NOW: GCD RING OF REPRESENTATIVES, Concordance, 6 MONTHS AFTER THE ATTACK ON THE FESTIVE NIGHTBEAK

Once the message couriers got back with messages about the attack on the Intelgroup fleet Nightbeak’s Revenge, including the destruction of the mobile base Coral Uplift, the still-in-session Concordance continued to debate next steps. In the inner chambers of the Consortium, the three leaders of the Blee, Cyph’d and Mbth met privately to go over the findings before presenting anything to the general GCD.

Cyph’d Warbrain Admiral Xerap presented, lecturing from a holo, and streaming all the data they had acquired to each leader’s factions. Xerap was an elderly Cyph’d, so his skin was mottled black and his tents didn’t have the pneumatic pressure they did in his youth, but his bearing remained strong and his mind was sharp as eggshell.

“Item one!” he barked and stood at attention. His uniform sash was tightly bound at a precise military angle over his octopoid form; and he pointed with a wearable at the holo. “The Thirders have, after forty years, advanced their technology by a significant degree. They were at best a local planetary travel species! Now they have Light-plus travel, space environments, and serious (if exotic) weaponry. They are obviously highly intelligent, adaptable, and motivated! They have made technical inroads in areas they also did not glean from us, therefore indicating creativity as well!”

“Observation:” The Queen Blee noted. “Advanced yes, but not surpassed us. Not even close! But yes, still… it is impressive they advanced as quickly as they did, just off of the wreckage of the probes.”

“Observation and perhaps item one point five,” the Cyphipope said. “When the probes originally arrived, Sol was a planet of multiple nation-states. However it now appears more likely they are operating under a unified body. Either a single government, or a command from a united group or nations, or a single fleet admiralty. We should try and get more data on that.”

Xerap nodded, noting on the holo. “Item two!” he said. “As a follow-up to the Blee point, the major technological advances mostly seem to be in the area of ‘spin-offs from applied mysticism’, i.e. ‘Magic’, not necessarily hard sciences. Analysis of the ships we’ve encountered suggest they Tunnel using this magic. Their offensive capabilities are applied Magical close-combat attacks, psychic attacks, or coerced Eldritch beings. Not railguns, hyper-missiles, Grasers, Tunneling bombs or similar.”

“Observation!” The Mbth leader said, floating serenely. “Scans of much of their materials technology shows advancements in ways we barely understand, but the applications seem limited to some construction materials and the use of magic weapons. They haven’t used most of the materials tech for weapons.”

Xerap noted this, then said “Item three! The Thirders seem willing to die for their cause, and especially seem committed to our destruction. We believe part of this is a strong cultural bias to the ascendancy of their species and to their perceived superiority of their species. We also believe,” he said, looking around at everyone, “that part of the hatred they have for us is due to several of our probes de-orbiting during initial orbital placement, which probably resulted in the loss of their people and/infrastructure on the surface.”

“I’m a bit surprised by that,” the holy leader of the Cyph’d, the Cyphipope said. “It was regrettable, but all this over a few casualties? How many could they have lost? A few thousand? A hundred thousand? Why not reach out instead of trying to discover what our intentions were?”

Nobody answered, so Xerap continued. “If we felt that this was a species that we wanted to open diplomatic relations with, this might be something we could negotiate in good faith or apologize for, consider reparations for, etc. But, as I think we all will see, that is not going to be the case.

“Item four! All creatures with an attached psychic presence, or soul, or atman, or Kha-Peth, you get it, have a slight sensitivity to quantum entangled particles in their brain or nervous structures. Some have theorized that a unique radiation signature might also be involved. However, in nearly all species, the sensitivity is slight, and the brain structures needed for this sensitivity to be practically used simply don’t exist.

“However! A few species are placed in a category called ‘Quantum Reality Manipulators”, and can gain or utilize abilities that appear as mystic or eldritch, or psychic, or ‘magic’, probability manipulators, weakly-godlike, multi-planar, multi-dimensional,” (“We get it already!” groaned the Blee) “and otherwise strange. All of us fit in that category, as well as the Stindts, the Hoohaa, and others.“

“But these Thirders - here.” Xerap pulled up another holo showing anatomical diagrams of a Thirder brain with some accompanying pictures of an autopsied Thirder skull and brain. “They are very reluctant to be captured but we managed to get a few bodies at the engagement on Sol 9. What we think is happening is that Thirders in general are massively genetically predisposed to be Quantum Reality Manipulators - even basic, untrained Thirders have some of the structures. And, it appears that some Thirders have undergone an awakening process generating these new structures - “ Xerap said, pointing to the pineal gland in the subject’s brain - “that even further amplifies this. Because of this, these Thirders possess a unique gift, and a possible considerable superiority, if they were to fully utilize it.”

“Those are the salient data-points,” the admiral said. “The question remains. Do we simply honor their request for isolation? Do we extend diplomatic envoys at the edge of their space, possibly to ask them to join the GCD? Do we try and subjugate them and add them as a member nation or slave caste for our benefit? Or do we exterminate them?”

The leaders and their adjutants and minions debated. Eventually, Ovrlrd Rbrts 001, Overlord of the Mbth, raised a tendril. “If we honor the isolation, what is the chance they will simply stop at the twenty light-year radius they demand and not engage in further expansions or wars of conquest?”

Xerap shrugged and shook his torso. “In our opinion, the probability exists, but it’s low. From what we got from our probes forty years ago, they are a warlike, tribal, territorial and violent species. They expand and they breed prodigiously. Current critical analysis suggests that they have undergone some small steps towards civilization, but I wouldn’t count on a few generations to completely wipe out thousands of years of biological imperatives.”

“I assume that applies to diplomatic relations as well,” Rbrts said.

“Unfortunately, it seems like it,” the admiral agreed. “They might honor them at first, and then attack later. It’s their nature. Or was. It’s hard to tell.”

“What about the chance of them being dominated?” the Queen Blee clacked.

“Possible, but costly. With their abilities it would be very easy to ‘arm’ themselves mystically, even in the absence of technology or resources. We’d be constantly putting down uprisings from magically-endowed slaves. Also, they are very aggressive. Not suitable for slave castes.”

“So…” said Rbrts , “we’re looking at extermination. What about the warnings your various gods and patrons said? That we shouldn’t provoke them?”

“Oh, please, “ the Cyphipope chortled. “We aren’t afraid of a tiny race just climbing out to space, regardless of these so-called abilities. The Nightbeak’s Revenge fleet turned easily aside some of their mystic defenses. If that’s all we’re going to see, a suitable sized extermination fleet could easily burn them.”

“It’s our option with the highest chance of a positive outcome,” Xerap said. “I suppose asking them to join the GCD in the Consortium is also possible - joining as equals.” That raised a few angry murmurs, but Xerap waved them silent. “I agree, it’s a bad idea. They stand to gain a lot more than we do; and given their nature, I assume they would eventually attempt to become the de facto leaders eventually. I don’t recommend this.”

The debate went on through the overnight, and by the next morning the Consortium had a new order to put to the member nations. It was ratified, approved and broadcast as the others had been:

NEW RESOLUTION CONSIDERING THE ‘THIRDER’ INCURSION (DENIZENS OF SOL 3)

“PART 1: CONTINUE ALL CURRENT OPERATIONS IN OR NEAR THE SOL SYSTEM. DEFENSE-CLASS REINFORCEMENTS TO ALL SAID OPERATIONS AT WARTIME+AUGMENTED AMOUNTS WILL BE SENT.

PART 2: AN EXTERMINATION\PLANETBURN GROUP WILL BE ASSEMBLED AND SENT DIRECTLY TO SOL FOR IMMEDIATE EXTERMINATION OF SOL 3 AND ALL THIRDERS.

PART 3: RE-DIRECTION OF EIGHT SECURITY-CLASS SUBFLEETS TO ENCIRCLE THE TWENTY LIGHT-YEAR SPHERICAL BOUNDARY TO ENSURE NO THIRDER EVACUATIONS SUCCEED.

PART 4: NO LIVING THIRDERS TO BE STUDIED, ENSLAVED, OR CONSCRIPTED. ONLY GENETIC MATERIALS, NON-LIVING TISSUE AND CULTURAL RELICS MAY BE KEPT.

-

THEN: OCT 2nd, 2016, PHILADELPHIA, THE FIRST RESIDENCE

Sunday night on October 2nd just after nine p.m., Wendy flew out of the Hofstra building on Mister Sweepers, leaving behind her minders, Xeniya, and the debate, and rocketed towards the First Residence. Once there, she landed on the roof, took the roof entrance down into the house, surprised the small staff there who had been watching the hubbub after the debate coverage, and immediately headed to the kitchen. She wolfed down some cold leftover Chinese somebody had stashed in the smaller staff fridge while standing at the sink, just in case it was a good long time before her next meal.

Her mobile was going off the whole time, calls from everybody, mostly Xen, but she ignored them for now.

She hustled down to the secure basement, and frantically pushed the junk in the worktables she had around until she found the various pieces of gear Xeniya had left for her. A few mechanical charms, several bracelets with pretty decent No-Harms Xen had made, an ankle chain with a string of I’m-Awakes as charms arranged on it - basically anything to buff up as much as she could.

There was also a small cloth bag on a string that Xeniya had tucked behind a glass window box. Xen had written “BREAK IN CASE OF STUPID” on it in marker. Wendy paused at it, and then finally broke the box glass with her elbow and took it, tying it to her belt. “If I’m this desperate to need this then it probably doesn’t matter, right?” she said aloud to the basement.

Back upstairs to get one last chance on a toilet, put on her favorite sneakers, down a handful of painkillers, throw a couple of water bottles in a backpack along with some bananas from the kitchen, and then up to the roof. A few weeks ago she had commissioned some builders to build a meditation dome on the roof of the First Residence - just a simple dome of wood and iron - which she had then spelled and warded. It was designed to be a place to concentrate Kha, a place to rest and build up power, and now she got in under it.

Xeniya pulled up three hours later along with the secret service, Tommy and police. A crowd had formed, pointing. Xeniya had noticed lately that a small crowd always seemed to be at the house, but this was hundreds of people.

Xeniya looked up. Off the top of the roof, faintly visible streamers of green witch-light wafted upwards, peaceful and waving. They appeared visible to the untrained eye as well, given how people were pointing and yammering and taking photos of them. Flowers were slowly budding and blooming in the bushes outside the residence. People were watching, rapt; some praying, some carrying election signs. No counter-protestors, Xeniya noted.

Xeniya went inside, pushing past the staff. As she made her way up to the roof, she glanced around at the hidden runes and spells Wendy had enchanted the house with. Most of them seemed depleted of any Kha and inert.

Once she got to the roof, and shouldered through the CIA and Secret Service minders standing on the roof edges, she saw (even with her limited witch-sight) what Wendy was doing. She could see the power that Wendy was gathering in, coiling and storing inside herself. She’d drained everything in the building and was meditating, deep breathing, and chanting softly under her breath.

Xeniya heard a tapping off to the side and looked. Mister Sweepers was impatiently tapping the roof, waiting for Wendy. It stopped to turn towards Xeniya.

“You hanging in there, Sweepers?” Xeniya said, grinning ruefully. The broom stopped to consider, then shook a no, wiggling side-to-side.

“I hear you,” Xeniya said, watching Wendy.

THEN: OCT 3rd, 2016, OFF THE COAST OF CUBA

President Ashe sat, strapped into the belly of the C-130 (aptly called a hurricane hunter plane, as explained to her), trying her damnedest to meditate. The soldiers in with her glanced fearfully at their president. Wendy was sitting, eyes closed, hands on her lap. Periodically a faint glimmer of green witch-light appeared, curling like smokey ribbons, arcing into her body as she continued to draw in what Kha she could. Periodically ivy with leaves would curve out of her hair. Sometimes she brushed them off. The floor of the cargo area she was in was littered with them.

She hadn’t planned on being in an aircraft at all, but after watching her building Kha for almost an hor on the roof of the First Residence, Xeniya finally walked over and gave her a shake. Wendy opened an eye to squint at her.

“I’m busy.”

“I know,” Xen had said. “I take it you are going to try and bust Hurricane Matthew?” Wendy nodded. “Are you going to talk about what that spectacle was back at the debate?”

Wendy took a deep breath. “The crow is pushing me. I don’t know exactly why, but I have some suspicions. I’m actually waiting for confirmation on something from the Delta labs that might help explain what’s happening.”

“What about the ‘love me, worship me’ parts? That didn’t strike you as a little fucking odd?”

Wendy considered for a moment before answering. “I can see how… er… that comes off as crazy, yes. I guess I lost control a little back there. But Xeniya, my love, let’s be realistic.”

Wendy stood and stretched, then said, “discovering magic and the fundamental underpinnings of the universe, wonderful and terrible truths about what’s out there and how it works… life outside our own, life after death, gods and everything else out there. Humanity has reached a watershed moment, Xeniya.” She smiled slightly at Xen. “Did you really think things weren’t going to change? What did you think this was, just discovering some new technology?”

“Sort of,” Xeniya said. “I guess that was naïve. I still don’t know where this is going, Wendy. It’s getting so big. Bigger than me or us.” Xen paced and looked around, then suddenly said, “let’s talk about the storm. Hurricane Matthew. Why? Why the fuck are you doing this? And don’t say a crow from your dreams.”

Wendy shrugged slightly, brushing aside some hyacinth buds peeking out from a sleeve. “I feel… I feel like I have the ability to do something-”

“There are storms all over the world, Wendy!” Xeniya yelled. “There’s famine and war and… sick and dying. Floods! Everywhere! You aren’t the fucking queen of the world! You can’t be expected to just fix everything! Where does it stop?”

“I’m the President of the United States and this storm is coming to the United States.”

“OK… OK.” Xeniya thought furiously. “So what, you were planning on flying your broomstick two thousand klicks to Cuba and fighting a category four hurricane? Use your brain! Why aren’t you using the resources of the office? Why fly on a broom using up Kha and getting exhausted when the armed services, that you are commander-and-chief of, can fly you there?”

Wendy froze. “Oh. That… makes sense.”

“You’re not a medieval witch in tenth century England, you… you romantic spaz,” Xeniya said, angry and emotional. “You are falling in love with the idea of being this historical throwback object from your books. But you aren’t. You are the President of a modern twenty-first century nation with computers and technology… who happens to also be a witch.”

“I think I’m becoming a witch first,” Wendy said gloomily. “Well, you should be President first,” Xen retorted.

Wendy smirked, looking around the roof at the people supporting the office, trying to do their jobs without showing they were listening in. “I think what I want to call myself is going to be academic very soon. But… the helicopter idea is a good one. Can you talk to Flournoy?”

So here she was, six hours later, flying in the c-130 while the outside winds got worse and worse. Periodic updates came over the radio, both from FEMA and the various agencies tracking the storm in other countries. Wendy did her best to marshal her resources. Right now she should be thinking about the storm, but honestly, she thought to herself, I could use a good bang from that big piece of middle-American corn fed muscle in the opposite seat. Or a little tongue action from the pilot -

Focus, Wendy, she thought firmly. There’s always time for that later. If we live.

Finally, the pilot pivoted and yelled, “Madam President, we’re about fifty miles east of Cuba, in the path of the storm. We’re as close as I can go without really putting us in danger!”

“Right. Thanks, Captain.” Wendy unbuckled with some assistance, and stood up. She shed the extra flight jacket and mask, grabbed her broom, and gestured to the door. The crew cracked open the door into the howling gale of the storm. The inside of the compartment immediately became soaked and raw.

For a moment she stood, just staring out the door. “Well, fuck. That’s a big one, right fellas?” she said to flight crew in the compartment with her. “I’m probably gonna get myself killed out there, huh?”

“With all due respect, Madame President,” one of the crew yelled back with a drawl, “w’all think yer gonna kick its ass.”

Wendy looked back at the men in the belly of the helicopter with her. One of them, a younger ensign, said “I was in Baton Rouge, ma’am, when you stopped the storm there. We’re all praying for you, ma’am!”

Wendy gave them a half smile, said “c’mon Mister Sweepers”, mounted her broom and with an audible poompf was out the door, streaking towards the mass of darkness ahead.

The crew closed the hatch, looked at each other, then at the pilot, who grinned back at them. “I’m gonna try and stay as close as possible so we can keep the president in sight or respond if she calls us. We’ve got some new fancy classified optics from the DOD that supposedly will keep her in sight. You guys mind being knocked around a bit more?”

Ensign Lucas gingerly gestured at the mounted camera. “Captain, this thing looks like it’s made out of resin with eagle feathers and beetles embedded in it.”

The pilot shrugged. “Not your problem, Ensign. Keep President Witch on lock. I’m moving in closer. You see her?”

“Yeah, I got her. She’s really cooking. “

“Hang on!”