Epilogue: Inauguration and Revelation

Thursday, January 20, 2101, Noon

“I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States of Earth, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States of Earth.” With those words, Toby Platt became president.

He stood in the shadows of the Twin Towers as the live orchestra played Hail to the Chief. He loved that song. Birds chirped in the cool weather. Feodora, Olivia, Lara, and Tyler stood at his side. Most of the World Congress were nearby, clapping and cheering. Even Dubois and Persson clapped politely.

Soon he and Feodora were back in the Purple Room, which had been repainted that very morning. Waiting for him were Bruce, now Toby’s chief of staff, and Twenty-two. They had galactic business to attend to.

For the first time, he would sit behind the president’s desk. As a special gift, India had sent him General Kadam’s desk and General Chatterjee’s chair. Toby sank down into the simple, cushioned chair.

It creaked.

“I’m leaving today,” Twenty-two said.

“Not before we work out the diplomatic niceties, Ambassador,” Toby said. “I want Earth to be a part of the Galactic Union before my first term is over.” Hopefully, he thought, there’d be a second.

“That could be a problem,” Twenty-two said.

“Is this because of the interstellar space travel requirement?” Toby asked. “You know that’s a priority for me.”

“That is not the problem,” Twenty-two said, “though it is a problem. I would be very surprised if Earth can learn advanced spaceflight technology in five years, ten years, even twenty years. There are certain discoveries you have not made yet. But there is a bigger problem.”

“And what is that, Ambassador?”

“She is not an ambassador,” Feodora said.

“Huh?” Toby said.

“Ambassadors send reports to home planet,” Feodora continued. “They work out relations between their planet and ours. They act diplomatically, and do not get into fights with presidents of planets.”

“Maybe Grodan ambassadors are different from ours,” Bruce said.

“Feodora is correct,” Twenty-two said, her lone eyestalk drooping. “I am not an ambassador.”

“What?” Toby exclaimed.

“When I arrived and met President Dubois, I could not say, ‘I am a college student.’ If I had, I would have been treated like…a student.” She looked up. “My major is political theory. I have learned a lot on this school break.”

Toby had campaigned heavily on becoming part of the Galactic Union—and he’d just learned his contact was a college kid on vacation!

“Okay,” he said. “If you aren’t the Grodan ambassador, can you tell us how we can go about applying for Galactic membership?”

“The first part is simple,” Twenty-two said. “If you develop interstellar spaceflight, the Galactic Union will detect it, and they will come to you.”

“But you said we’re more than twenty years away from figuring that out.”

“I did say that.” Twenty reached into a vest pocket and removed a sheet of old-fashioned paper. She held it up. It was covered with scrawls that looked vaguely like mathematical formulas. “Give this to your scientists. It should help.”

“Let me see,” Bruce said. “Maybe I can finally make use of those math and physics degrees.”

“We have Russian scientists I’d like to bring in on this,” Feodora said.

“Bring ’em in,” Toby said, leaning back into the creaking chair. “This will be a worldwide Manhattan project, and I’ll run it from right here in Manhattan.” He wondered if it would cause an international incident if he pitched the Indian chair out the window and replaced it with the nice, quiet one from his old office.

Bruce had sat down on the floor against a wall. “You’re kidding!” he mumbled as he stared unblinking at the paper.

“Hopefully that will make up for lying about my ambassadorship,” Twenty-two said. “I hope to hear from you in a few years. When you make it to Tau Ceti, contact me. You have my number.”

“I’ll do that,” Toby said. “And then you can introduce us to galactic politics, which must be a lot better than Earth politics.”

“No,” Twenty-two said, “it is much worse.”

THE END

  

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