Main Conference Room, Treasury Building, Washington D.C.
It was the worst day of Paul H. O'Neill's life. For 24 hours since the National Security Council emergency meeting, he had remained in the Treasury Building with the rest of the full-time staff of the Department of Treasury. He spent most of the time responding to frantic calls from government officials and titans of industry alike.
He had to coordinate with State to discuss emergency funding for the millions of tourists, foreign workers, and foreign residents who effectively were left penniless or took a severe buzzcut as their overseas bank accounts disappeared over an hour. He held a conference call with the nation's major hotel chains to mandate the extension of stays of any non-American guests at their minimum service levels to prevent mass homelessness on America's streets with an assurance that reimbursement would be included in the rapidly growing economic omnibus package due to be presented in the House by Thursday.
Massive amounts of money would be shuffled from the Central Bank into the financial system to prevent a run as panicked investors saw their foreign currency holdings devalue into oblivion and the stock indexes crash to their maximum before the emergency breaks cut off trading.
Another conference call was made with America's premier technology giants to get estimations of how long they could continue to manufacture their products with their input supply chain being cut off: two months was the answer as that was how much material was either on the containers floating just off the coast or in warehouses right now.
For the automotive industry, the lines of their new electric cars would also have to shut down after two months and be sadly slowly converted back to making regular combustion models. General Motors and Tata Motors North America had both called to ask for his input on a proposed absorption of Tata, which had been previously steadily increasing both market share and local manufacturing, by GM to secure access to American suppliers to replace the Indian components of many Tata models.
Pretty much the only industry that was thriving now was the personal firearms industry, as people went in droves to buy their first guns.
He had barely slept for about 2 hours before waking up to sign off on one of many stacks of paper piled up on the conference room table. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed what he realized was the last can of Coke in the mini-fridge. The price of each can of Coke was about to skyrocket, and at the rate of the Treasury's spending, Secretary O'Neill realized that soon everyone in the department would be drinking Pepsi.
The Oval Office, White House, Washington D.C.
Bush watched as one of the many White House staff members restocked up the mini-fridge.
"I humbly thank you for taking some of your precious time to meet with me in person, Mister President," said Edward Neville Isdell, CEO of The Coca-Cola Company.
"It's my pleasure to help out one of our most iconic companies, Mister Isdell."
"Please call me Edward if you would like, Mister President."
Bush wondered if he was not being too impulsive when he decided to accept the request for a relatively short meeting with the businessman. An entire truck full of Coca-Cola had arrived at the White House with the man, and he briefly considered the faint and ridiculous possibility of being the first politician to be charged with corruption over being bribed by soft drinks now selling at five dollars per can. "Well then, Edward, what was this about the need to modify Coca-Cola's exclusive license over something? I'll admit, despite my assistant Naamah's best earlier explanations, I've simply been too exhausted to remember everything."
"Well, Mister President, The Coca-Cola Company maintains the exclusive license to import coca leaves into the United States. As you know, with all the media reports hyping it up, we can no longer fulfill our supply demands to make Co… Coca-Cola by sourcing the leaves from South America. I'll be honest with you, Mister President. We have failed to make a viable alternative without using the leaf extracts. They all tasted off and too much like… Well, you get the point. Without the plant, Coca-Cola will never taste the same. Recently, I became aware that a mid-west federal-funded agricultural research center is growing coca plants in greenhouses. The Coca-Cola Company wishes to expand our license from importing to growing coca plants using some specimens from the research center. While it won't help us in the short term, it will at least ensure our long-term recovery. Of course, we'll take great care in ensuring security and preventing the abuse of such an exemption to federal law."
"Hmm," Bush thought for a moment. Normally, the political power to push a bill, any bill, that affected drug laws would be immense as the House and Senate would continuously debate and pass the bill back and forth forever. However, the status of Coke as THE American drink was sure to alleviate a lot of that. Pepsi, despite professing to be just as American and even 'better tasting,' was jokingly considered more Russian as it flooded that market after the war. This reminded him that even Pepsi was under a lot of pressure, as according to the news, the loss of the foreign markets and the cheaper Canadian aluminum that made up many cans was devastating for both companies. "I think I can include an exemption in the upcoming economics package due to be introduced on Thursday, Edward. We might need to convince some of the Senators, though."
"Ah yes, we'll be sure to help out on that front any way we can, above board, of course."
"Of course, I expect nothing else from such a great company as Coca-Cola. I'll have someone contact you about the finer details."
"Thank you so much, Mister President. The company won't forget the generosity of this administration."
"I take that to mean I can count on your support in the future?"
"Yes indeed, Mister President. Thank you again."
"No, thank you. It is good to help American business."
Bush smiled as they stood up and shook hands. Naamah escorted the CEO out of the office as the President returned to his seat. The last exchange there meant that he could expect additional funds for his re-election campaign, so if America did not implode by then, he was one step closer to achieving his goals. By God's grace, somehow, there was not enough anarchy for any of the states to draw up the National Guard, but once the gigantic chain of dominos finally finished tipping over and the Americans began losing their jobs in mass, there would be a reckoning.
He frowned. After the NSC meeting, he had a one-on-one call with Seer. Among other things, they had discussed the potential for the transmission of disease from whatever lived on this planet's land and water to the Americans that now visited their new beaches. Seer had confirmed the threat, and the Center for Disease Control and Prevention had already issued guidance to local medical authorities to report any increase in sickness rates.
There was also the potential for drug-related violence to spiral. Thus far, as explained by Seer, the War on Drugs was a rather sensationalized term given by the media to the relatively high crime rates since the beginning of the 90s. The American policy of keeping Visa-free travel to Cuba after World War II, which was effectively run by several mafia families who kept tight control on the legalized drug trade there, meant that for a long time, recreational drug demand was kept in check as any dealers on U.S. soil had to severely undercut the legal prices in Cuba by the price of a plane ticket. The illegal trade had only grown because American tourism to Cuba had reached capacity since The Families ensured every tourist had a room at one of their licensed hotel-casinos as part of their policy of maintaining the quality of experience like a mirrored version of Disney. Now without Cuba to satisfy most of the American appetite, it was expected that the gangs of the United States were preparing to capitalize on inflating street prices. It was only a matter of time before Bush would have to decide what program to divert funding from, and Bush was dreading that moment.
"Mister President, you have a call from the Secretary of State on line one."
"Thanks, Naamah." Bush picked up the phone and quickly tapped the buttons.
"Colin, tell me you've found something."
"Yes, I have, Mister President. We have discovered there is a native civilization on this planet."
Bush felt the hair on his arms rise as he shivered. "So we're not alone here."
"No, Sir. According to our aerial reconnaissance, we have determined approximately two tiers of civilization. I'm sending over a package for your perusal, but in summary, there is an agricultural society occupying the continent to our southwest with significant stonework and a mid-industrial society on the northwest continent. The mid-industrial society has a fleet of mostly sail-equipped ironclads by our reckoning. I've spoken with the NSC Advisor, and we've agreed to have the Pacific Fleet send an expeditionary fleet escorting a Marine contingent for landing duties to the southern end of the northwest continent, pending your approval. If there are no mishaps, the Marines will escort a diplomatic team to meet the natives. The landing team will be prepared to quarantine for three weeks after their visit."
"That's good. Do you have anything else to add?"
"Just a small thing, Sir. The Russian ambassadors met with us to discuss funding and criteria for their contingents of the Honor Guard at the USAF Museum in Dayton. They proposed opening up the positions to Russo and Ukrainian Americans with priority to direct relatives of their current personnel once we implement our eventual plan to naturalize all foreigners in the United States."
"That seems fine. Get the Air Force to cover their funding. I suspect our Honor Guard at the Great Patriotic War Museum in Moscow will be treated the same by the Russians."
"Yes, Sir. That is all, Sir."
"Bye, Colin." President Bush dropped the phone back into its slot. "Naamah, when the expeditionary plans arrive, please place them on top of everything else on my desk."
"Yes, Mister President."
Bush reached over and grabbed the remote to the TV in The Oval Office. With the TV now on, he returned to watching the American public react to their new world after spending a night illuminated by a bright line in the sky until his next call or meeting in about five minutes.
On Board Krungsri Bangkok, Off the Coast of Los Angeles
Captain Saetang felt trapped. He had lost contact with Krungsri HQ in Thailand, and now the Port of Los Angeles was refusing to dock his about 14000 gross tons container ship as reportedly the port could not contact Krungsri as well and thus was unable to receive payment to offload the ship. Thus, Saetang could only watch from his bridge in his sleeveless undershirt as a traffic jam began to build up in and around the harbour of the port. Morale was at an all-time low as the crew missed their families in the soft swaying of the anchored ship, only buoyed by the recent visit by a U.S. Coast Guard patrol boat. The Coast Guard officers brought them water supplies, took his phone number, and inquired about their food reserves. He was surprised that since the entire sky seemed to light up, no one could contact anyone outside of the United States of America. The officers gave him a phone number for information regarding the current inexplicable situation and another for emergency requests to the Coast Guard.
If Krungsri could not be contacted, then his primary bargaining chip was the cargo destined for U.S. manufacturers and stores in the holds of his ship. It may be that eventually, the cargo owners would have to pay into the shared pool to release their cargo, akin to whenever a merchant ship company went under, but he knew this process took weeks, if not months. It was worse for the ships that were about to depart, as they had been prevented by the U.S. Navy from leaving into deeper waters.
The walkie-talkie on the desk in front of him squawked. "Captain, did you see a massive arm rise out of the water on the fore port side, over?"
"What arm, Arthit?" The Captain clicked the transmitter on and off to indicate he was done speaking. Arthit was doing a patrol around the ship.
"A large squid-like arm Captain. I swear it was a meter wide."
"Not from my position. Are you sure you saw a giant arm?"
"As sure as could be. The weather is perfectly nice here, and I'm certain I'm not being haunted by spirits. I swear on my mother."
There was a loud clunk that emanated from the bottom of Bangkok's hull.
"You hear that, Captain."
"I did indeed. Hold on a moment."
The Captain turned and went over to the microphone attached to the speakers around the ship. "Attention, crew, something may have just collided with the ship. Please keep an eye out for any vessel or debris in the waters around us."
Then the entire ship shook as a big column of water rose into the air from starboard. Something rose along with the column and smashed into a container stack, triggering them to begin tipping over.
"Shit." The Captain quickly spoke into the microphone again, "All crew outside, immediately head inside and move towards the bridge. Something has collided with our container stacks-"
There was another screech of metal as something big and red rose on the port side and latched onto a container before attempting to pull it off the ship. The connectors attaching the container to the stack seemed to hold for a moment before snapping as the container flew up into the air and splashed into the water as the rest of the stack tilted over like some Legos. Then everything went crazy as Captain Saetang saw many gigantic cephalopodic arms at least seven stories high begin to wrap around the ship and begin smashing and yanking everything like children with a sandcastle.
On Board USCGC Catalina, Responding to Krungsri Bangkok
The Island-class patrol boat USCGC Catalina was the first to respond to the distress calls of Krungsri Bangkok. While reports of a giant squid attack initially seemed incredulous to the Commanding Officer, the collaborating reports from nearby anchored merchant vessels had led him to direct the crew to be manned and ready. The USCGC Catalina had a 25mm Mk 38 Bushmaster chain gun and two .50-cal machine guns. While the CO wasn't sure whether that was enough firepower to take care of the problem, he was going to make sure that the creature was going to regret its decision to choose the container vessel as its lunch.
As they got closer, the crew saw a better view of the beast. Honest-to-god squid arms and tentacles were attacking the ship. An enlisted guardsman counted a total of ten limbs emerging from the water on either side, which meant that if the creature conformed to cephalopod anatomy, the main body was directly under the ship. It appeared that the limbs were attempting to drag the entire ship underwater, but thus far, it only seemed that the containers were taking the most of the beating. There was no doubt that the sailors on board must have been losing their minds.
"Bring us to Bangkok's starboard. We need to be clear of other vessels past our gun-target line."
"Sir, the Bangkok's crew have confirmed they have evacuated to the citadel underneath the bridge."
"Very good. Inform their crew we'll have to fire on their containers to take out those attacking limbs. Gunner, aim at the closest arm with the cannon."
"They've received our warning. They'll stay tight in the citadel."
The 25mm gun turned and locked onto the closest limb.
"Checksight!"
"Checksight clear."
"Slow salvo, shoot."
The ship rattled with cannon fire as a single burst of 25mm high explosive incendiary shells and tracers were propelled accurately into the limb. There was a splash of red blood as chunks of flesh were blown off, and the limb moved away from the merchant and dived back into the water. Satisfied with the result, the CO gave the order to engage at will, and the gunner aimed at the other limbs and lit them up one by one. After another three arms were taken out, the rest of the limbs fell away from the ship.
"Sonar indicates the creature is headed towards us."
"Helms, full speed ahead. We've made her angry enough that she wants us, and we're not big enough to withstand her strength to pull us under."
The crew was thrown back into their backrests as Catalina led the creature away on a goose chase. Despite the ship's max speed of 29.5 knots, the beast didn't seem to give up even as it lagged far behind at about 10 knots. Eventually, after about ten minutes, the Catalina was relieved when a Navy Kaman Defender rotodyne dumped a Mark 46 aerial torpedo right into the creature, causing water to gush up along with fresh chunks of roasted calamari.
Lobby, National Security Council Building, Washington D.C.
A Caucasian man with dark brown neck-length flowing hair and a goatee walked through the rotating door and looked around the lobby of the NSC. He paused to stare at the imposing, towering statue of The Grim Reaper that looked down at him before walking to the receptionist.
"ID and name, please," requested the receptionist. She eyed the hippie-looking man who was dressed in a T-shirt, jeans, and Nike running shoes.
"Vlad Baris," said the man as he handed over the card. "I have a meeting at 10."
The receptionist raised an eyebrow as she compared the photo on the ID and the man who appeared more ready to begin an anti-nuclear protest than fall in with the people who planned out the destruction of civilizations. She typed on the computer and briefly paused in mild surprise. "You're expected, Doctor Baris. Please head to the security gate."
There was a security guard at a computer behind a rolling conveyor. "Put your keys, wallets, watches, and any other loose metals into the bin here and pass through the metal detector and follow the instructions of my colleague." A printer began spitting something out in the background.
Vlad did so. "This new equipment? This wasn't here the last time I was here."
The other security guard responded, "Just got them about a year ago. Stop at the circle, Sir, and please raise your arms. I'm going to have to perform a pat-down to check for things."
Vlad nodded and waited for the search to end as the guard quickly moved from top to bottom. "Ok, pick up your things from the bin."
The bin had passed through this box that seemed to hum and be connected to a computer on the other side.
"Here's your badge. Wear it around your neck with it visible at all times."
"Thank you."
Vlad walked around the statue towards the bank of elevators. As he did so, one of the elevator doors opened and out stepped Nefertiti Adams.
"Flavi!" She reached out and hugged him.
"It's Vlad now, Nefertiti." Vlad briefly returned the quick embrace. Then they stepped into the open elevator.
"Before Seer called me, I didn't know you were in the country."
"Well, I was a guest lecturer at Harvard when all this occurred."
Nefertiti used her body to shield his view of the elevator buttons as she pressed some combination of them. The elevator began to rise.
"I'll miss fair Europe."
"I'm so sorry for you. You didn't choose to live here permanently."
"Don't be. We're all in this trouble together now… Did you see the news broadcast of the kraken?" KTLA was coincidentally filming a news report on the plight of foreign sailors from one of the ships in sight of the Thai freighter when the attack occurred. Within five minutes, their live coverage was being broadcasted on all the major TV news channels, and thus all the CRT screens at Vlad's airport baggage claim, as a Coast Guard ship fought the sea monster.
"Yes, imagine what other marine life is out there if the giant squids are all that big and aggressive."
Vlad shook his head, "This world is mad."
"At least someone's getting a Pulitzer."
The elevator stopped and opened out onto the officially non-existent 13th floor.
"Layout hasn't changed. Are those new lights?"
"Yes, energy-efficient ones. Seer's waiting in the conference room. Do you want a drink?"
"No need, thank you."
"Then I'll leave you two to it." She opened the door and closed it behind Vlad as he entered."
Seer was reading a file full of papers. "Ah, Doctor Baris. It's good you accepted my invitation. Please take a seat," he said without looking up.
Vlad sat down across from him. "Your email indicated something about a diplomatic expedition?"
"Indeed, the most exciting expedition since the end of colonialism. I want you to join it."
Vlad laughed. "I hope there's no conquering involved," he joked.
"...There shouldn't be."
"By the Lord, Seer, you know how I feel about such expeditions."
Seer put down the file. "The expedition has a Naval and Marine escort. If all goes well, the only fighting will be destroying any kraken that gets too close. The NSC needs to send an advisor to keep them and the diplomats in line. I believe you're the best candidate for the situation." He slid the file over the mahogany table.
Vlad picked up the file and opened it up. A bird's eye view photo of a building shaped like a tremendously long and thin oval track caught his eye. He read the estimated measurements.
"Is that?"
"It appears so. Note the middle barrier and the analyst's conclusion that the track's made of sand."
Vlad flipped to the next page. Other buildings of this alien but distantly familiar city were analyzed. Domes covered several buildings of probable importance. The city contained a harbour closer to the shape of old Carthage, as this city was located at the northern shore of a continent. He noted the curved triangular sails of the visible ships. The other pages confoundingly seemed to show cities in markedly different technological ages of construction. He looked back up at the Seer's unchanging expression.
"A top-of-the-line Daytona 500 travel package for two will be added on to the considerable pay and benefits for your work as a Contractor upon your return."
The tactician played Vlad's heartstrings like a fiddle.
"You're a rascal, Seer. You've got my interest."
Lecture Room, Curtis E. LeMay Building, Washington D.C.
"So Doctor Baris, why did the NSC choose you to join the team?" asked Howard H. Leach, the 71 years old former U.S. Ambassador-Designate to France. A last-minute severe bout of illness had delayed his travel to France just long enough for his plane to be turned around during The Transference. His unfortunate luck had become his luckiest break, as now he suddenly became the only political appointee remaining amongst the sea of Foreign Service Officers who hadn't been abroad for one reason or another. Thus the President entrusted him with heading the mission, while the careerists in the team were supposed to eventually split off for any smaller powers they formed diplomatic relations with as the expedition continued.
Being a team leader meant evaluating his stock of people. Howard did not entirely trust any man who let their hair flow that wide and long, so he had to probe the Doctor.
"The NSC is confident that my Ph.D. in Mediterranian and Middle Eastern History will come into play."
"For a specific area, perhaps, but what about the rest?"
"I've dabbled in some medieval and industrial European history."
"And how is being able to read some ancient texts supposed to help us?"
"I can prevent you from committing some possible cultural faux pas with my previous experience in international affairs and act as a backup translator if necessary."
Howard glanced at the team's lead linguist, Doctor Banks, who nodded. Vlad was talking with her earlier in some European language. All Howard knew was that the conversation was not in French, German, or Russian. There were still the four Marine linguists covering the four Marine linguistic specializations who were packed into the entourage, which meant if Vlad was doing some translating, he was either alone or the mission had gone to hell.
Howard continued, "That's, of course, assuming the aliens even remotely have a similar culture or language construction. For all we know, they could speak in binary and kidnap us to ritually sacrifice us on top of a skyscraper, in which case our mission would be doomed from the start. So ignoring that possibility, I demand that you better take any punch thrown at me if they do take offence to anything you fail to warn me about. Your file says you worked in Turkey?"
"Yes, I advised the U.S. government in Instanbul on a matter that I, unfortunately, cannot talk more about."
"Huh, that's indeed a shame, but as to be expected for a Contractor. However, this leaves you in a black box to me. If this experience of yours proves inadequate for you to draw upon, then I advise you to stay out of our way."
Howard thought he spotted a flicker of a darkened expression from the younger man, but Doctor Baris responded to his warning with such a subservient bow of his head of acknowledgement that he dismissed his observation as a trick of the mind. It was clear this younger man at least understood that the wisdom of his elders trumped whatever knowledge he had. He adjusted his glasses.
Finished with his grilling, Howard put away the file into its stack and stood up from the table in front of the lecture room. He took out a clicker from his pocket. "Okay, now that we've all gotten introduced here. Let me be clear to everyone here that our number one priority is to secure trade deals so that our families will have jobs to put food on the table. I resolutely refuse to learn a single word of a foreign language, so we'll all be relying on you, Doctor Banks. I'll be blunt with everyone here. Don't F-up."
Howard certainly would not. He spent over 40 years negotiating with business giants, small farmers, and every kind of government official as he built up land-dependent corporations across the United States. Once Doctor Banks did her job of getting him to the negotiating table, a deal would be found.
Howard moved on to direct everyone's attention to a Powerpoint with an image of the southern end of the northwest continent. "We'll fly to meet up with the newly formed 1st Expeditionary Fleet at Guam, which is now conveniently much closer to Hawaii. The fleet will first travel northwest and then follow the coastline here. If we're able to establish some basic communications with the locals, we'll attempt to secure travel to meet the leaders of their industrial society."
In Front of Grand Union Terminal, Esthirant, Parpaldian Empire
"Grand Union Terminal will serve for many years to come as the main hub linking my Imperial subjects from across Parpaldia to our fair capital. It is my pleasure that I declare this terminal station open!" With the tap on the crystal controller, Emperor Ludius I turned on the more than 4000 light gems of the station, illuminating the applauding crowd in the streets surrounding the building.
As the applause died down and the luxuriously large doors opened to allow the crowd to tour the new building. The Emperor turned to Gromel Huxet.
"Well, Mister Huxet, I believe my duty is done for tonight. I shall be heading to my chambers early. I'll see you early on the morrow."
Gromel bowed. "Have a sound rest, Your Imperial Majesty."
Once the emperor and his guards left the stand and left the celebrations in the Imperial Slider Car and its escorts, Gromel was approached by a suited man with a top hat.
"I must ask Gromel. How did you manage to get the Emperor himself to perform the opening ceremony of your station?"
Gromel smiled at the questioner. "Well, Rubert, my wife happens to be friends with the Emperor's niece, Remille, so I managed to receive early notice of the Emperor's intention to order the construction of slideways to the border with Reim. I'll tell you now that the Union Slider Corporation is the first to complete the Emperor's mandate."
"Ah, what good fortune you have, so I take it means you'll be heavily involved when our troubles with our northeastern neighbour finally come to a boil?
"Like the helmsman of a kraken hunter. Of course, the transportation services provided at cost will be handsomely rewarded once our fight is over, and every soldier will remember the Union Slider brand name."
"Excuse me, Mister Huxet."
Gromel and Rubert turned to see a young woman in a middle-class quality dress with a leather purse carrying a portable crystal and a stylus.
"I'm Jasume Peesley, a reporter for the Parpaldian Times. Do you mind me asking some questions?"
"Not at all, Miss Peesley. I'm always happy to take questions from a member of the press."
"Is it true that the large slider cars on your new line can travel from Esthirant to the Reim border in a mere 4 hours without stopping?"
"That is true. The journey levitates across 1200 km, and I'm proud to say the Union Slider model Lightning car has a maximum operating speed of 400 km/h on the charge guides. A new operational record."
"Impressive, Mister Huxet. How many passengers can each car carry?"
"30 with luggage."
"How long would it take to transport a million people as soon as possible?"
"Ah." Gromel shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm unable to comment on that, Miss Peesley."
"Then are you involved in the ongoing military preparations?"
"No comment on that either. I will give a response to any other non-military-related questions of yours, Miss Peesley."
"A shame then," said the reporter. She smiled as she put away her writing tools. "I think that's about all I have. Thank you very much for your time Mister Huxet."
"It is my pleasure. Please take your time enjoying our free guided tours of the new station, Miss Peesley. I promise you the accompanying alcohol will ensure you won't be bored."
She laughed. "I will do so, Mister Huxet." She walked away and headed inside.
"I swear, Gromel. Young people seem to be bolder these days," commented Rubert.
"Well, titles are not everything in our modern era, especially when one has beauty. May I offer you some bubbly before they're all gone, and our wives call for us?"
"You know me too well. Let's go."
Gromel and Rubert followed behind the disappearing crowd into the cooled indoor air to enjoy the rest of the night.