"We must, indeed, all hang together or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately."
- Benjamin Franklin
GDSS Global Command Station Polaris, Low Earth Orbit
[10/4/2056]
The conference room of the Polaris was an austere space; the height of diplomatic minimalism. Lacquered oak panels disguised the smooth steel of the station's hull, and soft carpet in a neutral blue tone covered the decking. Sconces recessed into the walls cast cool blue illumination over stylised metal renditions of the Global Defense Initiative's swooping eagle standard. No expense had been spared in the execution of the illusion; the meeting could have taken place anywhere on Earth, anytime in the past century and a half.
A select handful of people had gathered within its shadowed confines to decide the fate of humanity, as they had in similar rooms throughout history. They ringed the table, half-obscured in the shadowy recesses of the room. A number of transparent screens had been substituted for chairs; these depicted their subjects as grainy ghosts. They waited, silently.
Few of them had been elected to public office. The rest had risen to power in a slow motion coup, as the governments and militaries of the world had succumbed to ecological collapse. A new locus of power had arisen on the back of the assertion that exceptional times necessitated the consolidation of power. Of course, those making this argument were more than happy to shoulder that heavy burden, but the alternative, chaos and extinction, made for a compelling point.
Only the oldest of them remembered a world before the collapse had begun. For the rest, they had only known a life of constant existential threats. Virulent alien contaminants, fanatical cultists, mad cyborgs, and now, extra-terrestrial invasions were all waves in a turbulent sea that threatened to extinguish the lighthouse of human civilization.
The door to the chamber swung smoothly and silently inward, and a man in a dark blue business suit strolled in. For a moment, a brightly lit, octagonal-walled corridor was visible behind him, but the door swung shut and the illusion was repaired. The man calmly made his way to an empty seat opposite the door. His hair was dark and straight, neatly trimmed. He had the sort of face that seemed neither young nor old, wrinkle free yet aged somehow, with piercing, cold blue eyes.
"Mister Director," a dark-skinned man with a head of thinning silver hair muttered at his Director acknowledged the man with a nod as he settled into his chair.
"Meeting is now in session," announced a pale man to the Director's right. "General Granger; if you please." He gestured to a man on one of the monitors.
"Certainly, Mister Secretary."
General Granger was a squat, stocky man, dressed in an immaculately crisp dark blue uniform. He had a round, clean shaven face, and a few strands of silvery hair clinging to his temples. His breast was covered with medals and ribbons, and hawk-like eyes watched from beneath dark crags of eyebrows, daring anyone to question his right to those honours. Five silver stars gleamed beneath a golden eagle on his epaulettes.
"Executive board," he nodded, clipping each syllable as if he had only a limited number of words available, and didn't wish to waste a single one of them. "The Brotherhood of Nod continues to fall to infighting. Radić's moderates now control much of the Baltic coast. They've accepted a ceasefire with us in exchange for aid. Not everyone is content with this arrangement though."
The image on the monitor shook and blurred; for a minute it seemed as if Granger was flying through a snowstorm.
"The Black Hand continues to pose the greatest threat to peace in Eastern Europe. To be blunt, they're true believers, and won't accept a truce with us or any faction that embraces compromise. An increase in aid to border cities in Radić's sphere of influence would build loyalty with the civilian populace and draw them away from more radical elements.
"Domestically, counter-insurgency task-forces have been set up in Zones 11 and 16, to investigate mutant trading networks in the North American Red Zone with suspected ties to the Brotherhood. I'll keep you updated on the situation should anything arise ." Granger gave a sharp nod to indicate the end of his report.
"Thank you, General Granger," the Secretary said. "The Treasury will consider your request for increased humanitarian aid."
"It'll be a hard sell," the dark-skinned man muttered in a hoarse voice. "More aid for people who hate us won't go over smoothly with the Blue Circle."
The Secretary frowned, and made a great show of perusing the order of business on his tablet. "Mister Whitford, if you please?" he said, eager to move the meeting along.
A man with a ruddy complexion from the shadows. He had wiry black hair, fading to grey at the temples, and a thick black beard.
"Unfortunately, we're facing more delays with the construction of residential facilities in New Monaco," he began in a reedy voice. "The first district was scheduled to open in the third quarter of 2057, but subsidence has uh…" he coughed. "The first apartment complex has collapsed. The contamination under the foundation pylons is worse than we anticipated. The entire project will have to be raised another 20 metres above the old city before we can even think about accepting residents.
"This is a flagship project for the Reclamation Department," the Director spoke up. "Each delay costs us public support."
"I'm sorry Director, we're doing the best we can." Whitford retreated to the shadows, sufficiently chastened.
"Professor Renald, if you're ready to begin?"
"Thank you, Secretary," Stefan Renald replied from one of the video screens. He was a wiry man, with light brown, shaggy hair and glasses that sat askew on his prominent nose. When he spoke, only a hint of a French accent was present.
"Our planet is in grave danger," he began bluntly. "This is hardly news to any of you, I'm sure; however, we may all be in much greater danger than previously thought. We stand on the edge of a precipice, and we need to take action now, or we may very well tumble into the abyss."
Two of the figures sitting in shadow exchanged incredulous looks. Another stifled a yawn. Alarmist declarations were nothing new to the Executive Board. With all vital decisions about the fate of the planet passing through this room, every project lead or governor was desperate to impress the importance of their work on the kingmakers.
"I am talking, of course, about Tiberium," the Professor continued, oblivious. "The alien mineral has shown major adaptive capabilities in the past, and has gone through several evolutionary changes, most notably in the aftermath of the Firestorm Crisis. We soon discovered and exploited this new strain's weakness to sonic vibrations, and this has enabled great strides in the reclamation of the planet. However, recent observations of sites with extreme levels of Tiberium contamination suggest that the assimilation process is not proceeding at a steady rate, but is in fact accelerating."
A few members of the executive board sat up straighter. Professor Renald tapped an icon offscreen, and a holographic globe appeared in the centre of the room. Its continents and landmasses were outlined in blue.
"This is our Earth in 2049, after the end of the Third Tiberium War." Professor Renald touched another icon, and bright green marks appeared on the sphere, covering the centres of the continents like great bruises on the Earth. The Professor tapped another button. The green patches shifted, smearing across the map, filling whole continents, and spreading across several oceans.
"This is our Earth today," Professor Renald stated. "As you can see, there are several "hotspots", where Tiberium infestation has reached critical levels; around the Mediterranean Basin, the Russian Steppes, and the Amazon Desert." Circles appeared on the map, highlighting these areas. Renald touched another icon, and a close-up appeared next to the globe, showing a cracked and broken expanse of dark green crystal, lit from within by an unearthly emerald light. The dark and tortured sky was lit by flashes of blue and white as ion-fuelled lightning arced across the grim scene. Dominating the scene was a gigantic monolith of Tiberium. A scale to the side of the image marked it as being over a kilometre high.
"Is… is this some kind of simulation, a forecast or something?" asked a man with an American accent from somewhere in the shadows.
"This video was taken in the Midwest of America three days ago. The region depicted used to be - " the Professor consulted his notes " - Indiana. Formations like this one are forming in the areas of greatest Tiberium concentration, all over the world.
"More concerning, seismic surveys have revealed lances of Tiberium proliferating under the crust. They are already spreading beneath our few remaining Blue Zones, and even assimilating elements of the mantle.
"It appears that Tiberium has entered another rapid evolutionary period, and it is my belief that unless immediate action is taken it will render our planet uninhabitable in a matter of years."
A staggered silence followed this statement. Renald now had the attention of everyone in the room.
Somebody cleared their throat.
"How… how long do you predict we will have before this happens?" a woman's voice asked. The Professor spread his hands in a gesture of contrition.
"At the moment we're unsure. The process of assimilation may plateau, or it may enter a kind of feedback loop, but either way, our projections grow extremely unfavourable for human life beyond 2062."
"What do you suggest we do about this acceleration in Tiberium growth?" One of the other virtual ghosts spoke up.
"This is, molecularly at least, a very similar strain to the current form, so sonics should still have a deleterious effect on structural cohesion," Renald elaborated with some enthusiasm. "However, even if the entire GDI budget was reassigned to reclamation, the rate of Tiberium growth would still overtake the rate of clearing, by about 2.3% each year," he finished somberly.
"So do you have any solution, or are you just here to make alarmist declarations?" yelled the dark-skinned man to the right of the Director. The Professor flinched at his tirade.
"As you can see on the map, Antarctica is still relatively Tiberium free, as is the 'Blue Circle' around the Atlantic Ocean. I believe that full scale evacuation of all threatened zones is the only way to ensure the immediate survival of the human race. Beyond that…" Renald shrugged. "Secure underground bunkers? Space colonisation? But I see no clear way forward. Tiberium is poised to claim the Earth, and it seems that there is no way to stop it."
A sudden explosion of noise filled the room as the previously reserved board members leaped out of their seats and began shouting at the top of their lungs.
"This is unprecedented!"
"This is all fear mongering!"
"And what the hell would you know?"
"We must persevere!"
"Abandon Earth? Completely out of the question!"
"It's our only hope!"
"Isn't there some way to reverse the spread?"
"Didn't you listen to the Professor?"
"We need the Tacitus."
Silence filled the room again.
The Director cleared his throat, and addressed the assembled governing body of humanity.
"Ladies, gentlemen," he said in a smooth drawl that would have been described as Texan, back when Texas was a place. "The Tacitus is the key to this whole... dilemma," he gestured dismissively. "We need the Tacitus."
"Respectfully, Director," a south-east Asian man with slate grey hair and a salt and pepper beard began. "If the Professor is to be believed, the future of humanity is at stake. Is putting our trust in an artifact of worship for an apocalyptic cult really the best strategy?"
"Respectfully, Treasurer," the Director replied, "We are dealing with an alien threat beyond human comprehension. What better tool to help us understand it than a database of extraterrestrial origins?"
"How do you propose we get our hands on it? It went missing after the raid on the Cheyenne Mountain Complex six years ago." General Granger perked up, clearly anticipating the prospect of a military operation.
"It's obviously in Kane's hands," an elderly woman interjected, earning her a glare from the General.
"Kane is rotting at the bottom of a crater in Eastern Europe," he snapped back at her. "Redmond Boyle saw to that.
This sparked a new round of heated argument, which abated when the Director spoke once more.
"Kane is alive. I know enough about the man to be sure of that." The Director didn't seem too disturbed by the idea.
"Again; how do you propose to acquire it?" the Treasurer asked?
The Director leaned back in his black leather chair, and a sly grin split his thin mouth.
