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The conference hall had gone quiet. Not the comfortable silence of contemplation, but the stunned silence of people whose worldview had just been violently restructured.
Aidan let them process for another moment, then continued.
"What you just experienced was the Mirror Dimension—a form of spatial manipulation. I hope that's convinced at least a few skeptics." He paused, scanning the assembly. "The Magician Jaeger isn't just advanced technology. It's a magical amplification platform. A weapon system built on principles that most of you still think are fictional."
People shifted in their seats, still processing.
"But magic isn't why you're here," Aidan said, his tone becoming more businesslike. "You're here to discuss practical solutions. So let's talk about bio-metal."
New holographic displays materialized above the stage—technical schematics, production timelines, resource requirements.
"I need to construct a stellar energy harvester. That device will produce energy crystals, which in turn will enable bio-metal production. Once we have bio-metal, we can manufacture a Jaeger corps—autonomous or piloted, depending on which control scheme we implement. Each unit requires only a single pilot."
The implications were staggering. The current Jaeger program required two drift-compatible pilots per unit, which was the main bottleneck for expansion. Single-pilot bio-metal Jaegers would allow exponential scaling.
"Additionally," Aidan continued, "we need to begin outer space exploration immediately. Launch three or more interstellar probes to map neutron star coordinates throughout our local cluster."
"We'll construct a space fortress—a defensive installation in Earth orbit. A Great Wall in space, if you want to be poetic about it. Material preparation needs to begin before we have final neutron star coordinates."
"And finally, we'll build a planetary defense fleet. Based on the 'South Heaven Gate' initiative, we'll create Earth's first true space navy. Purpose-built for interstellar warfare."
The words came rapid-fire, each one landing like a hammer blow. Building a space fleet. Orbital fortifications. Interstellar probes. The scale was breathtaking.
"I will provide all necessary technology for the above initiatives," Aidan said, addressing the elephant in the room. "Patents, specifications, manufacturing processes—everything. No restrictions, no licensing fees."
The lobby erupted into chaos—dozens of overlapping conversations as delegates processed what they'd just heard. This wasn't just a military response. This was species-level evolution compressed into a decade.
Secretary-General Hemitdon stepped forward, raising his hands for quiet. "Please! Order! If you have questions, signal for recognition and wait your turn."
A hand shot up immediately—a woman in the American delegation, middle-aged, wearing a power suit and the kind of confidence that came from decades in high-stakes negotiations.
"Ambassador Emma " Hemitdon acknowledged.
"Dr. Ryan," she said, standing to address him directly. "Why not simply destroy the wormhole? Close it permanently, end the threat. Why risk everything on an offensive campaign?"
"Because we've already been exposed," Aidan replied. "The Precursors know we exist, know we're developing advanced defensive capabilities. Hiding accomplishes nothing. We either confront them on our terms, or we wait for them to return with overwhelming force."
He leaned forward slightly. "Also, don't you want their technology? Their resources? The scientific knowledge of a civilization that's mastered dimensional travel and biological engineering?"
Multiple people's expressions shifted—calculations running behind their eyes. Scavenge alien tech, reverse-engineer their capabilities, leapfrog human development by centuries...
"As long as their weapons systems haven't reached antimatter annihilation capacity," Aidan added, "we have a viable path to victory."
Ambassador Emma frowned, clearly unsatisfied. "Surely we can resolve this diplomatically. Negotiate a ceasefire, establish communication protocols. War should be the last resort, not the opening move."
Several heads nodded agreement. The conservative faction—prioritizing stability, risk aversion, maintaining the status quo.
"Their silent invasion already demonstrated their intentions," Aidan said, voice flat. "They didn't send ambassadors. They sent biological weapons designed to terraform our planet into something we can't survive. Please don't mistake caution for wisdom when the evidence is this clear."
Another delegate spoke up, a middle-aged man from the European contingent. "Even so—if negotiation is possible, combining it with your technology could trigger a peaceful technological revolution. Two centuries of advancement without war."
"The plan I've outlined is exactly that," Aidan said patiently. "A choice. Participate or don't. Commit resources or stand aside. But don't fool yourself into thinking the Precursors will negotiate when they've already demonstrated genocidal intent."
Ambassador Emma sat down, expression troubled but no longer argumentative.
A different hand rose—a German representative, jet-black hair and neatly trimmed beard, sitting with military-straight posture.
"Ambassador Richter," Hemitdon said.
"Dr. Ryan, your proposals suggest you don't intend to participate in the long-term implementation." His accent was thick but precise. "May I ask why?"
"Because I'm going through the wormhole," Aidan said simply. "I'll destroy the colonial forces on the other side and acquire the coordinates to their homeworld. Primary offensive action, maximum strategic impact."
Richter's eyes widened. "You're going alone?"
"Yes."
"That's..." Richter struggled for diplomatic phrasing. "That seems inadvisable. At minimum, wait until the bio-metal Jaeger corps is operational. Coordinate a joint assault with proper support—"
"Sir," Aidan interrupted gently, "I'm a magician. Those rules don't really apply to me."
Richter opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. What could you say to that? The man had just folded space like origami in front of three hundred witnesses. Normal tactical doctrine was meaningless.
"I... suppose that's fair," Richter conceded, sitting back down.
The questions continued for hours. Different delegates, different concerns, but the same core theme: Are you sure about this?
And every time, Aidan's answer was the same. Yes.
This wasn't a proposal. It was a blueprint. They could participate or abstain, contribute or stand aside. But the plan was happening regardless.
By dawn, the framework was established. The Planetary Warfare Council—an organization superseding even the PPDC, with direct authority over global defense initiatives. Resources were allocated, sectors divided, responsibilities assigned. Every nation contributed according to capacity, everyone got a seat at the table.
The meeting was adjourned after twelve straight hours of discussion. Further sessions would refine details, hammer out logistics, resolve the million small conflicts that came with trying to unite dozens of countries under a single military command structure.
But the foundation was set.
Humanity was going on offense.
Aidan didn't linger for the closing ceremonies or the press conferences that would inevitably follow. He slipped out with Pentecost, took a military helicopter back to Hong Kong, landed at the Shatterdome just as morning light was breaking over the harbor.
They walked across the landing pad in silence, footsteps echoing on metal grating.
"Are you really doing this?" Pentecost asked finally. "Going through alone?"
"Leaving tomorrow," Aidan confirmed. "Assuming they don't close the breach once they realize I'm coming."
"God bless you, then."
"Say 'May Merlin bless you,'" Aidan corrected with a slight smile. "I'm a magician, remember?"
Pentecost laughed—short, surprised, genuine. "Right. I keep forgetting that's actually real now."
They walked a few more steps. Then Aidan spoke again, quieter this time.
"After I leave, I'll arrange for the Life Evolution Equation to be distributed. Teaching materials, training protocols, the whole package. Your condition should improve significantly once you start practicing."
Pentecost stopped walking. Just stood there for a moment, processing.
"You knew," he said finally.
"Hard to miss. Radiation poisoning has a pretty distinctive signature."
"And you're just... giving me a cure. No conditions, no price."
"Consider it payment for putting up with me commandeering your budget for three years."
Pentecost laughed again, this time with something that might have been tears threatening at the edges. "Thank you. Genuinely."
"Don't mention it."
They resumed walking, two silhouettes against the rising sun.
"You know," Pentecost said after a long pause, "people used to talk about whether saviors were real. Whether heroes actually existed, or if that was just mythology."
"And?"
"Maybe this world really does have a savior."
Aidan glanced at him, expression unreadable.
"It's me," he said simply.
Pentecost smiled—tired, genuine, full of something that looked like hope.
"Yes," he agreed. "I suppose it is."
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