The caller warned, "You have to know what's going on. I mean, things aren't the way the news is covering them. I've got nowhere left to turn."

  "Alrighty then. Tell me what you need."

  "First, there are a few things you have to know; that your husband has to know, about Trevor, about his son, about who is really behind all this. But they'll be coming for you soon. There isn't much time."

  "Then talk fast," Lori said. "I’m a good listener."

  – Jon glanced over the report again. The two divisions President Godfrey had ordered de-mobilized had been broken into smaller units and sent to their home bases. Their heavy weapons were secured in armories while most small arms went home with the individuals.

  Having been a soldier for much of his life both before and after Armageddon, Jon Brewer empathized with the boys and girls leaving the fight. They were with their families again, would find real jobs, and get to watch their children grow.

  Yet overshadowing his joy for the retiring warriors came a feeling of unease. Despite how strong the nation remained he could not help but worry that those two divisions made the difference between a quick response capability and forces spread too thin.

  The dreadnoughts, of course, remained his ace in the hole. But they were limited in patrol areas and focused on the east coast for the time being, with his flagship undergoing repair and re-armament across state at the Pittsburgh shipyards.

  His thoughts shattered as the door to the upstairs office burst open and his wife stormed in. The two dogs at the entrance jumped but relaxed when they saw a familiar face. However, Jon did not relax. He saw a fire burning in his wife's eyes and determination in her stride. He stood. Lori spoke. "You have to make a choice now, Jon. No more waiting." "What? What are you talking about?" Lori glared at her husband and said, "I just got off the phone with Nina Forest." "Nina? Where is she?"

  "You didn't do anything when Evan started tearing apart everything Trevor worked for. You took your orders like a good robot when they demoted you to a paper weight. You've put up with Dante Jones keeping you in the dark for weeks now and yesterday when you heard Shep was arrested you made a phone call. A god damn phone call! That's not the Jon Brewer I married. He could be an arrogant ass sometimes and a real stubborn pig head, too. But he didn't sit back and let things just happen. He made things happen, right or wrong. Is that man still in there? Can you stop being afraid of screwing up and do what you know needs to be done?"

  "Whoa, hey, what did Nina say? Where is she?"

  "Here it is in a nutshell, Jon. Dante Jones made a deal with the devil, I.S. tried to kill Gordon Knox but he's still alive, and a couple of days ago your President handed Trevor's son over to the Witiko; and they're just the front men for something worse."

  Jon's face turned red, he blinked fast, and he ran a hand over his crew cut.

  "How do you now this? Where's the evidence?"

  "The evidence is Nina Forest. You remember her, right? Back when it was just a handful of us, we could trust her to guard our backs. She was our friend. You wanna know something? I believe her. I trust her a lot more than I trust Godfrey or Jones or any of those sonofabitches who've pissed away everything. But it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."

  "Wow, wait, slow down…"

  Lori did not slow down. "You need to do something and you need to do it now because in a few minutes I’m guessing Internal Security is going to come looking for us and suddenly we'll be part of this phantom conspiracy."

  "Jesus Christ. This is out of control!"

  "That's right. Now you need to take control. Can you do it, Jon? Can you?"

  His eyes wavered. His fingers drummed the desk and he muttered, "I've tried to do what I thought Trevor would want me to do; to keep it all going. The last time he left, we almost started fighting each other. I couldn't let that happen again."

  "You're a good man, Jon, but you screwed up."

  "I screwed it up last time, too, by not compromising. This time I bargain, and I fuck that up, too. I'm not made out for this. I'm not a leader."

  She warned, "Stop thinking too much. I hate to say it my husband, but that's not who you are. You do things. You're not a politician. You don't sit around wondering about every little detail. You're a soldier and you have a mission, now. Our friends are in trouble, our country is being run by a traitor, and if you don't take things by the balls we may never have a chance to fix it. So what is it going to be? Are you going to fight, or are you going to run away again?"

  His mouth hung open for a moment as she tore open the old wound of his cowardice. The wound he had worked to heal every day since Trevor Stone had brought him to the estate.

  The pain of that hurt-of that shame-stung. His heart beat fast. In a flash he saw Trevor taking him to track Devilbats in what was more a test of Jon's courage and trustworthiness than it was a hunt. He saw the Wyoming Valley Mall exploding in a massive fireball with an army of crazy mechanical Roachbots inside. He remembered leading an expedition to the Arctic Circle to capture the runes.

  He could not have done any of that had Trevor Stone not trusted him; had his friend not re-energized Jon with spirit and confidence. And when the time had come for Jon to play caretaker of Trevor's dream he faltered and handed it over to Trevor's greatest adversary, all because he had been afraid to lead; afraid to fail. Jon slammed a fist into the desktop. The pain felt good. It felt real. The General of Trevor Stone's armies commanded, "Get our daughter over here. Our transport leaves in five minutes." "What are you going to do?" "What I should have done a long time ago." — In 1992 the one billion dollar Pittsburgh International Airport went on-line and became one of the most important hubs east of the Mississippi. In its wake remained the old Greater Pittsburgh airport. Allegheny County tore down the main terminal building there to make way for an air cargo center and business park. Nonetheless, neglected tarmac cracked to make way for weeds, chain link fences rusted and parking lots became black-topped wastelands, and all that happened before the end of the world.

  Ironically, that one-billion-dollar shiny new Airport crumbled under the weight of a pitched battle between Pennsylvania National Guardsmen and Duass War Skiffs the first summer of the invasion, leaving behind a smoking mess of tax payer investment. In contrast, the abandoned airport found new life with The Empire's dreadnought program.

  As the chopper carrying the Brewers descended to a helipad near the main administrative buildings, Jon spied the spoils of his grand vision floating overhead.

  The Excalibur cast a shadow over most of the facility. Hovering maintenance platforms that resembled scaffolding atop anti-gravity saucers encircled the ship. In the distance-beyond the flagship's shadow-lingered another vessel nearly as large, this one shaped like an American football with large engines at the rear and a gigantic nameplate reading Hercules.

  The Hercules, Jon knew, was the second ship in the Super Cargo Carrier program: essentially massive flying warehouses designed to transport huge amounts of supplies.

  Trucks and carts whizzed along terminal roads, between hangers, to and from the cranes and platforms beneath the floating battleship, taking no notice of the descending helicopter.

  One man did take notice, however. Brett Stanton and an entourage of technicians approached the chopper as the pilot disengaged the rotors. Jon exited with his wife and eight-year-old daughter a few steps behind.

  Stanton removed his cap just long enough to wipe sweat from his brow. The shade of the floating behemoth did little to stave the July humidity.

  "General," Stanton offered a cautious smile. No doubt the surprise visit raised his antenna and the presence of Jon’s entire family piqued his curiosity more. "What brings you out here?"

  "What's the status of my ship?"

  "Well, now, let's see. We've re-energized the anti-grav generators. We're about half way done with engine maintenance but haven't gotten to weapons systems, though they look in good shape. We still have a lot of paint and body work but before we're done we'll get her looking pretty again for you. Anyways, we still have to get started on the flight deck and I'm re-calibrating the radar and tracking systems. I'd say she'll be ready to go in three more weeks."

  "I thought you'd be further along by now."

  "We're not doin' so bad. Well, no, now I guess that's not exactly true. Seems our new Secretary of Defense keeps calling me and scrambling my priorities. He put the Hercules over there at the top of the list; bumped you down a notch. Thought you knew."

  Jon glanced at his wife then back to Brett.

  "No, I didn't know. I've been kept in the dark about a lot of things, Brett."

  "You don't say? Yeah, well now, I'm sorta out here on an island by myself, so I know what you mean. Then Dante Jones will call one day and drop a fly right in my ointment."

  Jon asked, "What about the crew?"

  "Most of them are on leave. No planes, either; they were shipped out for maintenance. Now there's an engineering team onboard, military police pulling guard duty, some maintenance people, and Bear is up there with the bridge crew running simulations. Oh yeah, some trainees learning to fly Eagle transports from your launch pads. But other than that, she's a ghost ship." Jon asked, "You have a medical team here, right? I'm going to need them." "General, can I ask what it is you're doing here?" Jon laid his cards on the table. "I've come for my ship, Brett. I'm taking her."

  Stanton did not react; not at first. He removed his cap, ran an arm across his forehead, sighed, and looked General Brewer straight in the eye.

  "It's 'bout goddamn time."

  – Less and less light shone through the windows of the guest bedroom in Jim Brock's modest home. To Nina, it felt as if the day dragged: every minute seemed an hour every hour seemed a day unto itself.

  In her line of work, waiting came with the territory. She knew how to wait. She had once waited for three days in a Florida swamp searching for some kind of dinosaur-thing terrorizing settlements outside of Orlando. One time she had waited inside an air vent for twelve hours to avoid Hivvan sentries in Atlanta.

  But this time things felt different. This time Nina did not retain control. She waited for others to act. She waited to see if her conversation with Lori Brewer would result in a rescue, or an I.S. team crashing through the front door.

  She also waited for something else. She waited for Gordon Knox to die.

  Nina sat in the guest room alongside Gordon's bed after convincing Ashley to take a rest on the living room sofa. Gordon's chest rose and fell erratically as his breathing hastened and slowed, hastened and slowed. Occasionally he turned his head from side to side, or even opened his eyes for a few moments.

  Yesterday Jim's doctor friend had set up an IV with antibiotics and fluids, but none of that mattered. Gordon would soon die: any minute, in fact, unless Brewer could save the day. Jim Brock's wife pushed open the door. It creaked, a little. "Hi," she said and entered the room. "I'm just going to clean up." "Oh, yeah, sure."

  The small woman with a figure that held extra weight from recent child birth walked to the nightstand with the intention of removing discarded bandages and cloths.

  "How is he doing?"

  Nina yawned before answering, "No real change. The Doc said that every minute is a roll of the dice. I mean, he's not going to make it much longer." "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry we barged in on you like this." Ann Brock did not reply with words, but the flash of a scowl on her otherwise pretty face offered answer enough. "We really took you by surprise," Nina added.

  "I'm not accustomed to soldiers at my door," she conceded as she eased to a sitting position atop the chest at the foot of Gordon's bed. Nina said, "But you've been very nice to us. Especially considering that you've got a new baby in the house." Mrs. Brock glanced at the ceiling, the floor, and otherwise avoided Nina's eye. "You don't like soldiers very much, do you? You don't like me."

  Ann Brock sat straight as if finding her spine and spoke quietly so as not to wake Gordon: "No. It's nothing personal. I don't like your kind."

  "And what kind is that?" Nina remained just as quiet.

  "Your kind, Captain. Those who live to fight."

  "You think soldiers love to fight? We're the ones who get killed and maimed."

  "No, not all," Mrs. Brock answered. "I've known plenty of men who enlisted back in the old world only to regret it. But there are others-others like you-who don't know anything except how to fight. You're the ones who make war."

  Nina tilted her head and volleyed gently, "We're the ones who are fighting the aliens who came here to exterminate everyone. I'm just saying, without us where would you be?"

  "And who do you think those aliens are, Captain?" Jim's wife appeared prepared for the debate even though the tone remained civil. "They are the same as you. Back home on their worlds there are others of their race, people like me, who want nothing to do with this war. I guess every species has its warriors. So yes, you're here to fight with the invaders because you and they are of the same breed, Captain. Problem is the rest of us are caught in the crossfire."

  Nina chewed on that. Was it possible she shared something in common with the alien invaders? No. She rejected the idea.

  "Listen, I'm not off trying to take over someone else's world. I'm fighting to save ours."

  "Yes, good for you that you have the moral high ground. But if your Emperor commanded you to travel across the stars to steal another race's planet, I believe you would find a justification for that and fight on."

  Nina shook her head but deep down she wondered. If Trevor Stone commanded her to travel across the stars to conquer, would she refuse? Had she not already done his bidding without question?

  "Truth is, Captain, you scare me. I look at you and see a woman who could be me, or any one of my friends, but from what I understand you're a killing machine. It’s scary that something so dangerous could live inside someone who could be the All-American girl."

  "And what does your husband think? About me, that is."

  "Jim," Ann rolled her eyes as she molded her thoughts into words. "Well, he's an idealist. When he knew you before he probably thought that all you needed was someone like him, someone who could help you overcome whatever problem made you the way you are. Probably figured his goodness could help you turn away from all the violence and release the real person inside. You were a mystery to him; you still are. He has talked about you often over the years. But I don't think he understands you."

  Nina wondered, "So why haven't you turned us in? I'm just saying, you make one phone call and I.S. would be crawling all over this place."

  Ann appeared somewhat offended at the idea. "Because my husband promised you a safe place to stay. Because he believes you. Or, I guess, he believes in you."

  "What do you think? I mean, I've told you that the President you admire so much is behind the assassination, that he has bargained with our enemies to do this, and that he might have even made a deal with the most dangerous aliens who have come here."

  Mrs. Brock said bluntly, "I don't believe you. Not a word of it."

  "You think..?"

  "I think what I've read in the papers is right. I think you and Mr. Knox here are a part of a military conspiracy to overthrow the President and return us to a dictatorship."

  "But what if I'm right? I know you don't believe me, but what if I'm right and everything I've told you is true?"

  "I don't know," Ann said. "All I know is that since Godfrey has been in charge the war has ended and there's hope for my son to grow up in peace."

  "That's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brock. The war hasn't ended. Your President just decided to stick his head in the sand. That means he's left all our asses hanging out." The house vibrated. The windows rattled. What remained of the early evening sun disappeared into shadow. "What in Heaven's name is that?" Ann Brock gasped as she turned on a light near the bed. Nina told her, "I think my ride is here." — The Excalibur moved away from Wrightsville Beach and over the Atlantic Ocean heading northeasterly. Its running lights flashed like stars in a night sky made even blacker by the floating battleship's shadow.

  Nina Forest, Brett Stanton, Ashley and both Jon and Lori Brewer sat around the table in the conference room, the same room that also doubled as the Captain's mess. The observation windows offered a view of moonlight peeking through a very thin veil of clouds.

  Nina ended her lengthy explanation of everything she and Gordon had learned during their three-week investigation. While Stanton sat and listened to the tale with his usual aplomb, Jon grew angrier and angrier with the unpeeling of each layer of deceit. He pounded the table top with a fist when Dante Jones' involvement came into focus, including Stanton’s revelation in regards to Jones' solicitation of votes prior to the election.

  "From the start," Jon shook his head. "He's been playing this from the start. Playing me. Wow, I can be an idiot but this is a whole new level."

  Stanton said, "But wait now, you're not the only one who got duped. I think Evan just about twisted us all around. And if it weren't for me and Eva swallowin' the bait, Gordon Knox would probably have been chosen for the top spot. Then things mighta been a shade different."

  Lori turned to Ashley and said, "Speaking of which, how is Gordon?"

  The question shook Ashley from a bout of deep thought.

  "What? Oh, your Doctor says it's still too early to tell. The only thing he knows for sure is that Gordon suffered damage to his spine. He is paralyzed from the waist down and is in critical condition."

  Brett said, "That about spells out our situation, too. Critical condition."

  "No, no," Nina disagreed. "We've got this ship. I'm just saying, we can do something about all this. Fly in to Washington and arrest Godfrey or something."

  "Well, now no," Stanton told her. "Can't just do that. Godfrey's got two more of these babies flying around in the area and we're not exactly one hundred percent. Besides, D.C.'s got enough anti-air batteries to give us a tough time even in top form. Bottom line is we've got a tall tale but not much evidence. In fact, I'd put a big stack of chips on our President having all his bases covered. I'm thinking he'll have witnesses and all sorts of smoking guns to say you killed Maple and that we're a part of some big conspiracy. Way I hear it, he's got a bunch of the lesser brass lining up for a big press conference this week, to show the military is supporting him." Nina argued, "But we've got the tracking tape from the tambourine line. That proves someone else was involved." Stanton volleyed, "Maybe. But who? Could be nothing. What's a radar blip?" Lori nearly shouted, "What about the fake body?" Ashley blurted, "JB." Her voice caught everyone's attention.