The Peacemaker's Code

by Deepak Malhotra

  The defense secretary pondered a moment before answering. “The idea that this is a pre-emptive war is certainly interesting. Do I think an alien race could be motivated by the fear of what humans will do in the future? Yes—it’s plausible. Human beings are bastards. You spend enough time thinking about it, and you can almost understand why someone might just want to kill us all.”

  Whitman sighed. “Thank you, Strauss, for reminding us once again why you were never considered for secretary of state. And I think we should all take a moment to thank our lucky stars that you aren’t the one the aliens asked to serve as our ambassador.”

  There was a round of laughs, with Strauss leading the crowd.

  “Which raises a question, Professor” Whitman added. “What could you have possibly said to them to get them to back off?”

  “I really don’t know. I assume I would have tried to convince them that we weren’t likely to be a threat. But that could be a hard case to make—especially if they have a decent understanding of our history. Not to mention, they still look like they’re ready to attack. I might have asked them to leave us alone for a few hundred years—what’s the rush, as General Allen pointed out. But I can’t imagine that would have convinced them either, because they wouldn’t need me to point that out to them. They can probably see for themselves that we are a long way off from matching them in capabilities.”

  “Okay,” said Whitman. “Let’s move on to the next clue.”

  Everyone turned to a photograph that zoomed in on the second message Kilmer had scribbled on his left arm.

  HDT/AL46

  Kilmer offered his analysis. “I think I know what this clue is saying, even if I haven’t figured out the implications for us. The first three letters appear to be initials, and they are not hard for me to decipher. The only HDT that I would expect to know immediately is Henry David Thoreau. AL might be many things, including Alabama, or aluminum, or the Arab League—but it stands to reason that I’m referring to another person—a contemporary of Thoreau’s—who did not have a middle name: Abraham Lincoln.

  “The 46 could mean a lot of things. It’s the number of human chromosomes, as well as the number of books in the Catholic Old Testament. More directly relevant, perhaps, the number 46 just happens to be the secret code that allowed someone to take control of a spaceship in the sci-fi series Stargate Universe. Although, if I meant to say that there’s a way for us to take control of ET-1, I have absolutely no idea what it is. Maybe Triad can investigate whether they can be hacked, although I assume that has already been tried.

  “So, there are a few possibilities, but given the context of those initials, I believe that 46 probably refers to 1846, which has significance for Thoreau. It’s the year he was inspired to write Civil Disobedience after spending a night in jail. But what about Lincoln? As far as I know, the only thing of potential relevance that happened to him in 1846 was his election to Congress—but I didn’t remember that until I looked it up this morning, so that probably wasn’t what I was thinking when I wrote the clue. As for putting the two of them together—I don’t even know whether Thoreau and Lincoln were friends, enemies, or strangers. So I’m not quite sure where that leaves us… I’m still working on it.”

  Art responded. “This actually narrows things down quite a bit. You have no idea how many different possibilities have been associated with this clue. I will pass this information along to the analysts who are working on it.”

  “How about the third message?” Whitman asked. “Is that a reference to me at the end of it?”

  RWE2NRM4MJW

  “I believe it is, Madam President. You’re the only MJW I know.”

  “And the rest of it? Our people were completely lost on this one.”

  “I think I can add a lot of clarity here. What we have are another two sets of initials. RWE is Ralph Waldo Emerson and NRM is Nelson R. Mandela. The message says:

  ‘Ralph Waldo Emerson to Nelson Mandela, for Marianne Josephine Whitman.’

  “There is only one thing that connects Emerson and Mandela in my mind. It’s the lineage of an idea that has evolved and been adapted for two centuries. Let me explain. In 1837, a young Emerson gave an extraordinary speech, entitled ‘The American Scholar’ at Harvard College. In the audience was an even younger man, a student by the name of Henry David Thoreau. The two became close friends, and Emerson’s ideas in Self-Reliance shaped Thoreau’s ideas in Civil Disobedience. A half-century later, an Indian lawyer in South Africa read Thoreau’s work, and it influenced his views on political action. This lawyer, ‘Mahatma’ Gandhi, as he was later known, credited Thoreau for inspiring some of his ideas on Satyagraha, and on passive political resistance against British rule in India. Then, a few decades later, Martin Luther King, Jr., found inspiration in Gandhi, and deployed the tools of nonviolence and civil disobedience in his fight for civil rights in America. MLK in turn inspired Mandela, who embraced non-violence and reconciliation as a remedy to hostility in South Africa.

  “From Emerson to Thoreau to Gandhi to MLK to Mandela. One idea, in many forms, passed along from one giant to another. Perhaps the greatest relay race in the history of inspiration.”

  Whitman steepled her fingers. “That would imply, Professor… or are you in fact suggesting… that we not fight back? To instead initiate a campaign of passive resistance and civil disobedience in the face of an alien invasion?”

  “I’m not sure I would advise doing that knowing what I know now. But I do believe that it could be the message old-Kilmer was sending.”

  “So why wouldn’t you support the idea now?”

  “Because things have changed. The behavior of the aliens is different from what it was before I went to ET-1. We have reason to believe that they might be less formidable than we originally feared. As we discussed earlier, if they find it necessary to come close to Earth, in large numbers, to do the kind of damage they are planning, it might even be possible for us to defend ourselves. And if that’s true, I don’t see how I could advise against that. But old-Kilmer might not have known any of that.”

  Silla provided an alternative perspective. “It’s true that we know things now that you couldn’t have known when you wrote that clue, Professor. But let’s not forget—you also knew things inside ET-1 that we don’t know now. I’m not sure which information is more crucial—what we know now, or what you’ve forgotten.”

  “You’re right about that, Agent Silla. I’m only saying that, as things stand, I’m not sure we can justify doing nothing.”

  Strauss leaned forward. “I would like to echo that. I don’t see any circumstance in which I would advise not fighting back, if doing so effectively were a possibility. For example, if they need to enter our atmosphere to launch an attack, we stand a decent chance of being able to hit them. And if so, I don’t see how we can allow them to kill Americans without fighting back.”

  Druckman agreed. “At the very least, we would want to test their capabilities and resolve. If we fight back, and matters escalate beyond what we can withstand, then we reassess. But we cannot allow them to just do as they please—especially after a war has begun.”

  Whitman pulled the discussion together. “As I hear it, the first clue gives us a sense for why the aliens might be doing what they’re doing: it could be a pre-emptive war. As for the second clue, we don’t yet know what Thoreau and Lincoln have to do with the situation, but we’re going to keep working on it. The third clue appears to offer advice, but we’re beginning to doubt its relevance to the situation as it exists today.”

  There were nods all around the room.

  “So, what about this fourth clue? What does it mean, Professor?”

  GALWAY4/3Kingdoms/21

  Kilmer shook his head. “Madam President… I’m sorry, but I don’t have any idea what this one means.”

  “None?”

  “I’m afraid so. Whether GALWAY is a set of initials, an acronym, or some phrase, I just don’t know. The numbers could have all sorts of
interpretations, but none worth thinking about unless we have some idea what the words mean. The 3 Kingdoms could refer to a few different things. The British Civil Wars in the 1600s were known as the Wars of the Three Kingdoms, referring to England, Scotland, and Ireland. And China, around two thousand years ago, had three famous kingdoms—the Wei, Shu, and Wu. Even farther back than that, Ancient Egypt had three eras known as the Old Kingdom, the Middle Kingdom, and the New Kingdom. I’m sure there are other candidates as well. But I don’t know where I was going with this at all. It’s almost embarrassing.”

  Art offered some help. “Galway is the name of a small city in Ireland. Does that help?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kilmer said. “Is it significant in any way?”

  “There’s only one thing about it that seems potentially relevant. Do you know what a Claddagh is, Professor?”

  “Yes. It’s an Irish ring. It has a heart, a crown, and a pair of hands—signifying love, loyalty, and friendship.”

  “That’s right. It’s sometimes given to a loved one—offering love, loyalty, and friendship—but it can also signify loyalty and friendship to another entity or power. For example, to a king or a ruler. The Claddagh originated in the city of Galway, in the 1600s. Does that ring any bells?”

  Kilmer considered it. “Not to my mind. I suppose there’s a potential overlap in dates with the War of the Three Kingdoms. Is there any connection between the two?”

  “None that our research has uncovered. We looked at the War of the Three Kingdoms as well.”

  Kilmer turned to the rest of the group. “Sorry, everyone. I still have absolutely no idea why I wrote that. I’m completely lost.”

  ~ 112 ~

  After the meeting, Whitman invited Kilmer to move back into the White House. When he was shown to his room, Kilmer became the only person in history to enjoy a first visit to the Lincoln Bedroom twice in his life.

  After one-on-one meetings with Nielsen and Whitman, Kilmer entered the Treaty Room. It was nearly 10 p.m., and this was the last meeting on his schedule. Silla was already there, sitting on the couch. Kilmer took the armchair, and they chatted about aliens and war and history and clues. They had talked for over an hour before they even grazed a topic that might be more personal than professional.

  “How does it feel, Kilmer? People telling you about the things you said and did. Or explaining to you what your relationship with them used to be.”

  Kilmer shrugged. “I’m not sure how to describe it. But I’m starting to accept it. The way you might accept the loss of a loved one. It’s not as sad—but it’s a lot more complicated. I feel a bit like a phony. And I feel like I let people down. That I let myself down, too—for not having the strength to remember. I wonder what people think about that—do they think that if it were them, they’d be able to remember? And are they right?

  “Most of all, I suppose, I’m just trying not to think about it too much. It’s one of those things where there isn’t a silver lining. When you lose someone, at least you can think about happy memories, even if they make you cry. Here, I just draw a blank—and it’s frustrating. You feel guilty, even though everyone tells you that you don’t have to apologize. You feel alone, but you don’t know why, because in your mind, these are not people you’re supposed to know anyway. So you just try to ignore it—but it’s not so easy. Especially when everything you’ve forgotten is still the most important thing that’s going on in your life. All day, you’re having to face the fact that you can’t remember things. It’s probably…”

  Kilmer stopped talking. It suddenly occurred to him that Silla might have just been making small talk—and he had recited an entire thesis on the topic. “You don’t need to hear all of this. I think the short answer is, it’s complicated.”

  “You’re right, Kilmer. I don’t need to hear any of this. But if you want to talk about it, I want to hear it. That’s why I asked. I already figured it was complicated.”

  “And… this isn’t hard for you? I don’t mean working together. I mean talking about these other things.”

  Silla laughed. “No. Hard was when I thought I’d never see you again—or when I thought you might never wake up. This is a walk in the park in comparison.”

  Kilmer was silent for a moment. “I might be betraying someone’s confidence when I say this, Silla, but… I know what you did for me. That you were there. When I was in the coma. That you were always there.”

  “I see. Well, I think a certain CIA agent will be taking a hit on his performance review for this. We have an entire section on being able to keep a secret, you know.”

  “Agent Lane said that it was only right that I should know—even if you didn’t want me to. I thought it was an interesting choice of words. But I think I agree. I think it is right that I should know.”

  “And why is that?”

  “For the same reason you asked me how I felt. Because there’s only so much pain a person should have to bear alone.”

  “I can handle pain, Kilmer. And the reason I didn’t want you to know is because I thought it would only make you feel awkward—or guilty. Or maybe something else, but certainly not anything good.”

  “You only think that because you don’t know how it feels, Silla. You don’t know how it might feel to find out, suddenly, that heaven spared one of its angels just for you, to look over you, while you were at death’s door.” He paused. “So, yeah—it’s complicated. It’s awkward. There’s guilt. All of that. But it’s also the first time in decades that I’ve had reason to feel like maybe I was blessed.”

  Silla didn’t answer. He could see that she was biting her lip. In the dim light of the room, and with the moonlight floating in through the window behind her, she looked every bit the angel he had just described.

  “You’re wrong about that, Kilmer. I know exactly how it feels. Because when everyone was at death’s door—when the world looked like it was about to end—you ran off to stop it from happening. Do you want to know what your last words to me were?”

  Kilmer nodded, but only barely.

  “You said, I’ll keep my promises, Silla. No matter what happens.” Silla paused, visibly reining in her emotions. “I’m no angel, Kilmer. Hell, I work at the CIA. You know the kinds of things we do. But what you did—I had never been so hurt in my entire life.” Silla paused again. “Nor had I ever felt so lucky to have known someone.”

  Silla took a deep breath. “So, yeah. It’s a little complicated.”

  Kilmer managed a smile. “It is. But you know what’s not so complicated?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I’m here now. And that means all the days that came before today somehow conspired to allow me to be sitting right next to the person I most want to spend time with at this moment. I feel pretty lucky.”

  “I feel lucky, too, Kilmer. Although… technically, you’re not sitting right next to me.”

  Kilmer tried to play it cool, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning—like he was in middle school, and the smartest and prettiest girl in class had just asked him to sit next to her on the bus.

  He rose from the armchair and sat beside Silla on the couch.

  “Don’t worry,” He said. “I won’t read too much into the invitation to sit next to you.”

  “I’m glad—because I didn’t actually invite you to.”

  Kilmer realized she was right about that.

  “You used to be a lot better at not making dangerous assumptions, Kilmer.”

  “Well, in my defense, I did take a blow to the head recently. Do you want me to go back to my chair?”

  Silla sighed in faux exasperation. “You’re already here, so you might as well stay. And after all, how often does someone get the chance to sit next to their angel? It wouldn’t be right to take that opportunity away.”

  “Good point. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an opportunity.”

  She turned toward him and moved just a bit closer. Then she locked eyes with him and whispe
red.

  “I was talking about me, Kilmer. I’m the one who finally gets to sit next to my angel.”

  ~ 113 ~

  They talked for four hours. Only in the last hour did their hands even touch. They spent the next few minutes pretending to be unaware of how their fingers had become intertwined. When they said goodbye at 2 a.m., they did so with barely a hug—but still holding each other’s hand.

  Kilmer set his alarm for eight o’ clock, but it was a phone call that woke him up. It was Nielsen.

  “Sorry to wake you, Professor. But there have been some big developments, and we’re meeting in the Situation Room at seven—that’s in thirty minutes. Can you please join us? Joana will show you to the room.”

  When Kilmer entered the Situation Room, most of the attendees were already seated. He already knew Whitman, Nielsen, Strauss, Allen, Druckman, and Silla. National Security Advisor Garcia and Chief of Staff Perez introduced themselves to him, but there was no time for anything other than hello and good to have you back. The atmosphere in the room was tense.

  The half dozen or so people calling in from other locations included the chiefs of the Army, Navy, and Air Force, as well as the chief scientist at NASA, Dr. Menon.

  Secretary Strauss began the briefing.

  “Three hours ago, at thirteen different locations around the globe, squadrons of alien spacecraft entered Earth’s atmosphere. There were eight spacecraft in each contingent, hovering approximately 40,000 feet above the ground. There is a squadron stationed close to, but not directly above, each of the following cities: New York, Moscow, Shanghai, London, Paris, Berlin, Toronto, Mumbai, Jerusalem, Tehran, Riyadh, Baghdad, and Caracas. What do the countries involved have in common? Every one of them is among the strongest militarily powers on the globe, or one of the largest oil-producing countries, or both. These spacecraft—104 in total, as of our count—look identical to one another. Each vessel is about sixty yards across. They are smaller and of a different design than ET-1.