Authors Note:
Thank you all for waiting! At last, Manifest Fantasy is now out!
Be sure to review the synopsis for a general idea of what this story will be about.
Updates are scheduled once every two weeks.
Author's Note 2 (4/16/2024 Update):
Manifest Fantasy manga/comic is now in the works! Still just setting up the foundation so it might take a while, but I think I've found an artist I can work with. See the discord or royalroad for a glimpse of what the manga might look like if I continue working with this artist. Feel free to join the discord to stay tuned for updates! Early access content and drafts will be available exclusively for Patrons. If you'd like to support the development of the manga and see WIP pages, please consider becoming a Patron.
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd
Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
——
Groom Lake, Nevada
Area 51
November 3, 2024
The sandstorm was a nuisance, no two ways about it. Captain Henry Donnager grumbled as he fought his way toward the hangar, the wind doing its best to yank his cap right off his head. Sand stung his eyes and scraped at his skin, making it a real bitch to see where he was going. The only consolation was that he wasn't alone in this misery – every poor bastard on base was battling the elements, rushing to secure equipment and seal off doors before the storm could do any real damage.
Even through the chaos, one corner of the base was still active as ever, sandstorm be damned. Henry squinted through the haze, making out the shape of the hangar housing the Manifest Project. He'd been there a million times, but today felt different. Apparently, the inclement weather wasn't enough to convince Dr. Lombard to postpone. Whatever she had planned, it couldn't wait.
The sound of crunching sand drew his attention, and he turned to see Lieutenant Ron Owens trudging towards him, a grin on his face that seemed to defy the raging storm. Ron was a mountain of a man, an imposing figure whose physical prowess could have comfortably secured him a spot on any NFL team. He'd been his wingman since they graduated from the Academy a couple of years back. Why he stuck with the Space Force was a perplexing mystery, his reasoning even more so. Whenever asked about his decision, his answer was unwavering: 'Adventure.'
"Henry! What's good? You excited?" Ron called out, his booming voice carrying over the howling winds.
Henry dapped him up. "Excited? Only thing I'm excited about is getting away from this sand. Coarse, rough, irritating, and all that."
"Naw, c'mon bruh," Ron said, leading Henry past the closing hangar doors, "Today's the day, I can feel it in my bones!"
Henry snorted, shaking his head. "That's what you said the last fourteen times, man. I'm starting to think your bones need a fucking reality check."
Ron chuckled, throwing an arm around Henry's shoulders. "Look alive, man. Trust me, it's different this time. Just wait and see."
Henry wasn't so sure, but he had to admit, the facility did feel different. People seemed more on edge, more focused – not like they were hoping for something to happen, but like they knew something was about to happen. He'd overheard whispers in the mess hall, snippets of conversation that hinted at a major breakthrough. But he'd learned long ago not to put too much stock in rumors.
"I'll believe it when I see it," he said, shrugging off Ron's arm. "Let's just get inside."
Together, they made their way into the heart of the facility, passing through a series of security checkpoints and sealed doors. The deeper they went, the more the chaos of the Nevada desert fell away, replaced by the hum of machinery and chatter of excited voices. Eventually, they reached the heart of it all: the gateway.
Resting upright upon a concrete platform, the massive semicircle stretched to at least half the length of the hangar, boasting a diameter large enough to fit a Boeing 747 with ease. Thick transparent barriers surrounded the gateway alongside cameras, sensors, and layers of defenses. Mysterious symbols — dubbed 'runes' by the researchers — dotted the ring's perimeter. What they meant was anyone's guess.
It looked like something straight out of a science fiction flick, a portal to another world just waiting to be opened. The mere presence of this enigmatic structure ignited a sense of thrilling anticipation within him — a taste of the 'adventure' Ron so often spoke of. Maybe he was right. Maybe today was the day they'd finally make it work.
"Incredible, huh?" Ron said, coming to stand beside him. "This shit may very well be the greatest discovery of human history, and to top it all off, we 'boutta be the first to lay eyes on it."
"I've seen it dozens of times, and it still gets me," Henry sighed. He watched as men and women in protective suits set up computers and other gadgets by a large silvery box that echoed the arcane design of the ring.
Ron's eyes settled on the figures moving about. "Looks like they're getting ready to seal the gate just in case," he said, pointing at a group of lab-coated personnel huddled behind some consoles near the gate itself.
"Can't blame them," Henry mused, his gaze tracing the myriad of safety measures surrounding the gateway. "Last thing we want is an alien plague on Earth."
Ron's laugh was genuine, but his eyes remained fixed on the gate. "Or bloodthirsty wannabe Romans."
Henry turned towards Ron, tearing his eyes away from the alien structure for a moment. He lowered his head and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, Romans? There could be parasitic aliens masquerading as deities, lanky grey men, hell, even dragons and shit, and your first thought is the Roman Empire? What kinda adventure you dream about when you signed up for the Space Force?"
"Look, Cap, not my idea, alright? But there was this one anime –," he paused for a moment to clear his throat, "Ahem, Japanese cartoon, that has fantasy Romans pouring out of a portal, just to get clapped by modern guns. Just a reference."
"Well, as long as it doesn't have any of those generic weeb harems and 500-year-old teen girls, I guess I won't judge your taste."
Ron looked to the side, a slight gesture that slipped past Henry's radar. "Anyway, the scientists say that the readings are more energetic than before, and even managed to convince General Harding to come by and check it out."
Henry's skepticism returned as a half-smile. "Really, now?"
Ron raised his hands, "Look, I've had doubts, but I think I've also had more faith. Besides, if Dr. Lamarr thinks something's gonna happen for real, then it probably will."
"Yeah dude," Henry sighed, conceding. "I guess you do have a point there." His eyes drifted over toward a tall blonde woman in a white coat, assisting the other researchers. After pointing at a screen, she paused and looked up at the ring, catching Henry staring at her from the railing. Henry gave a wave and a smile, feeling satisfied as she returned the friendly gesture before going back to work.
Ron nudged him teasingly. "Got your eye on Dr. Lamarr, have you?"
"Watch it," he replied, though his grin belied his feigned irritation. "She's the top scientist here, aside from Director Lombard herself. Helps to have friends in smart places."
The air in the hangar tightened as the transparent barriers sealed the gateway, trapping it in a fortified containment chamber. The last of the technicians cleared the area, leaving just the hum of machines and a bunch of nervous-looking scientists.
He couldn't stop thinking about what might be waiting on the other side, if they really did get around to activating it. A bunch of rocks and dust? Little green men? Hell, for all he knew, they could be opening a door to a whole civilization. The not-knowing was driving him nuts, barely tempered by pragmatism.
"Times like this, I wish we knew more about those who built this thing," Ron admitted, his voice dropping to a contemplative tone. "What were they like? Why'd they leave?"
Henry shook his head, his gaze fixed on the now-contained gate and the automated defenses around it. "Maybe we'll find out soon. Hell, now you've got me excited about the final frontier and boldly going."
Ron grinned. "You've been hanging around the eggheads too much, man. Starting to sound like a Trekkie."
"Hey, don't knock the classics," Henry shot back with a smirk. "Besides, I'd rather be a Trekkie than a weeb any day."
A voice over the intercom interrupted their conversation. "All personnel, please report to your stations. Gate activation will commence in T-minus one hour."
Ron glanced at Henry, then up at the control room above them. Henry followed his gaze and spotted a figure silhouetted against the sharp light framing the control room's glass. Stern posture, hands clasped behind his back – it was undeniably General Alexander Harding. Next to him, a slender figure watched the preparations with an almost giddy expression – Dr. Andromeda Lombard, the director of the Manifest Project.
"Looks like the director's excited too," Ron observed.
Henry felt his suspicions alleviate ever so slightly. "She may be excited, but I'll believe it when I see it. Let's get to our stations. It's almost showtime."
––
General Harding gazed out the control room's window, eyes narrowing at the array of technical equipment and personnel in motion. Somehow, Dr. Lombard's optimism had gotten to him. Hell, her words even had the Cabinet and the President convinced. For her sake and the sake of confidence in the project, he hoped she was right.
Dr. Lombard joined him, the tablet in her hands displaying a graph of energy signatures. "General, the gate's energy pattern has shifted," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "Oscillations at frequencies never before recorded. Look at this waveform – it suggests a resonance with an external source!"
Harding's focus shifted to the screen, his brow furrowing at the indecipherable dance of spikes and troughs. "So we've finally established a two-way connection?"
Lombard nodded, her eyes shining with a fervor that Harding had rarely seen before. It was the look of someone who truly believed they were on the cusp of something great. "Yes. MRD-7 is in position with a range of sensors for environmental analysis. We're ready."
Well, it would take more than excitement to convince him. "This is a significant assertion, Director. The powers that be won't be too pleased with another false alarm."
She looked him in the eye. "I'm positive. We've been over the data repeatedly. This isn't a glitch. The gate is responding to something tangible."
He studied her a moment before nodding. "Alright. I hope you're right. But… at the first sign of irregularity, I want the gate shut down."
"Understood," she responded, her expression resolute.
They looked out over the hangar once more. The preparations were visible in every corner: technicians double-checking the MRD-7 recon drone's instrumentation, soldiers in place around the secure perimeter, and scientists huddled around monitors.
Harding's voice broke the silence. "Let's move to the briefing."
Dr. Lombard followed him, looking over her shoulder back at the preparations below. "Everything's ready?" she asked, her tone suggesting she was referring to more than just the briefing.
"Everything's in place," Harding answered, reaching the briefing room's doors. He took a deep breath to steel himself for what lay ahead. With a final look at Lombard, he pushed the doors open, stepping into a room filled with key military and civilian personnel.
The men and women present joining in through several video feeds consisted of the nation's elite, barring the President and Vice President themselves: Secretary of State Thompson, Secretary of Defense Morgan, other top-ranking officers, leading scientists in theoretical physics and astrophysics, and government liaisons.
General Harding took his place at the head of the table, giving everyone a moment to settle. His eyes scanned the room, recognizing a few who'd been in the Manifest Project since day one – Ambassador John Perry, the designated representative for first contact, and Dr. Oliver Freeman, known for his work on interstellar anomalies.
"As you all know," Harding began, "we're at a critical juncture with the Manifest Project. Today, we are potentially stepping into something entirely new."
Next to him, Lombard shifted her weight and motioned to a presentation of charts. "We've conducted simulations, analyzed every possible scenario, but reality could be quite different. It's a threshold we've never crossed before."
A liaison, one of the many bureaucrats Harding had to deal with on a daily basis, tapped his pen on his notebook. "General, this could very well be humanity's greatest achievement or its worst disaster. The safety measures must be impenetrable."
"Agreed," Harding reassured, resting his elbows on the table. "The multi-phase safety protocol has been implemented, and the recon rover – Pathfinder One – is equipped with the latest sensor technology, including biohazard detection."
Lombard picked up a remote and cycled through a few more visual aids. "Not just biohazards. We've prepared for atmospheric, radiological, and other environmental risks."
Secretary of State Thompson leaned forward, his screen filling up with his face, "How are the first contact preparations coming along?"
Ambassador Perry answered with a confident expression, "We're ready, Mister Secretary. Linguistic and cultural experts are all standing by, and we have several communication strategies depending on the situation at hand."
"Alright then," Thompson finally said, "Let us now proceed to discuss first contact protocols and possible outcomes." As the meeting's participants readied their documents, shuffling papers and scrolling through their tablets, Thompson continued, "It's been a while since we went through this, so let's go over it again. Director, perhaps you can start with an outline of the communication plan?"
Lombard scrolled to the relevant section of her presentation, showcasing a flowchart. "Certainly. Pathfinder One will initially gather data on the other side. If intelligent life is detected, the recon rover has equipment to capture audio and visual cues. We'll start with a non-verbal approach, observing and analyzing any signals, patterns, or behaviors."
Perry picked up, "If we establish that there is a complex communication system, we'll initiate slow and controlled attempts at interaction. Simple stuff first – symbols, sounds, and basic mathematical concepts."
The liaison frowned, his pen tapping faster. "And if things turn hostile?"
Harding gave an immediate and firm response, "We shut it down. Immediately. If push somehow comes to shove, they'll have to get through pure vacuum, hardened barriers, automated defenses, and a company's worth of firepower all aimed at the gate."
The liaison pressed further, "And all personnel are briefed on the necessary protocols?"
The man seemed obsessively concerned about their defensive measures, but he couldn't blame him. "Thoroughly," Harding confirmed. "Every member of this project knows their role and the steps to be taken at each phase."
Secretary of Defense Morgan, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "It seems we have our plan. Ambassador Perry, General Harding, Director Lombard, on behalf of President Keener, we trust you to lead this delicate task with wisdom and restraint. You hold the keys not only to changing the fate of this country but also of humanity. I hope to see you make history, and make us proud. Good luck and God bless."
––
Henry shifted his stance, the tactile fabric of his environmental suit adjusting with him. He glanced at the M7 rifle in his hands. Its weight seemed to have subtly increased, as if burdened by the gravity of the mission. His earlier skepticism, once as pervasive as background radiation, had largely decayed.
A sudden chime echoed above, followed by an automated announcement. "Gate activation in two minutes."
"So, this is it," Henry began, sighing deeply. "Two minutes until we either make history or become a cautionary tale."
Ron chuckled softly. "Yeah, no pressure, right? Just another day at the office."
Henry smirked. "You ever think we'd be here, doing this? About to activate a portal to… Lord knows where?"
"I always thought we'd be doing HALO jumps or fighting commies on the moon. If you told high-school me about this, I'd say you've… got your chevrons locked in all the wrong places."
Henry smiled. It seemed like his 'ol buddy was more cultured than he thought. "You know, part of me still wonders if this is just an elaborate, overfunded LARP session," he said, gaze drifting back to the increasingly busy control room.
Ron leaned on a railing. "If it is, they've got killer production values."
"For real. Well," Henry sighed, checking the chamber of his M7 one last time, "let's just hope the only thing we meet on the other side is an alien deer or something. I can deal with that."
"Agreed," Ron replied, "Anything's better than running into kaijus or eldritch horrors."
Henry's eyes flicked back to Ron. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
Another chime broke through. "Gate activation in ten… nine… eight… seven…"
The gate began to hum, the pitch rising steadily, synchronizing almost organically with the countdown. Concentric rings of light on the gate's frame began to illuminate one by one, forming a radiant cascade toward the center. Each glowing ring separated itself from the main structure, beginning to rotate in the air. Geometric shapes materialized – pentagons, hexagons, complex spirals – as if etched by unseen hands. If anything, they looked like magic circles from general fantasy media, except much more refined.
"Six… five… four…"
The hum escalated into a whirring resonance as the luminous rings accelerated. They moved with a curious blend of mechanical precision and organic fluidity, aligning in a sequence that seemed to straddle the realms of both precise mathematics and arcane symbols. The inscriptions and runes transformed into flowing streams of light, the patterns locking into place as if turning the tumblers of a cosmic lock.
"Three… two… one…"
Finally, the gate's rotating rings seemed to reach a point of equilibrium. They stopped spinning, locking into place with a final, resounding thrum.
A blinding flash of light erupted from the center of the gate, so radiant that Henry and Ron reflexively squinted despite the protective visors of the helmets. The clusters of brightness pulsed, sending a wave of energy toward the center of the gate. As it collided with the geometries forming within the rings, a chain reaction was triggered – each arcane sigil augmented by the incoming energy, amplifying their collective potency and setting the stage for the unfolding vortex.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the chaos resolved into a shimmering sphere of light. Colors swirled across its surface – blue, green, purple, all of them cast in an otherworldly silver glow. Fractal patterns reminiscent of the magic circles flickered across the surface an irregular intervals. It was like looking into a black hole, but without the darkness. Around its edges, the light from the room stretched and warped – gravitation lensing, but without the crushing pull.
It was the most beautiful, most terrifying, and most awe-inspiring thing Henry had ever seen.
"Connection is stable, no irregularities detected," Lombard announced over comms.
"Standby for rover deployment," Harding's voice echoed next, his tone tinged with an undercurrent of anticipation – a rare but justifiable divergence from his usual character.
Henry and Ron watched a monitor on their console that showed a live feed from the rover's cameras. Ahead, the rover lurched forward, slowly rolling into the portal. "And Destiny makes history," Ron muttered.
For a split second, the camera feed fuzzed, light warping around it as it traversed the portal. Seeing the liquid kaleidoscope honestly hurt his eyes; whatever he saw must've been a complete violation of the laws of physics. Then, abruptly as it started, the chaos ceased and the view stabilized.
The rover emerged into a landscape so picturesque that it looked like it came straight out of a Bob Ross painting. Rolling green meadows stretched out as far as its cameras could capture, dotted with splashes of color from wildflowers that swayed in the breeze. Distant mountains stood in the background, majestic and imposing all the same. And the sky above, shit, it held a clarity rarely seen on Earth – a Windows screen saver brought to life.
It wasn't all nature and sunshine though. Scattered across the landscape were structures that looked like they belonged on an alien ringworld, not a variation of Azeroth. They were made of some kind of metal Henry had never seen before, their sleek curves and angles reflecting the architecture of the gateway. Ethereal light trails connected fragmented platforms, some of which hovered unnaturally above the ground, as if the laws of gravity were suggestions rather than rules. The ruins – if the well-preserved structures could even be called such – looked extraordinarily advanced, as if their builders held some sort of mantle of responsibility.
As the rover ventured further, its optics refocused on movement ahead. Figures emerged from the treeline adjacent to the ruins. They were prepared, their formation suggesting they'd been awaiting something – perhaps the gateway's activation. Knights stood at the ready, their armor similar to the gray of steel, but more vibrant. Their shields bore glowing ornate designs, like they were enchanted.
Alongside them stood individuals in robes, wielding staffs crowned with orbs or gemstones emitting faint auras: mages, had to be. The mages murmured incantations or manipulated incantations or manipulated their artifacts, as if in tune with an energy field that the rover's sensors couldn't quantify. Clearly, they had their own procedures and protocols.
The hangar went dead silent for a moment, then erupted into a flurry of whispers. Some people were practically bouncing with excitement, geeking out over the real-life fantasy unfolding on the screen or the simple fact that they'd finally made first contact with alien life – human looks notwithstanding. Others looked disappointed, like they'd been hoping for something a bit more unique.
At the forefront of this assembly was a singular figure. His blue robe was adorned in flowing symbols and circular patterns, intricately woven in silver threads that captured and refracted light. His staff was even more impressive, topped with a purple gem that made the others look like cheap trinkets. Even through the mechanical detachment of the rover's lens, Henry could tell – this was a man of immense influence and uncanny ability.
"Must be their leader," Henry mumbled.
"Go to FPCON Charlie," Harding's voice interjected, his words cutting through the incredulous visuals. "Keep your weapons at Condition 1. Unknown entities ahead; we cannot assume intent. Mister Ambassador, stand by for first contact. All units, be prepared for contingencies."
Henry toggled the console to a higher readiness level, alerting the security team on their side of the gateway. A sidebar on the screen blinked from green to amber, aligning with the FPCON change. He glanced at Ron, who had already fine-tuned the focus of the secondary cameras, prepping them for rapid movement and target acquisition.
"Ambassador Perry, your console is activated," Lombard announced, her voice surprisingly steady given the circumstances.
Perry's hands hovered momentarily above the interface like he was about to play a game of chess, or maybe like he was savoring the weight of the moment. He engaged the console and scooted his seat inward, taking a deep breath.
Across the room, the techs exchanged glances. They'd gone from what might've been a fifteenth failed activation to staring at real-life wizards and knights in the blink of an eye. Some seemed on the verge of popping champagne, while others seemed more cautious about this first glance at interstellar life. They seemed a bit like himself, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
All eyes returned to the live feed plastered across various screens throughout the hangar.
"Proceed," Harding finally intoned.
The drone's wheels crunched over the foreign yet familiar, Earth-like soil, inching closer to the gathering of knights and wizards. Expressions of bewilderment flickered across their features, morphing gradually into ones of intense curiosity, reverence, or even fear.
The leader – the archmage, Henry mentally labeled him – narrowed his eyes as the rover approached. He raised his staff, not like he was about to attack, but more like he was trying to get a read on the situation. He said something, perhaps a soft incantation, and the gem at the apex of his staff glowed momentarily. It was as though he were probing the drone, perhaps seeking to understand its nature or origin.
"Optical and thermal sensors are still nominal," a nearby tech reported. "No signs of jamming or interference."
Henry was ready to call the shutdown at the slightest hint of hostility, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, the archmage just stared at the rover for a long moment, then slowly lowered his staff and took a step back. The knights and wizards followed his lead, giving the rover some space.
"It looks like they're giving us room," Henry noted, feeling the room exhale a collective sigh of withheld breath.
Perry moistened his lips, his finger hovering over the console. "Initiating first contact sequence." With a press, the rover's external projection system whirred to life. A low hum filled the air as it projected a simple square onto the grassy ground that lay between the rover and the locals.
The archmage looked at the shape for a moment, then glanced back at his posse. It was like they were having a whole conversation without saying a word, just a bunch of looks and little gestures. Then, with a flourish of his staff, the archmage made his move. The gem on top of the staff glowed. A similar square took form, conjured out of thin air, hovering above the projection on the ground. It fit over the original square with such precision that it was as if a blueprint had been laid atop an architect's model.
"Incredible, " Lombard whispered, the shock and excitement in her voice evident even over the comms.
"No hostile body language…" Harding's voice cut in, a hint of relief coloring his usually stony tone. "Continue with the protocol."
The atmosphere in the control room shifted perceptibly, like a taut wire suddenly given slack. What they'd seen wasn't merely a returned gesture – it was a mirror, a recognition that spanned worlds, one that just made history.
Perry didn't waste any time. He started the next sequence, a hopeful little smile on his face like a kid on Christmas morning. The projection switched from shapes to simple dots of light. One dot appeared first, followed by two dots, then three.
The archmage seemed to deliberate for a moment, his eyes moving between his staff and the projection. With another elegant motion, the gem at his staff's pinnacle flared to life. Blue dots materialized in the air, counting upward from one to ten. A collective breath filled the control room.
After letting the dots linger for a moment, Perry moved on to the next sequence. He pressed another key, and the projection shifted into a sequence of dots and symbols to signify basic addition. Two dots appeared, then a cross, followed by three more dots. A line of parallel dashes came next, and finally, five dots filled the space.
The archmage watched intently before waving his staff once more. His own dots and symbols came to life, perfectly replicating Perry's sequence. Three plus four equals seven.
"Basic addition," Lombard said, the giddiness in her voice swelling. "We've just communicated basic arithmetic across worlds."
"Alright," Harding beckoned, "Let's take it up a notch."
Another keystroke, and the projection changed again. This time, it was a triangle, its sides demarcated by dots: three on one side, four on another, and the hypotenuse conspicuously empty.
For the first time since the interaction began, the archmage hesitated. He squinted at the triangle like it was a particularly tricky riddle. The gem on his staff dimmed for a brief moment, then flared back to life as though mimicking its master's fluctuating certainty. The seconds ticked by, each one ratcheting up the tension in the control room. Then, almost casually, he waved his staff. Five dots appeared along the previously empty hypotenuse.
"Holy shit," Henry muttered, his jaw dropping.
Ron nodded, equally stunned. "He understands the Pythagorean Theorem."
But the archmage wasn't done. With a few more waves of his staff, he conjured up a series of dots and symbols, using a circle to represent multiplication. Three times three plus four times four is equal to five times five. He then drew a new triangle, its individual sides containing five, twelve, and thirteen dots followed by the respective formula.
"He knows!" Lombard exclaimed, nearly jumping out of her seat. "He's not just parroting back what we're showing him. He's expanding on it!"
The control room erupted into a cacophony of gasps and excited chatter. People were ecstatic, exchanging high-fives and gawking at their screens.
Even Harding seemed impressed, a hint of wonder creeping into his usually neutral tone. "Record the data for immediate analysis and keep the interaction going. What's the next step in the protocol?"
"Mathematics seems a universal language," Perry observed, already initiating the next phase. "We'll transition to basic physics and chemistry before tackling linguistics."
The projection changed again, a simple lever appearing with a fulcrum, effort, and load represented by varying numbers of dots: a straightforward concept, but a building block to more complex ideas.
The archmage waved his staff, nascent blue particles swirling in the air and coalescing into an image. But before the conjuration could solidify, the rover's external microphone spiked with a distant shout. The archmage's eyes shot to the side – out of the camera's field of view – and the fledgling image collapsed, its particles disappearing scattering like startled birds.
Abruptly, a knight blurred into the rover's camera frame. His pace was fast, supernaturally so, as if the armor were wrought from air rather than metal. The knight skidded to a halt beside the archmage, kicking up a cloud of dust. Planting his boots firmly, the knight pulled him to the side. The archmage resisted momentarily, spitting out words that sounded like a mix of Latin and something else entirely – unintelligible to Henry, and possibly even the linguists among them. Only when a muffled explosion boom in the distance did the archmage cease his protests and abandon his progress with the rover. Relenting, he took off after the knight, sprinting toward the growing clamor.
"Rover's picking up additional contacts, numbering in the low hundreds – coming in fast from the east, about a klick out. Possible hostiles closing on the contact site," Henry reported. It was difficult to make out the details, but he was certain that these contacts were not human.
Harding leaned into the microphone, his voice echoing through the intercom, "All units, prepare for Contingency Plan Delta-2. Ambassador, halt the protocol. Director, status on environmental safety?"
Perry looked up to the control room, "Delta-2? General, we can't presume –"
Harding cut him off, "I know, I know. But the circumstantial evidence suggests otherwise. One side is clearly capable of peaceful diplomacy. The other – which quite frankly appears to be a bunch of monsters – is currently attacking without provocation."
"Still…"
"We'll validate whether this second faction is a threat and await confirmation or direct hostilities first," Harding reassured.
"Understood," Perry conceded.
Harding turned his attention back to Lombard. "Director, status?"
Lombard rattled off a bunch of numbers, "Rover data shows atmosphere is 74% nitrogen, 25% oxygen, 1% other trace gases. Gravity is 1 g – Earth-normal. All filters for biological, chemical, and radiological hazards are green."
"Confirmed. No immediate environmental threats," Harding noted. "Ambassador Perry, prep to resume first contact once the area is secured. Your envirosuit is on standby."
"Understood, General," Perry acknowledged, watching the situation unfold on the other side through the rover's feeds.
Henry and Ron executed a swift status check alongside a platoon of personnel under their command. "All systems green, suits at 100%, weapons at Condition 1," Henry confirmed. He ensured his rifle was completely prepared for combat, his fingers ready to flick the safety off. "Alright, everyone, sound off!"
After the platoon sounded off, Harding issued the final command, "You are cleared to proceed. Remember, ROE applies here: minimal force to neutralize threats. Exercise caution – the locals may not recognize your weapons. I expect you to make not only America proud, but all of Earth."
"Prepare for barrier disengagement," he announced.
Henry braced himself as a technician carried out Harding's command. A series of mechanical clunks and groans resonated throughout the room as heavy blast doors and other security measures started to retract.
"Deploy UGVs to lead the entry," Harding ordered.
Operators immediately engaged their control systems. Heavily armed unmanned ground vehicles rolled through the portal. Screen feeds lit up across the room, showing first glimpses of an alien terrain.
Henry and Ron followed suit, approaching the swirling gateway. They were really about to do this – step into another world.
"Godspeed," Harding said, a note of hope coloring his voice.
With that, Henry led his team into the gateway. One moment he was outlined in the vortex of light, the next, gone. Ron and the others followed, swallowed by the unknown.
––
Henry felt as if he had been hurled through a wall of ice-cold water. For a second, he couldn't feel a damn thing, his senses completely shut down. The numbness soon faded and he found himself grounded, boots hitting a stone platform on the hilltop gateway. The portal's glow faded behind them, its radiance swallowed by a different sort of luminescence – a serene, natural daylight.
"Security Platoon Zulu-9, sound off," Henry called out as he secured the perimeter.
Ron rested his hands on his knees. "A bit queasy, but all good," he said, sounding like he was trying not to puke.
"Two, good to go," another member of the team chimed in.
"Three, all clear."
The roll call continued crisply as the rest of the members took in the scenery. Seeing it in person was a different beast compared to seeing it on the screens back at the base. On the ground, the blue skies seemed brighter, the landscape more idyllic. Juxtaposing this view was a set of sleek ruins and… something far less idyllic.
"Distance to the… combat zone?" Henry questioned, the word sounding inadequate even as he said it.
"About 400 meters, sir," one of the men answered.
Henry zoomed in using his visor, the range finder confirming the distance. He squinted, trying to make out the individual elements of the conflict below. He saw the knights and wizards from before, facing off against some sort of creature.
Some of the creatures were agile and small, scurrying on four legs and covered in greenish scales. Others were larger and muscular, taking to the sky for brief seconds with leathery wings. And then there were the big ones, towering and dragon-like, circling above the mayhem, occasionally swooping down like birds of prey and laying bursts of fire.
"What the fuck?" Henry heard one of his men mutter over comms, disbelief leaking through the helmet.
Everyone had their fair share of comments, likening the scene to everything fantasy, from Dungeons and Dragons to a smattering of MMORPGs and anime.
As Henry and his platoon assessed the situation, the battlefield lit up with mystical flames and roared with earth-shattering cries. Knights clad in sophisticated plate armor stood their ground, almost glowing as they clashed with the scaled creatures. Around them, individuals dressed in robes conjured an array of elemental spells, offering both offense and defense in coordinated maneuvers. On top of ordinary 'spells' like fireballs, the mages also employed unique tactics made possible only through magic. One of them materialized pitfall traps in the heat of battle while another raised a spiked coil of earth to slow down the charging monsters. It was like they were using magic to create their own version of barbed wire.
"What in the world is happening down there?" someone carrying a grenade launcher muttered. "Looks like a Renaissance Fair gone horribly wrong."
"Yeah, except Renaissance fairs don't usually include artillery," Ron added, noticing bursts of fire arcing through the air and crashing into clusters of the smaller, greenish creatures. The explosions were followed by a chorus of shrieks that made Henry's skin crawl.
Yet as impressive as the mages were, the knights were something else entirely. They moved with agility on par with that of an Olympic sprinter despite their heavy armor, delivering blows that seemed unnaturally powerful, cleaving through the tough scales of the larger creatures. Some performed leaps that carried them several meters across the battlefield, landing amid throngs of enemies and then repositioning like they'd planned it all along.
"Now this is what I'd expect a Warcraft movie to look like," whispered one of the younger members of Zulu-9. "Fucking crazy."
Henry had to agree. As more of the reptilian creatures crashed into the knights, the magical support intensified. He watched as spikes of earth erupted from the ground, skewering the smaller creatures. Patches of the land froze over in an instant, turning the battlefield into a slippery ice rink. And then there were the shields – brilliant, glowing lattices of blue energy, deflecting the fiery breath of the dragon-wannabes like it was nothing.
Several mages at a distance from the main battle raised their staffs skyward. A series of brilliant flares burst into the sky, exploding into showers of sparkling light. The winged creatures recoiled, some tumbling from the sky in disoriented spirals.
Their anti-air efforts were interesting to watch, but it was nothing compared to what happened next. Henry watched as a handful of mages and knights converged, their hands and weapons glowing as if sharing energy. Then, of all things, a fucking fire tornado erupted from the group, surging forward to consume dozens of the scaled creatures in its path.
Despite the grand displays of magical and martial prowess, the monstrous horde seemed largely unaffected. It was clear that the knights and wizards were faltering, the beasts winning this battle of attrition.
Henry broke their trance. "Alright, Zulu-9, we're looking at real people – yeah, okay, and real monsters – down there. The entities down there resemble knights and wizards, but under ConPlan Delta-2, they qualify as diplomatic personnel. Our mandate is to protect them and offer tactical assistance to stabilize the situation."
"They may react with hostility, sir. How are we supposed to communicate?" someone asked.
"We've got our own universal language: firepower and backup," Henry's confident reply came. "We're going to get down there, assist them, and hope to God they're smart enough to realize we're friendlies. No offensive actions against anything human-shaped or resembling those knights and wizards – unless they fire first."
"Copy, delineating friend from foe based on visual parameters," another man said, relaying the information back to the drone operators.
"And let's get the rover active," Henry added. "They didn't attack it before. Maybe seeing it fighting alongside us will hammer home the point that we're allies."
The rover joined them in response, rolling alongside them. The UGVs took flanking positions, their weapons systems armed but holding fire. The rover lumbered ahead of them, its operator positioning it between Zulu-9 and the human locals. Meanwhile, the men on the ground moved like clockwork, squads fanning out in a loose line perpendicular to the threat ahead.
"FCO: Enemy contact, four hundred meters, multiple ground and airborne targets! Coming in from the treeline!" The fire control order jolted through Zulu-9's comms.
Henry didn't hesitate. "Weapons free!"
Gunfire erupted from the line, the sound a deafening roar even through his envirosuit. As Henry pulled the trigger, the rifle recoiled in his arms, each 6.8mm round whizzing through the air and finding its mark among the charging, scaled creatures. The effects of the projectiles were immediate and destructive, the hides and scales not meant to withstand anything stronger than arrows. Several of the smaller creatures dropped like marionettes with their strings cut, legs jerking in postmortem spasms.
"Reloading!" Henry's shout was almost drowned out by the continuous rattle of machine guns and the deeper booms of the UGVs' autocannons. He ejected the spent magazine and slammed a fresh one in, the metallic clink echoing in the air as he chambered the first round.
The UGVs contributed more than their fair share to the chaos. Their 30mm autocannons roared, each explosive round impacting the field with ferocity, turning earth and creature alike into a mist of blood and soil. The platoon's machine gunners joined in on the fun, their M250s spitting out a torrent of lead that tore into the mass of attackers. Their barrels glowed red even through their controlled bursts, their operators fighting a different battle altogether as they tried to prevent overheating.
"Snipers, focus on the larger ones. Those things look like pack leaders," Henry ordered, watching as one resisted the impact of several rounds.
"Roger that, sir. Adjusting targets," came the calm reply from one of the snipers. A moment later, a high-caliber round cracked through the air. One of the larger, lion-sized creatures let out an ear-piercing shriek as part of its body was torn off.
Henry's gaze then shifted back to the archmage's forces. The knights and mages, initially startled by the onslaught of unfamiliar weaponry, now regained their composure. They knew that aid – however peculiar – was here. A staff rose into the air, its tip glowing brightly before releasing a beacon of light into the sky – a flare, Henry inferred. A cry for reinforcement, or perhaps, acknowledgment.
"Davis," he turned to one of his men, "send up a counter-flare. Let them know we see them, and we're with them."
The American flare ascended, meeting the arcane light of the archmage's spell and breaking through the language barrier. With the locals on board, Henry turned his attention back to the fight. His HUD lit up with new targets, highlighting the airborne threats that had broken away from the main group and now headed straight for them. It was none other than the dragon-wannabes, likely realizing who the biggest threat was.
"Aim for the eyes or wing joints if you can," Ron transmitted, falling back on fragmented lore from fantasy media back home.
"Copy, I'll see what I can do," a sniper responded.
Adjusting to the aerial threat, Henry issued a new command. "UGVs, switch to anti-air. Light those dragons up!"
The UGV's autocannons tilted skyward, redirecting fire from the beasts below to the threats above. They rattled off volleys of 30mm rounds and sent waves of SACLOS missiles from their customized pods, torching the sky as if recreating the Battle of Midway. The beasts roared in pain and fury as the rounds found their mark, their erratic flight patterns doing little to throw off the machines' aim.
As the 30mm rounds made contact, the effects were devastating. The dragons – or whatever they were – wailed in fury and agony, their roars piercing even the clamor of machinery and explosions. Those cries became increasingly erratic as they were buffeted by the incoming ordnance. Any protection they might have had from scales or spells was gone in an instant, stripped away by the relentless onslaught. Raw, unprotected flesh was laid bare, torn open by each new round and missile.
One beast found its wing torn off by a direct missile hit; the resulting imbalance sending it tumbling out of the sky like a faltering kite. Another took a missile straight to its midsection, resulting in a gut-wrenching fireball that showered its kin below with viscera. The overkill was evident; creatures of myth and scale stood no chance against weapons designed for armored vehicles.
Henry watched as the tide finally turned. The smaller creatures, many no larger than wolves but deadlier in their own rights, halted their advance. What had been a wave of malevolence now fractured into a scattered, disorderly retreat. Like water pulled by an unseen force, they ebbed away, disappearing into the dark embrace of the surrounding forests.
"Cease fire," Henry finally ordered, his voice edged with caution. "Zulu-9, prepare for the next phase."
A subtle release of tension flowed through Henry's muscles. The first critical phase was over; they had successfully completed the directives of contingency plan Delta-2 and protected the archmage's men. His gaze shifted to the archmage and his cadre, who were staring back with a range of emotions: awe, relief, confusion, and suspicion. Among them, the archmage stepped forward, as if ready to begin talks. Repelling an enemy attack was one thing, but navigating a first contact situation? Henry took a deep breath.
With a hand signal, Henry motioned for his men to regroup before climbing onto the rover. With a smooth hum, they descended the hill toward the waiting archmage.
As the rover came to a gentle stop, Henry disembarked. He walked up to the archmage, the servos in his envirosuit whirring faintly. The fine details seemed to grow louder; he was acutely aware of the weight of his own gear, the rifle slung across his chest, and the eyes of his men and the locals boring into him. A blend of excitement, trepidation, and pride swelled within him. Here he was, at the threshold of Earth's first interstellar contact. No pressure, right?
The archmage shared a glance with his knights and mages, giving a subtle nod. The staffs dimmed as their arcane energy disappeared into the air, and the knights returned their swords to their scabbards with a synchronized metallic slide. The archmage then did something unexpected – he extended his staff toward the earth, tracing two identical circles in the dirt. They were covered in magic symbols, both glowing with an eerie red light. He stepped into one of them and made a gesture toward the vacant one, eyes locking onto Henry.
His earpiece vibrated. "Captain, what's your status?" Harding asked. "We saw the locals lower their weapons."
"Sir, first contact remains non-hostile so far," Henry reported, keeping his eyes on the archmage. "He's created some kind of red magic circle. Looks like an invitation – or a test. Could be their method of communication or some ritual for trust."
Harding hesitated for a brief moment. "Standard protocol recommends we wait for Dr. Anderson and the linguistic team to take the lead, but –"
Director Lombard interjected, "This could be an unprecedented opportunity for diplomatic relations, General – a groundbreaking moment for humanity. Their peaceful reaction to our rover – especially after it aided them in battle – indicates that we might be missing an invaluable diplomatic opportunity if we hesitate now.."
General Harding sighed audibly, "We should err on the side of caution, but you're right. The fact they accepted our aid and lowered their weapons does speak to potential friendliness."
Ambassador Perry, who had been silently listening, finally spoke. "What's the risk-benefit here, General? It wouldn't make sense for the locals to backstab us after all that's happened. Moreover, with Captain Donnager having actively participated in combat, he has most likely gained a level of standing among them. Cultural norms could make it critical for him to make the first move."
"Wouldn't you normally be the one to initiate first contact?" Harding asked, directing the question to the ambassador.
"In any other circumstance, yes," Perry responded. "But Henry has the situational awareness here. And I don't want to risk ruining this by stepping in and possibly creating a cultural faux pas, like appearing to withdraw our 'champion' at a crucial moment. Captain Donnager has discretionary authority as far as I'm concerned."
"I agree with the Ambassador," Lombard said.
Harding relented, "Very well. Captain, you've been given discretionary authority. It's your call."
Henry looked at the archmage's earnest face and the red magical circle beneath him. Then he glanced back at his men, silhouetted against the iridescent light show behind them. The call was his, and now the weight of the world fell upon his shoulders.
"One small step," Ron murmured, voicing the opening phrase of a quote that had once bridged another frontier.
Henry grinned, feeling the weight and wonder of the moment. "One giant leap," he replied, stepping into the circle.