1 Chapter 1: Prologue, Part 1

When the elevator reached the bottom floor, a man in a suit and his entourage trod a series of dimly lit hallways, toward a steel set of double doors at the end. Emblazoned on the doors, the Great Seal of the United States. After saluting the center staff member, two guards stepped aside then inserted and turned two keys, simultaneously, to unlock and open the seal before their VIP guest.

A populated dark room of sundry desks and monitors lay before the VIP entourage. On the other side, waiting, stood a man just past middle age, wizened with a determined look about his aging complexion. He extended his four-star uniform's blue sleeve, greeting the suit in the middle of the entourage.

"Secretary Carter."

The suit, another grey-haired man of wiser years, met his greeter's handshake. His stare came with a natural squint that promptly veered off the uniform.

"David," he coolly returned. "There was something you needed me to see."

"Yes, sir. More than that, I think you'll want to."

Joint Chiefs of Staff member David Goldfein led Secretary Carter across the immediate balcony, and down the stairs toward the busy floor of Air Force fatigues. Everyone's computer screen contained at least one of many images showcased on the wall, where overhead monitors relayed various photo-stills of outer space.

"China provided the earliest reports," Goldfein continued, "but around roughly 0600 hours eastern, NASA recorded several astronomical anomalies traveling past Saturn's rings at uniform acceleration."

Secretary Carter stopped halfway down the stairway. "Anomalies? Where are they headed?"

Chief Goldfein halted at the base of the stairs, bracing the secretary with his sober face. "As you can see," Ñgesturing towards the monitorsÑ "they disappeared from Saturn's orbit after ten minutes. The president is being briefed in the White House, and I suspect he may cancel today's rally."

The Secretary stared at the monitors, attempting to register the blips by Saturn's asteroids and elsewhere. But he needed to see more. "So where are they now?" he asked, stepping onto the ground level.

"They're displacing, and fast," replied the chief. They stepped to the foremost row of operational terminals, settling between a pair of subordinates who played their desktop boards like a pair of tuneless instruments. Chief Goldfein pointed at Saturn's rings. "Magnify."

"Sir!" the subordinate acknowledged.

Nearly a dozen distinct shadows, cylindrical in shape, rendered over Saturn's orbit. But the distance was too great for any detail

"Switch to four hours ago..."

Clicking hands brought new images on the monitors, six of them displaying Jupiter's clouded surface. And against its illuminated backdrop returned several floating husks. More prevalent but still distant.

"Two hours ago."

Mars' red surface came onscreen, again the backdrop to a group of floating vessels. Each time, the satellite camera rendered the anomalies more distinct.

"Thirty minutes."

Each photo furrowed the Secretary's brow by deep increments until he could only gawk at the last satellite images of Earth's moon. Likewise flooded by questions, the floor of personnel gawked in the same manner. Larger machines appeared per screen, just outside the moon's craggy surface. More evident than before, they were not asteroids.

Chief Goldfein waited until Secretary Carter breathed before proceeding. And awakening from his stunned vexation, the secretary stammered, "That was thirty minutes ago?" By now, the screens exhibited Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, and the moon in chronological sequence.

"We determined as much, but we had to be certain," the chief replied. "After checking with NASA, these are in fact the exact same aberrations chronicled across our solar system. And they held firm to their 'empirical' calculation; no celestial body is capable of this acceleration. In conjunction with external measurements, their constancy of shape, then there can be no doubtÑ"

"They're already here, aren't they?"

Chief Goldfein and the majority of personnel planted disquiet stares on the Secretary of Defense. The silence compounded until Goldfein stepped within close earshot.

"Our atmosphere will be breached within the hour...China, Russia, and the EU have already mobilized. Norad is on standby."

Secretary Carter let out a long, deep breath, deadpanned on the strange, floating ships over the moon's craters.

"The pistol is cocked..."

***

Under the morning rays of a New York City sun, traffic was terrible. Nevertheless, energy circulated around every corner of the bustling streets. Just another restless Tuesday cologned with gasoline, propane, and coffee. Grind to grind, shot to shot, and hot dog to hot dog, people learned to get along with the hassles of one sunrise and the next.

The cover of the New York Post read Premature Elation. In one bench or another, magazine faces told better tales than the information inside. Posters littered the dirty canvas of urban sprawl: corners, fronts, and apartment sides. Everywhere, paperback letters hurled warnings about political affiliations. But the news was of no concern to the street artist; not to the performer, the demo distributor or entrepreneur, and not the morning jogger.

Man's relief from the terror of the morning workday Ð Smiles. Sometimes they were scarce, despite the homeless man on the corner of Greenwich and Fulton promoting them with a cardboard sign. Alas, the aim of a weekday, even sunny ones, was to keep moving.

So, a single wanderer kept going. He contemplated, second-guessed, and watched through his thick sunglasses the day-to-day minutia in the city.

"Watch the road!"

He could barely hear the exclamation outside his headphones, but turned his attention left, toward the street, and found the middle finger outside of a taxi window.

Muffled vehicle engines, ghostly faces under urban boughs. He passed the whites and reds of cement and brick, in the direction of the tallest building he could find, past another tall building. Another squirrel crossed his gaze, past the solemn structure with arches for windows and a cross in the center. Greenery gathered underfoot until he reached the wet squares of New York City's most recent memorial.

Among the souls already visiting the parkÑventuring through bushes, meditating throughout concreteÑhe missed one peculiar pedestrian stuck in a phone. He was a young Caucasian wearing a green hoodie, casual jeans, and thick-rimmed glasses. His smartphone maneuvered him, guided his eager steps so that he failed to see the impending trench coat. They collided.

"Ah!" The student grabbed the pool's edge to avoid falling. During recovery, he finally noticed the wanderer.

The wanderer, a taller man enclosed in a white trenchcoat, stood upright and unfazed. His hands automatically reverted to the rim of his thick sunglasses as they met the student.

Meagerly, the student jerked upright; his gaze fell on the sunglasses and large headphones over a beanie. Only vestiges of pale skin lay underneath.

"Apologies!" the stranger exclaimed.

"That may have been my fault," the student said, scratching his head before returning to his phone. "Damn, almost had a Squirtle."

"No matter. It may be that I could have avoided you if my thoughts would only return to what they were."

The student escaped his phone after catching an air of remorse from the stranger's voice. They had collided by a pool, a grand square of black reflection. Placing the device in his pocket, he looked back at the names inscribed in marble rim before turning back.

"Did you lose someone? If you did, I didn't mean to offend. Well, I never mean to offend."

But the stranger shook his head. "These are not the names clouding my thoughts."

"Just out for a stroll? Procrastinating? Same."

"I do wish it were a simple stroll..." And the strange man's eyes swept the ground. Quickly, he looked up. "Excuse us. Questions, they keep stirring in my mind. Can I confide in a stranger like yourself to answer just a few?"

The student shrugged. "I guess. I got some time before classes."

"You attend an academy?" The stranger inched closer.

The student eyed him. "Yea, I go to a University."

"Which one?"

"Columbia."

"One of the good ones, yes?"

"Heh. You aren't from around here."

"It is, as they say, a long storÑ" He seemed tiredly mid-sentence. "We should sit down."

Both of them paced backward a few feet, to one of many benches guarded by white oaks. As they awkwardly sat in view of the water in black, the cool November breeze set in, and the wanderer wasted no time. "Do you think the planet is in a fair state?"

With a wince, the student replied, "Kinda depends."

"Because you do not know? Or because it is a question that cannot be answered?"

"I mean, it could be better. But it could always be better, right? It's a really broad question."

And the stranger looked away, twiddling his thumbs in silence. "I suppose you are right." Then he returned more eagerly. "What of these posters around the city? Could your election improve things?"

The student cynically scoffed, a white smile painting his face. But a few seconds into the question, the smile faded, and his demeanor retreated into sobriety. "I... Things aren't looking great. And I can't really explain how it ended up that way. Maybe if you asked a Political Science major." Looking over at the wanderer's lap, he noticed his latex thumbs still twiddling and his knees quietly trembling. "Are you okay, man?"

"Yes!" he wobbled. "I've just been without my, umm... Something once calmed me."

"A medication?"

"Yes! A medication! For the past few months, I have been without this medication, and I don't perceive anything as I once did."

An emphatic look then dropped from the student to the stranger. "So that's why"Ñhe coughedÑ"Why go without your medication?"

"I've been here for too long, thus exhausted all of it. There is no more."

"You try a pharmacy?"

"I know it does not exist here. Only where I'm from."

"Well, you can Amazon that stuff. Or something. What's it called?"

"Hmm?"

"The name of the medication."

But the wanderer sighed, losing himself in thought and in the overcast sky. He stood from their bench and made eye contact one last time. "What is your name?"

"It's Adam," said the student.

"Adam from Columbia. I wish you grace on your path, and hope what comes next only befits your aspirations."

"I appreciate that," Adam said, extending his hand. "What's your name?"

The wanderer stared at the hand suspiciously, at first, then met the student's grip with his own, answering, "Mik'ael."

"Mick Al. Nice meeting you."

"And you."

They parted ways, one toward the memorial and the other sauntering into the city's tallest tower nearby.