Independence Day: Crucible (The Official Prequel) by Greg Keyes

make physical contact.
    “Bakari is dead, isn’t he?” his father said. “My sweet boy.”
    “He is, Papa,” Dikembe replied.
    “Where is he? I want to see him.”
    “We had to bury him,” Dikembe said. “The doctors were not sure when you would awaken.”
    Or if, for that matter.
    “And the aliens? What of them?”
    “They fell apart,” Dikembe said. “Many remain, but they seem disorganized. As if their failure to kill you broke them somehow.”
    His father was silent for a moment.
    “We will water the soil of this country with their blood,” he said. “Bring me my elephant gun.”
    “Papa, you need time to recover.”
    His father placed a hand on his shoulder.
    “I shall never recover,” he said. “Not until they are all dead.”

7
FEBRUARY
1999
    Thomas Whitmore ran his hand through his hair and tried to put on a smile.
    The nine members of the Chinese delegation did not smile back, but President Qian tilted his head. He was in his sixties, a dignified-looking man with sharp black eyes. Before the Fourth, he had been a junior member of the Politburo, but—as in the US—the vast majority of Chinese leaders had been wiped out in the attacks, and had been replaced by younger, less experienced people.
    Whitmore glanced at his much smaller delegation, which consisted of two aides and David Levinson. He’d kept things minimal intentionally—he didn’t want to even symbolically suggest a show of force. General Grey had argued for a military presence, given that ESD was driven primarily by the Army, but Whitmore had been able to persuade him that this approach would bear more fruit.
    Now he just hoped he was right.
    “Gentlemen,” the president said. “I’m honored that you have invited me to meet you here, in New Beijing. I’m more than impressed at the progress you’ve made in rebuilding—China is an inspiration to the United States and, I dare say, to the rest of the world.”
    He paused to let the translator finish.
    “I believe we know why we’re here today, and I hope we can walk away from this with what can only be considered an historic agreement. After the groundwork we laid last year with other world leaders in Naples, this should be fairly painless.”
    Qian started talking, and the translator smoothly chimed in.
    “You must understand, we have reservations about any agreement of this magnitude,” he said. “There are a number of issues which remain unaddressed.”
    “Then let’s address them,” Whitmore said. “I’m not suggesting a static agreement, but a process, a process which will benefit us and ultimately the world. On that day, nearly three years ago, when every nation came together—”
    “I’ve heard your speeches concerning unification,” Qian said. “You are a stirring and persuasive speaker, and I do not disagree… in theory. What we discovered five years ago was that we have better things to do than fight among ourselves. That our responsibilities are not limited to China, but to the human race. Unfortunately, not everyone came to that same conclusion.”
    “If this has to do with your border dispute with Tibet,” Whitmore said, “I think I’ve made my position clear on that.”
    “They made unprovoked attacks against our forces there, while we were still engaged in the ground war,” Qian said, hotly. “How can you advocate the unification of humanity, and yet support a separatist faction at the same time?”
    “As you must know,” Whitmore said, speaking evenly, “the subject of Tibetan independence is a complicated one. It’s our belief that the violent agitators were and are in the minority. I’ve engaged in negotiations with the Dalai Lama—”
    “Yes, so we heard.” The translator’s tone was pleasant, but the Chinese president’s was not.
    “Look,” Whitmore said. “You said yourself we shouldn’t be fighting one another. The Dalai Lama is in favor of peace, even if it means he remains in exile. But I think, in light of the way our