"Yeah. Okay. And The Committee, do they have lots of friends?"
Nina slumped in her seat and ran a hand across his cheek. "Yep. They’ve got lots of friends. Some in the technical departments. Some in operations. A whole bunch in logistics and supply. Why, they’ve even got some friends in the officer corp."
"Some?"
"Yeah. I figure two out of the three Legion Generals are their friends."
"Not Director Snowe though, huh? He runs the Third Legion, right?"
The Major told him, "That's right. You should know that Jakob-Snowe-is the one who got us the inside skinny on how to get over and fetch you. He’s pretty well connected."
"But The Committee has two out of three. On my world, we say that ain't bad."
"On my world we say ‘give things time.’ Word of the Emperor being back is starting to spread. I mean, officers see those readiness reports. They hear about things like knocking a Battleship out of the sky. Those things make an impression."
Trevor looked out the side window and considered. Despite the uneasy feeling her suggestions conjured in his belly, he nodded, and told her, "Well, I always like to make a good impression. I suppose I’ll be on my best behavior…for now."
18. Memories
General Jon Brewer stood in his wife’s office on the first floor of the estate. A stack of newspapers recently couriered over sat atop her desk. The style and quantity of those papers varied, ranging from glorified pamphlets preaching God's role in the invasion to broadsheet publications nearly resembling the big-city papers of yesterday.
She grabbed one and handed it to him. The headline blared: IS TREVOR STONE DEAD?
As he stared at the words, his hands trembled.
Not quite a week ago, Evan Godfrey had interrupted the covert council meeting with threats of insurrection. Their tale of a secret mission had not sat well with the Senate "President", but Jon could not blame Evan for the leak. Indeed, this headline did not really come as a surprise.
Trevor Stone had not been seen in nearly three weeks. For a man who served as the glue holding a fragile empire together, such a disappearance could not go unnoticed for long.
Canceled meetings, a pile of reports requiring response, armies awaiting orders, overdue political appointments…the list of outstanding items in need of Trevor's input accumulated fast, and the press-as fledgling as it was in the post-Armageddon world-took notice.
Jon and the others around the estate could only say, "Trevor is not available" or "he'll get back to you" so many times before people became suspicious. No doubt rumors of Omar's mysterious science team or the surprise, frantic offensive by General Hoth in Ohio raised those suspicions even more.
Now things came full circle. Evan's questions in a basement last week had become headlines in the newspapers. If things did not get resolved soon, all that they had gained in more than six years of fighting could be lost.
"Hey," Lori pulled Jon from his thoughts. "I love you. It’s going to be okay."
He looked up from the article. "I love-."
Gordon Knox stuck his head in and interrupted, "Jon, you had better come with me."
First, Jon felt it important to finish, "I love you, too."
With newspaper in hand, he followed Knox to the basement nerve center…
…Ashley Trump stood in the mansion's master bedroom, staring at one of the two big closets there. Specifically, his closet.
She took a deep breath and then slowly-as if fearing booby traps-opened the sliding door. There she found a crowded rack of clothes, mostly military but also dress suits, jackets, and even a tuxedo she had never seen him wear.
Using both hands, she parted the clothes and peered into the darkness behind. As her eyes adjusted, she saw old shoes and boots, a rifle, and a large cardboard box.
Ashley dropped to one knee, leaned in, and grabbed for the box. Her hands slipped the first time she tried to yank it from the shadows. A second attempt succeeded.
She retreated from the closet and opened her prize, finding memories inside. Like an archeologists, she dug into Trevor's past.
On top, photos of his parents as well as a baseball mitt scavenged from his old home.
The next layer revealed a high school diploma as well as his degree from Luzerne County Community College.
She dug deeper, beyond articles cut from the Baltimore New Press fawning over the liberation of Columbia and Atlanta, through scathing clippings concerning New Winnabow.
Below everything, hidden under the son’s memories and the Emperor’s legacy she found a small square box with a blue lid, no emblem, no markings, no clues.
Ashley held the box in her hands, both of which trembled as she opened the lid…
…The spongy Nerf football floated in the February air after leaving the hand of Benjamin Trump. It spun and wobbled with a trajectory far removed from a spiral.
Jorge Benjamin Stone-looking clumsy in his heavy blue and red winter coat-stumbled left then right as he adjusted to the ball’s approach which bounced off one arm, the other, then fell to the ground where it rolled in the quarter inch of snow on the mansion's front lawn.
"That a boy Jorgie! Good try!"
"Ah, darn," the kid cursed his fumble.
"Throw it on over to grandpa, kiddo!"
The older man continued his personal quest to keep his grandson distracted from the fact that he had not seen his father in almost three weeks.
Jorgie, as much as he missed his dad, had not yet broken down into fits of hysteria or tears. Indeed, grandpa and the boy’s mother were both impressed-perhaps even disturbed-by how well JB handled the separation.
Don’t worry mommy, father will be back soon.
I just can’t wait until father comes home so I can show him my new drawings.
JB picked up the ball, cocked his arm, and then flung a wobbling pass to his grandfather…
…The three plasma screen televisions along the wall in the basement conference room carried video from three difference sources.
One played a tape of the previous night’s NBN news broadcast.
Another replayed a recent report from a station in Virginia covering events outside the Governor’s residence, a stately 19 ^ th Century home that doubled as regional military headquarters.
The third streamed the live local signal from a regional television station.
Jon Brewer stood in front of the three screens. The sights and sounds of the three different feeds mixed together into one jumbled mash of descending chaos that conspired to hypnotize the General like a deer caught in oncoming headlights.
Gordon Knox hovered behind, his eyes darting from screen to screen to absorb each new sight; each new implication. His mind calculated and recalculated with every new image.
Two other men occupied the basement conference room, both couriers from Imperial Intelligence and responsible for delivering the tapes now playing for their superiors.
"Our top story is the disposition of Emperor Trevor Stone. It has now been well over two weeks since the last public appearance…"
"The protestors are refusing to leave the grounds until someone from the Imperial Council admits that Trevor is no longer in charge of…"
"You’re looking live now at a food distribution center outside of Hazleton. The crowds began gathering early this morning as rumors of the Emperor's death spread like wildfire…"
"…our reporters have camped outside the mansion at Harveys Lake in a so-far futile attempt to get a response to our inquiries…"
"…I asked several of the demonstrators if their presence was encouraged by members of the Imperial Senate. While they denied that these protests are politically motivated, there is no denying that the Senators themselves are jockeying for position should Stone in fact be gone…"
…Ashley pulled two photographs from the blue box and absently strolled from the bedroom into the adjoining office with her eyes glued to the images.