"The attack today was not merely an attack on Trevor's life or my life, but an attack on humanity. I join my friends in grieving the loss of the man responsible for saving our people and turning the tide of war against the invaders. In the same way in which I have personally suffered injury in this assault, The Empire has been wounded. But like me, The Empire will recover if we work together. I call for all citizens, community leaders, and officers of the military to rally behind the temporary leadership of General Jon Brewer. Furthermore, this act of aggression demands a swift and overwhelming response. I stand by our military commanders as they, no doubt, prepare devastating retaliation. While my injuries will limit my duties the next few weeks, know that I will ensure that the armed forces have the resources and bipartisan support they require to deal righteous vengeance upon the Centurians who were responsible for this tragedy."
Jon Brewer sat in the Excalibur's Captain's Hall, his head in his arms on the wide, vacant table. In front of him sat a speaker phone dialed into a conference call with three other people.
"We know what comes next," he spoke. "After what happened three years ago, Trevor left instructions about what to do."
Brett Stanton-Director of Industry and Manufacturing-answered, "Well now wait, that puts you in charge for up to thirty days, right?"
"The ranking military General will be the highest authority for up to thirty days. During that time, a new Emperor will be elected from among the members of the full Imperial Council, to be voted on exclusively by the current members of that council."
Lori Brewer spoke in a wobbling voice, "Was this whole thing to set up an invasion?"
"I spoke to Shepherd. He's moving from Colorado down to Texas just to keep an eye on the border, but so far no signs. Prescott is dug in on the west coast. The Tambourine line off the east coast has been online for weeks now. Not a peep from anywhere. All is quiet, I guess."
"Too, um, quiet," Dr. Maple said the obvious line.
Lori asked, "Where is…he?"
Dr. Maple understood and answered, "Internal Security took custody of the remains. I believe Dante Jones is in possession of-I mean, he is with, um, Trevor."
"We'll, now, I guess we're going to have to think about arrangements," Stanton said.
"I spoke to Dante earlier," Jon told them. "He had a good idea. He said we should have the body tour The Empire. Sort of a glass coffin, I guess, so all can pay their respects. Doc, I hate to ask this but-" "No fear, um, General, the remains will be, um, suitable for viewing. I can see to that." Lori asked, "So what do we do now?" — From May 24 ^ th to May 31 ^ st, the body of Trevor Stone traveled the eastern half of The Empire in a glass casket accompanied by an honor guard of Grenadiers and soldiers. The first train stop came in Baltimore where Nina Forest, her daughter, and Jerry Shepherd laid their hands on the casket in the Mt. Clare roundhouse at the B amp;O Railroad museum.
When it stopped in Raleigh, North Carolina, the procession drew nearly three hundred thousand from across the south. The people of Dixie felt a special connection with the man who had freed them from the Hivvan slave camps.
Stops in Tennessee, Missouri, and Indiana drew smaller crowds but those who did attend often braved long drives through hostile wilderness.
Columbus, the shipyards in Pittsburgh, the military academy at West Point, and the slowly rebuilding metropolis of Manhattan each hosted thousands of mourners.
The last stop came at Public Square in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, the first city Trevor Stone saved. Internal Security closed off downtown, creating a line of pedestrians stretching for a mile to view the leader lying in state at the center of the square.
At the forefront of that line walked Ashley, her son JB, and Benjamin Trump-Ashley's father-surrounded by Jon and Lori Brewer, Dante Jones, and the Nehrus. Further back followed the remainder of the Imperial Council except for Evan Godfrey who remained under a nurse's care at his home outside of D.C.
Unusually cold weather greeted the memorial; temperatures dipped into the high forties but felt worse due to a sharp wind. The mourners-dressed in heavy coats on the last day of May-entered the square from the south, passing the human and canine honor guard.
The casket rested on a round stage surrounded by floral arrangements and photographs of Trevor at historic moments, including a famous picture of him standing at the steps of Atlanta City Hall with a dirty, tired face and a well-used assault rifle in his bloody hands.
Ashley and JB approached the body with grandpa a step behind. Ashley had spent two days practicing the moment. She knew the eyes of The Empire watched.
With her eight-year-old boy holding her hand and her father's arm on her shoulder, Ashley peered at the still body of Richard Trevor Stone, his eyes closed, his hair neat but still shoulder-length, his hands clasped over a heavy dress uniform.
As the softer side of the Emperor, Ashley had attended more viewings and funerals than she cared to remember, either by her husband's side or as the only available representative of the ruling sect. Many times the body on display looked quite different from the person who had lived that life. Sometimes relatives would say "he looks good" while others would say "it just doesn't look like him at all".
The Trevor Stone inside the glass casket looked exactly like the man who had lived Trevor Stone's life. Indeed, the figure inside the coffin seemed sleeping, not lifeless. The embalmers, she noted, had done good work; his skin appeared smooth and perfect, lacking the hard edges that had grown there during years of battle.
JB stepped closer, pulling at his mother's arm. When she gave no ground, he stood on his toes and craned his neck for a better view.
"He's at peace now," Benjamin Trump consoled through watery eyes as he recalled the funeral for his wife who died of breast cancer two years after 'riding the ark' with the rest of her family.
Ashley raised a handkerchief to her eye. Surprisingly, she shed no tears at that moment as her mind focused on projecting the proper image, but that image demanded a handkerchief and tears, so she went through the motion.
She had lived ten years as a character called "the Emperor's wife," and now she needed to play the role a while longer for the good of others, no time for her own feelings. Perhaps, she thought, Trevor had felt this way for the last decade.
The three moved away from the casket and stopped off to the side where they waited for their friends to pay respects.
Dante Jones, waiting behind the Brewers, ran an arm over his forehead to clean away beads of sweat that had formed despite the cold day. As he did, he caught sight of Jorge pulling his mother to a stoop so as to whisper in her ear. As Ashley listened, her eyes grew wide in something akin to shock, but she regained control and painted on the face of a consoling mother dealing with a child who could not comprehend the truth of the day.
Dante turned his attention to the memorial as his turn came. He approached the coffin, glanced at the contents, closed his eyes, bowed his head, then moved off, making way for Eva Rheimmer and Brett Stanton.
He stood next to Ashley, curious as to why she appeared annoyed at JB even though her son remained quiet and still.
When that curiosity got the better of him he asked her, "What was it JB said to you?"
Ashley, a little surprised at Dante's intrusion, answered, "It was nothing. He's trying to cope. He doesn't understand." JB, overhearing, faced Dante Jones and repeated what he had whispered. "That's not father." — The malaise that had gripped The Empire after the assassination burst. First came the financial markets; they fell apart. Inflation turned Continental Dollars into worthless paper. This led to labor problems, shortages, and a spike in unemployment, but surprisingly little violence.