Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

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.

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.