Beyond Armageddon IV: Schism

by DeCosmo, Anthony

  "Why would they want to assassinate Trevor?"

  D'Trayne eyed Brewer as if the human might be an idiot. His eyes flashed yellow.

  "Of course you are not serious, general. I can think of a hundred reasons why any number of the forces on Earth—including some of your own race—would care to see Trevor Stone dead. However, as to the Centurians' specific reason, I do not know. I would suspect they see it either as retaliation for your famous victory over them ten years ago, or as the starting point for more dramatic action."

  The fish stopped wiggling on the plate. D'Trayne glanced at it. His eyes sunk.

  Dante said, "Sorry. Looks like we killed your lunch."

  Brewer said, "So you're willing to tell us where they are. We just have to do what in exchange?"

  "Jon Brewer, I only ask that you tell the people of The Empire that I provided this information as a token of good will, so as to prove to you that at least some form of cooperation may be possible between our two species."

  "That's it? Not a get-out-of-jail card? Not a promise to allow you to stay?"

  "Admittedly such arrangements would be nice. I do have an appointment to address your Senate. I expect you'll be keeping me on Earth until after that meeting, at the very least."

  "Okay then, you got it," Jon promised. "If the information you provide is correct I'll make sure the press spells your name right."

  "You are an honorable man, Jon Brewer."

  The honorable man pushed, "We know they're coming up through Mexico."

  "The region you call Mexico is a big place."

  "You're already made that point. Now tell me where they are."

  The Chancellor's eyes cycled through several different hues before settling on green.

  "A place you humans once called Monterrey. You'll find a small Redcoat facility there in the shadows of the mountains your maps label the Sierra Madre Oriental."

  ---

  Jon Brewer stood at the foot of the basement conference table two days after the meeting with Chancellor D'Trayne. During those two days, he had spent much time meeting with council members, Senators, and the media to explain the process for selecting a new leader.

  Things would have been difficult, if not for Evan Godfrey's support. The Senator's star shined once again, but this time he used his popularity to encourage support for the temporary military leadership, apparently forgetting all his fables of a military-intelligence conspiracy.

  On another front, the press grew suspicious in regards to the lack of military action against the perpetrators of the assassination. The constant 'no comments' and denials of new force deployments began to pique the interest of the media.

  Jon heard footsteps descend the stairs into the basement and turned to see Ashley. Her eyes glared and her words came across in a tone suggesting she shared the media's curiosity.

  "Tell me. I need to know that Trevor's death isn't going unpunished."

  Jon placed both hands on her shoulders.

  "The Witiko Chancellor gave us the location of the Centurian base."

  "Is the information trustworthy?"

  "Long range aerial recon confirmed the location."

  "What are you planning to do, launch an early invasion of Mexico?"

  "No. We're not ready for that. Besides, with the dreadnoughts I don't need a whole army."

  "Good. Tell me, how many of the ships did you send?"

  Jon's mouth worked but no sound came out.

  "Jon, How many did you send?"

  ---

  More than three million once called the greater Monterrey area in northeastern Mexico home. Many of them thought of their city as "La Ciudad de las Montañas" ("City of the Mountains") because of the abrupt peaks of the Sierra Madre Oriental range to the south.

  Armageddon, however, had turned Monterrey into a wasteland.

  In addition to dealing with alien predators and raiding parties attracted to such a large population base, the town of Monterrey faced another kind of danger back during that first summer of the invasion: an Earthquake. The disaster knocked tall buildings flat and also ruptured both fuel tanks and gas lines igniting an inferno that burned unchecked for three months. The quake and fire leveled or incinerated nearly two thirds of the city, creating uninhabitable barrens. Therefore, on the morning of June 3rd, the stretch of land that had once been a Mecca for tourists, history buffs, and Latin American business interests resembled a vast field of black ash and chunks of collapsed building blocks. Except, however, for the white modular alien buildings centered on the half-standing remains of the Estadio Tecnologico football stadium.

  The base had grown in segments with each segment connected via covered walkways circling out in rings from a spherical center. The buildings came in a variety of shapes and sizes, some two stories tall, most only one; some with eight sides, a few with five, many more with four. High powered light posts blanketed the entire complex.

  Round landing pads sat between the buildings, receptacles for the Centurians' airships. Several large garages on the outer rings of the base served as holding pens for ground vehicles.

  A storm had passed through the night before, leaving in its wake a trail of thin gray clouds. Those clouds bulged then parted then scattered before the might of humanity's Empire.

  All three of the massive dreadnoughts approached from the north, descending to five thousand feet at the edge of town. The Excalibur—the flagship of the fleet—led the way with the Philippan and the Chrysaor on her flanks. The engines reverberated like rolling, steady thunder; the shadows of the beasts blocked the sun.

  Woody Ross led the fleet from his position as the Excalibur's 'brain.' He eyed the Centurian base below through the ship's telescopic lenses. He saw rows of Centurians standing outside their buildings dressed in variations of red and white uniforms. Those who did not wear helmets displayed their race's big black eyes, thin noses, and dark green skin making the Centurians one of the few alien invaders conforming to pre-Armageddon notions of extraterrestrials, except that instead of being 'little' green men the typical Centurian stood taller and wider than a human.

  Some of those extraterrestrials stared skyward at the approaching doom, others loitered as if unaware of fate's approach.

  Ross spoke a chilling order to his bridge crew as well as Captains Hoth and Kaufman.

  "Prepare to fire; charge belly boppers to one-hundred percent."

  Next, Ross broadcast across several radio frequencies. As he transmitted, the energy pools feeding the Excalibur's main guns filled to a level never matched outside of training missions, causing the vessel to tremble. The other three ships vibrated in the same manner for the same reason, causing a muffled sizzle that grew louder as the power levels increased.

  The former linebacker's voice spoke without his usual volume, but boomed all the same: "This is Captain Ross of the Imperial dreadnought Excalibur. In the name of Trevor Stone, I deliver the wrath of humanity."

  No reaction came from the aliens. A few wandered about like zombies; most simply stood and watched. They struck Ross as ants unaware of a boot stepping toward them, a sight that came across as surreal; almost comedic to Ross' eye.

  First the Excalibur fired, followed by the Philippan and then the Chrysaor. Each of the mighty vessels rocked from the kick.

  Instead of pulses or blobs, the fully-charged "belly bopper" guns spewed streams of plasma into the ground below, kicking explosions of dirt and debris into the sky as if a volcano erupted. The destructive might engulfed the Centurian base several times over. A great churning river of fire glowed and rippled. The sound from the attack carried for miles, as did the tremor.

  When the attack ended, Ross and his agents of destruction watched from the sky as the fireballs faded, replaced by steam and ash.

  Nothing moved. The alien base no longer existed; replaced by a black scorch stretching across the already-scarred earth of Monterrey. The strongest beams and walls of the Centurian outpost melted into the soil.

  Satisfie
d with their work, the three vessels gained altitude and turned for home.

  11. Vacuum

  The public fed on the red meat of photographs from the destroyed Centurian outpost with a vengeful zeal. Yet Evan Godfrey knew those images--from the fleet's gun cameras--would stave off anarchy for only so long.

  Still, as it had done often in the past, anarchy served as the Senator's ally. He understood something that the best politicians and comedians knew: timing is everything.

  Evan gazed into the mirror and recalled his stay in that same hotel three years prior. Back then his timing had been perfect, too, but with one tragic difference: Trevor Stone returned. Such would not be the case this time, of that Evan remained confident. Dante had done as instructed; he had persuaded Jon to send the body of Trevor Stone around The Empire, allowing all the loyal subjects to see the lifeless corpse.

  Unlike three years ago, no uncertainty remained. There would be no sectarian strife between Trevor loyalists and the more reasonable crowd. Those loyalists concentrated on drowning their sorrows at the local pub or raising funds for this memorial or that. Evan heard that some two dozen schools had already been renamed "Trevor Stone Elementary" or "Stone High."

  "Let him have the high schools, I just want his job."

  "Did you say something?"

  "I said I'm about ready to go," he replied to his wife's question from the bathroom.

  Sharon strolled out from there wearing a white robe, still wet from the shower.

  "Going? Already? Is it that late?"

  "Yes, my lovely wife. It seems your hangover caused you to sleep in."

  She frowned for a moment, and then smiled again. Sharon smiled a lot in recent days. She had, in fact, attended two of the Emperor's memorials, like going to see a good movie twice. As much as this amused him, he saw her enthusiasm for Trevor's fate as potentially hazardous. His wife failed to grasp the importance of appearances.

  "Well, we were celebrating," she pressed against him. In addition to smiling, Sharon showed a lot more affection in recent weeks, too. "Now, are you set for today?"

  "You know I have everything lined up. People just need to play their part, remember?"

  "Ah yes, you're big on role playing, aren't you?"

  Evan could not help but return her smile. Yes, Sharon had shown a great deal more affection in recent days, and creativity.

  Still, duty called. He told her, "Enjoy your day shopping. Be sure to pick up some Trevor Stone remembrance mugs or scrapbooks or whatever it is they're selling in the market."

  "I don't think I can afford any of that, my dear, not with the way prices are skyrocketing. You'd think those damn politicians would do something about that, wouldn't you."

  "I intend to do plenty. Now you have a wonderful day."

  Sharon grabbed Evan's power tie, pulled him close and kissed hard.

  Five minutes later the Internal Security motorcade arrived outside the hotel on Public Square in Wilkes-Barre. A short man with gray hair and a heavy bandage on his arm drove. Evan addressed him first, "How is the arm, Tucker?"

  "Getting better, Mister Godfrey, sir."

  Dr. Maple had fixed Tucker's dog bite and reported it as a glancing blow from a Centurian energy weapon.

  Ray Roos shared the back seat with Evan.

  "Big day for you, isn't it now, Senator?"

  As the car pulled away Evan responded, "I like to think that it's a big day for our entire nation, Ray. Think about it, today we take our first steps toward democracy."

  "Oh yeah, that's exactly what I mean, Senator. 'Course, sometimes people don't vote the way other folks are expecting. I seem to recall this Dewey fella…"

  Despite how much he relied on him, Evan often found Roos rather grating. Probably because Roos saw through Evan at every turn, starting first with his maneuverings during the New Winnabow crisis then again during Trevor's absence three years ago.

  "That's the wonderful thing about democracy, Ray, the results can be surprising sometimes. Of course, it can be easier to deal with those surprises when one stays in touch with the feelings of the people."

  Ray nodded with a big grin.

  "Well, Senator, you know I do my best to stay in touch with the people. Well, that's not exactly true. I stay in touch with the folks at the estate, as best I can. And since the only 'people' who'll be voting on the next Emperor are the 'people' on the council, well I've tried to keep my ear to the ground. You know, just to be sure everything is on the up and up."

  "Of course. You know, Ray, I've come to trust your instincts. Tell me, what are your feelings on today's vote?"

  The motorcade—led by two I.S. officers on hover bikes and trailed by a tactical response team in a black SUV—left downtown and traveled along the river bank. Warm weather had returned to Wilkes-Barre, bringing with it joggers and picnickers and street performers along the grassy dike.

  "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Senator, but I'm thinking you may not even get one vote today. Unless, of course, you vote for yourself."

  "Now Ray, that wouldn't seem like a gentlemanly thing to do. After all, my modesty…"

  Roos snickered before saying, "Of course not, Senator. But I think one guy who might just punch his own number would be that Gordon Knox. If that's the case, I'm thinking he's going to make a real run at this thing."

  The very mention of Knox's name brought a grimace to Evan's face. He could practically feel the cold barrel of the Intelligence Director's pistol against the back of his head. Evan felt Gordon Knox to be a man with whom he could not deal.

  "That does not surprise me. Still, there are ten votes in all among the council."

  "Well sure, I understand that. Like I was saying, Senator, I keep my ear to the ground; I hear things. There's been a lot of the council talking amongst themselves. See, most of them think there's really only two people in this race. People in one camp lean toward Knox. I guess part of that is because they might be a little afraid of him, isn't that something? In any case, folks in the other camp are leaning toward Jon Brewer, kind of a sentimental vote and seein' that he has all this experience and whatnot."

  Evan told Ray, "Well, that's great. I think Jon should be the next leader. I'll tell you this much, Ray, he's got my vote. And I can think of a few others who are going to vote for him, too."

  "Awe, now, that's terrific, Senator. But the way I see it—oh wait, the way I hear it—there might just be a few more people leaning toward Knox."

  Ray's observation bothered Evan, but he had long since prepared for just this contingency. He turned and looked Roos straight in his brown eyes.

  "Isn't that just the neatest thing about politics, Ray. You never know what's going to happen, do you? Especially when it seems there's only this two party system. Say, do you remember Clinton's Presidential runs?"

  "Why yessir, I do. In fact, I remember watching one of his debates while I was marking time at Camp Hill. But I figure you've got something more to say on that, yes you do."

  "During his first Presidential election in '92, Clinton got less than half of the votes."

  "You don't say."

  "So you figure that the other guy had to have gotten more than half and won, right?"

  "Well, Senator, you know math has never been my strong point."

  "But he didn't, Ray, because there was this third guy—Perot—and he took enough votes away from Bush that Clinton won with less than half the people voting for him."

  Roos played along, "So let me see if I get this. Are you saying that some other fella could muck up the works for the guy that looks like he's going to win, even if this other fella doesn't get much support?"

  "Oh, now, Ray, who knows what could happen in politics, right? I mean, there are probably a few people who think they can only choose between Knox and Brewer, so they'll pick Knox even though they'd rather have a third choice."

  Roos' eyes grew wide and he scratched the thinning hair at the top of his head as he told Evan, "You know, it's funny you should sa
y that, Senator. In fact, Eva Rheimmer and Brett Stanton were having a conversation last night about that very thing. Why, if I remember correctly they were saying something about not really wanting to vote for Knox but Brewer just screwed the pooch so much last time that they had no faith in him. Imagine that, huh?"

  "You don't say."

  "I hate to tell you, though, Senator, I don't think they would switch over to your side. Something about that being a slap in the face to Trevor and all. If you ask me—and I know you didn't but since we're talking anyway—that's very short sighted of them."

  The motorcade climbed an on-ramp and merged onto the Cross Valley Expressway.

  "I appreciate your sentiments, Ray, but I feel confident that Rheimmer and Stanton will sort things out. After all, it would be a shame if they had to vote for someone they did not think was right for the job. I bet they'll find someone else to support. Call it a hunch."

  ---

  Eva Rheimmer never wanted to be anything more than a farmer. She certainly never held any political ambitions. She had only joined Trevor Stone's council because people needed her. As the group of survivors grew into an Empire and Eva progressed into her seventies, she found less patience for the red tape and far more contempt for politicians.

  Her husband told her to stick with it because she might be the only one in the whole darned works with half a head on her shoulders. However, that half-a-head could not sort out exactly what to do on this occasion.