Dante held his arms wide and dared, "Fine, it's out of line. Fire me. Give the job to some lackey who'll do whatever you want without question. Hey Ray," Dante called over to the Chief of Security. "You want to be Director of Internal Security?"
Roos shifted uncomfortably but did not speak.
Trevor said, "You don't get out of it that easy. I want the Witiko through the runes fast."
"I can't do that. Senate's orders. You could veto those orders, but that means you'll be vetoing the law you signed, Emperor. Then again, you're all-powerful, right? Why don't you just make it up as you go along."
While the rest of the council stood and watched as silently as mice in a room full of cats, Shepherd asked, "How many of them fellas you got hold up?"
Dante, still looking at Trevor, answered, "Fifty officers, including Chancellor D'Trayne. They're in I.S. facilities in Kansas waiting for transfer to Maryland and Virginia. They've been separated from the rest of the Witiko civvies and grunts; the Senate only wants the officers."
Trevor stuck a finger at Dante, nearly poking his chest.
"The rank and file, through the runes. Top priority. I want those fifty Witiko to be the only damn Witiko on this planet by the end of the month. Shove aside the Hivvans and Duass and whatever, I don't care. All of their gear-Stingrays, weapons, whatever-gets turned over to the military and Intelligence this week. Got it?"
"Yeah man, I got it. Is that all, sir?"
"Dante," Trevor's voice cooled a notch. "You've been my friend since we were little kids. Don’t' screw us up now, just because you can't handle how things changed between us."
"Oh man, you don’t understand, do you, Trev? I'm still trying to be your friend. You just aren't letting me."
– Evan Godfrey lived on a sprawling, isolated estate not far outside of Washington D.C. The grounds were surrounded by tall trees, ensuring privacy and blocking the view of any prying eyes. However, the Senator often liked prying eyes, so at the front of the home by the circular driveway waited a pedestal and seating, always ready to accommodate a press conference.
On this day, no members of the press waited for words of wisdom from the President of the Senate. They were too busy in their newsrooms following the events of earlier that afternoon including the funeral procession, the massive crowds, and the Emperor's speech.
On the television inside Evan Godfrey's personal den played another speech, one he had made a few hours earlier from the grounds around the Washington monument.
After a snippet of Evan's words the reporter recounted, "The Senator suggests that a conspiracy exists between the military and Imperial Intelligence akin to the old military-industrial complex thought to have driven foreign policy in the 1950s and 1960s. As part of his heated remarks, the Senator questioned why we still plan to fight when the, quote, 'sea to shining sea' of the continental United States has been liberated and we still have much work to do within our own borders. Based on the response of the crowd as well as the prominent union and political figures in attendance, it's fair to say that the Senator found his message well-received." Godfrey switched off the television with a click on the remote control. His wife, Sharon, leaned on the desk. "Oh that's great, Evan," she mocked. "Another fantastic speech." "You just don't get it, do you?" "That's right," she recalled and rolled her eyes. "I’m not a good poker player." "Not playing poker any more. The game has changed."
"Is that so? Tell me, my loving husband, what game is afoot?"
Evan did not speak but Sharon got an answer as three men entered the room. More specifically, two men and one alien.
One man, an Internal Security guard, was quickly dismissed. The second was Brad Gannon, former actor and most recently an ambassador of propaganda for the now-defunct California Cooperative.
Evan addressed the third newcomer, an alien wearing a robe over a bodysuit and painted in silver cosmetic. "Chancellor D'Trayne, it is good to see you again."
The leader-turned-prisoner did not share Evan's good mood.
"Neither of you fulfilled your pledge to disrupt the invasion. I have nothing to say."
"You think not, Chancellor?" Evan motioned for the two to sit at chairs opposite his desk and, in the same motion, waved his wife from the room. She closed the door behind her.
Evan went on, "I've been speaking with Brad, here, and I think there are some things left to be done. But only if you approve, Chancellor, because I'm going to need your help."
"I do not understand, Senator."
"Brad here tells me of your…of your friends. Let's just say, I think we could all be friends. I think there are ways we can all work together, for the common good. The way you worked with Malloy for the common good in California."
D'Trayne's pupils glowed orange.
"I do not believe you are in a position to bargain, you have no power, Senator Godfrey."
Brad ran a hand through his jet black hair and said, "'Chancellor, Evan here is real high speed. And I've been talking to our friends, just like five years ago. They're interested in what the Senator here has to say. Man, I think we might just be on to something." "I say again," D'Trayne argued, "the Senator is in no position to make deals." "I soon will," Evan snapped. "Oh," D'Trayne grinned grimly. "Exactly what will you do to get that power?"
Evan turned on the television again. A news anchor reported, "Senator Godfrey's speech appears to have struck a chord. Several prominent community and business leaders have voiced concern about a link between war planning and what the Senator calls the military and intelligence complex…"
Evan answered, "I just need to make a few more speeches."
8. Bad Press
Ten years before, on the day the hellish creatures and invading militia appeared on Earth en masse, Richard 'Trevor' Stone had run away from the dead bodies of his parents and into the forest, where he met the Old Man.
A decade later on a surprisingly warm, mid-May morning nearly two weeks after the funeral procession for Stonewall McAllister, Trevor Stone entered those woods again.
Trevor consulted the Old Man on occasion, hunting for clues to the greater purpose of the invasion or to seek counsel. In both cases, his mysterious benefactor rarely provided any useful information, other than to remind Trevor of his purpose: kill all aliens.
However, in the three years since his return from an alternate Earth, Trevor tended to walk into those woods for something else: companionship, in some bizarre fashion.
The mixed eastern forest burst with spring, a stark contrast to the Fall-like brooding in Trevor's belly. Birds of Earthly origin swooped through the tree tops where young broad leafs grew a canopy of fresh green. Shrubs and wildflowers sprouted with color and the smell of life slowly overcame the rotting stench of last autumn's dead foliage.
Trevor found the Old Man sitting by his campfire with his white wolf. To Trevor's surprise, the Old Man seemed delighted about something. Trevor had not seen the old timer in such a mood since the day Trevor aired his frustration over nuclear warheads failing to detonate. The Old Man had found that whole situation amusing while physicists found it inexplicable.
The thing mimicking an Old Man noted Trevor's glum disposition.
"Now, what's got you all gloom 'n doom, Trev? The ways I see it, you should be making with the whoopee's. You put your toesies in the Pacific. Pretty good work."
"Yeah, sure," Trevor sat on red rock. "Can I ask you something?"
The Old Man rolled his eyes. When they had first met the entity told Trevor not to ask questions, yet Trevor rarely visited the Old Man and did not have questions.
"There is no other way, right? I mean, I couldn't have let The California Cooperative stay in one piece. The Witiko had to go, right?"