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Veronica sat with chin on knees, quietly crying. For the second time tonight the same thought seized her. "It can't be real. This is the end of the 20th century. War is something you study in history classes."

Thea put her arm around Veronica's bony shoulders. "Guess again, kiddo. This one's not academic."

"I don't believe it," Veronica insisted. "What are we seeing? The same pictures over and over. Some suits talking. A lot of slick graphics, like this is some kind of warmup for the Superbowl. We might as well be getting this on the radio, like thatWar of the Worlds that fooled everybody in the fifties."

"That was 1938, dear. Way before my time of course."

"Whatever. It still seems wrong to me. Some kind of big show.

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