“Which leads me to two conclusions. First, we should be very worried about escalation. We demonstrate a yield of fifty kilotons, they go to a hundred, we go to a thousand, and they decide to go to a million. That is not a game we are likely to win, and we should do what we can to avoid it. Second—and this is good news—if my thesis is correct, then it means the aliens have chosen to display a relatively small amount of force. If they really wanted to scare us into submission, I suspect they could have done much more than they actually did.”
Strauss rose from his chair just as Dr. Menon was finishing his point. He was the only one to have left his seat during the discussion. He stood behind his chair as he spoke, resting his hands atop the backrest. “I hear you, Dr. Menon. But with all due respect, I don’t think you fully understand how these things tend to play out in the real world.”
Dr. Menon smiled, as if he was used to jokes predicated on his reputation for being among the world’s top theoretical physicists.
Strauss noticed the reaction. “I apologize,” he said half-heartedly. “I’m only referring to the real world of warfare. Of military action. Candidly, the dynamics of war do not boil down to a system of equations. The decisions that are made when it’s a question of life or death are not easily explained by your laws of physics.
“Think back to the bombing of Hiroshima at the end of World War II. People wonder why we nuked a city filled with innocent people, instead of targeting an unpopulated area. Why kill tens of thousands of civilians to force a Japanese surrender, when the same could have been achieved by demonstrating the bomb’s effectiveness on some remote island? Now, some will argue that the Japanese wouldn’t have surrendered unless they felt the devastation firsthand. And they’ll give you all sorts of reasons why it was strategically important, and how it ended up saving more lives in the long run by shortening the war. But you know what I say to all that? Bullshit. We could have dropped that bomb somewhere else—we just didn’t want to.
“Here’s what your analysis misses, Dr. Menon: even if we had been nice enough to drop that first atomic bomb in a distant location—on the Moon, so to speak—what do you suppose would have happened if the Japanese hadn’t surrendered after that? Unless the Japanese had found some way to deter us, we sure as shit would have dropped our second bomb on their city. So you know where I come out on this? I say, fine. Let’s give these aliens credit where they deserve it. Their opening move is much more civilized than our first strike was against the Japanese. But that doesn’t mean they’re not coming for our cities the second time around. Maybe they’re just waiting to see whether we surrender or give them a reason to think twice about attacking us. I am not for surrendering. But I am for deterrence.”
Several heads nodded—some in agreement and others in contemplation.
Trina Morgan was called on next. “Secretary Strauss—I’m sorry, but the two situations you’re comparing are very different. For one thing, we were already at war with Japan at the time we dropped the atomic bomb. The decision to nuke was made after Pearl Harbor had been attacked, after the war in the Pacific had been raging for years, after the firebombing of Tokyo, and after a long record of Japanese atrocities in Asia. That context is simply not present in the current crisis. To our knowledge, the aliens have no reason to hate us. They have no cause for grievance. I just don’t see any clear motivation for them to drop a bomb on one of our cities. On the other hand, if we launch a nuke into space, they might start to rethink their relationship with us. Our aggressive actions might trigger a war that was otherwise avoidable. It would be on us.”
There were only five minutes left in the hour, and Nielsen attempted to bring the discussion to an end. He had only uttered six words before Director Druckman interrupted.
“Mr. Vice President, I apologize. I know you want to bring some closure here, but this is important. If you don’t mind, I’d like to respond.”
“Go ahead, Noah. It’s okay.”
“Thank you,” Druckman said as he turned toward Trina. “Ms. Morgan, I think you’re blaming the wrong party. We’re not the ones who sailed across the universe. Nor were we the first to deploy weapons. You also seem to conflate aggression and warmongering. These are not the same, and it is wrong-headed to think that they are.”
Druckman looked around the room as he continued.
“Two coalitions have emerged here. One is for a show of force, the other against it. I have no problem with a disagreement of this kind—if the arguments are all based on reasonable assumptions. Unfortunately, there is at least one dangerously flawed assumption that has crept into our discussion. Some of you seem to believe that those who endorse the show-of-force proposal are somehow in favor of war, or that we are more willing to go to war, than the rest of you. That is incorrect. We know as well as you that winning a war against the extra-terrestrials is probably next to impossible. But just because we can’t win doesn’t mean we can’t deter certain actions they might be considering. That is the goal. Our only goal.
“Like Secretary Strauss, I believe that World War II might have been avoided, if only the British and French had shown a willingness to sacrifice earlier. Two of my grandparents died in Auschwitz. Another died at Belzec. Two uncles died at Treblinka. I know others in this room also lost family in that war—on both sides. So yes, I wish Chamberlain had been more aggressive from the start—not because I’m a warmonger, but because the whole senseless, tragic war could have been averted. I don’t want our children or grandchildren to say the same thing about this moment in time. Make no mistake, friends, those of us who are proposing a more aggressive course of action are as much for peace as anyone in this room!”
Druckman leaned forward and slapped his hand on the table, hard, to emphasize the last point. He looked deadly serious, but not angry. He paused for almost five seconds before concluding.
“I know war. I have seen it in all its forms. And I want peace. But history has shown, all too often, that if you will never accept the risk of stumbling into a war, you will have war thrust upon you by others.”
There was silence.
Nielsen looked at the clock. Then he rose from his chair to address the group.
“Thank you, everyone, for a robust discussion. If you held anything back, it didn’t show. Still, if there is something more you want to share with me privately, you know how to reach me. Just do it soon. We didn’t get a chance for the Q&A, so I’ll ask Secretary Strauss, General Allen, and NSA Garcia to stick around for another fifteen minutes to answer questions—if they can.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the decision we face is not an easy one—that’s why smart people are disagreeing. But we all share the same goal: to ensure that our encounter with the aliens is a peaceful one. Let’s not forget that, no matter how much we argue. No matter what we decide.
“That is all for now. You’ll be updated later today, and this group will reconvene at the same time tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that there is a tomorrow.”
No laughter this time.
And then, just as the people in the room started to collect their belongings, the video stream ended. The last thing it transmitted was Vice President Nielsen looking toward the camera and saying, “And thank you, Professor.”
~ 10 ~
As the screen went blank, the four observers seated in Apate 3 turned to face one another. Art looked at Kilmer from across the room. He saw in the professor’s face an emotion that he could not immediately identify.
Concern? Fear? Anger?
No, none of those.
Intensity.
It looked as if concentration, hostility, equanimity, and triumph had all somehow blended together to create an expression entirely devoid of valence. Like the colors of the rainbow combining to produce only white—the constituent elements almost entirely hidden from view.
“Well, Professor, do you have any thoughts?”
“A few.”
“Great. We’re ready to hear them.”
“I’m sure y
ou are,” said Kilmer. “After all, time is of the essence, right?”
Something in the way he said it caused Silla and Lane to turn toward Art.
“Yes, it is,” said Art. “I have a call with the president later tonight. She has asked me to report on what you have to say about all of this.”
“Hmmm.” Kilmer considered that for a moment. “So, what would you like to hear from me?”
“Let’s go straight to the bottom line, Professor. Do you think a show of force is a good idea? Do you have a strong position on that? And if not, what else should the president be considering?”
“As it turns out, I do have a strong point of view on Secretary Strauss’s proposal. Unfortunately…”
Kilmer paused, shifting his gaze from one agent to the next until it settled, once again, on Art.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “my views are not going to matter. President Whitman won’t take my advice.”
Silla and Lane looked uncomfortable. If the same was true of Art, he didn’t show it.
“Why do you think that?” asked Art. “If the president is undecided, your opinion should carry a lot of weight.”
“It should carry weight, but it won’t. I don’t believe she’s in a position to take my advice right now.” Then Kilmer leaned forward. “But you already know that… don’t you, Agent Capella?”
There was no response. Whether Art was starting to look frustrated or confused was hard to tell.
“I’ll make this easy for you, Art. I’ll tell you exactly what I think about Secretary Strauss’s show-of-force proposal. Once we get that over with, we’re going to talk about something else. We’re going to talk about what really blows my mind.”
Kilmer looked for a reaction—and received one that he hadn’t expected.
Art smiled. “Okay, Professor. You seem convinced that President Whitman doesn’t care about your opinion, but you’re wrong about that. So, we have a deal—let’s set that aside for now. Tell me what you think she should do?”
Kilmer got up from his chair and looked at his notes. He had only written two words the entire time.
Constraints. Intentions.
He reached over to pick up his coffee, still full to the brim, but estimated its likely temperature and decided against it. Instead, he picked up his pencil—something to fiddle with as he walked and talked.
“A show of force can be useful,” Kilmer acknowledged, “and it can serve as a deterrent. It might even prove essential at some point. But we’re not there yet. The arguments that Strauss and Druckman made were coherent, but I think they relied a bit too much on imperfect analogies. They articulated a logic that supports a show of force—but that logic was not sufficiently tested.
“None of us really know how aliens think or strategize or interpret signals from potential adversaries. We don’t know what their experience with war has taught them—or if they even have any experience with war. But I find it implausible that the aliens would launch an all-out attack simply because we failed to respond to what might have been a provocation by them. Just think of how many assumptions they would need to make before concluding that our non-response means we are weak or vulnerable. How can they be sure that we even detected the explosions? Or that we interpreted them as a warning or a threat? How can they assume that our decision not to launch a weapon into space implies that we are scared and helpless rather than strong and unconcerned? The list goes on. And unless they can be sure they’ve accurately interpreted all of these elements, the rationale for attacking us at this stage starts to look pretty flimsy.”
Kilmer walked closer to the three agents. “We heard a lot of people talk about how dangerous it would be if we misinterpreted the behavior of the aliens, but no one raised the possibility that the aliens would want to avoid misinterpreting our behavior as well. It’s a common mistake—we get so fixated on what constrains us that we fail to see the strategic constraints that the other side faces. And as I see it, they don’t have nearly enough information about us to decide—based simply on our inaction at this moment—that we are weak, and that they should attack.”
Agent Silla interjected. “I see your point, Professor. But can we gamble so much on our assumption about what constrains them? Maybe they’re not really constrained at all, because they just want to do us harm. Maybe they don’t care why we choose not to retaliate, because their intention is to destroy us regardless.”
“That’s a good point, Agent Silla. The real danger is if they wish to annihilate us regardless of whether we look weak or strong. But their behavior suggests that isn’t the case. If they can destroy us—and if they intend to do so—why start with an attack on the Moon? There’s no benefit to warning us, and it could motivate us to attack them first or build up our defenses. The attack on the Moon suggests that they either can’t or don’t want to wipe us out—at least not yet. In which case, even if we look weak—as Strauss and Druckman fear—their next step will not be to destroy us. They could have done that without issuing any warning at all.”
Agent Silla nodded. “In other words, we have—” She stopped herself, as though unwilling to finish the thought. When she decided to go ahead with it, it was unclear why she had hesitated. “In other words, we have time.”
“I think we do, Agent Silla. They might have the ability to destroy us, and they might have the intention of doing so, but they don’t appear to have both at this time. We want to keep it that way. As Trina Morgan pointed out, that means we should avoid taking actions that could instill fear or create grievances.”
Kilmer twirled the pencil in his fingers. “Of course, we need to acknowledge the fact that we’re making some basic assumptions here. For example, that logic, as we conceive of it, is at least somewhat relevant to how the aliens make decisions. Then again, if we don’t assume that, then we probably have no basis on which to strategize at all.”
Kilmer had walked over to Silla’s side of the table and was now standing less than five feet away from her. He studied her face—his eyes narrowing—as though he were trying to decipher a code. Her words—the ones she had tripped over moments ago—were suddenly ringing in his ears, and he had no idea why.
“I think… I like how you put it, Agent Silla. We—have—time,” he said, pausing ever so briefly after each word.
Kilmer took another step toward her. They were looking into each other’s eyes now, but it was not a romantic scene. It was as if they were both simply searching for answers and somehow expected to find them in each other’s minds rather than their own.
“We… have… time.” He said the words again, but this time in a whisper, like he was trying to unlock some deeper significance.
Silla didn’t respond, nor did she turn away. The room was silent. Completely still.
Almost ten seconds went by before Kilmer finally looked away—and he did it slowly, as if turning away abruptly would be to breach some silent accord they had signed.
When Silla finally looked at her colleagues, they acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired. Had they been paying closer attention they might have caught the slightest hint of… something… in her eyes.
But only the professor saw it—and just for a moment.
And he was sure it was only his imagination.
~ 11 ~
Agent Lane placed his pencil on the table and stretched out his fingers. But it was Art who broke the silence.
“This is extremely helpful, Professor. Thank you for your analysis. I have a few follow-up questions, and I assume Agents Silla and Lane will have some as well. So what I’d like us to do—”
“Your questions will have to wait, Art,” Kilmer interrupted. “We’re not going to spend any more time on me explaining to you why the show-of-force proposal is unwise.”
Art seemed taken aback. “Professor, if you don’t mind, we’re nearly done.”
“I’m afraid I do mind. And we’re not nearly done, we are completely done. I told you what you wanted to know. An
d you can pass it along to whoever is interested. But you’ve been playing games with me, Art. Now we get to find out why that is.”
“Professor, we’re facing the threat of an alien attack. Do you still question that? Did you not see who was in that meeting? Did that look like a joke? How am I playing games?”
Kilmer walked back to his chair, but even as he sat down, he kept his eyes on Art. He put down his pencil and clasped his hands. “I do believe that there are aliens, Art. And I believe there is a threat. But my presence here couldn’t possibly have anything to do with advising the president on what to do about Strauss’s proposal.”
Silla and Lane looked at Art.
Art’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he appeared to be calculating something. “I’m not sure what you heard in that meeting that makes you think we’re wasting your time, Professor, but what we’re doing here is really—”
“That!” interrupted Kilmer. “That’s the mistake you’re making, Art. You’re wondering what I could have possibly heard to make me doubt you, because you expected me to focus only on what was said. But I did more than that.”
Art said nothing.
Kilmer continued. “This is the moment, Agent Capella, where you can win back some credibility with me. If you just admit—even this late in the game—to what I already know. It’s your last chance.”
For a moment, Art looked like he was about to say something, but he found the discipline to restrain himself. As if it was not his choice to make.
So be it.
“My advice can be of no use to President Whitman,” Kilmer explained, “because the meeting we just observed… it didn’t even take place tonight. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve been watching the goddamn History Channel.”
Art ran his fingers through his hair. For the first time that evening, he looked exhausted.
“Now, I would like to know why that is,” Kilmer said, with as much patience as he could summon.
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