirk.

"They did, but I had them sew me up really well afterwards."

The team settled into the room, each person taking a moment to look out the great window.

"I still can't believe all the world powers managed to get here," Rich marveled.

"Nobody wants to be left out," Michael replied. "This is possibly the greatest moment in human history—no politician worth their salt would miss this."

"I guess. It's still amazing, though."

Michael started asking the team what else they'd learned, hoping to deflect any questions about his meeting with Todd. He discovered that they had been disbanded after he'd left and taken to government rooms similar to the one he had occupied.

As they discussed the previous night, the US president and other world leaders from the most powerful and prosperous nations were brought into the assembly, taking seats behind the main microphone so they were facing the rest of the room. Following them were Todd and ten other men and women, taking seats behind the world leaders. Different ages, races, but all average looking. Michael knew these were the other envoys and pondered the whereabouts of the missing twelfth envoy.

As everyone found their seats, a voice came from speakers, notifying the assembly that the presentation was about to begin. The British prime minister, who was seated in front of Todd Miles, rose and took the podium. He introduced the other world leaders on the stage, then presented the civilians that were present, listing their names, nationalities, and occupations.

After the introductions were made, the prime minister explained that a milestone in human history and understanding had been reached. Multiple world governments had detected an alien signal from space. This signal was a message that mankind was not alone in this universe, that they had Friends amongst them in the starry sky, and another message was soon to follow. With that he returned to his seat. Michael could see activity amongst the various dignitaries as they whispered among themselves in excitement.

The Russian president stood and approached the podium, where he started speaking in Russian. Moments later, a male interpreter's voice provided the translation, stating that the signal led the world governments to human beings living in various countries. These human beings were our brothers and sisters, chosen by our alien Friends so they could better communicate with us, he explained. The governments of the world met with these alien ambassadors, starting a dialogue of friendship and peace. He explained that these alien Friends had an important message to share with mankind, a message that they would like to deliver today.

The Russian president returned to his seat and the US president stood and walked to the podium. He said that these aliens sought to help the people of Earth, and confirmed that Todd Miles and the other civilians seated behind them represented alien ambassadors. He explained that they were regular people chosen by the alien beings to be a bridge between their people and ours. The president then turned to Todd and offered him the podium.

Todd Miles stood and shook the president's hand. He walked up to the podium, a nervous clip to his step. He took a moment to adjust the microphone, then looked out at the assembly before him and began to speak.

"Thank you, Mr. President, and all the world leaders present. I understand that this announcement will be the cause of excitement, fear, and wonderment among the people of Earth. To finally know that we are not alone in the vastness of space closes one set of doors while opening many more, some of which we may not have even considered.

"The other envoys and I are human, just like the rest of you. We were selected by our alien Friends so that communication between our species can be achieved clearly and naturally.

"As humans, we have risen above all other creatures on Earth. Our intelligence has given us the ability to reason and understand the world around us in a deeper context than mere survival. We have the ability to appreciate the wonders set before us. We can recognize and strive for ideals like justice, liberty, and freedom. We can know love, compassion, and friendship. We have within us the power to make this world and the lives of its inhabitants better.

"Despite that potential, we have acted again and again as poor stewards to our planet, its creatures, and each other. We treat our home, this one home we have, like a disposable playground. We tear down the roof, the walls, even the flooring not in an effort to live, but to fulfill whatever childish whim has seized our hearts.

"There is no concern for the other creatures that share this home with us. At best we treat these beings with indifference, at worst with outright malice. We view our intelligence and superiority as granting us absolute authority over all lesser creatures. We no longer kill to live, to eat. Today we kill for convenience.

"Our treatment of each other has not been much better. We insist on holding on to the primitive and violent ways of our past. We prefer to keep our brothers and sisters down, instead of raising them with a helpful hand.

"Lastly, we have created horrible instruments of destruction in the form of atomic weapons. Our ability to create became our curse, allowing for the very real possibility that we will destroy ourselves. It is a threat this current generation does not fully appreciate. With each passing decade, the specter of nuclear annihilation fades from our memory, but I assure you the barrel of the atomic gun is ever present against our heads. As we tear down our house, as we fight for the scraps that are left, we will fall victim to our primitive ways, escalating into a conflict that will lead to our final mistake, our great mistake: the mistake of nuclear conflict.

"So our Friends have a message for mankind, a message they hope we will all take deeply to heart. First, we are not alone. There is intelligent life in this universe, beings that wish to see the Earth continue to evolve and prosper. These beings hope that humans can assume the mantle of caretakers of each other and this planet. To move forward not only in knowledge and understanding, but also compassion.

"There is a second part of this message, however. If we do not change, if we choose the path of certain destruction of ourselves and everything else, then we will be moved aside. If human beings want to go quietly into the night, then let our passing be brief and sudden. These beings will not allow us to destroy all other life if we selfishly choose to commit suicide. If we cannot grow into mature beings, humanity will be removed from the planet. Other life will be given a chance."

As Todd's speech drew to a close, the other envoys stood in unison, a neutral mask on their collective faces. In an instant, the masks fell away, and each of the envoys stared out into the assembly as if for the first time, sharing confused looks with each other. From one of the large screens, tears could be seen filling Todd's eyes. In a halting voice, he started to speak, "Alicia, girls...I—"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Then his body, along with the bodies of all the envoys, dropped to the floor. From somewhere deep within him, Michael knew they were dead.

At once, security forces descended upon the stage to whisk world leaders to safety. The teams collided into each other, fighting among themselves in an effort to reach their representatives. Panicked shouts rang out from the assembly as people jumped out of their seats and into the aisles in a desperate attempt to flee.

Michael stood in shock. The revelation, the deaths: it was all too much. These aliens gifted humanity with the knowledge that we were not alone. In the very same breath, they threatened to kill off humanity if the entire species did not change. Then the brutal killing of their own envoys. The killing of Todd.

"Mike, maybe we should get out of here," Rich said nervously, his words half drowned by the shouts and echoes of running feet.

"No, we stay." Michael's gaze stayed fixed on the pandemonium below.

He looked over at Todd's lifeless body and the bodies of the other envoys on the floor, their corpses ignored as people stampeded to get out. Michael clenched his jaw, angry at the senseless death of the innocent people before him. From that center, he expanded his gaze upon the struggling crowds, watching them fight with each other. He was reminded of his dream. So very much like his dream.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, small but firm. Jennifer's? Edith's? He didn't care. He was not alone.

A group of men tried to push away the crowd, shielding a young woman as she assisted an older woman to her feet. Another group entwined their arms, providing a small harbor for an older man, clutching his chest.

Then he recognized it. He noted the thing that was missing from his dream. Something present before him, small and fragile, but there nonetheless.

It was hope.

END PART 1

## Public Acknowledgments

I would like to thank you, the reader, for choosing this novella. I sincerely hope it was entertaining. Please leave a review on the website of your choice if you enjoyed the story in any way.

## Private Acknowledgments and Authorship

The following keys contain other acknowledgments and the authors actual identity.

  * Thanks - e05606d1a76f1d76a31364ec50aef73835a77777bebd92db1057e6b5320cee4a

  * Authorship - f6839cbfd930aa22c901854120a6fd9841b7ec9926f83bb432d64b26a5acc2bb

  * Anonymous Proof of Authorship - a4b339fdd6d1b940a327cac0d58ca3e57223517d4aa1e0775a02bc42fe7b8885

