The Divergence

Gideon slapped the folder down hard enough to make several of the documents beneath it shift across the polished table.

His eyes were wide with exasperation, and for several seconds he simply stared across the room as though waiting for either of the other men to acknowledge what he considered painfully obvious. 

General Roland Beckett instead rubbed his forehead, his fingers lingering against his temple before he released a tired sigh.

"The influx of vampires isn't a pressing concern at the moment," Roland said. "The number entering the Unified Sovereignties has increased, yes, but the number of vampire-related attacks hasn't increased alongside it. Neither have serious incidents involving them, at least not proportionally."

Gideon gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "You're allowing unregistered individuals into the country who can inflict massive injuries and casualties on our actual human citizens, and you're telling me that isn't a pressing concern?"

His attention snapped toward Leland Everson, who remained seated at the head of the table. 

Gideon's expression twisted into a scoff when the President offered no immediate response, and he spread his hands as though the absurdity of the situation should have spoken for itself.

"How many do we need before it becomes one?" Gideon asked. "Twenty? Fifty? A hundred? Do we wait until there are enough of them that asking them to leave is no longer an option?"

Roland glanced toward him, then looked away.

Leland drew a slow breath and leaned back slightly in his chair. 

The large display covering much of the far wall showed a map of the Unified Sovereignties and the surrounding portions of the continent, though calling it a map felt increasingly generous. 

The old national borders remained marked, but the geography within and between them had changed beyond recognition.

"The Unified Sovereignties didn't capsize overnight," Leland said. "Neither did most of the world's major powers. Daily life is disrupted, sometimes severely, but most large governments are still functioning well enough to maintain some degree of order."

He reached for one of the documents Gideon had thrown down and slid it closer, scanning figures he'd already read earlier that evening. His expression flattened.

"The same can't be said everywhere. Several smaller second-world states are barely functioning, and some larger third-world countries have effectively fragmented. There are areas where the national government controls its capital and whatever territory it can physically reach, and little else."

"Which is exactly why—"

"No," Leland interrupted.

Gideon's mouth remained slightly open.

Leland placed the document back on the table. "Refusing vampires entry doesn't mean they won't enter."

Gideon's jaw tightened.

"They can fly," Leland continued. "They can cross forests that would take our personnel days to navigate. They can travel through areas where roads no longer exist, and they can cross borders before anyone stationed there realizes something passed overhead. We don't presently possess anything resembling comprehensive border control because half the old border infrastructure is separated by hundreds of miles of newly appeared territory."

"We could still make it illegal."

"And accomplish what?" Leland asked. "Turn every vampire entering the country into a criminal before they've committed a crime?"

"Entering illegally would itself be the crime."

Leland stared at him. "And if they know that?"

Gideon didn't answer immediately.

Leland tapped one finger against the table. "Then they hide. They avoid law enforcement. They avoid registration. They avoid hospitals, clinics, blood distribution centers, and every other institution that gives us an opportunity to know where they are and establish a relationship with them. If someone discovers them while they're hiding, you've now given them an incentive to silence that person rather than cooperate."

Roland shifted slightly in his seat but remained quiet.

Leland gestured toward the display. "Look at what's happening elsewhere. In some countries, vampires and werewolves are fighting one another while simultaneously clashing with humans. In others, vampires and werewolves have both turned against human forces. There are places where the government has effectively lost control of supernatural populations entirely because the first official response was to attack them."

He touched a control on the table.

The map changed.

Several regions became highlighted, showing reports collected through embassies, military intelligence, international communications, and whatever civilian infrastructure still functioned. 

The information was incomplete. Some countries had stopped reporting altogether.

Leland frowned at the display. "So tell me, Gideon. How exactly do you propose we win that war?"

Gideon's eyes narrowed.

"A war against species possessing human intelligence," Leland continued, "that can communicate, organize, learn from us, and adapt to whatever tactics we use. Species that physically exceed humans in almost every measurable way. And you want us to begin that war when our country has effectively been fragmented into islands of developed territory separated by enormous stretches of new wilderness?"

He gestured sharply toward the map.

"Our forces can't reliably cross our own country."

The room fell quiet.

"We have bases that can barely communicate with one another except electronically," Leland said. 

"Units that technically belong to the same command structure but are separated by distances that didn't exist two weeks ago. Supply routes are being rebuilt from nothing. Rail lines terminate in forests. Highways disappear into mountains. Airports are overwhelmed because aircraft are currently one of the few reliable methods of moving personnel over long distances."

Gideon's face reddened slightly, but he didn't immediately respond. His fingers rested against the folder he'd brought in, tapping once before stopping.

When he finally spoke, his voice had become quieter.

"Leaving vampires in positions of power within a human government isn't going to end well."

Roland's eyes shifted toward him.

Gideon looked at Leland first, but the President's expression remained impassive. He therefore turned toward Roland. "Are you genuinely confident that every security standard is being met? Every clearance requirement? Every secrecy obligation? When some of the people we're entrusting with classified information aren't even human anymore?"

Roland tapped two fingers against the tabletop.

"So far, nothing has occurred that would justify opening an investigation into any of the respective individuals," Roland replied. 

"They held their positions before the First Divergence. They possessed their clearances before the First Divergence. Unless we receive evidence that becoming a vampire automatically compromises someone's loyalty, removing them purely because they changed species would create more problems than it solves."

"They're predators."

"They're personnel," Roland said.

"They drink human blood."

"And we already know that can be supplied without anyone dying."

Gideon leaned forward. "You think that's the point?"

Roland's expression hardened slightly. "I think the point is whether they're fulfilling their obligations. Thus far, they are."

Leland looked toward the screen rather than intervening.

A naval vessel was displayed moving through an enormous stretch of water that hadn't existed before the Second Divergence. 

Before the world changed, the same journey would have been routine. 

Now reconnaissance aircraft had to survey routes before ships could safely traverse them, because entirely new islands, coastlines, currents, and underwater geography had appeared.

"When this started," Leland said after several seconds, "my position regarding vampires was largely pragmatic."

Gideon looked toward him.

"Their blood mattered," Leland continued. "It still matters. If the Institute's findings hold, vampire blood could fundamentally change medicine. Regeneration alone gives us reasons to maintain a cooperative relationship with them."

He paused before shaking his head.

"But that's no longer my primary concern."

Roland watched him quietly.

"My concern now is keeping this country from falling apart."

Leland looked directly at Gideon. "I welcome disagreement. I mean that. I don't need everyone in this room telling me I'm right, and I don't want an administration where nobody is willing to challenge a decision. Differing opinions force us to consider routes we might otherwise ignore."

Gideon's expression softened only slightly.

"But right now, more than ever, we need calm," Leland said. "We need people going to work. We need stores reopening. We need power stations operating, hospitals functioning, local governments communicating with us, and military units knowing that orders issued here can actually reach them. We need humans to believe tomorrow will resemble today enough that they don't panic."

He looked toward the map again.

"And we need vampires and werewolves to believe they can exist here without having to fight us."

Roland nodded. "I agree."

He shifted forward, folding his hands together. "Restoring the infrastructure necessary for meaningful military presence across the entire country isn't something we're accomplishing in a week. It probably isn't something we're accomplishing in several months. We're not merely repairing damaged infrastructure anymore. In some places we're building completely new networks across terrain nobody had mapped until days ago."

Gideon glanced at him.

Roland continued, "And frankly, I don't necessarily mind vampires entering the country."

Gideon laughed coldly.

Roland ignored it. "It tells us something."

"What?"

"That they think they're safer here."

Gideon stared at him.

Roland shrugged faintly. "Vampires are intelligent. They communicate with each other, and information travels. If vampires living elsewhere are choosing to travel hundreds or thousands of miles to reach the Unified Sovereignties, then they've apparently concluded that whatever problems exist here are preferable to what they're leaving behind."

"And you consider that a compliment?"

"I consider it useful."

Gideon leaned back.

Neither man understood.

At least, that was how it felt to him.

He looked between Roland and Leland and wondered how two intelligent men could stare directly at what was happening and see stability rather than the beginning of something humanity might never reverse.

A new species had appeared.

No—not merely a new species.

A predator.

One that exclusively fed upon humans when given the choice. 

One stronger than any human could ever become, faster than any human could ever become, capable of recovering from injuries that would reduce a person to a corpse. 

They could fly. They didn't age. Disease apparently meant almost nothing to them.

And they were intelligent.

That was the part Gideon couldn't understand everyone else treating so casually.

A tiger was stronger than a human, but a tiger wasn't going to form a government. 

A bear could tear a person apart, but a bear wasn't going to accumulate wealth for three hundred years, cultivate political connections for five hundred, or spend a thousand years mastering a profession.

Vampires could.

Ten years.

What happened after ten years?

Fifty?

A hundred?

Humans lived, aged, and died.

Vampires didn't.

A brilliant human politician might spend forty years building a career before age finally removed them from public life. 

A vampire could spend four hundred years doing the same thing. A human business empire passed between generations. A vampire could simply remain at its head.

Humans had dominated the world for thousands of years because there had been nothing comparable to them.

Now there was.

And everyone seemed content to wait and see what happened.

Gideon abruptly stood.

The chair slid backward.

Leland looked at him but said nothing.

Gideon grabbed the folder from the table, tucked it beneath his arm, and walked toward the door.

"We're going to regret this," he said.

Roland exhaled through his nose. "Maybe."

Gideon stopped.

Roland met his gaze. "But starting a war because we're afraid we might regret peace isn't a better option."

Gideon's expression tightened.

Then he left.

The door shut behind him.

For several seconds, neither Leland nor Roland spoke.

Leland stared at the closed door before slowly looking back toward the map. 

He couldn't dismiss everything Gideon said simply because he disliked where Gideon's conclusions led. 

Vampires were powerful. Werewolves were powerful. Both introduced questions no government had been built to answer.

But those questions weren't what had pushed much of the world toward chaos.

The Second Divergence had done most of that.

Earth had changed on a scale civilization simply hadn't been designed to survive gracefully. 

Resources existed, but reaching them was difficult. Personnel existed, but transporting them was difficult. 

Governments still possessed armies, yet projecting those armies across territory that had multiplied in size almost overnight was another matter entirely.

And in countries where hostilities between species had already begun, geography made containing them nearly impossible.

How could vampires and werewolves not retaliate when humans attacked them?

How could humans not retaliate when supernatural groups attacked them in return?

Once both sides possessed dead friends, dead families, and reasons to hate, who was supposed to volunteer to stop first?

Leland rubbed his chin.

Even here, violence happened.

Earlier that evening, reports had come from Oakridge of a brawl between vampires and werewolves inside a mall. Property damage was extensive. Several injuries had occurred, and one human had died.

A werewolf had killed him.

The vampires had apparently intervened.

Leland had read the preliminary report twice because of how absurdly representative it seemed of the entire situation. 

Vampires and werewolves had fought, a human had been killed, and yet the vampires had also protected humans during the same incident.

Messy.

Dangerous.

But not hopeless.

That distinction mattered.

The Oakridge incident stood out precisely because it wasn't happening every night. 

Most vampires within the Unified Sovereignties, citizen or otherwise, cooperated with authorities well enough.  Werewolves generally did the same. 

There were disputes, crimes, misunderstandings, and occasionally violence, but that was a very different situation from open warfare.

Leland pulled Gideon's abandoned copy of one report closer, then realized Gideon had taken the folder but left several loose pages behind.

He looked at Roland.

"Do everything you can to accelerate infrastructure restoration."

Roland raised an eyebrow. "Everything?"

"Within reason."

"That's considerably less terrifying."

Leland gave him an unimpressed look.

Roland's mouth twitched.

"I mean it," Leland said. "Transportation first wherever feasible. Roads, rail, temporary airfields, whatever gets personnel and supplies moving between population centers. Communications are holding reasonably well, but knowing a city needs help doesn't accomplish much if reaching it takes three days."

Roland nodded slowly. "I'll push the regional commands again. Engineering units are already stretched thin, though."

"I know."

"We're going to have to prioritize. There isn't enough manpower or equipment to reconnect everything simultaneously."

"Then prioritize population, strategic infrastructure, food, energy, and medical access. Military mobility comes alongside those rather than ahead of them."

Roland studied him. "You're worried."

Leland leaned back.

"Of course I'm worried."

"That we'll end up like the others?"

Leland shook his head, then gave a quiet, wry laugh. "No. That's the irritating part."

Roland waited.

"Things are going smoothly."

The General's eyebrows rose.

"Relatively speaking," Leland added. "People are going to work. Local governments are functioning. Humans, vampires, and werewolves more or less get along. When something happens, police respond. When people need blood, we have systems for it. When someone commits a crime, we're still generally arguing over what law applies rather than which species should be shot."

"That's a low standard."

"It's an excellent standard considering the planet doubled in radius."

Roland conceded that with a small nod.

Leland's expression grew serious again. "But that's what worries me."

He turned toward the enormous map.

"Everything is stable because everyone still believes stability exists. Humans believe vampires aren't coming for them. Vampires believe the government isn't coming for them. Werewolves believe they can live normally without being hunted. Police believe they'll still have courts to hand suspects to tomorrow. Soldiers believe they're protecting a country rather than whichever patch of territory their base happens to occupy."

Roland's expression gradually sobered.

Leland tapped the table once.

"It could take one thing."

"One thing?"

"Something bad enough."

He stared at the map.

"A vampire kills the wrong person. A soldier panics and opens fire on the wrong group. Werewolves retaliate against a town. Someone bombs another vampire clinic, except this time the vampires decide they've had enough. It doesn't matter what it is."

Leland looked back at Roland.

"Once people stop believing the system can protect them, they protect themselves. Once one group arms itself, another does the same. Once someone retaliates, someone retaliates against the retaliation."

Roland remained silent.

"And then we're not rebuilding roads anymore," Leland continued. "We're choosing which domestic front receives soldiers we don't have the infrastructure to move."

He rubbed his forehead.

"Things are smooth. I want to keep them smooth."

Roland pushed his chair backward and rose. "I'll do what I can."

Leland looked up at him.

"I'll speak with Engineering Command in the morning and review which regional projects can be accelerated. We might be able to redirect some aviation assets toward moving specialized crews instead of supplies, at least temporarily." 

Roland straightened his jacket, then added, "I'll also have the Oakridge incident reviewed. If there's anything there suggesting broader tensions between vampires and wolves, I'd rather know before another restaurant gets demolished."

"Good."

Roland started toward the door, then paused.

"For what it's worth, I don't think Gideon's entirely wrong."

Leland's eyes narrowed slightly.

Roland glanced back. "He's wrong about what we should do about it. That's different."

Leland considered that.

Vampires would change the world.

Werewolves would too.

Pretending otherwise would be foolish.

"That's why he's still in the room," Leland said.

Roland nodded once.

Then he left.

The door closed, leaving Leland alone with the glowing map.

He stared at the enormous stretches of unfamiliar land separating cities that, less than two weeks ago, had been connected by ordinary highways. 

Somewhere beyond the borders, countries were breaking apart. 

Vampires were fleeing some of them. Werewolves were organizing themselves in others. 

Governments were making decisions whose consequences might persist for centuries.

Some of those vampires were coming here.

Leland rested his hands against the table.

If the Unified Sovereignties became the place they fled toward rather than the place they fled from, he could live with that.

He only had to make sure it stayed that way.

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