Anthony DeCosmo - Schism

The Chancellor's eyes flashed red as he paused to tear off a chunk of meat from the struggling fish and plop the bite into his mouth. As he chewed, Jon heard the subtle crunch of tiny fish bones. The meal, meanwhile, slowed its writhing but still lived.

The Chancellor noticed their stares. His eyes faded to pink.

"Forgive me. Your species prefers cooking your meals. The Witiko, too, often times thoroughly cook meat or vegetables. Yet we still consider it a delicacy to indulge in live meals on occasion. Perhaps it is an impulse left from our barbaric age, thousands of years ago. I suppose we all must come to grips with our darker sides."

"Wow, this is really interesting. But listen here, Chancellor, if you haven't noticed I’m in a really bad mood. So either get to the point, or I've got more aliens to find and kill."

D'Trayne paused with the bottle of flavored water at his lips and noted, "Yes, we all do have our dark sides, don't we?"

He sipped. Jon huffed. Dante placed a calming hand on the General's shoulder.

"Okay then," D'Trayne wiped his lips with the napkin and then placed the cloth on the plate. The fish there flapped its tail while liquid and guts from the wound on its flank oozed onto the plate. "It is my understanding that it was a group of Centurians who managed to penetrate your security and assassinate Trevor Stone. Based on your outburst," the Chancellor's eyes changed to a soothing green, "you plan to find and destroy them." "Yes, so what?" Dante shot. "You will have a difficult time finding them," the Witiko said. Jon and Dante shared a look and then returned their attention to the Witiko Chancellor. Jon assumed, "You know where they are, is that it? Is there some big alien club?"

D'Trayne folded his hands and told them, "Not exactly. But we did have periodic contact with the Centurians, including a few…'skirmishes.' They do think themselves so superior. Still, we managed to come to an understanding, if you will, to avoid further entanglements."

"Because you were too worried about wiping out humanity. Why start fighting among yourselves, right?"

The Chancellor wavered for a moment before answering, "We were content with our arrangement in California. However, the Centurians are a rather aggressive bunch."

"Why would they want to assassinate Trevor?"

D'Trayne eyed Brewer as if the human might be an idiot. His eyes flashed yellow.

"Of course you are not serious, general. I can think of a hundred reasons why any number of the forces on Earth-including some of your own race-would care to see Trevor Stone dead. However, as to the Centurians' specific reason, I do not know. I would suspect they see it either as retaliation for your famous victory over them ten years ago, or as the starting point for more dramatic action."

The fish stopped wiggling on the plate. D'Trayne glanced at it. His eyes sunk.

Dante said, "Sorry. Looks like we killed your lunch."

Brewer said, "So you're willing to tell us where they are. We just have to do what in exchange?"

"Jon Brewer, I only ask that you tell the people of The Empire that I provided this information as a token of good will, so as to prove to you that at least some form of cooperation may be possible between our two species."

"That's it? Not a get-out-of-jail card? Not a promise to allow you to stay?"

"Admittedly such arrangements would be nice. I do have an appointment to address your Senate. I expect you'll be keeping me on Earth until after that meeting, at the very least."

"Okay then, you got it," Jon promised. "If the information you provide is correct I'll make sure the press spells your name right." "You are an honorable man, Jon Brewer." The honorable man pushed, "We know they're coming up through Mexico." "The region you call Mexico is a big place." "You're already made that point. Now tell me where they are." The Chancellor's eyes cycled through several different hues before settling on green.

"A place you humans once called Monterrey. You'll find a small Redcoat facility there in the shadows of the mountains your maps label the Sierra Madre Oriental."

– Jon Brewer stood at the foot of the basement conference table two days after the meeting with Chancellor D'Trayne. During those two days, he had spent much time meeting with council members, Senators, and the media to explain the process for selecting a new leader.

Things would have been difficult, if not for Evan Godfrey's support. The Senator's star shined once again, but this time he used his popularity to encourage support for the temporary military leadership, apparently forgetting all his fables of a military-intelligence conspiracy.

On another front, the press grew suspicious in regards to the lack of military action against the perpetrators of the assassination. The constant 'no comments' and denials of new force deployments began to pique the interest of the media.

Jon heard footsteps descend the stairs into the basement and turned to see Ashley. Her eyes glared and her words came across in a tone suggesting she shared the media's curiosity. "Tell me. I need to know that Trevor's death isn't going unpunished." Jon placed both hands on her shoulders. "The Witiko Chancellor gave us the location of the Centurian base." "Is the information trustworthy?" "Long range aerial recon confirmed the location." "What are you planning to do, launch an early invasion of Mexico?" "No. We're not ready for that. Besides, with the dreadnoughts I don't need a whole army." "Good. Tell me, how many of the ships did you send?" Jon's mouth worked but no sound came out. "Jon, How many did you send?" — More than three million once called the greater Monterrey area in northeastern Mexico home. Many of them thought of their city as "La Ciudad de las Montanas" ("City of the Mountains") because of the abrupt peaks of the Sierra Madre Oriental range to the south.

Armageddon, however, had turned Monterrey into a wasteland.

In addition to dealing with alien predators and raiding parties attracted to such a large population base, the town of Monterrey faced another kind of danger back during that first summer of the invasion: an Earthquake. The disaster knocked tall buildings flat and also ruptured both fuel tanks and gas lines igniting an inferno that burned unchecked for three months. The quake and fire leveled or incinerated nearly two thirds of the city, creating uninhabitable barrens. Therefore, on the morning of June 3 ^ rd, the stretch of land that had once been a Mecca for tourists, history buffs, and Latin American business interests resembled a vast field of black ash and chunks of collapsed building blocks. Except, however, for the white modular alien buildings centered on the half-standing remains of the Estadio Tecnologico football stadium.

The base had grown in segments with each segment connected via covered walkways circling out in rings from a spherical center. The buildings came in a variety of shapes and sizes, some two stories tall, most only one; some with eight sides, a few with five, many more with four. High powered light posts blanketed the entire complex.

Round landing pads sat between the buildings, receptacles for the Centurians' airships. Several large garages on the outer rings of the base served as holding pens for ground vehicles.

A storm had passed through the night before, leaving in its wake a trail of thin gray clouds. Those clouds bulged then parted then scattered before the might of humanity's Empire.

All three of the massive dreadnoughts approached from the north, descending to five thousand feet at the edge of town. The Excalibur — the flagship of the fleet-led the way with the Philippan and the Chrysaor on her flanks. The engines reverberated like rolling, steady thunder; the shadows of the beasts blocked the sun.

Woody Ross led the fleet from his position as the Excalibur's 'brain.' He eyed the Centurian base below through the ship's telescopic lenses. He saw rows of Centurians standing outside their buildings dressed in variations of red and white uniforms. Those who did not wear helmets displayed their race's big black eyes, thin noses, and dark green skin making the Centurians one of the few alien invaders conforming to pre-Armageddon notions of extraterrestrials, except that instead of being 'little' green men the typical Centurian stood taller and wider than a human. Some of those extraterrestrials stared skyward at the approaching doom, others loitered as if unaware of fate's approach. Ross spoke a chilling order to his bridge crew as well as Captains Hoth and Kaufman. "Prepare to fire; charge belly boppers to one-hundred percent."