The United States Embassy in the capital.
Ambassador Thomas and several aides were sorting through the latest list of technologies for exchange sent by Great Xia Nation.
Although trade and communications had been cut off, and neither undersea cables nor fiber-optic lines could be used to communicate,
exchanges and technological cooperation between the great powers had never stopped. Almost every month, two or three transport planes flew back and forth across the Pacific.
Under the pressure of the savage gods from another world, nobody had had an easy time these past two years.
The great powers' relations might not have been especially close, but they stood on the same side. Their fates were bound together: if one major power fell first or defected, the consequences would cascade into disaster.
"Great Xia Nation's technology has advanced too quickly lately. They're almost keeping pace with us," one aide said, frowning as he leafed through the documents.
"They have too many people. They have enough soldiers, and enough scientists and engineers, too," Thomas said gravely. He opened a drawer and took out a box of cigarettes, handing one to each aide. Then he picked up a match and lit his cigarette. After taking a deep drag and blowing out a cloud of smoke, he narrowed his eyes. "Even if the war ends now and peace returns, the United States can no longer regain its former hegemony."
After the cataclysm, technology had regressed overnight. Great Xia Nation and the United States had been thrown onto almost the same starting line, and the United States' accumulated technological and military advantages had all vanished like bubbles.
"But that's a problem for later. If we lose the war, humanity will be plunged into eternal night, with no hope left at all."
Everyone fell silent, their faces somber.