Admiral Timothy J. Keating stared intently at the static-filled screen. The hardened communication channel crackled with interference, but the voice from Wyoming came through clearly enough.
"NORAD Command, this is Colonel Harrison at F.E. Warren. The nuclear detonation was... unsuccessful. I repeat, the nuclear strike had zero effect on the target. The Tripod's shields absorbed the blast completely. No damage visible."
President Bush slammed his fist against the metal table. "Goddammit! That was a twenty-kiloton warhead!"
Keating closed his eyes for a moment. They'd authorized the nuclear strike as a last resort, hoping that raw destructive power might succeed where conventional weapons had failed. The Tripod had been stationary in Wyoming for hours, harvesting civilians from a town. It had seemed like the perfect test.
In the end, even their most powerful weapons were useless…
"Sir," Keating said quietly, "we need to consider that our military options may be... limited."
"Limited?" Secretary of Defense Rumsfeld's voice was sharp with frustration. "Admiral, we just threw everything we had at one of those machines. Nuclear weapons are supposed to be the ultimate deterrent. If they can't even scratch these things..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
President Bush looked older than Keating had ever seen him. The man's face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot from three days of crisis management with almost no sleep. "How many people have we lost so far?"
"Conservative estimates put casualties at fifteen million Americans," General Myers reported from across the room. "The actual number is certainly much higher."
Fifteen million Americans. Dead in three days.
Keating had served in the military for over thirty years. He'd commanded forces in combat zones and managed international crises, but nothing in his experience had prepared him for this level of helplessness.
The aliens were demonstrating that humanity was utterly helpless.
"What about other countries?" Bush asked. "Any word from NATO allies?"
"Sporadic communication only," Myers replied. "London, Paris, Berlin, Tokyo... all hit simultaneously. The electromagnetic pulse weapons destroyed most international communication networks. We're getting fragmentary reports through hardened military channels, but it's the same story everywhere. Conventional forces are being slaughtered."
"And the evacuation efforts?"
Keating shook his head. "Most transportation infrastructure is down. Highways are clogged with abandoned vehicles. Airports are non-functional. We're trying to coordinate with surviving National Guard units, but without reliable communication..."
"So we're just going to sit here and watch them harvest our people like cattle?" Bush's voice cracked slightly. "There has to be something we can do."
The room fell silent.
What could they do? Their most advanced fighters couldn't penetrate the aliens' shields. Their missiles were useless. Even nuclear weapons had proven ineffective. The enemy had technology that was centuries, maybe millennia ahead of anything humans had developed.
Keating stared at the tactical display showing red markers across the continental United States. Each marker represented a confirmed Tripod sighting. There were more than ten thousand of them, steadily moving through population centers and processing humans into that red fertilizer substance their intelligence teams had identified.
And spreading those alien vines everywhere they went.
"We're fighting a war we can't win," Keating flatly stated. "Our weapons can't hurt them. Our technology can't match theirs. And they're treating this planet like a resource extraction operation."
"So what do you recommend, Admiral?" Bush asked. "Surrender?"
"I don't know, sir." The admission felt like swallowing glass. "I honestly don't know what we can do against an enemy this advanced."
The President buried his face in his hands. For a moment, the most powerful man in the world looked utterly defeated.
Rumsfeld was pacing near the communications console. "There has to be something. Some weakness we haven't identified. Some advantage we can exploit."
"Like what?" Myers asked. "We've thrown everything at them..."
"Then we find another way," Bush said, lifting his head. "We're Americans. We don't give up."
But his words sounded hollow even to Keating.
What other way was there? How do you fight an enemy that can ignore your most powerful weapons?
The communication console buzzed with an incoming transmission.
"NORAD Command, this is Major Schultz at the main entrance. We have a... situation here."
Keating frowned and activated his microphone. "What kind of situation, Major?"
"Sir, there's someone in the access tunnel. He's approaching the blast doors."
"Someone?" Keating exchanged glances with Bush. "How did anyone get past the outer security checkpoints?"
"That's the thing, sir. We don't know. He just... appeared. Our guards at Checkpoint Alpha never saw him approach. One minute the tunnel was empty, the next minute he was there."
How was that possible? The access tunnel to Cheyenne Mountain was over a mile long, with multiple security stations and sensor arrays. Even with the electromagnetic interference from the alien attacks, they should have detected anyone approaching...
"Describe this individual," Keating ordered.
There was a long pause before Schultz responded. "Sir, this is going to sound strange, but... he appears to be an angel."
"A what?"
"An angel, sir. He has wings. Large, white wings, if a bit transparent. And he has a golden halo. The guards are... well, they're pretty shaken up."
Keating stared at the communication console. An angel? Had the stress of the invasion finally caused someone to have a complete mental breakdown?
"Major, are you certain about what you're seeing?"
"Yes, sir. I'm looking at him right now through the security monitors. He's standing in front of the blast doors, waiting patiently. No weapons visible. He appears to be a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, with black hair and green eyes. But the wings and halo are definitely real."
"Did he say what he wants?"
"He's requesting entry, sir. Says he needs to speak with whoever's in charge. His exact words were 'I'm here to help with the evacuation efforts.'"
Evacuation efforts? How could this person know about their evacuation planning?
"Sir," Schultz continued, "there's something else. The guards are reporting that they feel... calmer when they look at him. Like he's radiating some kind of peaceful energy. They say it's hard to feel afraid while he's nearby."
Keating looked around the command center. Everyone was staring at the communication console with expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief.
Bush then activated his own microphone. "Major Schultz, this is the President. Ask this individual how he got to Cheyenne Mountain."
"Yes, sir." There was another pause. "He says he flew here, Mr. President. And he mentions that he's been rescuing civilians from the alien attacks. He has over eighty thousand refugees in what he calls 'a safe place.'"
Eighty thousand refugees?
"He also says," Schultz continued, "that he destroyed multiple Tripods on his way here. He can prove it if necessary."
Keating's heart rate increased. Someone who could actually fight the aliens? It seemed impossible, but then again, everything about the past three days had seemed impossible.
"What do you think?" Bush asked quietly.
Keating studied the faces around him. Everyone looked exhausted. Three days of watching their country get torn apart by enemies they couldn't fight had pushed them all to the breaking point.
"It could be a trap," Keating said slowly. "But honestly, sir, if the aliens wanted us dead, they'd just blast through those doors. They don't need tricks."
"An angel," Rumsfeld muttered. "This is insane."
Bush clasped his hands together and activated the microphone again.
"Major Schultz, we need proof that this individual can actually fight the aliens. We can't open these doors based on claims alone."
"Understood, sir. What kind of proof do you need?"
"Ask him if he has any physical evidence of destroying Tripods. Wreckage, alien technology, anything concrete." Keating said.
There was a brief pause as Schultz relayed the question.
"Sir, he says he has something better than wreckage. He's... he's pulling something out of thin air."
"What do you mean, thin air?" Bush demanded.
"I don't know how to explain it, Mr. President. He reached into empty space and now he's holding what looks like... oh God. Sir, it's an alien body. A dead alien."
Everyone in the command center widened their eyes.
"Describe it," Keating ordered.
"Three legs, two small arms, gray skin, triangular head with black eyes. About the size of a human torso. It's definitely not from Earth, sir."
"Jesus Christ," General Myers breathed. "He actually killed one of them."
President Bush stared at the communication console like it might bite him. "Major Schultz, is the creature dead?"
"Yes, sir. No movement, no breathing. And sir... there's something else. The angel just made it disappear again. Back into thin air."
Rumsfeld let out a bark of laughter that sounded more hysterical than amused. "Angels are real. We're getting military briefings about angels." He shook his head rapidly. "Three days ago I was worried about budget allocations. Now I'm discussing whether to let a teenage angel into the most secure facility in North America."
"Don, pull yourself together," Bush said sharply.
"Pull myself together?" Rumsfeld's voice pitched higher. "Sir, we just confirmed that divine beings exist and one of them is standing outside our door with a dead alien!"
Bush rubbed his temples. "Don, I need you to focus. We're in the middle of the worst crisis in human history."
"That's exactly my point!" Rumsfeld threw his hands up. "Worst crisis in human history, and our potential solution is a teenager with wings!"
Keating cleared his throat. "Sir, with respect, does it matter what he is if he can actually fight these things?"
"He showed us one dead alien. That doesn't prove he destroyed the machines," Rumsfeld muttered.
"Major Schultz," Bush said into the microphone. "Ask him if he has any other evidence."
"Yes, sir." A pause. "He says he can show you the path he took to get here. Something about burning out alien vegetation."
Keating frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Sir, he's pointing toward the surface. He says if you have any working surveillance equipment, you should look northwest. He burned a path several kilometers wide through what he calls 'K'tharr vines.'"
"Sergeant Williams," Keating called to a technician across the room. "Do we have any surface cameras still functional?"
"A few hardened units, sir. Most are down but I can try the northwest array."
Williams worked at his console for several minutes. The main screen flickered, showing static, then cleared to reveal a grainy image of the mountainside.
"Jesus," someone whispered.
The land looked like it had been carved by a giant blowtorch. Where there should have been forest, there was only smooth, glassy ground all the way to the horizon.
The destruction was so complete that it looked like the surface of an alien planet.
"He did that?" Bush asked quietly.
"Sir," Schultz's voice came through the radio again. "The angel says that was just him clearing out the alien plants on his way here. He didn't want them to spread further."
"Mr. President," Myers said slowly, "if he can do that to alien vegetation, maybe he really can fight their machines."
"Or maybe he's more dangerous than the Tripods," Rumsfeld countered. "Anyone with that kind of destructive power..."
"Is standing outside our door asking for permission to enter," Bush finished. "Don, if he wanted to hurt us, would he need permission?"
Rumsfeld opened his mouth, then closed it.
"Major Schultz," Bush said. "Ask him why he wants to help us."
Another pause. "He says because innocent people are dying. He's already saved over eighty thousand civilians and he wants to coordinate larger rescue efforts."
"Eighty thousand," Keating repeated. "Where are they?"
"He says they're in a safe place. Another dimension, sir."
"Another dimension." Bush laughed, but it sounded tired. "Of course. Why not?"
"Sir," Myers said quietly, "what choice do we have?"
Bush stared at the communication console. Then he straightened his shoulders and clapped his hands together.
"Alright, boys. Let's go meet our angel." He turned to Keating. "Admiral, open the doors."
Keating nodded and activated his microphone. "Major Schultz, we're opening the blast doors. Escort our visitor to Conference Room Alpha."
"Yes, sir. Opening blast doors now."
The massive steel doors that protected Cheyenne Mountain weighed twenty-three tons each. Even with full power, they took several minutes to cycle open. Today, running on emergency backup systems, the process was even slower.
Bush adjusted his tie. "Gentlemen, I don't know what we're about to see, but let's remember we're representing the United States of America."
Rumsfeld shook his head. "I can't believe we're doing this."
"Don, we've tried everything else," Bush said. "If God sent us help, I'm not turning it away."
Ten minutes later, Major Schultz's voice crackled through the radio. "NORAD Command, we're approaching Conference Room Alpha."
Keating felt his heart pounding. In thirty years of military service, he'd never been this nervous about meeting anyone.
The door to Conference Room Alpha opened.
Major Schultz entered first. Behind him walked someone who made every person in the room take a sharp breath.
The boy looked about fifteen years old, with perfect black hair and bright green eyes that seemed to glow with their own light. His face was so well-proportioned that it was almost painful to look at directly.
And he had wings. Large, translucent white wings that folded behind his shoulders, and a faint golden halo that emitted soft light behind his head.
This is what an angel looks like, Keating thought. This is actually what they look like.
"Everyone," the angel said. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
Bush stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm President George W. Bush. This is Admiral Keating, Secretary Rumsfeld, and General Myers."
The angel shook Bush's hand with a small smile. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. President."
"The honor is ours," Bush said. "I have to ask... are you really an angel?"
..
Harry looked at President Bush and nodded. "Yes, I am an angel."
Honestly, it had taken far longer than necessary to get inside this mountain. Harry understood the need for security, especially during an invasion, but twenty minutes of back-and-forth communication through radio channels seemed excessive when people were dying by the millions every hour. He'd stood patiently in that tunnel, listening to the guards relay questions and answers, when a simple face-to-face conversation would have resolved everything in two minutes.
Still, he supposed he couldn't blame them for being cautious. From their perspective, a teenage boy with wings claiming to fight aliens probably sounded completely insane.
Harry waved his hand casually, opening a small portal to the Muggle World. "I've brought someone who might help facilitate our discussion."
Lieutenant General Barrett stepped through the portal, looking slightly disoriented but quickly composing herself when she saw the room full of senior officials. She snapped to attention immediately.
"Mr. President," Barrett said, saluting. "Lieutenant General Maria Barrett, reporting as requested."
Bush blinked in surprise. "General Barrett? I thought you were... how did you get here?"
"The Creator transported me, sir," Barrett replied, gesturing toward Harry. "I've been coordinating refugee operations under his command for the past three days."
Harry noticed the way everyone in the room stiffened slightly when Barrett called him 'Creator.' He'd have to address that eventually, but first he needed to focus on the more immediate crisis.
The refugee situation in the Muggle World had been growing increasingly complex. When Harry had left to investigate the K'tharr vines, there had been about thirty thousand people in the camps. By the time he'd reached the Cheyenne Mountains, that number had nearly tripled as he rescued more survivors he found on the way.
Over eighty thousand refugees now...
Harry had been forced to create five hundred additional house-elves just to handle the logistics. Food preparation, medical care, camp organization, construction of temporary shelters... even with their magical abilities, the original thousand house-elves had been stretched to their limits.
And that had led to another problem. The house-elves needed rest too, despite their incredible work ethic. Harry had ended up accelerating time in the House-Elf World so it ran ten times faster than the Muggle World. That way, they could work eight-hour shifts helping refugees, then return to their own dimension for what felt like eighty hours of rest and recreation before their next shift.
It was a complicated system, but it seemed to be working. The house-elves were happy to have their own civilization to build, and the refugees were getting the care they needed.
But even that hadn't been enough. Harry had been forced to accelerate time in the Muggle World itself to twenty times that of real-time just so the refugees had enough time to process everything without getting completely overwhelmed. Without the time acceleration, the constant stream of new people would have created chaos.
The Church of the Creator was luckily too busy helping the new refugees settle in to break out into some kind of theological conflict for now. Harry was grateful for that small mercy.
The last thing he needed was religious arguments while trying to coordinate a mass evacuation of humanity.
"Lt. General Barrett," President Bush said, turning to her with obvious confusion. "Can you explain what you mean by 'refugee operations under his command'?"
Barrett straightened. "Sir, the angel has established a new world for civilians displaced by the alien invasion."
"A new world?" Secretary Rumsfeld's voice cracked slightly. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It's difficult to explain, sir," Barrett admitted. "It appears to be an alternate dimension. He can open doorways that lead directly there."
Admiral Keating raised an eyebrow. "How is that possible? Food for eighty thousand people requires massive supply chains."
"That's where it gets interesting, sir," Barrett said. "He has created what he calls house-elves. They're small humanoid beings, about three feet tall with pointed ears. They can multiply food from small amounts, summon water from nothing, move objects without touching them, and teleport."
The room went completely silent.
Harry watched their faces carefully. He could see the exact moment when each person decided that everything they thought they knew about reality was completely wrong.
"How many of these... house-elves... did you create?" General Myers asked slowly.
"About fifteen hundred so far," Harry replied. "I had to keep making more as the refugee population grew."
"You created fifteen hundred intelligent beings?" Bush's voice was barely above a whisper.
Harry nodded. "They're completely free-willed. I gave them their own world to build their own civilization. They help with the refugees because they want to, not because I'm forcing them."
Rumsfeld was staring at Harry with the expression of someone whose entire worldview had just collapsed. "You created a species. You created an entire species of intelligent beings."
"Yes."
"And you gave them their own world."
"Yes."
Rumsfeld sat down heavily in his chair, staring at Harry with wide eyes. "You... you're talking about playing God. Creating life, creating worlds..."
"I suppose I am," Harry said simply. He wasn't trying to be dramatic about it, but there wasn't really a gentler way to explain what he could do. "Though I prefer to think of it as helping people who need it."
Barrett cleared her throat. "Sir, there's something else about the refugee situation that might be relevant." She looked at Harry, who nodded for her to continue. "The Creator has somehow accelerated time in the refugee world. More than a month has passed there in less than a day of real-time."
President Bush rubbed his forehead. "Time acceleration. I should have guessed, why wouldn't there be time acceleration?"
Harry could see that they were all struggling to believe what they were hearing. He didn't blame them, but they needed to focus on the immediate crisis, not get lost in discussions about his abilities.
"I understand this is a lot to take in," Harry said. "But there are more pressing matters we need to discuss. I captured one of the aliens and learned their language. I was able to interrogate it before I killed it."
Everyone immediately straightened up.
"What did you learn?" Bush asked quickly.
"Well, the aliens inside the Tripods aren't the beings truly behind this invasion," Harry explained. "They're essentially slaves to the actual 'Masters'. Their language doesn't even have concepts for compassion or love. They see humans the same way we might see plants… just resources to be processed."
"The red vines they're spreading everywhere are called K'tharr Vines in their language," Harry continued. "They seem to be required for these Masters. Once the vines cover enough of the planet, they'll work to alter the atmosphere so it's suitable for the Masters to live here."
Harry sighed deeply. "I don't know whether humans can still survive once the atmosphere has been changed."
President Bush gripped the edge of the table so hard his bones creaked.
"Dear God," Admiral Keating whispered.
General Myers cleared his throat nervously. "Do we... do we have any hope of defeating these aliens?"
Harry stared directly into Myers' eyes and slowly shook his head.
"No," Harry said simply. "There are too many of them spread across the entire planet. I cannot clear them all on my own. The vines are spreading so fast that it wouldn't surprise me if they covered everything in another week or two." He gestured toward the window. "I burned my way across America to reach Cheyenne Mountain, trying to slow down the spread, but I suspect it only had a very minor effect."
He could see the hope draining from their faces as they understood what he was telling them.
"My priority now is mass evacuation into the world I created," Harry said.
Barrett's eyes widened in shock. "You... you created that world too, sir?"
Harry nodded. "Yes."
Barrett was the only person in the room who looked shocked by that, since Harry had already mentioned creating the Muggle World earlier in the conversation while she wasn't present. The government officials just nodded, apparently having reached their limit for surprise after everything else they'd heard.
"I need your help," Harry said, looking directly at President Bush. "If it's possible to gather people in mass numbers at specific locations, I can do my best to reach them and open Spatial Gates to evacuate them to the new world."
He gestured toward the display showing red markers across the continental United States. "Whether it's hundreds of thousands, or many millions of people... we need to save as many as we can. It will leave behind hope for humanity."
Harry paused. This was the part they really weren't going to want to hear.
"Because even if we somehow managed to destroy all the K'tharr Vines," Harry continued slowly, "even if we managed to defeat every single Tripod within the next week before they exterminate humanity... I suspect it would be useless in the long run."
President Bush frowned. "What do you mean?"
"These Masters can probably just send another wave," Harry explained. "The alien I interrogated was a low-ranking slave with very limited knowledge. It had no idea what the Masters' full military capabilities actually are. For all we know, these Tripods might just be their equivalent of a scouting force…"
Everyone slumped in their seats from hearing that this was just the start.
Then President Bush slammed his fist on the table. "Like hell we're giving up!"
"Mr. President?" Admiral Keating asked carefully.
Bush stood up, pacing behind his chair. "I don't care if these are scouts or their full military. I don't care if they can send a hundred more waves. We aren't going to roll over and die just because the odds look bad!"
"Sir, with all due respect," Rumsfeld said slowly, "the angel just told us we can't win."
"No," Bush said sharply, pointing at Harry. "He said we can't defeat them all on Earth. That's different from saying humanity can't survive." He turned to Harry. "You're offering us a way out. A new world where people can live safely."
Harry nodded. "Yes. There's no true limit to how many people the world can hold. The only question is how many we can physically evacuate before it's too late."
"Then we evacuate everyone we can," Bush said firmly. "And we keep fighting to buy more time for evacuations." He looked at Keating. "Admiral, what's our current communication status with military units?"
Admiral Keating walked to a console and checked several displays. "We have hardened communication lines with about forty percent of our major military installations. The electromagnetic interference is still causing problems, but we can reach most regional commands."
"Good," Bush said. "Start sending orders immediately. All units are to shift priority from combat operations to civilian evacuation. We need collection points established in every major city that's still accessible."
"How fast can you travel between locations?" General Myers asked Harry.
"About three hundred and forty miles per hour when I'm flying at top speed," Harry replied. "I can't maintain that pace indefinitely, maybe three hours before I need to rest."
Myers frowned and pulled up a map of the United States. "That's fast, but America is huge. Even at that speed, it would take you eight hours just to fly from coast to coast. And that's without stopping to evacuate anyone."
"What about military aircraft?" Rumsfeld suggested. "Could we fly you between locations faster?"
"Maybe," Harry said. "I assume most airports are probably destroyed?"
"Not all of them," Keating said, checking his displays again. "We still have some operational air bases. Peterson Air Force Base here in Colorado is functional. So is Hill Air Force Base in Utah, and several others."
"There's another problem," Barrett said quietly. "The refugee camps."
Everyone turned to look at her.
"Sir," she continued, addressing Harry, "we're already struggling to manage eighty thousand people. If we evacuate millions..."
"We'll figure it out," Harry smiled. "I can create more house-elves as needed. Maybe establish multiple camps across different areas of the world to spread people out, and naturally I can manipulate time such that the existing camps become more established."
President Bush nodded, turning to Keating. "Then we start immediately. Admiral, I want evacuation orders sent to every functioning military base within the hour."
Harry opened a small portal back to his world. "I'll return Lt. General Barrett, she'll need to lead the expansion of the existing infrastructure."
"How long do you think we have?" Rumsfeld asked quietly.
Harry shook his head. "Maybe two weeks before the vines cover too much of the planet. We need to move fast…"