The White Death Read Free Page B

their course of history. Freda said after that, the Council moved to refuse any technological aid to a civilization,” said Richards.
    Thomas nodded, mulling that over. “I can understand that,” he said. The topic of nuclear weapons made him think back to his studies on World War II. It frightened and engaged him at the same time how small incidents—and, more importantly, appeasement—could allow dictators to take over powerful countries in a short period of time.
    “She cryptically once said that with the advent of nuclear weapons, alien civilization was in danger of approaching a red line set down by the Council for fledgling planets.”
    “What’s her opinion of Earth?” he asked.
    “Not what it once was,” said Houston without hesitation.
    “Freda believes the United States is not the country it once was and is incapable of being the chosen nation.” Richards sat back in his chair, straightening his dark green military jacket clad with every type of medal.
    Thomas watched the fascinating working relationship these two men had. They clearly worked closely together and were very aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Richards now looked to George, as if acknowledging he was the one better able to explain the next part of this unforgettable conversation.
    “Chosen nation?”
    “Yes, Mr. President,” began Houston, getting up to pace the room. “Chosen nation is a term Freda used from the very beginning in 1903. The United States was chosen by the Council as the lead nation on this planet, the country with the most potential for greatness and that represented the best aspects of humanity. Therefore, they made contact with us. Since the Second World War, I think we can all admit in the privacy of this office that things have not gone well for our country. War after foreign war, economic chaos, and a sharp decline in social structure and civility. Thankfully, or unfortunately, Freda can find no other nation that is not heading down the same treacherous path we are.”
    “What path is that?” asked Thomas. He couldn’t deny that the urge to meet this woman was building with each passing second. Not only for the personal selfish reasons of wanting to meet an alien, but for the potential opportunities that could come as a result. While what was being currently discussed was attention-grabbing to say the least, Thomas couldn’t help but consider other scenarios, as well. He was confident that Freda would, with some persuasion, grant them vital support in the genetic war scientists across the planet were fighting every day. The biggest concern for him was that they were still losing this war.
    “Unknown, Mr. President. We still have a healthy working relationship with Freda, and she spends over 300 days a year on Earth. The Council is still providing us with much guidance and support through her.”
    “When can I meet Freda?” Thomas asked.
    “I am afraid that is impossible, Mr. President,” replied Richards firmly but with respect. “The entire operation hinges on it being completely separate from the executive offices and government in general. Our small team is highly skilled, and replacements are only sought every forty to fifty years. Suffice to say, staff turnover is minimal. Most work until their death.”
    The president shook his head. One way or another, he would meet this Freda, although he didn’t say it aloud. He swung around in his seat to peer out across the magnificent White House gardens. Even at night, and with a freak storm outside battering the building and snow covering the bulletproof-paned windows, its wonder could not be overstated.
    “Anyway, Mr. President, this meeting is simply to inform you that this program is in existence and to impress upon you the need for utmost discretion. The likelihood of you ever having to give it a second thought is minimal. You’ll never have to meet with Freda or engage in any official workings. Section 51 will continue for hundreds of