know who runs their industry?”
Trevor looked to each of them one after another and said, “Slaves. Human slaves. Yesterday’s college professors and bellhops and cab drivers are being worked to death in slave labor camps. I know; I’ve seen the camps after we’ve liberated them.”
“That’s terrible,” Parsons admitted. “But it has nothing to do with us.”
Shepherd heard the pleading in Trevor’s voice exit and a growl of anger slip in.
“It has everything to do with you. Don’t you get it? I’m talking about your fellow human beings. Fathers and mothers and children. Living in hot, dark quarters sometimes going for weeks without seeing daylight. They eat food so horrid that some have starved to death because they simply can’t stomach what they’re given.”
“I wish you luck in freeing them,” Parsons sounded sincere. “But our town wants nothing to do with it.”
Shepherd saw red creeping into Trevor’s face; pure exasperation, something he rarely saw from his leader. He tried to buy his boss a few seconds to calm by jumping into the conversation with, “You see now, your town has everything to do with it. If you just let us pass, we can complete a move that will cut off thousands of these Hivvan things. We do that, and we’ll be able to drive right down the road to Columbia. There are ten thousand human slaves there.”
Elizabeth Doss looked to Shepherd and said, “Find another way.”
Shep’s mouth opened but Trevor beat him to the punch.
“It’s too late for that!” Trevor stood. Billy Ray responded by taking a step closer to the table. Trevor went on, “We are in the middle of this operation. I have only a few days to complete this march. If we don’t, our enemy will escape the trap and we will have to postpone our strike at Columbia. If they escape then when we do attack, more of my people will die and by the time that happens more of those slaves will die from exhaustion or beatings. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Parsons smiled to try to ease Trevor’s frustration. “Please, sit down, Mr. Stone.”
The Chief Councilman gestured to the chair and Trevor returned to his seat. Phelps eased as well, but kept his eyes focused like lasers on Trevor.
Parsons said, “I understand, and my heart goes out to those who suffer under such conditions. But tell me, Mr. Stone, why is it you keep fighting and waging your war?”
“Like I said, those gateways are pouring reinforcements in.”
“More than that. Get down to the basic reason.”
“Because I believe it is the right thing to do. I believe that by winning this war we will save mankind.”
“Yes! And if the-what is their name again? — these Hivvans win battles and have you on the run, will you stop fighting? Would you just give up?”
Trevor shook his head, repulsed at the idea. “No, no. We will fight. In the beginning, we fought when the odds were against us. We fought when it seemed as if we had already lost, when the enemy was superior to us in every way. So no, we will never stop fighting until we win or we’re killed.”
Parsons smiled and asked, “So why is it you ask us to stop fighting our fight? Why is it you think we should give up?”
Trevor stared at Parsons, the red draining from his face, the anger slipping away. Shepherd wondered exactly what replaced that anger.
Finally, Trevor clasped his hands together and replied, “I’m hoping you can make this small little concession for the greater good of mankind. You have to know that if I wanted to occupy or destroy your town it would have been done already. I do not want that, I just want to pass through. Is that so great a compromise of your beliefs?”
“Yes,” Doss said. “It is. We have turned our backs on war. We believe that if we let you pass through our town that may be the mechanism that destroys us.”
Trevor turned to her and said, “I find that hard to believe. This is not some religious cult. I see reasoned people here. I see intelligence. You can’t believe that some force of fate would punish you like a vengeful god if our army spends a few hours marching through your town.”
“Of course not,” Parsons answered. “It is a slippery slope, Trevor. If we allow your army to pass because we are afraid of the consequences, we set a precedent that you or others might use against us in the future. This is our way of life. Not a religion in the traditional sense, but as important to us spiritually all the same. What good are our principles if we forget them when confronted?”
“That’s your decision?”
“No,” Robert Parsons told Trevor. “Unlike you, no one person makes the decisions here. We don’t have that advantage.”
Stone closed his eyes.
“Oh, Mr. Parsons, an advantage? I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. If only…if only the luxury of sharing that responsibility. For me? Well, every decision is my own. No blame to share. No hiding from the face in the mirror. Whatever happens here, in New Winnabow, you will be able to say it was the group. For me, it will rest entirely on my shoulders. There will be no where for me to hide.”
Parsons responded, “And if there is blood, then that, too, will be on your hands.”
A short while later, the full council refused passage for The Empire’s army.
What had been a very pleasant afternoon quickly turned dark as a line of thunderstorms rolled in from the northwest, skirting the top of the mountains and hovering over the lake.
Streaks of sunlight glittering through the den’s French casement windows flickered and then faded, snuffed out by heavy black clouds.
“It’s okay now, little feller,” Benjamin Trump-one time owner of the fourth largest fence company in Luzerne County-assured his grandson, Jorge. “Just a storm passing through. A little rain is good for the farmers.”
JB curled a little closer as he sat on grandpa’s lap.
“I suppose we need a little light in here,” Trump said and he reached for the desk lamp.
JB repeated words his father often said, “Do we need the light, grandpa? We have to con-serve energy because no sun means no power.”
“Is that so? I suppose you have a point, Jorgie, since the clouds have blocked out the sun for a bit and that means those fancy solar panels won’t be collecting any light for a while. But don’t you worry; this little light won’t cause a problem. Besides, how else am I going to read to you?”
Trump pulled the short chain and the lamp clicked on.
“Okay, now, where were we? Oh yeah…” Benjamin Trump consulted a red and white Dr. Seuss book. “And, speaking of shapes, now just suppose…” grandpa read slow while JB followed the pictures.
A flash of lightning lit the room in a sparkle. Three seconds later the boom of thunder followed. The lamp on the desktop flickered. Benjamin Trump eyed it as if to will the power to stay on.
He read, “Suppose YOU were shaped like these…or those!”
Light from outside flashed again, but a shadow blocked most of the flash this time.
“Of all the shapes we MIGHT have been…”
Grandpa turned to the last page of the children’s book.
“I say HOORAY for the shapes we’re in!”
The light on the desk went out. The room fell pitch black.
“Grandpa, what happened? Did the storm knock out the power?”
“No, that’s not the storm, can’t be, must be another problem-” Trump caught himself and corrected, “Well, um, maybe JB. Probably. Yes, probably the storm knocked the power out. It will be back on real soon.”
JB wiggled in Grandpa’s lap and faced the window. He saw the silhouette of a man standing just outside the glass, staring in. Looking at them. Looking at Jorge.
“Graa…graanddpaaa…”
Benjamin Trump turned as well. He saw the shape of a man, shaggy around the edges perhaps from torn clothes, maybe from disfigured skin.
The lightning flashed so brilliant that both grandpa and grandson shielded their eyes. Thunder shook the house at the same moment.
When they looked again, the shadow remained. Standing there. Staring at them through the thin pane of glass.
