January 4th
Shaking her head, President Vivian Becknell, the first woman ever elected to that office, looked back on the way her day had started only five minutes ago.
She had been enjoying a particularly restful and appealing dream. In it, she was a happy-go-lucky girl of thirteen again, reveling in the joy of life and the opportunity to spend a day at the beach with Grandpa Ernie and Grandma Ellen—sadly taken from her some twenty years previously.
Fishing for crabs and shrimps among the rock pools a mere stone’s throw from her grandparents’ modest seaside home, Vivian relished those times and the contrasts such visits brought. The warmth of the sun on her face; the chill of the ocean as it lapped against her legs; the abrasive texture of the sand between her toes; and most of all, the quiet cussing of Grandma Ellen as she directed proceedings from the safety of a foldout deckchair on the pathway leading down from the veranda.
Such events helped color the way Vivian viewed the world, and she treasured those rare moments when circumstances—or sleep—allowed her to delve into memories of childhood innocence.
In this latest outing, Vivian had just turned to hand a bucketful of precious, wriggling crustaceans to her grandfather, when she felt the ground begin to shake. Alarmed, she glanced up, only to watch as Ernie’s mile-wide smile started to fade. Then the idyllic scene vanished entirely as Vivian was forcibly snatched awake by a roughly administered shaking, delivered by none other than her personal Secret Service Agent, Christopher Joplin.
Trying desperately to hold onto the dream, she was momentarily bewildered as to her surroundings.
“Ma’am, you have to come with me.”
Huh, where did he go? “Chris, what’s the damn time, it’s still dark outside?” she rasped, squinting against the intrusion of light into her bedroom from the hallway.
Agent Joplin became more insistent. “It’s six-thirty, Madam President. You have to come with me now. This is urgent.”
Sitting up slightly and moving away from her husband lying next to her, Vivian replied, “Give me a chance to make myself presentable and I’ll—”
“I’m sorry, Madam President,” he interjected, “there’s no time. She says if you don’t come now, she’ll drag you out herself.”
And just like that, Vivian’s attention became much more focused and her fiery, no nonsense African-American heritage asserted itself. Raising her hand to cut out the glare, she delivered one of her most withering scowls and hissed, “What did you say? Who dared—?”
“I did! And I mean what I said!” a woman’s voice snapped, crackling with authority.
The President leaned forward and peered toward the corridor as her bodyguard straightened and stiffened, evidently uncomfortable about the situation.
A silhouette belonging to an imposing woman filled the doorway. Although she couldn’t see her features, Vivian was able to make out her eyes. Eyes that shone with the intensity of a full-blown blast furnace.
A Guardian, she thought. What’s a Guardian doing here?
Hearing her question, the Guardian replied, “Stop farting around in bed and you’ll find out. Now get out here, or I’ll start making the decisions for you. We’ll be in the Green Room.”
As the Guardian turned and strode away, the covers moved of their own volition and Vivian Becknell, one of the most powerful persons on the planet, felt herself lifted into the air, only to be deposited unceremoniously onto her feet moments later.
Vivian had barely been in office for a year, having ridden to success on the back of the “Anti-Guardian” brigade, so she was in no mood to be told what to do by those she felt were a law unto themselves.
Gathering herself together, she grabbed a robe from behind the door and made her way toward the Green Room, leaving her ever-present Secret Service detail trailing in her wake. Needless to say, the heat of her anger rose with every step. Who the hell does she think she is summoning me to the principal’s office like she owns the place? When I get in there, I’ll put that prissy down faster than a bantamweight going up against Floyd Mayweather.
Christopher Joplin rushed to open the door ahead of her. When Vivian entered, however, she came up short, her bellows deflating rapidly, for she found several Chiefs of Staff waiting inside, along with Jack Balotelli—her personal advisor. The air was tense and everyone looked worried. It was obvious they had only assembled a short while before, as a few were in various states of undress.
Amongst the impromptu gathering were four Guardians who, judging from the insignia adorning their sleeves appeared to hold high rank.
Before Vivian could gather her wits, the woman who had issued such a blunt summons turned from speaking with Jack Balotelli and came striding toward her, together with two men she didn’t recognize.
Seeing her clearly for the first time, Vivian felt instantly intimidated.
At over six feet tall, the Guardian moved with feline grace and fluidity. Stalking toward the President like a panther in human form, she also possessed the bearing of someone used to being in charge. Her long, dark hair was swept to one side in a no-nonsense plait, and her expression was at once businesslike and serious. As she drew closer, Vivian felt her teeth begin to throb, which in turn caused her eyes to water.
Cursing any sign of weakness, Vivian commenced to let fly at the source of her discomfort, “I don’t know what high horse you fell off, missy, but let me make one thing perfectly—”
“Madam President,” Jack cut in, raising his hand to placate her. “You need to listen to what she has to say.”
The Guardian calmly waited for the President to fight down her anger, plainly unimpressed by all the posturing. Only then did she introduce the NASA specialists who were quick to confirm the news she was delivering. Vivian listened in silence, took a deep breath and then began pinching herself on the arm, hard enough to cause bruising.
A raised eyebrow from the Guardian caused Vivian to shake her head and confess. “Just checking, I was hoping I was still asleep and that I’d wake up to find this was all a bad dream!”
*
Pandemonium. An expressive word that nevertheless went nowhere near to describing the reaction to the emergency communiqué that suddenly cut into the monotony of people’s daily lives. No avenue was spared: radio, TV and social media; breakfast, lunchtime and evening bulletins. Each and every medium was utilized to deliver a message of worldwide importance.
Within minutes of the breaking news, all telephone and mobile networks around the globe—and shortly thereafter, the entire internet system—crashed, unable to cope with the volume of horrified customers who were sure the end was nigh and that nigh meant now.
Initially, the only comfort the terrified populace received, involved live reports covering fuel shortages and dreadful queues at shopping malls and supermarkets, intermingled with interviews granted by a whole host of studious scientists and other experts. More used to the insides of stuffy classrooms and laboratories than the bright lights of fame, each offered differing opinions on how to best face the coming crisis, conscious of the fact that their fifteen minutes in the limelight might be their last.
However, all was not lost, for as more concerted efforts got underway and gained momentum, the dross was purified by a broadcast issued via the Threat Assessment and Emergency Centers, situated in major cities across every continent.
They made interesting listening, for the unified contents contained a spark of hope:
“THIS IS AN ADVISORY ANNOUNCEMENT.
AN INTERNATIONAL STATE OF EMERGENCY HAS BEEN DECLARED.
EARLY WARNING SYSTEMS ESTABLISHED BY NASA AND OTHER AGENCIES HAVE DETECTED AND ARE TRACKING A FOREIGN BODY ON A COLLISION COURSE WITH THE EARTH.
AT THIS TIME, WE ARE UNCERTAIN AS TO THE COMPOSITION OF THAT OBJECT. HOWEVER, WE ARE ABLE TO CONFIRM IT IS ALMOST TWELVE MILES ACROSS AND HAS BEEN ENHANCED BY THE ADDITIONAL MASS OF MANY ASTRONOMICAL BODIES FROM WITHIN THE ASTEROID BELT. ALL THAT COMBINED POTENTIAL IS TRAVELLING AT A RATE IN EXCESS OF ONE THOUSAND MILES PER SECOND.
THE HUBBLE SPACE TELESCOPE HAS VERIFIED THE MENACE IS NOW APPROACHING THE ORBITAL PLANE OF MARS. IF IT CONTINUES ON ITS CURRENT TRAJECTORY, SUCH SPEEDS WILL ENSURE IT REACHES US IN JUST OVER TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.
ALTHOUGH CONTINGENCIES ARE IN PLACE FOR SUCH INCURSIONS, NEITHER OUR CAPABILITIES NOR RESOURCES ARE SUFFICIENT TO COUNTER A THREAT OF THIS MAGNITUDE. THERE IS NO DOUBT THAT SHOULD THE ASTEROID STRIKE THE EARTH AS IT IS, WE ARE LOOKING AT A MASS EXTINCTION EVENT ON A SCALE UNSEEN SINCE THE DEMISE OF THE DINOSAURS.
BUT TAKE HEART, FOR HOPE ENDURES.
DESPITE THEIR PRECLUSION SOME NINE MONTHS AGO, THE GUARDIANS HAVE—PROVIDENTIALLY—REMAINED CONCERNED FOR MANKIND’S WELFARE.
THOUGH MOST OF THEM ARE BEYOND OUR REACH, A LIMITED NUMBER ELECTED TO STAY BEHIND, CLOSE ENOUGH TO PROVIDE A CHANNEL THROUGH WHICH WE COULD REACH OUT TO THEM IN THE FUTURE SHOULD WE HAVE A CHANGE OF HEART, OR IF EVER WE FOUND OURSELVES IN DIRE NEED OF ASSISTANCE.
THERE IS NO DOUBT THAT THIS IS SUCH AN OCCASION.
AT THIS JUNCTURE, IT IS PLAIN FOR ALL TO SEE WE NEED THEIR HELP, FOR WITHOUT IT HUMANITY WILL NOT SURVIVE.
AS SUCH, WORLD LEADERS HAVE EXTENDED AN INVITATION TO THEM ON YOUR BEHALF, REQUESTING URGENT AID TO CONFRONT THIS, THE GREATEST THREAT WE HAVE EVER FACED.
IT IS HUMBLING TO CONCEDE; THE GUARDIANS HAVE RESPONDED PROMPTLY TO THAT PLEA AND ARE NOW LIAISING WITH VARIOUS HEADS OF STATE TO COORDINATE EFFORTS TO FACE THIS PERIL BEFORE IT REACHES US.
THE GUARDIANS HAVE BEEN AT PAINS TO STRESS THAT, BECAUSE THE MAJORITY OF THEIR FLEET IS FAR BEYOND THE OUTER RIM OF THE MILKY WAY GALAXY, THEY WILL BE UNABLE TO REACH US IN TIME TO ADD THEIR CONSIDERABLE RESOURCES TO THE DEFENSE OF THIS PLANET. HOWEVER, THOSE WHO ARE ABLE TO ASSIST WILL DO ALL IN THEIR POWER TO ENSURE THE HUMAN RACE PREVAILS.
BE ADVISED, THERE IS NO LOCATION ON EARTH THAT CAN BE DEEMED AS SAFE. SO, USE THE TIME YOU HAVE LEFT WISELY AND TRY NOT TO GIVE WAY TO DESPAIR. THE BEST WAY YOU CAN HELP THE EMERGENCY SERVICES ORGANIZE THEIR EFFORTS IN TANDEM WITH THE GUARDIANS IS TO FOLLOW THE DIRECTION TO REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES. AS YOU SAFEGUARD YOUR LOVED ONES, PRAY WE DID NOT MAKE THE GRAVEST OF ERRORS BY REJECTING THOSE WHO ARE NOW OUR ONLY HOPE FOR LIFE.”
That directive was repeated three times in a row, every half hour for the benefit of those who were not panicking too much to pay attention to the bigger picture.
*
Wired to a level of consciousness a transcendental yogi adept would be proud of, Vivian Becknell pushed herself away from the antique Resolute desk within the Oval Office, studied the people before her, and tried to judge the mood of the room.
Assisted by the caffeine rush of her eighth coffee of the morning so far, she was helped to an epiphany regarding the idiom: Wonders will never cease.
I don’t believe it. Despite the hurdles were facing, everyone seems to be determined and optimistic. Pity that’s not reflected out there on the streets.
It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but already more than twenty of the world’s leaders—together with their aides and retainers—were crammed inside the confines of one of the most photographed workplaces in history to listen as the Guardians outlined their basic proposals. A tight fit, especially as members of the White House Press Corps and representatives from the BBC had also been allowed access to record what could be the final moments of civilized human society.
TVs in the background displayed a constant barrage of ever-changing information, most of it relating to the public’s reaction to the breaking news: unconditional chaos.
It seemed the majority of people were ignoring the advisory broadcasts and millions upon millions of frightened residents were fleeing the cities by whatever means possible in the vain hope of finding safety elsewhere.
Vivian’s heart went out to them. Poor misguided fools. I hope we have something concrete to inspire them with soon.
She caught the ranking Guardian’s eye, the very woman, in fact, who had disturbed her less than four short hours ago. A voice echoed in the back of her head: I agree. Let’s get this show on the road.
Stepping forward, Victoria, the Lord Inquisitor announced, “I need to be brief. The Lord Evaluator and I have to leave in the next few minutes to coordinate our assets. Everything has to be ready for when the Overlord and Shadow Lord return.”
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Where are they now,” asked Richard Williams, the British Prime Minister, “chivvying along the rest of your fleet?”
Shaking her head, Victoria complained, “God, I wish they were, Richard. You’d already have half a dozen squadrons of our finest cruisers forming an impenetrable blockade otherwise. No, I’m afraid to say they’re both much farther away, billions of miles in the opposite direction to be exact, bringing a special package along with them. They’re being forced to drag their feet as the item in question reacts violently in the presence of highly excitable energy emissions. A shame, when you think about it, as it would be very useful against what we’re facing.
“Basically, that means we’re all alone for the time being. And it’s essential, therefore, that everyone knows precisely what they’re doing, and where and when, so we can orchestrate our efforts to the best advantage.”
Looking toward Vivian Becknell, she continued. “Madam President, as your country’s resources are the most extensive, I hope I can trust you to keep everyone in line and ensure everything is ready for when it’s needed.”
Vivian’s opinion—of the Guardians and Victoria herself—had changed mightily over the last several hours. She cleared her throat and in a steely fashion, declared, “Oh, I’ll make sure all parties concerned behave, don’t you worry.”
Nodding, Victoria pointed out two other Guardians. “The Lord Conciliator should be known to most of you, as is his deputy, High Grand Master Joseph West. They will act as a liaison between units on scene and whoever remains here at the White House to guarantee an instant line of communication once the shit starts hitting the fan. For prudence sake, we are also providing Guardian scanners and farspeakers to those of you who act as Commanders-in-Chief of your armed forces, and in particular, those who have allocated mission-specific resources. That way, all our control centers will remain in sync, no matter how deep the mire becomes.
“I cannot stress how vital it is that our defensive countermeasures are meticulously implemented. Without the majority of the Guardian armada to back us up, our potential to deal with this threat is severely reduced. So we must use what we have to the greatest effect.”
The point was well made. Seeing it had sunk in, Victoria turned her attention toward the bottom of the Oval Office where the news crews had gathered.
Watching closely, Vivian Becknell noticed the Lord Inquisitor pause before the corner of her lips lifted in a one-sided smile. Hello, who has she spotted?
Intrigued, Vivian examined the faces at that end of the room and was surprised to recognize the former BBC Guardian Correspondent of “Langley Incident” fame, Cathy West, hidden away among the gaggle.
Addressing that crowd, the Lord Inquisitor made an unexpected offer. “Seeing as how these may be the final events you ever get to report, how would one or two of you braver hearts like to capture things from a very unique perspective?”
Cathy West grinned from ear to ear and punched her hand high into the air. “I’m game. Count me in.”
Conscious of the fact that everyone’s attention was now focused on them, the journalist next to her—Simon Ford of the White House Press Corps—paled considerably and tried to lose himself among the cameras and microphones.
Catching his elbow, Cathy gave him a quick dig in the ribs and teased, “C’mon Simon, are you a chicken? I promise you, if you don’t seize the chance to fly the coop, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life . . . even if it is only twenty-four hours long.”
Seeing he was being backed into a corner, the hapless Simon took a deep breath, and stammered, “O . . . Okay, yes. I . . . I’ll do it.”
Warming to the young woman’s spunk, Vivian subconsciously cheered her efforts on. You go girl! Show these weedy-ass guys how it’s done.
Across from her, the Lord Inquisitor let out a hastily suppressed chortle of delight. Glancing the President’s way, she continued to smirk and singled out Cathy West and her sweaty, press-ganged colleague for her closing statement. “Excellent, you’ll both be coming with me. I’ll drop you off on our flagship, the Olympus, where you’ll get to meet the Lord Procurator who will decide on your final assignments.”
And with that, she waved to her companions and vanished, taking the Lord Evaluator and the paired reporting teams along with her.
The Lord Conciliator, Vladimir Arihkin allowed a moment or two to pass, then patted his subordinate on the shoulder. “For those of you who do not know my deputy, I’d like to introduce you to High Grand Master Joseph West. He’ll now briefly review the directives of this joint undertaking and outline the basics of each module in turn. Please listen closely and make notes of those stages that specifically involve you, as we will take questions clarifying pertinent aspect of the plan after he’s finished.”
Striding confidently forward, Joseph walked around to the window alcove behind the President’s desk, dropped the blinds a little so that his audience wouldn’t be dazzled by the glare of the midmorning sun, and politely waited for everyone to get comfy as they adjusted to the extra space provided, courtesy of the absent journalists.
Once they were settled, he activated a holodisc and an overview of the solar system was projected into the air. “Scans completed thus far using SEPs, that’s the Search Enhancing Psi-optical emitters we use to zero in on live emergency response incidents, have ascertained the composition of the advancing meteoroid. Forty-five percent of its mass is made up from a combination of iridium, iron, nickel, chondrite, ammonia, and water. However, the rest of it—and especially its core—is comprised of a blend of unknown exotic materials so alien, it could only have originated in an inverse or alternate dimension.
“Armed with this knowledge, we conducted further investigations by backtracking along the meteoroids trajectory and believe it entered local space through a fracture created billions of years ago during the formation of the solar system itself. . .” He paused, and a portion of the astral map midway between the orbits of Jupiter and the Main Asteroid Field glowed red, “at those coordinates there. From what we’ve surmised from residual readings emanating from the breach, that fracture was weakened by a further incursion about sixty-five million years ago—”
“Isn’t that about the time the dinosaurs are believed to have been wiped out?” the German Chancellor, Wilhelm Schmidt, interjected.
“You’re quite right, Wilhelm. We suspect that mass extinction event was triggered by a meteorite issuing from the same place as our most recent visitor, as ground teams have already discovered residual traces of similar exotic materials deep underground at a handful of other major impact sites.”
“Other impact sites?” Several of the other politicians parroted.
“I’m afraid so. It looks like we’ve been invaded more times than we first realized.”
“So you’re implying this could happen again?” The Chancellor’s distress was obvious and shared by just about everybody else in the room.
Looking on, Vivian Becknell became troubled. Darn, Joseph’s in danger of being swamped.
But then, just as it seemed the tone of the meeting might sour and run away with itself, the young Guardian did something unusual. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head, raised his arm into the air, and waited.
Amazingly, everyone fell silent almost immediately.
In a quiet but firm voice, Joseph continued, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d remind you that there’ll be ample opportunity for questions later. For now, please listen to what I have to say. It’s important.”
He smiled and made eye contact with the German Chancellor. “And to answer your concerns, Wilhelm; yes, as the fabric of reality has been torn, that locale is . . . how can I say this . . . stretched? It’s nursing a poorly healed scar that makes it tender and prone to further incursions. Think of it as an area of weaker tissue around the site of a hernia. Needless to say, now we’re aware of its existence, our scientists will be working around the clock to reduce or eliminate the danger, okay?”
Vivian found herself amused. Hell, no wonder that boy’s the Deputy Conciliator. Despite his weak hand, he called them out and scooped up their chips before they realized what was happening. Good on you.
The boy must have been aware what the President was thinking, for he winked—just once—her way and breezed on as if he hadn’t received the slightest interruption.
“So, to the matter at hand. Our predicament means we’re facing a three-tiered hurdle, one we need to surmount in the right order. . .” As he spoke, Joseph lifted a different finger to emphasize each obstacle in turn, “structure, speed and splintering.
“The exotic nature of the meteoroid presents and unacceptable danger that rules out a straightforward metapsychic assault. Why? Simple discretion. In our travels, the Guardians have discovered naturally occurring phenomena that can absorb a wide array of energetic frequencies and bounce them right back at you in a highly excited, amplified state. Think about that for a second. If we were to join in harmonic union—that’s our term for meshing the capacity of our minds together to boost the overall sum of our combined power—and tried to zap the damned thing to a cinder, there’s a chance that some of the elements making up the meteoroid’s core might be super conductive to extrasensory stimulation. We could inadvertently set off a chain reaction that obliterates a huge region of the Main Asteroid Belt; knocking goodness knows how many foreign bodies into irregular orbits that would prove hazardous in the future.”
“Then how do you propose to deal with it?” a voice shouted from the back.
“By concentrating on the second rung of the hurdle I mentioned first; speed.” Pointing to the star chart, Joseph reasoned, “That thing is coming at us in excess of one thousand miles a second. The kinetic potential alone is lethal. Where better to concentrate our primary efforts? As I speak, the Guardians have commenced influencing the interplanetary medium between Earth and Mars. In laymen’s terms, we’re thickening the material through which the meteoroid is travelling; in the manner a chef might turn weak broth into a creamy soup. Doing so will increase the drag created by its passage. This works in our favor, especially when you factor in the solar wind and Earth’s magnetic field.
“For those of you who aren’t particularly scientific, all you need to understand is that, along with heat and light, the Sun emits a form of plasma called solar winds. As those winds flow away from the Sun, they cause layers of charged particles to form around any obstacle in their path. The denser the milieu through which they travel, the heavier the coating surrounding the object will become. Understand? Though we won’t be able to bring the intruder to a full stop, we’ll be able to put the brakes on to some degree. Every little bit helps. That’s why were adopting a similar strategy with the Earth’s atmosphere and magnetic field. By bulking them out, we’ll be adding additional cushions to our defensive measures that will help soften the blow when it arrives.
“This is necessary for a couple of reasons. During the active phase of the mission, we intend to start detonating a selected number of your latest high yield gravo-nuclear warheads in tandem with antimatter mines seeded along the defensive line by those Guardian starships that are close enough to assist. In a nutshell, we’ll generate a whole web of additional tidal forces to impede the meteoroid’s path.”
“Won’t that be dangerous though?” the same person called out.
“Not at all,” Joseph responded. “We’re being very careful in what we do. You’ll get to see some pretty lights in the sky for a week or two, but they’ll soon pass as the excess capacity scatters away from the plane of the ecliptic, diminishing as it goes.
The unknown heckler was insistent, “But will it be enough to stop the comet?”
“Not by a long shot. Don’t be under any illusions, my friends. The meteoroid is travelling too fast to stop by mundane means. And, because its composition is both highly exotic and metallic, it’s generating a huge bow wave. If that thing manages to pass close enough, it could rip the Earth’s atmosphere away or knock our polar stability for six. That’s why we’ve centered our stratagem on slowing it sufficiently for the third rung I mentioned; splintering.
Referring to the map again, Joseph explained, “Guardian ships are preparing a tiered line of defense between here, the Moon, and the site of the initial blasts. Once we have succeeded in slowing the meteoroid intact, we intend to shatter it with a combination of the rest of your tactical missiles and our antimatter torpedoes.”
“That will cause additional problems though, won’t it?” Vivian was quick to point out.
Joseph turned toward her and smiled. “It’s more of a catch twenty-two situation, Ma’am. In targeting the meteoroid, we will succeed in destroying the sledgehammer that threatens to wipe out all life on Earth. However, as you’ve correctly surmised, doing so will create thousands of smaller mallets that will still cause widespread devastation.”
He pointed to a close-up of the Earth and a detailed diagram of the orbital countermeasures that would soon be in place. “That’s why we’re going to all the trouble of temporarily modifying the interplanetary medium and electromagnetic field. In their boosted state they will be able to handle countless smaller and medium sized objects exuviated from the main mass. By this stage, I might add, Guardian cruisers and orbital stations will also be targeting as many of the larger shards as possible before they enter the atmosphere.
“The flip side to this approach is . . . we won’t be able to handle them all. A lot of shrapnel will still get through. Regardless, all is not lost. The tinkering I referred to a few moments ago will include the addition of an extra layer within the mesosphere about forty to forty-five miles up. We chose this zone because it’s within the mesosphere that meteors usually burn up anyway. So, liken this extra band to a flak jacket or bulletproof vest. It will absorb many of what could have been lethal fragments, reducing again those we need to worry about.”
Alina Vydrina, the Russian President, raised her hand. “So we’re still going to get hit and hit hard?”
“Yes, we will! But at least the scenario will have changed by then into one that is manageable. Those Guardian planetary and orbital stations that survive the initial wave will then vaporize as many meteors as they can before the deluge becomes too overwhelming. They will be supported by transcended Guardians, who will endeavor to shield sensitive and critical areas.”
Hang on! Planetary and orbital stations that survive the initial wave? Vivian Becknell’s mouth dropped open. Are they . . .?
Richard Williams beat her to the punch. Aghast, he spluttered, “What? Are you saying you don’t expect all of your people in the ships and space stations to survive?”
Joseph glanced briefly at the Lord Conciliator. “No, we don’t.”
Such a frank and open admission ignited a flare of alarm that swept the confines of the Oval Office like a wildfire. Necks swiveled from side to side; faces paled; barks of surprise snapped back and forth, then swiftly faded into mute astonishment.
Seizing her chance, Vivian asked a question that had bugged her from the start. “If things are going to get so bad, are you certain the transcended ones can’t just use their strength to shoot down the meteors as they arrive?”
“I’m sorry, but the exotic factor presents too high a risk, even with the smaller fragments. Remember, I did mention earlier that we know of certain elements that are capable of absorbing and amplifying energetic psychic projections. Once we’ve had the chance to study and test them, we can sometimes utilize their characteristics as a tool and they prove invaluable in our work. However, this object is still an unknown dynamic. If the most powerful amongst us were to strike with a harmonized bolt intra-atmosphere, the super magnified ricochet might be capable of leveling an entire city. Could you imagine the mayhem that would cause?”
Vivian sucked in hard. “Then what do you propose we do?”
“As we’ve already stressed, please ensure you’re ready to synchronize your efforts with ours during the initial stages of the operation and make certain all available emergency centers are prepared for high volume casualties. Twenty-four hours from now, things are going to get apocalyptic.”
The young Deputy Conciliator studied the people gathered before him and seemed to come to a decision. “Madam President? With your permission, I think this might be a good time to take a quick coffee break. If we reconvene in say . . . fifteen minutes, everyone will have cleared their heads sufficiently for us to get down to the nitty-gritty stuff.”
More coffee? That’ll be my ninth one. I’ll never sleep again.
Outwardly, she nodded, and replied, “Coffee sounds great, Joseph . . . though I’ve got something a little stronger secreted away in the bottom drawer of my desk if anyone feels the need?”
Moments later, those with a need were crowding round, desperate for what might be their last fix.