Date: 5/3/2440
Time: 11:08 PM Boston, 10:08 PM Chicago
Location: Amazon Security Command, Boston
General Leonard Octavius Wood, Supreme Commander of the Amazon Security Services, stepped into the virtual boardroom that he had never bothered to customize. The stock titanium doors hissed closed behind him. Inside, the oval chamber pulsed with cold light. Holographic displays floated in the air—transparent projections of the most powerful corporate leaders on Earth, each joining from a different city.
“General Wood,” intoned the AI facilitator. “Emergency session initiated. Proceed.”
Leonard gave a single nod and stepped onto the central platform.
“Four hours ago, we tracked eight unidentified objects entering the system from thirty-three degrees below the ecliptic. Initial velocities exceeded thirty million kilometers per hour. They’ve decelerated and are now on complex, independent trajectories.”
“Alien ships?” asked Adrian Kallos, CEO of Amazon, his silver-haired projection crisp and controlled.
“That’s our working assumption,” Leonard said. “The lunar beacon activated on their approach.”
The room shifted—eight and a half decades of dormancy had made Beacon activation almost unthinkable.
“Play the message,” said Veronica Liu, Chief Science Officer.
A calm, melodic voice filled the chamber.
“I am Captain W’ren Th’ron, senior officer of this colonial convoy. We were attacked by pirates outside your system, forced out of FTL and off course, and are unable to resume our journey. I have therefore changed our status from colonial to refugee. One of our ships is critically damaged, with its propulsion systems offline, and has fallen under Progenitor control. The Progenitors built the beacons you brought back to Earth nearly a century ago. The control network has informed us that it will land the ship somewhere on your world, as safely as possible, within the next planetary day and a half.”
Silence followed.
“A refugee convoy?” Liu asked.
Leonard nodded. “That’s what they claim. The damaged ship makes planetfall in thirty-six to forty-eight hours, depending on deceleration. The other seven trail it by roughly five days, per the latest tracking.”
“Progenitor control?” Kallos said slowly. “Our Beacon tech responded to them?”
“Yes, and they call its creator the Progenitors. They’re broadcasting that in every known format—radio, microwave, laser, even legacy encryption. Containment failed the moment they spoke.”
“I want that message suppressed,” said Harlan Reed, head of Amazon Security Solutions. His projection loomed darker than the others.
“It’s already everywhere,” Leonard replied. “We attempted a controlled reply. They answered immediately. Now, it is playing on TikTok.”
“Interception options?” Kallos asked.
“Not recommended. Progenitor systems could react unpredictably—possibly trigger cascade activation across the network. We don’t know what’s buried in that tech.”
“Containment, then,” Liu said. “Medical, informational, operational.”
“They say the ship is unarmed, and their senior medical officer—Captain W’ren’s sister—confirms no biohazard threat that they are aware of. Still, we’re preparing for a full quarantine and local lockdown.”
“And you believe them?” Reed challenged.
“I believe this is the worst possible time to provoke a technological unknown,” Leonard said, trying to keep the sigh out of his voice. He had been a week and a day from retirement.
Kallos leaned back. “If they can activate Beacon systems, they hold a key we’ve never turned. That makes them either an opportunity—or a threat we cannot afford to mishandle.”
Leonard’s voice was steady. “Which is why I need immediate board authorization: global security readiness, deployable medical units, and terrain suppression drones. We don’t know where they’ll land.”
“Granted,” Kallos said. “But once contact is made, we want negotiations—direct and exclusive. Control of Beacon tech cannot fall to Google, Meta, Samsung, or Tata.”
“The public,” Reed sighed, “They’ll know within minutes of the thing landing, but we have to get control of the narrative.”
“Frame it,” Liu said. “High-orbit disaster exercise. Weather data blackout if necessary. Narrative control starts now.”
Leonard’s jaw tightened. “Don’t underestimate them. If they survived pirates and FTL collapse, they’re not amateurs. They don’t know or trust us, which is why they broadcast openly the way they did. We don’t get a second chance.”
Kallos’s expression was unreadable. “Then don’t fail, General. If we control this, we control the next century. If we lose it…”
“I know the stakes,” Leonard said, already canceling retirement and turning toward the doors.
Outside the holotank, his staff waited—silent, alert.
“We’ve got less than forty-eight hours,” Leonard told them. “Let’s make sure humanity’s first contact doesn’t become our last.”
