apparatus, we must view it with the proper perspective.'
Evan looked to Dante. The sweat still dripped from his brow, but in Dante's eyes Evan saw gratitude for the rescue.
'The war effort demands supplies and resources. I think everyone in this chamber would join me in applauding the efforts of our troops in the field. Yet our front line soldiers are not the only warriors in this battle. The Internal Security agents and officers who patrol our streets, our interstates, our rail road stations and supply depots, are as much soldiers in this war as the pilots and infantrymen in Ohio, Kentucky, and Mississippi.'
Someone in the press pool coughed. It was the only sound save for Evan’s voice.
'I’ve known Dante Jones for a long time. We fought together at Five Armies. We worked closely in North Carolina during the Hivvan war. I know he does the best job he can do with the resources at his disposal. This tragedy can not be dismissed as the responsibility of one man. He is doing the best job he can under the difficult circumstances in which he finds himself. As for his credentials, well, his track record of bravery and sound judgment is well-documented.
'Lest we forget, Dante Jones was a voice of reason during the protests following the events at New Winnabow. He served as a mediator between the people and the office of the Emperor. Without him those days would have been much darker. Indeed, we owe Mr. Jones a debt of gratitude for his work during those difficult times. Without his sense of compromise, without his influence, without his judgment we almost certainly would never have witnessed the election of this Senate and, more importantly, we may have seen the beginnings of civil war.'
Evan spoke the truth; Dante had been an important mediator at the time. Yet it was Evan who pulled the strings of the protests and he did so in a manner to serve his own ends and those ends included making Dante look good. Evan considered it an investment.
Senator Whitman-his anger somewhat deflated-redirected and the direction he traveled pleased Evan. 'I concede your point, Senator Godfrey. Perhaps I affix responsibility to the wrong person. Trevor Stone-and the lack of resources he makes available to Internal Security-is the reason why tragedies such as this still occur within our boundaries.'
Dante waited. The press waited. Even Sharon Parsons-sitting in the balcony-waited like lions at feeding time anticipating red meat. They waited for what surely would be another of Evan’s renowned tirades against The Emperor.
Evan spoke in a calm, reasoned voice, 'No. The blame does not lay with Trevor Stone or any one person, or any people at all, for that matter. We live in a dangerous world. Our work securing this world for humanity is far from complete. If we were not at war, then maybe we would have the means to better secure our families. But we are, in point of fact, at war. I cannot argue against the resources sent forward to our fighting men and women. The sad truth is that neither Dante Jones nor Trevor Stone are responsible for the death of that family. The environment in which we live bears responsibility. It is a fact of our existence.'
Dante’s eyes widened-like so many in the chamber-widened in surprise. Whitman had lobbed a softball at Evan Godfrey; the perfect chance to hit another poetic homerun against Trevor Stone and the governing structure of The Empire.
Yet Evan actually excused Trevor Stone. He sounded…reasonable. Fair minded, even.
'I say to you, here today, the responsibility for changing this situation lay with this committee, this governing body. We fought for the Senate because we promised that our wisdom could improve the lives of our citizens and better advance the cause of humanity. We must take this tragedy and burn it into our hearts. Then we must work- we must roll up our sleeves and work-to find the solutions. That is the charge of this Senate. This cannot be a body of pointless political thought and gridlock. Instead, this has to be the engine of The Empire that produces the ideas, the direction, and the hope that will guide us to a better tomorrow.'
Evan stopped.
Dante eased in his chair; the pressure off.
First came one pair of hands clapping from somewhere in the crowd of observers. Then Chairperson Love brought his hands together. Then others. Senator Whitman was the first to stand.
Before he knew it, Dante joined in the standing ovation of roaring applause in which Evan basked.
For his part, Evan raised his hands to calm the crowd in a manner most humble. Still, he could not help but look toward the balcony.
There stood his lovely wife, joining in the applause. Yet despite her clapping, Evan saw the disappointment in her eyes. Like everyone else-more so-Sharon Godfrey knew that her husband had been given the perfect opportunity to score points against Emperor Trevor Stone. Instead he took the heat off of that man and willingly accepted the burden on his own shoulders. If Evan was not so busy acting humble he would have laughed at how perplexed she looked.
Oh Sharon, you just aren’t a poker player.
4. Fools Rush In
Trevor lobbed the plastic ball. JB swung his bat-also plastic-and made solid contact. Trevor flinched as the ball flew by within an inch of his ear.
Jorge Benjamin Stone-four months away from his fifth birthday-laughed hard but found his composure when his mother, Ashley, joined them on the open stretch of frozen lawn near the helicopter/Eagle landing pad outside the mansion.
She said, 'Baseball on a day this cold? Are you crazy?'
'Hey, at least it's sunny out,' Trevor answered as he retrieved the ball. 'I think JB was getting stir crazy stuck inside for weeks now.'
'Jorgie, stir crazy? Or are you just running away from all that paperwork on your desk?'
'No comment.'
She smiled and purposely annoyed him by saying, 'You sound like a politician.'
'That's just plain mean.'
JB ran over and gave his mom a hug as best he could from inside the heavy winter coat he wore. As she returned the sturdy squeeze she told Trevor, 'I came to let you know Shep’s transport touched down at the airport. He should be here soon.'
'Good. Now we’re just waiting on Hoth and we can have our staff meeting.'
'Another meeting, father?'
'That’s right Jorge, another meeting. Got to have meetings. Meetings and papers…all sorts of papers. Big stacks of them this high' and he held his hand above his head.
'As for you,' Ashley ruffled the mad bomber deerskin cap covering JB's blond hair. 'Miss Gill is looking for you. Time for class.'
'But mommy, it’s Saturday.'
Trevor told him, 'It’s school time whenever Miss Gill says it’s school time. Roger that?'
'Roger that, father.'
The young man then hurried ahead of his parents toward the mansion. A black Doberman Pincher named Ajax followed the boy, as was his charge.
Ashley clasped her arms together and let out a, 'burrrr,' in regards to the temperature.
Trevor threw an arm around her to provide some warmth. Such could be said about their entire relationship: a little warmth, now and then, to chase away the loneliness they both felt.
Before the invasion, Trevor-or rather 'Richard'-and Ashley planned to wed. She and everyone in her neighborhood disappeared without a trace as had tens of thousands of others across the world in the days and hours before the invasion began in earnest.
Over a year later, she reappeared with her neighbors encased in a kind of green goo; a biological sarcophagus of sorts that had transported them through time.
More and more batches of missing persons popped up in the same areas where they had disappeared, usually not long after those areas came under control of Trevor's expanding Empire, as if their reappearance was timed for
