and staring at the floor beneath his chair.
Rigley wasn't speaking, Knox held no doubt about that. The alien controlled her just as it had controlled Will. Marks, though? Definitely. That was him, sounding as pleasant as always. Walking his dog in a park with a sunny seventy-five degrees surrounding him.
The recording ended and Knox didn't look up.
"What's that mean?" Trone said.
"Which part?"
"Well, first, the ending. What was that formula he gave her? F equals M-squared?"
Knox sat up, shaking his head. "I don't know, sir. It might not mean anything. Or it could be exactly what he says it is. Have you run it by the scientists he brought over?"
Trone nodded. "Yes. They don't have a clue either. It's got nothing to do with the disease he created; they're sure of that. I was hoping you might have some clue."
"No, sir. It means nothing to me."
Trone looked back to the computer screen. "And the rest?"
Knox understood the rest. He didn't need Marks' unyielding intelligence, because his life had been a training ground to understand the emotions running through people in tense situations.
"She's not lying."
"First, you think it's the alien?" Trone said.
"No doubt about that. The way she spoke, it resembled the way Will spoke when she was inside him. The alien was in control."
"What makes you think she's telling the truth? There's a pretty big incentive for her to lie about this."
"You can hear it in her voice, sir. She's panicked. For the first time since she got here, she doesn't know what to do. Marks has her on the ropes and she isn't prepared for it," Knox said.
"But, if she's not lying, he's got the entire world on the ropes."
"I think he does. I don't know if he meant to or not, but I've listened to a lot of people in bad situations. They sound like she did. Scared. Unsure."
Trone looked up from the screen and into the general's eyes.
"So he has to stop it."
"Well, the only other option is she thinks it is going to happen, but she is wrong. I doubt that's the case, though. I don't think she's wrong about much."
"Me either."
* * *
T he progress was remarkable , even by Kenneth Marks' standards.
The tablet showed him how far his disease had spread. A hundred miles into the strands. The alien was right, of course, that the core would die as well as her—but Kenneth Marks was A-Okay with that. Certain things were necessary; Machiavelli had been right: the ends justify the means.
The end here, well, it could justify anything.
Kenneth Marks knew it would happen, but the choice had been easy. Either he didn't create the disease, or he did knowing it would destroy the Earth if not stopped. There wasn't any fixing the planet's core at this point, as far as he could tell. Containment? Maybe. Some kind of symbiosis with the strands inside the planet? Perhaps. Or maybe he didn't stop it at all, and just let the whole thing drift into space as a cold rock.
Yet none of that need happen.
She would bend.
Those were only options he would tell the president, the first two at least.
Because they of course knew what he said by now and would question him fairly soon. They'd want to know what he meant by the formula—probably running every math permutation they could on the computers down here, but all of them coming up with nothing. Hell, Kenneth Marks didn't even know if the alien got it, but he thought she should. Certainly, her mind had to be capable of at least his fluidity.
And finally, the conclusion he'd been sitting here moving around slowly came to mind. He knew it was there, the whole time, but had walked in a circle around it, reaching out and touching it from time to time, but not fully looking at it. Not fully facing it. Kenneth Marks wasn't scared of the solution, quite the opposite. He wanted to savor this moment, much like he had tried to with Rigley.
Because the solution was he would meet her. Face to face.
The solution was going to Grayson.
He would tell Trone that Morena was right, that the
Rigley wasn't speaking, Knox held no doubt about that. The alien controlled her just as it had controlled Will. Marks, though? Definitely. That was him, sounding as pleasant as always. Walking his dog in a park with a sunny seventy-five degrees surrounding him.
The recording ended and Knox didn't look up.
"What's that mean?" Trone said.
"Which part?"
"Well, first, the ending. What was that formula he gave her? F equals M-squared?"
Knox sat up, shaking his head. "I don't know, sir. It might not mean anything. Or it could be exactly what he says it is. Have you run it by the scientists he brought over?"
Trone nodded. "Yes. They don't have a clue either. It's got nothing to do with the disease he created; they're sure of that. I was hoping you might have some clue."
"No, sir. It means nothing to me."
Trone looked back to the computer screen. "And the rest?"
Knox understood the rest. He didn't need Marks' unyielding intelligence, because his life had been a training ground to understand the emotions running through people in tense situations.
"She's not lying."
"First, you think it's the alien?" Trone said.
"No doubt about that. The way she spoke, it resembled the way Will spoke when she was inside him. The alien was in control."
"What makes you think she's telling the truth? There's a pretty big incentive for her to lie about this."
"You can hear it in her voice, sir. She's panicked. For the first time since she got here, she doesn't know what to do. Marks has her on the ropes and she isn't prepared for it," Knox said.
"But, if she's not lying, he's got the entire world on the ropes."
"I think he does. I don't know if he meant to or not, but I've listened to a lot of people in bad situations. They sound like she did. Scared. Unsure."
Trone looked up from the screen and into the general's eyes.
"So he has to stop it."
"Well, the only other option is she thinks it is going to happen, but she is wrong. I doubt that's the case, though. I don't think she's wrong about much."
"Me either."
* * *
T he progress was remarkable , even by Kenneth Marks' standards.
The tablet showed him how far his disease had spread. A hundred miles into the strands. The alien was right, of course, that the core would die as well as her—but Kenneth Marks was A-Okay with that. Certain things were necessary; Machiavelli had been right: the ends justify the means.
The end here, well, it could justify anything.
Kenneth Marks knew it would happen, but the choice had been easy. Either he didn't create the disease, or he did knowing it would destroy the Earth if not stopped. There wasn't any fixing the planet's core at this point, as far as he could tell. Containment? Maybe. Some kind of symbiosis with the strands inside the planet? Perhaps. Or maybe he didn't stop it at all, and just let the whole thing drift into space as a cold rock.
Yet none of that need happen.
She would bend.
Those were only options he would tell the president, the first two at least.
Because they of course knew what he said by now and would question him fairly soon. They'd want to know what he meant by the formula—probably running every math permutation they could on the computers down here, but all of them coming up with nothing. Hell, Kenneth Marks didn't even know if the alien got it, but he thought she should. Certainly, her mind had to be capable of at least his fluidity.
And finally, the conclusion he'd been sitting here moving around slowly came to mind. He knew it was there, the whole time, but had walked in a circle around it, reaching out and touching it from time to time, but not fully looking at it. Not fully facing it. Kenneth Marks wasn't scared of the solution, quite the opposite. He wanted to savor this moment, much like he had tried to with Rigley.
Because the solution was he would meet her. Face to face.
The solution was going to Grayson.
He would tell Trone that Morena was right, that the
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