"That's right. Now you need to take control. Can you do it, Jon? Can you?"
His eyes wavered. His fingers drummed the desk and he muttered, "I've tried to do what I thought Trevor would want me to do; to keep it all going. The last time he left, we almost started fighting each other. I couldn't let that happen again."
"You're a good man, Jon, but you screwed up."
"I screwed it up last time, too, by not compromising. This time I bargain, and I fuck that up, too. I'm not made out for this. I'm not a leader."
She warned, "Stop thinking too much. I hate to say it my husband, but that's not who you are. You do things. You're not a politician. You don't sit around wondering about every little detail. You're a soldier and you have a mission, now. Our friends are in trouble, our country is being run by a traitor, and if you don't take things by the balls we may never have a chance to fix it. So what is it going to be? Are you going to fight, or are you going to run away again?"
His mouth hung open for a moment as she tore open the old wound of his cowardice. The wound he had worked to heal every day since Trevor Stone had brought him to the estate.
The pain of that hurt-of that shame-stung. His heart beat fast. In a flash he saw Trevor taking him to track Devilbats in what was more a test of Jon's courage and trustworthiness than it was a hunt. He saw the Wyoming Valley Mall exploding in a massive fireball with an army of crazy mechanical Roachbots inside. He remembered leading an expedition to the Arctic Circle to capture the runes.
He could not have done any of that had Trevor Stone not trusted him; had his friend not re-energized Jon with spirit and confidence. And when the time had come for Jon to play caretaker of Trevor's dream he faltered and handed it over to Trevor's greatest adversary, all because he had been afraid to lead; afraid to fail. Jon slammed a fist into the desktop. The pain felt good. It felt real. The General of Trevor Stone's armies commanded, "Get our daughter over here. Our transport leaves in five minutes." "What are you going to do?" "What I should have done a long time ago." — In 1992 the one billion dollar Pittsburgh International Airport went on-line and became one of the most important hubs east of the Mississippi. In its wake remained the old Greater Pittsburgh airport. Allegheny County tore down the main terminal building there to make way for an air cargo center and business park. Nonetheless, neglected tarmac cracked to make way for weeds, chain link fences rusted and parking lots became black-topped wastelands, and all that happened before the end of the world.
Ironically, that one-billion-dollar shiny new Airport crumbled under the weight of a pitched battle between Pennsylvania National Guardsmen and Duass War Skiffs the first summer of the invasion, leaving behind a smoking mess of tax payer investment. In contrast, the abandoned airport found new life with The Empire's dreadnought program.
As the chopper carrying the Brewers descended to a helipad near the main administrative buildings, Jon spied the spoils of his grand vision floating overhead.
The Excalibur cast a shadow over most of the facility. Hovering maintenance platforms that resembled scaffolding atop anti-gravity saucers encircled the ship. In the distance-beyond the flagship's shadow-lingered another vessel nearly as large, this one shaped like an American football with large engines at the rear and a gigantic nameplate reading Hercules.
The Hercules, Jon knew, was the second ship in the Super Cargo Carrier program: essentially massive flying warehouses designed to transport huge amounts of supplies.
Trucks and carts whizzed along terminal roads, between hangers, to and from the cranes and platforms beneath the floating battleship, taking no notice of the descending helicopter.
One man did take notice, however. Brett Stanton and an entourage of technicians approached the chopper as the pilot disengaged the rotors. Jon exited with his wife and eight-year-old daughter a few steps behind.
Stanton removed his cap just long enough to wipe sweat from his brow. The shade of the floating behemoth did little to stave the July humidity.
"General," Stanton offered a cautious smile. No doubt the surprise visit raised his antenna and the presence of Jon’s entire family piqued his curiosity more. "What brings you out here?"
"What's the status of my ship?"
"Well, now, let's see. We've re-energized the anti-grav generators. We're about half way done with engine maintenance but haven't gotten to weapons systems, though they look in good shape. We still have a lot of paint and body work but before we're done we'll get her looking pretty again for you. Anyways, we still have to get started on the flight deck and I'm re-calibrating the radar and tracking systems. I'd say she'll be ready to go in three more weeks."
"I thought you'd be further along by now."
"We're not doin' so bad. Well, no, now I guess that's not exactly true. Seems our new Secretary of Defense keeps calling me and scrambling my priorities. He put the Hercules over there at the top of the list; bumped you down a notch. Thought you knew."
Jon glanced at his wife then back to Brett.
"No, I didn't know. I've been kept in the dark about a lot of things, Brett."
"You don't say? Yeah, well now, I'm sorta out here on an island by myself, so I know what you mean. Then Dante Jones will call one day and drop a fly right in my ointment."
Jon asked, "What about the crew?"
"Most of them are on leave. No planes, either; they were shipped out for maintenance. Now there's an engineering team onboard, military police pulling guard duty, some maintenance people, and Bear is up there with the bridge crew running simulations. Oh yeah, some trainees learning to fly Eagle transports from your launch pads. But other than that, she's a ghost ship." Jon asked, "You have a medical team here, right? I'm going to need them." "General, can I ask what it is you're doing here?" Jon laid his cards on the table. "I've come for my ship, Brett. I'm taking her."
Stanton did not react; not at first. He removed his cap, ran an arm across his forehead, sighed, and looked General Brewer straight in the eye.
"It's 'bout goddamn time."
– Less and less light shone through the windows of the guest bedroom in Jim Brock's modest home. To Nina, it felt as if the day dragged: every minute seemed an hour every hour seemed a day unto itself.
In her line of work, waiting came with the territory. She knew how to wait. She had once waited for three days in a Florida swamp searching for some kind of dinosaur-thing terrorizing settlements outside of Orlando. One time she had waited inside an air vent for twelve hours to avoid Hivvan sentries in Atlanta.
But this time things felt different. This time Nina did not retain control. She waited for others to act. She waited to see if her conversation with Lori Brewer would result in a rescue, or an I.S. team crashing through the front door.
She also waited for something else. She waited for Gordon Knox to die.
Nina sat in the guest room alongside Gordon's bed after convincing Ashley to take a rest on the living room sofa. Gordon's chest rose and fell erratically as his breathing hastened and slowed, hastened and slowed. Occasionally he turned his head from side to side, or even opened his eyes for a few moments.
Yesterday Jim's doctor friend had set up an IV with antibiotics and fluids, but none of that mattered. Gordon would soon die: any minute, in fact, unless Brewer could save the day. Jim Brock's wife pushed open the door. It creaked, a little. "Hi," she said and entered the room. "I'm just going to clean up." "Oh, yeah, sure."
The small woman with a figure that held extra weight from recent child birth walked to the nightstand with the intention of removing discarded bandages and cloths.
"How is he doing?"
Nina yawned before answering, "No real change. The Doc said that every minute is a roll of the dice. I mean, he's not going to make it much longer." "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry we barged in on you like this." Ann Brock did not reply with words, but the flash of a scowl on her otherwise pretty face offered answer enough. "We really took you by surprise," Nina added.