The scouts behind them descended and approached. Trevor waited patiently, secure in the knowledge that he may very well be facing the last moments of his life.
The Major grunted a pout as her rifle and pistols were pulled from her grasp by the hooded soldiers. The Chaktaw then herded Trevor and Nina down the slope toward the wide, flat floor of the crater.
The main group of Chaktaw descended the far side of the pit along a sloping path. When they reached the bottom of the gully, they fanned out to form a receiving line of sorts.
Trevor and Nina walked slowly to meet that assembly. The balance of the Chaktaw infantry jogged and stumbled across the rim of the crater high above to either side. Trevor found it a surreal sight.
Ahead waited an entourage. No doubt Fromm’s entourage. They formed two lines so as to funnel the strangers to the center between a corridor of bodyguards and officers
Trevor felt their hatred for him. He could feel it through their heavy combat ponchos, from behind the goggles that covered eye slits. Their anger at the invader, the murderer, the killer.
It did not surprise him when one of his escorts shoved him from behind. First a hand that sent him stumbling, then a rifle butt knocked him to a knee.
He stood with his hands held high, empty palms plain to see.
Nina took a punch in the shoulder and fell forward, but they did not stop moving; the escorts drove them forward as if they were obstinate beasts in need of encouragement but deserving of no compassion.
The guards lining the high ridge of the crater watched like an audience in the coliseum eager to see the lions feed.
Another shove, then a kick. This time Trevor fell to the dirt. A small puff of smoky dust rose from the impact.
A guard slapped Nina’s head. A rifle jabbed in to her back. She coughed a cry of pain but kept on her feet.
Stone wiped away the dirt with one stroke, held his hands high once again, and stumbled forward amidst another shove. Another hate-filled push.
Two walls of Chaktaw closed in on either side of the contemptible prisoners. Some wore their combat gear, their eyes hidden behind hoods and goggles. They stood like statues as the escorts drove Trevor and Nina forward.
Some did not cover their heads. They wore simple but rugged uniforms that lacked any flare. They were human in general shape and design, but with puffy faces and barren scalps surrounded by tufts of hair.
Another nudge; another trip and Trevor fell to the ground with Nina beside him. He tried to stand but a rifle smacked into his knees. Apparently the privilege to stand had been revoked. He and Nina knelt before the leader of the Chaktaw.
Every thing stopped. The wind whipped overhead as it dipped into then out of the crater.
Trevor recognized Fromm. The Chaktaw leader stood out from his brethren in the same manner that the Fromm he had killed at Five Armies stood out: one green eye and one of hazel.
To his surprise, however, a human woman-skinny and malnourished-stood among Fromm's entourage. Her messy brown hair and sad brown eyes suggested a beaten woman despite any sign of wounds. While he did not recognize the face, he certainly recognized a slave. The leash around her throat held by a Chaktaw soldier accentuated the fact.
She stepped forward and translated for Fromm, speaking in an unnatural monotone that suggested her humanity had retreated deep within her shell.
"You are Emperor Stone. We believed you to be dead."
Trevor kept his eyes focused on Fromm and answered, "I am not the same Stone."
Fromm's lips clamped shut and his eyes of two different colors appeared to bulge in the slightest. Trevor easily recognized that the Chaktaw leader stood at the edge of rage. After all, how would Trevor have greeted the Hivvan leader or one of The Order's Bishops?
The translator took Fromm's words and spoke, "Jaff told us your stories of universes and duplicates. I found those stories amusing. My amusement has ended. You will die."
Rifles pointed at the two captives.
Despite a stoic translation, Trevor heard the sarcasm as the woman relayed, "If any more Trevor Stones come, we will be sure to kill them, too."
"Wait! I know about the key. I can help you win this war. I have a gift for you."
A barrel pressed against his temple.
Fromm said, "I will kill every creature that does not belong on my world. I will leave you to rot on the ground as a warning to others that Earth belongs to the Chaktaw."
29. Bargaining With the Devil
The Internal Security guard raised a bull horn and tried to speak but the tremble in his lips made him stop and re-focus. After a moment, he found the strength to shout, "Disperse now!"
His command cut through the evening air with plenty of volume, but despite his best effort, did not sound authoritative in any way. He sounded, in fact, scared. Shouts and jeers from the crowd that had grown into a mob that would soon be a riot easily drown his hollow order.
That Internal Security agent and his six comrades stood on the lawn outside the Maryland Governor's colonial-style mansion. In this case, 'Maryland' was more a general territory as opposed to the rigid borders of the old state of the same name. The idea of state governments remained a fluid and vague concept.
Regardless, the Governors and the territories they governed were symbols of Trevor Stone’s control over "The Empire." They stood in contrast to the districts carved and marked to elect Senators, which became symbols of the fledgling 'democracy' movement.
No one had seen Trevor Stone in nearly two months. With a flimsy cover story on one hand and, on the other, activists warning that Stone was dead and the military had taken control, the settlements and outposts and mechanisms of "The Empire" threatened to unravel.
Had he been killed outright, perhaps the people would have shown more patience. His disappearance not only fueled speculation, it fueled fear. With fear came panic. With panic came mobs. With mobs came riots, as the case at the Governor's residence in Annapolis that night.
Internal Security agents held position inside a temporary chain link fence installed after gun shots hit the Governor’s residence two days ago. The crowd numbered close to one hundred protestors.
The I.S. agents noticed boards and bats and crow bars among the crowd. Fortunately, no sign of guns, probably because if the mob carried actual firearms they could no longer be billed as 'peaceful.'
Still, it made little difference because just last week the Governor's security detail had been cut in half, despite the growing threat to the residence. That decision baffled the local commander but since it came from the 'top' he saw no recourse. Of course, in recent weeks it seemed difficult to discern exactly who or what was at the 'top'.
"Disperse now!" The I.S. man shouted again although the only people who looked ready to disperse were the Internal Security agents themselves. Even the twenty Doberman Pinchers assigned to protect the Governor appeared unnerved by the growing volume of the crowd.
Instead of jeers, this time the mob reacted with action. The mass pressed forward into the fragile fence. It bent in and then the support poles-held in place by cinderblocks and stakes-buckled and fell.
Bottles and rocks rained on the security detail who lacked both body armor and non-lethal weapons. Their only tools were ineffective bullhorns and overly effective automatic weapons. With the choice being either flee or gun down the protestors, the agents chose the former and left the K9s alone to stem the tide.
The barricades collapsed and the mass of angry people swarmed the wide lawn, trampled the hedges, and stormed toward the house. With the human agents escaping via the back yard, the dogs could only buy time.