EPILOGUE
The Starbucks had a TV up near the ceiling, placed in the corner so that everyone could watch the news. The host of this particular morning show was a short woman with a dark complexion and a round face. Ringlets of black hair fell past her shoulders. “Good morning!” she exclaimed with that peppy voice media personalities used so often. “Today, we have a real treat for you! The man who saved Earth by negotiating a peace treaty with the Overseers. Harry Carlson.”
The camera zoomed out to reveal Harry sitting next to her at a clear, plastic table, the White House visible in the background. “I don’t know if we could call it a treaty,” he said. “More of an informal agreement.”
“Still,” the host replied, lifting a mug of coffee and studying him over the rim. “To successfully negotia
