Under faint light, the shadows fell long as three people sat stiffly facing one another, they they-streakeddith a near-endurable tension.
The only thing between them was a radiant silver table that glowed in the half-light, its surface reflecting the spasmodic flashing of a bulb that seemed to be on its last legs—or filament, at least.
The unstable light of the bulb danced across the three faces, altering furrowed brows and clamped jaws to a ghastly chiaroscuro.
The lean man with his blue-violet eyes bent forward, his own face that of almost controlled irritation, as though he was a volcano encased in a three-piece suit.
Across from him, a dark-haired, curly-haired woman sat stiffly, her lips pursed so tightly they could've been mistaken for a poorly sewn wound.
The third person, an older man with grey-streaked hair and a scowl so deep it could've been used as a canyon, looked between the two like a referee reluctantly conscripted into a heavyweight fight.
The room was silent, punctuated by the rare, near-apologetic hum of the bulb.
Their staring eyes appeared to grapple in mid-air, each set of eyes radiating enough power to fuel a small city.
Small movements—the tightening of hands around clasped fingers, the shifting of stance—suggested a seething battle that would soon boil over.
It was as though the room itself was waiting with bated breath, praying that the walls would not have to see whatever explosion was brewing.
Then, like a signal from a science fiction director with a flair for the dramatic, a blueish beam of light sliced through the room.
It grew, widening steadily to three inches in diameter and eighty inches in length.
The eyes of the old man widened, and he was a child watching his first illusion show.
Relief washed over him when the people began to emerge from the shining gateway, their dark silhouettes encircled by the unearthly radiance. If it were not for the suspended expectation like some unseen anvil, it was a beautiful spectacle.
They came singly, blinking into the dark room and exchanging bewildered glances.
The nine had completed the unit, their numbers almost an afterthought to the other two still locked in combat of wills, who seemed ready to be the winners in a game none of them else understood how to play.
The rest took their seats nervously, as though tardy students to a class where they weren't sure if the teacher was eccentric or downright insane.
They cast suspicious glances at one another, their gazes flicking back and forth between the focal figures. The silence grew heavier, suspended in the air like an elastic band waiting to break.
Any sound—even a sneeze—seemed capable of igniting the underlying tension into a raging inferno.
At last, the dark-haired woman spoke, clearing her throat with a theatricality that commanded attention.
Her piercing blue eyes scanned the room before she started, her voice imbued with the authority interspersed with just a touch of exasperation.
"Welcome everyone," she started, her tone as even as a metronome. "I've called you here today because we're faced with a serious problem which demands our collective and earnest attention."
The ring fell silent, their hearing piercing each sentence as if she'd declared it over happy hour being over. The deliberate pauses only helped to increase the sense of urgency, filling her words with the gravity of a prophet preparing to declare foul weather.
"We need to work together," she went on, her eyes as sharp as a knife blade.
"We need to face what's ahead with complete dedication and vision."
Her eyes darted between the men. First, they fell upon a hulking, muscle-bound man whose bald head gleamed in the dim light like a newly oiled bowling ball.
He nodded gravely, his quiet confidence tempered slightly by the soft squeak of his leather chair.
And then she glanced at a middle-aged woman whose kind face and crisp white blazer formed an incongruous pair, the headmistress exchanging classrooms for war rooms. Who also nodded.
At last, she fixed her gaze on a girl in loud clothes who shouted "I'm fun but also pay my taxes." All nodded in turn, the unspoken agreement adding to the seriousness of the room.
"They've been spotted in Earth territory," the dark-haired woman stated, her voice slicing through the air like a knife through grilled too-long steak.
"Though there have yet to be any conflicts, it seems inevitable there will be some confrontation."
The blond man, who had thus far maintained his calm with all the force of a house of cards in a tornado, flashed.
His blue eyes had flashed blood red, a gruesome sight that was shouting, "I am enraged and perhaps under a curse." "They are children!" he shouted, his voice a blend of fury, desperation, and something that could have been a minor upset of the stomach.
"So many lives were lost to prevent this ploy from ever being used again."
The woman didn't blink. If anything, she seemed to come up out of her seat, her peaceful resolve almost taking on the quality of statuesque.
"I never act without considering all options," she said, her tone as steady as to anchor a ship in a storm.
"Make no mistake: they will strike. The question is not if, but when."
She let out a sigh, pinching her nose bridge like a mother on her third PTA meeting of the week.
"We've lost the surprise advantage. They know our weak points and strong points. The very foundation of our current technology was pioneered by them. This puts us in their gross disadvantage."
Breathing deeply, she went on, "I'm not saying we deploy all at once. I believe we should train everybody who can so that when the time is ripe, we're set."
Her unexpected display of feeling caught the group off guard, leaving them standing there frozen and, more importantly, speechless.
Eventually, the room did vote. The dark-haired woman's persuasive words had the best of it, winning a resounding vote for the training proposal.
The blond man, against his will, nodded, his resistance dissolving like butter that's been warmed by facts.
The following day, the government made an announcement so shocking it would have been trumpeted with a drumroll.
Compulsory military service for every citizen 16 and older. Five grueling years.
It encountered opposition in the guise of parking tickets so astronomical, they overshadowed parking tickets by comparison, or worse, with labour camp-type sentences that redefined the term "working vacation."
As the nation geared up to fight back against the enemy's push, one was sure: while humor might be in short supply, harmony, toughness, and sacrifice were becoming the survival currency.
*****
In a remote corner of the universe, a different gathering was taking place. As opposed to the initial group of six, this gathering had even greater variety.
Each individual appeared to be cut from sculpture, their features reminiscent of the Greek gods.
They exuded an otherworldly type of beauty, each having flawless skin and dramatic cheekbones that carried the essence of youth.
None of them seemed to have crossed 25 years of age; they radiated energy and vitality, being the very pinnacle of human beauty and elegance.
Their beauty was nothing short of divine, provoking a sense of the divine that would leave any human being speechless. They appeared almost human at first glance, but closer inspection revealed elaborate patterns etched across their bodies, a story that was in no way ordinary.
These patterns, while reminiscent of tattoos, were something altogether different; they resembled delicate vines and leaves, an elegant nod to the natural world.
Besides, their skin appeared to glimmer with gemstones that were sculpted from stones that shone like diamonds in a variety of colours, each colour appearing to be drawn from their very essence.
The dance of light on these beautiful features created a dazzling spectacle, further accentuating the remarkable nature of their existence.
They were seated in a circle around a round table, their gaze focused on the center where a holographic projection of a solar system floated, shining and vibrant with colors.
Underneath it, the words "East Sammer way Human Territory" gently glowed, anchoring the scene in a material reality.
Amid all the whispers, one of undeniable presence rose up to speak. His voice was smooth and hypnotic, possessing a sing-song cadence which had in it a hint of authority, almost unable to bring on a trance in any unsuspecting heart.
The loveliness of his brown complexion glowed with a gentle golden glow, catching the sun in a mesmerizing way.
His bright blue eyes blazed with silvery sparks, giving his stare an otherworldly intensity.
The fullness of his lips, framed by the long, curved lashes, was in keeping with his powerful and towering physique—an embodiment of beauty and force that rendered his contemporaries effectively insubstantial by comparison.
Although this feature marked him out, they were not the absolute factors that made him appear like a leader, but the crown on his head.
It seemed dull, resembling vines with leaves of jungle green and small red vines, unless someone wore his glasses, otherwise they could not recognize that the dull crown was made of Safir green diamond.
Both silver and gold were ingeniously utilized to create the position of the vine so perfectly that they were caused to replicate the Safire of the diamond. Making them green. Ornaments fruits were also created from uncreated scarlet diamonds.
The luxurious crown on his head, delicately made to correspond to the unusual markings that enveloped his flesh, marked him as the indisputable chief of the troop. It glistened in the dim illumination, its airy structure demanding notice and respect.
"The humans must have observed our activity," he stated, voice even and even, humming with an unhealthy tranquility.
His presence filled the room, despite his words conveying the unease of the moment.
One of the others, his untidy brown hair flying about his hard-edged features, stepped forward.
His vivid yellow eyes burned with emotion, giving off a fierce beauty in the crowd gathered.
"Svasna, my Majesty," he urged, his voice dripping with urgency. "Why sit and wait for our strike while they are so blind? They are still backward, utterly overshadowed by our power."
The room grew frosty, filled with a ghostly chill, as the chief fixed his steely gaze upon the brown-haired man.
His eyes flamed with rage, not so much because the man had spoken out of turn, but because of how serious were his words.
"Is not this the same idea that led to our last failure?" he snarled, his voice low and ominous.
The man relaxed back in his chair, a flicker of shock crossing his face as he took in the accusation of the leader, the seriousness of the moment hanging there between them.
The leader stood up and told the others to keep going on and gathering information and planning their next move.
With that he closed down the meeting without a chance of debate. His temper was properly ruined.