Edward Sackett stood and stepped up to the podium. He placed his hands on either side, steadying himself. A hush fell over the room as the assembled officials, scientists, and military personnel waited. Some leaned forward, others clenched their hands in their laps. No one wanted to hear what he was about to say, but they needed to.

  “Ernst has shown you what we saw and how we saw it,” he began. “But what we deduced from it—that’s the sobering part.”

  The stillness in the chamber thickened, anticipation shifting into unease.

  “Deduction one: This craft was launched at least five thousand years ago.”

  A murmur rippled through the audience. Five thousand years? The implications alone made several council members shift in their seats, exchanging troubled glances.

  “Deduction two: It has been steadily increasing its mass and energy along the way.”

  A few members of the Science Council frowned, whispering amongst themselves. What kind of technology could sustain such a journey for millennia?

  “Deduction three: This craft is hostile and on a destructive mission to our system.”

  Gasps. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. Someone in the back cursed under their breath. Others sat frozen, as if they hadn’t fully processed the words. Sackett let the reaction settle before pressing forward.

  “Our evidence for the third deduction: the complete destruction of the science cruiser Argus and the trajectory of the object following that event. If this craft destroyed Argus solely in self-defense, why would it then continue toward the very system Argus originated from? And if its approach were peaceful, why destroy the cruiser at all?”

  A heavy silence.

  “Lastly,” he added, “it has made no attempt to communicate with our vessels.”

  More whispers, more shifting in seats. The absence of communication made the situation worse, not better. Even the most cautious scientists had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that some form of diplomacy might be possible.

  “A self-defense strike would serve to deter pursuit—unless, of course, the Argus was allowed to escape and warn others.”

  Some nodded grimly. Others paled at the realization that humanity might not be dealing with simple hostility, but cold, calculated strategy.

  “Deduction four: This vessel has a weakness—or something to hide—at its core.”

  People sat up straighter. If there was a weakness, there was hope.

  “The Terra Twin was able to orbit the object for two months, drilling core samples and setting off seismic charges. Yet, the sphere took no action against her. However, the moment Argus attempted a cutting operation on the center’s surface, it was annihilated.”

  Speculation filled the room. Some officials exchanged quiet theories, while others scribbled notes furiously. If the enemy had something to protect, then there was an opening—somewhere.

  Sackett took a breath, glancing at Dr. Hopewell before continuing.

  “Dr. Hopewell and I have formulated three hypotheses, along with their estimated probabilities based on the sphere’s observed behavior.”

  A large screen behind him displayed the data, but few looked at it. Most were too focused on his next words.

  “Hypothesis one: The sphere is some sort of weapon—perhaps a bomb—to weaken us ahead of an invasion. Probability: sixteen percent.”

  A few sighed, almost relieved at the lower number—until they realized what the other probabilities must be.

  “Hypothesis two: The sphere is a war machine—both soldier and spy—sent to analyze us before an invasion. Probability: thirty-two percent.”

  The murmuring started again, louder this time. A war machine meant whoever sent it was watching. Learning. Preparing.

  “Hypothesis three: The sphere is an invasion vessel itself, carrying alien troops aboard. Probability: fifty-two percent.”

  The room erupted. Some shouted over each other, others sat stiffly, as if unable to move. One man buried his face in his hands. A woman near the front rubbed her temples, shaking her head as if willing the words away. The idea that hostile alien soldiers might already be en route sent a cold wave of dread through the assembly.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Sackett stepped back. “That’s all we have, Mr. Chairman.”

  The Science Council Chairman’s voice was tight as he spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, I yield the floor to the chair of the Security Council.”

  Linette Hughes approached the podium, her face grim. If she was shaken by what she had just heard, she didn’t show it.

  “Based on our records and projections,” she began, “if this vessel reaches Mars and destroys our transport and storage facilities, we stand to lose all personnel on Mars and, ultimately, every other colony.”

  The weight of those words settled like a thick fog. The loss of Mars wouldn’t just be tragic—it would be a death sentence for thousands, if not millions.

  “This thing is aimed at our jugular—and I do not believe that is a coincidence.”

  She let that sink in.

  “My question—and my directive—is this: What can we do to stop it? And we must act fast.”

  Her voice, though calm, carried an urgency that made even the most composed officials tense.

  “For nearly fifteen centuries, our people have lived without war or civil conflict. We have poured our energy into art, literature, science, and tolerance. Our warlike past is long behind us, and we have not missed it.”

  A few in the audience nodded in quiet agreement. Humanity had flourished in peace, grown beyond its violent past. But as Hughes continued, her words sent an unmistakable chill through the room.

  “But if this vessel is the vanguard of an invasion force, and we are forced to fight, I fear there can be only one outcome.”

  She scanned the room, her gaze heavy with meaning.

  “Our society—softened by centuries of peace, genetically culled of violent tendencies—may go like lambs to the slaughter.”

  A stillness fell over the room. Some clenched their fists, while others simply sat in stunned silence. The idea that their genetic evolution toward peace might now doom them was too bitter to process.

  “We have no weapons for the populace, no fortified shelters, no militia. And any makeshift defenses we can assemble in time will be woefully inadequate.”

  The weight of reality pressed down harder. Hope flickered and dimmed.

  “Unless someone can devise a weapon powerful enough to destroy this vessel before it reaches us, Mars and our colonies are doomed.”

  The silence that followed was absolute. The room was filled with some of the brightest minds in the system, but at that moment, not one of them had an answer.

  For the first time in centuries, humanity was staring down the possibility of its own extinction.

  Chairman Hughes waited for the noise to subside before speaking again. “Based on all available assessments of this entity’s power and composition, we can inflict damage—perhaps even delay its advance—but ultimately, it will reach Mars. Given this reality, I authorized the evacuation of all women, children, and hospital patients from Mars as of yesterday, following the loss of the Argus and confirmation of the sphere’s trajectory.

  "To strengthen our defensive measures, thirty additional one-thousand-ton mass drivers are being deployed to supplement the twenty-one already in place on Mars. These will be strategically arranged in clusters of seven or eight on the hemisphere that will maintain the longest line of sight with the sphere as it approaches. The objective is to subject the entity to continuous bombardment. Dr. Hopewell has presented a hypothesis that the exclusive use of rock-based projectiles may induce structural brittleness within its shell.”

  “When the sphere enters optimal range, our approach will shift,” Dr. Hopewell continued. “We will transition to hydrogen-oxygen solid-packed charges housed in divided containers with contact detonators, similar to those utilized in controlled excavation. Should we succeed in compromising the central core, our next course of action will involve targeting it with precision strikes from modified excavation lasers and concentrated mass driver fire.”

  “And at that point, we will rely on providence,” Sackett murmured.

  Hughes ignored the remark. “Additionally, four companies of United Worlds military police have been stationed on Mars. They will remain in place for the duration of this operation.”

  Sackett suppressed a grimace. Six hundred officers with stun weapons—symbolic reassurance at best, hardly a deterrent against an adversary of this caliber.

  Hughes turned his attention to a Mars science delegate. “Madam Chair,” he acknowledged.

  The delegate stood. “Several of Mars’ mining and transport companies have committed vessels to—”

  “We have ships, Delegate,” Hughes interjected.

  The delegate’s tone remained measured. “If the Chairman will permit me to continue,” she said, “the proposal is not merely to contribute ships, but to strategically utilize them. These vessels would be equipped with high-yield explosives and positioned behind Jupiter’s mass. Once the sphere passes, they would execute precision ramming maneuvers at a velocity approaching one-tenth the speed of light.”

  A pause followed. Hughes studied her, then inclined his head. “Your initiative is noted. My apologies for the interruption, Delegate.”

  The delegate nodded. “It is reassuring to see that only the most resolute strategies are given consideration.”

  Hughes turned to the assembly. “Members Hopewell and Sackett will coordinate directly with the Delegate to assess feasibility. As always, additional proposals may be submitted to the Security Council through appropriate channels.”

  The Science Chairman stood. “Ladies and gentlemen.”

  All seven hundred and fifty members and delegates rose in applause, the chamber resounding with an intensity that would not be heard again for many years.

  Hughes remained standing, offering nods of acknowledgment, his face composed. Yet, as the echoes of applause faded, a heaviness settled in his chest. They cheer because they need to believe. They need to think we have a chance. But they don’t see the calculations, the probabilities—the near-certainty of failure.

  He gathered his notes, careful to mask his thoughts behind a neutral expression. A show of confidence, that’s what they need. That’s what they’ll get. But as he turned to leave, a single thought remained, persistent and unshakable.

  Will history remember this as the moment humanity fought back? Or as the last desperate gesture before the inevitable?