The Trojan Horse by Christopher Nuttall

offended after the Opium Wars, when the Westerners had demanded the right to create enclaves in China that were not responsible to Chinese authorities. 
     
    The aliens hadn’t threatened anyone.  They hadn’t pointed a gun to the government’s head and given them a choice between surrender or dying bravely.  What they’d done was far more subtle – and dangerous.  If the President refused to accept the alien technology – refusing to allow the aliens to establish an enclave on Earth – the United States would be cut out of the technological advances that would blossom all over Earth.  Toby knew that fusion power could change the world – and refusing to accept such a boon would be political suicide.  The President’s impeachment would be a foregone conclusion.
     
    “Tell me something,” the Vice President said.  “Did they have anywhere in mind?”
     
    “They said we could choose,” McGreevy said.  Toby knew that there would be an immediate political catfight over the location of the alien base.  Some Congressmen would want it for their states; others would fear the consequences of having the aliens so close to their constituents.  “They have a list of requirements, but none of them are particularly onerous.”
     
    Toby glanced at the list.  The aliens wanted fresh water, a certain degree of isolation and an airport capable of taking human aircraft.  An old military base would serve as an ideal location, one that could be controlled.  After all, as soon as the aliens were established, the Witnesses would be on their way to picket the alien base and welcome the star gods to Earth.
     
    “True,” the President agreed.  “Have they made the same offer to the other nations?”
     
    “It’s impossible to tell,” the CIA Director admitted.  It was an open secret that the CIA – and every other intelligence agency in the world – spied on the UN.  “We had the room bugged, but something happened to the bugs – we have no independent record of what took place during any of the meetings.  I think we have to assume the worst.”
     
    We don’t know what the iron bitch and the alien really said to one another , part of Toby’s mind added, silently.  McGreevy had refused to carry a recorder into the chamber, pointing out that the aliens might consider it an unfriendly act.  It was logical enough, even believable, but Toby suspected that it hadn’t been her only motive for refusing.  The woman was simply too ambitious to be trusted.
     
    “I think that we can find a suitable patch of land,” the President said.  He looked around the small compartment.  Despite all of its mystique, Air Force One was still only a jumbo jet, with the limited carrying capacity of its fellows.  “And then we will have to see if their promises really come true.”
     
    Toby scowled, thinking hard.  The Native Americans hadn’t just lost because of smallpox; they’d lost because they could never duplicate the technology owned and used by the Europeans.  Gunpowder had been a mystery to them until it had reached America and they’d never been able to develop their own industrial base.  And then the Europeans had simply waged war from a playbook far more advanced than any known to the local civilisations.
     
    “Yes, Mr President,” he agreed.  He already knew who would be placed in charge of finding a suitable patch of ground.  At least they’d have the opportunity to monitor the aliens as they set up their base.  They needed data and what little data they had was patchy, almost impossible to fit into a greater picture.  “I’m sure that we can find something suitable.”

Chapter Seven
     
    Nevada
    USA, Day 12
     
    The heat slapped Jason in the face as he scrambled out of the air-conditioned aircraft and down towards the tarmac far below.  He winced as his hands touched the railing; it felt hot enough to cook eggs, or burn exposed human flesh.  The sun beat down on them from high above,