Chapter 14 - A Leader is a Dealer in Hope

ICARAX - ABOARD THE CHANGE OF HEART

Icarax gently set down the device that he had been speaking into and turned away from the console. Silently, he stalked towards the bridge of the ship, followed by the rest of the Makuta. Their human prisoner joined them, dragged by Gawalai guards.

Silently, Icarax let a torrent of thoughts run through his brain. So they have chosen war, he thought. Very well. Icarax turned his eyes towards the viewport and the ocean. It seemed a particularly bright and warm day. It was not his ideal - as a being of shadow, he preferred the more overcast days. Flexing his weather control powers, he summoned forth clouds to cover the sky, darkening the entire area. That's better, he thought, smirking.

"Siblings, we will convene on the deck," he said, before marching towards the deck of the ship. The group moved quickly and in absolute silence, arriving in good time at the prow of the ship and arranging themselves in a circle with Icarax at its head.

"Brothers. We are in a new universe. Its inhabitants have declared war against us. The order of operations will be as such." Icarax turned to Vamprah. "Vamprah, the beings mentioned American and French ships, as well as Genevan. Interrogate the prisoners on these terms. I want to know their military size and capabilities, and geographical distance. I want to know the greatest powers in this universe. I want to know its size. I want to know its people. If a prisoner tells you it has a pet Gafna, I want that information delivered to me with quotations."

"Understood, my lord."

Icarax turned to Chirox.

"Chirox. The beings of this universe are organic, and, thus far, we have not ascertained how new beings are produced. Until we have, we cannot be guaranteed that this universe has machines to produce Oropi. As a Rahi specialist, your jobs will be twofold."

Icarax could see Chirox visibly perk up at the mention.

"First, material analysis. I want your protodermists researching with great accuracy the chemical qualities of this world. Find out if the materials of this universe are protodermic. If not, find out if there are protodermis reserves here. If not that, find out if they can be synthesized or transmuted from local compounds, or if Oropi and Rahi can be created from said compounds. Our supply is limited, so this is critical."

Chirox nodded along.

"Based on the results of your first task, population is your second task. Without machines to produce more Oropi, I will leave it to you to find a method to produce them in less…conventional ways. Use your imagination."

Icarax could see a villainous smile behind Chirox's fangs.

"Krika, you have mentioned you're working on our civilian population -"

"That is correct, sir."

"Continue the effort. I want foundries running within a week. As for materials, organize salvage operations for the sunken ships offshore of Base Camp. They are to be broken down into raw materials. That should supply us with ample protodermis for the first few months."

"It will not be easy, sir - the aquamarines are busy guarding the fleet, and the slaves are not well trained in underwater -"

"Ease does not bother me, so long as you ensure that it happens in a timely manner. I do not care how many beings you have to drown in the process."

Icarax could see a hesitant look in Krika's eye.

"Yes, sir," Krika said, bowing his head.

"Additionally," Icarax continued, "I want a team of Xian scientists recommissioned to my personal staff. I would have them attempt to recreate the communication technology used by the primitives. I do not appreciate the only method we have of speaking with their leadership being confined to these two ships," Icarax said, gesturing at the two captured human vessels, before turning to Bitil.

"Bitil. You are to communicate with Vamprah closely. Based on the intelligence he retrieves from the captured primitives, you are to make offensive military maneuvers against the largest and nearest threats."

Bitil nodded eagerly.

"Gorast."

"Yes, sir?"

"Much the same. You will be operating a defensive fleet around Krika's city. The Persuaders are at your disposal. I give you leave to make maneuvers as you see fit, however you are not to make any offensive pushes that place you at more than four hours response time to the city."

"Sir, I-" Gorast began to protest. Icarax silenced her with a hand.

"The city will be protected at all times, and you will see that construction is unhampered by the primitives without counterargument. Understood?"

He could see further discussion in her eyes.

"Yes, sir," she finally said begrudgingly.

"Antroz. You will be on reserve deployment for Bitil or Gorast as needed."

Icarax watched Antroz place a hand over his chest, nodding in response. He found it somewhat wasteful to put such a talented warrior in such a low-priority position, but he had not forgiven the red-armored Makuta for his earlier discretions, and so the punishment would stand for the time being.

"You all have your assignments," he said, before cloaking himself in shadow as he activated his teleportation powers. Blinking out of existence, he emerged in the observation dome of his ship. Taking a seat upon his throne, he stroked his chin gently, and deliberated on his next plans. The primitives would make their attack, to be sure - but he would be ready. The Brotherhood was more than prepared for a fight.

CHRISTINE WEATHERS - UN HEADQUARTERS, NEW YORK

The entire room was alive with quiet and furious whispers. Behind the desk labeled "United States of America", Christine sat idly. Even amidst a room full of similarly formally-dressed politicians, it was easy to identify her on sight. Firstly, she was quite tall, and typically wore heels to further exaggerate said quality. Additionally, and more commonly noted, was her cloud-white hair, which descended in frizzy locks past her shoulders. It was something she had dealt with since young adulthood, right around the time that she had gotten into politics. While she had hated it then, it proved very useful to her now, as it had utterly hardened her to any attempts to insult or demean her - there was no politician alive that could bully her into submission, and not for lack of trying.

Around her, political leaders or their delegates from every nation on Earth sat, each engaged in heated debate. They had all been given the same information - that an unknown, likely extraterrestrial force had arrived in the Pacific, and had demanded the Earth's surrender. They were also aware that Christine had responded with a unilateral "no", which was the topic of a great deal of debate.

There was a cough from the head of the room, as the security assembly president - Geraldine Byrne Nason of Ireland - leaned towards the podium microphone. The room slowly descended into silence, as she glanced over her notes. Looking towards Christine, the two shared a nod.

"Guest speaker Christine Weathers, of the United States of America - you have the floor," she said, before backing away from the podium. Standing from her seat, Christine began crossing the room, moving toward the center stage.

I would give anything to be somewhere else right now, she thought to herself, as she often did in such situations. Christine had, so far, led an enterprising and successful political career precisely because of her uncompromising and strict nature - there was little room in her cabinet or her social circle for those that did not in some way help her achieve her goals. As such, when she had run as an independent candidate for the 2020 election, her passionate and highly driven speeches ended up winning her a great deal of favor. Additionally, she was an extremely cutthroat politician, a fact that many of her opponents would painfully learn.

Unfortunately, said stubborn nature was not always the asset it had been while on the campaign - the ability to negotiate was far more useful in-office than it was when making broad promises. While she had meant every word she said during her rise to power, actually achieving them proved to be an entirely different task.

With an invisible sneer, she stepped onto the center stage and approached the podium and microphone. Clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses with one hand, she spoke.

"Members of the United Nations, I trust that by now you have all read the initial documentation on the matter at hand. Additionally, I'm sure that many of your intelligence agencies will have affirmed the legitimacy of the information I'm presenting today. However, for the general posterity of the room, I will go over the summary once more."

Flipping through her own notes on the topic, she read aloud. A sign-language interpreter rapidly moved their hands, while large screens behind Christine repeated her speech in various other languages.

"On September fourteenth, 2021, a large number of ships, on or near the quantity of three hundred, suddenly appeared without warning in the vicinity of the island of Choiseul in the Solomon Islands. Over the subsequent nine days, a sortie of twenty-seven ships moved eastward, towards French Polynesia. You'll notice their delegates are absent from this meeting - each island has broken communication, and satellite imaging shows significant smoke plumes from all population centers. Yesterday, the unknown fleet engaged a combined French and American fleet, which was summarily defeated. Their technical reports on the enemy fleet are included under section three, article B, "naval technology" - we'll go over that information shortly. Several hours after the engagement, the enemy fleet adjusted course, and is appearing to be on a return voyage to Choiseul."

Important information was met with the changing of images behind President Weathers, as an assistant flipped through the relevant images on a TV screen whenever possible.

"During the battle, two American ships were taken captive by the enemy. Yesterday evening, at 8:10, a communication was sent from the fleet directly to the Pentagon. I was able to speak with a representative of the enemy fleet, who identified himself as "Makuta Icarax". He demanded the complete surrender of the American people, which I refused. Pentagon analysts believe that he is likely preparing for war with the human race in response to this action."

Christine came to the end of her speech as an uproar began throughout the entire room. Each diplomat shouted, both at other politicians, and at Christine herself. Pinching her nose, she sighed. For as confident as she had been (and still was) in her decision to deny the enemy, she had not considered the global reaction during her response.

"Sit down, you have no right -"

"We need to strengthen the border -"

"Nuclear response -"

"Open up negotiations with -"

"Not while I'm alive -"

The first voice to take priority was that of the Chinese ambassador, Zhang Jun. "The American government has flagrantly violated United Nations policy on extraterrestrial contact, and I demand to know why their decision was not relayed to this council before it could be made."

"I'm sorry?" replied Christine.

"The United Nations policy on first contact with intelligent extraterrestrial life, outlined by the International Academy of Astronautics in 1989, states that the detection of alien life should be verified by repeat observations, followed by publication for the general populace, and, critically, then international consultation."

Zhang fished through documents, pulling out a thin folder and drawing a piece of paper from within.

"I quote, word-for-word, "Because of their demonstrated interest in and expertise concerning the question of the existence of extraterrestrial intelligence, the discoverer should simultaneously inform the following international institutions of the discovery and should provide them with all pertinent data and recorded information concerning the evidence." You failed to provide any documentation on your findings, and bypassed the guidelines in place, in favor of a proclamation of war -"

"China did not provide any documentation of its own," replied President Weathers calmly.

"The Chinese Communist Party was still in the process of analyzing intelligence and performing surveillance of the aliens when this meeting was called - we were not yet obligated to share our findings. Regardless, your decision superceded that of the UN Security Council."

"I was not given the opportunity to bring my findings to the UN - the enemy opened a line of communication with which to deliver articles of surrender, and expected a response immediately. Had their response not been so time-sensitive, I would -"

"The Chinese government would not have placed its own pride before its obligation to -"

The Chinese government would place its own pride before its own country. Can't say that to him, though, Christine thought, gritting her teeth. Admittedly, he was right - she had violated procedure, but she was not enjoying his tone, especially considering the fact that he'd have done the same in her position.

"I would like to table the discussion on American response for now - I believe that we should turn towards public response. Guidelines dictate that we make a public statement at this time," pointed out the French ambassador, who Christine shot a glance at. As much as she appreciated the help, it was obvious that the question came as a tool to deflect any responsibility off of France, who shared America's blame in failing to alert the UN.

"Are we not currently? This meeting is televised," interjected the United Kingdom delegate.

A silence fell across the room, as each considered the imminent chaos that would strike their countries in the coming days. Christine grimmaced - the riots alone would cost millions in damages.

"Fellow delegates - with the official report already made, I believe it should be left up to your individual governments as to the capacity in which you make any further public statements. The United States will, going forward, be keeping its people apprised of the situation regarding the war."

"The war that you have declared for us," barked Zhang Jun. Christine looked him in the eyes - the two dueled with a stare.

"Yes," Christine said firmly. "The war for our planet."

A moment of silence passed.

"France will join the United States in its war efforts."

"The United Kingdom will do the same."

Christine shared unbroken eye contact with Zhang Jun as the delegates made promises of varying degrees of assistance, from direct support to financial aid. Internally, she made a note to keep an eye on the Chinese - or two, whenever she could spare them.

Exiting the United Nations headquarters rooftop, Christine climbed into her personal helicopter, flanked by Secret Service members. The interior looked as if it had not had an update to its decor since the 70's, with an ugly green and brown coloration. Collapsing onto the thinly-padded seating, Christine rubbed her forehead and turned to her aide.

"Alright. What else do we have for the morning?"

Her aide, Adrian, a younger man with a receding hairline (compensated for by a large, walrus-like mustache), flipped through a clipboard.

"You've got a meeting with Mr. Cross before lunch - he wants to go over debriefing from the Pacific Third fleet; speaking of which, Jeanette wants to prepare a press statement, and VP Hollunds wants to go over designs for the Choiseul Memorial -"

Christine cut Adrian off quickly.

"No, no, I'm not going to waste time on that. Tell him to pick something tasteful, and inexpensive. Get me a digital render of the design by Friday, we'll put it online Monday with a press statement, and I'll meet with the Pacific Third in Hawaii when they come in for repairs. Have Jeanette handle a press conference for it."

Adrian dutifully notated her instructions and nodded.

"Very good, ma'am."

Christine shut her eyes, and lay her head back against the wall of the cabin. She could feel the vibration of the rotor above, traveling through the base of her neck. It was the closest thing to a massage she could receive on such a tight schedule.

"Ma'am, you rescheduled your breakfast meeting again; have you eaten yet?" Adrian inquired.

Not opening her eyes, Christine shook her head no.

"Too busy," she said quietly. "Way too busy," she repeated, murmuring under her breath. She feared it would not be the only meal she would have to skip in the near future.

JENNY MORRISON - AUSTRALIA

Jenny Morrison, wife to the Prime Minister of Australia and dedicated homemaker, had been spending her day as she would any other. She did not consider herself a politically-active woman despite her husband's profession, and although he did ask for her to weigh in on issues - as any spouse may ask their partner for help - the work of the government rarely found itself coming home with him.

Today, however, the work of the government found itself on her phone. With a buzz, it announced an incoming text.

"Pack your things. Gather the kids. Car will be outside in fifteen minutes."

It was not the sort of message she was used to receiving from her husband, and it sent a chill down her spine. She had no idea what it meant, but the unspoken words terrified her. Grabbing her phone, she began to write a response - "Why, what's going on?", though she stopped herself. Fifteen minutes was not long. She would have time to ask in the car. Erasing her half-written message, she instead replied with a quick "OK."

Grabbing a week's worth of formal wear, and instructing her two daughters to do the same, the three made their way out to the car as soon as possible. As best as she could, she attempted to placate her two confused and frightened children, though without knowing the nature of the issue, there was little she could say.

Her phone buzzed yet again. Checking the source, she saw another text from her husband.

"Car will take you to airport. Taking flight to Prague. Will be staying there for the foreseeable future. I will be there when you arrive."

It did not seem like an emergency vacation. Again she wondered what could be so much of an issue that she and the children would have to flee the country.

"What's going on?" She asked in reply.

"Did you not watch the news?"

"Not yet," she texted back.

Sweat lingered on her brow as she waited for a response. The popup of a text being written appeared.

"We're going to war."