“Easy for you to say,” the president muttered. “All right then. General McKendrick, you and your staff remain alert for any changes in the appearance of the alien craft. Wake me if your people see anything that looks threatening. Or I suppose I should say, more threatening than it already is.” His attention shifted. “Mr. Mukherjee, should your rest be interrupted by any flashes of brilliance reflecting on what we should do, what we could do, the same holds true for you. Let me know immediately. The same goes for the rest of you in Houston. If anything should change here, if the Russians or the Chinese or our European friends come up with a sudden brainstorm between now and tomorrow afternoon, you will be informed.” He paused. “That’s all for now, I suppose. If wisdom doesn’t arrive by tomorrow, we’ll just have to play it by ear.” He mustered a smile. “I’ve been doing that my whole life. I’d be just as happy not to have to do it tomorrow. Thank you all, and may God be with us.” As he rose from behind his desk, so did everyone else in the Oval Office who had been seated. Both the monitor there and the one in the Pentagon went dark.

Dev found himself nodding slightly in accord. But which god, he mused. Ours or the aliens’?

Given that the end of the world might be nigh, Dev was astonished at how well he slept. Certainly, it had something to do with the complete darkness and silence provided by the subterranean room. Doubtless the fact that he was completely exhausted also contributed. Regardless, he found himself famished by the time he had dressed and walked to the compact underground cafeteria.

The Zimmers were already there, chattering away between bites of food. Headphones on, Reed ate quietly, methodically demolishing a couple of enormous plates of food that appeared to contain at least one of every item the cafeteria offered. Dev didn’t blame him. If his own gastrointestinal system permitted, he intended to try and match the bigger man pancake for pancake. If this was to be a last meal, he intended to enjoy every last unnecessary carb and sugar.

“Good morning, Dev.”

Pavesi had come up alongside him so quietly he had failed to notice her.

“Morning, Diana.” At the end of the serving line, they took trays and silverware. The cafeteria was fully staffed even though the contact team were the only ones eating. “Did you dream of what the aliens might want? Because that might make the next exchange go a little easier.”

Taking a pair of croissants from the bread on offer, she shook her head. “Afraid not. Actually, I don’t dream. Haven’t since I was a little girl. But when I woke up this morning, I was thinking of Gubbio.”

He frowned as he shoveled hash browns onto his plate. “Sounds like a dessert.”