UN Committee Meeting:
You walk into the room feeling all eyes on you. You nod to those you recognize, and those you don't, making eye contact, willing them to listen and make the decisions you need to continue you work. You shove the memories of the twin Towers coming down out of your thoughts. You back burner your annoyance with Straker's Loose Cannon. You push away all the thoughts of anger, pain and frustration and concentrate on this handful of disparate personalities who need to be swayed to your side.
"Gentlemen."
"Ah, General Foster. So kind of you to agree to meet us today."
The head of this committee is so smarmy you want to push his face in, you want to demand why he's still here while men of better caliber in every way lie flattened at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, lie dead in the rubble of the Twin Towers or the debris of the Pentagon. Why not the UN with its facade of mirrored glass, the flags of so many countries waving on the breeze in front of it? But he knew the answer. The Americans had been the target, not the world in general.
And that meant this was probably not alien inspired. Still, one installation was out of contact, one installation full of the youngest, best and brightest SHADO had to offer you. You take a breath and begin with the formalities of greetings and "The Big Picture."
Two hours later, a seed of doubt sown in their minds, you make your good-byes and leave the Committee room. Tomorrow you will have your answer. You pray it is the right one. A wave of alien spinners on the heels of this disaster could turn the US front of solidarity into an "every man for himself" scenario. You wonder if Straker would have hinted that the terrorists, while full of anger and hate already, could have been manipulated into this atrocity. You sigh. Probably not, but Straker's sheer intensity could carry the day, you have to resort to other weapons. Just let it be enough. Worldwide support was the only way to stop the aliens.
For just a moment, you toy with the idea of outing the secret. Splash the aliens across the front page of the newspapers worldwide and see if it makes a difference. But, no. Too many innocents would be harmed. Just as there were already reports of innocent Muslims being accosted, called names, and being threatened for crimes they did not and would not commit, so would the world take the opportunity to turn on anyone who didn't quite fit in. Illegal aliens from the stars, what a perfect target for the rage and hostility of the planet.
No. That wasn't the way. You return to the flat where your daughter waits for you, her eyes reddened by her sorrow for the dead and bereaved left behind by the attacks of the day before. You walk into the flat and she flings herself at you, desperate for the comfort only Daddy can give. You want to give her reassurances, tell her it was all a bad dream; that it will ever happen again, but the words stick in your throat. Hundreds of thousands of US citizens, men, women and children, are suddenly stripped of the insular belief in their safety from such horrors. Terrorism is something that happens in Ireland, in England, in South America, in the Middle East, not in the US. Wrong. For several thousand people: dead wrong.