On Saturday a warm front pushed off the dreary weather and brought sunshine to the shore. The two spent most of the day on the beach. An influx of jellyfish captured JB's attention.
On Sunday, JB got his chance to visit the boardwalk. Tucker managed to get Morey's Pier sealed off for two hours, making Ashley, JB, the security team, and a flock of seagulls the only souls on the big wharf full of rides and games. JB loved it, but to Ashley it felt sad, especially with the scent of fresh roasted peanuts and scraps of napkins and discarded tickets drifting among the amusements and kiosks.
She took him round and round the carousel, and on the kiddy train, and watched him zip up and down in a miniature airplane. Her son enjoyed the rides, but not in the same way other children might. From the saddle on the merry-go-round, JB shouted fantasies of riding with the cavalry. On the train he imagined himself escorting a supply convoy to isolated colonies out west. From the cockpit of the mini plane he shot Hivvan Screamers from the sky.
Near the end of their day, mom and son entered a fun house. Once inside they moved along a passage through a slowly-turning tube that played havoc with their sense of up and down. They wobbled across a rope-bridge above paper alligators in a phony river made from blue streamers. Further along, crazy inflatable clowns burst from barrels with synthesized chuckles.
Near the end of the attraction they came to a hall of mirrors that absolutely fascinated Jorge. He ran to one in particular that warped his already small body even smaller, as if he were a soda can crunched at both ends.
"Look at this one, mommy! It makes me look smaller than I really am!"
Ashley smiled but movement from behind another mirror grabbed her attention.
"General Shepherd said you asked to see me."
Standing in the shadowy hall of mirrors was a woman who could easily have passed for her early twenties but Ashley knew her true age to be over thirty. She had sharp blue eyes and blonde hair with wavy curls that, for some inconceivable reason, was pulled tight into a pony tail that drooped between her shoulder blades.
"Nina Forest," Ashley said almost certainly too loud; voices echoed in the fun house.
The two women stood silent for a moment, listening for any sounds of suspicion from the I.S. team waiting outside. When nothing happened, Ashley walked closer to the soldier while Jorge bounced about the hall of mirrors giggling at how the glass stretched, flattened, or otherwise warped his image.
Nina wore green camouflage BDU pants and a black t-shirt. She did not have a rifle but did carry a sword strapped tight to one leg and a pistol on a thigh rig along the other.
Ashley did not recall if she ever met Nina Forest in person before. Perhaps she had, back in the early days after Ashley had been pulled from her ark ride. However, she had seen this woman before in photographs taken during the time that Ashley had been thought dead; a time when Trevor had fallen in love with this woman.
In a sense, Ashley realized they shared one thing in common; both women had lost a year of their lives. The difference being that Ashley's year passed in the blink of an eye, but Nina lived those months, only to have the memories stolen by an alien implant.
"I've heard a lot about you," Ashley told Nina the truth. "You are highly regarded."
Nina, her eyes wandering around the chamber, said, "I am very sorry for your loss. I mean, I feel badly for you and your son. It must be very hard for you."
Ashley wondered how hard Trevor's death hit Nina. Were the memories and feelings truly gone, or merely suppressed? How had she taken the news of the assassination?
"I think it has been hard on all of us, but thank you for your concern."
"Mrs. Stone—"
"Ashley."
"Ashley, whatever you need from me, I'll do my best. I like to think that Trev—your husband—could count on me. That is, to get the job done."
Ashley saw that the poor girl felt uneasy. The hardened warrior fidgeted and stumbled with her words. Was it possible that Captain Forest had grown fond of Trevor from a distance? What would it do to her now to find out about the year she had shared with Trevor?
Ashley told her, "Yes, Trevor counted on you. He needs to count on you one more time."
"Mommy!" Jorge raced over to another mirror. "This one makes me look really funny!"
Ashley pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her blue khakis. She handed it to Forest, who read the words printed on the ticket.
"A voucher? For the Orange Bowl in Miami?"
"You'll need Gordon Knox's help."
Nina's brow furled. "The Director of Intelligence? He died in a fire a couple of days ago."
Ashley smiled, a little. "I think Gordon decided it was time to make his exit. But if he is still alive and they find out, they will try to kill him again."
"Who?"
"Gordon gave me this ticket and told me to use it if I ever need anything. You use it. Tell him you're working on my behalf."
Tucker's shout reverberated through the fun house, "Ma'am, are you okay in there?"
"We're fine! Jorge is playing. We'll be out in a minute."
"I still don't know what this is all about. What do I need Knox's help with?"
"I want you to find out who was really behind Trevor's assassination."
She could tell by Nina's expression that a million questions shot through the woman's mind, starting with the idea that the assassination had been something more than the official account. Ashley saw that while Nina Forest may be an expert soldier, she still had much to learn.
Out of those million questions, Nina focused on one: "Why me?"
Ashley replied, "Do this and I'll tell you the truth you've always wanted to know. I'll give you all the secrets about the year you can't remember."
Nina Forest blinked fast but said nothing. JB tugged on the soldier's sleeve and pulled. Nina—shocked into silence—let the boy turn her to face a mirror that stretched her petite body to long and tall. Jorge giggled.
Footsteps ended the meeting. Nina—eyes still wide—disappeared toward a maintenance area and a manhole cover that led below the boardwalk. Tucker and two guards entered the hall.
"Hey, was there someone in here with you? I swear I heard voices."
"It's a fun house, Mr. Tucker. Your imagination must have got the better of you."
Mother and son left. Tucker stood amongst the mirrors while the other two guards followed their charges.
More than voices, he was certain he heard a name.
Nina Forest.
15. Peace Dividend
The midday June sun beat down hard on Washington D.C., but a breeze—not cool, but not quite so hot, either—blew across the roof of the White House. Dante closed his eyes and let the gust sweep over his body, enjoying a split-second's relief.
He had followed a security team to the roof as they patrolled the grounds in preparation for Evan Godfrey's big press conference. While the team moved on, Dante remained behind. At first he told himself this was simply an impulse left over from his previous post but the longer he lingered on the roof the more he realized he was really trying to hide.
From his vantage point, Dante saw a podium and chairs on a small patch of south side lawn. A few early-bird members of the press and their cameramen waited there, scribbling notes and checking equipment. Like so many of the sights these days, the one below seemed somewhat surreal; pieces of the old world re-assembling. A press corps, trade unions, vacation resorts, and even rush hour traffic at a few of the major settlements. Not nearly the size or scope as before the invasion, but eerily close.
Jones turned his eyes toward the city surrounding the White House. He spied the ragtag kiosks and carts of the markets on the Ellipse, the scarred Washington monument sticking up into a clear blue sky, and the pillars and posts marking the remains of the Jefferson memorial.
Further off loomed the corpses of buildings that died in the fires of Armageddon but alongside those skeletons worked cranes lifting beams into place and scaffolding wrapped aro
und new construction. That process of rebirth gave Jones hope, as did the subject of the day's press conference. Hope that maybe everything he had done had indeed been for the best; that his betrayal grew from honorable intentions.
A voice broadcast over the walkie-talkie attached to his belt next to his side arm.
"Hey, Dante, are you out there?"
The voice belonged to Ray Roos, the new Director of Internal Security.
"Yeah, man, I'm here. I'm up on the roof. I came up here with one of the teams."
Roos chuckled, "Say, you trying to do my job?"
Dante—his eyes still staring into the distance—answered, "Old habits die fast, I guess."
"Well, now, the boss is expecting you down here for the big show."
He heard the chatter among the reporters below grow but told Ray, "I think I'll stay out of the spotlight. The view is a little better up here."
---
The Duncan Phyfe-crafted cabinets and furnishings from the late Federal period that once adorned the White House library had been pillaged or destroyed during the Hivvan occupation. Therefore, it remained one of the more incomplete rooms in the refurbished White House. Nonetheless, a portrait of George Washington remained above the neoclassical mantel and the soft gray and rose tones of the paneling gave the chamber a cozy feel.
Tory—Sharon Godfrey's eleven year old boy—stretched on the floor in one corner of the room with sneakers kicked out behind as he built a plastic model car on top of newspapers laid to protect the wood. The smell of Testor's glue permeated the air.
His mother used glue of her own as she sat at a round wooden table. Spread in front of her were clippings taken from the newspapers that now served as Tory's drop cloth. She carefully positioned one clip after another in a thick scrapbook, taking care to ensure perfect placement.
Mother and son worked in a silence punctuated by the ticking hands and grinding gears of a lighthouse clock bearing the likeness of Marquis de Lafayette on its base.
"Ah, there you are," Evan entered the room. "I've been looking all over for you."
Sharon remained focused on affixing yet another memento to her scrapbook. Evan glanced over her shoulder and saw the headline EMPEROR DEAD on one page and ASSASSINATION on the other.
Sharon pressed until satisfied the glue held. To her annoyance, Evan reached in and flipped backwards through the scrapbook. The headlines flashed one after another as he traveled into the past.
CALIFORNIA INVASION OPPOSED BY RELIGIOUS COUNCIL.
TREVOR STONE DEAD? EMPEROR NOT SEEN IN TWO MONTHS.
WHERE IS TREVOR STONE?
EVAN GODFREY CHOSEN PRESIDENT OF THE IMPERIAL SENATE.
STONE GIVES IN: SENATE TO BE ELECTED.
SLAUGHTER AT NEW WINNABOW.
Evan stopped paging and sighed.
"What's wrong, my dear? You don't approve of my collection?"
"When you said you and Tory would be in the library, I thought you would be spending time with him before he heads off to summer camp. But you're too busy collecting scalps."
Tory did not have to be asked to leave, he instinctively knew, abandoning the unfinished model as he searched for a new place to play. It was a big house, after all. Plenty of places for a child to get lost.
"My son is my business."
"But you are my business, Sharon. Tell me, what will you do now?"
"I don't understand," she replied while thumbing through the memories as if perusing her high school yearbook.
"Who will you hate now, my love? All these years you've fixated on the fall of our beloved Emperor in revenge for what he did to your home and your father. He's been vanquished, but one look at you and I can see that the hate has not diminished."
"Soon there will be much to keep me busy. After your press conference today, I'll be in charge of getting rid of those damned dogs. I look forward to being at your side for that."
Evan grabbed her arm and hoisted her from the chair.
"Yes, you will be at my side. Remember that, Sharon. I don't need you and your vendettas screwing anything up. I want you to smile. I want you to be happy. You've gotten everything you've always wanted, you saw the end of Trevor Stone. Now get over it. Move on."
"Easy for you to say, Evan. What have you lost? There is still a debt owed for what he did at New Winnabow. Tell me, who was the assassin who put the bullet in my father's neck?"
A straw broke in Evan's back.
"Enough! I won't have this, Sharon. Instead of spending your time scheming, maybe you should spend more time with your son. Or is he just an inconvenience now?"
Sharon's hand cocked. A voice interrupted the blow.
"Mr. President," a forty-something woman with strawberry blond hair and a scar on her face interrupted the brewing fight.
"Yes? Yes, what is it?"
"Chancellor D'Trayne has arrived. The press conference is ready to begin."
With that, the woman withdrew.
Evan painted on a smile. Sharon calmed and forced a smile of her own.
"I need you by my side now, Sharon."
"Whatever you say, Mr. President."
---
Armageddon caused much damage to the White House grounds. In the years since humanity's armies chased the lizards from D.C., the Senate, Evan Godfrey, and other like-minded politicians and historians invested in fixing, repairing, and otherwise returning the White House to pre-Armageddon form. They, by and large, succeeded. However, the scars of destruction still lingered and Evan chose one such scar as backdrop for his big speeches.
While the lawn grew as green as ever, the trees and shrubs between the south face of the White House and the West wing had been burned to nothing and removed. Instead of full-grown replacements transplanted from a nursery, Evan Godfrey insisted on planting new trees and shrubs as a symbol of America's rebirth. For the next several years, he would stand there and deliver initiatives and speeches and progress reports to the eager media with those baby plants growing behind him in the same way he planned to grow the nation anew.
In that cozy corner of the new seat of power gathered two dozen members of the press on folding metal chairs facing a podium bearing the seal of the President of the United States. Around that podium lurked Brad Gannon in slick hair and a pearly-white smile as well as Chancellor D'Trayne in all his silver glory. No one noticed Dante, mixed with a security team, watching from the roof.
Ray Roos escorted Evan and his wife to the edge of the yard then waited behind. The President approached the podium; Sharon lingered off to the side. The press stood in a sign of respect but he quickly motioned for the reporters to be seated.
"My fellow countrymen, today marks the end of the greatest struggle in the history of mankind. The war is over."
Evan let that sink in, not only for the men and women in the audience, but those who watched on T.V. While only the local population witnessed the announcement live, the tape of the conference would soon play from sea to shining sea.
"Ten years ago alien armies marched through interplanetary gateways to wage war upon our people. Why did they come? Did we provoke this aggression? I have spent years searching for that answer. With the help of Chancellor D'Trayne, I have finally found the truth. This has been a coordinated invasion with the aim of defusing the danger humanity represents to life throughout the universe. That danger comes not from our weapons or technology, but from the nature of our persons. In short, you will find the answer as to 'why' not by looking toward the stars, but in reading a history book: crusades, holocausts, inquisitions and Dark Ages. Whether due to religious zeal, unbridled nationalism, racism or merely our natural inclination toward violence, mankind has a history of brutality and militarism, and the universe took note."
Evan took a moment to make eye contact with the reporters and, most important, the camera lens.
"The intelligent life forms of the galaxy came together for a pre-emptive strike on mankind before our technology could turn us into a threat to other civilizations
. This was not a decision made lightly and one that went against the otherwise peaceful nature of these cultures. Before we pass judgment, consider that pre-emptive war has been a distasteful but common action among our own race. While we cannot excuse this act of hostility that has brought misery to our world, we must come to terms with the reality of our nature."
Evan cast his eyes down, shook his head in sadness, and sighed: the perfect picture of a man who has accepted the faults of his people.
"Still, I am not one to give up easily; not when the fate of my people is at stake. In recent days I have worked closely with Chancellor D'Trayne who has been in contact with the other races. Based on his experience in California, he managed to convince the invaders that there is another way besides war without end. He has convinced his brethren that the people of this nation can overcome their instinct for violence, that we can be good neighbors, that there can be an end to the struggle that has already cost so much to all sides.
"As I have explained to the Chancellor, I cannot speak for all of humanity. I can only speak for those of us in our tiny nation. I have assured him that our people seek peace. I have assured him that we only want to live our lives and return to the world we knew before the invaders came. He has accepted these assurances, with conditions to ensure the cease-fire holds."
Murmurs rolled through the audience.
"Conditions?"
"Cease-fire?"
"Assurances?"
Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism Page 24