Tuesday Evening–White House Oval Office
A small group meets for a late evening meeting in the Oval Office. President Jon Anderson, briefed on the topic earlier, asked his chief of staff to review the details one more time. The meeting includes key insiders: the president; Chief of Staff Russell Thompson; National Security Adviser Colonel Cruikshank; Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Mahon and a portly white man who is busy checking messages on his band.
"Colonel Cruikshank, once we're underground, we will receive constant updates with casualty and damage reports. Is that right?"
The old colonel sits in a chair next to the president's desk. Colonel Cruikshank is old yet looks sturdy and mentally sharp. His face is narrow, wrinkled, and war-withered, with thinning brown hair.
The colonel is a famous war hero who nearly lost his right leg in the war for New Persia while leading his troops to victory against overwhelming odds. The injury left a single taut strip of thigh muscle in his leg. Doctors wanted to amputate the limb, but the colonel refused. After a long painful recovery, he walks with the use of a cane.
The portly man has assisted the colonel since the old war hero entered government service; first serving as the Secretary of Defense, then as Chief of Staff in the previous administration and now as the National Security Advisor. Many people around Capitol Hill believe that the colonel has too much influence over the president and others in government.
The colonel wears a black tunic with gold trim: the uniform of a military leader, but it's not a uniform of the US military. He holds a shiny black cane across his lap. The cane is elegant. It has a gold tip and an ornate gold handle in the shape of a fierce-looking bald eagle. He speaks with a raspy voice.
"Mr. President, our command center will have open lines of communication with constant updates. You will have red-phone contact with world leaders to coordinate recovery efforts once the storm begins." The colonel coughs, clearing his throat before continuing. "We will block communications for team members and general staff. This is a security issue. I trust all is clear. We have covered it before, Jon," he says, addressing the president.
The president has a distant look in his eyes. After the colonel stops speaking, seconds pass before the president responds, speaking to no one in particular. "Very well."
The president looks at the portly man. "You there, Professor, you're sure this threat is real? This event you've spoken of will really happen. It's not like your prediction last year. What was the name of that asteroid, Colossus?"
The portly man sits on a sofa in front of the president's desk. "My name is Zsoldos sir. Just Zsoldos. We are quite sure of the coming event. It will not be a near miss. As I have said, we miscalculated the orbital trajectory of Colossus. There was a miscommunication in the data received from the now-defunct European Space Agency. A simple error. This event is not a single asteroid. The current threat includes thousands of asteroids and comets. The best-case scenario, based on our computer simulations, is a massive worldwide bombardment."
The simple error Zsoldos speaks about caused President Anderson to make a somber announcement broadcast on all the streaming networks. His message warned of an eminent impact and a worldwide disaster. The announcement sent all developed nations of the world into chaos. Panic followed the news. People flooded stores to stock up on food and water. There was looting, murder, and hysteria. News media convinced people they would be safer in the countryside, so everyone fled the cities, jamming freeways. It was total mayhem and madness. After a week of pandemonium, Colossus passed Earth at twenty thousand miles. Very close in space distances, but Earth was safe.
Scientists proclaimed that Earth was out of danger from Colossus for at least two hundred years. Panic subsided. Shopkeepers repaired broken windows, restocked shelves, and submitted insurance claims for the damage. Life went back to normal.
But, a select group in power decided they would not—could not—be so transparent with critical information in the future. They understood, when faced with an unpreventable disaster, providing advance warning might cause as much damage as the disaster itself. This group inside the US Government developed the "Bliss Protocol," as in ignorance is bliss. The less people know, the easier they will be to control.
The president looks to General Mahon, who sits on a second couch facing Zsoldos. "General, how do you plan to control the population on the surface if this situation becomes a reality?"
The general stands and steps behind the couch. "Mr. President, as soon as we have confirmation, we'll pull the trigger, so to speak on the homeland defense forces. Military personnel will enforce martial law. All government employees, from local police to homeland security and FEMA, will secure and control the civilian population. We've equipped every department with weapons, riot gear, millions of rounds of ammunition, and—"
Alarms, buzzers, and ringtones go off, interrupting the general. Everyone in the room receives a call, alert, or alarm. Colonel Cruikshank receives a call in his ear dot. Chief of Staff Thompson touches his VUE to check the message, while Zsoldos attends to his band and VUE glasses, dictating messages and reading responses.
Colonel Cruikshank whispers. "Perth, Australia? When? How much damage? Get me an update as soon as you can. A meteor? You're positive? Keep me posted."
Everyone in the room reads messages and talks in hushed tones. The only person not engaged is the president, who sits dumbfounded at his desk, wondering what's going on. General Mahon looks to the colonel. The colonel's eyes are fiery and alive as they lock on the general's, whose eyes reveal panic seeking guidance.
The colonel feels alive and excited but exudes calm. He speaks confidently. "Initiate Bliss Protocol."
The general nods agreement and makes a call to his staff. "Initiate Bliss Protocol. Worldwide basis. Nothing gets out of Australia. That's right, total information lockdown. Now!" The general waves over his band to end the call, then gives a confirming nod to the colonel.
The president is not known for his patience. "Why are you initiating Bliss? What in high heavens is going on? Stop what you're doing. Talk to me, damn it!"
The colonel speaks first. "Mr. President, a meteor has hit the city of Perth. We have reports of widespread destruction. Fires are raging in the city center. There is a massive loss of life."
The president leans back in his executive chair with a sigh. "Cruikshank, why are you initiating Bliss? Perth is outside of the US; we've never used Bliss before. It's not an international protocol. We developed Bliss for domestic use. Let the Australians handle this themselves. If they need assistance, we can send support, but this is not in our bailiwick."
"Mr. President, there was the Chilean situation, you'll remember, a couple months ago. We implemented a form of the Bliss protocol for that disaster."
The president looks angry and flustered. "We did not initiate any form of Bliss for the Chilean earthquake. The news of the earthquake and resulting tsunami streamed on the networks continuously for weeks."
Thompson steps to the couch where Zsoldos sits, leans down, and whispers in his ear. "We didn't fully brief the president on all aspects of the Chilean situation."
Zsoldos eyes Cruikshank before speaking. "Mr. President, I am sure you remember that the Chilean incident was not an earthquake. That was the cover story."
The colonel gives Zsoldos a slight nod. He leans on his cane to stand and steps behind the president, then rests a hand on his shoulder. "Jon, I'm sure you recall when a meteor impacted the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Chile. We generated reports of a severe earthquake. We let the news agencies run with it. They were very effective, I might add. You decided on that plan in this room. I'm sure you remember what really happened in Chile."
The president looks frustrated. Zsoldos can see that the president is struggling to recall his memories.
The president sits erect to look confident. "I remember exactly what we decided. The news agencies did a splendid job spreading the story line we wanted them to circulate. Splendid job. An interesting adaptation of the Bliss Protocol. We should do the same for Perth. We don't want people thinking our cities can be destroyed by a… what was it, Professor? What was it in Perth?"
"It was a meteor, Mr. President. My staff is working to gather data on the incoming trajectory, dimensions, and mass. I should have an update soon."
The president's eyes darken with sadness. He works hard to keep his presidential composure, but it's difficult under the circumstances. "A meteor. How terrible. What will we tell the press?��� The president looks to Russell, who is writing notes on the projected screen of his band.
Russell looks to the colonel, then to the president. "A daytime fireball in the sky?"
Cruikshank lifts his cane and taps it on the carpet. "Daytime fireball it is. Get the press on it. Stop all other communications."
Cruikshank then defers to the president. "Only if you agree, Jon."
President Anderson hesitates a moment, then asks, "Professor, is that a real thing? A daytime—?"
"A daytime fireball is a real thing. They are more common than you might think."
"Obviously so," says the president.
President Anderson sits silent for a moment before speaking again. "This is really happening. America, and much of the world as we know it, destroyed. Fiery blasts from the sky will extinguish the American dream." The president appears very despondent.
The colonel responds. "Yes, sir. The America we know, and love will most likely cease to exist, but we have prepared."
He turns to Thompson. The colonel and the chief of staff have discussed this matter several times. They've tried to convince Anderson to sign the ARC amendment, but the president continues to delay. Thompson moves to the president's desk. "As we discussed, Congress and the states have ratified the ARC amendment. It's just awaiting your signature."
ARC, or the American Republic Corporation amendment, if signed, will eradicate the US Constitution, and replace the Republic that is the United States of America with a corporate republic. The proposal is to create a new republic, run like a business, instead of suffering through the political gridlock of the present system. The new republic will function under a small controlling body, with the goal of encouraging budget restraint, business and personal growth, individual independence, and job creation with a governing body known as the council. The Arcadian Council.
President Anderson fumes. "You're pressuring me on this issue again. I have not signed the amendment into law because… well, because I don't want to sign it. Do you want my legacy to be the president who killed the American dream?"
Thompson tries to console the president. "You may not get the choice. If things go as predicted, we will need an orderly transition to a new system. If not, we will have chaos, sir."
The president huffs. "I need more time. I did not expect to be the last American president. This is not a decision one should rush."
"I understand, sir, but there isn't much time."
The president stands and stares out the window to the south lawn. He gazes into the dark cloudless sky. No asteroids are falling. It's a clear starlit sky. The president turns to the others in the room. "So many sour topics this evening gentleman."
The president walks around his desk and points at Zsoldos. "You there, Professor." Zsoldos pauses from reading messages. "You're sure this threat is real. It will really happen. It's not like that prediction of yours last year, of that Colossus thing, is it?" the president asks.
Zsoldos' jaw drops. Thompson rushes to the president's side. All eyes in the room are on Anderson. Russell grabs Anderson's shoulders from behind and directs him back to his chair. "We just covered that topic, sir. Please have a seat," Russell says calmly.
Once seated, the president looks, one by one, at the key advisers in the room. "Well, since we have covered that topic, is there anything else to discuss? If not, I believe I have a full calendar. You are all dismissed."
General Mahon makes his way out of the Oval Office. The colonel doesn't move as fast. It takes some time and effort getting to his feet. He relies on his cane and the back of a chair for support to stand erect. "I'm moving slowly this evening, Jon. I believe I could benefit from some time in the spa. Would you like to join me?"
Thompson agrees. "Mr. President, this was the last meeting on today's calendar. I think a visit to the spa is a splendid idea. It will give you a chance to clear your mind."
"Yes, I do feel muddled," Anderson concurs. "It must be all this bad news. The poor people in Chile. An earthquake, and a tsunami to boot. What a terrible thing."