David Gerrold - A Rage for Revenge

The President of the United States banged the session loudly to order. She looked haggard and upset.

The War Room was circular. The tables were curved to match. I didn't recognize everybody there, but it looked as if the entire llnited States government was represented. I recognized two of Ihc joint chiefs of staff. I assumed the other three men at the table wcre the others. I recognized the secretary of state, the secretary al defense, and the secretary of the interior. I also saw Dr. Daniel Foreman sitting to the president's left. When had he come in?

The session was hosted by the Chtorran Control Agency. The members of that unit-the Japanese lady who was never addressed by name, the dark fellow, Dr. Moyra Zymph, Colonel Elizabeth Tirelli, and two other men I didn't recognize-sat facing the president. I was sitting directly behind Lizard's right shoulder. The bald man on the end looked familiar, but I couldn't figure out from where. He caught me looking at him once and winked.

The president said, "I have a decision to make today. I want you all to know that it is solely my decision. What I want from you is information. Nothing more. You can spare me your opinions. I know them already." She looked around the room, fixing individuals with her famous glare. I'd heard about that look. A newscaster had once said, after one memorable press conference, that it had made him feel like he was six years old again, and he'd just been caught by his mommy in a fib about the cookie jar. The phrase had caught on. Nobody lied to the president's cookie jar stare.

"You've seen the video," she said. "The implications of it are . . . disheartening." She poured a glass of water from the pitcher beside her. She took a drink. "But we don't have time to worry about the implications. We have to deal with the basic military issue. We can't avoid it any longer. In fact, let me put it into military terms. Large parts of United States territory are under enemy control. The territories are not only occupied, but colonized. The decision to be made is whether or not we will use nuclear weapons against those beachheads." She looked around the room again.

The men and women here looked unhappy. I got the feeling that this argument had been going on a long time-and that today it was obvious that one side had finally lost. The evidence of that video was too compelling.

"I'm no longer interested in the moral question," she said. "What I need to know today are the consequences of continuing with-" she referred to a folder in front of her, "--Operation Valhalla. Plan B. I assume most of you are familiar with the details. By the way, fifteen minutes ago, I authorized the program to be brought on line, holding at Condition Yellow. I say that to emphasize the enormity of this meeting. This is the last go/no-go point." She turned to the secretary of the interior. "Fred? Let's talk about the effects on our civilian population."

He stood up. "Madam President. There are three consequences that we need to be aware of. The first is the fallout consideration. Even though we intend to use clean-jacketed weapons, we still estimate a significant rise in nuclear streaking effects. Denver will probably have to be evacuated."

"Say it in English, Fred. Abandoned."

"-Uh, yes. Abandoned. Uh, except for those facilities that are suitably equipped for operations in a radioactive environment. This facility, for example, could survive for three years with a full complement of personnel." He stopped and looked at her. He was sweating. "Madam President, it's not the short-term effects. We can have this city evacuated in five days, if need be. What I am concerned about is that without appropriate maintenance of its perimeter defenses, we'll just be giving it to the enemy. They'll move in to this area immediately."

She looked back at him. "So, it's either tomorrow or six months from tomorrow. The simulations say Denver is untenable. We're too close to the largest reservoir of infestation in the country, the Rocky Mountains. If we nuke the nests in the mountains, Denver becomes uninhabitable by the fallout, right? Fine, neither side will have the city then."

He exhaled. He was beaten. "There are two other points I want to make. First, how will the rest of the civilian population react to the use of nuclear weapons?"

She said, "Go on."

"I suspect it will be demoralizing, Ma'am. It will indicate how serious the worm threat is."

"I suspect it will also indicate how serious we are about stopping it. I'm not concerned about our public relations right now."

"Yes, Ma'am. My last point is this. There are civilians living in the infested zones. How much time are we going to give them to evacuate? And how will we manage the logistics of that?"

"Eh?" Her face clouded. "We're not. Fred, you're operating under an assumption here. I'm not going on the air with this until after the missiles are in the air."

"Madam President!"

"There will be no announcement!"

"I protest!"

"I'm sure you do! Our experience with warning civilians about military action against worms has been somewhat less than thrilling. We have to assume that any human being who is living in a Chtorran zone has somehow developed some form of cooperation with the enemy. I have no intention of forewarning the Chtorran invaders about our next moves, nor giving their renegade collaborators the opportunity to escape to continue their I reason elsewhere." It was the first time I'd seen the president get angry.

The secretary of the interior looked upset. He sat down.

The president said, "All right, let me make sure I have this correct now." She ticked off on her fingers. "We are going to have nuclear fallout, right? We will lose Denver. We will lose a large part of the Rocky Mountain areas for the time being, right?"

The secretary nodded.

"Seeing as how we've already lost them, then that's not a consideration. Second point. We will have civilian reactions. Seeing as how we're already in a state of permanent emergency, those reactions can be managed. Is that correct?"

"We hope so."

"You hope?"

"Madam President, we have very little history on which to base our models."

"I'm not interested in computer models, Fred. I want to know gut feelings. How are the people going to react?"

The secretary shook his head. "I don't know." The president turned to Foreman. "Danny?"

Foreman closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He concentrated for a moment. He said, "Shock. Some upset. Possible panic." He opened his eyes. "You'll need to make a speech."

"I was planning on a statement."

"No. A speech. Rabble-rousing. Angry. Focus the energy on the enemy. Use a lot of good quotes. Talk about commitment, the long dark road. Remind them that the Earth is our planet. Inspire them. "

"I don't feel very inspiring right now."

"Hell, lady-who does? Remember what I told you during your last campaign?"

"Yes. No. Which one?"

He grinned at her. "Fake it till you make it."

She looked back at him. "I've been faking it for fifty-three years, Danny. When do I make it?"

He twinkled. "You didn't notice when it happened?"

She got off it then, relaxed and turned back to the room. She nodded to her press secretary. "We'll need to reserve a block of TV time. Have Wally and Wilma start on the speech. Have them check with Danny before the final draft." The press secretary nodded and began typing quietly into her clipboard.

The president said, "All right. Let's keep on purpose." She pointed to the secretary of state. "What kind of reactions can we expect from foreign governments when we go?"