The next morning, the Apocalypse Team was watching the news on Steve's monster TV. Nick was with them via Voom. They waited as the Goldaskian shuttle descended to the landing pad at Vandenberg SFB. Half the world was probably watching, for that matter. Some general or other gave a short speech, and then twelve people came out of a hangar, most wearing American astronaut blues. Eleven of them walked; two of those were guiding a stretcher. The announcer gave brief descriptions of each.

"In the lead are the two NASA astronauts. First is Captain Jason McAffee, with three missions to the International Space Station to his credit. Lieutenant Penelope Schmidt has been an astronaut for six years; this will be her first time going to space."

"Probably not how she expected to go up, is it?" Some other talking head joked.

"Definitely not. Next up is Captain Oscar Trent, a United State Marine with two Distinguished Service Stars over ten years of service. Captain Trent lost both legs in Afghanistan in one of the last battles before the US completed its withdrawal. I'm sure everyone is eager to see what alien medicine can do for him." The man walked stiffly and carefully on his prosthetics, his head held high.

"The next passenger is John Throckmorton. We can only speculate why the billionaire owner of Oversmith Industries was chosen. He frequently refers to advanced technology in his speeches, and how humanity needs to catch up with the rest of the galaxy.

"Following him is Father Vernon Mangiano. The Catholic priest has gained fame from his sermons about the aliens during the past year. He was a natural choice, and it's no surprise that he volunteered.

"The Father is leading a stretcher carrying Penelope Ann Montpelier, granddaughter of billionaire Warren Montpelier. Ms. Montpelier is said to be suffering from an unspecified aggressive cancer, so it is understandable why they would want to send her in the earliest group possible. Obviously the Montpeliers are hoping that the advanced medicine of the Visitors will be enough to help the young lady.

"It appears that Jillian Mason is guiding the back end of Ms. Montpelier's stretcher. The science influencer has gained enormous popularity in the past few years, and recently took a leave of absence from her graduate studies in physics at MIT, in order to devote herself fully to educating the public."

"A noble endeavor," the talking head chimed in.

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"And apparently, one which is recognized as such by the President. Coming out now is...Alyssa O'Malley, a freelance investigative reporter. She has broken several major stories in the Beltway, and the President is familiar with her work. He mentioned wanting a 'fresh face' representing the press."

"I'm sure many of us would have liked to be there."

"Well, hopefully these are the first of many, and we'll get more chances soon."

"From your mouth to the President's ear."

"Is it just me, or do they sound a little bitter about that?" Vanessa joked with a smirk.

"Well, better somebody new than a professional kiss-ass," Brian declared.

'The 'freelance' part is the most interesting," Maggie said. "Usually, you need a lot of funding for deep reporting work, don't you? If she's managed without becoming beholden to a billionaire somewhere along the way, she might actually do a good job. But then, who knows who she's beholden to?"

A couple more people had come out while they were talking. "Who were those two? I wasn't paying attention," Brian admitted.

"A couple of M.D.s," Steve answered tersely, watching closely. "Two more."

"Wait, is that Congressman Forscythe?"

"No way..."

"It is!"

The talking heads confirmed it. The popular statesman waved to the crowd with that huge smile all politicians mastered early.

"I'm surprised the other side of the aisle didn't demand representation."

"They probably didn't have the leverage."

The last person to emerge was a large man with a dark crew cut and an erect bearing. "That's the security guy," Maggie declared. Her guess was confirmed by the commentary a moment later.

They watched the dozen passengers approach the shuttle. Someone wheeled out a sort of cabinet on a table. As each of them passed by, they were handed a bag or a box of some kind.

"What are those?"

"Is that a pizza box?"

"Are those...takeout?"

"Oh my God," Nick moaned. "I could kiss them."

"They'd probably send you meals from three-star restaurants if you asked for them, Nick," Brian pointed out.

"I just want ordinary American food, things like meatball subs—"

"Dude, that's Italian."

"You know what I mean."

The security guard picked up a large cooler and followed the others aboard, giving the cameras a polite nod. "That's either a zillion guns and grenades or a tub of ice cream."

"Don't get my hopes up," Nick pleaded. "Ice cream I will request."

As soon as the dozen people were aboard, the ramp closed up and the shuttle launched with no fanfare, taking everyone by surprise.

"Why didn't they at least have the crew come out and wave?"

"They'd have to sterilize the outside of their suits," Brian pointed out.

"Plus, the pilot is Goldaskian," Nick added. "We're trying to keep the spotlight off of them as much as possible."

"Fair. Do you need to go, Nick?"

"It'll take them about fifteen minutes to get here," he told his friends. "And then Sana is going to be crazy busy for the next few days."

"But you don't want to miss getting your food while it's still hot," Maggie reminded him.

Nick's eyes widened. "You're right! Gotta go, guys. Talk to you soon!"

The Apocalypse Team shared a laugh after Nick disconnected.

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