Trevor’s expression corkscrewed from befuddlement to fear then to understanding.
“I can’t believe it. Holy shit, I really don’t believe it.”
“What? Now you listen, Trevvy, I don’t have time for whatever bird-brained idea that might be scheming in that noggin’ of yours.”
“I get it now. I see,” and Trevor did. And it frightened him. It also angered him. He directed his anger at the Old Man. “You’re in denial. You refuse to see what Voggoth is doing here, is that it? What’s wrong, this wasn’t part of the agreement?” Trevor sneered, “Just a token force. Just to observe. Just to keep us on our toes. Bullshit.”
“Watch it, now. Listen here. You can’t understand. Your little brain-“
“It’s you who doesn’t understand. You can’t believe it, can you? You can’t believe that Voggoth would break those precious rules of yours and send a full-blown army to wipe us out. I’ll bet he did the same to the Feranites, too, didn’t he?”
The Old Man’s virtual eyes widened at the mention of the Feranites, a race originally nicknamed by humanity as the Tribe of the Red Hand. While in the clutches of The Order’s torture machine, Trevor’s mind had traveled to the alternate Earth where the Feranites battled for survival. They lost.
He pushed the Old Man, “You keep talking about the rules of this little game you dragged my people into, but those rules don’t mean shit. Voggoth is here, Old Man. Why I’ll bet he’s right here, on this Earth, overseeing the whole party; I’ll bet that is against those rules of yours, too. He’s going to wipe us out unless you and your buddies do something to help.”
The Old Man did not say a word. He sort of gaped at Trevor like a lost puppy. That filled Trevor with another idea. A very unsettling one.
“Of course,” Trevor paced the aisle as he went on. “Let me guess, they aren’t talking to you anymore. How would you put it? Hmmm… Okay, let’s try this: they ain’t takin’ your calls n’more, are they? This is the Duass, we’re not home right now please leave a message and we’ll get back to you. Beeeepp.”
“Don’t push Trev. You don’t know-”
Outside the base’s air raid siren churned to life again. The screaming klaxon caused a pause in the conversation and it also gave Trevor another surge of anger.
He continued with a fierce edge in his voice, “You know why they won’t talk to you anymore? Because they don’t mind you losing, that’s why. So what if Voggoth is doing more than he’s supposed to on this planet. Why, I’ll bet they don’t even know what he’s doing here-they don’t want to know. They refuse to look. Deny it, even, like people who hear someone screaming for help but don’t want to be involved so they block it out. You’re being blocked out, Old Man.”
“Stop it, now.”
“As long as it’s not them, it’s all good. Why I’ll bet he’s whispered in their ear something like, ‘the humans have been breakin’ the rules so I’ll just even the odds a bit’ or ‘hey, Mr. Hivvan, just turn the other way while I do this and I promise to help you out on your world, too.’ That leaves you out in the cold, Old Man. It’d be funny, but I’m stuck in the freezer with you.”
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.