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Fifteen months ago, we have proven that mankind can achieve greatness, that we can overcome our differences and come together as a species. Three months ago, we saved the world in a very real, a very immediate kind of way. No one can deny that we have done this thing.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am here, today, to ask you to keep that memory alive. To keep up the good work. Because saving the world is not a one-day, one-act sort of event. It's a process. A revolution.
And, I believe, more than anything, it's a necessity.
- President T.J. Whitmore, speech delivered to the UN, October 15 1997
as quoted in The War of the Worlds: a Hundred Years of Strife and Peace, Dr. Sheila Levinson, 2096
*
May, 1997
It was amazing, Thomas thought, how quickly a government regenerated itself to the point where it was once again capable of burying its supposed leaders under an avalanche of paperwork and forms one was supposed to file in triplicate before getting such items as, say, a pen. (He'd actually wanted some paperclips, but his courage had failed him at the last second. He'd ended up stealing some from Admiral Grey instead, who very kindly had pretended not to notice.)
Finding a properly vetted babysitter for Patricia now, that took time. Ditto for fixing the plumbing on the third floor, or tracking down an old friend the President had lost track of and wanted to have a sit-down with.
Although, to the credit of the Secret Service, they had, in fact, managed that last one.
"The new White House, eh?" David looked around, hands on his back. "Needs a bit of paint."
Thomas grinned. "I think they're working on fixing the roof, first. Turns out it's leaky."
David arched an eyebrow at him. "You didn't think to check before moving in here? In that case, you deserve to get leaked on."
"It wasn't the rainy season when we moved in."
"So get some water from somewhere. Fake it." David looked mildly annoyed. "It's not that hard. Honestly, not being leaky is more or less the first requirement of a roof. In fact, some people might argue it's the only requirement."
Thomas sat down, gesturing for David to do the same. He was almost in time to make it look as if David was, in fact, sitting down in response to the gesture. "I didn't ask you here to talk about the roof."
"Good," David said. "I'm not a thatcher. Or a handy-man. Or any other sort of roof specialist."
"I know."
"Good," David repeated. "Any chance of getting some coffee?"
Thomas smiled apologetically at one of the Secret Service men. The guy didn't smile back, but then, they never did. It seemed to go with the job: service without a smile. Serve and Protect: Do Not Smile.
"I'd say that chance is pretty good." It was little short of a miracle, really. Three months to find shelter for millions and millions of people whose homes had been destroyed before the winter hit - to figure out food and water and clothes.
Thomas still didn't quite know how they'd managed it. How all the other countries had managed it. They had, though. All of them. Everywhere around the world, people were rebuilding. Recovering. Healing.
"Yeah." David cleared his throat. "We're really something, huh?"
"To tell you the truth, one year ago, I wouldn't have believed it." Thomas wondered at which point David had regained the ability to read his thoughts off of his face. They'd been friends, for a while.
Before that punch had proved that alcohol did indeed severely impair a man's judgment.
"One year ago, I was well on my way to becoming a bitter old man," David said. "Or at least one with little faith in the goodness of humanity in general and ambitious women in particular."
"Ah. Ambition." It had led Thomas to marry Marilyn, ask Connie to join his campaign. To leave his bridges with David unmended. "Well, a little bit of that goes a long way."
David shrugged. "Two hours by chopper. Not that long a way. Granted, I wouldn't have liked to walk."
"Yeah." Their coffee arrived - Thomas wasn't surprised to discover David still took his with a little bit of milk and a lot of sugar. (He was surprised, a little, that he remembered that. It had been years.)
"So." David put down his cup. "You want to offer me a job."
It had always been easy to underestimate David. Thomas felt he had a better excuse than most people. "Yes. I do."
"Alien exterminator? I'm not sure I'd be up to that - even if Captain Hiller is." Thomas snorted. David cocked his head. "A joke. Unless we've spotted another ship coming. Please tell me we haven't spotted another ship coming."
"Right now? They could be hiding in the shadow of the moon and we'd never see them until they were right on top of us. It's going to take time before we've got some satellites up again. It's a priority," Thomas said quickly, before David could object. "One of many."
"Ah well. They come again, we die. No sense in worrying if there's nothing you can do about it, I suppose." David looked thoughtful, though. Like maybe he had an idea or two on how to keep an eye on what was going on up there without it taking away money that was needed to keep people alive.
"I need a new cabinet," Thomas said. Point blank, which was usually the best way, with David.
"Why would you even think I was having an affair with your wife? Do you have any idea what that would do to my political career? What, do you think I'm some sort of idiot?"
(In Thomas's defense: David hadn't been the only one whose judgment had been a little impaired.)
"I don't really move in those circles," David said. "Unless you want an opinion on how good or how untrustworthy they look on TV, in which case: ask someone else. I help make TV; that doesn't mean I watch it. In fact, I generally make it a point not to. Not those kinds of programs, anyway."
"Still a Trekkie?" Thomas grinned.
David shrugged. "Hard franchise to ruin."
"I was thinking either Scientific Advisor to the President, or Minister of Recycling."
David made a face. "That'd be, what? The SAP? Now there's a title that's going to look good on my resume. Although since you brought it up, I do have a few ideas about what to do with all that alien spaceship rubble. There's quite a lot of it, you know, and it's not going to just disappear. We might as well figure out something useful to do with it."
"Sounds good," Thomas said, getting up and holding out his hand. "Make it happen."
David stared up at him. "As easy as that?"
"I'll assign you a personal assistant and a couple of marines," Thomas said. "Come on, David. Friends?"
"I thought you were offering me a job," David said, but he did get up and grasped Thomas's hand, so Thomas figured that was all right. They were all right.
"So can I punch you now, just once? To really make things even between us?" he asked.
"You can hit me on the day you fire me, how's that?" David replied. "Today, to square things, you can get me my assistant and two marines to defend me from annoying people and litterers."
"All right," Thomas said. He felt like grinning. "Welcome aboard."
*
Would you like me to tell you where you can stick that microphone of yours?
- First Husband D. Levinson-Whitmore to undisclosed member of the press corps, May 1998
as quoted in The Rainbow Years, Neil Wilder, 2024