“This way, sir.” The agent gestured. “The President is waiting to speak with you.”

President Conner eyed the other man as he took a seat across from him. They were sitting in a perfect replica of the Oval Office, right down to the tri-D “windows” that showed a real-time view of the outside of the actual office. It was mostly built as a place to broadcast from in case of emergency, giving people a sense of security that their President was calm and on the job in his office where he was supposed to be.

It was a not-so-subtle bit of propaganda and population control that was part of a system that Conner had disliked his entire life, even once he’d become part of it. Now, though, it served as a slightly more subtle bit of posturing as it reminded his guest of exactly who he was speaking with. Not really necessary, Conner supposed, but every little edge counted, and the subliminal ones were often the ones you weren’t prepared for.

Jung made a show of settling in, looking relaxed and just a little disinterested. It was classic political posturing, and it was something that the President just didn’t have time for.

“The Reagan Task Force is in the South China Sea,” he said, getting an instant sharp look from his guest, “and the Clinton is in the Persian Gulf. They have enough firepower to flatten three countries apiece, and they are within operational strike range of every major Block population center on the planet.”

“Now see here,” Shi stiffened, all pretense of disinterest gone. “You cannot threaten us! And to do so at a time like this is insanity . . .”

Conner slid a tablet across the desk hard enough that it flew off and Shi had to catch it, interrupting his tirade.

“That tablet contains the secure frequencies, passcodes, and daily countersigns needed to request taskings from either group,” he told the shocked man. “You have a problem in your countries. Deal with it. We’ll help if you let us, but if you don’t I will send them in with orders to turn every population center with an alien presence to glass.”

Conner stood up. “And don’t get any ideas about taking out the task groups. For one, you’re right, we can’t afford this nonsense right now and, more importantly, both groups are escorted by six Apache Class nuclear submarines. You won’t get them, but they will launch if they have to.”

“President Conner,” Shi rose to his feet, face etched in stone, “this is not how these affairs are handled.”

“We are facing genocide, Mr. Shi,” Conner said. “The systematic and total obliteration of all life on this world and in this system. The old ways of doing things are obsolete. Adapt or die. Now I have things to oversee and you, sir, have a message to deliver. May I arrange transport?”