Tamarin, South-West Asia GroupAs the presentation closed, there was not the usual, albeit oft obligatory, applause. Instead, Lionel saw an abundance of skepticism as he surveyed the room. It never was easy to separate the wealthy from their riches. However, these people sat comfortably around the crumbs of their seventh course in a lavish dining hall. A warm sunset poured through the crystal walls and scattered as a rainbow upon the interior. More importantly, it was not money he requested—no material aide such as food or medical supplies. Instead, he, at Czes’ bidding, implored them to spend some of their political capital such that Earth’s government might spare Allure City its vengeance. At the very least, he hoped the opportunists amongst them would have noticed the technological sophistication evident in Allure and leverage it to their benefit.
As the projector faded and the screen behind Lionel reverted to the conch-like outline of the Tran Hung Dao Convention Center and Concert Hall, an elderly man stood, tapped his lapel, and with microphone activated said,
“I believe I speak for all gathered in saying how saddened I am by the turmoil that befell our world on this day. It is indeed a day of unparalleled tragedy. What was to be an economic summit and road map to yet greater global prosperity instead has become a stark reminder of how our species remains imperiled by alien strife. If, as you claim, the event was not malicious, it matters little, for its consequences cannot be ignored. Nor can we or should we ignore and forget the hundred million of our own who are lost. As such, until we have answers—some hope, however slight, of closure, Ashok Leyland shall remain silent on the issue of a peaceful relationship with Allure City. Moreover, we are of the opinion that it may be by force alone that we can come to know the truth of what became of Earth’s own citizens.”Unlike Lionel’s words, those of Ashok Leyland’s chairman were received with an ovation. It was very culturally appropriate a reaction—watch and then decide. From his place behind the podium at the front of the room, the Terran native frowned. Even with the promise of inaction, violence remained favored. There was no path by means of mere sophistry to impress upon these fools the worthiness of alien life, apparently, particularly when juxtaposed with a quite visceral and recent reminder of the tenuousness of their own species’ continued presence in the cosmos.
<
Perfect, > Czes’ voice intruded into Lionel’s mind, <
Now, repeat after me: “While disappointed, the Comte Foundation sees the wisdom in Chairman Girotra’s perspective. If we destroy the scene of the crime, we may never come to know what became of the Iberian Peninsula's people. As such, prudence demands we do what we can to keep Allure City’s infrastructure and intellectual resources intact.” >
Lionel repressed a smile. No doubt this was Czes’ plan all along.
. . .
Allure City, Xepabul District—formerly SalamancaAt its apex, a lone figure glowered through a transparent quartz pane embedded in the exoskeleton of an allophane-encrusted plastisteel tower that twisted skyward from a triangular base of quake-resistant mycelium-concrete. Similarities between the skyscraper and Shanghai’s long-derelict
Zånhe Tsonshin Dasa were uncanny, although Xepabul’s dominant feature dwarfed its facsimile by almost a thousand meters. Below it was an inexplicable junkyard sprawl that raced toward the horizon in all directions, replete with broken-down spacecraft, drones, skimmers, excavators, battle bots, household appliances, and more. Then, like a distant oasis, was Xepabul’s main attraction, the Gran Circo. Tens of thousands of spectators lined up at the overwhelmed ticket booths, angry and insistent on the restoration of their precious credits. Such was, after all, their only recourse until the Stream reboot completed.
Disgusted, Fimiendel Vericlatigan X, first of his name, turned from the window and depressed his three extracranial compound lobes, flushed with fury, against his skull. Momentarily, he found relief from the world’s coarse stimuli in a plane of beatific sensory repression. Lost income from the behemoth mecha tournament was the least of his worries. From all over Allure, reports flooded into his office of escaped convicts and he, as fate and his own machinations devised, was the city’s Arch Warden.
“When I find whoever set off that EMP, I’m going to—” he began when, auspiciously, the aperture of the vid-sphere on his flat slate-topped desk projected an alert that pulsed crimson, indicative of a call he was required to take. Nonplussed, he dispatched a microdrone from a prosthetically-bound actuation filament and in his mind’s eye tracked it until it activated the receiver.
“How do you do? It’s Margaret,” the receiver intoned, although strangely there was no video feed that accompanied her voice.
“I know. Presumably your call is due to the prisoner situation that has arisen, but it is under control, I assure—” he began, but she interrupted:
“No time for idle gossip, my darling Fimiendel. Please join an all-black holo-chamber meeting in approximately twenty minutes. Participation is mandatory. I have a lot of calls to make, as the meeting shall include the Elites as well as members of Parliament. You understand. Goodbye.”There was the tell-tale click on the other end of a rotary phone being hung up, then silence.
. . .
New Roswell, AntarcticaIt was finally obvious that a Val’Gara attack wasn’t imminent. Indeed, with the singular exception of Brobdingnag they already were beyond detection of in-atmosphere telescopes. And even given that, the monstrosity was far enough away to be but small speck. Much of the vanguard were already beyond the rift, he calculated.
Apollo didn’t seem particularly pleased.
How blasé.
Autun started to saunter from the chamber, then called back over his shoulder,
“By the way, President Amon, I did ‘do something’—thanks to me, you are the only human who, on this auspicious occasion, remembers that he beheld the threat of extinction as it encircled your planet. No furthers riots. No further suicides, heart attacks, or rubbernecking. Hm. Now that I struggle to recall, it isn’t the first instance you and yours benefited from such blissful ignorance.”As he spoke, flecks of white metal materialized on his tawny flesh and blue mane. It scintillated boldly, almost profanely. The accumulation was swift, and within moments the nubile archetype of youthful virility, which Earth’s alien benefactor uniquely embodied, was entombed by a modern abstractionist interpretation of the same. As from Cellini to Boccioni, the evolution was fundamentally cynical, with unblemished vigor usurped by raw utility. While nude no more, the armor augmented, rather than concealed, his unabashed maleness. If anything, it accentuated his prominent presentation of form—his inherent power. A symbol obscured by its own aura, however, for everything was suddenly much heavier—weightier. For even the hardiest of humans, it became impossible to remain upright or feel courageous in Autun’s presence. It was as though they were in the shadow of an ancient and lethal titan.
“But you’re tired, aren’t you, Apollo?” Autun, who momentarily paused and stood still, said scornfully,
“Weary of knowing you’re never truly safe. Not from them—the Val’Gara. Not from anything in this vast and terrible universe. Because, in spite of being a man who surrounds himself with fanciful religious iconography, you have no faith. Not even in friends. I hoped if not your mind, perhaps your heart … well, anyway, you’re clearly someone who needs to see in order to believe.”“What?” Apollo said, likely flabbergasted by the gloomy transition.
“Shall I destroy Allure City?” Autun wondered aloud in a sudden departure of subject, a black spear that sliced an ugly gash in the ceiling inexplicably held fast by his right gauntlet,
“Or stop the tidal wave that will drown a billion souls in Europe and the Americas?”The armor turned around and faced Apollo, a red glint in its visor.
“I warn you, once I taste blood, it is going to take more than Allure—more than the Val’Gara to slake my passion. So be prepared to point to the sky and decide which galaxy is extinguished.”Apollo seemed genuinely appalled, but eventually insisted,
“Stop the tidal wave, of course!”At those words, the mood lightened. The Asita was gone, although whether its absence made the others in the room more or less comfortable remained in doubt. Meanwhile, Autun wore a little grin on his face and replied,
“Good answer,” he said, then, after a moment, proclaimed,
“It is done. Still, there is so much more fun we can have. Have you heard of Ximbic-8? No? Check Wikipedia. Well, look to the sky and you’ll understand. Don’t worry, I intend to make it easy for the average person to travel back and forth.”. . .
Tamarin, South-West Asia GroupAdorned in gray sweatpants and a sleeveless white shirt, an offensively cheap wardrobe when Czes’ immense wealth was considered—at least it would be were Spencer not keenly aware of his lifestyle’s abusive relationship towards clothing—he pushed his thumbs in his pockets and tugged the waistband down until it was almost inappropriate. In his teeth he clutched a blade of grass, plucked from one of the seaside gardens of the adrift metropolis. Now he was a good hour into his exploration of Tamarin and the ocean a good kilometer behind and below. He could barely smell it, much less see it or hear it. Yet, throughout his upward trek, every building and boulevard was orderly, pristine, and decorated in a sea shell motif.
This city is repulsively clean, he griped, his bare feet warmed by the solar-collection cobbles that formed the pavement. Absently, he reached into a pocket and caressed his credit card and handful of bills.
Where can I find a fix, dick, or tit –or anything close—for a few hours?As if in answer to his question, an arch materialized in front of him. It was strangely viscous, fibrous, yet inviting. Encircled by its cerulean curve was a world that did not match the orderliness of Tamarin. Curious, he walked around it and gazed up the street. The mauve-hued cobbles continued unperturbed. Meanwhile, the same image of a rather alien alleyway rippled like a projection on the surface of a bézier mirror.
“Are there any portals to, uh, other worlds in, oh, whatever this frikin virginal city is named?” Spencer said, although nobody else was with him on the boulevard.
<
Tamarin is the name of the city you are in, Mister Tras. As far as our records indicate, there are no portals anywhere on Earth to extrasolar civilizations. >
The signal seemed to pulse into his eyes from the contacts he wore. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but worse experiences were in fair supply and recent memory.
Frik it, he thought, then stepped through.
. . .
Allure City—City CenterWhile Margaret busily arranged the holo-conference, Tristan was likewise occupied. The first thing he noticed was the horrible security of the studio. Not merely the hole in the wall that Merse’s body made. Not just the hacked cameras. Downright simple things like how some short-stuff named Harold strolled on in without so much as a doorbell or elevator chime. The intruder was clearly well-adapted to chaos, because he didn’t even blink at the display of unconscious bodies.
For the while, he allowed it. Interlopers would be surveilled so long as their interference remained at a minimal. After all, it gave Earth’s government more insight into Allure City’s inner-workings. Still, he didn’t like the idea of a rescue operation denying him his charge, so he disabled elevators, stairwells, and portals then deployed a matter-stabilization net in a hundred meter sphere centered on the studio designed to prevent teleportation in or out. Finally, he assigned a grid of covert drones to defensively patrol the building’s external perimeter and keep out unwanted guests. Meanwhile, the communicator Margaret received actively monitored each and every one of her conversations, which were projected to Tethys, filtered for memetic and info-hazards, and forwarded on to New Roswell’s interrogation unit.
“Right, no bombs. Troops on the ground, anyway, don’t wanna blow em up; ya know?” he agreed.
Margaret nodded her understanding, but was already in the midst of another call.
Suddenly, Tethys reported:
>> Warning: Gravimetric shift.
>> New location: orbiting 500 kilometers above Earth.
>> Spacial anomalies present.He sprinted to the window and looked out. In disbelief, he saw, far below, Earth—specifically an outline of Allure City with a giant hole missing from the middle. At least, that’s what it looked like when he compared it to his recollection of satellite images presented to him just prior to his assignment. About five kilometers distant, he noted the distinctive ripple of light on a transparent surface. They were contained some sort of a bubble. A thin band of light bound intermittently by a helix of caliginous metal descended into obscurity and, presumably, toward Earth’s surface.
“What did you do?” Tristan turned on Margaret and demanded. Yard stick be damned, he furiously approached and pressed the barrel of his laser pistol against her forehead.
She looked at him as though he were a crazy person. Then, as if in an effort to relieve his suspicious, Tethys interrupted:
>> Look out the opposite window, Tristan. Spacial anomalies present.As he rushed over to satisfy Tethys’ recommendation, he knocked over a ridiculously curvy viridian bookshelf that was suspiciously bereft of books but had plenty of what, from the corner of his consciousness, appeared to be old vinyl 78s. Far away, beyond the orbit of the moon, perhaps five-hundred-thousand kilometers, was a large purple ribbon that twisted and undulated from one end of his field of vision to the other.
>> Receiving message from New Roswell:
>> - - proceed with mission.
>> - - events uncorrelated.
>> - - no threat designations active.By this point, Margaret dared to join him at the window. Her complexion paled a bit, but otherwise she seemed strangely stoic. Then, unexpectedly, she declared:
“I wasn’t aware Earth shared space with a ribbon world.” “Right. Yeah. So, I’m going to need a list of Allure’s top scientists and technicians,” Tristan said, or more to the point read the next agenda item on his HUD,
“Mind if I brew some tea while I wait?” 
Phase,
Fetzen,
Spider Pickle,
CaptainBritton,
Divorarel,
Xol Raiyel,
Izurich,
odium,
hanzo,
Liaison