Manifest Fantasy

Groom Lake, Nevada

Area 51

November 3, 2024

Captain Henry Donnager fought his way toward the hangar, the wind doing its best to yank his cap right off his head. The sandstorm was a nuisance – who could possibly enjoy all this grainy bullshit flying around? 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 too, 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 remained as active as ever, sandstorm be damned. Henry squinted through the haze, making out the long, blocky outline of an aircraft hangar – totally unassuming compared to the other hangars around the base, aside from the fact it housed the Manifest Project. He'd been there a million times, enough that he no longer felt a thrill at the sight of it. But today felt different. Apparently, the inclement weather hadn't been enough to convince Director Lombard to postpone today's itinerary.

Whatever she had planned, it couldn't wait.

Henry turned at the sound of crunching sand, finding Lieutenant Ron Owens trudging up, grinning like the storm was just background noise. Henry was no slouch himself – as built as any Tier One operator worth their salt. But Ron? Ron was something else entirely. A mountain of a man, an imposing figure whose physical prowess could have easily secured him a starting spot on any NFL defensive line. He'd been Henry's wingman since they graduated from the Academy a few years back. Why Ron picked the Space Force over being a football celebrity was a perplexing mystery to most, but Henry understood his friend's reasoning well enough.

Whenever anyone asked Ron about his decision to stay, his answer was unwavering: 'Adventure.' After all, who could turn down the opportunity to stand where Armstrong once stood, to marvel at the vastness and beauty of Creation?

Certainly not Henry. After all, he'd made the same choice as Ron. Space Force was the posting for adventurers. At least, it was supposed to be.

Instead, here they were, lounging around a metal box in the ass-end of Nevada. Some 'final frontier' it had turned out to be. A Space Force Captain and Lieutenant, two men who'd experienced the G's of space and even set foot on the moon, reduced to glorified security guards for a science experiment that refused to work.

"Henry! What's good? You excited?" Ron called out, his booming voice carrying over the howling winds.

Henry dapped him up. "Excited? Shit, only thing I'm excited about is getting away from this sand. Coarse, rough, irritating, and all that." He pulled off his glove and scraped said sand from his face and hair – barely a stopgap until he clear it with a good shower. The short cut helped, though. One decent shake got most of it. The stuff was brown and gritty anyway, same color as his hair. Nobody would notice.

Except him. Shit still itched like fiberglass insulation.

"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. There it was – Ron's ceaseless optimism. He both loved and hated that trait. "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 a massive arm around Henry's shoulders. "I'm telling you, bruh. Trust, it's finna be different this time. Just wait and see."

Henry wasn't so sure, but he had to admit, the facility did feel different. The research staff had some strange energy about them – 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.

Why get his hopes up yet again? Lord knew just how much he'd dreamt about exploring alien lands. Yet day after day the experiment refused to deliver. Hell, it might not bear fruit in Henry's lifetime. 'Born too late to explore the seas; born too early to explore the stars.' The quote was crippling, and he didn't need another reminder of it.

"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. In its place came the pitched whine of machinery ramping up and the excited chatter of voices. Yeah, all that excitement was odd, like they hadn't seen a dozen of these experiments fail before.

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 walls 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 damn familiar TV show, a portal to another world just waiting to be opened. He could only hope for some Star Wars diversity, as opposed to yet another Vancouver set piece. Still, he couldn't argue against the underlying wonder of just being able to explore another world – the sheer novelty, the glory, and awe of discovery.

Hell, the mere presence of this enigmatic structure was enough to give Henry the thrill of anticipation – a taste of the 'adventure' he and Ron had signed up for. Maybe the big guy was right. Maybe today was the day they'd finally make it work.

"Incredible, huh?" Ron said for the umpteenth time, leaning over the second-floor railing. "This shit may very well be the greatest discovery of human history, and to top it all off, we 'boutta be the first to go through it."

"I've seen it dozens of times, and it still gets me," Henry admitted. With a sigh, he moved his eyes down the height of the ring, landing on a research team sitting right under the construct, just outside the protective walls. There, men and women in protective suits set up computers and other gadgets by a silvery, bathroom-sized cube 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 containment area 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, taking stock of the myriad of safety measures surrounding the gateway. "Last thing we want is an alien version of like… the fuckin' bubonic plague spreading all over the planet."

Ron's laugh was genuine, but his eyes remained fixed on the gate. "Or bloodthirsty wannabe Romans," he muttered.

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, shit-eating grin already spreading across his face. "Ahem, Japanese cartoon, that has fantasy Romans pouring out of a portal, just to get clapped by modern guns. Just a reference."

Henry narrowed his eyes. Personally, he had no problem with anime, but damn if he didn't enjoy watching Ron squirm when pressed on his hobby. "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 choice of reference material."

Ron broke eye-contact, suddenly interested in his boots for one reason or another.

And if that wasn't enough, he dug himself deeper with a hurried change of subject. "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."

That was interesting. The General's presence lent a bit more credence to Ron's optimism, enough to get Henry really thinking about it as a possibility, rather than a pipe dream. He gave a half-smile, skepticism partially subdued. "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. This time."

"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 – slender waist, strong cheekbones, and all the other markers of a glamorous Hollywood actress. But instead, here she was, assisting some researchers on a project fit for the renowned but ancient dinosaurs at MIT. 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, satisfied as she returned the friendly gesture before going back to work.

Ron nudged him teasingly. "Got your eye on Dr. Lamarr, huh?"

"Watch it," he replied, though his grin belied his feigned irritation. Ron was right; being able to hang out with Dr. Lamarr, in this desolate nowhere, was easily the highlight of each day. But he wasn't about to give his friend any ammo for more teasing. "She's the top scientist here, aside from Director Lombard herself. What can I say? It helps to have friends in smart places."

It didn't get past Ron. He rolled his eyes with a snicker. "Yeah, alright. Whatever you wanna believe, boss."

A sudden rush of wind swept through the hangar as the barriers sealed the gateway within the fortified containment chamber, like the air being sucked out of a micrometeorite puncture. The last of the technicians cleared the area, leaving just the hum of machines, the idle chatter of Henry's security unit – Zulu 9, and the whispers of nervous scientists behind their consoles.

He couldn't stop thinking about what might be waiting on the other side, if they really could manage to activate it. A bunch of rocks and dust? Canada? Little green men? Hell, for all he knew, they could be opening a door to a whole civilization. The not-knowing nearly drove him nuts, barely tempered by pragmatism. He checked his weapon reflexively.

"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. Thought this posting had beaten it out of me."

Ron grinned. "Boldly going? You're starting to sound like a Trekkie. Maybe I should be questioning your choice of references."

"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. FPCON Delta is now in effect."

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, damn near pressing her face onto the glass – Dr. Andromeda Lombard, the director of the Manifest Project.

"Looks like the director's excited too," Ron observed.

Granted, she was more ecstatic than usual – enough to lift Henry's skepticism by the thinnest of margins, but that wasn't saying much. "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. Why, 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. The scientists had explained them as 'milligauss' readings from the gateway's electromagnetic emanations – the only semblance of grounding they could extract from the otherwise alien energies emitted by the gateway.

"General, it's real. I – I've – This is all new! The energy pattern has just shifted," she said, her voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "Oscillations at frequencies never before recorded. Look! Look at this waveform – it suggests a resonance with an external source!"

Harding's focus shifted to the screen, his brow furrowing. External source? What the hell could that mean? "So we've finally got 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." She took a deep breath, then composed herself before she went on. "MRD-7 is in position, ready for environmental analysis."

Well, it would take more than excitement to convince him. "A real connection, huh? The powers that be won't be too pleased with another false alarm, Director." He'd taken a lot of heat for Lombard in the past. If this was yet another failure, well…

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 manifold instrumentation, soldiers settling in place to secure the perimeter, and scientists huddling around monitors.

Harding's voice broke the silence. "Let's move to the briefing."

The men and women on the video feeds represented the nation's elite: President Keener himself, Vice President Lieu, Secretary of State Thompson, Secretary of Defense Morgan, other top-ranking officials, leading scientists, and government liaisons, along with those involved in the Manifest Project from day one, including Ambassador John Perry.

"Thank you all for coming," Harding began. "Director Lombard?"

Lombard began the presentation immediately, projecting the energy signatures. "Over the past several weeks, we've noticed an uptick in the electromagnetic side effects surrounding the gateway – not a result of our planned experiment, which started drawing power a few days ago, but from the gate itself. Take a look at the milligauss readings before the experiment. These don't match the usual dormant-state effects."

Harding addressed the room. "Mister President, it's extremely likely that we'll have our first successful activation. This is our last chance to turn back."

The President responded without hesitation. "This is everything we've been waiting for. I take it there are no objections?"

The silence that followed said enough.

President Keener nodded. "It seems we have our plan. Ambassador Perry, General Harding, Director Lombard, you have my full confidence to lead this delicate task with wisdom and restraint. You hold the keys to not only our nation's future but that of all humanity. Make history. 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." Ron waggled his eyebrows to really sell the absurdly on-the-nose reference.

Henry smiled. It seemed like his 'ol weeb 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 before closing the dust cover, "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 lit up one by one, cascading toward the center. Each glowing ring separated itself from the main structure, rotating in the air. Geometric shapes materialized – pentagons, hexagons, complex spirals – as if spawned by a holodeck. 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 rings accelerated. The light show straddled mechanical precision and an innate, natural fluidity. The inscriptions and runes transformed into flowing streams of light, the patterns locking into place.

"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 thrum.

A blinding flash erupted from the center of the gate, forcing Henry to squint even behind his visor. The brightness pulsed in waves, energy crackling toward the center. The resulting vortex unfolded, and folded in on itself. If Henry had to describe the fourth dimension, he'd probably replay this very memory.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the chaos resolved into a warped 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 circles from before flickered across the surface at 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 – gravitational 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 voice wavering a bit – a rare but justifiable divergence from his usual character.

Henry and Ron watched the rover's feed through the ATAK software on their consoles. 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'd seen must've been a complete violation of the laws of physics. Thankfully, it didn't last too long. The chaos soon ceased and the view stabilized.

'Wow' was all Henry could really think of. 'Holy shit' was a close contender, though.

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 just nature and sunshine though. Scattered across the landscape was a blend of architecture that gave him cognitive whiplash. On one side, pure fantasy backdrop – rolling hills, scattered villages with thatched roofs and smoke curling from chimneys, the occasional tower that looked ripped straight from Azeroth. Exactly the type of shit anyone would expect from a world with magic.

On the other, metallic structures jutting up in the distance like someone had copy-pasted assets from completely different games. His brain snagged on these – these towers that looked like they belonged on some alien ringworld.

Ethereal light trails connected fragmented platforms, some of which hovered unnaturally above the ground, like the laws of gravity were suggestions rather than rules. The ruins – if the well-preserved structures could even be called that – looked extraordinarily advanced, as if their builders held some sort of mantle of responsibility.

It was the gateway builders' signature style, apparently. But seeing Forerunner-looking tech next to a bunch of medieval farmsteads? Insane. His brain kept trying to pick a genre and failing.

The rover's onboard 'canary' shuddered as the bird within, a pigeon in this case, fumbled around. It squawked several times before calming down, showing no adverse reaction to the atmosphere.

As the rover ventured further, its optics refocused on movement ahead. Figures emerged from the treeline adjacent to the ruins. Humans. Wait, humans? Except… they seemed to be plucked right out of the middle ages. At least there weren't any staff guns or forehead tattoos in sight.

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 while waving around their artifacts, corresponding to an uptick in the milligauss readings plastered on the side of Henry's screen. Clearly, they had their own procedures and protocols.

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The hangar went dead silent for a moment, then erupted into noise. Ecstatic scientists and rugged security personnel alike were awash with excitement, either geeking out over the simple fact that they'd finally made first contact with alien life – human looks notwithstanding, or simply the real-life fantasy unfolding on the screen. Others looked disappointed, like they'd been hoping for something a bit more... unique.

Henry fell somewhere in the middle. Finding alien life in the first place was cool and all, but where were the aliens and spaceships? Hopefully, some of that armor could retract in on itself.

At the forefront of this assembly was a singular figure in a blue robe. It was a brighter shade compared to the robes of the other mages, additionally hemmed with silver... runes, perhaps? They seemed to indicate some sort of authority. 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 Condition Amber," Harding's voice interjected, his words cutting through the incredulous visuals. "Maintain readiness. We've got 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 panel on the screen blinked from green to amber, aligning with the security condition change. He glanced at Ron, who had already fine-tuned the focus of the secondary cameras.

"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. Maybe he was just 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 shockingly 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 buzz 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 had 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, enough to challenge the various genetically enhanced supersoldiers throughout Hollywood history. 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 most likely even the linguists among them. Only when a muffled explosion boomed in the distance did the archmage cease his protests and abandon his progress with the rover. He adopted a more serious look and took off after the knight, sprinting toward the growing clamor.

Henry tracked the commotion through the feed. He counted a shit ton of approaching figures, and they sure as hell didn't look friendly.

"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 visual details on account of the alien biology, but they seemed like a cross between wolves and dragons, fur and scale as one. There was no way of telling just how effective that natural hide would be against their weapons, but if there was one thing he could be certain of, it was that these contacts were far from anything on Earth.

Which meant it was go time. Finally.

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…"

"I know, Ambassador. We'll validate whether this second faction is a threat and await confirmation or direct hostilities first, even if they look like the bad guys at first glance," Harding reassured.

"Understood," Perry conceded.

Harding turned his attention back to Lombard. "Director, status?"

Lombard rattled off a bunch of numbers, "Rover data looks good. Atmosphere's 74% nitrogen, 25% oxygen, 1% other trace gasses. Gravity is 1 g – Earth-normal. All filters for biological, chemical, and radiological hazards are green. Rover's canary shows no ill effects – at least not any for the short term."

"Confirmed. No immediate environmental threats," Harding noted. "Ambassador Perry, prep to resume first contact once the area is secured. Your envirosuit is on standby."

"U-Understood, General," Perry acknowledged, voice wavering. Even high-stakes negotiations in the Middle East couldn't have prepared him for this.

It was much the same for Henry; no amount of training could have readied him for the blood-pumping, adrenaline-fueled spectacle awaiting him on the other side of that portal. He 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 our ROE; we need to exercise utmost caution 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. Once they entered the field, it would be a whole different ball game from anything he'd ever experienced on Earth. The safety of his men, his actions, any first impressions they made – all of it fell on his shoulders. He felt like Atlas, holding up an impossible weight. But that's what came with making history, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna shy away from it.

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. Three 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.

He blinked hard. The Windows screensaver looked even more beautiful in person, breathtaking, even. Almost too perfect to be real. This was it – the payoff for all those months of disappointment in a sweltering wasteland: a new world.

Henry felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. This was the very moment he'd dreamed of – a culmination of all the late nights reading sci-fi novels under the covers, of all the late nights grinding way more course units than he should have at the Space Force Academy. He thought he had made it at 24 when he first touched lunar dirt as the youngest astronaut in history, but it could hardly compare to the real, alien soil beneath him. Even through the shock, he felt his mouth moving on its own, acting on instinct.

"Security Platoon Zulu-9, sound off," Henry called out, taking a knee while more people poured in. As pretty as the place was, there'd be time for sightseeing after they'd secured the area.

Ron rested his hands on his knees. "A bit queasy, but all good," he gagged, sounding like he was trying not to puke. Or maybe that was excitement.

"Three, good to go," the next member of the team chimed in.

Then came Four, Five, and the rest.

The twentieth and final member sounded in. "Two zero up, last man."

The roll call finally concluded 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… uh, AO?" 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 a horde of those alien, wolf-dragon hybrids.

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 down bursts of fire from their tooth-filled maws.

"What in the absolute hell? I ain't never seen shit like this…" Henry heard one of his men drawl over comms, disbelief leaking through the helmet.

Everyone had their fair share of comments, likening the scene to everything from Dungeons and Dragons to a smattering of different 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 ornate plate armor stood their ground, almost glowing as they clashed with the scaled creatures. Around them, individuals wearing robes conjured an array of elemental spells, offering both offense and defense in coordinated maneuvers.

On top of classic 'spells' like fireballs, the mages also employed unique tactics made possible only through magic. One of them materialized pitfall traps directly ahead of an enemy charge while another raised a spiked coil of earth to slow down and redirect the charging monsters towards the pit. It was like they were using magic to create their own version of barbed wire.

"What in the world is happening down there?" their resident Midwesterner, Jacobs, asked. "Looks like a Renaissance Fair gone horribly wrong."

"Yeah, except Renaissance fairs don't usually include artillery," Ron added, eyeing the burning balls of fire from the mages as they arced through the air and crashed into clusters of the smaller, greenish creatures. The fireballs detonated in bursts of red-orange flame, followed by shrieks that hit like nails on a chalkboard – pitched in a way that summoned goosebumps across his skin.

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 Santiago, 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, not just skewering the smaller creatures, but cleverly herding them into killzones. Patches of the land froze over in an instant, turning the battlefield into a slippery ice rink, forcing the charging hordes to slide right into a wall of spears.

And then there were the shields – brilliant, glowing lattices of blue energy, deflecting the fiery breath of the dragon-wannabes like it was nothing. Behind those with shields and spears, spellswords flung icicles and rocks into the crowd, overlapping their fields of fire.

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. 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. Even Rangers or SEALs wouldn't be able to do shit against a localized natural disaster like that.

Henry had to admit, it was a flashy show. But attrition didn't care about pomp or pizzazz, and neither did endurance.

The knights' magic was genuinely impressive when it connected – fire tornadoes turning thirty monsters into charcoal, icy chevaux de frise impaling anything stupid enough to run into them. But a few dozen knights could only cover so much ground. They'd won their assigned sectors, but basic math was against them. For every clustered group that got torched by area spells, twice as many monsters had flowed around the edges like water finding cracks.

The knights had firepower but not coverage. They could win every engagement and still lose the battle when outnumbered over ten to one.

The mages keeled over after the demonstration, each man pulling out a flask of blue liquid and rapidly downing it. They straightened afterward, but only barely. The sagging shoulders and slow, heavy swings weren't a good sign.

Henry's men watched transfixed. They had all seen plenty of action in the past, but this was something else entirely. There was nothing in their training that dealt with this. Which meant it was up to Henry to improvise.

He cleared his throat, the sound cutting through whatever fog they'd gotten lost in. He kept his tone steady, normalized – business as usual, even when business was insane. "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 see us as new enemies and react with hostility, sir. How are we supposed to communicate?" Palayan, the group's goody two-shoes, asked.

"We've got our own universal language: firepower and backup," Henry's confident reply came. He figured there were very few sapient beings in the universe that didn't understand the concept of 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'. "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."

"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 projectiles performed as well as Henry could've expected, considering the targets were anything but conventional. They shattered the beasts' scaled flesh, punching bloody holes. 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 tearing apart the field, turning earth and creature alike into a mist of blood and soil.

The monsters had all the tactical sense of lemmings – dumb as rocks and completely oblivious to the threat posed by superior firepower. Or they were just pissed beyond belief, seeing their buddies getting torn apart by the carnage. Whatever the case, they kept charging straight into the kill zone, dropping hundreds of yards out like it was World War One all over again.

The horde was really starting to thin out now.

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.

Henry's training for this post had included a number of biology and anthropology crash courses that would help him identify potential threats and weaknesses in alien physiology. While the scaled creatures were like nothing on earth – he could identify pack tactics when he saw them.

"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 a chunk of green-mottled flesh was blown out of its torso.

Henry's gaze then shifted back to the archmage's forces. They raised their weapons in the air, hollering. They knew that aid – however peculiar – was here. A staff rose up, 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."

Their own flare shot up, meeting the arcane light of the archmage's spell , language barrier be damned. With the locals on board, Henry turned his attention back to the fight. His HUD lit up with new targets, highlighting a group of airborne threats that had broken away from the main group and were now headed straight for them. The dragon-wannabes, who seemed slightly smarter than their ground-based brethren, had realized who the biggest threat was.

"Aim for the eyes or wing joints if you can," Ron transmitted.

"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 TOW 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 dog-like 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.

At least, the smaller ones, anyway. Who knew if their success here would translate to whatever else this world had to offer? Would their artillery beat a Kaiju, or would they need some souped-up magic mech just to contend? Henry didn't want to be in a position to find out.

He watched as the tide finally turned. The smaller lizard creatures, no larger than wolves but far deadlier, slowed, then halted. What had been a relentless wave now broke apart, scattering in every direction. The survivors fucked off into the treeline like roaches when you turned on the kitchen lights.

"Cease fire," Henry finally ordered. "Zulu-9, prepare for the next phase."

A subtle release of tension flowed through Henry's muscles. The first critical phase was over; they'd pulled off contingency plan Delta-2 and protected the archmage's men. Now what? Meet the archmage and initiate first contact? Exciting, but far less straightforward and much more nerve-wracking than blowing alien monsters to bits.

The archmage and his cadre stared 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, knees threatening to turn to jelly, and the eyes of his men and the locals boring into him.

A cocktail of emotions churned in his gut: one part excitement, two parts 'holy shit,' with a dash of 'look at me, Mom, Dad, I made it.' First human to make official contact with an alien civilization. Or would 'Interstellar human civilization' be more accurate? Either way, 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 and throw up some new circles."

"Sir, first contact remains non-hostile so far," Henry reported, keeping his eyes on the archmage. "He's created some kind of blue 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? My brief observation of locals' behavior suggest the prevalence of honor and diplomacy in their society. It wouldn't make sense for them 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 be the one 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 may currently be seen as the leader of our envoy by the locals. And I don't want to risk ruining this by stepping in and possibly creating a cultural faux pas, like appearing to withdraw our 'leader' 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 green 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.

Henry grinned. Just the past hour was enough to make the months of security guard duty more than worth it. How much better could it get from here on out? "One giant leap…"

He stepped into the circle.