“Then why are we wasting time discussing this now? I say we leave this to our scientists. It was my understanding that this assembly was to be political in nature. Despite numerous threats on my life, I have come to this meeting in good faith. It was Russian and Chinese civilians who died in these pure-fusion holocausts. Death is death, Madam President, whether it comes from nuclear annihilation, asphyxiation, or starvation. Let the West and their superior weaponry destroy this alien vessel. As we speak, thousands of my people are starving to death. What we need to discuss is how we are going to change the world—”

“And who are you to demand change?” General Fecondo responds, fists balled as he stands. “Your concept of change was to engage the United States in nuclear war. The West gave your country billions of dollars in aid to feed your people and stimulate your economy, instead you spent it on weapons—”

Mick closes his eyes to the verbal joust, focusing instead on Professor Fowler’s words. He thinks back to when he was in the alien chamber beneath the Gulf. He remembers the cut on his leg.

My blood was blue. The chamber’s atmosphere must have been carbon dioxide.

He recalls Guardian’s words … The conditions on your world were not suitable, the intended target Venus … your world is being acclimated.

“You come to us for aid,” Dick Prystas bellows, “yet look how quick you were to destroy the hand you now ask to feed your people!”

“What choice had we?” Grozny retorts. “You coerce us into signing strategic arm agreements while your scientists continue working on methods of destroying us. What good are treaties when America’s newest technologies are more deadly than the antiquated missiles you’ve so graciously eliminated?” Grozny turns to face the rest of the assembly. “Yes, it was Russia that launched first, but we were provoked. The United States has thrown around its military might for decades. Our informants tell us the Americans are less than two years from completing their own pure-fusion explosives. Two years! If these extraterrestrials had not attacked, then the United States would have.”

The room grows loud again.

Grozny points an accusing finger at Chaney. “I ask the new American president—is peace truly your objective—or war?”

Chaney stands, waiting for the room to quiet. “There is blood on every hand in this room, President Grozny. Every conscience is shamed with guilt, every mind entangled in fear. But, for the grace of God, we might all be dead. We’ve behaved like selfish children, all of us, and if we have any hopes of surviving as a species, then we must put aside our petty differences, once and for all, and grow up.”