"Mrs. Stone, do you think it was right for your husband to assassinate the human leaders of The California Cooperative when the war was already won?"
Usually surprise questions would not catch Ashley unprepared, but she had been lulled into daydreams. Her smile faltered enough that the reporters sensed an opportunity to strike.
"Were you shocked at the number of Imperial casualties?"
"Any plans to set up an adoption program like this for the orphans in California?"
She spoke to the man with the cowboy hat and two children, "Thank you for adopting. Unfortunately, I believe our pleasant morning has come to an end. If you'll excuse me…"
Ashley motioned for the family and their new pets to follow her assistants away from the brewing skirmish. Those assistants wavered, unsure if they should abandon her. Ashley, however, had become quite adept at handling the press. But in case she failed, just outside the peripheral view of the reporters lingered Gordon Knox, a guard dog in his own right.
She answered, "The California invasion was unfortunate. I only wish the extraterrestrials had chosen to return to their home, instead of causing more destruction to ours."
Gordon smiled in approval causing Ashley to smile a little, too, as they shared the fun in her playing the press. Yet beneath her smile lingered that unease.
"Don't you feel any remorse over all the human casualties?"
"I grieve for all the victims of the alien invasion, including the millions murdered in California by the Witiko. I admire the people of California for fighting against the aliens for five years. I wish we could have helped them sooner."
"Is it the Emperor's plan to overrun any government that opposes his rule?"
"Trevor's plan has been the same since the early days when he gathered a handful of survivors on the grounds of this estate: expel the invaders who came to our planet without provocation. Even as we speak, millions of human beings around the world remain enslaved or living in harsh conditions, something to which every citizen of The Empire can relate. It remains our duty to save those people the same way Trevor, directly or indirectly, saved each of us."
Unable to knock her off balance, the four reporters hesitated.
She took the opening to end the session: "Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day."
Ray Roos jumped in and led the reporters toward the main gate. Ashley watched them go, purposely keeping her eyes on the group longer than needed. When she felt she could avoid it no longer, she turned toward the corner of the mansion. Gordon had gone.
– Trevor Stone finished lunch in the basement cafeteria of the Methodist church near the estate. Dustin McBride long ago painted a caricature of the kitchen's founder, Sal Corso, on a wall behind the counter. Sal had died in a Red Hand-or Feranite-attack that first year.
As Trevor climbed the stairs and exited the building with his faithful companion Tyr at his side, he found it ironic that Dustin had painted the picture of Sal who had been killed by the Red Hands and now, far away in the mountains of Colorado, Dustin's cavalry tracked a large band of those same alien warriors through the wilderness.
According to the latest report, snowfall during April had inhibited the pursuit for weeks. The search restarted, but the unit faced slow going in the rough terrain along the Colorado and Wyoming border. A lack of available air reconnaissance assets-due to California commitments-aggravated the situation.
Reports from other quarters offered better news. The surviving five Witiko Stingrays were safely under military control. Furthermore, while the highest ranking Witiko officers remained in Internal Security holding areas preparing for testimony before the Senate, a large portion of the rank and file had shuffled through the gate. Dante, it seemed, managed to do something right.
That thought gave him pause. He considered that maybe he was being too hard on his old friend. Dante, no doubt, felt stuck in the middle. And while the I.S. Director sometimes seemed too close to Evan, Jones had managed to smooth things over after the New Winnabow affair. Without his negotiations the situation could have deteriorated.
Trevor arrived at the mansion and entered. Lori Brewer's voice carried along the hall from her office in the old dining room: "Alllrrigghtty then, would you like me to get Trevor on the phone? He personally requested those food stuffs get up to Renton this week."
Of course, Trevor did not know a word of what Lori discussed but he approved, nonetheless. She had her own way of getting things done.
Just like Dante? Maybe he has his own way, too?
Trevor climbed the stairs to his second floor office where Dante Jones stood at the glass balcony doors, staring out toward the front grounds of the estate and the lake waters.
He spoke without turning, "I really didn't want this job when you first gave it to me. But I figured it would be easy, right? I mean, back then there were hardly any of us. So even though I didn't have any experience being a cop, I figured I could just use my common sense and all. Man, things have gotten a lot more complicated."
Trevor crossed the room and stopped several paces behind his old friend.
"Yeah, well, I didn't want you to handle Internal Security because of experience. Back then, no one had experience doing anything. The way I saw it, the slate was wiped clean. A new start for everyone. So I wanted you nearby. Maybe I was selfish, but the truth is that I wanted my friend at my side because I always could trust your judgment." "Seems to me, Trev, you don't trust my judgment anymore." Trevor ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and stood alongside his friend. "I'm sorry. Two weeks ago, at Stonewall's service, I jumped all over you. I shouldn't have done that."
"Yeah, well, I kinda guessed that you weren't jumping all over me. You were jumping all over the Senate, I just happened to be standing nearby."
"I suppose," Trevor admitted. "They're old style politicians, the type of people who let Earth fall the first time. I don't trust them to do what is right."
Dante glanced at Trevor then away, refusing to hold eye contact.
"Well buddy, you had better start listening to what's going on out there, because there's a lot of people on the street who don't trust you right now, either."
In the last two weeks the idea of a military-intelligence conspiracy and questions about the prosecution of the California war grew from isolated columns and protests to speeches on the Senate floor, news specials, and 'rallies' in Washington D.C. Not out of control; not yet, but reminiscent of the problems after New Winnabow.
"Things will calm down," Trevor tried to convince himself. "Most of the media is still pro-war. We just have to sit back and let the fires burn themselves out."
"That sounds like Knox talking. Truth is, if you do nothing it's going to get worse."
"Oh? What is it you think I should do, Dante?"
Trevor stopped himself. He heard a tone creeping into his voice again, the same tone he had used with Dante at the Capitol two weeks ago. Dante had come today for some kind of reconciliation- something. Trevor did not want to chase him away.
Dante asked, "Tell me, why do you think people are giving you shit about this?"
Trevor waved a dismissive hand, "There are some politicos out there who want to stir up headlines for themselves. Don't think I haven't noticed Godfrey doing most of the talking. Of course, politics is his game, not mine."
"Then you better make it your game. This isn't a handful of survivors any more, Trevor. This is a full-blown nation, man. Like it or not, it is a lot like America was."
"No, it isn't. I won't let it become that again," Trevor walked away from Dante with disgust building in his belly. "America lost the invasion. Do you want politicians to come back into style? Do you want the Evan Godfreys of the Senate holding us back?"
"I'm not the one who wants that, Trevor. You are. You're the one who makes them hold things back."