Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) by Greg Keyes Read Free Book Online Page B

Weeds had begun to repopulate the wasteland, but the predominant color was still gray.
    Except right here, where a carefully manicured lawn grew. And beyond the lawn, the scaffolded, half-formed building.
    “White House 2.0,” David said.
    An aide and a secret service agent met them at the door. He remembered when he had last been here, frantically trying to find Connie, to convince her to leave.
    Well, no, not here. That White House had been vaporized.
    The only part of the new building that seemed to be completely in the dry was the West Wing, and that’s where they led him, into a room very much like the Oval Office he had been in before but—bigger.
    “David. Welcome.”
    “Mr. President,” David said. “Nice to see you again.”
    Whitmore looked a little older, a little less boyish, which was to be expected. Even in good times presidents seemed to age faster than most people, and the last year or so of his administration hadn’t generally been what could be considered “good times.” But if he had lost a bit of youthful appeal, he had become a much more decisive, confident, proactive leader. He was a man with a mission, and he didn’t mind saying so.
    That mission was nothing less than the unification of humanity. In the past, David had disliked the man for both political and personal reasons, but he had come to truly admire him since the events of the Fourth.
    General Grey was also present, along with several other people he didn’t know but assumed to be freshly minted cabinet members or advisors—and Stephen Bell, the vice-president.
    He did a round of handshaking, then sat in the chair Whitmore indicated. There was a little chitchat, someone brought coffee, and then the president got down to business.
    “So, David,” Whitmore said. “What have you got for us? What do you need?”
    “Well, uh—let me see,” he said. “Money, and a good deal of it.”
    There were a few chuckles, and then silence.
    “That’s it?” Whitmore finally said. “I read the last budget Area 51 submitted. I expect Congress to approve it.”
    “Sure,” David said, frowning slightly. “Maybe I started in the wrong place. Area 51 was created for a rather limited purpose—to study, basically, one ship and three bodies. I know there was some other stuff, but, you know—that would be quibbling. The amount of material we’re in possession of now is astronomical, to say the least. A lot of it is literally sitting on top of us.
    “We need more than one facility—we need dozens, and more than that, we need a coordinated approach to eliminate redundancy and waste. We need a centralized method to the study—and maybe more to the point to the application—of alien technology. When I say a centralized, I mean an international agency of some sort.” He paused, but no one seemed ready to fill the silence.
    “I think this is urgent,” he added.
    “You think more of these ships are on the way,” Bell said. He was a pleasant-looking fellow with wispy auburn hair and a round face. He seemed terribly young for the job he now inhabited.
    “Maybe they are, and maybe they aren’t,” David said. “We can’t take chances. I’ve been studying their last transmissions. There was a burst toward the end. I can’t be sure what it was, but if I had to guess—given the timing and the energy involved—I would venture to say that it was a distress call.”
    “Yes,” Whitmore said. “I read your memo.”
    “Well, then…”
    Whitmore smiled. He appeared genuinely amused.
    “You didn’t think you were going to get an argument from me, did you, David?”
    David blinked.
    “Well,” he said, “it’s just that I know money is tight, right now, and when I see how some of it has been allocated…” His eyes darted around the reconstructed Oval Office.
    “
David
,” Connie said under her breath.
    “You don’t approve?” Whitmore said.
    “I… no, I didn’t say that,” David said. “Why wouldn’t I approve? It’s—you