24

Oliver Bowen

August 23, 2030. Washington, D.C.

Oliver glanced around the Oval Office, took in the burgundy drapes, the ornate woodwork over the doors and on the crown molding, but it was difficult to appreciate where he was, because of what was about to happen. If it actually happened, this might be the most important event in human history, and Oliver was right in the middle of it.

“I’m not sure why I’m here,” he said to Five. “Can’t you speak directly to the president?”

I can, but I don’t want to. You’re the only human who wants at least one Luyten to live. You’re the closest thing we have to an advocate.

Five was in his cage, which had been transported from CIA headquarters to the White House via a closed underground rail system Oliver hadn’t known existed. The triptych of windows behind the president’s desk had swung open to allow Five to be rolled right into the Oval Office. Oliver wondered if the windows had always opened like that, or if the president’s people had installed it in case there was ever a need to meet with Luyten. Whatever the case, they’d gone through a great deal of trouble so Five could come to the president, rather than vice versa. Evidently it was crucial to keep up appearances, even if your opponent knew all of your effort was simply for appearance.

The president’s private door swung open. Wood entered, followed by Secretary of State Nielsen and Secretary of Defense Oteri. Oliver stood, and to his surprise, so did Five.

As they shook hands, the president winked at Oliver, then clapped him on the shoulder. Oliver’s throat tightened with pride at the private attaboy. He swallowed, trying to banish the emotion, which was extremely premature. It was yet to be seen if he’d accomplished anything.

The president turned to face Five. “I understand you wish to discuss terms for surrender?”

Tell him he’s correct.

Relief washed over Oliver as he repeated Five’s words.

“What terms are you requesting?” Wood asked.

President Wood has been authorized by the premier to accept our surrender if we’ll agree to incarceration in an internment camp. We see this as the best terms we will be able to negotiate given our circumstance, so we would, theoretically, accept them.

Everyone in the room jolted visibly, as Five finished his thought aloud: “The problem is, once we enter the camps, we will be killed.”

It took Wood a moment to regain his composure. He’d seen the recordings of Five speaking aloud on Easter Island, but no doubt hearing it live was another matter entirely. “No you wouldn’t,” he said, still facing Five. “If we sign an agreement in good faith, we’ll honor it.”

“Your intention is to honor it,” Five said. “The premier is less certain. Others are certain you should exterminate us.”

“Others such as who?” Wood asked.

“Such as your secretary of defense.”

Scowling, Wood turned to Oteri. “Is this true?”

Oteri nodded tightly. “Yes, sir. That would be my counsel.”

Wood moved a half step closer, pointed at Oteri’s nose. “Another half billion people will die before this war is over. If we can save a half billion innocent lives by commuting a death sentence to life in prison, we’ll take that deal every time. Erase any thoughts of going back on our word once we make an agreement. Wipe them out of your fucking mind right now.”

He turned back to Five. “Is my secretary now on board with this agreement?”

“Yes. It may prove more of a challenge to convince other world leaders, including the premier.”

“I’m supposed to convince all of them?”

“Ninety percent will do.”

Wood grunted. “Only ninety percent.”

Oliver couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Somehow he’d imagined they would strike a deal then and there. It was a step in the right direction, though.

Don’t flatter yourself. There are dozens of these meetings being held.

Right now? He thought it, rather than speaking it aloud.

Now, or soon, or they were recently completed. The other meetings were conducted without the drama of face-to-face interactions. Leaders within range were contacted telepathically.

How are the meetings going? Oliver thought.

Mixed. That was all Five would say on that, or any other topic. He fell back into silence as he was wheeled out of the Oval Office, onto the front lawn of the White House.