Anthony DeCosmo - Parallels

He huffed and puffed but said no more.

After a moment, Major Nina Forest straightened her stance but kept her head bowed.

General Gronard finally asked, "What now?"

"What now? What now? We head for home, now, General. With our tails- my tail — between our fucking legs."

Jon felt uncomfortable sitting behind Trevor's desk in the upstairs office, as if he betrayed his friend on some level. Ironic, he thought, because there were several people out there who coveted that seat, but for now it belonged to Jon, no matter how much he did not want it.

Gordon Knox, sitting across from him, said, "So far the K9s are doing everything their handlers ask. The only one acting strange is Tyr. He keeps slipping onto transports or sniffing around the estate. You want me to do something? Maybe tranquilize him?"

Jon shook his head. "No. He’s probably the only one doing anything constructive."

Knox offered a half-hearted smile and went on, "You ready for the bad news?"

"Huh? You mean there was good news? I guess I missed it."

The Director of Intelligence ignored the jest. "Two more distribution centers were overrun by mobs. A third one had a problem but the mob was dispersed by I.S. Two people were shot in the process, one is in critical condition."

"Internal Security actually broke up a riot? How nice of them to do their jobs."

"People are getting, well, they’re getting out of line. I think maybe you should start thinking about putting them in line a little more."

"What do you want me to do, Gordon? Pull more brigades off the front line to do Internal Security? It’s been well over a month with no word and nothing from us, only the same secret mission crap. No one is buying it anymore."

Knox waited as Jon released his frustration in a huff, a puff, and finally a sigh, then he said, "Look, Jon, I know who is stirring this whole thing up. You’ve got that editor over at the New American Press. You’ve got a couple of low-rent Senators and a southern Governor. They’re the ones accusing you of a coup or saying Trevor is dead. They’re the most visible."

Jon waited for Gordon’s point but that point did not come with words; it came in his narrow, staring eyes that sent an icicle along Jon's spine. Once he understood Knox's full meaning, Jon raised a hand.

"Wow. Hey, whoa, easy there Gordon. If you’re suggesting what I think…"

"We have to toughen up or things are going to get worse. As it is, our offensive in Ohio has a black eye and a handful of Hivvans are still holding out in front of Prescott down south. Right now we look weak to our enemies, both external and internal."

Jon jumped to his feet, partly as a physical manifestation of his agitation and partly because he wanted to escape that desk.

"So we knock off some trouble makers and you think things will be okay? We’re still leaderless."

"No!" Gordon shouted a little too loud. He glanced to the floor and modulated his tone to something closer to normal. "No. We’re not leaderless. You’re in charge now."

"By whose authority? Who put me here? What sense does it make? Trevor was in charge because he started it all. We pledged our loyalty to him. But me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Gordon, but I’m a little short on the divine right clause."

Gordon decided to stand, too. He walked over to Brewer and the two men spoke in front of the glass doors of the mansion balcony. Beyond those doors was an overcast sky that threatened rain although snow was still a possibility on the tenth day of March. Underneath that overcast sky, just beyond the closed iron gate, lived a camp of protestors, activists, and lunatics. One guy actually held a sign reading, "The End is Near."

A ring of Internal Security tried their best to keep the group contained. On that day, the mob counted three dozen in their number, nearly double from a few days ago. Tomorrow?

Gordon snapped, "Who do you want in charge, Jon? Most of the idiots who want to take over are preaching peace. They want to stop the war, lick our wounds, and live in isolation. They're making all sorts of noise out there in the press and at town hall meetings. But you know, I don't care so much about them. It's the ones we haven't heard from that have me on edge."

Jon nodded in agreement and said, "Yes. I’ve been thinking that, too."

"So the question is," Gordon finished the thought. "Exactly why has Evan Godfrey been so quiet? What is he up to?"

– Sharon intercepted Evan at the front door of their mansion in the Washington D.C. suburbs.

"You’re going to play tennis?"

"Yes," he answered as he zipped his gym bag with one hand and twirled a tennis racquet with the other. "I’m going to play tennis."

As happened often in recent weeks when she confronted him over his lack of action, Sharon's jaw dropped and her eyes bulged.

At first the words came out as little more than gasps, but her voice improved as she managed to swallow more oxygen. "What is wrong with you? It's been weeks and you keep repeating that bull shit Jon Brewer and the military council keep throwing out about Trevor away on a secret mission. Every interview you give is about remaining calm and waiting for the Emperor to return. This is the opportunity we've waited for, and you're doing nothing!"

He stood there and listened to her rant while fiddling with the tennis racquet and nodding his head in agreement to her points.

"Have you heard the news, Evan? Just about every newspaper outside of Baltimore and even some of Trevor's hand-picked Governors are saying the Emperor is dead and Brewer is just covering it up. And where are you going? To the health club to play tennis?"

He quickly answered, "Well, it's still too cold for the outdoor courts."

She ignored his flippancy. "I thought you were the voice of the opposition. Maybe you're just a second-rate politician after all. A Coward."

Sharon’s eight year old son approached through the cavernous living room of the old mansion crunching an apple as he moved. Sharon swiveled around and glared. The boy retreated at nearly a gallop.

"You really should treat him with a little more respect," Evan said to his pseudo-wife. "He’s getting older now. He’s turning into a young man."

"Don’t tell me how to treat my son. Tory is none of your business."

"Ah, yes, sometimes I forget," Evan put a hand on her shoulder. "This is a business relationship. We have our rules and regulations. Tory’s stewardship is not in my contract."

He gave her a peck on the forehead. Sharon stepped away, nearly shivering in anger.

"The problem, my husband, is that you aren’t living up to your end of the bargain. You have your cute little wife and her son, both victims of the Emperor’s cruelty. I go to your political rallies and smile. My child is a boy scout and excels in school. Why, you have yourself the perfect little family, don’t you?"

He flipped his racquet in the air and caught it. "Why yes, Sharon, I have the perfect little family. Makes a great postcard."

"And why are you not living up to your part of the bargain?" She jabbed a finger in his chest. "You promised me, you were going to bring down the Emperor. You were going to-"

His smile evaporated and he placed a finger over her lips. Apparently he no longer found her tirade humorous.

"Oh, now, no Sharon. Careful. Careful. I have no intentions of ‘bringing down the Emperor.’ But I do have other intentions. You know that. That’s why you came to me, Sharon. You know where I’m going. It just so happens that to get there, well, to get there the structure of power in our new nation will have to change."

In a more humble tone she said, "You speak a good game, Evan, but you are short on action. Today- right now — the people are ready for a new leader. Trevor Stone is gone, yet you hesitate. Maybe I made a mistake in making our little arrangement."