23

Behind his black sunglasses, the man in black was consumed with black rage. The explosion had hardly made a dent in the alien ship. To make matters worse, the sound of the blast had drawn news helicopters from all directions like blowflies to a murdered corpse. His phone was ringing off the hook. The provincial premier wanted to ask what the hell was going on. The light on the prime minister's direct line blinked ominously. A hundred news stations were demanding answers. And as the morning wore on, first thousands, then tens of thousand, then hundreds of thousands of people began calling, jamming the switchboard.

'Sir?'

How he wished he could order those vultures shot out of the sky. He toyed with the idea, briefly.

'Sir! The Prime Minister is on the phone! He wants to talk to you. Right now!'