Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

Trevor jumped, "Are you trying to tell me that on some other Earth a race is losing?"

"I'm not tellin' you nothin'!" the Old Man's words sounded defensive but he winked as he spoke. "None-the-however, you sure are doin' good, relatively speaking. Real good."

Trevor considered ten years of warfare, the slaughter at New Winnabow, the weed-like re-growth of politics, the distance between himself and Ashley, the loss of Nina, and the bloodshed in California.

"Yes," he mumbled. "I'm doing real good."

– Ashley followed the photographer's direction and stepped to her left, crowding a little closer to the big smelly guy with the cowboy hat while two children stood in front, each with a wounded K9 at their side.

Ray Roos-Chief of Security for the estate-shuffled out of the way, as did Ashley's two assistants who helped organize public relations events such as this.

Around the photographer buzzed a quartet of reporters. Ashley recognized the anxiousness in how they paced, tapped their notebooks, and darted their eyes about. She nearly felt sorry for them. There they were inside the hollowed grounds of the Emperor's estate but stuck at the canine barn covering a story about families and wounded dogs.

One of the reporters asked with little enthusiasm, "Mrs. Stone, has the Grenadier adoption program been a success?"

The reporter turned his eyes to his notebook, pencil ready, to copy the pat answer certain to follow. Ashley hesitated, ever so slightly, at the title "Mrs. Stone."

That title implied marriage to Trevor, something that had never occurred. Marriage, in turn, implied confidence, commitment, romance, and child-rearing. While she had confidence in Trevor and raised his child, their 'relationship' no longer held either commitment or romance. When Trevor had disappeared three years ago, Ashley feared she lost him to the forces of Armageddon only to learn that she had lost him to the forces of the heart.

"We've placed more than five hundred K9s through the program."

The camera flashed, the shutter snapped, and the photographer adjusted so as to include the nearby memorial statue of a stalwart dog of indeterminate breed in the next picture.

"Mrs. Stone, are there concerns about the temperament of the K9s around kids?"

"Not at all. Grenadiers placed in homes are even more affectionate then the household pets we knew before the invasion."

Ashley had known since the day they pulled her from her ark ride in a coffin of green goo that the Richard Stone she knew no longer existed. Fair enough, because it did not take long for the new reality to changer her, too. She found a purpose as the softer side of the Emperor and as mother to their very special boy. In the old world, such a role might have sounded limited but she knew she served the same cause as Trevor in her own way.

A reporter asked, "What are some of the typical injuries to the K9s?"

"Most have lost legs, eyes, ears, and require specialized diets and physical therapy."

Ashley spied Gordon Knox walking with one of his subordinates around the corner of the mansion. After a moment, Gordon dismissed the young man and watched the show.

"How many of the K9s are available for adoption?"

Gordon scared Ashley but also fascinated her, the way a person might admire the symmetry of a hurricane. She knew he had grown fond of her, perhaps because she was unattainable. People tended to covet things beyond their grasp.

"We currently have fifty-two canines waiting for adoption. Several dozen more will be available in a few weeks as they are released from veterinarian care."

While his attraction unnerved Ashley, she knew he would not approach her: Gordon held a fanatical devotion to Trevor Stone and would never betray that trust.

"Mrs. Stone, do you think it was right for your husband to assassinate the human leaders of The California Cooperative when the war was already won?"

Usually surprise questions would not catch Ashley unprepared, but she had been lulled into daydreams. Her smile faltered enough that the reporters sensed an opportunity to strike.

"Were you shocked at the number of Imperial casualties?"

"Any plans to set up an adoption program like this for the orphans in California?"

She spoke to the man with the cowboy hat and two children, "Thank you for adopting. Unfortunately, I believe our pleasant morning has come to an end. If you'll excuse me…"

Ashley motioned for the family and their new pets to follow her assistants away from the brewing skirmish. Those assistants wavered, unsure if they should abandon her. Ashley, however, had become quite adept at handling the press. But in case she failed, just outside the peripheral view of the reporters lingered Gordon Knox, a guard dog in his own right.

She answered, "The California invasion was unfortunate. I only wish the extraterrestrials had chosen to return to their home, instead of causing more destruction to ours."

Gordon smiled in approval causing Ashley to smile a little, too, as they shared the fun in her playing the press. Yet beneath her smile lingered that unease.

"Don't you feel any remorse over all the human casualties?"

"I grieve for all the victims of the alien invasion, including the millions murdered in California by the Witiko. I admire the people of California for fighting against the aliens for five years. I wish we could have helped them sooner."

"Is it the Emperor's plan to overrun any government that opposes his rule?"

"Trevor's plan has been the same since the early days when he gathered a handful of survivors on the grounds of this estate: expel the invaders who came to our planet without provocation. Even as we speak, millions of human beings around the world remain enslaved or living in harsh conditions, something to which every citizen of The Empire can relate. It remains our duty to save those people the same way Trevor, directly or indirectly, saved each of us."

Unable to knock her off balance, the four reporters hesitated.

She took the opening to end the session: "Thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day."

Ray Roos jumped in and led the reporters toward the main gate. Ashley watched them go, purposely keeping her eyes on the group longer than needed. When she felt she could avoid it no longer, she turned toward the corner of the mansion. Gordon had gone.

– Trevor Stone finished lunch in the basement cafeteria of the Methodist church near the estate. Dustin McBride long ago painted a caricature of the kitchen's founder, Sal Corso, on a wall behind the counter. Sal had died in a Red Hand-or Feranite-attack that first year.

As Trevor climbed the stairs and exited the building with his faithful companion Tyr at his side, he found it ironic that Dustin had painted the picture of Sal who had been killed by the Red Hands and now, far away in the mountains of Colorado, Dustin's cavalry tracked a large band of those same alien warriors through the wilderness.

According to the latest report, snowfall during April had inhibited the pursuit for weeks. The search restarted, but the unit faced slow going in the rough terrain along the Colorado and Wyoming border. A lack of available air reconnaissance assets-due to California commitments-aggravated the situation.

Reports from other quarters offered better news. The surviving five Witiko Stingrays were safely under military control. Furthermore, while the highest ranking Witiko officers remained in Internal Security holding areas preparing for testimony before the Senate, a large portion of the rank and file had shuffled through the gate. Dante, it seemed, managed to do something right.

That thought gave him pause. He considered that maybe he was being too hard on his old friend. Dante, no doubt, felt stuck in the middle. And while the I.S. Director sometimes seemed too close to Evan, Jones had managed to smooth things over after the New Winnabow affair. Without his negotiations the situation could have deteriorated.