Dante Jones personally led the investigation. By the time Trevor was entombed inside a stone mausoleum on the grounds of St. Mary's cemetery south of Wilkes-Barre, the focus had narrowed to a few select lines of thinking.
First, the Centurians had flown from a secret base in Mexico, somehow avoided the various radar stations along the way including the intense monitoring around D.C., refueled their hydrogen engines at various rivers and lakes, and managed to ascertain The Emperor's schedule from news reports.
This theory held several obvious flaws but did offer a rather obvious motive: the Centurians must assume that the death of Stone would delay any attack on Mexico.
A more elaborate version of this theory suggested cooperation between the Centurians and the remains of the Hivvan Republic in the Caribbean. Both alien groups sat in The Empire's cross hairs; both would benefit from Trevor's death.
More theories arose, including a few from the most ardent pro-Trevor pundits that suggested a conspiracy involving Trevor's domestic enemies and the former residents of The California Cooperative. Those theories nearly gained traction, until the day after the last formal viewing of Trevor's body. On that day, Dante Jones and Jon Brewer were summoned to the Internal Security extraterrestrial penitentiary outside of Washington.
Chancellor D'Trayne of the Witiko resided in a well-appointed prison cell complete with mirror, vanity, and queen-sized bed. The guards treated him with respect. He counted Senators, media representatives, and peace activists among his daily visitors, and received meals prepared for his extraterrestrial palate
As Jon and Dante arrived at D'Trayne's cell, the alien sat down to just such a meal at a table facing the bars.
While the Chancellor received almost every luxury and necessity he craved, he did lack the silver cosmetic his people seemed addicted to. This made him appear somewhat uncomfortable-naked, even-with his gray skin on display for all to see, despite the toga he wore over a tight body suit. The Witiko, apparently, did not like to show their true colors.
Nonetheless, the Chancellor maintained a dignified tone in his voice. Confident, even.
"You'll have to excuse me, but I am a slave to the prison schedule," the alien insincerely apologized as he prepared to eat.
"Don't mind us," Jon said with an equal amount of insincerity.
A guard delivered a metal tin the size of a shoe box accompanied by a bottle filled with orange-tinted water. The alien placed a napkin on his lap, slid open the tin, and-with a small skewer in each hand-stabbed into the water-filled container causing a few drops to splash out.
"I'm glad you accepted my invitation. I feared you would not."
The Chancellor pulled a squirming fish from the tin and flopped it onto a plate next to a kind of creamed potatoes. He pinned the struggling food with one of the skewers then flayed the meal with a knife as he spoke.
"While you will find this hard to believe, I am sorry about the death of your Emperor."
"I'm sure," Jon sneered.
"I speak the truth. While I found him overly aggressive and myopic-I believe that's the right word-his presence did keep your tiny nation rather stable. Stability, the Witiko believe, is a worthy goal of politics. Certainly I wish he would have maintained that stability by not invading The Cooperative. Had he listened to reason, perhaps we could have forged a real friendship. An alliance, even, that would have benefited both our races."
"There's a reason you asked me to come here," Brewer grunted as his patience-already stretched thin-neared snapping.
The Chancellor's eyes flashed red as he paused to tear off a chunk of meat from the struggling fish and plop the bite into his mouth. As he chewed, Jon heard the subtle crunch of tiny fish bones. The meal, meanwhile, slowed its writhing but still lived.
The Chancellor noticed their stares. His eyes faded to pink.
"Forgive me. Your species prefers cooking your meals. The Witiko, too, often times thoroughly cook meat or vegetables. Yet we still consider it a delicacy to indulge in live meals on occasion. Perhaps it is an impulse left from our barbaric age, thousands of years ago. I suppose we all must come to grips with our darker sides."
"Wow, this is really interesting. But listen here, Chancellor, if you haven't noticed I’m in a really bad mood. So either get to the point, or I've got more aliens to find and kill."
D'Trayne paused with the bottle of flavored water at his lips and noted, "Yes, we all do have our dark sides, don't we?"
He sipped. Jon huffed. Dante placed a calming hand on the General's shoulder.
"Okay then," D'Trayne wiped his lips with the napkin and then placed the cloth on the plate. The fish there flapped its tail while liquid and guts from the wound on its flank oozed onto the plate. "It is my understanding that it was a group of Centurians who managed to penetrate your security and assassinate Trevor Stone. Based on your outburst," the Chancellor's eyes changed to a soothing green, "you plan to find and destroy them." "Yes, so what?" Dante shot. "You will have a difficult time finding them," the Witiko said. Jon and Dante shared a look and then returned their attention to the Witiko Chancellor. Jon assumed, "You know where they are, is that it? Is there some big alien club?"
D'Trayne folded his hands and told them, "Not exactly. But we did have periodic contact with the Centurians, including a few…'skirmishes.' They do think themselves so superior. Still, we managed to come to an understanding, if you will, to avoid further entanglements."
"Because you were too worried about wiping out humanity. Why start fighting among yourselves, right?"
The Chancellor wavered for a moment before answering, "We were content with our arrangement in California. However, the Centurians are a rather aggressive bunch."
"Why would they want to assassinate Trevor?"
D'Trayne eyed Brewer as if the human might be an idiot. His eyes flashed yellow.
"Of course you are not serious, general. I can think of a hundred reasons why any number of the forces on Earth-including some of your own race-would care to see Trevor Stone dead. However, as to the Centurians' specific reason, I do not know. I would suspect they see it either as retaliation for your famous victory over them ten years ago, or as the starting point for more dramatic action."
The fish stopped wiggling on the plate. D'Trayne glanced at it. His eyes sunk.
Dante said, "Sorry. Looks like we killed your lunch."
Brewer said, "So you're willing to tell us where they are. We just have to do what in exchange?"
"Jon Brewer, I only ask that you tell the people of The Empire that I provided this information as a token of good will, so as to prove to you that at least some form of cooperation may be possible between our two species."
"That's it? Not a get-out-of-jail card? Not a promise to allow you to stay?"
"Admittedly such arrangements would be nice. I do have an appointment to address your Senate. I expect you'll be keeping me on Earth until after that meeting, at the very least."
"Okay then, you got it," Jon promised. "If the information you provide is correct I'll make sure the press spells your name right." "You are an honorable man, Jon Brewer." The honorable man pushed, "We know they're coming up through Mexico." "The region you call Mexico is a big place." "You're already made that point. Now tell me where they are." The Chancellor's eyes cycled through several different hues before settling on green.
"A place you humans once called Monterrey. You'll find a small Redcoat facility there in the shadows of the mountains your maps label the Sierra Madre Oriental."
– Jon Brewer stood at the foot of the basement conference table two days after the meeting with Chancellor D'Trayne. During those two days, he had spent much time meeting with council members, Senators, and the media to explain the process for selecting a new leader.