Anthony DeCosmo - Beyond Armageddon 04

by Schism

  “Trevor, you have to find that darkness again, for just a little while. It is there for a purpose. It is there to allow you to do what you have to do today.”

  His expression remained stoic even as tears pooled in his eyes.

  “Trevor, you have to go. You have to go and take back your Empire.”

  * * *

  The villages that once lived east of the Volga no longer existed, their buildings ground to dust and their populaces devoured by the worst of Armageddon’s nightmares; the same nightmares that had turned the steppes into charred wasteland. No animal, no human, no plant lived for thousands of square miles under a perpetually dark sky filled with angry clouds, lightening, and a chorus of rolling thunder, as if nature protested the presence of such vileness.

  Above the forlorn landscape traveled a machine that could not possibly fly, but did. A floating blob that seemed to breath as it glided over the dead plains.

  Its destination; a sickening hall of green and red infecting the land. Its massive size was dwarfed by the imposing peaks of the Ural Mountains behind it in a great wall of rock.

  Rib-like supports held the rounded dome of Voggoth’s temple, five-hundred foot spires like sour vines reached to the sky at each corner, and smaller satellite buildings resembling blisters basked in the shadow of their Master’s shrine. Wisps of steam pumped from hidden vents, ghoulish beings marched in formation, and an oval landing pad flashed a creamy light to guide the vessel to its last stop.

  From the impossible flying machine emerged the Missionary, stumbling forward cradling the stump of one arm. On the side of his face flexed a patch of faded skin while chopped tentacles sprouting from his neck writhed like wounded snakes.

  A short flight of wide steps made from a substance like marble stretched before the grand entrance that was guarded by a pair of humanoid sentries standing eight feet tall with gray flesh, granite-like jaws, and tiny eyes beneath hairless scalps. Their legs and arms sported unnaturally large muscles that threatened to rip through the skin while metal cuffs and a matching collar symbolized their servitude.

  As the Missionary approached, the fibrous front door retracted like a paper fan. He walked into darkness.

  The inside of the temple was a great empty space with a ceiling stretching impossibly high and the far wall so distant it could not be seen. Humid air carried a smell of decay.

  The Missionary walked alone, hobbling forward. Far overhead from the hidden rafters hung two massive, clear orbs each hundreds of feet in diameter and each filled with a pulsating black fog that beat against the glass like an imprisoned animal. From those orbs crackled energy of a kind not known to Earth until ten years ago.

  Unseen voices from a universe away called to the Missionary through the energy of those orbs:

  .you should not have touched the boy.

  .this represents a rules infraction.

  .an investigation is warranted.

  .violation.

  .the surrogates were not to be targeted.

  The Missionary cringed and stopped. The pain had become too great.

  “Master! Help me!”

  A tremor announced His coming. It rolled from the blackness, filling the place from wall to wall and ceiling to floor like a mega tsunami, the details of its form hidden by the dark.

  Just as it threatened to crash down upon the Missionary, the entity collapsed from gigantic to small, taking the form of a man: a man whose body had, years ago, become a vessel to facilitate the Master’s travel to the world of life; to the physical.

  “My Lord, Voggoth! Help me! I am infected!”

  The Missionary groaned in pain at the infection the boy had jammed into his mind.

  “You failed. Now the plan must be accelerated before this opportunity is lost.”

  The Missionary protested, “But his mind is shattered!”

  Voggoth replied, “No. He will survive. He will fight again.”

  “But how can you know this, Master”

  From the form of the man came a pair of barbed tendrils. They drilled into the Missionary and tore the occupied body to pieces. It would be the Missionary’s last pilgrimage.

  The body of the man that now belonged to Voggoth stepped into the light cast by the crackling energy from the orbs so far overhead. He gazed upon the dying Missionary and found great pleasure in his cries.

  “Because I know him,” said Voggoth, speaking from the body that had once belonged to Danny Washburn.

  Maelstrom

  General William Hoth sat alone in the conference room aboard the Philipan with a cup of warm coffee in one hand and stacks of papers-readiness reports, maintenance updates, weather forecasts, more-spread before him at the head of an empty table.

  The ship’s XO interrupted his thinking via a rude buzzing from the phone and a report: “Sir, our scout ships confirm two or possibly three bogies launched from the Excalibur. Speed and radar profile suggest they are Eagle transports. Should I launch the alert fighters”

  Hoth answered with as few words as possible, “No.”

  “Sir”

  “What’s the status of the Excalibur”

  “Holding position over the ocean, sir. No sign of movement.”

  “Continue to monitor the Excalibur.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, the transports, sir”

  Hoth did not like explaining himself. In fact, he absolutely hated it, something his Executive Officer knew. But these were strange times, even for a world invaded by aliens.

  “Our orders are to engage the Excalibur, not transports.”

  The General promptly hung up, but before he returned his eyes to the stacks of paper strewn across the table, he considered the situation. He did not like the idea of firing upon an officer whom he respected or upon a ship built to fight on his side. However, Hoth had also not liked firing on humans in California.

  What he liked or did not like mattered little; he followed orders. And until he heard different, those orders came from the Secretary of Defense, Dante Jones, a man whom Hoth did not think very highly of. Nonetheless, had Hoth disregarded orders from civilian overseers he felt were incompetent all his career that career never would have made it out of the 1970s.

  Like a doctor detaching himself from a patient, the General learned long ago to carry out whatever directives came along the chain of command. On those occasions when he did not care for those directives, he went to even greater pains to ensure he followed them exactly. In this case, his orders clearly stated to monitor the Excalibur and engage it with deadly force should it attempt to re-enter friendly air space.

  He would do exactly that. Should Brewer’s dreadnought threaten such a move, General William Hoth would blast it from the sky. On the other hand, his orders said nothing about transports.

  Hoth returned his attention to the papers and waited to see what would happen next.

  * * *

  When Barney heard the knock, he set aside the bowl of soup that served as lunch and walked around the kitchen counter toward the apartment door. Denise sprang to her feet from the sofa and rested one hand on the pistol in her hip holster. The Internal Security goons had seemingly left the neighborhood a couple of days ago, but one could never be sure.

  Denise hid against the inside wall by the door. Barney waited until she reached position then, with his one arm, opened up.

  Nina Forest stood in the doorway, a sagging pack on her back, an M-4 rifle slung over her shoulder, and a vacant expression in her eyes but that changed when she entered the apartment and saw her daughter..

  “Mom! I thought you were.I mean.geez, you could have called.”

  Nina responded with a strong hug.

  Barney said, “A bunch of guys came looking for Denise a couple of days ago. They said they had a message for her from you. I didn’t buy any of it, hope that was the right call.”

  “Yeah, um, yes, that was the right thing to do. Thank you, Barney.”

  The mother-daughter embrace broke.

 
“Can I go home now, mom All my CDs are upstairs.”

  Barney reported, “Haven’t seen anyone snooping around since the weekend. Other than the folks living here, there’s only been the mail man today. Do you think it will stay that way”

  Nina answered, “I think things are going to.well, look, things are going to be okay in a day or two. We just have to keep our heads down for a while longer. Not too long, I think.”

  “What about Shep, mom I heard they arrested him.”

  “He’ll be okay. Things are.things are different. The President just doesn’t know it, yet.”

  “Mom, are you okay What happened”

  Nina forced a smile and kissed Denise on the head.

  “Lots of stuff happened. But look, I don’t have the time to go over it right now. Denise, you stay down here for a bit. I’m going upstairs to our place to make sure it’s clear, maybe take a shower. I think.I think I need a little peace and quiet if you don’t mind, Barney. Just for another hour or two.”

  Barney nodded. “You take your time. We’ll be just fine.”

  Denise folded her arms and stuck out her lower lip as her mother left the apartment.

  Barney threw his arm around the girl and told her, “You just ease up there. Your mom’s been through something, doesn’t take x-ray vision to see that. There’s something she’s got to work out on her own.”

  * * *

  President Evan Godfrey walked along the marble pillars of the Cross Hall with Ray Roos at his side and a small binder under his arm. He could feel the electricity in the air, much like those first press conferences when he arrived at the White House last month. Certainly the media would pepper him with questions about the lack of a Constitutional Convention, the extent of Presidential powers, and his removal of nearly a dozen administrators and political leaders appointed by the old Emperor.

  Yet today Evan would be on the offensive. Today he would stand surrounded by military VIPs whose loyalty would be on display for all to see, unlike the treacherous Jon Brewer and his clan of conspirators.

  Such a display would further isolate those who opposed democracy and would make the coming clash with the Excalibur much more palatable to the public. Finally, after months of planted stories, phony confessions, and ‘unidentified sources’, Evan Godfrey’s story of a military/intelligence conspiracy would near its happy ending, leaving Internal Security in a stronger position and further accelerating the placement of friendly operatives into the armed forces hierarchy.

  All for the greater good, of course, Evan thought. When the ends are so noble, certainly the means can be justified.

  “Um, did you hear me, boss”

  “No,” the President admitted.

  Roos repeated, “General Cassy Simms has arrived with her officers, as well as General Rhodes who took over 2nd Mech when Stonewall went down.”

  Godfrey waved his hand, “Right, right.”

  “Well I kinda figured that wouldn’t get you all up and rowdy, but both of them are from Shepherd’s First Corp.”

  That grabbed the President’s attention. “And.and you think they’re loyal to us”

  “Nope, not really. If I was only to bring in folks who marched to our drum then we wouldn’t have any big faces for those cameras. But don’t worry, Simms and Rhodes have been out west for months. They don’t have much of a clue about anything that’s been going on around here as of late. They’ll be happy enough to smile for pictures and shake your hand when the time comes. But the point is Simms and Rhodes were both heroes at Five Armies and such. Besides, Simms never really liked the whole Winnabow thing, either. You got that in common.”

  “Wait a moment,” Godfrey remembered. “Simms was with McAllister in the early days.”

  “Don’t you just have the greatest memory Yes you do. And along those lines I’ve also got Captain Benny Duda on the dance card. I hear he’s had a lot of questions about how our dearly departed fearless Emperor handled the whole California thing. Doesn’t make him one of ours, ‘course, but he’s not exactly singing campfire songs about Trevor Stone these days, either. I tried to get Dustin McBride, too, but it seems his unit has gone missing as of late.”

  “And Simms is an African-American military officer, standing by my side. That has to be good. Where are my guests”

  Roos scratched his chin. “Well, they’re all out with Tucker by the northeast gate, kinda coagulating there like an impromptu family reunion. He’ll be movin’ them along real soon.”

  “And Dante Where’s my Secretary of Defense”

  Roos pointed a finger up, meaning the roof.

  “In his usual crow’s nest. That fella has got himself some real issues. You sure you even want him at this”

  “Fine. Let him enjoy his air. But I want him down here in…” Godfrey consulted his watch. “in fifteen minutes. That’s when this thing takes off. I want the VIPs here by then, too.”

  “And where you goin’ to be in the meantime”

  Evan answered, “I’m going out to mingle with the press.”

  “I thought this thing didn’t start for fifteen minutes”

  Godfrey laughed, “Oh Ray, you just don’t know how to play the game, do you Rumor has been that the President has been locked up in a bunker here at the White House for the last few weeks. Nothing to clear that air like some friendly, off the record chit-chats.”

  Evan left Roos behind to tend to the security arrangements and exited the building for the southwest grounds. There three rows of chairs sat gazing at a Presidential podium standing in front of the saplings he had planted upon his move to the White House. Several reporters waited among those rows of folding chairs along with two cameras and a technician wrestling with sound equipment.

  Evan felt that electricity intensify. He saw the podium as his piano, the press as his audience, and today a grand concert playing out under perfect July weather: sunny, but not too hot. It seemed as if even the heavens blessed the day.

  The President strode casually across the well-manicured lawn with a friendly smile and settled into the character of an approachable populist. As important the press conferences and news releases, Evan found that reporters responded well-and in a favorable manner-when you connected with them on a personal level.

  “Angela, I hear you just had a birthday You must be thirty-five now, is that right”

  Evan knew darned well that the broadcast reporter had passed forty a few years ago. And while she usually responded well to flattery, today her mood appeared less friendly.

  “Yes, Mr. President. Tell me sir, what is the status of General Shepherd Why hasn’t he been charged yet And I hear he has not been granted access to counsel. Is this true”

  Evan’s smiled wavered. “Angela, why don’t we save those questions for the conference. I thought I’d take this time to-“

  “Mr. President,” called a skinny black reporter from the Atlanta Times. “Senator Trimble is attempting to establish a Constitution Committee without your input, citing your lack of action as justification. Do you care to comment”

  The smile faltered further. “Doug, I was hoping to have a more informal discussion before the conference began. The representatives of the military are only just arriving. Tell me, are things as hot back home in Atlanta as they have been here in D.C.”

  Evan heard how forced his reply sounded even before it left his lips. He realized he had misjudged the situation. Evan decided to retreat but he could not leave. If he did, he would cede control of the upcoming press conference to the reporters as if throwing red meat to a pack of sharks.

  “Mr. President, there are reports that General Brewer has taken a dreadnought beyond the treaty borders. Do you know why and has this action been undertaken with your blessing”

  Evan grew quite warm inside the dark suit he wore.

  “Mr. President, do you have plans to introduce a time schedule for the formation of a Constitutional Convention”

  President Godfrey waved his hand in a calming manner toward
the growing crowd of media and assured, “I’ll get to that in a bit. Just give me a few moments to get set here.”

  He turned his attention to his binder, buying time under the guise of reviewing notes.

  .Nina’s keys jingled as she slipped one into the lock. The motion pushed open the busted door; no key required.

  She moved inside with one hand instinctively resting on the butt of her rifle but quickly relaxed as she saw no further sign of intrusion. Satisfied no threat loomed, she closed the broken door as well as she could and stepped forward.

  Her boot kicked something.

  Nina looked to the floor. She saw a square package wrapped in brown paper, secured lengthwise with plain white string.

  She stooped, grabbed the package, and stood again so as to better examine it. The delivery address listed Nina Forest, but no information in regards to sender.

  .Ashley entered the lake side mansion through the front door walking in rigid but slow strides, feeling the eyes of the world upon her even though only a cleaning crew and a handful of bored staff watched.

  That had been her way, of course. Ever since they had pulled her from the green goo through which she had rode time, Ashley’s life had been one of appearances, of duty, of responsibility.

  As she returned home she tried to find sanctuary in that role. She focused every muscle of her being on remaining in control; on maintaining the front of the elegant, proud first lady no matter how empty and alone she felt inside.

  She climbed the stairs keeping her eyes forward. Her son followed.

  The staff stared at her, surprised to see her return and amazed at the dignity she projected; not realizing how much strength she burned to project that image over a bleeding heart.

  .Dante Jones stood on the White House roof gazing off at the Washington skyline. He did not know exactly why he came there each time the President held one of his press conferences. He also knew that this time he would be forced to leave his perch and stand alongside Godfrey, flashing smiles and shaking hands to show how splendidly they all got along.