That opportunity had been largely denied to them due to the abruptness of the aliens’ initial contact. In contrast, the visitors’ intentions had been more than adequately spelled out. They were going to make demands that if not fulfilled would result in destruction. It did not take an expert in linguistics, not even specialists like Pavesi and Katou-Zimmer, to parse such brusqueness. All that remained now, or at least for the immediate future, was to decide how to respond.

It was at that moment that the President of the United States faced directly into the Oval Office pickup and spoke to the grandson of subsistence farmers who hailed from a country halfway around the world. Staring back, Dev found himself thinking of … a double latte, no whip, extra sugar.

“I see that Mr. Mukherjee is present,” the president said.

All eyes in the Oval Office turned to Dev. All eyes in the office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff turned to him. All eyes in the Johnson Center meeting room turned to him. It got very quiet.

“Yes, Mr. President.” Keeping it short, Dev had learned early on, meant less chance of saying something preternaturally stupid.

“I’m told you are something of a quick go-to, where possible alien contact is concerned.”

Pavesi and the Zimmers were gazing expectantly at him. Reed, perhaps ominously, still had his eyes half closed and his headphones on. Dev cleared his throat.

“It’s something I’ve always been interested in, Mr. President. I’ve made it kind of a sideline specialty in addition to my regular work for NASA.”

The president nodded. “As opposed to you just working with politicians here in Washington while keeping things simple enough for them to pass along to their constituents when budget time comes around.” There was nervous laughter from a few of the congressional representatives in the room. Hewing to his first principle, Dev just smiled and nodded. The president folded both hands on his desk and leaned forward slightly.

“I’ll ask others and we’ll come to a joint decision as to how we are going to proceed, Mr. Mukherjee, but I’m asking you first, here and now: what do you think our response should be to the aliens’ ultimatum?”

Dev kept smiling while inside he was frantic. He remembered one story his father used to tell when Dev was younger. It involved his grandfather’s affection for a particular cow. Eventually, the cow got sick. Grandfather had to decide whether to try and pay for professional veterinary care, bring in a much cheaper traditional healer, or have the animal put down. Three choices, each of which had its downside for a simple farmer. Now the President of the United States was asking that man’s grandson, Devali Mukherjee, to give an opinion on a matter that might affect the future of the entire human species.