Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

"You think not, Chancellor?" Evan motioned for the two to sit at chairs opposite his desk and, in the same motion, waved his wife from the room. She closed the door behind her.

Evan went on, "I've been speaking with Brad, here, and I think there are some things left to be done. But only if you approve, Chancellor, because I'm going to need your help."

"I do not understand, Senator."

"Brad here tells me of your…of your friends. Let's just say, I think we could all be friends. I think there are ways we can all work together, for the common good. The way you worked with Malloy for the common good in California."

D'Trayne's pupils glowed orange.

"I do not believe you are in a position to bargain, you have no power, Senator Godfrey."

Brad ran a hand through his jet black hair and said, "'Chancellor, Evan here is real high speed. And I've been talking to our friends, just like five years ago. They're interested in what the Senator here has to say. Man, I think we might just be on to something." "I say again," D'Trayne argued, "the Senator is in no position to make deals." "I soon will," Evan snapped. "Oh," D'Trayne grinned grimly. "Exactly what will you do to get that power?"

Evan turned on the television again. A news anchor reported, "Senator Godfrey's speech appears to have struck a chord. Several prominent community and business leaders have voiced concern about a link between war planning and what the Senator calls the military and intelligence complex…"

Evan answered, "I just need to make a few more speeches."

Ten years before, on the day the hellish creatures and invading militia appeared on Earth en masse, Richard 'Trevor' Stone had run away from the dead bodies of his parents and into the forest, where he met the Old Man.

A decade later on a surprisingly warm, mid-May morning nearly two weeks after the funeral procession for Stonewall McAllister, Trevor Stone entered those woods again.

Trevor consulted the Old Man on occasion, hunting for clues to the greater purpose of the invasion or to seek counsel. In both cases, his mysterious benefactor rarely provided any useful information, other than to remind Trevor of his purpose: kill all aliens.

However, in the three years since his return from an alternate Earth, Trevor tended to walk into those woods for something else: companionship, in some bizarre fashion.

The mixed eastern forest burst with spring, a stark contrast to the Fall-like brooding in Trevor's belly. Birds of Earthly origin swooped through the tree tops where young broad leafs grew a canopy of fresh green. Shrubs and wildflowers sprouted with color and the smell of life slowly overcame the rotting stench of last autumn's dead foliage.

Trevor found the Old Man sitting by his campfire with his white wolf. To Trevor's surprise, the Old Man seemed delighted about something. Trevor had not seen the old timer in such a mood since the day Trevor aired his frustration over nuclear warheads failing to detonate. The Old Man had found that whole situation amusing while physicists found it inexplicable.

The thing mimicking an Old Man noted Trevor's glum disposition.

"Now, what's got you all gloom 'n doom, Trev? The ways I see it, you should be making with the whoopee's. You put your toesies in the Pacific. Pretty good work."

"Yeah, sure," Trevor sat on red rock. "Can I ask you something?"

The Old Man rolled his eyes. When they had first met the entity told Trevor not to ask questions, yet Trevor rarely visited the Old Man and did not have questions.

"There is no other way, right? I mean, I couldn't have let The California Cooperative stay in one piece. The Witiko had to go, right?"

"Ha! That sounds like three questions, Trevy," the man failed to lighten the mood.

After two weeks of reading bad press it would take much more to chase away Trevor's gloom. Voices across the spectrum complained about casualties, the missile strike, and a military-intelligence conspiracy. Some of the outcry came from a general weariness after a decade of fighting. However, Trevor also knew he bore some of the responsibility for the problem, not only from the missile strike but also from the rift between himself and the Senate.

"Now lemme give you one little piece of skinny on them Witiko. Get them out fast. Personally, I'd much rather you put the sword to all of them, those silver tongued devils. Sometimes I wonder if they ain't up to more than meets the eye in all this."

"Nothing has changed over the years, has it? You said I had to survive, fight, and sacrifice. On and on it goes. I'm a link on that chain, right? Thing is, from where I’m standing I don't see any other links. I just see myself."

The Old Man's good mood over something-seemingly more than the defeat of the Witiko-loosened his lips.

"Oh, yeah, Trev. You know, every bit of life on this here rock comes from one seed, yessir. A seed that sprouted roots and grew a big tree, hehe. Over there, on one branch, is a red robin, and over there is a lion out there prowlin' the jungle being the king of his shit. All branches on a tree. But all from one seed, Trevor. One-oh, now what would the eggheads call it? — one gee-netic strand."

"Strand?" Trevor mulled the word. "You mean, chain?"

"From that seed came one pure root of life, going straight up the middle of that tree while everything else was branchin' off. Take a look at yourself, Trevor. Some folks can trace their grandparents back to coming off the boat from Italy, others all the way back to royalty in the old world or Chinese dynasties or whatever. But you can trace your great-times-a million-or-so grandparents back to the first slimy little things that swam around in the primordial soup."

Trevor extrapolated, "Life. Our entire ecosystem. The fight is about the entire genetic pattern. We've got a lot in common with the Duass and the Geryons and all, but each a little different. But wait, Voggoth and his bunch are completely different. And from what I saw, he doesn't have an Earth to defend. Why doesn't Voggoth have something to lose?"

"Oh, now what's that old thing they used to sing on Sesame Street? What was it?" The Old Man tried-poorly-to carry a melody, "One of these things don't belong with the other, one of these tings just ain't the same…"

Trevor cut off the song: "Okay, Voggoth is different. But he still has troops here. And he sure has been messing with the works, right? He got the humans in that other world to lure me over. I'm thinking he did that not only to hurt my Earth but to help me beat up the Chaktaw on their Earth. The way I figure, he was trying to wipe out two races with one move."

"Yeah, ole' Voggoth has pulled a few fast ones, that's for sure," the Old Man said, "But we done a few things ourselves to try and righten that, didn't we?"

Trevor figured the Old Man had broken the 'rules' that governed the invasion by sharing knowledge of the runes, which first helped him find those runes here, then helped him seek out those runes on the Chaktaw's Earth as a means of getting home. That posed another question.

"Let me guess, you guys can play fast and loose with time, too?"

"I told you time don't mean nothin'. It's irrelevant. Just made up by men. I suppose, though, if you were to think of creation as a big bottle of soda pop, then inside all the fizz is a bunch of bubbles, each one their own bubble of what you think of as time. But look, you know I can't be sayin' too much. Still playin' by the rules, as much as those rules are getting' fudged-up these days. Yessir, things getting' all haywire and no one is liking that too much, let me tell you."

Trevor spied a glint in the Old Man's eye. A mischievous glint. He invited, "Tell me what's on your mind, old timer."

"Now I can't go makin' a bunch of noise, but let's just say you're doing pretty good. In fact, some are thinking you're going to get it done. But some other folks ain't doin' as well, hehe."