Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

“I suppose there are some things I’m just not supposed to understand, huh?”

“Oh Trev, there’s some things you just can’t understand. But you’ll get your chance. Sooner or later, you’ll get your chance.”

Evan lapped the conference table in paces with his editorial team gathered around the same way they gathered every morning in the weeks since the slaughter at New Winnabow.

As he did every day, Evan warned, “Now is not the time to slow down, people. We need to keep this up. Circulation doubled again last week so output has to double again. Talk to the print shop, they need to add a third shift for now. We’ll also need to add more runners for deliveries.”

The man with the thick glasses suggested, “I’m looking in to remote printing. We could deliver content on a disk to different print shops then use them as bases for regional distribution.”

“That’s the type of thinking we need,” Evan replied and made eye contact with each of his people. “We’re no longer a fringe publication. What Trevor did at New Winnabow has opened the door for me, for us. We have to push and take full advantage of this opportunity. I’ve got an inside contact who tells me that the estate is worried about the traction we’ve gained with the people. So we push, hard. So tell me, what have we got?”

“More pictures,” the man with thick glasses said. “We’ve got pictures of the military checkpoints outside ‘Bow. We’ve got pictures of little kids who lost their fathers during the assault standing next to tanks. Next to tanks for Christ’s sake.”

“Wait a sec,” the woman with the scar and long strawberry blonde hair said. “Just so I don’t get yelled at or some shit like that. Are we against this war…again?”

Evan stared directly at her. “How can we possibly be for a war like this? This war can’t go on, not without changes. Now tell me, what have we got?”

The man with the Oxford shirt said, “We have a human worker from Columbia who thinks they were better off with the Hivvans. He was some sort of foreman.”

“You mean collaborator?” Evan said. “Don’t run it. Could bite us on the ass. But no, forget the paper for a sec. I mean the good stuff. The other stuff.”

The man with thick glasses understood. “Our people in Pittsburgh are marching tomorrow on the regional governor’s office. My guy out there tells me he’s got about a hundred people ready to go. They just have to get the banners and signs written up.”

Evan asked, “How far they going to go?”

The man smiled. “Most of them, not too far. But we’ve got a couple people in there that can really fire them up.”

Fire them up, Evan thought. A few bricks tossed. Maybe turn over a government car. Something to show the intensity. Something to show the emotion. The power.

“That’s good,” was all Evan said because he need not say more.

The girl with the scar and strawberry hair added to the discussion, “The reporter from NBN that interviewed you last month-”

Evan cut in. He knew names. Knowing names and knowing people, that was the source of his power. “Angela.”

“Yeah, Angela,” the woman went on. “She called to ask for a follow up interview. Wants to know if you plan to resign from the council. Also, they’re running more video from the memorial services. There was one last night in Trenton and more are planned in Harrisburg, Morgantown, and Baltimore.”

“We have people there?” Evan asked.

She nodded, “Of course we do. But you know, we don’t need to. Some of this is happening without a word from us.”

Jamie-Evan’s prized researcher-noted, “The other newspapers are running stories on this every day. Hell, it’s been more than two weeks and the story is still alive.”

“Let me tell you what I want most of all,” Evan stopped pacing and pushed a heavy finger onto the table top for emphasis. “I want people at the candle light vigil this weekend. I want hundreds of people. Call in all your favors. Call in all your buddies. Get them to that vigil.”

“Evan,” the thick-glasses guy said. “A lot of people will be nervous about walking right up to the front gates of the estate.”

Jamie added, “Yeah, what if he unleashes those damn dogs on us?”

“He won’t,” Evan told them. “And it is critical that we show that we are willing to be brave over this. We have to show backbone. This vigil…this is the final piece. This is where we really make the connection between what happened at Winnabow and the lack of representation in the government. We pull this off and our movement will be unstoppable. Sooner or later you have to stand up for what you believe in. This is our time.”

“That didn’t work for us,” a new voice came from the doorway.

No one in the room recognized Sharon Parsons, except for Evan.

She stood at the door alongside her six year old boy, Tory.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Godfrey,” she said without sounding genuine. “But they told me this was where I could find you.”

Evan looked at her but spoke to his followers, “I’m going to need this room, people.”

Godfrey’s staffers filed out, leaving notes, papers, and plans lying on the table top.

Evan grabbed the attention of Jamie before she left and pointed to Sharon’s boy. Jamie understood.

“Hey fella, what’s your name?” She asked.

“His name is Tory,” Sharon answered before her son could.

Jamie smiled and said to the boy, “We’ve got a stash of homemade lollipops around here, Tory. Would you like one?”

The child cringed and squeezed tight against his mother.

“Go ahead, Tory. Go with the nice woman. I’ll be right there.”

The boy reluctantly left. Jamie closed the door behind.

Evan stared at Sharon and she stared back. After several seconds of silence, Evan decided to start. “You’ve come a long way from New Winnabow.”

“There’s nothing left there.”

“Oh? I thought the town was still going. I thought the survivors were now a part of the Empire,” Evan used his fingers as quotation marks when he said ‘Empire.’

“That’s what I mean,” she said. “My town is gone. Your Emperor took it from me.”

She stepped closer.

“So you took-what? — a train all the way up here? For what?”

His words sounded like an innocent question, but the tone suggested coyness.

“You know why I came here.”

“I want you to tell me,” he said. “I want you to spell it out. Just so there are no misunderstandings.”

“I need a home,” she said. “Tory needs a home.”

“Let me guess. He needs a father-figure, is that it?”

She scoffed at the idea. “He needs a home. A place with a bed. A place with food and heat. A place where he has a room. He does not need a father-figure. The only father-figure he had in his life was a brutal bastard. No. He only needs his mother.”

“I see.”

Sharon looked at the conference table. The most recent edition of The New American Press lay there. The headline quoted an angry-looking ‘survivor’ from somewhere down south: “I NEVER ASKED TO BE LIBERATED.”

“You see lots of things, Evan. Do you see what I am?”

“What you are?”

“I’m a survivor of New Winnabow. I’m a single mother. My father was killed by Trevor Stone. My first husband was a brave U.S. Marine who fought for his country and for freedom. Why, he was a regular hero. My son will tell you as much.”

It impressed Evan that Sharon managed to speak those words about her ex-husband without a sign of the venom she felt in her heart for the man.

He said, “Yes, he was a hero for serving his country in the old days. But then again, I think all the people of New Winnabow were heroes, too.”