Officially, the world leaders had called an emergency summit to confer about the European broach’s growing instabilities.
That had been a cover story mapped out long in advance. The heads of state were actually bunkered in Australia’s western end, on the opposite side of the world from the broach, waiting to see if the world would end.
The President had prepared as best she could for this day: several drafts of speeches had been written to cover outcomes ranging from “total success” to “abject failure.” General Kanakia had warned them not to be near any Unimancer, as their efforts to contain the broach might cause an “overflow” – whatever that meant – so various security teams had combined to ensure they were fifty miles away from any Unimancer. The Emergency Broadcast system was prepped in case the dead zone over Europe widened.
She’d hoped this day would never arrive. Or, at least, that it wouldn’t arrive on her watch.
On the way here, she’d done a test reading of the “humanity is about to be extinguished” speech, and had thrown up afterwards.
It had been a good speech. They’d had years to work on it. Every President had to approve the annihilation speech presented to them the day they took office – a brutal induction ceremony to remind them there were some things even Presidents could not control.
The other world leaders had gathered in the briefing chamber. Some were newly elected, wondering why they’d been put in charge just as things skidded into shit; others had been dictators for decades, chewing out their aides to take out their frustrations.
They all looked frustrated, afraid, tense. Each had armies at their disposal. Aircraft carriers. Nukes.
Nothing would help against a broach. Classified files had demonstrated what happened when an experimental nuclear explosion had tried to seal a broach in the late 1940s, and the results hadn’t been pretty.
The President, like all world leaders, loathed ’mancy – and not just because it caused messes. No, the worst thing about ’mancy was that only ’mancers could fix those messes. Paul Tsabo had demonstrated some new power that altered the broach – a power that held potential to heal or exacerbate it.
If SMASH and Paul Tsabo couldn’t fix the problem, then no one could.
Magic forced even the most power mad tyrant to admit fallibility.
Worse, she couldn’t tell anyone. “Everyone might die tomorrow” would not be soothed by the addendum of “in a worst-case scenario.” It had been agreed decades ago that should the broach go critical, no announcements would be made until they could ensure panicked riots would be their least concerns.
Her staff had been on edge since General Kanakia had broken the news. It was hard, sending them home to their grandchildren. You couldn’t negotiate with the broach, you couldn’t science it away, you could just… hope.
They hadn’t even let her bring her family. This was a small bunker, meant for Armageddon.
So they’d been holed up, guards relaying information from distant Unimancers – their only reliable information source, since radio signals degraded over broach areas – seeing if the problem would improve.
“Ms President,” the Chief of Staff said. “Reports are, the Unimancers have gone dark.”
She polished off her Scotch. “All right. It’s go time.”
“But…”
“But what?”
The Chief of Staff drew the President’s attention to the banks of satellite feeds overhead.
The President leaned forward, watching something hideous emerge from the broach in five-second snapshotted updates.
“Is that… is that Thing visible from space?” she asked.
The world leaders gripped their seats, hoping their children would live to see tomorrow.