BLUEMONT, VIRGINIA
140930RJUL31:
Once, like Rome and London before it, Washington DC had been the virtual capital of the world. Once called the bastion of the free world, the shining city on the hill and so many other plaudits, the storied city was considered the home of freedom itself, the place from where the Western world made its decisions and the rest of the nations followed. Moscow, Beijing and other foreign metropolises could only watch on with envy, while the citizens of the Western nations felt comfort in the fact that the American eagle spread its metaphorical wings to provide liberty and prosperity for all. Granted, most of that was just propaganda via Hollywood films, but there was something vitally different about the American empire that separated it from other nations, something that allowed the US to sit on the world as the lone superpower.
Of course, that was a lifetime ago, and like Rome and London before them, Washington had fallen. All that remained of the greenery and the gothic buildings were the decayed wrecks that had once been critical to American and international governance, craters that dotted the landscape but were being filled as the Potomac River began to reclaim land. Foggy Bottom, once a swamp, then a swamp of a different kind as it was the home of the US State Department, was now being reclaimed by the original marshlands. The rusting husks of cars dotted what remained of the roads and here and there moldering, bleached skeletons lay, victims of the attack whose bodies would never likely be recovered. Much like the other major American population centers like New York, Los Angeles, and Houston, what was now known as the National Capital Restricted Zone was chiefly nothing more than memories of what had been in the days before the Others had invaded, before the overwhelming majority of humanity had been murdered in the event that had simply become known as the Decimation.
Yet, even when the chips were down, those who knew history knew that the United States had a particularly odd habit of pulling rabbits out of hats. Even after decades of waste, corruption, lack of accountability and other accusations that had been lobbed at the Department of Defense, people were now not complaining that fighters, tanks, guns and the like were rolling off factory lines like nothing else. Once again, somehow people were looking to Washington to save the world from the firestorm, and while to a certain segment of the world’s populace, the irony cut as thick as a knife, for better or for worse, it was just what needed to happen.
And the central point for that push was the Mountain.
Originally a simple weather station built in the 1800s, Mount Weather had, over the years, turned into a Civilian Public Service outpost during World War II and then later a command center for the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Later, towards the end of the Cold War, it had been turned into an escape bunker for the White House, especially as the previous safehouses had been exposed over the following years. But now, with the near obliteration of the United States Government, Mount Weather had become more than just the wartime home of the President of the United States. Officially still nothing more than a collection of FEMA and NOAA buildings on a mountain plateau just east of Berryville, Virginia, the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center was in truth a massive geofront, stretching down for a close to half a mile beneath the surface, housing nearly all that had been lost to the US Government.
=+=
Down in Sublevel J, the floor used by the military, Jessica sat in a lobby just outside of the main command center. Across from her sat an Army private, typing away at a computer and generally looking as though she wished she was elsewhere, a feeling that Jessica certainly understood. Slightly rested after a couple of days in Spain, she’d had enough time to unwind and prepare while at the base, even going so far as to get herself a new dress white uniform, which she figured she’d need for her trip here. And now here she was, in those new, stiffly-starched dress whites, the neck collar choking her. Now she saw why most of her fellow officers preferred to wear the dress blues even on days when it made more sense to wear white – these things were murder.
At the desk, the soldier answered the phone, said a couple of words, then hung up just as quickly. “You can go in now, Major,” she told Jessica. Jessica briefly thought about correcting the soldier, then changed her mind. The world was already insane; how much more so would it be if the Army started comprehending naval ranks? Rising from her chair, she moved past a pair of armed Marines standing guard while a third opened up what looked to be a simple wooden door, gesturing for her to enter.
However, the entrance, like everything else here at the Mountain, turned out to be anything but: the door itself was a wooden-clad heavy steel door of the variety that seemed more at home in a bank vault than simple entryways. As for the room itself, given that it was a command center, she expected it to be filled with technology and senior officers discussing tactics, strategy and whatever was to come. However, this specific place outpaced even her expectations: it was a technological wonder to behold, with screens everywhere, various personnel manning the stations or scurrying to and fro, and even some cutting-edge technology that she hadn’t seen before, like holographic displays and personnel using AR visors. By many of those systems, she saw people that well outranked her: colonels and Navy captains, even flag officers, and not just all from the United States. It was very clear that these chambers were the beating heart of the global effort against the Others.
And in the center of it all was a large, oblong table seemingly hewn from the giant redwood, amidst more senior generals and admirals and aged people who were likely themselves either senior politicians or bureaucrats, was the one person who she absolutely did recognize: Cotton Lucas, the current president of the United States and in her opinion the epitome of a scum-sucking politician if there ever was one.
Lucas had been a wealthy campaign donor from Louisiana whose money had been vital to the successful campaign of the man who had been running for president at the time. For his efforts and expertise, Lucas had been selected to be the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, a cruel irony given that his fortune had been reputedly made as a slumlord in his native state and a greedy land baron in others. He’d been out of town when Decimation had occurred and due to his luck as an unofficial designated survivor, had been immediately made the President despite having been thirteenth in line to the office.
The fact that he’d been reelected to the office three years ago galled the hell out of her, especially since she’d voted for his opponent.
“And here’s the lady of the hour!” Lucas said, his southern genteel voice as stereotypical and greasy as they came calling out as he got to his feet and welcomed her with a handshake and a grin, the typical politician’s weapons of trade. “Welcome to the Presidential Command Center. This is where everything happens for the sake of the world. Welcome back to the Good Ol’ US of A, Commander, and thank you very kindly for your service.”
Jessica kept an even look on her face though every bit of her wanted to scream in frustration. Even now she could smell the bullshit roiling off him, from the pat introduction to the used car salesman’s grin on his face. Every iota of him screamed inauthenticity, and from her vantage point, it was a small wonder the media had nicknamed him “The Smoking President” – not because he used tobacco or anything similar (he’d admitted in interviews he had never done so in his life), nor because he was attractive (even Jessica had to admit that for a man in his late fifties, he was, with his tanned skin and slicked-back skunk-stripe hair), but because “where there’s smoke, there’s fire”.
She shook his hand. “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor to be here, sir.”
Still with a smile on his face, he said, “Anyone ever tell you you’re a horrible liar, Commander? But we’ll talk about that later. For now, I think I have some important people you need to know.”
He gestured around the room, introducing her to various people, mostly politicians, but more than a few general and flag officers as well, finally stopping once he’d circled the table. “Now that we’re done with the social aspects, have a seat, if you please,” he told her. “Now, do you know why you’re here?”
“I take it because of Operation PRETZEL DRAGONFLY?”
He grinned and nodded sardonically. “Is that what we’re calling it? Funny, I thought the media referred to it as—” He gestured grandly, a ringmaster calling attention to the center stage “—the Disaster at Rome. Did you know the Times referred to it as ‘Lucas’ Folly’, even though the Italians had command on the ground there? Hell, the guys at CNN had even more colorful things to say about it. They called it ‘Cotton’s shitshow’.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I remember when the FCC used to enforce language violations on TV, but that’s neither here nor there, I guess.”
He then looked at Jessica and the friendly demeanor was instantly dropped. At once she found herself in front of the literal wolf in sheep’s clothing, and even her accolades and abilities couldn’t get her past this. “Yes, we’re talking about what happened in Rome – and how you got your ass saved by that mysterious figure. Don’t get me wrong; you earned your promotion for everything you’ve done. But, Commander, from your own words you were as helpless as a kitten in a cornfield, and yet this stranger swoops in like a fucking superhero and saves the day.” He looked at a colonel standing by. “Screen Two if you please?”
On the screen in front of them, video clearly taken from a drone showed up onscreen. It showed the figure in the middle of combat against the Octos…and from the looks of it, said figure was winning. “This footage was taken about an hour after all forces were evacuated from Rome. She—”
“‘She’, sir?” one of the other individuals at the table spoke up; he had the look of a standard bureaucrat that had no idea just how deep in over his head he was. Undoubtedly, he was kept around for the day Lucas would need a fall guy, Jessica presumed, because he fit the bill perfectly. “I don’t believe this has been confirmed that the individual is female or even human, all things considered—”
Lucas glared the man into silence, then continued. “Anyway, as you can see, she is engaging the Others – and she’s kicking their asses!” He looked at everyone around the room. “We spend all this money on the military budget and God knows how many fucking billions on the black budget and all of that is useless compared to one single person going in there and acting like the Goddamn Batman – like a fucking comic book character! That person is very real and very much a threat to our enemies.
“Additionally, for the most part, all of our fucking technology is fucking useless against them for the most part; we’ve been able to kill them at lower levels but beating them back happens few and far between.” He pointed at the screen. “However, it’s clear that she is very good at putting the hurt on those bastards. But here’s the thing, boys and girls: In case you hadn’t noticed, all she’s doing is throwing knives. Now, I was never in the military, and so you’ll have to forgive me if I have no idea how many knives you can carry into battle. And what, she’s thrown one dozen? Two dozen? I’m pretty sure on that outfit she’s got – which, last time I checked is as much camouflage as an Elton John stage costume – there’s no way she can carry all those fucking knives! Furthermore, I don’t recall any technology that spontaneously lets knives catch fire once thrown or act like homing missiles.” He turned to a person he’d introduced earlier as the director of DARPA, the DOD’s advanced weapons research lab. “Do we have anything like that? Or am I throwing money at your job just for you to make a better microwave?”
The man bristled at the accusation. “Mr. President, I agree with Secretary Mattingsly that I don’t know if this person is human. And if so, we don’t know what the technology is—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he said aloud, slumping back in his chair while his body language outright screamed Why do I put up with you idiots? “Let’s call it like it is, and apologies to the ladyfolk here, but I’m from the South. I’ve been to enough strip clubs where I saw figures like that take it all off and show exactly why they had drunken fat retards shoving $20-bills into their underwear. I know a woman’s body when I see one – even if we’re not seeing one, per se.” He threaded his fingers on the table, thumping them down theatrically. “So, let’s cut the bullshit and call it what it looks like. Magic. She’s using magic against the Others.”
He then glared straight at Jessica, his dark eyes burning into hers. “You’re the first person we can confirm that had a conversation with her, Commander.” He paused for effect, letting his voice drop to a threatening whisper. “So, you want to tell me what you know about the Queen of Knives?”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Jessica blinked. “The what?”
“That’s what they call her.” Jessica turned to look at the new person speaking, a woman dressed in Navy wash khakis. She was Adm. Alexandra Lewis, the chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the senior military member of the US armed forces. Jessica had met her once before, but that had been so long ago it was doubtful the senior officer remembered her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am?”
Lewis glanced at a tablet. “She was given the name two years ago when she first appeared in the provisional Japanese capital of Gifu. Bring up footage JGSDF-SCI-337 on Screen D.” On another screen appeared the same image of a figure in red, throwing knives as she had when she faced off against the Octos in Rome, doing the same amount of damage and saving lives; however, this time the background was clearly Japanese. “The Japanese media called her Naifu no Joō – the Queen of Knives – after one of the comic books there. According to reports, she saved the life of their prime minister, whose evacuation helicopter had been shot down.”
“Two months later, she appeared in Jakarta during the Octos’ offensive there.” The same person appeared on screen, this time swinging what looked to be a staff glowing with power. She moved like lightning, tearing through the enemy as though they were paper. “She managed to buy time for the Indonesian and Philippine militaries to safely evacuate the town. But before they could get a hold of her, she vanished just as quickly as she appeared. Nevertheless, the Indonesian president promised the equivalent of twenty million dollars in US currency to the Queen of Knives as a thank you for saving their people. To this date the money remains unclaimed.
“Lastly, back in January, the Octos hit the Russian Pacific Fleet at Vladivostok, clearly intending to take them out. Once again, the Queen appeared, and this time she was playing for keeps.” Video with Russian wording now appeared on the screen, with pictures of the Queen wielding what appeared to be a simple bow and arrow – but when she fired it, it destroyed whatever the arrow impacted against, from enemy troops to their air support. Once again, she moved like quicksilver, seemingly outgunning the enemy forces to the absolute shock of the Spetsnaz troops that had been mounting a previously futile defense. “She managed to rally the Russians and when it was all said and done, they managed to prevent the Russian Pacific Fleet from suffering a total loss. Shortly afterwards, she vanished again. We’re told there’s a Hero of the Russian Federation medal awaiting her in St. Petersburg at Government Center. The Russian government said they would give it to her even if she turned out to be an alien herself – or worse, American. Let that sink in.”
Lucas grinned, but there was no mirth in it. “All those honors and sobriquets and they don’t mean a damn thing to her. She has the whole Goddamn world grateful and ready to kiss her ass and she just acts like it’s a day ending in Y. And yet after all that, she speaks to you like an old college buddy,” Lucas accused, rising from his chair and leaning over the table as if he was going to launch himself at her. “You, of all people in the world, Commander.”
“Sir, I—”
Behind him, a new screen lit up, one with a satellite image, confirming what she’d said in her report. The fact that she had spoken to this Queen of Knives, and every gesture, from the pushing down of the gun to a pat on the back that Jessica herself hadn’t even noticed, all clearly indicated familiarity. Specifically, with her.
“I don’t have to be a Harvard-fucking-graduate to know what that means. It’s clear that you know something – that you know her. You are the either the most important woman in the world at this very moment, or someone I should have thrown in the deepest corner of the darkest fucking supermax I can find. I’m going to take a bet that it should be the former. I want answers, Commander, and I want them now.”
Jessica looked around the room at the variety of faces staring at her. For all anyone could tell, it wasn’t one Queen of Knives, but something like her platoon – a highly-trained group of women (or maybe men, there was no confirmation on the gender, after all) who were doing the clearly impossible. After all, before her unit had existed, there was the rumor of the White Tights, a mysterious group of highly trained women that fought against the Soviet Union during the Cold War. Hell, even some Russian extremists had accused the Amazons of being a revived White Tights.
“Well, Commander?” Lewis spoke up, her voice firm. “I believe the President himself gave you an order.” She looked over in the corner, and on response, two Marines stood there, one of which had handcuffs. This wasn’t some game and they were playing for keeps.
I’m sorry, Tessa, Jessica said to herself. I can’t keep it a secret any longer.
Jessica looked at them all. “I’m originally from Mesa Verde. I went to high school at Samuel Hallenbeck High. And I was one of the survivors from the Rampage Shooting that happened back in my sophomore year.” The look on her face was forlorn, as if she was deliberately ripping open a wound. “I lost a lot of friends that day.”
“As tragic as that is, Cmdr. Aomori, I fail to see how any of this is relevant to the situation,” one of the generals spoke.
But Lewis looked up from her tablet, where she’d been quickly skimming a Wikipedia article on the tragedy. “It says here that you were the one that killed him. That the assailant, a boy named Tyler Nordwick, had, during the situation, dropped one of his guns and you picked it up and shot him.”
“That’s what the world knows,” was all that Jessica said. After a few seconds, she then added, “And yes, I shot him. But I didn’t kill Tyler – he was already dead by then. And that is how this all ties together.”
Lucas leaned back in his chair, was silent and contemplative for several disquieting seconds before speaking again. “I’m listening,” he said simply.
“What I’m about to say, I’ve kept a secret since I was a child. It was important to me, so much so that if I wasn’t in this situation, you wouldn’t hear me ever speak about this and I would take it to my grave. Yet that day, it cost us so damn much – but even then I kept it.” She paused for a second to collect her thoughts. “Back then, I wasn’t the person I am now. I never thought of joining the Navy, much less being a SEAL. I was a fashionplate, Teen Vogue and The MV on Channel 6, the kind of things that you wouldn’t think were normal for a girl in Western Colorado. But I had some advantages: I came from a fairly well-off family, I had my looks, and…I had three of the best friends a girl could ever have. Including two that were….”
“That were?”
“I doubt you’re going to believe me when I say this next part,” she warned them. “Hell, when I first found out myself, I didn’t really believe it either, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Are any of you familiar with Homo sapiens idaltu?” When the expected response of blank looks muddled through the room, she asked the lieutenant colonel seated next to her to bring up the Wikipedia page. And once that happened, the other thing Jessica expected to happen occurred: the blank stares turned into complete confusion.
“Commander, if this ‘Herto Man’ is your attempt at stalling, I will have to agree with Adm. Carper’s assessment that you’re one hell of a storyteller. So that being said, cut the bullshit and get to the point, or you’ll be spending the rest of your life rebuilding Leavenworth as its sole occupant. And I think we can skip the paleontology lecture.”
“Oh, but they’re not dead, sir,” Jessica replied. “They still exist and walk among us for the most part. Except that the average person doesn’t call them Herto Man or Homo sapiens idaltu. We call them by what their own culture calls them, what we’ve also called them, even though we didn’t know they were real: elves.”
At that, the room fell silent, so much so that the only thing that could be heard was the faint hum of the air conditioner and various chirps and other noises from the electronics in the room. Eventually, this was broken by someone stating the obvious: “What the fuck?”
“Elves are just as human as we are. They’re not immortal, they’re not thin, lanky or look like Orlando Bloom or Megan McAllister. They’re not at the North Pole, making toys for Santa and stuff like that. In fact, the only things about them that are true is that they have slightly pointed ears, and they tend to be more in touch with nature. Most elf communities, in fact, tend to shun technology, pretty much like pointy-eared Amish.” She paused again. “Or at least they did. But that’s not important right now.”
“So, you’re telling us that elves are real?” a man in a suit scoffed. “I have a hard time believing that, Commander.”
“Yes, and on March 18, 2025, I’m sure that you’d have had a hard time believing that aliens were real, much less hellbent on destroying us, and yet, here they are,” Jessica responded. “And as the President has pointed out, that is magic being used against the enemy. So please, tell me that you do not want to believe. Because I’m pretty sure that given your track record, sir, I hope your legislative record is more certain than your opinions.” She paused. “Now, does anyone want to hear what I have to say, or have you already made up your mind based on what you read as kids?”
She looked around at the table. She hated every moment of this, having to give up secrets she’d long held, the faith that she’d promised she’d keep and had done so, even when she was no longer certain if any of it did happen. Whether she did it out of love for the two that she’d considered like her own family or because she wasn’t sure what was real anymore, she didn’t say, but that didn’t mean that she would tell a soul.
But now here she was, breaking that vow, and she loathed every second of it: The man demanding answers from her was someone she despised, and right now, she didn’t care for those around the table as well. Even Adm. Lewis, who Jessica normally had a positive impression of, was now on her shit list, even though she knew the flag officer hadn’t done a thing to deserve that.
But the world was heading for extinction, and it felt like the lynchpin keeping it together was somehow Tessa. It made no sense; the sweet girl she’d known would have never been a fighter.
But then again, the same thing could have been said about me, too.
And so she began a long, long story, one about growing up with two sisters, Doriatessa and Ghislane Benison, whose family owned an organic grocery, bookstore and café in one of the ritziest parts of Mesa Verde, and that she and the sisters, along with their mutual friend, Penelope Martinez, were as thick as thieves. But it was when she was ten when Jessica found out the difference between being a friend and being elf-friend.
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MESA VERDE, COLORADO
July 17, 2012:
“There’s no way this is real!” Penelope said, looking on with shock as Doriatessa swept back her chestnut hair. As she did, her very normal-looking ears flickered with a purple glow before becoming pointier.
“They’re real,” Doriatessa said with a grin. “Wanna touch them?”
Penelope, tending to be the more adventurous of the two, reached out and tapped it, feeling the length past where a human ear would normally end. Her friend giggled slightly and scooted back. “Sorry about that; they’re a bit sensitive.”
“Really?” Penelope said as she pulled her hand back, feeling slightly guilty.
“I still can’t believe it’s real,” Jessica said. “You two are really elves?”
Doriatessa nodded. “Yeah. But we’re not like Tolkein, Christmas or even Keebler elves. We’re people, just like you. Just…not like you, if that makes sense? Besides, we’re still friends, right? Just because I look different doesn’t mean that I am different.”
“I guess,” Jessica admitted. Her parents had explained to her racism the other day and while it hadn’t made much sense to her, given that her friends were all different from her but that hadn’t made a change in her life. But now she knew that the twins were different – really different – and now she could understand what her parents were trying to tell her.
It was then that the door opened, and Ghislane came in, her arm in a sling. Her ears had already had the illusion removed, revealing herself as she sat down next to her sister. “Mom says we’re going to have to go to the doctor tomorrow to get X-rays to make sure that it’s not broken.”
Jessica looked at her friend oddly. “I thought you weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing,” she said.
“Yeah. Mom’s arguing on the phone with Dad. Mom’s not a traditionalist, whatever that means, though Dad sure is. I think it’s because Mom wants us to have a normal life, but Dad thinks that ‘being exposed to humans’ might do something to us as a result. I dunno, I just wish they’d stop yelling on the phone. Anyway, they compromised and there’s a doctor in Seattle that’s an elf-friend that’s willing to see me.”
“An elf-friend?”
“Yes, elf-friend.” Finally, Marybell Corvus came into the living room of the home she shared with her daughters, on the fourth floor of the building that housed the Goodness Organics, Bookstore & Café. “It’s something special and not easily decided on, so much so that people we trust usually don’t acquire that title until they’re an adult. The reason is because you have to be absolutely sure that you don’t tell a soul about us as who we really are.”
“You mean we’re not allowed to talk about you to anyone? That seems kinda weird,” Penelope said.
“No, it makes sense, kinda,” Jessica replied. “I mean, we talk about them all the time, we just didn’t know they were elves. And we can still talk about them, just not mention that they’re elves. I mean, how often do we talk about that your Mom is part Mexican or that I’m part Japanese? It really shouldn’t matter, right?”
“Exactly, Jessie,” Marybell told her. “And ironically, you’ve proven exactly why even those we’re closest to aren’t often elf-friends: it takes years and years to come to the conclusion you came to. And yet there’s more than just not telling. You have to be willing to help all elves and keep all their secrets. The man we’re meeting tomorrow, Dr. Chamberlain? He’s married to an elf himself, if I recall, and his elf-friend status is like yours: his best friend is an elf and he eventually married his friend’s younger sister. But we don’t know the man himself and yet he’s offered to see Lane so he can keep her secrets and all of ours. That is what it means to be elf-friend.” She gave the girls a maternal smile. “But if you don’t become elf-friend, it doesn’t mean that we don’t trust you. It just means that you may not want to or be ready for a burden that involves so many people, not just us.”
Jessica looked at the twins, and then their mother. Even though their ears were exposed, in the end, they were no different than what they’d been the day before. And truthfully, if Ghislane hadn’t fallen off the ladder and broken her arm, causing her to be in enough pain that she lost control of her disguising spell, she and Penelope would have never known. And honestly? Would that have changed her friendship with them? Did the fact that they had different ears make any difference?
No. They’re still my precious friends. They’ll always be my precious friends.
“I will be an elf friend if you want me to be. And if not, that’s okay, too. But I’m never going to stop being Lane and Tessa’s friend,” Jessica replied.
“Well, as for me, they know my secret, so it’s only fair,” Penelope said. “And like Jessie said, I’m always going to be their friend, whether or not I’m an elf-friend.”
Doriatessa looked at Penelope. “I still can’t believe you’re a princess, Penny. That’s even weirder than being an elf!”
“Then we can be weird together,” Penelope replied. “All of us.”