McKinley is furrowing his brow so much, his bushy black eyebrows are actually touching. Not a good sign.
“Are you out of your mind, Barnett? You really think we’re going to save the human race with a couple Sears family portraits?”
“Not a couple,” I answer, growing indignant now. “Thousands. Millions.”
He’s clearly still skeptical. “And how exactly are you going to—”
“That facial-recognition scanner by the lab entrance? We use its software to comb the internet, find every image of every child’s smiling face we can. I can write that program in thirty seconds, and this place has more than enough computing power. Then we reverse-encrypt the pictures with the same quantum-encoding sequence from the aliens’ messages to us…Then we use the lab’s video conference satellite to beam the photo stream directly at the ship. Easy!”
I hold my breath as McKinley digests my outlandish, decidedly not easy scheme.
“I know it sounds far-fetched,” I add. “Even insane. Desperate. But think about it, Agent. What in God’s name do we have to lose? Let me try it. You owe me that!”
Exasperated, McKinley throws his hands into the air.
“If you two really want to spend your final moments on this earth emailing baby pictures to aliens, be my guest. Here.” He yanks off the key card strung around his neck and tosses it at me. “This will give you top-level access to every computer server on the ranch.”
McKinley starts to rush off, but turns back and adds reluctantly: “Good luck.”
“The primary terminal—this way!” Dr. Axen exclaims, dragging me through the disorderly bull pen to a monstrous cluster of computer monitors and server towers. I slide McKinley’s key card into the slot and the system lights up like a Christmas tree.
“You start writing that re-encryption script,” I say to Axen. “I’ll find the pictures.”
I quickly get to work, harnessing that facial-recognition software and adding just a few extra lines of code. The lab’s system is soon scouring the World Wide Web at a mind-numbing pace, downloading around sixty thousand children’s photos per second.
As they flicker past me, I glimpse birth announcements. Holiday cards. Class pictures. Graduations. Vacation snapshots. First steps. It’s all incredibly moving.
But my delight is cut short when I glance back at those giant monitors showing the hovering alien vessel.
I see the weapon underneath it is slowly being aimed—directly at our planet!
“I’d love to get that re-encryption code any day now!” I call sharply to Dr. Axen, whose fingers are dancing across three different keyboards like a concert pianist’s.
“Got it!” he shouts back. “Start transferring the photos!”
I do, and dozens of zettabytes of pictures start to be encoded into the same system of numbers and symbols I helped translate just a few hours earlier.
Immediately I begin uploading them into the video conference satellite system, then beam them out into space. I use the same wavelength frequency I did for Claire’s and Ellie’s pictures all those years—a few of which were certainly included among the millions of others that are uploading right now.
And then?
I sit back and exhale, and let the quantum computer do its thing.
All around me is pandemonium. Screaming, crying, a total breakdown of order—and that’s inside a secure underground facility filled with seasoned professionals.
I don’t even want to think about the hell that must be breaking out on the surface.
I just hope that Marty and the girls are staying calm and safe.
Picturing my beautiful kids is the only thing keeping me going right now.
And maybe, just maybe, the images of millions of kids will spare our species from annihilation.
“That’s the last of ’em!” Dr. Axen shouts over the chaos, lifting his hands from his keyboard as if it were a hot stove. “They’re all encoded. Now what?”
I look back at the dark image of the spacecraft.
The weapon underneath is still poised for firing.
“Now…” I say wistfully, wiping a tear from my eye, “we wait. And hope.”
Chapter 32
“Missile is armed for launch,” says the payload chief. “Trigger coming online.”
The commander nods solemnly as a small, red plastic box emerges from her console.
Inside is a single black knob.
A quick twist of her wrist and the weapon strapped to the underside of their vessel—a five-million-megaton nuclear warhead—will fire.
Obliterating an entire world.
Obliterating themselves, as well. The horrific nuclear vortex that will be created when Earth is vaporized will be inescapable for hundreds of light-years. Highly advanced as it is, the Epsilon Eridani will not be able to outrun it. Nor can the missile be fired from a practical “safe” range.
The crew’s one and only choice is suicide.
Closing her eyes to think of her husband and kids once more, the commander touches her hand a final time to the photograph of her family. This will be the last time she sees their image with mortal eyes. So this is how she wants to remember them. At their very happiest. Their very purest. With the rest of their beautiful lives still ahead of them.
With her other hand, the commander opens the trigger box and grips the black knob. It must be done.
“Brace for launch in five…four…three…”
“Wait!” cries the flight engineer. “Don’t fire, don’t fire!”
The commander’s blood pressure skyrockets. “What is it?” she demands.
The flight engineer is working the touch controls on her panel in a frenzy.
“We’re being hailed. An incoming visual distress message, overloading our comms frequency. Multiple zettabytes of data. Are the rest of you seeing this?”
Their own control panels buzzing and flashing, the crew confirms that they are.
“Is it from the High Council?” the commander asks with cautious hope. “Maybe they’ve changed their mind. Maybe they’re calling off the—”
“No,” explains the flight engineer. “It’s coming…from Earth.”
The commander is completely befuddled. Nowhere in the mission briefing did her superiors say to expect any communication attempt from the blue planet. Nor is there any set protocol for handling it.
“Very well,” the commander says. “I suppose…put it on-screen?”
“Stand by,” replies the flight engineer, who transfers the message to the colossal display panel at the front of the cockpit.
And then the distress call plays. It’s unlike any the commander has ever seen: a stunning cascade of images.
A heart-wrenching stream of photographs of human children of every age, background, and creed.
Millions of them—smiling, laughing, crying, crawling, playing, learning, living.
An avalanche of youth and hope. Innocence and potential. Love and pure joy.
Which leaves the commander dumbfounded. She feels like she’s being buried under an emotional avalanche. It’s staggering. Overwhelming.
The commander’s lip begins to tremble. Soon her whole body follows.
The enormity of what she’s about to do—all the young lives she’s about to end—suddenly hits her in a new and deeper way than ever before.
But so does a sense of hope. Of promise.
Perhaps humans have reexamined their species, after all. Perhaps their eyes have been opened to the value of future generations and their place in the greater universe. Perhaps they really have learned something from her species.
Perhaps they deserve a second chance!
The commander knows, of course, that this decision is not hers to make. All her training is telling her to twist that black knob as she was originally ordered—or at the very least, communicate this development to the High Council to ask for their input.
But the commander has had enough.
She can no longer in good conscience c
arry out her mission.
It may cost her her career, but it will save her life—and those of billions of others.
It will keep these human children united with their parents, just as she will soon be reunited with her own.
“Attention, crew,” she says, as the pilot, flight engineer, payload chief, and mission specialist all listen, rapt. “Our primary mission objective…has changed. We will be firing our payload, but not at Earth. Instead, we will use it as thrust—to slingshot us back home. Plot a return course and flight-nav. Launch on my command.”
It takes her flabbergasted but overjoyed crew a few solid seconds to fully register what’s happening—but they quickly oblige, snapping into action. A new flight path is charted and the warhead is re-aimed.
“Missile is again armed for launch,” says the payload chief. “Trigger online.”
With ineffable admiration for her team, unshakable belief in the power of hope, and unimaginable excitement to return home…the commander grips the black knob.
“Brace for launch in five…four…three…two…”
Chapter 33
I have to remind myself to breathe—and blink. My eyes haven’t moved from the monitors showing the spacecraft in almost five long minutes. My hands are clammy. My brow is dripping with sweat. My heart is thudding right out of my chest.
There’s no way of knowing whether the vessel received our image transmission, let alone if it worked. And as the seconds tick by, I’m starting to lose hope.
“Dr. Axen,” I say grimly, “at least we can say we tried. It’s been an honor—”
“Fucking shit!” he suddenly exclaims. “Missile hot, missile hot!”
It can’t be. It can’t!
I glance back at the monitor and see, with horror, that the weapon has been fired!
“No, no, no!” I wail. My knees buckle and my entire body tumbles to the ground.
The unthinkable has just become reality.
The entire planet is about to be destroyed!
But then, a strange sense of tranquility washes over me. Maybe it’s the cosmic inevitability of our situation. Or the fact that eight billion people are now united by a common fate for the first time in human history.
Whatever the reason, my heart rate slows and my breathing returns to normal.
And then I realize: if the world is about to end, I want a front-row seat.
Quickly but not frantically, I bound through the lab and back toward the entrance. I push open the door and call the elevator. I ride it up to ground level, then exit the giant hangar and step outside. I see a few people running for cover, but I stand perfectly still.
I look up at the night sky, a blanket of darkness stretching on to infinity. There’s a bit of cloud cover, but I can still make out dozens of twinkling constellations.
Then I gaze in the direction where I know the alien spacecraft is hovering—and from which the weapon is hurtling toward us—even though both are way too tiny and far away to see with the naked eye.
But no matter. Simply being aware of their presence is enough for me.
Ditto Claire, Ellie, and Marty.
You don’t always need to see something to be profoundly affected by it. It could be an alien race from a distant galaxy. A nuclear missile speeding toward you. Or the unshakable love you feel for the people you care about most.
I wonder what it will look like when the weapon strikes. How quickly the planet will be vaporized. Whether I’ll feel excruciating pain, or won’t feel a thing.
I take one long, final deep breath of the crisp California air.
And then I see it. Brilliant lights in the sky!
The most enormous, powerful, jaw-dropping explosion I’ve ever witnessed…
Huh?
The ground trembles a bit below me, and strong gusts of wind batter my body. But clearly the weapon was detonated high in the atmosphere, a few miles at least.
Oh, my God…
I see the heavens light up in spectacular fashion. A firestorm emanating in every direction—there for all the world to see, and celebrate. Oh, my God.
They spared us!
We’re alive! My family is alive! Humanity is alive!
My plan worked!
I tumble backward onto a patch of grass in a giddy fit of laughing and crying, total shock and excruciating relief.
I watch in silent awe as the epic explosion in the sky starts to die down. The billowing smoke begins to dissipate and once again a few stars become visible.
I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.
And I hope I never do again.
About the Authors
JAMES PATTERSON has written more bestsellers and created more enduring fictional characters than any other novelist writing today. He lives in Florida with his family.
SUSAN DiLALLO is a lyricist, librettist, and humor columnist. A former advertising creative director, she lives in New York City.
MAX DiLALLO is a novelist, playwright, and screenwriter. He lives in Los Angeles.
TIM ARNOLD had a regular column in Adweek during his thirty-five years in the advertising business. Currently a blog columnist for the Huffington Post, he continues to actively consult for a wide range of clients.
The Black Book
I have favorites among the novels I’ve written. Kiss the Girls, Invisible, 1st to Die, and Honeymoon are top of the list. With each, I had a good feeling when the writing was finished. I believe this book—The Black Book—is the best work I’ve done in twenty-five years.
Meet Billy Harney. The son of Chicago’s chief of detectives, he was born to be a cop. There’s nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for his job. Enter Amy Lentini, an assistant state’s attorney hell-bent on making a name for herself—by proving Billy isn’t the cop he claims to be.
A horrifying murder leads investigators to a brothel that caters to Chicago’s most powerful citizens. There’s plenty of evidence on the scene, but what matters most is what’s missing: the madam’s black book.
Invisible
When I started writing Invisible, it seemed like every other TV network was telling the same kind of police stories, robberies, and crime twists. So I wanted to tell a different kind of suspense story, one that would really make your jaw drop. In the novel, Emmy Dockery is a researcher for the FBI who believes she has stumbled on one of the deadliest serial killers in history. There’s only one problem—he’s invisible. The mysterious killer leaves no trace. There are no weapons, no evidence, no motive. But when the killer strikes close to home, she must crack an impossible case before anyone else dies. Prepare to be blindsided, because the most terrifying threat is the one you don’t see coming—the one that’s invisible.
Never Never
Alex Cross. Michael Bennett. Jack Morgan. They are among my greatest characters. Now I’m proud to present my newest detective—a tough woman who can hunt down any man in a hardscrabble continent half a world away. Meet Detective Harriet Blue of the Sydney Police Department.
Harry is her department’s top Sex Crimes investigator. But she never thought she’d see her own brother arrested for the grisly murders of three beautiful young women. Shocked and in denial, Harry transfers to a makeshift town in a desolate area to avoid the media circus. Looking into a seemingly simple missing persons case, Harry is assigned a new “partner.” But is he actually meant to be a watchdog?
Far from the world she knows and desperate to clear her brother’s name, Harry has to mine the dark secrets of her strange new home for answers to a deepening mystery—before she vanishes in a place where no one would ever think to look for her.
16th Seduction
Fierce. Determined. Smart. Unstoppable. That’s Detective Lindsay Boxer in a nutshell. As the leader of the Women’s Murder Club solving crimes in San Francisco, she’s been tested time and time again. Now I’ve put even more pressure on her—as everyone she’s ever relied on turns their back on her.
After her husband Joe’s double life shattered their
family, Lindsay is finally ready to welcome him back with open arms. And when their beloved hometown faces a threat unlike any the country has ever seen, Lindsay and Joe find a common cause and spring into action.
But what at first seems like an open-and-shut case quickly explodes. Undermined by a suspect with a brilliant mind, Lindsay’s investigation is scrutinized and her motives are called into question. In a desperate fight for her career—and her life—Lindsay must connect the dots of a deadly conspiracy before she’s put on trial and a criminal walks free with blood on his hands.
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