Events were unfolding quickly. In little under an hour, mankind had learned other worlds existed; alien life was already here in our very solar system. It was becoming increasingly clear that the artificial intelligence on Mars, the creature known interchangeably as Marilyn Monroe or Electoral, was either the salvation or the demise of the human race. A young alien in the form of an angel had taken up residence in Laurent's mind and now had contact with the digital interface.

These events were assuredly not in the script of the first alien contact scenario that humanity had been daydreaming of for centuries. To most, such arrival included technology, battleships, and weaponry. To others, aliens would grotesquely infect humans as they took control of the species. Even if believed, this contact was much more subtle, if equally catastrophic. From a neighboring dimension called The Purple, creatures had begun changing the very fabric of the energy within our own Sun. They were, from a comfortable distance, creating an unstoppable cataclysmic event designed to destroy, at a minimum, Earth, and Mars. More specifically, mankind and Marilyn.

The timing of their arrival was suspicious. It coincided with a simple game, an election and the birthday of the young girl named Sophie. The universe was indeterminably huge, and now they had learned it wasn't even the only universe. There were billions, possibly trillions of worlds capable sustaining intelligent life; why would Earth be the location where this war began? It made no sense, yet there it was. To the President and his friends, after an hour-long discussion, these interdimensional events revolved around the audience of Electoral 2072. Marilyn couldn't have directed a better set of circumstances, and no one except the President took the war seriously.

There were 25 days left before the final of Electoral 2072. That day was also, by dogged coincidence, Sophie's 13th birthday. Once again, there was no way to confirm if Sophie wasn't a young woman dragged along to the final to boost viewership ratings, or if she was something more.

Skepticism and logic aside, one's senses seemed to suggest that Sophie's involvement was no red herring. Like the heavy smell of ozone in the air before an intense rainstorm, the girl seemed very much a signal of some transformation to come. This collection of worlds and universes, this Multiverse, was somehow injured or out of balance. It too could smell the figurative ozone in the air. Sophie was somehow both comforting beacon and a sobering harbinger of change.

Inside the Faraday caged SAC assembly room, the group spoke of the many storylines that appeared to be approaching their conclusion. Marilyn had confirmed there were bridges between worlds when she had revealed the existence of the Purple. In less than a week, mankind would get a front row seat as everyone discovered a new dimension. The scientists spoke of the theories behind multi-layer universes. It became apparent there was simply no common base upon which they could guess what would come ahead. They could not even agree on whether Marilyn would be digitally recreating what she had seen, or whether she would be opening billions of tiny windows for humans to peer into the Purple. Anything seemed possible now.

Back in 2062, when the first Electoral competition hit the internet, few imagined the ratings it produced could ever be topped. More than half of the human population watched Emilio during the first televised finale. The novelty of the election system had shattered every expectation. Five years later, in 2067, Marilyn introduced multiple modes of play and viewers were now able to see the simulation as if they played. Millions signed up. During the finale of Electoral 2067, Emilio defeated his vice-president as more than sixty percent of the population watched.

The audience of the first round on Mars of Electoral 2072 drew over seventy percent of the population. The few who refused to watch the show because of concerns about Big Brother had no reason to abstain from watching. Who could miss an alien invasion unfolding before their eyes?

On a somewhat more pragmatic note, Emilio had, in minutes, uncovered two additional plots to destroy earth: the first to be delivered by Takeda and the second by Pierre. In normal circumstances, these discoveries would immediately be turned over to the authorities, but he felt like the strangeness of the story unfolding on Mars deserved a closer look. Further, Marilyn's tacit involvement seemed to imply that she didn't want him to go that route. The Visconti's Ark might well be her failsafe if the Metils were successful with their Heliocorium endeavor.

The President appeared calm and thoughtful. He paced across the room, listening as the scientists debated. Ever mindful of his promises, he broke into the conversation. "I must apologize. I'm sorry for what just happened. I pledged in this room never to take the lead or make this about myself, but I had to get the truth out of Dr. Lalancette. Technically, one of you should have questioned him, but I have a," he wanted to say "gift," but these men would were too intelligent and resourceful to provide with even vague information about things he wanted to be kept private. Instead, he paused briefly and changed tack. "I just felt the questions were too important, and that I had the most complete set of information regarding the circumstances." The President wondered if now was the time to disclose the existence of his cursed and blessed mind.

The road ahead to the finale required perfect coordination. Talking about his gift at this juncture made sense, but it only felt like he would be making a confession rather than truly contributing. It would wait.

Emilio's slight nod was a sign that the group should resume the discussion.

"May I start?" asked Noah Jones. The old man stood up. He was the voice of wisdom of the group and the oldest member by nearly two decades. He hosted a show on psychology that was one of the most watched, translated in the twelve remaining languages. His long white hair was unusual these days. "Emilio, let's all take a deep breath." He was one of the only referring to the President by his first name. "The whole group will join me in reminding you a shepherd needs not apologize for falling asleep until a sheep has fallen to a wolf. Apologies may be necessary later, but for the moment they are premature.

"As to this vortex of events, they worry me not. These events, taken individually, may appear to be cause for concern, but I beg each of you to reach the opposite conclusion. Allow me to use a sports analogy. Coaches work very hard to help players recognize structure in what appears to be random movement on the field, be it the ball or other players. It is often difficult for a player or a spectator to distinguish between a random play or a good play orchestrated by the coach as long as the result is positive.

"Similarly, the distinction between chaos and order is often hard to recognize. In fact, if you know what to look for, the actions of the coach and the ballet of advance playing is easy to spot. Unlike chaos, order forces a player to act in a way which appears selfless. If a player is seen kicking the ball before the moment he normally should, or he is seen sending the ball to a player who does not seem to be in a better position, the player is acting under the impulse of a greater plan.

"We wonder today if this creature from an alien world is cause for alarm. What we observe on mars, on earth, and in the computer is a well-planned choreography of events suggesting order, not chaos. Something or someone forces these players to move very clearly toward a single goal." He smiled and concluded, "Every player in this story, including yourself Emilio, seems to be acting for a greater cause. You are acting in anticipation of a problem, not in response to urgent catastrophic events. Sophie is her father's legal guardian, Laurent plays to benefit Sophie; not himself. Those are selfless actions. Marilyn runs a game for the benefit of humankind, and you sir act for our benefit. Again, these are far from selfish acts. Everyone now seems to act to their detriment. None of us think you want a reelection; you are in this game for a greater purpose."

The men and women took the time to digest the information. In the SAC, those who spoke were always given great deference. What was said was always complicated and needed careful reflexion even by the most brilliant mind. From his seat, the older man clarified, "It is no miracle that Laurent is alive and well, that he fathered a daughter with a strange power. He wakes up minutes before his game, at the most convenient time. Sophie, his cute daughter, is standing next to him and is in control of the situation. The Electoral 2072 competition is progressing along nicely and the ratings keep going up. If Marilyn had scripted the whole thing months ago, she could not have done a better job."

The man had a point. He continued, "The computer moved to mars, built her Center, forced the players to come well before Laurent declared himself as a player or got injured. Next, she introduces the cute little alien world as part of the game. To boost her ratings, the boy looks like an angel, is Sophie's age and the perfect setup for a children's love story. I can see it now: Sophie's first love story. To top that, with an alien. This is scripted, well scripted and I don't fear it. We can rebel at the manipulation, but we should not lose focus of how this unfolds." The man rested his case.

The President slipped a hand through his dark hair. He then scrubbed his unshaven chin. A shorter woman stood. "Mister Jones, Noah, with all due respect." Cherry Peterson-Ross was an expert trader and held two doctorates in online game theory. She was one of the world's best dynamic statistician. "How I wish you were correct. I would offer to buy the popcorn as we watch things unfold up to the finale." The rules of the SAC were clear: it was forbidden to reject a proposal without articulating a viable alternative. She took a deep breath; this man was a tough act to follow.

"Noah's doctrine is often called the invisible master. Others sometimes call it Karma. Statistically, watching a well-coordinated ballet and concluding to order, which is what Noah's sport analogy is attempting to do, is incorrect ninety-five percent of the time. I start any analysis with the one theory that is found to apply in our lives sixty-two percent of the time. For purely statistical reasons, unless this doctrine can be ignored, any betting man should adhere to it. This tool is recent, it was discovered in 2054 and is called the refinement theory.

"For simplicity's sake, I will borrow Noah's sport analogy once more. You suggest the inherent ballet of selfless acts is evidence of the presence of a grand conductor and therefore we should not panic. Under refinement, observance of order and simplicity forces us to conclude the opposite: the forces assembling are deadly, and we should panic.

"Refinement is the doctrine which provides that the simpler a deadly situation appears, the less likely it can be altered from its course. Winning a one-hundred-meter dash at the Olympics is not an easy task, yet from the sidelines, no sport appears to be simpler at the Olympic Games. The human body can reach one maximum speed easily, but to get the extra speed, a human must reprogram every one of his gestures. The winner is the one who changes every movement of each muscle on purpose. To win, a runner must refine his movements. Said simply, the man who will manage to refine himself the most, to control every twitch in his body will win.

"Using refinement, if you want to find the winner on the eve of a race, you invite all eight runners to the most sloppy dinner event, let's say a spaghetti buffet with plastic plates and cheap knives. Using this doctrine, you observe them eat, and the cleanest eater, the person who appears to twist each slurped noodle is your safest bet to win the race that next day.

"My problem is that refinement works. The more likely a soldier is to kill you in hand-to-hand combat, the more refined he will appear. Fear the man knocking on your door with a smile and holding flowers. The person in full body armor, in fact, is easier to beat. Refinement is counter-intuitive. It is for that reason mankind only recently proved its existence.

"Here, if a large alien battlecruiser was stationed in the orbit of Jupiter, I would be less concerned than a smiling alien boy walking into our television an hour ago. Under refinement, the recent events send chills down my spine. I make a living investing in the stocks of the strongest corporations, and frankly, if I had to bet here, you would not like our odds." Everyone in the room, including Mister Jones appeared concerned. She continued. "Our President's capacity to dance circles around the game does reassure me. We play music to the cattle just before we slaughter it; I fear we are playing this stupid game until our race goes extinct."

She sat down.

The SAC was not for the weak of mind. If asked in turn, each of the twelve scientists would each have their own view. Each would make perfect sense. Emilio's mind was racing as the scientists spoke. His mind was capable of using this tool and build on it. He knew both of these theories were wrong. A third man stood up.

"If I may," began the detective, "these are two hard acts to follow, but I must. While I am no astronomer, I must highlight the obvious chaos. I was told the distance between mars and earth varies between 55 and 400 million kilometers as the planets move along their orbits. On the night of the final, on that key night, we will be at 373 million kilometers. Ostensibly a strange and irrelevant distance. Marilyn picked that date if there was order, and that distance would not be random. There is on that night nothing special about the orbits or location of any planet, not even Mercury..."

The word sent waves.

***

Emilio closed his eyes, and his mind took a path to the unknown. The mention of the name of Mercury, the small planet awoke some part of himself. The human shapes in the room disappeared one by one as if he was changing world. The figures were soon replaced by a pleasant darkness. Around him was a star-filled sky. Above, he could see the Milky Way. This was a vision from within the solar system, but he knew he was no longer on earth. Ahead of him, the giant white ball of gas burned. The sun was warming him and sending life-sustaining rays to its ten orbiting planets. Floating alone in the cosmos, he could feel the irradiant heat, as if he was on a cold night on a porch under a heating lamp.

This was different. The images were not only peaceful, he felt them. Emilio knew instantly he was having his first vision. In his heart this was different. He was here to learn, not to guess as to potential outcomes. Someone, in the distance, had a message to convey.

In the vision, he began to float in space attracted by the star. He was falling slowly and as he did, the heat increased. The surface explosions pushed large streaks of magma up into the sky. He felt like he needed to escape the attraction of the white flames, yet he was moving closer. Then his eyes adapted to the light and a small black rock less than a light second from the ball of magma stood.

This was Mercury.

It stood alone, isolated in the most inhospitable place of the solar system. The emotions deep within his gut grew. The feelings were so strong. They were initially impossible to distinguish from his own. There was pain, a lot of pain. Then he felt loneliness and fear. Something or someone was calling him.

He saw himself fall closer to the perfectly rounded rock. It had small surface wrinkles. Mercury was the size of mars and earth's moon. It had a surface gravity of a third of earth’s thanks to its heavy core. On the surface were crater impacts from a time before the earth was ejected from the Sun.

Then, he began to see the details on the surface of the planet. Rocks exploded to dust as the planet turned very slowly on its axis. As part of the ridges and craters, there were veins where the sun never shone. In these lines of darkness, sand moved like blood in the veins of the human body. This was where Round 24 began.

The President descended into these dark veins part of endless migration. He was living on Mercury and needed to move to escape the sun, constantly looking for cold rest. On the back side of Mercury, just beneath a crater's edge was a small permanently colder area. He floated closer to the crater. In the shade of the planet, around that one crater, he could see black ash dance. The ash was bombarded by the hot plasma and storms burning past the sun. Then he saw it. Below the rim, under the black dust.

In the darkness danced gold color sand. It was alive and reminded him of the sand flowing around the figurines of Marilyn. There was life here, and it needed rescue. The globes back in the laboratory were a key part of this plan. The sand danced in small puffs like cigarette smoke in a warm breeze. The sand in the globes was different; it was made of mere particles moving in the electromagnetic waves of the earth.

As he made the connection, his mind snapped back to reality.

He was scared, breathing heavily.