Beyond Armageddon: Book 03 - Parallels (36 page)

Ashley clamped her lips down abruptly as if trying to stop the words.

"What do you mean, my dear?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I talk too much. Trevor always told me I talked too much."

She stood to leave. He touched her arm. "You have nothing to fear."

She reconsidered. The trees rocked from the gentle persuasion of another cool breeze.

"Nothing…nothing to fear…" she sat again and rolled the words on her tongue.

"I understand how foolish that may sound. After all, your city is under siege. I know that you have plenty to fear, and you have my sympathy."

A short, sardonic chuckle escaped her lips. "Fear? Oh yes, we have much to fear. But for me—for many of us—we had more to fear before, when Trevor was still alive."

"I do not understand."

"Trevor and I were together before…before—"

Johnny used the phrase that was common on his world to finish her sentence: "All this?"
            Ashley nodded. "I suppose so, yeah. Then the war came. He grew into the great leader. He inspired those around him and they followed him to victory after victory."

"I see our Trevors are indeed similar."

"Please don’t say that. Please. I had hoped…
I have hope
… that is not true. That maybe on your Earth, that your Trevor…that he…"

"What? What happened here to Mr. Stone? I know he was killed on the battlefield."

"Yes. And many of us cheered that day."

"Cheered?"

She absently touched the scar on her cheek. "I read, in the reports, that your Trevor Stone has a son. Is that true?"

Johnny nodded. She went on, "Our Trevor may have had children. Probably does, from his mistresses. But he never wanted a family. One of the few things he didn’t want."

"It sounds to me," the Reverend contemplated, "that your Trevor indulged himself. A man, perhaps, of passion?"

"A horrible, terrible, frightening man. Is that the Trevor Stone you know?"

He answered, "Not at all. He has done some horrible things and made decisions that haunt him to this day, but I know his heart is in the right place."

"Haunt? Could it be that your Trevor has a conscience? That is something my Trevor Stone discarded as he grew into the great leader. The great warrior. The
killer."

"Wait one moment. What is it you’re trying to tell me?"

"I am telling you that the Trevor Stone here, on my world, became a brutal man. He killed all of our enemies and did it with delight."

"Ms. Trump, on our world, we, too, have killed our enemies without mercy. Even I have sometimes been infected with a righteous vengeance. I have dispatched an untold number of our foes, and will gladly do so again in the name of survival."

"The name of survival?" She echoed. "How many of your enemies did you torture for pleasure? How many of your foes did you enslave for fun? How many of his own people did
your
Trevor execute because they questioned an order or spoke ill of their Emperor?"

"Um, well, I don’t think he ever would—"

"I loved Trevor Stone; until he became a killer. Before he had unquestioned authority. Before he became..." Again, she stroked the scar on her face.

"He did that to you?"

"When I left him. When I could take no more of his abuse. He visited pain unto his enemies…and to those who loved him. Used them. He…he…explored all…everything…he
indulged.
Whatever he wanted. Whatever desire, whatever whim. On the battlefield or…or…"

"…or in the home?" Johnny spared her from rougher words.

"When he died, we cheered and then fought ensure there would be no second Emperor."

"You had a civil war. I have heard. The result was The Committee and led to reversals in the war, did it not?"

She agreed. "We were weakened by the infighting. First our enemies overran outlying outposts and re-supply centers. We didn’t realize how weak we were until it was too late."

"Please forgive me, Miss Ashley, but your Committee appears certain to be the end of humanity on this planet. I fear for your future if new leadership is not found."

"I know. We all know."

A vehicle—a kind of elongated station wagon—rumbled along the road. Ashley waited until the sound faded then spoke again, "I read the reports from the expedition to your world. It sounded as if your Trevor was still with…still with…"

"Yes," Johnny saw no reason to hide the truth. "On my world Trevor Stone is with Ashley. Together they have a son. A very special young boy."

A smile tugged at the edges of her lips.

He asked, "And here, did Major Forest help turn him into a monster?"

She shook her head and answered, "I wish I could blame it on her. I wish I could say that she stole him away. I knew Nina from military training school. Her, I, and Jolene Crawford."

"I see there is much that is different here."

Ashley barely heard him. She strolled about in memories. "Nina was a shy girl. Quiet. Not liked at all; an outcast. Except in a fight. That was the one thing she was good at. That changed after Trevor took an interest in her. Anything—any body—he took an interest in was changed. Usually for the worse."

Johnny put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, what is it you seek from all this? What do you want me to do?"

Ashley pondered that question for several long seconds before finding a way to word her answer. Those words came but laced with nerves, as if she spoke a state secret.

"I’m not supposed to be talking to you, none of us are. We've been told to stay away from you. Someone may be listening. I have to watch my words."

"Why on Earth would you be told that?"

"Keep Trevor safe. Get him away from here, back to your world as fast as you can. If you can’t get him home right away, then keep him safe."

"Safe? Your city is weakening and the foul beasts are reaching for humanity’s collective throat. I’m not sure I can keep him safe from that."

"That’s not what I mean."

"Then what?" He asked. "What is it I must save him from?"

"Reverend Johnny, you must save him from himself."

---

            "They’re idiots!" Trevor ranted to Major Forest in the back seat of the car.

            "Yes, yes I know," she said. "But I had to get you out of there."

            "Or what? Or I’d rip their throats out? Maybe that’s what should have happened. Maybe you should let me toss them out. They’re a disgrace."

            Trevor spotted the unnamed driver’s eyes glance at him in the rear view mirror.

            "What? You got a problem?"

            "Easy," Nina soothed. "He’s okay. He’s a friend."

            "A friend? Ain’t that just great. Yippee and all that--" He stopped and considered her words. The inflexion. The
suggestion.
"A…friend?" He repeated, softer.

            "Yep. I mean, me and Snowe, we’ve got lots of friends. You know?"

            "Yeah. Okay. And The Committee, do they have lots of friends?"

Nina slumped in her seat and ran a hand across his cheek. "Yep. They’ve got lots of friends. Some in the technical departments. Some in operations. A whole bunch in logistics and supply. Why, they’ve even got some friends in the officer corp."

            "Some?"

            "Yeah. I figure two out of the three Legion Generals are their friends."

            "Not Director Snowe though, huh? He runs the Third Legion, right?"

            The Major told him, "That's right. You should know that Jakob—Snowe--is the one who got us the inside skinny on how to get over and fetch you. He’s pretty well connected."

            "But The Committee has two out of three. On my world, we say that ain't bad."

            "On my world we say ‘give things time.’ Word of the Emperor being back is starting to spread. I mean, officers see those readiness reports. They hear about things like knocking a Battleship out of the sky. Those things make an impression."

            Trevor looked out the side window and considered. Despite the uneasy feeling her suggestions conjured in his belly, he nodded, and told her, "Well, I always like to make a good impression. I suppose I’ll be on my best behavior…for now."

            General Jon Brewer stood in his wife’s office on the first floor of the estate. A stack of newspapers recently couriered over sat atop her desk. The style and quantity of those papers varied, ranging from glorified pamphlets preaching God's role in the invasion to broadsheet publications nearly resembling the big-city papers of yesterday.

            She grabbed one and handed it to him. The headline blared: IS TREVOR STONE DEAD?

            As he stared at the words, his hands trembled.

            Not quite a week ago, Evan Godfrey had interrupted the covert council meeting with threats of insurrection. Their tale of a secret mission had not sat well with the Senate "President", but Jon could not blame Evan for the leak. Indeed, this headline did not really come as a surprise.

            Trevor Stone had not been seen in nearly three weeks. For a man who served as the glue holding a fragile empire together, such a disappearance could not go unnoticed for long.

            Canceled meetings, a pile of reports requiring response, armies awaiting orders, overdue political appointments…the list of outstanding items in need of Trevor's input accumulated fast, and the press—as fledgling as it was in the post-Armageddon world—took notice.

            Jon and the others around the estate could only say, "Trevor is not available" or "he'll get back to you" so many times before people became suspicious. No doubt rumors of Omar's mysterious science team or the surprise, frantic offensive by General Hoth in Ohio raised those suspicions even more.

            Now things came full circle. Evan's questions in a basement last week had become headlines in the newspapers. If things did not get resolved soon, all that they had gained in more than six years of fighting could be lost.    

            "Hey," Lori pulled Jon from his thoughts. "I love you. It’s going to be okay."

            He looked up from the article. "I love--."

Gordon Knox stuck his head in and interrupted, "Jon, you had better come with me."

            First, Jon felt it important to finish, "I love you, too."

With newspaper in hand, he followed Knox to the basement nerve center…

…Ashley Trump stood in the mansion's master bedroom, staring at one of the two big closets there. Specifically,
his
closet.

            She took a deep breath and then slowly—as if fearing booby traps—opened the sliding door. There she found a crowded rack of clothes, mostly military but also dress suits, jackets, and even a tuxedo she had never seen him wear.

            Using both hands, she parted the clothes and peered into the darkness behind. As her eyes adjusted, she saw old shoes and boots, a rifle, and a large cardboard box.

            Ashley dropped to one knee, leaned in, and grabbed for the box. Her hands slipped the first time she tried to yank it from the shadows. A second attempt succeeded.

            She retreated from the closet and opened her prize, finding memories inside. Like an archeologists, she dug into Trevor's past.

            On top, photos of his parents as well as a baseball mitt scavenged from his old home.

The next layer revealed a high school diploma as well as his degree from Luzerne County Community College.

She dug deeper, beyond articles cut from the
Baltimore New Press
fawning over the liberation of Columbia and Atlanta, through scathing clippings concerning New Winnabow.

      Below everything, hidden under the son’s memories and the Emperor’s legacy she found a small square box with a blue lid, no emblem, no markings, no clues.

Ashley held the box in her hands, both of which trembled as she opened the lid…

…The spongy Nerf football floated in the February air after leaving the hand of Benjamin Trump. It spun and wobbled with a trajectory far removed from a spiral.

Jorge Benjamin Stone—looking clumsy in his heavy blue and red winter coat--stumbled left then right as he adjusted to the ball’s approach which bounced off one arm, the other, then fell to the ground where it rolled in the quarter inch of snow on the mansion's front lawn.

"That a boy Jorgie! Good try!"

"Ah, darn," the kid cursed his fumble.

"Throw it on over to grandpa, kiddo!"

The older man continued his personal quest to keep his grandson distracted from the fact that he had not seen his father in almost three weeks.

Jorgie, as much as he missed his dad, had not yet broken down into fits of hysteria or tears. Indeed, grandpa and the boy’s mother were both impressed—perhaps even disturbed—by how well JB handled the separation.