He was at the White House. With the president and vice president of the United States. On the eve of the greatest crisis that the world had ever faced. The enormity of the situation was incomparable.
I should have worn a damn tie.
Whitman walked over to Kilmer. “I’m delighted to finally meet you, Professor Kilmer. Thank you for coming.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam President,” Kilmer said as they shook hands. “I hope I can be of some help.”
“Zack speaks very highly of you, and I trust his judgment. But I’ll be honest—we are not at a loss for smart people in this building. What we could benefit from is having someone who sees things differently, and who might catch some things we’ve missed. I understand that’s your specialty, Professor. Or—at least one of them.”
“You’re being too kind, Madam President. I can only promise that I’ll do my best and try not to disappoint you.”
“Then you’re in luck, Professor. No one who does their best can ever disappoint me.”
Nielsen suggested that they sit. President Whitman looked around at the options.
“There’s no way I’m digging through those pillows to find a few inches of couch, Zack. I’ll take one of the chairs.”
Nielsen’s reaction suggested this was an ongoing joke between the two of them. Kilmer resisted the urge to laugh.
The president took Nielsen’s chair, and the VP switched over to one of the couches. Whitman was about to reach for some coffee when she noticed that all three cups had already been used. “Seriously, Zack? No cup for me?”
Kilmer froze. There had never been an extra cup.
I’m an idiot.
Nielsen came to the rescue. “I’m sorry about that, Madam President. My mistake. We’ll get another one right away, along with some more hot coffee.”
He gave Kilmer a nod that seemed to say, Don’t worry, Prof, I’ll cover for you. Kilmer smiled back a thanks.
Then, with a grin on his face, Nielsen continued. “As you can see, Madam President, I ordered three cups, but Professor Kilmer felt that he deserved at least two of them for coming all this way to help us. I think it shows courage, actually—not too many people would have the guts to steal a cup from the person who has access to our nuclear launch codes.”
What the hell? Thanks for nothing, Zack. Kilmer tried to think of something witty to say. He came up with, “Sorry about that.”
Whitman laughed. “Zack—be nice! It’s okay, Professor. If you can help us get out of this mess, I’ll gladly send you every piece of china in the White House. I’ll even throw in some of Nielsen’s pillows.” She gave Kilmer a pat on the shoulder, as if to make it clear that she was taking his side, and that she was not the least bit offended.
Kilmer found a bit of footing. “I’m happy to take on the aliens, Madam President, but asking me to take these pillows off your hands is a little much.”
“Et tu, Professor?” said Nielsen.
As Whitman laughed, Nielsen looked over at Kilmer and gave him a wink.
That’s when Kilmer realized that Nielsen had actually done him a favor by throwing him under the bus. It had broken the ice and engendered a more informal atmosphere. Nielsen had even managed to get President Whitman to come to Kilmer’s defense. It was a small gesture on her part, and entirely in jest, but it created a moment of camaraderie—a basis for rapport between Whitman and Kilmer that would otherwise have taken much longer to build. Kilmer already felt more relaxed in her presence, which was essential if he was going to be of any help. He didn’t usually have a problem with speaking truth to power, but it would be naïve to think that talking to the president of the United States would not lead him to second-guess himself.
Nielsen was older than Kilmer—and was now the vice president—but Kilmer had always viewed him as a student first, a friend second, and an advisee third. For the first time, he was seeing Nielsen as the skilled politician others knew him to be.
After some additional cups and more hot coffee had been delivered, Nielsen updated the president. “I’ve provided a summary of the last two weeks, and Professor Kilmer was just about to ask some questions. Should we continue that conversation, or would you rather we discuss something else while you’re here?”
“Please carry on as if I hadn’t interrupted, Zack. I’m here to listen.”
Whitman and Nielsen turned to Kilmer in perfect synchrony, and he suddenly felt like the target of a high-stakes interrogation. It was unnerving—and problematic. It helps no one if I’m too nervous to speak my mind.
Kilmer rose from his chair as he mustered up the courage to change the dynamic. “I hope you won’t mind, Madam President, if I walk around while I talk. Would that be okay?”
“By all means, Professor. Do whatever is most comfortable.”
Kilmer walked toward Nielsen’s desk as he recalled the words to his mind: Every problem wants to be solved.
By the time he had turned back around to face Whitman and Nielsen, he had a slight smile on his face—an expression not of joy, but of renewed self-assurance. Whitman smiled back. Nielsen nodded. But both of their faces registered the same emotion. And it seemed like a perfectly good place to start.
Hope.
~ 25 ~
Kilmer kicked things off. “Okay. First question: Do we know whether any aliens are on board the spacecraft?”
Nielsen and Whitman looked at one another, briefly, and then back at Kilmer. “I’d have to say the answer is… we don’t really know,” Nielsen replied. “But we’ve been working under the assumption that there probably are. Why do you ask?”
“It just seems to me that if we were the ones sending a spacecraft to explore a planet for the first time, it probably wouldn’t have humans on board. Our unmanned vehicles have always taken the lead in space exploration.”
“Would knowing the answer to this question change your view on things—on what we should do?”
“I’m not sure,” said Kilmer. “I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of what we know and don’t know. It might have downstream implications, but I haven’t had a chance to think it through.”
“Understood,” said Nielsen. “We can come back to that. Let’s keep going.”
“Okay. My second question is about the lunar attack. When the alien spacecraft altered its trajectory to target the Moon—was that an efficient maneuver?”
“What do you mean?” Nielsen asked.
“Sorry, I wasn’t being very clear. What I mean is, was the path they were on, initially, close to optimal for making a stop at the Moon—requiring only a slight change in trajectory—or did the spacecraft have to make a relatively large adjustment to its course in order to carry out the attack?
“I don’t know, but that’s something we can find out. The folks at NASA should have the answer. If not, they’ll be able to figure it out. Is it relevant?”
“Maybe.”
“How so?” asked Whitman.
“I’m only speculating here, but if the Moon was more-or-less on the way for them, given the path they had originally set, then the lunar bombing might have been part of their plan all along. On the other hand, if they had already passed the Moon and had to double-back to carry out the attack, or if they needed to radically change their trajectory to pull it off, then it begs the question: Why? What made them change their mind?”
Whitman crossed her arms. “So, we have two questions here. First, is their flight path consistent with the idea that they had planned the attack all along? And if not, what might have caused them to change their mind during the voyage?”
“That’s right,” Kilmer agreed. “And even if we can’t answer that second question—if we can infer that they changed their minds, but we don’t know why—we’ll still have learned something important.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that they have minds at all, Madam President. And that these minds can change. I have no idea what life elsewhere in the universe is like—assumi
ng life, as we conceive of it, is even what we’re dealing with here. I think we need to keep track of even our most basic assumptions. Of course, the question of why is still paramount. Did they simply make a calculation error when they were charting their initial course, which they corrected later? Were they reacting to something we did—and if so, what? Or… perhaps…” Kilmer paused. “Perhaps, just like us, the aliens have been debating what they should do. It’s a useful reminder—regardless of the real reason for their change in trajectory—that we shouldn’t assume we’re dealing with a monolithic entity. They might have differences of opinion on their side as well.”
“Very good, Professor,” Whitman agreed. “We’ll have Dr. Menon look into it. What else do you have?”
“Just one more question for now. But it’s probably the most important.” Kilmer took a sip of his coffee as he tried to work out how best to raise the issue. “Madam President… regardless of whether you decide to proceed with a show of force tomorrow, is it accurate to say that you wish to engage peacefully with the aliens?”
“It is,” Whitman answered. “Without question. We absolutely want to engage peacefully.”
“Okay—peacefully,” Kilmer acknowledged. “But for how long, I’m wondering. Over what timescale?”
Whitman narrowed her eyes, unsure of what Kilmer was driving at. “Forever, I would hope.”
“That’s the only reasonable answer,” Kilmer agreed, returning to his chair. “But it begs the question: What is our plan for achieving that? How do we hope to bring about this forever peace?”
“I’m not quite following you, Professor.”
“What I’m trying to say, Madam President, is that human beings are great at starting wars. We are also reasonably capable of ending wars, given enough time. What we struggle with is avoiding wars altogether. I’m afraid we have a pretty dismal track record when it comes to meeting strangers—whether they be distant empires, new civilizations, aliens, or whatever—and then living peacefully forevermore. It just never seems to work out that way. When ancient kingdoms came into contact with one another, no matter how many gifts were exchanged in the early days, wars of domination eventually resulted. The Romans learned a lot from the Greeks, and they appreciated them for their gifts of wisdom and culture, but they still went ahead and conquered them. The Europeans who came to the so-called New World did not set sail with the intention of committing genocide, but somehow that’s what transpired.
“Whether they were initially motivated by a desire to explore, or trade, or educate, or proselytize, or loot, or civilize, or conquer—human encounters eventually led to war. Not all wars led to the annihilation of one side. Not all of them stretched across decades or centuries. But it’s hard to find examples of distinct races or cultures or empires encountering one another and avoiding war altogether, for the entirety of their relationship.”
Whitman’s face betrayed a feeling of foreboding. She was beginning to see where this was going.
Kilmer went on. “What concerns me is that there’s little in our history to suggest we’ve figured out the formula for creating ‘forever peace.’ I don’t think we know how to choreograph our early encounters with a new civilization so that we avoid war altogether. Which brings me back to my question. What exactly is our plan, not just to avoid war when we first meet the aliens, but to avoid it for the decades and centuries to come?
Madam President, if a war with them does eventually materialize—as human history suggests is likely, regardless of how nice things look early on—I very much fear that they will be the Europeans and we the New World. They will be the colonizers and we the indigenous tribes. They will be the ones claiming to civilize, and we the backward people who should be thankful for it. They will be the ones who demand trade or fealty at the point of a gun, and we the ones who have no choice but to accept their terms.”
Kilmer observed their expressions. President Whitman seemed deep in thought. Vice President Nielsen looked like the Earth had moved under his feet. Neither of them said a word.
Kilmer had saved this question for last, and it was for precisely this reason. He knew they wouldn’t have a good answer, because it wasn’t likely that they had even considered the question. And once he raised it, there was a risk that everything else the White House had been doing for the last twenty-four hours would seem small—almost irrelevant. That was not what he wanted.
Kilmer addressed the issue. “Your team is focused on the crisis at hand, and the people in the 8 a.m. meeting are tasked with saving the planet from imminent destruction. Their job is to make sure that we live to see tomorrow—and that task remains essential. But you, Madam President, will have to do all of that and much more. You will have to chart a course that ensures humanity survives far beyond the foreseeable future.”
President Whitman did not answer. Instead, she took a prolonged breath, reached for the thermos, and refilled everyone’s coffee. Then she lifted her own cup, slowly, and took a small sip. It was like watching a sacred ritual—as if Whitman was unwilling to say a word before she had mindfully completed all the steps. Only after she had set down her cup did she turn to look at Kilmer.
“Professor Kilmer, I didn’t think it was possible for someone to make me see the situation as more dire than I already considered it to be. But you have done just that. And I’m glad—because I can’t solve a problem that I don’t recognize. You’re right. My team is making sure there is a tomorrow. But we must do much more.”
She leaned closer. “Now, I have to ask you something. You say that history gives us very little guidance here. That our track record as a species suggests we are in a lot of trouble. Does that mean you think the situation is hopeless?”
Kilmer shook his head. “All I can say, Madam President, is that history only exists because people that came before us made history. If we can’t find guidance in what they did—if history refuses to give us answers, or if it fails to offer us advice we can live with—then we will have to make history as well. We will have to be the first to do something remarkable. It won’t be easy. But is it hopeless? No. There’s always a first. Always.”
Whitman managed a smile. “So where would you propose we start?”
Kilmer had no idea—so he took a few sips of his coffee, and a few steps around the room, as he considered the question. Finally, he turned to Whitman and Nielsen.
“I think we have to start by figuring out what’s really going on here. History might not give us the answers, but it can still provide us with inspiration. I’m reminded of what Churchill said, just after Poland was invaded by both Hitler and Stalin in 1939. Churchill gave a radio broadcast in which he spoke about the difficulty of predicting how things would play out. His words are as good a place for us to start as any:
‘I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key. That key is Russian national interest.’”
Kilmer took another sip. “So, where do we start? I say we start by looking for Churchill’s Key. We start by worrying less about alien plans and intentions, and more about their underlying interests. We shift our focus from what they want, to why they want it. If we are to survive—not just through the night, but into the future—we will have to understand what drives them.”
~ 26 ~
Heirs of Herodotus by D. Kilmer.
Excerpt from Chapter 5.
It has become a tradition of sorts to judge history’s great leaders on how they handled themselves in moments of crisis. Were they able to weather the storm? Did they manage to keep the ship afloat? Did they succeed in addressing the grave problems of the day? These are important measures of leadership, but they are incomplete—like evaluating the skill of a general on whether he wins a battle but losing sight of whether the war was ultimately won or lost. There is nothing wrong with celebrating Hannibal’s remarkable crossing of the Alps, and much is to be learned from how he amassed his many wins on the Italian peninsula. But we
should not forget that he failed to deliver a decisive victory even after fifteen years of fighting, that he was ultimately defeated by Scipio Africanus, and that Carthage was not just defeated by Rome in the Punic Wars, it was wiped off the map. That Hannibal is still remembered for his brilliance, but the empire he fought for is remembered only for its complete destruction, should give us pause.
Crises are vain creatures, always insisting that our attention and energy be focused on them alone. The greatest of leaders reject this demand and vow not to lose sight of what comes next—after the battle has been won or lost. For this they should be rewarded, especially by those of us who feel we have professional license to pass judgment on our forebears. We do humanity no favors by telling our leaders that they will be judged only on how they navigate moments of despair—and not for what comes after. If crises are a test of leadership, it is not because they show us who has the strength to fight and win, but because they reveal who has the wisdom and courage to do so without sacrificing their vision for the future.
~ 27 ~
Whitman glanced at Nielsen and conveyed something with a nod. Then she turned toward Kilmer again.
“Professor Kilmer, I’m glad we met tonight. I would not have asked Zack to invite you here if I didn’t think you might add some value. But I didn’t expect to hear anything that would make me rethink the situation so fundamentally. I had planned for Zack to fill me in on what you had to say, and for you to return to Boston soon after. But I’d like you to stick around. Would you be willing to stay in Washington for the next few days?”
“Of course, Madam President.”
“Thank you, Professor. Now, we should probably let you get some rest.” Whitman turned to Nielsen. “Zack, please stop by my office before you call it a night.”
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