Chapter 23 - The Supreme Authority

RAUL RAMOS - COLOMBIA

From his one-bedroom apartment in Aguachica, Raul watched television intently. Between him and the TV was a coffee table covered in a series of envelopes, containing outstanding bills that were either overdue or in urgent need of payment. They had been strategically covered by a bowl, so as to shelter them from prying eyes. On the TV, the evening news played, and while perhaps a year ago he would have completely ignored it, these days he could not afford to miss so much as a second. Ever since the aliens attacked, the news moved too fast.

"- showing footage of the enemy landing on the shore outside Naya, though we have reports that there have been simultaneous attacks in Cupica, Mosquera, and Buenaventura," said the newscaster, whose voice played overtop footage of the chaos from the streets. Raul watched as someone trapped in an apartment videotaped the enemy assault. Ships - looking like tiny models from so far away and so high up - landed on the shore, spilling open and revealing dozens of aliens who scurried towards the city. Behind them, there were ships on the horizon that tirelessly fired shots into the area, shelling the Colombian and American troops into submission. The camera zoomed in on the ocean, and the silhouette of a massive object emerging from the water could be seen for a split second before a loud explosion rocked the building, prompting the impromptu cameraman to stop his recording.

Raul was utterly engrossed in the footage, even though it terrified him. So much so that when his younger brother, Amos, called for him from the next room, he did not notice for some time.

"Raul - Raul!"

With a start, he turned his attention away from the TV and rushed into the apartment's bedroom to check on his sibling.

Raul was in an unfortunate situation vis-a-vis his family. His younger brother had suffered from leukemia since a young age, and the expenses of recurring treatments caught up with his parents quickly. On the morning after his 18th birthday, Raul had awoken to find the house empty, with his parents nowhere to be found and loan sharks banging on the door. Raul took the situation on the chin, and took care of his brother Amos for the subsequent nine years. He wondered from time to time what happened to his parents, where they were - if they were hiding from debt collectors somewhere, or if they had perhaps run afoul of some very powerful individuals. But as he took on a second, and then a third job to afford his brother's treatment and settle his family's debts, he did not have time to wonder.

Rushing into the bedroom, Raul could see his brother lying in bed, surrounded by various medical devices that he had been forced to learn the functions of in his parents absence.

"What is it? What's wrong?" asked Raul, concerned. Amos' health was a constant source of worry for Raul, who despite not even being thirty, had hair that was growing thin from stress.

"What are they saying - what's going on?"

Raul breathed a sigh of relief - it was just curiosity, not emergency, that summoned him.

"The aliens are here. They landed on the west shore."

"Are we losing?"

"I don't know," said Raul, shaking his head. "I don't know."

The next day, Raul sat outside the restaurant where he worked part-time. He was on break, and although he did not smoke - as he was worried about the smoke affecting his brother - many of the other kitchen staff did, leaving him to stand outside the restaurant's back door, surrounded by a fine gray haze sourced from his coworker Ramone.

Not that anything was particularly colorful behind the restaurant. A gray sky covered a gray stone alleyway with a once-green dumpster, whose paint had faded away to a dull black color. Years of cooks leaning on the wall had rubbed away the paint from the building itself, showing the raw brick underneath, which was itself, gray - naturally.

"How come you don't smoke, man?" asked Ramone, breaking the silence between the two, though he did not lift his head from his phone's screen while asking the question.

"Can't afford it," replied Raul idly.

Ramone grunted in response, continuing to surf the internet.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. Raul raised an eyebrow. "With your brother being how he is, you know? You should get out of the city, get far away. Before…"

Raul and Ramone let the rest of the sentence go unspoken.

"President Márquez says there's nothing to worry about, that the army's pushing them back," replied Raul.

"Come on, man, that's horseshit."

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So…are you gonna leave?"

Raul thought for a moment, before shrugging.

"Can't. I have to take care of Amos, and there's no way to move him."

"How's he handling it?" asked Ramone, with a worried tone.

"He's… It hasn't been easy. Medicine was expensive before. It's more expensive now. Plus I just lost one of my jobs…"

"You lost it? What happened?"

"Nothing. Boss skipped town. Locked the door, won't answer the phone. Lot of people leaving these days."

As if on cue, a rumbling filled the air, and the two cooks watched a truck pass by the mouth of the alleyway, carrying a dozen soldiers in the back.

"So then no shifts there anymore?"

"Yeah."

"Can you afford it? I mean with Amos and all…"

Raul sighed.

"I don't know," he said, feeling as if there was much that he did not know these days.

Taking advantage of the natural lull in the conversation, Ramone lifted his cigarette to his lips and took another drag. Raul could tell he was nervous about something.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's…well, you're a friend. You shouldn't be here when the aliens come through. I won't be. I've got a buddy, he's helping people get out of the city."

"I told you, I can't, I've got to take care of Amos -"

"I know. But if you can't afford to take care of him in the first place, you have to think about what you're gonna do-"

"I'm not gonna leave. I'm staying with him."

"Okay."

Raul felt as if he should be angered by the implication that he should abandon his brother the way his parents did - but he knew that there was no offense intended by it. Ramone's suggestion came from a place of concern. It was not worth the effort of pointing out the cruelty laced within it. But as much as his brain told him he was right to stay, some small part of him wondered. Could he do it? Could he escape to safety?

Raul looked at his shoes nervously. His mind replayed the footage on the news of the aliens landing at Naya. He thought of the person trapped in their home, filming the enemy march through the streets. He could not tell what was worse - that he was considering abandoning his brother, or staying to meet such a fate.

"That's fifteen. Gotta go," said Ramone, ending his break and making his way back to the kitchen. Raul said nothing, being too preoccupied with his thoughts.

He did not know what to do.

CHRISTINE WEATHERS - WASHINGTON D.C.

Christine entered the war room - as had become a nearly daily habit - to discuss with her top officials exactly what their plan was. Already, ambassadors and delegates from a variety of countries that had declined the previous invitation for discussion were present. Christine's eyes wandered across the group, taking note of the presence of representatives from Brazil, Guyana, and Suriname, and found her feelings mixed at the sight of several new representatives. On the one hand, she appreciated the concerted effort that all these countries could make together, while on the other, she could not help but feel that several countries had only joined in the initiative so that they could get protection from America rather than out of any sense of unity or duty.

"Alright, ladies, gentlemen, settle down, I'd like to begin this immediately while we still have time," began Christine, heading towards her chair. "Mr. Richardson, you have the floor."

"Thank you, president Weathers", replied Richardson, a senior member of the Directorate of Analysis, before moving to the head of the room and the projector screen located there.

"This will be a preliminary discussion of the Brotherhood of Makuta's military capabilities based on footage from several sources, including both combat footage we have recovered, as well as civilian footage from both the attacks in Australia and South America. You can find this information in the folders being passed out now. Our first speaker will be Rear Admiral Moore."

As he spoke, various assistants began scurrying around the room, passing out identical dossiers. Christine opened hers and followed along with the slideshow, while Richardson was replaced by Admiral Moore.

"Item one will be the Brotherhood's naval capacity, utilizing reports from American and French fleets in the Pacific. As you know, the enemy has an extremely advanced navy, which outclasses our own in technological capabilities," began Admiral Moore.

The projector changed to a series of satellite, UAV, and combat photos, each showing various ships. These ships would subsequently be traced via thin red line to a text box identifying each one with a code name. Christine could see "Objective Cairo", "Highlight Archer", and "Obsidian Rain" on the page in front of her. Each was linked by footnote to a description of their capabilities, as observed so far.

"Among the enemy, we've identified several common points of interest."

The slide changed yet again to a video showing drone footage of a missile impacting an enemy ship. A strange glow filled the air around the explosion, and when the smoke cleared, the ship was miraculously unscathed.

"The enemy appears to have an advanced shielding system that protects against kinetic assault. Initial tests of the shield strength have consistently demonstrated that we are unable to overwhelm their shields with any conventional attack. However, we have begun researching alternatives to work around this technology."

The slide changed again to the same footage, this time in thermal mapping.

"As you can see here," he said, pausing the video, "the enemy hull demonstrates a significant and linearly-scaling heat increase throughout the hull before the impact. We can actually pinpoint the moment this heat increase begins, and once it does, it scales consistently until the moment of impact. Upon impact, it spikes dramatically, and then subsequently begins to cool at a rate consistent with the specific heat capacity of titanium. In short, this demonstrates that the shield technology the enemy uses is likely vulnerable to overheating. It is likely the enemy is aware of this fact, hence why these shields are not always active. I would like to postulate that, based upon this information, the enemy can be tricked into damaging their own shields through excessive heat by usage of a sustained barrage of attacks against a single target."

Christine nodded along, hoping the other leaders were taking particular note of this tactic. She was eager to find out if it would work.

"Analysis of shield technology will continue in due course. Secondly on this list is the variety of high-power ship-to-ship or ship-to-land weapons at the enemy's disposal. Several have been observed, ranging from conventional ballistic attacks to directed energy weapons. It would appear as though much of their conventional weaponry is not entirely dissimilar to our own, with some minor exceptions. For example, we have footage of the enemy utilizing a large, heavy-caliber revolver-style weapon, which appears to be a muzzle-loaded rocket battery of some sort. Although the concept is somewhat unorthodox, it is not outside of the realm of our understanding of weapons development."

His speech was punctuated by video of one of the large revolvers firing, and a bright red missile soaring out of it and through the sky.

"Of note, however, is that, while this appears to be rocket technology no more advanced than our own, the enemy does not seem to utilize missiles nearly as commonly as we do. Additionally, shots fired by this weapon are unguided, and use "dumb" missiles. This would indicate that the enemy may have a severely lacking understanding of missile and rocket technology, which is an advantage that we may be able to leverage in the future."

"This is all very well and good," interrupted a voice, leading Christine to glance over at its source. President Márquez of Colombia was the dissident speaker. "But we are not engaged with the enemy by sea. They have landed on our shores, and are making ground assault."

"Yes. This information is not helpful now - what do we know about their ground forces?" cried Moreno, President of Ecuador.

Richardson once again took the stand, while Admiral Moore stepped back.

"Major General Torrence, if you would, please."

Rising from his chair, Major General Torrence, a deceptively small and bespectacled man, moved to the front of the room, and began shifting through the slideshow, skipping ahead some length until he could arrive at the enemy ground capabilities. Clearing his throat, he began to speak.

"Video recordings have indicated a number of different enemy subtypes that lead us to believe the enemy has created many of their ground attack units for different purposes. This makes identifying their tactical prowess somewhat difficult, as what can be said about one enemy type may not be true about another. At this time, however, we have observed the following."

The projector screen showed a chart of a half-dozen enemy forms, all vaguely humanoid, though with a tremendous variety in height and figure. It almost reminded Christine of a police lineup. Starting at the far left, the smallest appeared to be no more than the height of a particularly tall child, at about four feet tall. Subsequently increasing in height, she could see some with spikes and a toothy grin, while others seemed quite plain and undecorated - a stark contrast to, say, the last on the list, which was a large four-armed creature with tentacles and a toothy maw. Among all of them, she could see a strict adherence to either one color or a combination of bright colors. It reminded her somewhat of Power Rangers, with the vibrant armor colors on display.

"As many of you are aware, the enemy appears to be wholly or primarily mechanical in nature, with bodies composed of a hitherto-unknown alloy. This alloy has proven to be remarkably resistant to kinetic weapons, namely bullets. Our analysis of the damage puts it on par with titanium in terms of durability and impact rating. Based on the thermal qualities of their ships being in line with titanium as well, we do believe it's possible that these beings are constructed from the same material as their ships. As a result, we do not doubt the possibility that they can be mass-produced, or that the enemy has the capability to manufacture large batches of these drones."

He again cleared his throat, switching to the next slide.

"The enemy drones appear to operate autonomously, as there were no observable signals entering or outgoing from the beachheads throughout their landing sites in South America. Additionally, we do have confirmation that the enemy communicates via audible language, which we have begun attempting to translate, though without the cooperation of one who speaks their language it may take some time to decipher. Footage from the attack in Australia indicates that the enemy also utilizes hand gestures in the field, meaning that they are likely trained in squad tactics, not unlike our own soldiers."

His speech was punctuated by footage of a dark green enemy, taken from Australia, who appeared to be coordinating and planning with a variety of similar beings, each a different color, before one scared away the cameraperson. Christine watched the enemy intently - its movements were very organic, almost human.

"As for the capabilities of the various enemy types that we have encountered - we have observed in some the capacity to, for lack of a better word, control qualities of their surroundings. Field observations include, but are not limited to, enemy units apparently breathing fire, creating water and flooding, freezing targets, firing energy beams, or reshaping the earth. The last is of particular concern to us, as we can confirm this ability extends to concrete and asphalt -"

Bodycam footage showed a group of soldiers in combat before an enemy peeked out from cover. Raising their hands, the street itself began to ripple and suddenly explode, showering the soldiers with fist-sized chunks of asphalt shrapnel.

"- making most critical infrastructure highly vulnerable to even single enemy operatives in the field."

Murmurs descended upon the group as each questioned the nature of this power. Some speculated it was magical in nature, while others suggested that it was perhaps some trickery of advanced science. Christine herself was baffled - but with as much as she knew about the enemy so far, she could hardly consider it a surprise. At this point, there was little they could do that truly would surprise her.

The rest of the meeting continued like so, with a discussion of the various suspected striations of enemy forces and speculations on their capabilities. The course of the meeting would be interrupted, however, by the presence of a messenger in its midst. Rushing to Christine's side, he hovered by her chair to deliver it in private.

"Ma'am, we've received word that the enemy has launched an attack on Panama City, which opens the possibility of them seizing the Pacific end of the canal and utilizing it to move their naval forces into the Atlantic."

Christine nodded as this information was passed along to her, dismissing the messenger with a wave.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began, interrupting the round of conversation. "I've just received word that the enemy is pushing to seize the Panama Canal. I believe that, if ever there was an hour to strike back, now would be the time. I propose a joint offensive maneuver by which to push back the enemy to their beachheads. We may then, once the enemy is condensed, leverage our air superiority to strike them with explosive ordinance. As Major General Torrence mentioned, while ballistic weapons at conventional calibers are ineffective against the enemy, both the shockwave and shrapnel effect of explosives is likely capable of damaging their internal components, making it our safest bet at the time. Is this plan acceptable to you all?"

Discussion circled the room, but she could see that most were agreeable to the notion - after all, the alternative was simply letting the enemy continue its march across the continent.

"Very well. I move for Major General Reese, who has been overseeing American forces in the region, to spearhead this operation. He will coordinate with your militaries such that we can do this in a single swift strike."

Once again, the notion was agreeable. There were some dissenters who naturally felt that one of their own would be better equipped to lead the charge, but the room was well aware the suggestion came from a place of pride rather than practicality, and the suggestion was shortly dashed. It was self-evident that America had more experience in combined operations environments, and would be the best choice to take charge of the operation.

The plan was set - and the trap began to swing shut. Now all that remained was to see it through.

Of course, life had other plans.

A second messenger rushed into the room, approaching Christine.

"Ma'am, there's a problem with the Chinese…"

CHIROX - TARGET MAIN

For some of the members of the Brotherhood of Makuta, the transition to this new reality had been a catastrophe. They were utterly devastated by the changes of station that this new existence brought. They struggled to adapt and cope with a universe unlike any they had ever seen before. For others, however…

Today, one of Chirox's scientists brought him a small, brightly-colored marine creature. The blue and orange thing, with tentacles dangling from a bulbous head, had killed at least two of the agents who had captured it, and it was suspected that it was responsible for over a dozen deaths throughout the Brotherhood. It was apparently so utterly venomous that it could paralyze and subsequently asphyxiate a healthy Paxorak warrior in a matter of a few hours.

Chirox had never had so much fun in his entire existence.

"Put it in the tank over there, next to the snake-like thing."

A small collection of aquariums dotted a section of Chirox's workshop, where he tirelessly studied creatures of note. Some were surprising, like a jellyfish with a devastating sting, while others were more expected, such as a creature not dissimilar to a venom eel. Nonetheless, he found the wildlife fascinating. He had already put Matoran biologists to work analyzing the chemical composition of venoms, measuring bite force, and collecting samples. There were so many ideas he had never dreamed of, avenues of pain and death to explore that he could not have imagined. Where some Makuta thought of this new world as stifling and limited, Chirox saw only potential. The things he learned here would make some of his best work yet.

As the strange creature slid into its tank, Chirox observed it swim idly around, changing color to match the ground. It reminded him of a Rahkshi of Chameleon, the way that it blended in with its environment, and so it too was cataloged away into Chirox's brain for future reference.

Of course, not all was fun and games for the studious scientist, who remained locked in his laboratory for days on end. Without the need for food nor sleep, Chirox often found himself losing track of time and spending entire weeks without contact with another, working towards his foul ends. Turning away from the tanks of Rahi, Chirox made his way out of the room and into the hall that connected the various laboratories aboard his ship.

Stalking through the hall, Matoran fearfully made way for him as he passed by. Stopping to glance into the room where he had developed the new strain of self-cloning Visorak, he could see the workers goading Kahgarak into a crate to be shipped - something that Krika had requested as a favor.

As a matter of fact, Krika was requesting a great many favors, and Chirox was not particularly excited to oblige. As if on cue, the lights flickered overhead. The Stealer of Life, the most formidable of Chirox's fleet, was on reserve power, and that was running out. Ships equipped with plasmatic reactors had some more success, since they could find fuel virtually anywhere, but ships powered by lightstones or liquid fuel were faring much worse. Thus, Chirox was faced with the regrettably uninteresting task of finding new sources of liquid fuel.

Initially, he had intended to simply demand Atureas Long Patrol members to find wells of unrefined protodermic fuel, though it soon dawned on him that without the same protodermic organic compounds, this reality would have no such deposits. He had theorized that there was likely an equivalent product in this reality, but the he could neither find it in abundant enough quantities to refine, nor could he validate that it would work with the Brotherhood's equipment - according to trusted engineers, it was "liable to explode, and not in the way fuel is supposed to".

And so Chirox looked to other options.

Pushing open a door to yet another laboratory, Chirox marched into a room dominated by a central planter full of various crops he had harvested from the Primitives. Each was marked with a different name in the Primitive tongue, though he was uninterested in learning their language. He had instead opted for the more brisk "specimen one", "specimen two", etc.

Several Matoran stood at attention throughout the room, though he waved them back to their tasks.

"Have you had any success?" he asked the leader of the project, a Bo-Matoran named Verix. The Bo-Matoran had long worked with Chirox, though the Makuta had taken great care to never achieve any level of informal familiarity with the being - or any of his workers, for that matter. He liked to have them remember that he was their commander, and not their friend.

"Some, sir. Of the twenty crops in today's test, fourteen returned no yield whatsoever. Three returned below acceptable yields, and one returned positive yield."

The Matoran gestured to the crop bed, which Chirox leaned in to observe.

"Specimen 17, which the locals apparently call "sugar", has most of the same molecular compounds we're looking for, so I've been testing it pretty rigorously."

"And?"

The Matoran scurried to their desk, returning with a small vial of black liquid.

"The virus you created was indeed able to produce a crude form of the substance, though it needed to be separated in a centrifuge, as it both produces a byproduct of salinated water and plant matter."

"But it is otherwise successful?"

"Take a look for yourself."

The Matoran handed over the vial for Chirox to inspect. The Makuta glanced at it, observing it as if he could visually determine its chemical purity.

"And how abundant is Specimen 17?"

"It doesn't appear to be very commonly grown in this region, from what we can tell, but it thrives in the climate. We've tested the growth bed in a variety of conditions, and it grows best in warm tropical settings, making it ideal for our current locale. Additionally, the primitives have been known to refine the plant into something that is also called "sugar", though it is a crystalline form of a portion of the plant. I would hazard a guess that the fuel process works similarly, even with crystal sugar, though I have yet to run the tests."

"Can we replicate the process of refining plant-based…sugar…into its crystalline form?"

Chirox nearly spat the word "sugar", as if it sullied him to speak using one of the Primitives' words. A part of him was displeased to even utilize the Primitives' crops at all for this task, but the Brotherhood had no such plentiful plants by which to replicate the procedure. Like the Layamat, he would have to work with what his homeland provided.

"I don't know, sir. I would not be surprised if we could, however. I don't have any crystalsmiths on my research team, however, to investigate -"

"I shall provide one if you can verify that the crystal form is as viable in the production of fuel."

"Thank you, sir, that's very kind of you."

Chirox did not react. He instead passed back the vial to Verix before straightening his back, and peering down his nose at the Bo-Matoran.

"You have until tomorrow to have this tested by an engineer. If the quality of the fuel suffices to power our ships, you will have made Icarax very happy indeed. If not… I needn't remind you how replaceable you are."

"Yes, sir. Your meaning is plain, sir."

Chirox smiled as he thought of the terror the Matoran must be feeling. Wheeling on his heels, Chirox exited the room in silence. He was tempted to further impress upon Verix the penalty for failure, as he was truly growing tired of the flickering lights - but he had already melted a group of captive Primitives to analyze their genetic material today. Any more death would simply be excessive.

Now…who gets lucky enough to clean the Visorak cage, he thought to himself, eyeing the Matoran that passed him in the hall. The work never ceased - and Chirox was much the happier for it. After all, what could be better than this?