Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels

by Anthony DeCosmo

  "I like to believe that my words were spoken on behalf of all the Senate."

  "I’m sure you would hope so. I am also sure that you feel confident your fellow Senators will elect you President of our new body next week."

  "Why my dear Helena, I don’t believe we’ve even started accepting nominations for that position. Besides," he waved a dismissive hand, "it is a rather boring and dull position."

  "Have you decided to resign from your post on The Emperor’s advisory council? Some believe it is a conflict of interest."

  "Of course they would," Sharon kept her smile but could not hold her tongue. "Then again, they have not accomplished what my husband has accomplished. If not for him, you would still be an appointed Mayor of that little town in Maryland. Now look at you, you’re an elected official. You’re moving up in the world."

  "Yes, this is true," Helena agreed but did not share Sharon’s smile. "Still, I thought your husband fought to reduce the power of one man, The Emperor. The more I see the more I wonder if this isn’t about increasing the power of another."

  "Careful," Evan warned. "We need to watch our words. I think it is unwise for the two of us to be so confrontational. I was just explaining to my lovely wife, we really should watch what we say. You never know when your words may come back to hurt you."

  ---

  Evan did his best to suppress a yawn as Internal Security Chief Dante Jones finished his closing statement before the sub-committee meeting in the Senate chamber.

  In the hours since he declared the new Senate in session, they had completed the first roll call (one hundred percent attendance), outlined the parameters that would govern the committee that would prepare a proposal on the reach and goals of interstate commerce regulations (despite a lack of actual 'states' in the old-world sense), spent a working lunch listening to a presentation from a political scientist who told the new Senators how important they were, reconvened after lunch with afternoon roll call (seventy-five percent attendance, not bad), and opened nominations for chairpersons of various sub-committees including agriculture, finance, diversity, education, and history preservation.

  The largest gathering that afternoon revolved around the Domestic Security sub-committee and its charge to investigate and understand the needs of Internal Security.

  As Dante Jones read the last lines of his closing statement—something about cooperation and resources--Senator Frank Whitman of a district in central New Jersey stormed into the chambers and found a seat at the head table overlooking the Internal Security Chief. The Senator waved a piece of paper in the air and glared at Dante.

  "Senator Whitman," Chairperson Otis Love from New York halted the proceedings. "Is there a problem we should be aware of?"

  Evan, in the front row of desks arranged in a semi-circle facing the dais where the committee sat in high-backed chairs, watched carefully, noting that Whitman appeared ready to attack Jones.

  "I have some questions that the people need answered right now."

  Evan saw sweat on Dante's brow and a tremble in his hands. He knew Jones did not feel at home in such surroundings. Indeed, he rarely appeared comfortable about anything involving his job as Chief of I.S. Trevor had appointed him more out of trust for his judgment and disposition, not for any real world experience.

  "What…what is it you want to know?"

  "I have copies of a memorandum you wrote to Internal Security Post 47. For those who may not know, Post 47 is charged with maintaining security in central and southern New Jersey."

  Dante swallowed. "I write lots of memos, Senator. Actually—"

  "Dated this last Monday, January 17. Written to Post 47 in regards to manpower deployments and procedures. Do you remember this memo? Do you?"

  Dante's lips moved but no sound came out. His eyes sought the ceiling, then the floor, then his hands.

  "This memo, Mr. Jones, resulted in the death of five people last night."

  A hush rolled through the chamber.

  "This memo represents gross negligence. This memo authorizes post 47 to cut back on personnel at check points along the Atlantic City Expressway. Do you remember the damn memo now, Mr. Jones?"

  He swallowed hard and then stammered an answer, "I remember a memo that authorized a change in operations to reflect security conditions. As for people dying, I don’t know what you’re talking about."

  Whitman pounded his fists. "I’m talking about two young children, their parents, and their teamster ripped to shreds when their horse-drawn carriage was attacked at the Farley check point which was unmanned in the middle of the night! I’m talking about negligence, Mr. Jones!"

  Chairperson Love said, "Senator, please share this information with the rest of the panel."

  Whitman composed himself. Dante tried to do the same. Neither was very successful.

  "Mr. Chairman, my colleagues, the Atlantic City Expressway cuts through New Jersey from the coast to Philadelphia. Before the invasion it was probably the busiest highway south of Trenton. This is true again today. According to Internal Security records, the Farley checkpoint logged two supply convoys per day as well as an average of eight civilian vehicles, mainly horse-drawn wagons and bicycles. That's every day on average. By way of comparison, only the roads around Trevor's lakeside estate and this city—Washington--rank higher in logged traffic."

  Dante Jones quickly said, "Miami has much higher traffic rates and almost no incidents."

  Whitman appeared ready for that reaction. He shot, "We all know Miami is a special case, Mr. Jones. You inherited that situation; my understanding is that I.S. isn't even fully integrated there yet, so don't try and take credit for it!"

  Chairperson Love raised his hands. "Let's try to remain calm and focused."

  Whitman huffed and then continued, "With this memo, Internal Security Chief Dante Jones authorized a change in how those check points are organized. The result is that a family that I knew from my district stopped at what they thought was an active check point only to be slaughtered by what appears to have been a Jabberwock."

  "Mr. Jones, can you shed more light on this incident?"

  Dante shook his head ‘no’. "I have been here all day and haven’t received my daily reports. There is probably a report waiting on my desk. I’m sorry about your loss."

  "You’re sorry? I don’t have reports waiting back home, Mr. Jones. I have a dead family. All due to your incompetence."

  Disgruntled mumbles rumbled through the chamber, echoing to the tall ceiling and bouncing off the walls. The press that had been lulled to sleep by droning speeches awoke; video cameras and tape recorders rolled; the flash of photography flickered across the chamber.

  Evan Godfrey watched silently and held his cards close to his chest.

  "Mr. Jones," the Chairperson addressed the Chief. "How do you react to this news?"

  "As I said, like, I’m very sorry for what happened. I’ll have to look into it but we’re changing the way we’re organized all the time. We have a shortage of manpower."

  "I call for your resignation," Whitman burst. "This is the last straw. In the last week alone three people killed in West Virginia, another two in eastern Kentucky, the food center in Maryland wiped out, the list goes on. I don’t see how you can be trusted with Internal Security."

  "Um," Dante stuttered as the cameras focused on his blank expression.

  Evan waited. He wanted to see more sweat on Dante’s brow.

  Whitman pressed on, "Tell us all—right here and now—what your credentials are to hold this position. What did you do before Armageddon? Were you a police officer? Were you a soldier? This is the most important position in our nation and I cannot fathom why it has been entrusted to you!"

  Dante stammered, "I’ve been doing this for a bunch of years now and I—"

  "That’s not what I asked! I asked for your credentials before the invasion!"

  Sweat nearly poured from Dante's forehead. His eyes changed from wide-eyed shock to slits of defensive anger. His m
outh opened and something akin to a bark formed…

  Evan stood and spoke. Not a shout. Firm…but calm.

  "Gentlemen, gentlemen. First, let me pass on my sincere condolences to the Senator from New Jersey. I think we all know the pain of loss in these times."

  Everything stopped. Evan Godfrey held the attention of the entire room, including all the cameras and all the reporters taking notes.

  "Despite the trappings of civilization with which we are currently surrounded, we cannot forget that we live in a chaotic world. Our population is spread thin across the eastern half of what once was our beloved America. There are great…great shadows hidden between our cities. When we gauge the success or failure of our Internal Security apparatus, we must view it with the proper perspective."

  Evan looked to Dante. The sweat still dripped from his brow, but in Dante's eyes Evan saw gratitude for the rescue.

  "The war effort demands supplies and resources. I think everyone in this chamber would join me in applauding the efforts of our troops in the field. Yet our front line soldiers are not the only warriors in this battle. The Internal Security agents and officers who patrol our streets, our interstates, our rail road stations and supply depots, are as much soldiers in this war as the pilots and infantrymen in Ohio, Kentucky, and Mississippi."

  Someone in the press pool coughed. It was the only sound save for Evan’s voice.

  "I’ve known Dante Jones for a long time. We fought together at Five Armies. We worked closely in North Carolina during the Hivvan war. I know he does the best job he can do with the resources at his disposal. This tragedy can not be dismissed as the responsibility of one man. He is doing the best job he can under the difficult circumstances in which he finds himself. As for his credentials, well, his track record of bravery and sound judgment is well-documented.

  "Lest we forget, Dante Jones was a voice of reason during the protests following the events at New Winnabow. He served as a mediator between the people and the office of the Emperor. Without him those days would have been much darker. Indeed, we owe Mr. Jones a debt of gratitude for his work during those difficult times. Without his sense of compromise, without his influence, without his judgment we almost certainly would never have witnessed the election of this Senate and, more importantly, we may have seen the beginnings of civil war."

  Evan spoke the truth; Dante had been an important mediator at the time. Yet it was Evan who pulled the strings of the protests and he did so in a manner to serve his own ends and those ends included making Dante look good. Evan considered it an investment.

  Senator Whitman—his anger somewhat deflated—redirected and the direction he traveled pleased Evan. "I concede your point, Senator Godfrey. Perhaps I affix responsibility to the wrong person. Trevor Stone—and the lack of resources he makes available to Internal Security—is the reason why tragedies such as this still occur within our boundaries."

  Dante waited. The press waited. Even Sharon Parsons—sitting in the balcony—waited like lions at feeding time anticipating red meat. They waited for what surely would be another of Evan’s renowned tirades against The Emperor.

  Evan spoke in a calm, reasoned voice, "No. The blame does not lay with Trevor Stone or any one person, or any people at all, for that matter. We live in a dangerous world. Our work securing this world for humanity is far from complete. If we were not at war, then maybe we would have the means to better secure our families. But we are, in point of fact, at war. I cannot argue against the resources sent forward to our fighting men and women. The sad truth is that neither Dante Jones nor Trevor Stone are responsible for the death of that family. The environment in which we live bears responsibility. It is a fact of our existence."

  Dante’s eyes widened—like so many in the chamber—widened in surprise. Whitman had lobbed a softball at Evan Godfrey; the perfect chance to hit another poetic homerun against Trevor Stone and the governing structure of The Empire.

  Yet Evan actually excused Trevor Stone. He sounded…reasonable. Fair minded, even.

  "I say to you, here today, the responsibility for changing this situation lay with this committee, this governing body. We fought for the Senate because we promised that our wisdom could improve the lives of our citizens and better advance the cause of humanity. We must take this tragedy and burn it into our hearts. Then we must work--we must roll up our sleeves and work--to find the solutions. That is the charge of this Senate. This cannot be a body of pointless political thought and gridlock. Instead, this has to be the engine of The Empire that produces the ideas, the direction, and the hope that will guide us to a better tomorrow."

  Evan stopped.

  Dante eased in his chair; the pressure off.

  First came one pair of hands clapping from somewhere in the crowd of observers. Then Chairperson Love brought his hands together. Then others. Senator Whitman was the first to stand.

  Before he knew it, Dante joined in the standing ovation of roaring applause in which Evan basked.

  For his part, Evan raised his hands to calm the crowd in a manner most humble. Still, he could not help but look toward the balcony.

  There stood his lovely wife, joining in the applause. Yet despite her clapping, Evan saw the disappointment in her eyes. Like everyone else—more so--Sharon Godfrey knew that her husband had been given the perfect opportunity to score points against Emperor Trevor Stone. Instead he took the heat off of that man and willingly accepted the burden on his own shoulders. If Evan was not so busy acting humble he would have laughed at how perplexed she looked.

  Oh Sharon, you just aren’t a poker player.

  4. Fools Rush In

  Trevor lobbed the plastic ball. JB swung his bat—also plastic—and made solid contact. Trevor flinched as the ball flew by within an inch of his ear.

  Jorge Benjamin Stone—four months away from his fifth birthday—laughed hard but found his composure when his mother, Ashley, joined them on the open stretch of frozen lawn near the helicopter/Eagle landing pad outside the mansion.

  She said, "Baseball on a day this cold? Are you crazy?"

  "Hey, at least it's sunny out," Trevor answered as he retrieved the ball. "I think JB was getting stir crazy stuck inside for weeks now."

  "Jorgie, stir crazy? Or are you just running away from all that paperwork on your desk?"

  "No comment."

  She smiled and purposely annoyed him by saying, "You sound like a politician."

  "That's just plain mean."

  JB ran over and gave his mom a hug as best he could from inside the heavy winter coat he wore. As she returned the sturdy squeeze she told Trevor, "I came to let you know Shep’s transport touched down at the airport. He should be here soon."

  "Good. Now we’re just waiting on Hoth and we can have our staff meeting."

  "Another meeting, father?"

  "That’s right Jorge, another meeting. Got to have meetings. Meetings and papers…all sorts of papers. Big stacks of them this high" and he held his hand above his head.

  "As for you," Ashley ruffled the mad bomber deerskin cap covering JB's blond hair. "Miss Gill is looking for you. Time for class."

  "But mommy, it’s Saturday."

  Trevor told him, "It’s school time whenever Miss Gill says it’s school time. Roger that?"

  "Roger that, father."

  The young man then hurried ahead of his parents toward the mansion. A black Doberman Pincher named Ajax followed the boy, as was his charge.

  Ashley clasped her arms together and let out a, "burrrr," in regards to the temperature.

  Trevor threw an arm around her to provide some warmth. Such could be said about their entire relationship: a little warmth, now and then, to chase away the loneliness they both felt.

  Before the invasion, Trevor—or rather 'Richard'—and Ashley planned to wed. She and everyone in her neighborhood disappeared without a trace as had tens of thousands of others across the world in the days and hours before the invasion began in earnest.

  Over a ye
ar later, she reappeared with her neighbors encased in a kind of green goo; a biological sarcophagus of sorts that had transported them through time.

  More and more batches of missing persons popped up in the same areas where they had disappeared, usually not long after those areas came under control of Trevor's expanding Empire, as if their reappearance was timed for a safe return.

  Trevor suspected that the mysterious Old Man might have something to do with it, but he would not answer any questions on the matter.

  As for those people who had "rode the ark," they showed no signs of physical trauma and no impact from the lost time between vanishing and appearing.

  Ashley reappeared pregnant with Trevor’s child, having conceived just prior to the commencement of hostilities. On May fifteenth of the following year she gave birth to Jorge Benjamin Stone.

  During her absence—the year he spent with Nina—Trevor came to realize he never truly loved his fiancée. Yet he understood he had yet another role to play, the role of father. He could not abandon Ashley; he could not abandon his child.

  And oh, what an exceptional child.

  Trevor found out exactly how exceptional from an unexpected source, a previously unknown half-brother who trespassed into the mansion one scary evening.

  No shock that night came as more horrific than the accusation Ashley’s pregnancy started Armageddon. In addition, his crazy half-brother said that Trevor's ability to communicate with dogs came from a unique combination of genes in his body. He also suggested that Jorgie held some secret—perhaps a key—to Armageddon.

  Cursory medical exams revealed JB’s brain included far more neurotransmitters than the typical human. No one could even guess what that meant.

  Trevor pulled his arm from Ashley’s shoulder to catch the front door their son flung open. They followed JB inside where phones rang, couriers shuffled through the halls, and the always-obedient K9 'Grenadiers' sat and lay at guard positions.

  Ashley did not know about Nina. Those who did know were forbidden to speak of it.