He suffered no illusions. In the Armageddon war Trevor did not fight for a greater good; he fought to save his species. An ends justified by any means and the responsibility for those ‘means’ lay squarely on his shoulders. His responsibility.
It is over.
“No. It’s not over. Not yet.”
“What is that?”
Trevor realized he spoke aloud and disturbed Alexander’s conversation.
Trevor repeated, “I said, it’s not over yet.”
“I do not understand,” Alexander’s mouth hung open in what appeared to be a pang of fear. Perhaps he worried the dictator had not yet tired of wielding power; a power born from the fires of this conflict.
Trevor wondered if his doppelgangers on parallel Earths would refuse the order to stand down. Would they- would he — accept the end of the war that gave him his power in the first place? Would the despot walk away from the throne so easily?
He envisioned settlements all across his Earth waking up tomorrow to find the war over. How many petty warlords had Trevor’s Empire found in North America alone? What would happen to the isolated islands of survivors struggling to live another day? A lack of adequate food and medicine could kill as efficiently as Hivvan guns or Witiko rockets.
The war against the invaders had ended. The purpose given to the survivors by the goal of victory now gone. What will fill that vacuum?
“There’s something more left to do. Alexander, let me borrow your clipboard.”
He tentatively handed the board and pen to Trevor who wrote feverishly on a blank page.
“Armand,” Trevor called as he scribbled
The gallant motorcyclist stood near the hotel’s front desk sipping a glass of something-and-vodka in celebration of the day. He quickly discarded the drink and walked fast to the rows of furniture near the fireplace.
“Yes, Trevor?”
“I need you to do something. You and your cavalry,” Trevor glanced at Alexander and added, “With your permission, of course. I have a message that needs to be sent.”
Alexander-still wary-asked, “One last order from an Emperor?”
“An invitation. My last-my last act, if you will.” He turned to Armand. “Will you and your riders deliver it?”
“Where to?”
Trevor told him, “Everywhere.”
The messengers began their journeys in convoys of 100 or more but divided into smaller groups as their paths branched off in different directions. The larger cruiser models were vital to each mission due to the cargo capacity for extra provisions, but eventually almost all the riders needed to live off the land for weeks at a stretch despite fuel trucks sent along major routes to top their tanks as often as possible.
Many fell victim to the extraterrestrial predators roaming the wild lands or bandits of various species. Others lost their way never to be seen again. The world remained a dangerous, unforgiving place with pockets of civilization-alien and human-surrounded by vacant cities and barren wastelands. Plenty of the riders failed to find fuel reserves and ran dry, changing them from riders to walkers or other means of transportation. Nonetheless, they searched for pockets of humanity and carried Trevor’s invitation to the world.
The second week in July, couriers stumbled upon a community of Ukrainians, Russians (mainly former naval personnel), and Tartars living around the harbor and old fortresses of Sevastopol on the Crimean Peninsula. Nearly a thousand fishermen, farmers, and children of the new age gathered to hear the invitation.
By the end of that month the message found tribes surviving in the mountains outside of Almaty in southeast Kazakhstan-boat people hiding in the fjords of Finland-and nomads herding goats and hunting in the Carpathian ranges of Romania.
During August, the word reached far across Asia where remnants of the Russian and Mongolian armies had battled the Geryon Reich’s garrison at Ulan Bator for a bloody decade. Hostilities had ceased nearly two months before as part of the general armistice but Trevor’s invitation brought post-war direction to the combatants and they eagerly accepted the invite.
Around the same time, Duass water transports conveyed Armand himself to their prison colony on the Greek island of Mykonos, where the human POWs found the reason behind their liberation in the words of Trevor Stone’s message.
In late September, couriers who had traded in their motorcycles for horses came across the stubborn remains of the PLA’s 38 ^ th Mechanized group at their Baoding base 100 miles south of the ruins of Beijing. Since the first days of Armageddon, 5,000 soldiers and civilians held the city against Geryon battleships and Steel Guard Golems. Time and war had eroded any ideological objection to the invitation while Geryon-supplied foodstuffs proved the sincerity of the truce.
Back in North America, Jon Brewer received the message via HAM radio with the added information that Trevor Stone lived and would return ‘soon’. He and his generals spent the time rebuilding infrastructure.
With the help of Chaktaw and Centurian aides, Jon and Jerry Shepherd oversaw the demolition of dormant gateways in Atlanta, Sacramento, and Northern Mexico. Based on the concept of ‘leave well enough alone,’ such gateways had remained observed but untouched after being shut down by the runes six years ago. Demolition charges placed at specific points disintegrated the structures-of various design-into harmless pieces.
Ambassadors reached the Hivvan holdings in the Caribbean and brokered the return of human prisoners there. At the same time, well-armed rebel forces in Trinidad and Haiti agreed to release hundreds of the intelligent bipedal lizards they had captured in recent years, many in as poor physical condition as human slaves freed from Hivvan labor camps.
Mass graves holding victims from both sides were uncovered; a rogue human sniper killed a Centurian inside a declared alien safe zone; an anti-air missile fired from a Chaktaw position knocked a Chinook transport from the Missouri sky killing a dozen men onboard-but the truce held.
Jon Brewer had overcome great odds in war; he worked just as hard to maintain the peace. He sat in judgment at a junior officer’s hanging for shooting a Hivvan prisoner; he accepted a Geryon Captain’s assurances that the soldier responsible for badly beating a human civilian would be severely disciplined.
Alien consulates were established in vacant Pennsylvania cities to serve as staging points for repatriation and with each day more of the invaders found their way home through the runes in the caves behind the estate.
Centurian soldiers as well as civilians-the offspring of an invading army-came from across the Americas to the empty streets at Towanda. Soon they would come from outposts scattered across the world. Chaktaw personnel gravitated to Tunkhannock, Geryons established a community among the farms and rural homes of Huntington Mills. Eventually such bases for the Duass and Hivvans would be needed.
By autumn, hundreds of invaders from those civilizations returned to their home worlds via the runes. Thousands more waited to make the trip. Considering the runes served as the only means of returning them home and considering the spread of invaders across the globe-often times grossly off their original intended mark-Jon Brewer estimated it would take at least three years to complete the task, assuming they could contact and establish transportation for all the extraterrestrials in a reasonable amount of time.
That job grew easier as the aliens sought out that exit as part of their new orders. The Geryons proved the easiest to assemble. Their airships offered effective transportation from their primary bases in Asia to northeastern Pennsylvania. The dirigibles made constant sorties while human airliners helped shuttle evacuees from points across the North American continent.