Jehovah: “I will have your unconditional surrender.”

Utopia: “It would be wiser to negotiate this in private.”

Jehovah: “I shall not negotiate. I shall remake this world. For that I must have the absolute freedom granted by universal absolute surrender.”

Voltaire: “Mike, we know You want a future with us in it.” Vizored eyes may be false, but not the kind smile on Voltaire’s bare cheeks. “We know You love what we love.”

Jehovah: “I love many things. What if My new world has no room for you?” The Visitor still held out His coat. “I return this to you, and thank you for it, and for your hospitality. Give both to Me again when you give Me your unconditional surrender.”

Voltaire: “We’ll give You everything you want. We won’t set any maximum on what You can ask of us during the war, or during the reconstruction, so long as we have enough to keep our terraforming schedule. The only things we’ll keep from You are harbingers, Mars, and the far distant future.”

Jehovah: “What if I want Mars, and the far distant future?”

Voltaire: “You want a world that doesn’t need O.S. or death. So do we.”

Jehovah: “I do not know what I will do to this world if war makes it Mine. What if I banish Utopia forever from the Earth? What if I chase you, homeless and unwelcome, from every corner of human dominion—My dominion—until you flee into the black of Space? And what if even there I follow you, and take from you the Moon, and next take Mars, and next Europa? What if I drive you from every rock and hiding place technology can touch, home after home, as I exile you to the dark exhaustion of forever?”

Even Caesar caught his breath.

Voltaire: “You wouldn’t do that.”

Jehovah: “I do not know what I would and would not do; no more do you. Mycroft has indeed taught Me to love you, and to love what you love. In the name of that love, I will not deceive you into thinking you are safe from Me. What if I do not choose you to be the architects of My future? What if I choose them?” His steady finger pointed to the silent, wide-eyed form of Felix Faust.

Voltaire: “I know You, Mike.” The hostage who had watched this Boy grow up still smiled. “I’ve known You almost since First Contact. I know what You wish this world was like.”

Jehovah: “Do not mistake Me for a human thing.”

Voltaire: “I never have. I never would. I recognize You are an Alien. I welcome that. I will never stop trying to help You communicate, and—”

Static flashed, the coats displaying harsh white mourning blankness. Caesar paled. How good were your preparations for today’s mobs, frail Utopia?