Seriously. It’s not rocket science.
“And what guarantee do we have that when the war is over, California will not overstep its territorial boundaries?” Anita Vega, the representative from Mexico speaks up. “America has taken Texas and California from us in the past. Perhaps in exchange for our help you could return territory to Mexico?”
I shake my head.
“This isn’t about territorial claims or disputes,” I say. “This is about getting Omega out of our countries. This isn’t for our governments. I mean, come on. Our governments are all but destroyed. They’re a sad joke. What have they done to protect us from Omega? Nothing. The only reason we’ve got a shot is because people like you and me — average, everyday people — are taking it on themselves to grow a spine and duke it out with the bad guys.” I press my index finger on the table. “And right here is how we do it. We join forces now, and we make crushing Omega our main goal. End of story.”
“So we don’t have any prizes for anyone,” Marshal Sullivan, the representative from Canada interjects. “Which means our incentive is the same — defeating our common enemy. That strengthens our cause. I agree with Senator Hart in this. There is no other way. I see no reason to deny California membership in the Pacific Northwest Alliance. We need California as much as they need us.”
“True, but let’s say the war ends,” Anita shoots back. “Omega is hypothetically defeated and the world is restored to how it used to be. While we are rebuilding society, do we remain in an alliance, or do we break apart?”
“We’ll establish that when the war ends,” I say. “Honestly, think about how long it’s going to take to rebuild everything. I mean everything. Right now we’re running on backup generators and some emergency supplies, but it could take a hundred years to completely restart. We’ve got limited technology left. A huge chunk of the population has been wiped out. It will take time. Right now we have one priority: destroy Omega, then worry about step two.”
“I think it would be of interest to the company gathered here to note that we have had limited communication with the United Kingdom, Germany and Russia,” Ken Thrawn, the Oregon representative states, his voice deep and bellowing. “They’ve been wiped out by an EMP, as well. They are in the same boat as us. There are few places in the world that have been left untouched by the scourge of Omega, and most of those locations are completely taken over by the enemy.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask. “We really are Earth’s last hope. If we go down, we take the last free continents on the planet down with us. Omega takes over Mexico, Canada, and the United States. They take over Europe, the Middle East and Asia. The planet is ruled by a dictatorship, we all die, and everything good goes up in flames.” I look at Chris again. His eyes are sad, knowing. “So there it is,” I say. “That’s the truth. Are you going to help us win this thing or not? Because even if you say no, even if you don’t want California in the Alliance, I’m still going to go out there and fight Omega every day until the day I die. Because they’re killing us — all of us. I know where I stand. The question is, where do you stand?”
There is a heavy silence in the room. And then Nathaniel Mero, the scarred young representative from Washington finally says something.
“The Senator is right,” he says. His voice is slightly slurred. “This is not a question of politics or revenge. This is about right and wrong. It is wrong for us to stand by and do nothing — we know this, otherwise we wouldn’t have created the Pacific Northwest Alliance. It is our moral obligation to fight for what we believe in and to defend our homeland from this invasion. We all know this. It is absolutely necessary is to allow California to join us. Our survival depends on it.”
His words hang in the air.
Let the games begin, I think.
I have done my part. Now it is in their hands.
I pray to God they do the right thing.
Chapter Seven
The Negotiations adjourn for the night. I was under the impression that my heartfelt — and, in my opinion, pretty inspiring pep talk — would open the Alliance’s arms to California. And it did, as far as I know. But the representatives will take a vote, and I will know tomorrow if California is in for sure. I am clearly not a politician, and the complexity of negotiations and strategies may always elude me, but I know the difference between right and wrong. I have common sense, and I am not afraid to draw a line in the sand. My first priority is to destroy Omega, and I will do that in any way that I can.
“You did outstanding, Cassie,” Chris says.
We are walking toward the Herrmann Hall ballroom. The hallways are lit with generator-powered lights, dull orange colors that thrum and hum against the pale walls. My fingers are still shaking and my face is warm. Public speaking has a way of doing that to me.
“Are we in?” I ask quietly.
“We’d better be,” Uriah interjects. “I don’t see any reason why they would reject us. Everyone but Anita Vega seemed pretty enthusiastic.”
“Anita was fine,” I say. “She’s just trying to negotiate.”
“I can’t believe it will take them until tomorrow to take a vote on this stupid thing,” Vera snaps. “This is a state of emergency — we’re at war. We’re either in or not. How long do they have to drag it out and talk about it?”
“Let them talk,” I reply. “We know what we need to do.”
We reach the ballroom. It’s a huge space. Generator powered lamps and lanterns light the eating area. Tables are lined with food and beverages, and officers of all colors, shapes and sizes are eating with cloth napkins on their laps.
“Very fancy,” Andrew says. “Too fancy.”
“Seems unnecessary to make everything so formal during wartime,” Sophia snorts.
I say nothing. Devin May replies,
“It’s how they keep going on, even when everything is so bad. We stick to protocol, we make things nice, and we feed our people well while we still can.” He shrugs. “Eat up, folks. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, trust me.”
The activity in the room seems to pause for a moment as the officers and troops eating dinner stop and look at our group. There are ill-concealed whispers and murmurs. I walk to the buffet table. There is meat, potatoes, vegetables and bread. I take the bare minimum — taking more than that would be selfish when supplies are so difficult to come by — and grab a cloth napkin. I find an empty table and sit near the edge of the window, overlooking the dark foliage outside.
My security detail splits in half. One half sits at the table with me and enjoys a meal — Andrew, Uriah and Vera — while the other half makes their rounds in the ballroom. Sophia is among the latter group. Chris seats himself across from me.
“You know,” he says, looking at Uriah, “when the Alliance accepts California’s proposal, things are going to change. We’ll have so much more access to better weapons and security.”
“If they accept us,” Vera mutters.
“Stop being such a pessimist,” I say. “Everything’s going to work out.”
Vera shakes her head, and I get a flash of Angela Wright’s strained, bloody face; a broken expression seconds before death. I look down at the gravy on my potatoes, my appetite evaporating.