Book One - Chapter Twenty-Eight: Shark Week

The chamber felt like a mausoleum designed by a committee of sadists. All those alien dignitaries arranged in their perfect little hierarchies, waiting to watch humanity get legally executed for the unforgivable crime of not wanting to die quietly.

The System Countdown reminded me that I only had thirty-five days until Chuck arrived. I needed to solve this, then prepare for war. I couldn't make any deal that would cost us the chance to defend ourselves. There was also the matter of the Watchers realizing that earth should have never been integrated. Fuck. One emergency at a time, I thought, and swiped the notification away.

I stood at my defendant's podium; a piece of furniture that managed to be both too tall and too short simultaneously. I was wearing a simple pair of jeans and t-shirt. It wasn’t the most formal thing they brought, but it was what I felt most comfortable in and Jack insisted that was what mattered. And at least it didn’t have the usual ass-window.

And this time I had Riley and Peña with me in my delegation section.

Jack's voice echoed in my head: “Follow the plan. Keep your cool. You got this.”

“Easy for you to say,” I’d muttered. “You’re not the one wading into a shark tank wearing barbecue flavored cologne.”

Back in the room, he'd leaned over the protocol manual with that shit-eating grin of his, tapping clauses like he was the piano man in a bar full of drunks.

“You see this?” he’d said. “This is the part where they think they own your ass. But here—” tap, tap “—this little devil right here could be our ticket out of this.”

“I don’t know,” I’d said. “Feels thin.”

“Thin’s fine,” he said. “Razor blades are thin.”

Now I stood there, hands slick, smile loaded. Razor-thin, and ready to slice.

The delegations filed in, arranging themselves like pieces on the universe's most expensive chess set. Peña gave me a smile. Riley mouthed, “You can do it.”

Chairman Glazial, bureaucratic apex predator wrapped in judicial robes, swung his gavel with casual authority.

“We reconvene this tribunal to determine the guilt of the species known as 'Human' against the Council of Allied Worlds. If there are no other matters, I will now call the preliminary vote to confirm the guilt of—”

“Point of order, Mr. Chairman.”

The words left my mouth before I had enough time to chicken out. Fuck it. Go time.

Glazial blinked, his shark teeth clicking. “The chair recognizes Representative Jerry.”

“I officially request Sponsorship under subsection 42-B.”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. A few delegates exchanged glances.

“Your request is noted.” Glazial's smile was all teeth. “Is there a Sponsor present?”

He barely allowed two seconds to pass before moving on, already dismissing the possibility. “Since there are no volunteers—” Which sounded more like, “Since there is no one stupid enough to—”

“Chairman.”

The voice stopped Glazial mid-sentence.

The Mewsari King rose from his seat slowly, almost carelessly. Light caught the silver threading through his fur, and his ancient eyes fixed on the Chairman without blinking.

The chamber went dead silent.

Glazial’s jaw clicked shut. He didn’t smile.

“The chair recognizes the Mewsari delegation leader,” he said, voice tight as wire.

The King said nothing for a long moment. He let the silence swell. Let the chamber hold its breath and the Karen’s seethe. His next words came out precise, each syllable deliberate and every alien in the room turned toward him. “The Mewsari delegation hereby accepts formal Sponsorship of the defendant species.”

The chamber erupted. Delegates shot to their feet, shouting over each other in languages my translator couldn't keep up with. A Graventhall knocked over his chair. The perfect Cerulian formation scattered like startled birds. Someone's crystal cup shattered against the wall.

But the Karens? Their leader sat perfectly still, watching the chaos with a smile that made my stomach drop. She'd been waiting for this. Whatsoever future we had just set in motion, she wanted it to happen.

My mouth went dry.

“Your Highness.” Glazial's said slowly. “You understand what you're proposing? And the ramifications?”

“Completely, Mr. Chairman.”

Glazial explained as though the Mewsari King had not answered.

“Formal Sponsorship means accepting complete financial and legal responsibility for all crimes committed by the sponsored species. If Earth is found guilty of the charges, the Mewsari will be held liable for all damages beyond what the defendant species can reasonably pay, which in this case may be considerable.” He paused, staring into the eyes of the Mewsari King. “You are aware of this?”

“We are fully aware, Mr. Chairman.”

“Furthermore,” Glazial continued, settling into the formal cadence of someone reading the fine print on a deal with the devil, “Sponsorship grants the right to petition for Council membership, but it does not guarantee acceptance. Nor does it waive or dismiss any of the charges currently filed against the sponsored species. You are aware of this?”

Whiskers nodded once, sharp and decisive as a blade finding its target. “Yes.”

The Karen leader leaned forward in her chair like a predator who'd just caught the scent of wounded prey. I got the sinking feeling that we were playing right into her hand.

“Then, so be it. Let it be entered into the official record,” Glazial intoned with the solemnity of a judge pronouncing a death sentence. “The Mewsari delegation officially sponsors the species known as ‘Human.’ Earth hereby receives the Political Credits necessary to petition for full membership in the Council of Allied Worlds.”

He paused, scanning the chamber with those predatory shark eyes.

“I assume the sponsoring delegation wishes to initiate the formal membership vote before we vote on matters of guilt and sentencing?”

“We do, Mr. Chairman.”

“Very well. If the petition is accepted, Earth will receive retroactive defensive rights and protection from further military incursion. However, all standard penalties for late filing and procedural violations will remain in effect.” Glazial's grin could have been used to perform emergency surgery. “Given the gravity of these proceedings, we will proceed directly to the membership vote. Does the sponsoring delegation wish to make a statement before voting commences?”

The Mewsari King turned toward me, his ancient eyes carrying something that might have been confidence or might have been pity. “Representative Jerry will speak on our behalf, Mr. Chairman.”

And just like that, the fate of humanity, all of it, every man, woman, and child who'd ever existed or ever would exist, was dropped squarely in my lap like a flaming bag of cosmic shit.

I stood on legs that felt like they'd been replaced with overcooked linguine. Every being in that chamber, and the trillions viewing from home, focused on me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Please. God, Jesus, Buddha, Jake from State Farm—whoever the fuck is listening up there... don't let me be the guy who doomed humanity because I couldn't string two sentences together. I've fucked up everything else in my life. Every job, every relationship, every chance I've ever had. But not this. Please, not this. Let me get this one thing right. Just this once. Please.

I opened my eyes and breathed.

“Honored representatives of the Council of Allied Worlds.” My voice came out steady. Somehow. “I stand before you not just as Earth's representative, but as proof of what we can become when given a chance.”

I took a breath. The whole galaxy was watching.

“We are young, yes. Messy. Chaotic. We solve problems by hitting them until they stop being problems.” Scattered chuckles from the audience. “But we're also adaptable. Creative. Resilient. We fail, then we get back up and try again.”

I looked out at the sea of alien faces. “If I could have chosen Earth's representative, it wouldn't have been me. I didn't want this job. Didn't ask for it. Before all this, I was nobody special—just another guy who drank too much coffee and spent too much time online. I felt alone most days. Awkward. Trying to cover it up by being friendly to strangers who barely noticed I existed.”

The chamber had gone quiet. Really quiet.

“But maybe that makes me perfect for this. Because I think that's what most of us are—a little lost, a little afraid, but still hoping for something better. Still wanting to help, to matter, to be part of something bigger than ourselves.”

I gestured toward the assembled delegations. “Each of your worlds went through this same process once. You all remember what it felt like to be new, uncertain, looking for your place in something vast and overwhelming. We follow rules and protocols because they're safer than chaos. But underneath all that structure, aren't we all just trying to figure out how to belong?”

I frowned.

“Some months ago, I was making coffee for people who treated me like furniture. I had no friends, no future, no reason to think I mattered. Then aliens invaded my planet, and you know what happened?”

My voice was getting stronger.

“I found out I could fight. I found out I could lead. I found out that when everything goes to hell, humans don't run—we grab whatever's handy and we swing back. A coffee machine became a weapon. A nobody became a warrior. A barista became Earth's last hope.”

I grinned.

“That's what we do. We take impossible situations and we make them work. You give us duct tape and determination, we'll build you a spaceship. You give us a problem everyone says can't be solved, we'll solve it out of pure spite.”

The energy in the room was shifting.

“Every human invention started with someone saying 'that's impossible' and some stubborn bastard saying 'watch me.' We flew before we understood physics. We split atoms because we were curious what was inside. We sent people to the moon with computers less powerful than your coffee makers, just to prove we could.”

I spread my arms wide.

“You're not just getting a planet full of resources. You're getting a species that looks at the word 'impossible' and takes it as a personal challenge. We don't give up. We don't quit. We get knocked down and we get back up swinging.”

My voice rang out.

“Give us a chance, and we'll surprise you. Give us a problem, and we'll find three different ways to fix it. Give us a galaxy to explore, and we'll show you wonders you never imagined.”

I smiled.

“We're not perfect. But we are magnificent.”

I caught movement in the audience; beings wiping eyes, or whatever they used for eyes.

The Karen leader made a scoffing noise that reminded me of a deflating tire.

“Now, I understand there's also a practical side to consider.” I straightened, shifting into business mode. “We're not coming empty-handed. Earth's mana density is unprecedented. Our resources are vast and largely untapped. And we're prepared to share these gifts with our allies.”

This was the part Jack had drilled into me. “Listen carefully, Jerry. You need to offer each of them something they want in exchange for voting for you.”

“Isn't that bribery?” I'd asked.

“It's politics, Jerry. Fully legal and expected. If you don't make specific offers, they'll think you're either stupid or insulting them. Out here, they call it 'pre-negotiated considerations.' On Earth, I think you call it ‘lobbying.’”