Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism

by DeCosmo, Anthony

  He stared at the reflection and thought about what he knew lay beneath the surface. He wondered if that surface had the strength to keep the monster inside at bay.

  Lori had suggested that the difference between the Trevor Stone she knew and the Trevor Stone in that other universe revolved around his friends as well as humbling experiences such as finding Sheila’s diary or…or falling in love with Nina.

  He hoped that would be enough.

  It is one thing, he figured, for a man to know his limitations. It is another to realize that maybe…just maybe…he had no limitations.

  A soft buzz pulled Trevor away from another bout of introspection. Part of him knew he spent too much time dwelling on the revelations of another world. Distractions could be deadly.

  He moved out of the bathroom and to the stateroom door to answer the bell, pulling a heavy handle and sliding open the metal door.

  Jon Brewer stood there in full dress uniform: gray and black with lines of metals and ribbons. Dress uniforms, a pet project of an Imperial Senate sub-committee, entered circulation a year ago but were rarely worn outside of dinner parties in Washington, D.C.

  Brewer smiled, Trevor frowned.

  "Come on now, it’s tradition for you to eat at the Captain’s table."

  "You’re going to make me wear mine? You can’t be serious."

  "Yes, I’m serious," Jon insisted. "I’ve got a bunch of junior officers on board and they’re looking forward to eating with their Emperor. Do I need to give you the speech about how these guys are fighting and dying for you?"

  "All right, all right. Give me a sec."

  Trevor's version differed from Jon’s at the collar where gold braids stood out on the black fabric. He dressed carefully, as if handling hazardous materials. Trevor did not feel comfortable with the title "Emperor" and he felt even less comfortable with the trappings of that rank.

  Tyr accompanied the two men as they exited the VIP quarters and walked the corridor.

  As with the other two operational dreadnoughts, the Excalibur offered more square footage than the downtown districts of most small cities. The passages resembled those found in naval vessels but somewhat larger, offering room for two men to walk abreast as well as ceilings tall enough for even Jon—at over six feet—to stand straight.

  The core building material went by the name of "Steel Plus," a composite that would be impossible if not for the matter makers. Omar Nehru had developed his understanding of the machines to the point that he managed to tweak the molecular deconstruction and reconstruction phases, allowing him to combine various materials into something new.

  "Steel Plus" offered strength several times greater than its namesake but at substantial weight savings.

  The available production of Steel Plus remained earmarked for the dreadnought program. That program envisioned three more of the massive ships to join the trio in service as well as a total of four Super Carrier cargo vessels. Additional uses for Steel Plus would have to wait the estimated five more years for the construction of the floating giants to finish.

  None of the ships would be possible without captured alien technology, from those matter-makers blending special materials to anti-gravity technology that not only kept the ships flying but also provided tools that made the building process easier.

  They left the executive living section, moved through a dorm area where nearly five hundred shipmates quartered, and continued along a passageway deep in the center of the ship. This stretch was known as ‘the spine’ because the halls there ran alongside the main support tube; a solid rod of Steel Plus' nearly one hundred feet in diameter stretching from bow to stern.

  Along the way they passed storage rooms and power junction stations, a galley and a medical bay. Intercoms, fire suppression controls, and first aid lockers lined the gray walls. Every few minutes a harsh, quick tone broadcast over the address system to warn of an incoming message, followed by a synthesized voice.

  "Warning, flight operations underway."

  "Attention, Fire Control Drills Scheduled for Section Delta-Four in 30 minutes."

  "Crewman Mangus report to the nearest Security Station."

  Trevor and Jon boarded an elevator and ascended into a wide, tall tower at the ship's stern. One of the upper decks hosted a rectangular chamber serving the dual roles of meeting room and Captain’s mess. While Jon Brewer officially held the title of "General," he commanded the Excalibur and hence played the part of Captain.

  A half-dozen officers—most of them young enough to qualify as kids and evenly split between men and women—snapped to attention around a table draped in white linen.

  Trevor circled the table, making eye contact with everyone in the room. At moments like this, he understood Lori Brewer's assertion that power is given, not taken. He felt it in the way they looked to him. A mixture of awe and fear and respect. They would do anything for him. How intoxicating a feeling and one that scared him.

  Before sitting, he gazed out the observation windows facing aft overlooking a series of terraced levels descending away from the tower. There he saw circular landing pads designed to accept helicopters and 'Eagle' airships, as well as clusters of anti-air batteries and arrays of antennas. Around the giant vessel swirled misty gray clouds in twilight, generating a close feeling as if the dreadnought occupied an enclosed space, as opposed to actually hovering ten thousand feet above the Arizona desert.

  He felt their eyes staring at his back, waiting for his words, his commands. Expecting someone much more than a mere man.

  Trevor turned and walked to the head of the table saying, "Please, be seated."

  The group did as instructed.

  Trevor, at the head of the table, leaned to his left and whispered to Jon, "Who’s the brain tonight?"

  "Bear. Bear Ross."

  Trevor nodded in approval. He knew Ross—a former professional football player—as a tough and competent officer. As it turned out, Ross also possessed the mental and physical reflexes to be the "brain" of a dreadnought.

  White-dressed waiters swept the room with trays of meat and potatoes and beans and fruit. Plates clanked and silverware jingled, cloth napkins found laps and pitchers poured wine and water into goblets.

  "It’s an honor for me to sit at the table with such a fine group of officers," Trevor made conversation as dishes arrived. He sought for and found formal words because they expected eloquent speech from their Emperor. "The Excalibur is not the fleet’s flagship by accident."

  Trevor studied their reactions. Some stared humbly at their plates, others smiled without control. Even the simplest words of praise elicited gushes of joy from his followers.

  A young officer asked, "Sir, do you think California will surrender without a fight?"

  "Do you want them to?"

  "No, sir! We haven’t had a good fight in a long while."

  He wanted to tell the man, ‘good, we don’t want to fight.’ Instead he answered, "I know you’re up to the challenge, should it come to that."

  Trevor really did not have anything more to say, but they waited for more words so he obliged, "California is a delicate situation. When I meet with them tomorrow…"

  Trevor’s attempt to provide a general overview of the situation in a calm, soothing manner fell apart as a phone mounted under the table rang with an obnoxious buzz.

  Brewer answered and after a pause asked, "What? When?"

  Jon returned the phone to its cradle, took to his feet, and marched in hurried steps to an audio-visual cabinet saying, "That was Ross. He’s getting a video feed from California that we’ve got to see. He’s piping it down here."

  Trevor stood, his cloth napkin fluttered to the floor. Some of the other officers stood, too, as if ready for action.

  "A video feed? From California? The Cooperative?" Trevor lost the eloquence in his voice.

  Jon flipped open a cabinet revealing a large television attached to a variety of recorders, transmitters, projectors, and more.

  "F
rom California, but not The Cooperative."

  Brewer pushed a switch on the television set. A picture came into focus.

  "Jon…who? What?"

  "The media. Our media. As for the rest…you just better watch."

  The dark set shimmied with light and static. As the picture took form so did an identification tag on the top right of the screen. This identified the video as raw feed meant for a television station somewhere further east. There the station would edit the footage and prepare it for broadcast.

  Jon translated the tag: "Looks like it’s bouncing off the relay station in Phoenix. That’s how we’re getting it."

  Trevor and Jon both knew that for the transmission to travel all the way to the east coast it had to leap frog from transmitter to transmitter. Satellite feeds were a rarity and, if successful, counted as much on luck as planning.

  "Yeah," Trevor squinted as the image took shape. "But you can bet it’ll be on the news networks in twenty minutes."

  The camera framed a set of stone stairs, apparently the entrance to a city hall or mansion serving as a backdrop to a stand of microphones and a trio of players.

  Trevor recognized the man to the right of the bank of microphones. He had exchanged letters with him for weeks now and studied the man’s face in intelligence photos. He wore a fine silk suit with a silver tie draped over the hint of a belly. His spotless, creamy complexion helped him appear a decade younger than his actual age of fifty.

  Governor Terrance Malloy.

  Trevor knew the man had not always been Governor. At the time of the invasion, he ranked somewhere far down the line of succession, if at all. His rise to power, from what Imperial Intelligence uncovered, had come with little legal support. However, few people asked questions when they were busy fighting for their lives.

  The man to the left of microphones also looked familiar to Trevor, but he could not immediately place the face. The fellow sported a perfect tan, broad shoulders, a pearly white smile, and jet black hair that appeared welded in place.

  However, Trevor immediately recognized the third man, the one speaking at the microphone.

  Evan Godfrey.

  President of and Senator in the Imperial Senate as well as a member of the Imperial Council.

  Jon gasped, "Wow. Evan. Um. Wow."

  Trevor felt a tremble in the pit of his stomach that vibrated through his person. His cheeks burned red, his teeth clamped together.

  Jon noticed and told the attendees to, "Clear this room."

  Trevor mumbled, "What…is…he…doing…in…"

  Evan’s voice—beaming over the airwaves and destined for the ears of all The Empire—explained for himself.

  "I have come here to shine the light of truth on California. To present this truth to my fellow citizens. To unmask the costume of mischaracterization that has been crafted by the military. To show that the people of California are our friends, not enemies."

  Off-camera applause confirmed that the three men spoke not only for the camera, but to a live audience.

  "I came here of my own accord, not as the President of the Senate but as a citizen. A citizen not merely of The Empire, but of Earth. Governor Malloy and the people of California have been gracious hosts and I have spent the last twelve hours meeting not only with the leaders here, but with the people. I come away with one overwhelming impression. California is a refuge for humanity and fertile ground on which a new era of partnership and interstellar camaraderie has begun to grow."

  Again, more applause.

  Evan held his hands aloft to quiet the enthusiastic response.

  "When I return home, I will tell my fellow citizens that California is not to be feared. That The Cooperative is not to be feared. And that the Witiko are our friends."

  Thunderous applause.

  "And I shall tell the Emperor do not attack these people! Live and let live in peace! The time for war is over! Now is the time for healing!"

  Godfrey allowed the glorious reaction to carry on for several long seconds. He turned to the Governor and shook his hand and then turned to the other man and nodded.

  When the crowd finally calmed he continued, "I want to take a moment to offer a special thanks to the two men standing here with me. The Governor—your Governor, a man who shares his power and rules with the consent of his people—took a great risk in accepting my request to visit. A great deal of distrust exists between our two nations. But Governor Malloy—Terrance--is a man of vision and peace. He knows that you must take risks for the sake of the future and sometimes the biggest risk is not to fight, but to talk. Thank you, Governor."

  More applause but this round faded fast.

  "And Brad, you may have the hardest job of all…"

  Brad..?

  Trevor mulled the first name about. Jon, however, found the answer: "That’s Brad Gannon."

  Trevor responded in surprise, "The actor? Holy shit, you’re right. It is."

  Brad Gannon had been a young and upcoming Hollywood heart throb prior to Armageddon, having wooed the young female demographic with a series of romantic comedies despite critics likening his performances to plywood. He often popped up in the shadow of Hollywood's heavy hitters at activist events, like global warming protests and anti-war rallies.

  The summer of the invasion promised to be a big year for Brad Gannon as he stepped up to action movies. Yet the big break never came and no one paid attention to celebrities once the monsters started appearing. At that point, the Hollywood elite were just other men in an ‘every man for himself’ environment.

  Apparently Gannon had found a role in California.

  Godfrey finished his speech, "Brad, I’m personally counting on you to take the message of peaceful coexistence to my people. Me, I’m a politician. A leader, if you will. But you are a familiar face from before the war. I think the people back east will want to see this from your perspective. I’m counting on you to change hearts and set the record straight."

  Brad stepped forward, shook Evan's hand, and spoke.

  "Thank you, Senator. This is, just, a great day for California. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that you, Evan, are really, just, well, just high speed. And you are the first bit of hope that maybe we can all just get along."

  More applause. Gannon smiled a big, brilliant white smile.

  "What the people of your, um, Empire need to know is that California fought longer and harder than the rest of the country when things started happening. Our policemen and soldiers and even ordinary citizens fought for five years. Up and down the coast, in the mountains, in the desert. We, just, stuck together and, I think, California really showed what it’s made of."

  A clap. Then two. A round of clapping.

  "But there’s something else everyone needs to know, too. We were losing. The Witiko came to this Earth and were told we were their enemies. So they, just, fought us. And after five years they had us on the ropes. But then, almost five years ago now, they came to us to seek peace. They told us that they had grown tired of war and wanted to live with us in peace. Just like that. They chose this, when they had us beaten. I think that speaks a lot about the greatness of the Witiko and how we can all just get along."

  The signal flickered, then steadied. Perhaps a sign of the camera jostling or maybe interference in the transmission. It did not matter, Trevor barely noticed. He watched everything through a veil of red.

  "And that’s the point here, you know? That’s the lesson we’ve learned," Gannon did his best to deliver a speech on the scale of the Gettysburg address but, as he had done in so many movies, he fumbled his lines. "It's not just about the individual, or even about us. I mean, people. I think we’ve learned it’s a bigger universe. So with that in mind I, just, want to introduce some one who really deserves a lot of credit. I’d like to introduce Chancellor D’Trayne."

  The applause boomed. Everyone around the microphones clapped; Evan hardest of all. Brad Gannon retreated a step to make room for the next speaker. The camera p
ulled out to catch the approach of D’Trayne.

  The tall alien stepped forward with a nod of his head and his eyes blinking rapidly as if emotion threatened to overwhelm his dignity. He dressed in a toga-style robe with a body suit of a kind underneath. As with all his people, silver played the prominent color, particularly on the otherwise gray alien’s arms and cheeks where the Witiko’s favorite cosmetic had been applied in generous doses.

  Chancellor D’Trayne shook Gannon’s hand, he shook Governor Malloy’s hand, and then dramatically reached across and firmly grasped Evan Godfrey’s hand.

  Then the Witiko faced the camera, and smiled.

  ---

  The Mohave County Courthouse had been constructed of tufa stone nearly a hundred years prior in a town that had itself been carved out of hard surroundings. The city of Kingman took its name from an early railroad surveyor and, after World War II, billed itself as the ‘heart’ of historic Route 66, a passage made famous in song and legend.

  Situated in the Hualapai Valley between the Cerbat and Hualapai mountain ranges, Kingman offered dramatic natural vistas in all directions. However, the most striking scenery that morning came not from nature but from man…and alien.

  To the southeast along a jagged wall of mountains hovered the Excalibur, a thousand feet in the air, its massive shadow covering a dead bedroom community.

  To the west, on the grounds of Kingman Muncipal Golf Course, sat three silver and black Stingray cruisers. While not nearly as imposing as the dreadnought, the fact that they had flown into the city without appearing on the Excalibur’s radar made them seem giants.

  The courthouse in downtown Kingman held the middle ground.