Chapter 148: The Gaia Consciousness Intervenes!
In the JoJo fan world — somewhere on the top floor of an anonymous high-rise — several dozen people sat around a conference table. Some fair-haired and light-eyed, some in tailored suits, some broad and heavy-set. A cross-section of power, gathered from across a world that diverged from the source material in ways both small and significant.
The canonical JoJo world Josuke inhabited was recognizably close to the real Earth — Russia, America, Japan, all present and accounted for. This fan version had reshuffled some of those details. Likely the author had been cautious about something and reworked parts of the world's geography and politics before publishing.
Whatever nation the man in the center seat represented, he had clearly earned his position there.
The room had been silent.
A man in a suit broke it first, his tone measured and skeptical: "Can we confirm this is genuine? If it turns out to be an elaborate prank, and we've assembled all of this over a prank — that's embarrassing. We're adults."
His words opened the floor.
A hoarse voice responded: "If it were a prank, could it have reached the mind of every human being on the planet simultaneously? Our teams conducted a rapid survey. The results were consistent — every person contacted reported receiving the same transmission. Gaia's voice. Gaia's images."
"For anyone who still doubts — these came in from satellite. Take a look."
The projector on the conference table activated.
The images were not high-resolution, but clear enough. A series of them cycled through — different angles, different positions — before the projector cut out.
The hoarse voice continued: "These were captured by multiple independent satellites. Our planet's Gaia Consciousness has communicated the following: there is a spatial passage. Within it, resources sufficient to advance our civilization by a century. Possibly two."
"We cannot verify whether the Gaia Consciousness is being truthful. But we cannot deny that the Gaia Consciousness is real. That much has been established beyond dispute."
"The purpose of this meeting is to request that the party in whose territory this passage falls — our colleague from [nation] — conduct the preliminary reconnaissance on behalf of humanity. In return, we are prepared to provide five hundred million in annual payments over three years, plus a framework for economic partnership."
A pause.
"Should that offer be declined, the Eleventh and Seventh Carrier Strike Groups are available to enter the relevant waters and conduct the reconnaissance ourselves."
The hoarse voice went quiet.
The eyes in the room shifted toward a man at the far end of the table — short, visibly uncomfortable under the collective scrutiny.
He understood what was happening. He hadn't risen to this position by misreading rooms. The offer was a formality. The carrier groups were the actual message.
They want my people to walk into an unknown world first. To be the expendable vanguard. And for that service, the compensation is five hundred million per year — in an unspecified currency — for three years.
If something goes wrong, we absorb the consequences. If it turns out to be valuable, we watch everyone else take the proceeds.
And if I refuse, two carrier groups enter my waters.
He sat with a fixed smile on his face, sweating quietly.
Pandora's box. If it's dangerous and we open it, the blame falls on us. If it's a treasure and we go in first, we get picked clean by everyone in this room. Even the bones might go.
But the eyes were watching. The weight of them was not figurative.
He straightened, cleared his throat, and delivered his response — translated with some delay, but received with small, satisfied nods around the table.
"We are honored to serve as the vanguard of human progress. It is both our responsibility and our privilege."
No one spoke after that. Most people in the room hadn't spoken at all.
But their expressions conveyed the message clearly enough.
Good lad.
No one outside that room knew the meeting had happened. No media. No leaks. Publicly, nothing had changed.
Privately, the world was in uproar.
Because the Gaia Consciousness had not delivered its message to world leaders. It had delivered it to everyone.
The dying elderly. Newborn infants. Young people at the height of their strength. Middle-aged men watching their hairlines recede.
No exceptions by status. No exceptions by ethnicity. No exceptions by nation, gender, or background.
Every human being on the planet had received the same transmission at the same moment.
In a situation like that, the idea that the internet would not erupt into absolute chaos was, frankly, the least plausible outcome imaginable.
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