While his attraction unnerved Ashley, she knew he would not approach her: Gordon held a fanatical devotion to Trevor Stone and would never betray that trust.
"Mrs. Stone, do you think it was right for your husband to assassinate the human leaders of The California Cooperative when the war was already won?"
Usually surprise questions would not catch Ashley unprepared, but she had been lulled into daydreams. Her smile faltered enough that the reporters sensed an opportunity to strike.
"Were you shocked at the number of Imperial casualties?"
"Any plans to set up an adoption program like this for the orphans in California?"
She spoke to the man with the cowboy hat and two children, "Thank you for adopting. Unfortunately, I believe our pleasant morning has come to an end. If you'll excuse me…"
Ashley motioned for the family and their new pets to follow her assistants away from the brewing skirmish. Those assistants wavered, unsure if they should abandon her. Ashley, however, had become quite adept at handling the press. But in case she failed, just outside the peripheral view of the reporters lingered Gordon Knox, a guard dog in his own right.
She answered, "The California invasion was unfortunate. I only wish the extraterrestrials had chosen to return to their home, instead of causing more destruction to ours."
Gordon smiled in approval causing Ashley to smile a little, too, as they shared the fun in her playing the press. Yet beneath her smile lingered that unease.
"Don't you feel any remorse over all the human casualties?"
"I grieve for all the victims of the alien invasion, including the millions murdered in California by the Witiko. I admire the people of California for fighting against the aliens for five years. I wish we could have helped them sooner."
"Is it the Emperor's plan to overrun any government that opposes his rule?"
"Trevor's plan has been the same since the early days when he gathered a handful of survivors on the grounds of this estate: expel the invaders who came to our planet without provocation. Even as we speak, millions of human beings around the world remain enslaved or living in harsh conditions, something to which every citizen of The Empire can relate. It remains our duty to save those people the same way Trevor, directly or indirectly, saved each of us."
Unable to knock her off balance, the four reporters hesitated.
She took the opening to end the session: "Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day."
Ray Roos jumped in and led the reporters toward the main gate. Ashley watched them go, purposely keeping her eyes on the group longer than needed. When she felt she could avoid it no longer, she turned toward the corner of the mansion. Gordon had gone.
---
Trevor Stone finished lunch in the basement cafeteria of the Methodist church near the estate. Dustin McBride long ago painted a caricature of the kitchen's founder, Sal Corso, on a wall behind the counter. Sal had died in a Red Hand—or Feranite—attack that first year.
As Trevor climbed the stairs and exited the building with his faithful companion Tyr at his side, he found it ironic that Dustin had painted the picture of Sal who had been killed by the Red Hands and now, far away in the mountains of Colorado, Dustin's cavalry tracked a large band of those same alien warriors through the wilderness.
According to the latest report, snowfall during April had inhibited the pursuit for weeks. The search restarted, but the unit faced slow going in the rough terrain along the Colorado and Wyoming border. A lack of available air reconnaissance assets—due to California commitments—aggravated the situation.
Reports from other quarters offered better news. The surviving five Witiko Stingrays were safely under military control. Furthermore, while the highest ranking Witiko officers remained in Internal Security holding areas preparing for testimony before the Senate, a large portion of the rank and file had shuffled through the gate. Dante, it seemed, managed to do something right.
That thought gave him pause. He considered that maybe he was being too hard on his old friend. Dante, no doubt, felt stuck in the middle. And while the I.S. Director sometimes seemed too close to Evan, Jones had managed to smooth things over after the New Winnabow affair. Without his negotiations the situation could have deteriorated.
Trevor arrived at the mansion and entered. Lori Brewer's voice carried along the hall from her office in the old dining room: "Alllrrigghtty then, would you like me to get Trevor on the phone? He personally requested those food stuffs get up to Renton this week."
Of course, Trevor did not know a word of what Lori discussed but he approved, nonetheless. She had her own way of getting things done.
Just like Dante? Maybe he has his own way, too?
Trevor climbed the stairs to his second floor office where Dante Jones stood at the glass balcony doors, staring out toward the front grounds of the estate and the lake waters.
He spoke without turning, "I really didn't want this job when you first gave it to me. But I figured it would be easy, right? I mean, back then there were hardly any of us. So even though I didn't have any experience being a cop, I figured I could just use my common sense and all. Man, things have gotten a lot more complicated."
Trevor crossed the room and stopped several paces behind his old friend.
"Yeah, well, I didn't want you to handle Internal Security because of experience. Back then, no one had experience doing anything. The way I saw it, the slate was wiped clean. A new start for everyone. So I wanted you nearby. Maybe I was selfish, but the truth is that I wanted my friend at my side because I always could trust your judgment."
"Seems to me, Trev, you don't trust my judgment anymore."
Trevor ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and stood alongside his friend.
"I'm sorry. Two weeks ago, at Stonewall's service, I jumped all over you. I shouldn't have done that."
"Yeah, well, I kinda guessed that you weren't jumping all over me. You were jumping all over the Senate, I just happened to be standing nearby."
"I suppose," Trevor admitted. "They're old style politicians, the type of people who let Earth fall the first time. I don't trust them to do what is right."
Dante glanced at Trevor then away, refusing to hold eye contact.
"Well buddy, you had better start listening to what's going on out there, because there's a lot of people on the street who don't trust you right now, either."
In the last two weeks the idea of a military-intelligence conspiracy and questions about the prosecution of the California war grew from isolated columns and protests to speeches on the Senate floor, news specials, and 'rallies' in Washington D.C. Not out of control; not yet, but reminiscent of the problems after New Winnabow.
"Things will calm down," Trevor tried to convince himself. "Most of the media is still pro-war. We just have to sit back and let the fires burn themselves out."
"That sounds like Knox talking. Truth is, if you do nothing it's going to get worse."
"Oh? What is it you think I should do, Dante?"
Trevor stopped himself. He heard a tone creeping into his voice again, the same tone he had used with Dante at the Capitol two weeks ago. Dante had come today for some kind of reconciliation—something. Trevor did not want to chase him away.
Dante asked, "Tell me, why do you think people are giving you shit about this?"
Trevor waved a dismissive hand, "There are some politicos out there who want to stir up headlines for themselves. Don't think I haven't noticed Godfrey doing most of the talking. Of course, politics is his game, not mine."
"Then you better make it your game. This isn't a handful of survivors any more, Trevor. This is a full-blown nation, man. Like it or not, it is a lot like America was."
"No, it isn't. I won't let it become that again," Trevor walked away from Dante with disgust building in his belly. "America lost the invasion. Do you want politicians to come back into style? Do you want the Evan Godfreys of the Senate holding us back?"
"I'm not the one who wants that
, Trevor. You are. You're the one who makes them hold things back."
Dante moved away from the window and spoke in a pleading voice but still looked more at the ground than at his friend.
"The more you fight the Senate, the more it drags things down. The people are complaining because they're worried that the Senate means nothing. They're worried you're going to be a dictator for life. Hey, like it or not most of the people living in your Empire were Americans before. You know, land of liberty and freedom and all that. They've followed you this far, but they need some assurances before they take this fight around the world."
Trevor grunted and said off-the-cuff, "That sounds like Evan Godfrey talking."
"It is."
Trevor whipped around on Dante and glared.
Before he could say a word, Dante Jones reminded, "When things went to Hell after New Winnabow, I worked with Godfrey to keep it under control. When you went away, I worked with him and Jon to hold together the mess you left us in. With everything happening now, Godfrey came to me off the record to offer, I guess, an olive branch."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, really. And he makes sense, man. People are worried about the future."
"There won't be a future if we don't win this war, Dante."
"There won't be any war if this falls apart. Can you put aside your ego for five minutes?"
"Ego? You think I like this?"
"No, man, I know you never wanted any of this. I get it. But when it comes to Godfrey, you've got an ego. You once told me that you'd do anything for the great cause, right?"
From the moment he had been given responsibility for humanity's survival he knew he had to be a leader like no other. Everything he did must be to further the cause. Sometimes that meant standing his ground with complete resolve, other times that meant a humiliating retreat in order to live to fight another day.
He could do all that…yet refused to swallow his pride and deal with Godfrey.
Dante said, "Some of the shit that's happened these past few years has really, you know, divided everyone. You act like you don't trust Internal Security and you don't trust the Senate. In fact, you really dig on them sometimes, like you're trying to insult them. You got to remember, those people got elected so each one of them has some kind of following. When you pick on the Senate, their voters take that personal."
Trevor opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again.
Dante went on, "You need to show some confidence in I.S. and in the Senate. Show the people out there that you respect these, I guess, institutions. Maybe you've got to kiss some ass, but you've done worse in the name of keeping things together."
"What exactly does Evan want? A campaign donation?"
Dante threw his arms up, grunted, and walked toward the door saying, "Never mind, Caesar. Forget it."
"Wait."
Dante stopped and turned to face Trevor but his eyes found the floor.
"What does he want?"
"He just wants to meet with you, man."
"Great, have him come up and we'll meet."
"No," Dante shook his head. "You need to go down there, to D.C."
"What? Why?"
"To show that you respect what they're doing down there. Don't you get it? All you need to do is go down there, kiss some Senate ass, and meet with Evan on his turf. Show him and the other Senators some love. Show the public that you aren't some kind of brutal dictator. You know what people are thinking about that missile strike, Trev? They're thinking maybe next time it might just be your political enemies at home. That maybe anyone who speaks out against Trevor Stone might end up the same way."
It angered Trevor that Dante would suggest such a thing but the very emergence of that anger caused him to stop and wonder. On that other Earth, a Trevor Stone had led invaders to the Chaktaw's world for conquest. On that other Earth, this Trevor Stone had touched his own dark side. If alcoholics were told that they could never be cured until they admitted a problem, could the same hold true for despots?
He held his temper and replied, "So I go down there and bow down to the great politicians. All that does, Dante, is weaken my position."
Dante stepped forward and sold the package: "Not if Evan he holds a press conference, praises your leadership, and commits to keep the war going beyond the U.S. borders."
Trevor stood shell-shocked at the idea of Godfrey supporting the war beyond old America's boundaries.
Dante reacted to Trevor's gape, "That's right, buddy. With Godfrey supporting it, anyone else who speaks out against the war will be on their own. You won't have any hassles, the Senate can go on worrying over the shit you don't care about, and everyone will be happy."
"All Godfrey wants is a little respect? If I do this, we announce it to the press and all?"
"Evan suggested that you just announce you're going to D.C. to meet with him. Don't make it seem arranged. Then it'll come across like you two had a real heart-to-heart which ends up with you thanking him for what the Senate is doing and him giving you his full support."
Trevor's mind spun. He could not believe Evan Godfrey had given up the game. He felt certain that the Senator plotted some political trap and that he had turned poor Dante Jones into an unwitting accomplice. Nonetheless...
"I'll think about it."
Dante looked Trevor in the eye for the first time during the conversation and asked, "What have you got to lose? What's the worst that could happen?"
---
After Dante delivered Evan's olive branch, Trevor strolled the halls of the estate for two hours trying to come to some sort of conclusion. He could list a dozen reasons why he should not reach out to Evan. How could a man be expected to make good with another who had slandered him so? Who stoked dissent and, possibly, even violence?
Trevor decided not to go, and immediately heard Dante's voice ringing in his ears: "Trevor murdered them…maybe they had a better idea, a different idea. Everything around here has to be exactly as Trevor says, right?"
No, Trevor would not do this for Evan Godfrey, but he might do it for Dante. Maybe if he took this one little step—showed this one concession—then when Evan springs his political trap Dante would see the truth about the Senator. If not, and if Dante stayed this close to Godfrey, Trevor would have to replace him. Maybe with Ray Roos.
By the time Trevor descended the steps to the council chamber in the basement, he had decided to go to Washington D.C., next week, meet with Evan Godfrey, go through the motions, and walk right into whatever game Evan meant to play. Trevor knew he always managed to out maneuver the Senator, perhaps whatever Evan planned would backfire; maybe even drive a stake through the pest's heart. More important, perhaps Trevor could repair his friendship with Dante Jones and prove to both himself and 'the people' that he would not become a tyrannical dictator.
Trevor found several dozen soldiers in the basement, some with bazookas, others with flamethrowers, even a few with mortars. They were plastic, of course, and scattered across the top of the otherwise vacant council table.
Those particular troopers ran in the ranks of JB's army, no doubt mustered to face a phalanx of Duass infantry or grapple with the metallic monsters of the Geryon's Steel Guard (forces Trevor had encountered on that parallel Earth and believed to be in Asia on this world).
However, JB battled a more immediate threat. He crept along the wall next to the armory door with a rolled newspaper in his hand.
"Um, JB?"
JB held a finger to his lips, "Sshhhh."
Trevor listened and, after a moment, he heard JB's prey: the buzz of a fly as it flew around the ceiling light above the table.
The boy raced forward, swung his newspaper, and missed the insect. It buzzed off.
"Trying to slay a fly, son?"
"Yes," Jorge Benjamin Stone answered in a stout voice. "It has been annoying me. I don't think I can finish the big battle with this constant buzzing in my ear."
Trevor nodded the way fathers nod at young boys about
such things.
JB circled the table, cocked his newspaper, and swatted yet again. This time Trevor heard the sharp flap of the weapon striking home. JB grew a huge grin on his face and tracked down the corpse with glee.
"There! That fixed him!"
Jorge scooped up the dead bug with the newspaper and threw it in a waste basket. Pleased at his victory, he moved to the table and re-positioned his toy soldiers.
"Well done, son. You took care of that pest."
JB did not respond. He appeared devoted to his command.
Trevor briefly pinched the bridge of his nose then walked to the head seat at the table; the place where he usually held council with his advisors about war, the economy, industry, and more. This time, in the empty room, he came to tell his son that he would be leaving next week for D.C. JB, however, pre-empted his father's speech.
"You're going away again."
"How do you know that?"
The boy remained fixated on plastic tactical maneuvers but paused long enough to answer in an emotionless voice, "I can sense it. It's in your voice, whenever you bring me bad news," he changed the subject to his toys, "My army is going to engage the Centurians. The odds are great, but I anticipate victory."
Trevor shook his head in amazement. He knew his boy to be special; knew it long before Dr. Maple found far more neurotransmitter types in JB's brain than the typical human being. Their purpose? Unknown. Trevor figured someday they would find out.
In any case, JB had a way about him. A greater understanding of things. Most boys would hate their father leaving so often for dangerous missions or important meetings. Jorge embraced it. Encourage it. Yet this time JB sounded not quite as enthusiastic.
"I'm sorry JB. But I'll be here for your birthday tomorrow, and most of the rest of the week. Are you excited about turning eight?"
Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism Page 14