Blake ignored the radio for six hours. He was not sure if they tried to contact him while it was offline, but a full day had passed, and they had yet to reach out. He reclined with the microphone in his hand on the comfortable couch in his mother’s office alongside the rest of the small town’s population as they held yet another meeting with Jessica.

“Most families have now arrived and are settling in. They aren’t too happy with their accommodations, but understand it is a temporary measure. All but one or two believe. The whole ‘Dome’ issue makes some people nervous, but we are keeping everyone calm. I’ve had quite a few volunteers for non-combat roles, and I’ve assigned them as general laborers. Hopefully that should speed up construction of the wall.”

Blake nodded. “If there’s any hard workers, you can change their class when more positions open up.”

“I thought you couldn’t change classes,” Donna interrupted.

“You can’t change your combat class,” he corrected her misunderstanding. “You can change your non-combat classes any time, but you lose all the progress you’ve made in it. But, since laborers don’t get any progress, it doesn’t really matter.”

“That is good to know, “Jessica scribbled the information in her planner. “I will update the guide.” After she finished the notation, she looked up and continued on with her report. “The scouts I posted have still not reported any unusual traffic. Although, they have had to turn a few vehicles away. To ensure this location remains secret, I’ve also confiscated all cell phones. That caused a bit of a backlash, but no one threatened to leave over it. What does concern me, however, is the report I received about large, black SUVs in town.”

Blake sat up and leaned forward, radio forgotten.

“Jeff’s family stopped by the grocery store for a few snacks and supplies before they arrived. His father reported numerous suspicious vehicles canvassing the area. It could be all in his head, but I instituted a lockdown, just to be safe.”

“Good,” Blake nodded. “Better safe than sorry.”

“My thoughts as well.” Jessica grinned. “Still no response from the President?”

Blake shook his head.

“Hanging up on him was not the best response,” she said carefully.

“You can say that again,” Blake’s father muttered, while Oliver snickered.

Jessica continued on. “I’m concerned his pride may prevent negotiations. If he does contact you, I suggest showing him respect, even if you believe he does not deserve it.”

Blake let out a sigh. “Yeah, probably a good idea. Although, at this point, I honestly don’t care if he calls back or not. We only have six more days. As long as they don’t bomb us or start blasting music again, he can give me the silent treatment all he wants.”

“He’s probably raisin’ hell trying to figure out what you’re on about,” Jordan pointed out. “I bet a lot of people are losing their jobs right about now.”

“Naw,” Oliver disagreed. “The man’s an idiot. He just got butt hurt, is all. I bet he never even looks into it.”

“Isn’t homeland security supposed to inform the President of all threats? Why would they keep it from him?” Brent asked.

Donna smiled. “It’s called ‘managing your boss’. You limit what information they see, make sure the only possible solutions they’re aware of are ones you put forward, and when they order you to do something you don’t like, you drag your feet. After a few months, they usually forget about their new initiative.”

“Speaking from experience?” Peter laughed.

Donna’s grin widened.

“Yeah, well I…” Blake began when he was suddenly interrupted by the radio.

He reached out to the microphone and answered, “This is Blake, is the President ready to talk?”

“He is,” the voice confirmed. “Please stay on the line as I connect you.”

Finally! Let’s see if he learned anything.

“Oliver…” Blake began.

“I know, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” His brother slouched onto the couch next to him and mimed zipping his mouth closed.

The radio crackled again, and the familiar southern drawl of the President greeted him. Blake returned the greeting in a chipper voice while looking at his mother. “Good morning, Mister President. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

Donna gave him a look of warning.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll be good.

“No, frankly I didn’t,” he drawled. “I had a long talk with the agent previously in charge of the Pinetop quarantine. It was… illuminating.”

Blake bit his lip to prevent himself from rubbing the President’s previous lack of knowledge in his face. Instead, he asked innocently, “Oh? How so?”

Donna coughed.

“He confirmed some of what you claimed, and has some theories of his own,” President Warner replied in his thick, southern accent.

Oliver slapped Blake on the shoulder.

“What kind of theories?” Blake asked with genuine curiosity.

“The alien component is verified, as well as the spatial distortions we have quarantined throughout the US.”

Is that what you’re calling the portals? I bet you haven’t even found one percent of them.

“Initially, it was thought that you accidentally stumbled into a distortion and somehow survived. However, your ‘guide’ you’ve spread online destroyed that theory. According to my aids, it’s quite extensive. There’s no way you gained that much knowledge in just a few months.”

Good, he’s finally starting to believe me.

“Which means you’re working for the alien AI,” the President said, confidently.

What the hell?!

Anger surged within Blake, and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “Screw you! I’ve spent the last ten years working against that glorified toaster. I hate it! I hate it and everything it stands for!”

His mother’s eyes went wide.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

When he finished his rant, the radio went quiet. All he could hear were his deep breaths as he tried and failed to control his temper. He glanced around the room, and saw the look of concern on his mother’s face mirrored across the rest of his family and friends. Even Oliver looked at him in disbelief.

His brother mouthed silently, “Dude, you said ‘screw you’ to the President.”

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so emotional?

For years, Blake had dealt with cults who worshiped the Architect as well as people who praised its rewards. They annoyed him, but he never blew up when confronted. He forced himself to calm down and leaned back into his seat.

Is it teenage hormones?

Finally, the President responded and interrupted his self-reflection. An, amused tone overrode his usual sleepy cadence. “I see I hit a nerve. Perhaps we have it backwards. Is the AI coercing you in some way? What is it holding over you?”

“It isn’t holding anything over me,” Blake replied through gritted teeth. “I told you, I’m from ten years in the future. THAT’s how I know what’s going to happen. THAT’s how I know how the collective works.”

“Boy, if you expect us to believe that, we might as well end this conversation right now,” the President threatened.

“Fine with me,” Blake shrugged. “In six days, you’ll see for yourself. Of course, it’ll be too late for you by then.”

Oliver shifted forward on the couch as if he was watching a sports game in the last moments.

“Are you threatening me?” he asked, irate.

What?

“No, I’m not threatening you,” Blake corrected the President. “I’m talking about Invasion day. Didn’t you read the guide?”

“I’ve seen the highlights,” President Warner evaded. “You’re referring to when everyone on the planet magically joins this ‘Collective’ of yours, and electricity somehow stops functioning. Do I have that correct?”

“It’s not my Collective, but essentially yes,” Blake conceded.

“How?” the President asked simply.

Blake furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me how that is even remotely possible, because my scientists have gone over the numbers, and they tell me it's impossible. Do you know how many nanomachines there would have to be to infect everyone in the world?” President Warner asked rhetorically. “Because I do. We don’t have a number that goes that high. They had to write it down and show it to me in exponential form. Trust me when I say, it was a lot of zeroes.”

Blake sighed. “Look, I have no clue how it works. It’s an alien technology,” he reminded the President. “I just know it’s going to happen.”

“Right…” Warner trailed off. “So, I have an offer for you.”

Blake leaned forward.

“Turn off The Dome. Turn yourself in, along with your co conspirators, and release the hostages. Work with us so we can learn more about this alien threat. If you do that, we’ll go easy on you and your friends. You’ll be set up in nice rooms with room service, and all the entertainment you can handle.”

Is he serious?

“Let me get this straight,” Blake said, deadpan. “You want me to surrender unconditionally. In return, I get… room service?”

“You are not negotiating from a position of strength,” the President replied smugly. Blake could hear cockiness ooze out of the man’s mouth as his southern twang intensified.

Screw you.

“How about a counteroffer?” Blake replied.

“I’m listening…”

“Announce to the public that the threat is real. Print off hundreds of millions of copies of my guide and distribute them before Invasion day. And, get the other world leaders to do the same. If you do that, I’ll release half the hostages.”

President Warner guffawed. “Can you believe the balls on this kid? Why are you pushing this guide so much?” he asked. “What’s in it for you?”

“The survival of the human race,” Blake answered simply.

The President responded in a stern tone, “You have tested my patience long enough. You have twenty-four hours to surrender yourself and your associates.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we will blow your little Dome to smithereens.”

“You already tried that,” Blake reminded him. “Didn’t work.”

“You think we’re limited to artillery? This is the United States military we’re talking about. I will send bombers against you armed with GBU43’s. Do you know what they call those? The Mother Of All Bombs.” President Warner then snorted. “And if that doesn’t work… well… we have tech the public doesn’t even know about.”

Blake swallowed.

“I have hostages,” he reminded the President. “Aren’t you worried about them?”

“The death of a few men is a small price to pay for freedom. Now, what’s it going to be? Are you going to play ball?”

He actually said that out loud.

Blake steeled his nerves. “Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself. Just remember, when the bombs start falling, and you start shitting your pants, all you have to do is pick up the radio to make them stop. I’ll be waiting to accept your surrender.”

After that, the radio went silent. Blake gazed into the small speakers in disbelief.

How the hell did that go so wrong?

“Well, that went well,” Oliver broke the silence.

“Son,” Peter said gently. “You need to get that temper under control.”

Blake nodded in agreement. “I do, but I don’t think it would’ve made a difference. He was going to give me that ultimatum no matter what I said.”

“I have to agree with Blake,” Jessica spoke up. “His poll numbers are in the toilet, and the public is calling for him to end this standoff. I believe he is more worried about reelection than the fate of the world. But you do have a temper.”

Typical politician. Of course, he is.

“Is there anything we can do to stop this?” Donna asked.

Blake shook his head.

“Well, if it is any consolation, you don’t need to worry about other countries remaining ignorant,” Jessica said.

He glanced up and stared intently at his chancellor through the holo-chat. “Why is that?”

“Because the guide is everywhere now,” she explained. “It has been translated to every language, and is being discussed from Australia to Zimbabwe. I’m sure there are a few primitive tribes who remain ignorant, but the rest of the world is watching with rapt attention.”

At least people will be forewarned, even if I die before Invasion day.

----------------------------------------

True to his word, exactly twenty-four hours later, the first bomb fell. The explosion was much louder than he expected, and everyone was startled.

“That brought the shield down to eighty percent,” his mother informed him.

Blake cradled the radio’s microphone in his hand, but refused to transmit. He considered smashing it against the wall but refrained. Everyone waited with bated breath for the next bomb to drop. However, thirty seconds later, Donna informed him the shield was back to full strength.

“How much nano do we have in the treasury?” Blake asked.

His mother’s eyes glazed as she navigated her interface. A moment later, she said, “One hundred and fifteen mega-nano.”

Blake’s brows rose in surprise. “That much?”

“Jessica stopped every project but the wall upgrade and is funneling all of her incoming nano to us.” Donna sighed. “I just hope it’ll be enough.”

For five days? I doubt it.

“What if they nuke us?” Oliver asked. Blake could hear the fear in his voice.

“They won’t use nukes,” he assured his older brother. “Warner only cares about reelection, remember? Who would elect a President who dropped a nuke in the middle of a city.”

“But they evacuated everyone,” Oliver pointed out. “Besides, didn’t they used to drop nukes all the time in Nevada?”

Blake did not have an answer to that.

An hour passed before the next bomb impacted the shield. This time, there were multiple explosions, and integrity dropped to sixty-eight percent before it began to rapidly recover.

Weird, you would think five times the bombs would mean five times the drain, but that’s not even double.

He was not sure why it worked in his favor, but he was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he snatched one of the few printed guides from the lobby and walked unhurriedly down to the jail cells below.

Blake descended the stairs, stopped before the only occupied cell, and gazed at his hostages. Eight men stared silently back at him in defiance. The sound of explosions had obviously rattled them.

After a full minute, Major Dominguez broke the silence. “Are you here to execute us?”

Blake frowned. “No, I’m not.”

“Why not?” the Major asked. “I can hear them bombing us, didn’t you threaten to kill us if they attacked?”

“I implied it,” Blake conceded with a shrug. “But, I never told them I would. Why would I? You guys were just doing your jobs. Hell, I could use soldiers like you if we make it to Invasion day.”

The command staff sneered.

“You think I’m the bad guy? I’m not the one bombing my own soldiers,” Blake pointed out. “The President made it very clear he considers you all collateral damage.”

Dominguez winced, but the others remained unconvinced.

Blake sighed and extended the guide through the bars. “Read this. If we survive the next five days, you’re going to need to know what’s going on.”