“I will,” Kilmer assured her.
“And as much as I dislike the idea of sending you to Station Zero,” Whitman added, “I do take comfort in knowing you’re not going alone.” She turned to Silla. “Thank you, Agent Silla, for agreeing to accompany the professor. I know that we ask a lot of you these days.”
Kilmer’s head snapped toward Silla.
Huh? What?
She ignored him, but he was pretty sure he caught the hint of a smile on her face.
“You two take care of each other,” Whitman continued. “If you need anything at all, please let General Allen know. You can also reach Zack or me directly. Any time.”
Nielsen gave Kilmer a firm handshake and half of a hug. “Thanks, Prof. We owe you. Please be careful.”
Silla and Kilmer left the Oval Office and were escorted to a car that would take them to Joint Base Andrews. Kilmer waited for Silla to say something, but she just kept walking in silence. Eventually, he ran out of patience.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming with me?”
“I thought Sherlock here would figure it out on his own.”
“How was I supposed to figure out that you were coming with me?”
“It should have been obvious.”
“How? What did I miss?”
“I think you missed the part where I told you that it would be very hard for me to see you leave. So, I did something about it.”
“Did what? Did you ask Art to let you come along?”
“I practically had to beg. But I’ve been at Triad long enough—I have some clout. And Art could see that I was desperate. I think he was worried that I might quit the agency if he said no to me.”
“Are you serious?”
“No, you dummy. I’m not serious. You think I would beg my boss to let me come with you? We’re talking about my job, Kilmer. And we’re talking about doing what needs to be done to save the planet. Please try to be a little less full of yourself. I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving either, but give me a break.”
Kilmer smiled. “Okay, you got me. My bad. Just tell me. What happened?”
“Nothing. When I spoke to Art on the phone last night, he told me the president was sending you to Station Zero and that he wanted me to go along. That’s why I went home early in the morning—to pack.”
“So you knew this from the time you came back to bed last night.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me as soon as you got into the room. Or first thing in the morning?”
“Because I was still pretty upset that you had decided to leave me—and I wanted you to suffer as much as possible by thinking you might never see me again.”
“Seriously?”
“Jesus Christ, Kilmer. Of course not. You think I would be that petty? I just thought it would be more fun if I could tell you when you were saying goodbye. But the president spilled the beans before that could happen.”
The driver opened the door to the SUV and they both got into the back seat. Silla reached over and took Kilmer’s hand. “I think I got about three hours of sleep last night, and I feel exhausted. I’m going to close my eyes for a bit.”
Kilmer moved over slightly so that she could lean on him if needed. A minute later, her head was on his shoulder and she was fast asleep.
Silla had said it only in passing, but her words were still ringing nicely in his ears. I couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving either. He closed his eyes, still holding her hand.
You’re a lucky guy, Kilmer. That was his last thought before he dozed off as well.
~ 72 ~
At 5:00 p.m., HQ-1 delivered its counteroffer to ET-1. The message, which was translated into Hermes before being transmitted, read as follows:
D. Kilmer will not come inside ET-1.
D. Kilmer will sit 110 yards away from ET-1.
D. Kilmer will communicate with ET-1 in English by typing on a computer.
At 7 p.m. we will send a computer to ET-1 with instructions on how to send and receive messages in English.
At 8 p.m. D. Kilmer will send the first message to ET-1.
Does ET-1 agree to this plan.
Kilmer and Silla had landed at Station Zero at 4:40. They were taken straight to a large bed-and-breakfast inside Shenandoah National Park that had been seized, purchased, or rented by the US government—the officer who drove them wasn’t sure which. General Allen and Secretary Strauss had two of the rooms. Kilmer and Silla would each have one. They dropped their luggage at the house and then made their way to HQ-1, which was eight miles away by car. They arrived there at 5:30.
Allen and Strauss were already at HQ-1 and the White House team was on the phone. The group was discussing the response that ET-1 had sent a few minutes earlier. After it was written out in English, the reply from ET-1 read as follows:
Send the computer to ET-1.
We will talk to D. Kilmer in English.
But your method will not solve the problem for Earth.
Very little time is left. The danger grows every hour for humans.
The syntax was excellent, and it suggested that the aliens were ready for effective conversation. It was also good news that the proposal had been accepted. The only person more relieved than Kilmer was Silla.
Kilmer told the group that two other aspects of the message stood out to him. “They again say that time is limited, but they don’t set a specific deadline. It could mean that they don’t know, or haven’t yet decided, how much time we have. We need to think about the implications of that.”
“What do you think it might mean?” General Allen asked.
“I’m not sure. But the deadline is conspicuous in its absence. We just… need to keep that in mind.”
Kilmer considered his answer. It bothered him that he hadn’t managed to articulate a single theory, or offer even one potential implication. Was the anxiety already throwing him off his game? Was he losing focus? It was a disconcerting thought. He needed some time alone to clear his mind—to reset—before he engaged with ET-1. But things were moving too fast now.
“What’s the second aspect that stands out?” Whitman asked.
Kilmer snapped back to attention. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You said there were two things you found notable about the message,” Whitman gently reminded him. “The lack of deadline is one. What’s the other?”
“Yes, the second issue,” Kilmer said, trying to remember the other point he had wanted to make. “Their choice of words. Your method will not solve the problem for Earth. It seems to imply that the problem is potentially solvable—which is good news. But what aspect of our method stands in the way? That we are pushing back on their demands? That we have been slow to respond? That we won’t enter ET-1? What are we doing wrong, according to them?”
“Do you think we ought to reconsider our approach in some way?” Whitman asked.
Kilmer’s mind drew a blank. He turned to Silla and saw the look of concern on her face. She could tell he was struggling.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Madam President, I—I’m not sure. But I think it’s important to figure out why a solution would be possible under their methodology and not possible under ours. I think—I think it’s something I could ask them.”
That wasn’t a bad idea, but Kilmer was horrified that it was the best he could come up with. There were clues strewn all about, and he seemed incapable of putting any of them together.
I need to get out of here. I need some time alone. Kilmer looked at Silla desperately, asking her to read his mind.
She came to his rescue. “I’m not sure how much more we can learn from this message, and Professor Kilmer will be talking to them in less than two hours. Maybe we ought to move on and discuss what he should and shouldn’t say during that conversation. After that, I think we should give him some time to prepare on his own.”
Kilmer nodded in appreciation.
The next thirty minutes were spent d
iscussing guidelines. No, Kilmer should not discuss military or technology matters. If they ask about these things, he should tell them he’s the wrong guy. No, he should not mention the president or anyone else that they might decide they want to see. If they bring her up, he should clarify that he does not speak for Whitman. No, he should not raise the possibility of war between humans and aliens. If they bring it up, he should do his best to suggest, as delicately as possible, that humans have peaceful intentions but are not weak—all while making clear that he is not authorized to speak for humanity. Yes, he should ask as many questions as he can. Yes, he should be courteous and non-threatening. Yes, he should talk for as long as possible.
It was decided that there would be no troop presence near Kilmer, but there would be soldiers and medics, in their vehicles, ready to move at a moment’s notice.
“What if they shine their blinding light while he’s out there? Or they try to abduct him?” General Allen asked. “What’s the plan?”
President Whitman was the only one who had already decided what would happen in that situation: she would let Kilmer be taken. But she waited to respond. Kilmer was not a soldier, and he might freeze up if she made her intentions clear. She needed him to advocate for the idea. He needed to own that decision.
“We have to consider all possibilities,” Allen continued. “For example, if they come for him, should he try to resist? Should we charge into the light and try to save him? We can’t leave such decisions to the heat of the moment.”
Everyone looked uncomfortable and anxious—except for Kilmer, who found that General Allen’s questions hadn’t even fazed him. That was when he realized that his fears had already advanced far beyond the possibility of abduction—and that he was by far the most nervous person in the room. It was a wakeup call.
He had somehow allowed it to get to the point where he was accepting defeat before even taking the field. He knew he had little chance of winning, but was this how he wanted his story to end?
No way.
He had to snap out of it.
“I can answer that,” Kilmer offered. “If they try to abduct me, I go without a struggle. No one races in. No shots are fired. We don’t send threatening messages. We just play it cool. I do whatever I can to figure things out on my end. And if I can’t, you all figure out what happens without me. But we don’t lose sight of what’s important.”
Whitman’s little gamble had paid off—Kilmer understood what needed to happen. She endorsed his proposal. “He’s right. Unless there’s a better idea, that’s the plan. If they try to take him, he goes.”
Silla tried with all her might to come up with a better plan, but she couldn’t. No one else could either.
“Okay,” Kilmer announced. “That solves that. Now, if I’m not needed for anything else, I’d like some time alone to get my thoughts in order. Is everyone okay with that?”
“Go ahead, Professor,” said Whitman. “We’ll finish up here.”
Kilmer left HQ-1 and walked over to a clearing that offered a partial view of ET-1 in the distance. It was the first time he was seeing the spacecraft in person. It looked exactly as it did on the screens in the Situation Room, but seeing it like this made for a wildly different experience. An alien spacecraft—on Earth—a short walk away from him.
But Kilmer hadn’t come here to stare in wonder at ET-1. He had come with a very different objective in mind.
He had come here so that he could be afraid.
~ 73 ~
Kilmer didn’t want 8 p.m. to be the first time he saw the spacecraft. He couldn’t afford to be distracted—or terrified—when he needed to be at the top of his game. Once he had acclimated to the sight of ET-1, Kilmer made a mental checklist of all the other aspects of the situation he would face. Then he went about normalizing and getting comfortable with every one of them—from learning how to use the messaging system, to sitting in the chair he would later occupy. He thought about how it might get cold if the conversation went late into the night. Would he need a jacket? Would he get thirsty or hungry? If he were abducted, what would he want to have with him? One by one, he chipped away at every factor that might divert his attention or burden his mind.
At 6:30 p.m., he sat down on a park bench a few hundred yards from HQ-1. He called Silla and asked her to meet him there in forty minutes. He still had plenty of things to think through on his own. Most importantly, he wanted to organize his thoughts about the conversation with ET-1. It could go in a million different directions. How would he keep his bearings? What exactly was he trying to achieve?
It comes down to one thing—finding Churchill’s Key. I need to figure out what drives them.
All the other mysteries—all the questions that had arisen over the last three weeks—were somehow tied to this one thing. To Churchill’s Key.
Why now? Why did they visit Earth at this moment in history?
Why was Earth in danger?
Why would the methods that humans had proposed not solve the problem?
Why was ET-1 being so reactive?
What did they plan to judge?
Why had they worked so hard to understand and communicate with humans?
Why did they choose Kilmer?
Kilmer knew that the answer to any one of these questions might lead him to finding Churchill’s Key—which meant he couldn’t allow himself to get fixated on any particular line of inquiry. He would have to be flexible. And resilient.
When he felt he had his thoughts sufficiently in order, Kilmer took a deep breath. Now for the hard part.
He knew he was no match for the kind of fear he would be dealing with, so there was no point in trying to fight it. His only option was to outsmart it. At the heart of fear is uncertainty. If he could identify and accept even the worst possible outcome—without losing his resolve to act—he could eliminate uncertainty from the equation. He would strip fear of its power.
Kilmer closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths, taking in the fresh air. And then he reflected, systematically, on every terrible possibility, allowing his mind to slowly climb the ladder of horrors. No self-deception. Just an honest assessment. The only way this could work.
The first fear—I might be abducted. Okay. Then what? Will I be able to stay calm? Probably not. Will I start to lose hope? Maybe. Will I be able to keep my wits so I can at least try to find a way to escape, or to negotiate for my freedom? I think so—at least after the initial shock subsides. If I fail, will I be able to withstand a long abduction? Everyone breaks eventually—I will too. But I will plan for that to happen. I’ll start to acclimate to my surroundings even while I try to find a way out. I will go into it knowing it could be a very long time. So, can I accept the risk of abduction? Yes, I can. Am I sure?
He paused.
Yes. I’m sure.
Second fear—I might not make it back alive. All right, this is much worse. How will I die? Will it be painful? Will I know it’s coming? Let’s take the worst-case scenario: I know it’s coming and it’s going to be painful. Will I fight back? Yes. Without a doubt. Will it matter? Almost certainly not. Will I be able to accept that I’m about to die? I don’t know. Can anyone? No idea. Does that mean I shouldn’t risk this?
He paused for longer this time.
No. I still choose to go. Everyone dies. And this is at least as good a reason as any.
Third fear—I might be tortured. Damn, this one is bad. What kind of torture? The worst kind. Will it be unbearable? Yes. Will I scream? Definitely. Will I beg for them to stop? Probably.
Be honest.
Okay, yes. I’m sure I will. Will I give them whatever they want to make it stop? What the hell could they possibly want from me that I wouldn’t give them even without being tortured? Good point. So, a lengthy torture is the worst—but it’s unlikely. But still. What if it happens? Maybe they just enjoy torturing humans. No, that can’t be right—they fixed up our soldiers. There was no sign of torture. But what if I make someone angry? I need to rem
ember not to do that. Do not make anyone angry. Okay. Problem solved? No. I’m not facing the fear. What if I knew there was going to be torture? What if they didn’t even realize they were torturing me? Or what if they said, we will torture you when you come here, and in return, there is a very small chance you can save countless lives? Would I do it? I would have to say yes. Only an asshole would say no. Still… I could probably find a way to justify saying no. Does that mean I shouldn’t do this?
Another pause.
No. It just means it’s a good thing they’re not telling me in advance that they plan to torture me. That might have made me change my mind. When I’m getting tortured, I’ll remind myself that I did the right thing—I couldn’t have known it would come to this, and there was a chance I might do some good. No regrets. I should also try to convince them not to torture me—to let me go or to kill me quicker. Remember that, Kilmer. That’s the plan. Use your brain—everything you know—to convince them to kill you or let you go.
Anything else?
One last thing came to mind.
Fourth fear—I might never see Silla again.
Kilmer thought about this one for a long time. Finally, he had a realization.
This isn’t a fear. I’m not afraid of this. It just hurts to think about… Although it hurts far more than I would have expected. Will I still go? Yes, without a doubt. I don’t want to, but I made a promise—and I won’t break it. Why? Because I don’t make promises that I don’t intend to keep. And what about her? She’ll probably miss me, too. Does that change anything? No. I just need to try as hard as I can to make it back alive.
Okay. Remember both of those promises. You promised that you would do whatever you can to help. And you promised that you would try to come back to her—no matter what.
That’s the plan. Do both of those things. Keep both of your promises.
“Hey there, Kilmer.”
Silla walked up just as Kilmer, his eyes still closed, was finishing up. “Just one minute. Sorry.”
“Sure, take your time.”
Okay. So, are we good? You got this, right? Yeah. I got this. I can set it aside now. But remember—you will be tested. You’ll be scared again, without a doubt. You’ll be terrified. But that’s okay. You know where to file things when you can’t afford to be distracted. Just remind yourself that you’ve already thought all of this through. Understood? Yes.
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