"No, man, I know you never wanted any of this. I get it. But when it comes to Godfrey, you've got an ego. You once told me that you'd do anything for the great cause, right?"

  From the moment he had been given responsibility for humanity's survival he knew he had to be a leader like no other. Everything he did must be to further the cause. Sometimes that meant standing his ground with complete resolve, other times that meant a humiliating retreat in order to live to fight another day.

  He could do all that…yet refused to swallow his pride and deal with Godfrey.

  Dante said, "Some of the shit that's happened these past few years has really, you know, divided everyone. You act like you don't trust Internal Security and you don't trust the Senate. In fact, you really dig on them sometimes, like you're trying to insult them. You got to remember, those people got elected so each one of them has some kind of following. When you pick on the Senate, their voters take that personal."

  Trevor opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again.

  Dante went on, "You need to show some confidence in I.S. and in the Senate. Show the people out there that you respect these, I guess, institutions. Maybe you've got to kiss some ass, but you've done worse in the name of keeping things together." "What exactly does Evan want? A campaign donation?" Dante threw his arms up, grunted, and walked toward the door saying, "Never mind, Caesar. Forget it." "Wait." Dante stopped and turned to face Trevor but his eyes found the floor. "What does he want?" "He just wants to meet with you, man." "Great, have him come up and we'll meet." "No," Dante shook his head. "You need to go down there, to D.C." "What? Why?"

  "To show that you respect what they're doing down there. Don't you get it? All you need to do is go down there, kiss some Senate ass, and meet with Evan on his turf. Show him and the other Senators some love. Show the public that you aren't some kind of brutal dictator. You know what people are thinking about that missile strike, Trev? They're thinking maybe next time it might just be your political enemies at home. That maybe anyone who speaks out against Trevor Stone might end up the same way."

  It angered Trevor that Dante would suggest such a thing but the very emergence of that anger caused him to stop and wonder. On that other Earth, a Trevor Stone had led invaders to the Chaktaw's world for conquest. On that other Earth, this Trevor Stone had touched his own dark side. If alcoholics were told that they could never be cured until they admitted a problem, could the same hold true for despots?

  He held his temper and replied, "So I go down there and bow down to the great politicians. All that does, Dante, is weaken my position."

  Dante stepped forward and sold the package: "Not if Evan he holds a press conference, praises your leadership, and commits to keep the war going beyond the U.S. borders."

  Trevor stood shell-shocked at the idea of Godfrey supporting the war beyond old America's boundaries.

  Dante reacted to Trevor's gape, "That's right, buddy. With Godfrey supporting it, anyone else who speaks out against the war will be on their own. You won't have any hassles, the Senate can go on worrying over the shit you don't care about, and everyone will be happy."

  "All Godfrey wants is a little respect? If I do this, we announce it to the press and all?"

  "Evan suggested that you just announce you're going to D.C. to meet with him. Don't make it seem arranged. Then it'll come across like you two had a real heart-to-heart which ends up with you thanking him for what the Senate is doing and him giving you his full support."

  Trevor's mind spun. He could not believe Evan Godfrey had given up the game. He felt certain that the Senator plotted some political trap and that he had turned poor Dante Jones into an unwitting accomplice. Nonetheless…

  "I'll think about it."

  Dante looked Trevor in the eye for the first time during the conversation and asked, "What have you got to lose? What's the worst that could happen?"

  – After Dante delivered Evan's olive branch, Trevor strolled the halls of the estate for two hours trying to come to some sort of conclusion. He could list a dozen reasons why he should not reach out to Evan. How could a man be expected to make good with another who had slandered him so? Who stoked dissent and, possibly, even violence?

  Trevor decided not to go, and immediately heard Dante's voice ringing in his ears: "Trevor murdered them…maybe they had a better idea, a different idea. Everything around here has to be exactly as Trevor says, right?"

  No, Trevor would not do this for Evan Godfrey, but he might do it for Dante. Maybe if he took this one little step-showed this one concession-then when Evan springs his political trap Dante would see the truth about the Senator. If not, and if Dante stayed this close to Godfrey, Trevor would have to replace him. Maybe with Ray Roos.

  By the time Trevor descended the steps to the council chamber in the basement, he had decided to go to Washington D.C., next week, meet with Evan Godfrey, go through the motions, and walk right into whatever game Evan meant to play. Trevor knew he always managed to out maneuver the Senator, perhaps whatever Evan planned would backfire; maybe even drive a stake through the pest's heart. More important, perhaps Trevor could repair his friendship with Dante Jones and prove to both himself and 'the people' that he would not become a tyrannical dictator.

  Trevor found several dozen soldiers in the basement, some with bazookas, others with flamethrowers, even a few with mortars. They were plastic, of course, and scattered across the top of the otherwise vacant council table.

  Those particular troopers ran in the ranks of JB's army, no doubt mustered to face a phalanx of Duass infantry or grapple with the metallic monsters of the Geryon's Steel Guard (forces Trevor had encountered on that parallel Earth and believed to be in Asia on this world). However, JB battled a more immediate threat. He crept along the wall next to the armory door with a rolled newspaper in his hand. "Um, JB?" JB held a finger to his lips, "Sshhhh." Trevor listened and, after a moment, he heard JB's prey: the buzz of a fly as it flew around the ceiling light above the table. The boy raced forward, swung his newspaper, and missed the insect. It buzzed off. "Trying to slay a fly, son?"

  "Yes," Jorge Benjamin Stone answered in a stout voice. "It has been annoying me. I don't think I can finish the big battle with this constant buzzing in my ear."

  Trevor nodded the way fathers nod at young boys about such things.

  JB circled the table, cocked his newspaper, and swatted yet again. This time Trevor heard the sharp flap of the weapon striking home. JB grew a huge grin on his face and tracked down the corpse with glee.

  "There! That fixed him!"

  Jorge scooped up the dead bug with the newspaper and threw it in a waste basket. Pleased at his victory, he moved to the table and re-positioned his toy soldiers.

  "Well done, son. You took care of that pest."

  JB did not respond. He appeared devoted to his command.

  Trevor briefly pinched the bridge of his nose then walked to the head seat at the table; the place where he usually held council with his advisors about war, the economy, industry, and more. This time, in the empty room, he came to tell his son that he would be leaving next week for D.C. JB, however, pre-empted his father's speech.

  "You're going away again."

  "How do you know that?"

  The boy remained fixated on plastic tactical maneuvers but paused long enough to answer in an emotionless voice, "I can sense it. It's in your voice, whenever you bring me bad news," he changed the subject to his toys, "My army is going to engage the Centurians. The odds are great, but I anticipate victory."

  Trevor shook his head in amazement. He knew his boy to be special; knew it long before Dr. Maple found far more neurotransmitter types in JB's brain than the typical human being. Their purpose? Unknown. Trevor figured someday they would find out.

  In any case, JB had a way about him. A greater understanding of things. Most boys would hate their father leaving so often for dangerous missions or important meetings. Jorge embraced it. Encourage it. Yet this time JB sounded not quite as enthusiastic.

  "I'm sorry JB. But I'll be here for your birthday tomorrow, and most of the rest of the week. Are you excited about turning eight?"

  Jorgie replied with a huff that suggested he had grown weary of answering questions about his birthday. "Yes. I am excited."

  A silence grew between the two, punctuated only by imaginary gunfire. However, after a moment a new sound caught Trevor's ear: another buzzing insect flying overhead.

  "Uh-oh," Trevor said. "Sounds like we have another intruder. Better get that newspaper."

  To the contrary, JB remained focused on his battle.

  "I will have to let this one go, father. If I spend all my time dealing with pests the battle will never be won. You understand, don't you?"

  Trevor smiled politely, having listened to his son but not actually hearing.

  9. Sic Semper Tyrannis

  Prior to Armageddon, the Sikorsky Super Stallion helicopter transported officials of the American government. Now the plush interior of leather seats and fancy trim accommodated a new breed of politicians.

  The shudder reverberating through the craft and the constant drone of whirring rotors reminded Trevor why he preferred to fly in quiet, smooth Eagle shuttles. However, the theme of the day was "Trevor loves Internal Security and the Senate," so bye-bye Eagle One, hello Internal Security VIP transport.

  As bad as he found the situation, his elkhound, Tyr, suffered more due to his acute senses. The dog curled at his master's feet as if trying to hide from the noise.

  His escort also included Ray Roos and plain-clothes I.S. agents, all part of the plan to emphasize subtlety. After all, an entourage of soldiers and a dreadnought floating above Evan's home would have spoiled the whole sucking-up-to-Godfrey ambiance Dante felt necessary.

  Nonetheless, he remained well protected. A squad of agents secured the interior of Evan's home, army units from the Washington D.C. garrison manned checkpoints a mile from the meeting site, and the Excalibur waited on station to the south outside of Richmond.

  Still, the phrase for the day was "low key." Trevor had arrived in D.C. in time for a breakfast with Chairpersons of several Senate committees. A tour of the rejuvenated Smithsonian followed where updated exhibits included a small but working matter-transformation machine taken from the Hivvans, a collection of extraterrestrial gear, and a Duass War Skiff.

  Trevor particularly admired a twenty-foot interactive diorama depicting the collapse of Washington D.C. during the invasion a decade ago. The display included a two-inch replica Skip Beetle outside the Pentagon and toy-sized Hivvan Battlebarges advancing along Pennsylvania Avenue. A narrator stoically relayed information such as, "the Texas delegation turned the Hart office building into a modern Alamo where they survived for three weeks," and "the junior Senator from New York fell victim to a Crawling Tube Worm inside the Capitol Building."

  Dante accompanied Trevor for most of the morning, but as lunch neared the Internal Security Director broke away from the main group to visit the Tambourine Monitoring Center. That station collated information from the smaller stations up and down the east coast that stood as an electronic fence protecting against attack from the Atlantic.

  An hour later, Trevor boarded the helicopter and departed from Capitol Hill crossing the Potomac on course for Evan Godfrey's estate outside of McLean, Virginia.

  Trevor glanced across the aisle at Ray Roos. The man's usually thin face appeared a little more drawn that day; a tad pale, maybe.

  "You okay, Ray?"

  Roos answered, "Yes sir, just fine thank you. Guess I don't like it too much in D.C. with all these Senators walkin' around and all."

  "I know what you mean," said Trevor as he glanced out one of the portals to view the scrolling streets, expressways, and-the further they flew-woodlands and gentle hills.

  While Washington had been cleansed and pacified, most of the homes in the metropolitan area and suburbs remained empty. In fact, in terms of population Washington ranked behind Miami, Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia, although D.C. did surpass New York in residents.

  The helicopter overflew a cluster of softball fields, making Trevor think of baseball and how Jorgie neared Little League age. He thought about all the other 'ages' Jorgie would soon see, and how many already passed by.

  Trevor knew he was not the father he wanted to be. He loved his boy greatly and he tried to spend time with his kid. If home, he would tuck JB to bed, often times reading him a book or telling stories from the war (edited to not incur mommy's wrath). He would wrap the same stuffed bunny in the same little blanket every night, and while that might sound silly, it had become an important ritual to both Trevor and his son.

  JB's eighth birthday party had gone well, exactly the type of get together they needed in the wake of Stonewall's death. The Nehrus, Knox, Dante, and of course the Brewers attended, not to mention hordes of children including Catherine Brewer. JB's favorite gift came from Jerry Shepherd: a Feranite war cloth; essentially woven threads painted in bright colors to symbolize a chief's great victories. For Trevor, it served to remind that a band of Red Hand nomads remained at large in the Midwest.

  "We'll, looks like we've arrived, sir," Ray said as the helicopter descended.

  Godfrey lived in a colonial-style home nearly as large as Trevor's lakeside mansion. The red brick appeared recently re-pointed and three sharp gables gave it a taste of Victorian style.

  The Sikorsky lowered to the finely manicured lawn behind the home, a yard large enough to accommodate one of those softball fields Trevor spotted during the flight.

  Trevor saw no cameras or reporters, but that had been the case all day. The itinerary called for no media before or during their get together. Presumably, when finished, the two would address the media together in a dramatic showing of solidarity and mutual respect.

  The helicopter landed. The rotors powered down. Trevor glanced out the window, noting Evan and several I.S. guards standing at the rear of the home near a colorful garden of red, orange, and yellow. Still, no sign of cameras. Whatever political trap Evan planned to spring would either not need the media or could wait until they addressed the reporters after lunch.

  Or, a part of Trevor suggested, maybe Evan is really reaching out here. "Sir, this way," Roos directed Trevor to the exit. "You sure you're okay, Ray? You don't look so good." "Fine, sir."

  Tyr went first, Trevor and Roos followed with four bodyguards not far behind. Evan approached Trevor wearing a big grin; so big and so forced it could only be phony.

  Trevor glanced to his left and noticed the beautiful but simple design of the Godfrey mansion. Not quite as flashy as Trevor would expect from a man so concerned about image. He then looked to his right and surveyed the open expanse of well-kept lawn surrounded by forest.

  "Trevor, I'm very glad you could come."

  The two met half way.

  "How could I refuse such an invitation. Besides, Dante Jones twisted my arm. He seems to think that I have misjudged you all these years."

  Evan's phony grin changed, a little. His teeth flashed; his eyes narrowed.

  "Yes, Trevor. You have misjudged me."

  A low, electric humming that Trevor recognized as the quiet engines of an Eagle transport drifted to his ears, pulling his attention to the rear of the yard. From there flew in-low and fast-one of The Empire's white Eagle transports.

  The sudden appearance of the shuttle startled Trevor for only an instant. He had anticipated a political trap and was only surprised that no cameras played to capture whatever grand embarrassment the President of the Senate planned for The Emperor.

  The ship landed and the passenger compartment opened. Out poured men in white and red body armor with full face plates-no, not men. Aliens. Centurians or, as they had been nicknamed during the battle of Wilkes-Barre, "Redcoats," the original owners of the Eagle shuttles.

  In a flash, Trevor understood that an extraterrestrial assault team landed in Evan's back yard. It took Tyr even less time to smell the threat.

  The dog charged as the attackers fired their first volley. While those energy blasts missed the K9, the shots did hit the ground next to The Emperor and the Senator. The explosive impact sent both of the men first into the air, then onto the beautiful green grass. Trevor's head hit hard, but he remained conscious.

  He heard small arms fire as well as the crackle of energy bursts. Trevor felt a hand haul him up, expecting it to be Roos, but it was a member of the estate detachment. The man pulled an Mp5 machine gun and returned fire while struggling to drag Trevor to cover.

  Trevor should have come to his senses and acted, but the sight he saw in Evan Godfrey's yard confused him. He saw alien plasma bursts firing into the air and into the ground; not really hitting anything. He saw Tyr rip into the arm of one of the Redcoats, but the alien reacted sluggishly, as if not feeling the pain. He spotted Godfrey cowering on the ground, arms over his head. He saw some of his escort firing at the attackers, knocking at least two of the dozen aliens to the ground with solid hits. He saw other I.S. agents firing at… firing at other I.S. agents.

  "To the chopper!" Shouted the guard holding Trevor's arm.

  Something streaked by Trevor. Something hot. Then he felt a warm liquid splash on his cheek. That liquid came from the man dragging him toward the helicopter; blood from his head. The hot thing had been a bullet fired by another I.S. agent, one from the estate, a short man with gray hair who held his pistol steady in both hands for the best possible aim.

  Tyr bolted at that gray-haired agent, clamping down on the short man's arm. With his free hand, the agent blasted the Norwegian Elkhound, exploding the skull of Trevor's friend.

  Another energy bolt hit at Trevor's feet, sending him rolling. He looked up and saw that while almost the entire security detail had died, the majority of the Redcoat aliens remained alive but stood still with their rifles held aloft but not firing, not advancing. Trevor pulled himself to a sitting position and called, "Evan! Are you okay?" Ray Roos cast a shadow over Trevor and pointed a gun at his boss saying, "He's fine, but you're dead." The gun fired. Trevor felt a hot sensation in his chest and his limbs went numb… — Chaos.