Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion (11 page)

The sound of bombs thudding to the ground echoed from the air field and in through the broken windows of the empty building. A shard of glass fell and shattered on the dirty floor.

“Where’s the smart old guy who I once thought might be God? Boy, was I an idiot. You aren’t any god. You’re just another human being like me and old Voggoth is playing the spoilsport in this little game of yours.”

The Old Man said nothing.

“Because of your arrogance every human being on this Earth is going to be wiped out.”

The Old Man sounded almost conciliatory in his tone, “There’s more to it than that, Trev, why there’s a whole bunch o’ universes out there and—“

“I don’t care.”

A bomb exploded much closer this time. Pieces of plaster fell from the ceiling; the walls rattled.

Trevor’s words came with a hefty force. The force of billions of dead people; the victims of this game the Old Man and his cronies played.

“Listen to what’s going on out there! I don’t care about you or the other parallel worlds or whatever the stupid-ass big picture is. I care about my people. Here. Now. That’s what it boils down to, you hear me? If you can help me it’s time to speak up, otherwise I’m done listening to you. I’m done with your cryptic messages, winks, nods and half-assed metaphors. If you got a trick up your sleeve then lay it out. If you don’t, stop wasting my time. Thing is, I think you’re all alone now. I think the others have abandoned you. But don’t worry, once we’re out of the way then whoever is left—well, they’ll all abandon someone else. Maybe it’ll be the Chaktaw next time. Maybe their Old Man or Old Woman or whatever will be on the outside looking in. And when the Chaktaw are done, the Centurians will be next, then the Witiko, then whoever. I don’t give a shit.”

A flash splashed through the lonely window on that side of the building. Trevor saw a dust cloud of debris drift by.

“Trev, listen, I know you’re upset and all,” a hint of pleading crept into the entity’s voice. “But look, you got to get this situation under control. Where’s the old Trevor who took it to em’ when they all ganged up on you?”

The Old Man referred to the Battle of Five Armies when three groups of alien warriors converged on the fledgling community of survivors during that first year. Trevor figured Voggoth orchestrated that, too; a more subtle attempt to destroy humanity’s resistance before it really got going. But they had won the day with a bold bayonet charge after their ammunition ran dry. That day became a turning point.

It seemed long ago. Simpler. A brave strike at the heart of the enemy with an unexpected move.

The Old Man took advantage of the brief silence to add, “You got to go for the throat, Trev. You gotta swing an Ali knockout punch—bam!” Yet it was obvious the Old Man had no idea what kind of knockout punch should or even could be thrown.

Trevor shook his head and a sardonic grin flashed across his face. He grabbed hold of a memory from one of the Old Man’s earliest speeches, twisted those words and spat them back at the mysterious entity.

“Yeah, that’s it. Shoot the exhaust port, is that it? Blow up the Death Star with one lucky shot and we’ll be all right as rain, right? Kill off the mother creature and all the little nasties will wither and die. Just like in Hollywood, right? Let’s wrap this thing up in the last five minutes.”

The Old Man’s expression drooped as if kicked in the gut.

Trevor went on, “You told me once this was a slug fest. That there’s no magic bullet. No one-shot. And you were right. And now Voggoth is out-slugging us. He may have broken all those dumb rules and I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. He’s here and in force.”

For added emphasis, a large crash followed another nearby boom. Trevor heard something collapse in the distance; maybe a wall, maybe an entire building.

“He’s here in
full
force. He’s been behind this all along. The other races—they’ve been proxies. Pawns. They failed here on my Earth so Voggoth has come to my world to do the job himself and he’s conned your buddies into looking the other way because when we—when
you
—lose, things get easier for them. Or so they think.”

But it was Trevor who did the thinking; repeating his thoughts from a moment before:
A brave strike at the heart of the enemy with an unexpected move.

He chewed on that while the old man rattled on as if he had already forgotten the rest of the conversation. “Yes sir, Trevvy, you got some work to be doing. Mind your flanks. Lots of your folks are begging to die for you. Say, maybe you should start arming the little ones. No reason grade schoolers can’t pick up a rifle for the cause!”

The rain of bombs quieted as the attack slowed.

Trevor Stone turned his back to the Old Man and walked away thinking of a brave strike at the heart of the enemy but, as he pictured the maps and markers that told the strategic tale, he could not possibly see where Voggoth might be vulnerable. Or how to strike a blow of any kind.

“Take it to em’, Trev! Give em’ hell!”

Jon Brewer did not like the situation at all. Before his Eagle transport even landed on the ruined tarmac at McConnell, he could already envision Trevor’s disapproving stare and if there was one thing Brewer did not need any more of, it was Trevor’s disapproval.

Trevor would want to know why Jon had forsaken his defensive preparations along the Mississippi to fly to Kansas. He would want to know why he had risked coming to an area under constant bombardment, the most recent of which had barely ended.

In answer to his own question, Jon glanced across the aisle. There, in the parallel row of seats in the Eagle’s passenger compartment, sat Omar Nehru. As he had since arriving in Missouri earlier that day, Omar smoked a cigarette and sat staring straight ahead. Whatever message Anita had given to Omar to relay to Trevor—a message he refused to share with anyone else—it had changed the man. He appeared shell-shocked. Afraid.

Omar’s history with Trevor and Jon Brewer could be traced to the first few months post-invasion. Therefore, when Omar Nehru arrived on the front lines looking for Trevor and insisting to see him personally, Jon Brewer listened.

Still, Trevor would not approve. He would not trust Jon’s judgment. That had not always been the case.

Up until last year Jon Brewer served as Trevor’s surrogate; Jon’s word equaled Trevor’s wishes. Jon Brewer—one of the first to join the estate along with his wife—held the role of second-in-command. He still held that position but more due to expediency than confidence.

Jon’s thoughts returned to last summer when everyone thought Trevor dead. A vote by the council resulted in Jon inheriting Trevor’s position although he later realized that Evan Godfrey and Dante Jones had manipulated the vote for that result.

And why did they do that, Jon?

And therein lay the dagger that remained stuck in Jon Brewer’s heart.

The entire plan had hinged one thing: Evan Godfrey saw Jon as an easy target for manipulation.

He was right, wasn’t he?

Yes.

Jon Brewer could command armies in the field, lead expeditions to the Arctic North, and turn a desperate battle against insane robots into a victory. But he could not lead a nation. In fact, he feared the very idea of such responsibility.

When Evan and Dante—supposedly Jon’s friend— proposed an easy way to escape that responsibility, Jon grasped it like a drowning man thrown a life preserver. He told himself it all sounded sensible. He told himself he considered Evan’s proposal intelligently and concluded that, yes, The Empire needed institutions and bureaucracy to survive and grow.

He had then handed it all over to Evan Godfrey, telling himself it to be a grand gesture to willingly give away power for the betterment of the people.

You ran away. Just like you ran away when your Guard unit was overrun during the invasion.

Eventually Jon Brewer realized his mistake and sided with those seeking to expose Evan’s conspiracy. This resulted in saving both Trevor and his son as well as the destruction of a gestating invasion force off the eastern seaboard.

In the end, however, it came down to one thing:
I let Trevor down.

Jon felt certain that if it had not been for The Order’s surprise invasion Trevor would have shuffled his Generals. But he was too busy breaking up the Senate and re-organizing it to his liking; finding and executing those involved with the conspiracy; and gutting Internal Security in order to rebuild it as another extension of Trevor’s will, much like the military.

He had not the time for upsetting the military hierarchy, not with California turned into a giant graveyard. And that is why Jon remained number two. Yet he still had trouble looking Trevor in the eye.

The transport landed in a parking lot not far from Eagle One. Jon exited with Omar and an armed escort. They weaved through throngs of medics, engineers, and makeshift stretchers carting wounded to emergency triage areas. A few of the soldiers stopped to salute, but most appeared too busy to notice the general and his snappy black uniform with gold insignia.

Jon led Omar to the wounded and charred communications center. In they went and up to the second floor where they found Trevor studying maps on the main table. As they entered they heard Casey Fink ask The Emperor, “I don’t understand. What is it you’re looking for?”

“The heart of the enemy,” Trevor answered without taking his eyes from the map.

The commotion of Jon’s group entering finally stole Trevor’s attention.

“Jon? What the hell are you doing here?”

Exactly the reaction Brewer expected but before he could convey his well-rehearsed response, Omar pushed to the front of the group.

“I insisted he bring me. I need to speak with you.”

Trevor appeared both annoyed and confused.

“I don’t have time, Omar. We’re kind of busy out here,” and returned his attention to the map in a manner that suggested both Omar’s dismissal and Trevor’s obsession over an idea.

Omar spoke as forcefully as anyone had ever heard, “I have to tell you something, Trevor. My wife told me to tell you. It’s a message from her.”

“Omar, I have to figure out—“

“YOU WILL LISTEN!”

A quiet settled over the room. A stunned quiet.

Trevor stood straight and the glare in his eyes demanded explanation.

Omar glared back.

“You put my wife in that hole. You told her to understand these things. Well she understands now, Trevor. She is not the woman she used to be. She never will be again. I blame
you
for that. So you will listen to the message she has sent because I think it is why you wanted her there in the first place. She understands now, Trevor, and you must, too.”

Trevor licked his lips and considered.

“Okay, Omar, I’m listening. What is it she understands?”

“She understands why the universe is empty.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. Omar did not waver.

“Clear this room,” The Emperor commanded.

5. Déjà vu

Eagle airships create very little sound even when descending. Nonetheless, Ashley plainly heard the arrival of the transport because it came moments before dawn’s first light, disturbing the gentle chatter of the day’s first songbirds.

The sound caused her to sit up in bed not because it woke her—she had already been awake—but because the arrival of Eagle One to the lakeside mansion came as a surprise. She had not expected Trevor’s return for quite some time. Well, in honesty, based on the reports in the media and whispers overheard, she wondered if Trevor would
ever
return from the front.

Unlike other returning soldiers, Trevor would not receive a romantic homecoming from his ‘wife’. Ashley walked by his side and played her role in the grand scheme of The Empire, but it had been years since she had shared her bed with him, having moved to one of the guestrooms quite some time ago.

Nonetheless, she grabbed a thick white robe and walked along the hall to the main staircase. As she neared the bottom, the front door opened and Trevor hurried in flanked by his Rottweiler bodyguards; their spiked silver collars glinted in the dim light.

“Trevor? Is something wrong?”

“Where is JB? Is he awake?”

“What? Jorgie? At this hour? The sun isn’t even up yet.”

“Ashley, I need to speak to him.”

The voice of the couple’s son carried out from a dark spot further along the first floor hallway.

“I am here, Father.”

Ashley finished her descent of the stairs and stood next to Trevor in the hall. JB—who had turned nine years old on the same day Voggoth’s armies blasted through the Rockies—revealed himself in the gentle light of a lonely lamp. He wore racing car pajamas and clutched a soft little stuffed animal—Bunny—wrapped in a small blanket.

A tremble in the boy’s body suggested Jorgie felt frightened.

Ashley took backseat to Trevor on all things, except her child. When she had awoke from the strange green goo that had transported her through time along with thousands of other people to ‘ride the ark’ like life boats escaping the initial storm of the invasion, Ashley had come to know that very little in the world belonged to her, including the man she once loved.