Jon asked, “How do you figure that?”
“If this is a challenge, well, to put it in the best way, I guess, don’t think of it as a football game with a scoreboard and a clock. Think of it as ski jumping or gymnastics with judges and score cards. Less objective, more subjective. If the judges start to think we’re beaten then they’ll pull the plug on us. That’s what happened to the Feranites.”
Lori asked, “But what is it you’re planning to do? And why?”
Trevor answered, “I’m going to hit the heart of the enemy. All this time we keep thinking about the Chaktaw, the Hivvans, the Duass and the rest as the people we need to be fighting. But that’s playing by the rules. To win this we have to go around those rules. I’m going after Voggoth.”
“Pardon me,” Shep said, “but like Brett said, don’t you think you’ll need an army for that?”
Gordon’s voice joined the fray from the foot of the table: “Our European friends have been waiting a long time, Trevor. We’ve been shipping them weapons and supplies, but I still don’t think they’ll be happy when you show up without firepower. Maybe you should take the Chrysaor, at least. We can tough it out without her for a while.”
“You’ll need it more,” Trevor answered. “You have to hold out. Don’t let Voggoth hand them a victory. As long as we’re still fighting on a large scale there’s hope. Besides, I don’t want to attract attention to this trip. I’m hoping to fly under the radar.”
Trevor could see questions boiling beneath the surface of each of the attendees, but the time for those questions had passed. He slowly and deliberately worked his way around the table, making eye contact with each of them.
As they had during those early days, during the protracted war against the Hivvans, during the invasion of California, they looked to Trevor for hope, for strength, and for direction. Apparently seeing the wires and the trap doors did not completely diminish the magician’s magic. Maybe there was more to Trevor Stone than the gifts.
He saw his good friend Lori Brewer whom he had known since childhood. At times he felt her to be the only conscience he had. He glanced at Jerry Shepherd and remembered convincing him and his small band of police officers to join the estate.
Trevor turned to Jon Brewer. Twice Jon had held the reins of power and twice he had dropped the ball. Yet on the battlefield he knew Jon to be a valiant soldier and a brilliant strategist. He trusted Jon to fight to the death on the Mississippi.
Trevor took a moment to put his hand on Jon’s shoulder and look at his friend. Jon returned the stare and saw confidence in Trevor’s expression. Trust. The time had come for The Emperor to show faith in his general again.
Trevor then found Gordon’s eyes at the far end of the table. As he expected, those eyes glared back big and strong. Of course, Gordon’s strength would falter when he moved away from the table on wheels instead of legs, but something or someone had given Gordon the courage to return to the conference table. Trevor hoped that courage would last.
Eva Rheimmer and Brett Stanton sat side by side. Of all the people at the table Trevor thought those two to be the least appreciated. Eva pre-dated all the others; Trevor had made contact with her and her husband before the end of that first summer. He had convinced them to share food from their farm in exchange for K9 protection. That deal planted the initial seed of success.
As for Brett, the years had proven him to be a logistical and manufacturing genius. The dreadnoughts would never have grown from blue prints to flying battleships without his work. Indeed, their armies would have run dry of materials long before ousting the Hivvans if not for Stanton.
Trevor turned his gaze to Omar who sat quiet with a sagging, half-ash cigarette dangling from his lips. From the first matter-maker recovered in the hills of northeastern Pennsylvania to the anti-gravity catapults on the dreadnought flight decks, Omar turned alien technology into human weapons. His contributions were now only matched by his sacrifice, for Anita Nehru would never be the same.
At last he found the blue eyes of Nina Forest. Once, a long time ago, he thought those eyes cold. Were they still icy? He could not say. She did not remember what they shared but he remembered; remembered all too well. The pain of losing her made him more the monster. How many times over the years could he have used her compassion? After the slaughter at New Winnabow, the revelations of another Earth, the discovery of the Presidential redoubt in the heart of Cheyenne Mountain-times of regret, of shock, of horror-but he had had nowhere to turn.
He moved his eyes away. A feeling of guilt or maybe bashfulness overcame him. As if he felt a crush on a school girl who could never know.
Trevor pushed those thoughts from his mind in favor of something he had meant to say a long time ago.
“We’ve been together for a long time, haven’t we? We’ve come a long way, too. Everyone at this table has reason to be proud of what we’ve accomplished this far. We’re all that’s left. Along the way-along the way we lost some good friends,” Trevor considered and said with a chuckle in his voice, “and some not-so-good ones, too.”
Flashes of uncomfortable smiles.
“I have been honored by your trust in me. The truth is that you people have often been my strength. I hate that we will be apart for the end of this, but you all have jobs to do and I know you will do them with excellence. I have faith in you. As for me, I was told from the beginning that I have a path to walk. I suppose that my end was meant to come the same way it began; alone.”
8. Fond Farewells
The Eagle airship waited on the launch pad. Trevor exited the mansion and stepped across the grounds flanked by a Rottweiler escort. Rick Hauser loitered alongside the ship’s entry ramp. High overhead the sun began its descent behind the estate. In another hour it would disappear on the far side of the western mountain wall of the lake.
A lot of thoughts played in Trevor’s mind. He had laid it all out for his friends and yet he knew so little about the big picture. Perhaps that had been the trap since day one. As long as Trevor Stone played his part in the game then the greater powers had nothing to fear.
To hell with that.
“Sir! Do you have a comment on the course of the war?”
The shout came from one of three reporters who pushed themselves just inside the main gate. A pair of human guards held M16s to keep them back while several K9s-Dobermans and Trevor’s escort-formed a second wall of protection and flashed their canine teeth.
Up until six months ago the front gates of the estate were continually mobbed by a dozen or more reporters and cameramen. How times had changed.
One good side effect of Voggoth’s invasion.
Most of the reporters either served at the front as soldiers or served at the front as battlefield reporters. Either way, the 24-hour news cycle that had returned to The Empire in recent years had receded.
“Yes, I have a comment,” Trevor changed his trajectory and stood behind the row of protective K9s. “Those who are able to fight need to answer the call again, just as they did in the early days of the invasion. This is a desperate battle and no one can sit it out. I urge all persons of all ages and of all medical conditions to report to military centers in their regions and volunteer for duty.”
“Are you off to the front? Where are you going?” A reporter asked.
Trevor answered, “I’m going to visit an old friend.”
He turned away as the reporters scrambled to decode his answer. However, Trevor found himself more befuddled than the reporters when he saw that someone had moved to block his path to the Eagle.