Elizabeth Weir couldn't take her eyes off McKinson's name tags that were in her hands. Elizabeth never thought she would wonder if all these efforts were worth it. And here she was, questioning her faith in humanity, almost forgetting she was sitting on the ground of a subway station in New York, with other UN representatives and some bodyguards. Other civilians had joined them, including four homeless people, Harriman, and Siler. The two veterans had come with food and supplies, enough to stay here for a few days only if they coped with a strict way of life. Two electricians and two employees of the New York City Transit were checking the installation and the "guests".
Overall, everyone was physically okay. Keeping up the spirit was another story. The group of Marines led by McKinson to protect the UN people seemed ready to accomplish its mission. However, as strong and prepared as they were, these Marines couldn't hide their sadness after the loss of a fellow. It was even more difficult knowing that she hadn't been killed by aliens but by people from their own planet. A sergeant bowed his head when his and Weir's eyes met, a mix of "don't worry" and "thank you for keeping the name tags". Weir bowed her head. The group led by Sergeant Greer was outside looking for anything that could be useful, except one person. The corporal was studying with a fellow of McKinson's group the weapons taken from the aliens who had attacked Weir and the two French. Some bodyguards were discussing with some Marines about the strategy. Their bosses and the other UN diplomats without bodyguards were showing different attitudes. Some were terrified and couldn't move or think. Some, like Bérénice, were reassuring their colleagues and the non-UN guys, or sharing a bottle of water with them.
Some looked… annoyed.
Like this man in a suit with a tie and an expensive watch. He had been complaining to the French bodyguard for a minute, not far away from Weir. His complain eventually caught her attention.
"How long are we going to stay in that place, Mister Rousseau?"
"As long as it will be necessary, sir," Rousseau the bodyguard answered politely. Had he had no witness, he would have been less polite. The ceiling shook a little because of an attack outside, but he didn't pay attention, unlike the man in the suit.
"We're UN representatives," the man resumed the complain. "You can't keep us in this… I mean…" The diplomat pointed out the uncomfortable environment and tilted his head towards the homeless people. A UN lady and Siler were chatting with one of them. Nearby, Harriman, a bodyguard, and an employee of the subway were listing the food and supplies. Needless to say that the diplomat wasn't enthusiastic about sharing his shelter with homeless people. The French bodyguard didn't say anything. He kept staring at the diplomat, fighting against the urge to punch this arrogant guy.
"We should be taken to a safer place," the arrogant guy insisted. "Like a bunker. With furnitures so we can rest and work in good conditions. We–"
"Oh shut up, Paul!" Weir admonished loudly and rudely, standing up. She was infuriated by his behavior.
Paul jumped, taken aback. Other people raised their head, taken aback, too. So was Rousseau. However, he seemed grateful that Weir, more exactly, a UN person, reacted.
"I beg your pardon?" Paul said to Elisabeth. He sounded like someone who really didn't understand what was wrong with his complain.
"Captain Eileen McKinson died because of and to protect people who care about nothing else but themselves and their personal requirements," Elizabeth declared. She raised her fist tightening the name tags when she said the name. "You should feel lucky that you're safe and that you have these bodyguards and Marines around – she pointed out the people – Either you stay here and shut up and let these people work, or you leave and good luck with the aliens."
Weir kept glaring at Paul. She didn't care about the public looking at her and the ceiling shaking again. Paul was hesitant. He wisely gave up, seeing Weir's threatening face. The lady was ready to destroy him. The military seemed willing to intervene, to support her. Paul withdrew and sat on the ground in a corner of the station. Elizabeth looked towards the group of diplomats. The few who seemed annoyed, certainly because they had the same personal requirements, suddenly looked away and seemed less annoyed. Bérénice was smirking, as if enjoying the scene. Rousseau bowed his head to thank Weir when she looked back at him. She smiled softly. She never thought she would speak the way she did. She was surprised by her own reaction. Pretty lame on the scale from zero to ten of diplomacy. It felt so good, though.
The French diplomat came to Rousseau and Weir. She had lost her smirk. "Bernard, you should show us how to use these." She pointed an index finger to Rousseau's assault rifle, then, to the aliens' weapons.
Bernard was caught off guard by such a request. Elizabeth looked at Bérénice, confused. Strange request, indeed. Better this one than Paul's, on second thought. Bérénice looked very serious, though.
"If something happens to you and the Marines, we'll have to fight. And frankly, I don't think the aliens will care if we're civilians or not."
Bernard raised an eyebrow. "No more negotiations, Mrs. Ballester?"
"If you repeat what I'm gonna say, I'll deny it," Bérénice Ballester jokingly replied. She sighed before confessing, resigned, "Sometimes, negotiations don't work."
Rousseau glanced at Weir. The American diplomat shrugged as she had no objection. Her French peer was right. What if the military and bodyguards were unable to defend them? The civilians wouldn't resist a very long time certainly, but they had to try and fight for their planet as well. Besides, the idea of Paul negotiating seats and tables was terrifying.
Sergeant Greer and his group came back. Rousseau, Ballester, and Weir turned to them. They brought more alien weapons. Greer and one of his people were even carrying two small canons. Greer smiled, satisfied.
