Chapter 1: The Fall
The United Nations General Assembly. September 21, 1987.
President Ronald Reagan stood at the podium, his voice steady, measured.
“In our obsession with antagonisms of the moment, we often forget how much unites all the members of humanity. Perhaps we need some outside, universal threat to make us recognize this common bond.”
He paused. The chamber was silent.
“I occasionally think how quickly our differences, worldwide, would vanish if we were facing an alien threat from outside this world.”
Another pause. Longer.
“And yet, I ask you, is not an alien force already among us? What could be more alien to the universal aspirations of our peoples than war and the threat of war?”
The words hung in the air.
Then came the images.
World War I. Trenches. Mud. Bodies.
World War II. Cities burning. Children screaming.
Korea. Vietnam. The Middle East.
Terrorist attacks. Third world conflicts.
People suffering. Always suffering.
The wars never stopped.
The LIGO (Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory) Research Center, MIT, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Dr. Chibo sat alone in his office. Still young. Late night. The building was empty.
His monitor flickered.
Then it exploded with data.
“What the—”
A massive gravitational wave. Off the charts. Beyond anything ever recorded.
He grabbed his phone. Started making calls.
“This is Chibo. Wake everyone up. Now!”
His hands shook as he typed messages.
“Gravitational wave detected. Scale unprecedented. It’s enormous. It’s—”
He stopped.
Stared at the coordinates.
“It’s right above us. South Pacific. Directly over Earth!"
The ocean was black. The sky darker.
Then the clouds began to spin.
A massive whirlpool formed above the water. Lightning crackled through it. Thunder rolled across the waves.
The air ripped open.
A sound like fabric tearing. Like reality breaking.
Something fell from the sky.
A ball of fire. Enormous. Gliding down through the atmosphere.
It crashed into the center of a jungle island.
The impact shook the ground for miles.
Natives gathered on boats. On foot. Staring at the burning site in the jungle.
They tried to fight the fire. Failed.
Then the rain came. A storm. Violent. Putting out the flames.
But no one could see what had fallen.
Not yet.
A woman’s voice. Calm. Professional.
“On the island called Macross, an alien spacecraft crash-landed.”
Archive footage played. UN teams arriving. Scientists in hazmat suits. Military convoys.
“Nations formed an exploration team led by the United Nations.”
The teams working. Taking samples. Running tests.
“The result was astonishing. The ship belonged to an alien race with highly developed technology and advanced scientific knowledge.”
Footage of weapons tests. Energy readings. Reverse-engineered tech.
“Nations were concerned. If this race was hostile, humanity needed to be ready. The need for a world government became urgent.”
The voice paused.
"The world divided. Those who agreed with unity. Those who didn’t.”
War footage. Not from history. Recent. Modern weapons. UN flags. Burning cities.
“The conflict lasted three years. It crossed every border.”
Camps. Shelters.
“Created millions of refugees.”
People fleeing. Families separated.
“The forces for unity won. The UN launched full research on the alien technology.”
Construction sites. Work crews. Heavy machinery.
“Grand-scale repairs began on Macross Island. The UN named it SDF-1. Six years have passed. In four days, SDF-1 will attempt humanity’s first space-time warp.”
The same chamber where Reagan had stood.
“Hm.”
The woman stopped speaking. Looked up.
A low grunt. Someone clearing their throat.
She was a reporter. Conducting a TV interview. Three UN officials sat across from her.
The one who interrupted her wore a UN Forces uniform. High Commander. Older. Gray hair. Cold eyes.
Maistroff Hayes.
“I need to correct two things in your summary,” he said.
The reporter nodded. Waited.
“First. We don’t call it space-time warp. We call it folding. Use that word in your reports.”
“Understood.”
“Second. It wasn’t a war."
Silence.
"It was a coup. Military forces from certain nations acted against their legitimate governments. The UN launched a global peacekeeping operation with full consent of those governments to restore order.”
Outside, rain poured down.
Demonstrators stood in it. Signs held high.
“STOP THE MACROSS REFUGEES!”
“TERMINATE BIO HAZARDS POLLUTED BY ALIENS!”
They were soaked. Angry. Shouting.
Across the street, a smaller group. Counter-protesters.
“FREE THE MACROSS PRISONERS!”
No other civilians. No commuters. Just protesters in the rain.
The reporter made notes.
“And the refugees of Macross Island?”
Maistroff’s expression didn’t change.
“They’ve been repairing SDF-1 for six years. As promised, they were given a choice. Thirty-seven thousand people—three-quarters of the population—will be resettled across five continents.”
“And the rest?”
“The rest chose to stay on Macross.”
The UN Secretary-General leaned forward. Older. Diplomatic smile.
“UNHCR’s excellent work made it possible for one-fourth to stay behind.”
He nodded toward the UN High Commissioner for Refugees sitting beside him.
The High Commissioner—tired, middle-aged—nodded back.
“We did our best to protect and serve people in need.”
Maistroff continued. His eyes fixed on the camera.
“After the launch ceremony, SDF-1 will fold to our Mars base. There, it will form the foundation of UN Spacy. The first deep space human military force.”
The reporter leaned in.
“To prepare for the unknown enemy?”
The Secretary-General shifted.
“It’s a question mark. Whether they’re friends or enemies. Whether they’ll even come.”
Maistroff stared into the camera.
“We’re advancing. Right now. At this moment. We learned from our mistakes.”
His voice hardened.
“No more retreats for humankind.”
A UN staff member appeared.
“UNHCR needs to leave for the airport.”
The interview ended.
Maistroff exited the room.
His phone buzzed. A text message.
From Lisa Hayes.
His face went stiff.
He walked to the window. Looked down at the street.
Lisa stood below. UN Forces uniform. Umbrella. Looking up at him.
Their eyes met.
Cold. Distant.
Lisa raised her hand. A salute.
Then she turned. Walked toward a UN vehicle where UNHCR members were boarding.
Maistroff watched her go.
Said nothing.
