'Do you want to know why the dear, peace-loving Chancellor sued for peace?' Trevor asked. Bright red flashed in the enemy’s pupils. D’Trayne tilted his head and willed his eyes green again. 'The Witiko sued for peace because I shut down his gateway. I cut off his reinforcements and supplies.'
More red. Then yellow. Then almost orange.
'The Witiko sought an end to the war because they feared their ability to fight that war. The Chancellor here found himself stranded with his foot on the throat of a dangerous enemy but all alone. So what did he do? He bargained. He bargained from what you thought was a position of strength, so you gave in because you thought you were saving yourselves but the truth is that you saved the Witiko.'
'That’s a lie!' Malloy burst.
'Hey, man,' Gannon tried his best to sound stern but came across as childish. 'You don’t know what you’re talking about. D’Trayne here is, just, a great guy. They coulda wiped us out, but they didn’t.'
'Oh no? Tell me something, Governor, what’s the human birth rate in California?'
Malloy straightened in his chair and wavered. Trevor held a hand aloft.
'Don’t bother, I’ll tell you. You’re at zero population growth and the life expectancy of your citizens is falling, fast. Probably because your average guy in California has to work two jobs to get enough credits to eat and usually one of those jobs is in a Witiko factory or mine.'
Evan jumped, 'Don’t even try that, Trevor. These are no slaves here.'
Gannon spoke, 'Hey, it’s just, we have limited resources so we gotta watch how many babies we’re making.'
Malloy assured, 'Every one in California has a role to play. There are more humans than Witiko therefore humans make up the bulk of the labor force.'
Trevor nodded. 'Right. Humans are the peasants while the Witiko and a few select people sit at the top like royalty.'
'Don’t preach about royalty,' Evan warned. 'Not when you’re the undisputed leader of an Empire. California has more democracy than-'
'Democracy? I know how they work. A ruling class. Assemblymen appointed for life. Leaders come only from that pool and the only way to get in is to be selected by the Chancellor or Governor. That’s right, I know about your Cooperative because there are plenty of people living in it who want out. They’ve been talking to us for months.'
Evan countered, 'There’s always the disgruntled. There are always those who are unhappy. How many people back home would love to see you go?'
Trevor did not take the bait. He kept his attention on the one voice on the other side of the table that mattered; the one voice yet to be heard.
'Here’s the deal,' the Emperor found the bottom line and gave it directly to D’Trayne. 'I don’t want to fight you. I offer you passage to your home world through the runes. These guys may not know what that means but you do. I have fought and killed thousands of invaders and I am tired of killing. I don’t want my people to die and I don’t want to kill your people. We’ll send you home, safe passage guaranteed.' Malloy, Gannon, and Godfrey all tried to speak. Their words mixed together into an unrecognizable mish-mash. Chancellor D’Trayne silenced them. 'This is our planet now, too, Trevor Stone.'
The alien spoke in a soft voice but his words carried much weight in part because his eyes shined a luminous green. He needed no translation device; he spoke in perfect English, apparently as comfortable with the language as-Trevor understood-all Witiko had become.
'I offer a negotiated peace. I offer to share our technology with you. I offer to merge our great races into one nation and to help you fight off the rest of the invaders. But I will not leave this planet. You will find that my people do not retreat.' Trevor eased in his chair. 'I offer your people a chance to return to their home. You do not belong here. I will not tolerate your presence here.' Evan barked, 'It is not up to you to make the decisions for all humanity.'
'You have no authority to attack us,' Malloy shot. 'We have chosen to ally with the Witiko. Attacking us would be immoral and wrong.'
'You would be nothing more than Ghengis Khan or Hitler,' Evan suggested in a tempered tone that came across more a warning than an insult. 'You don’t want to invade. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.'
Trevor finished, 'There is nothing more to say. I have communicated with you for nearly a year. My message has not changed. We have arrived at a juncture, Chancellor. There will be no more negotiation. You must decide.'
The Chancellor stood. Trevor did the same.
'The Witiko do not take well to threats.'
Trevor corrected, 'You mean The Cooperative, don’t you?'
D’Trayne’s eyes burnt crimson. The alien leader turned to Evan Godfrey.
'You are a wise man, Senator Godfrey. Perhaps you can still salvage this situation before it deteriorates into war.'
Trevor said forcefully, 'Time is running out Chancellor. I will give you a few days to consider. Your choice is simple; return to the home world from where you came, or die here, on my world in a fight you could have avoided.'
The Chancellor suggested grimly, 'Perhaps some things are unavoidable.'
3. Maneuvers
Gordon Knox walked the first floor of the mansion, his eyes fixed on a paper. A few couriers and assistants shared that hall, each giving the broad-shouldered man a wide berth, no doubt in some small part due to his more intimidating appearance these days; in an effort to go bald on his own terms, Knox had shaved his head last year.
The Director of Intelligence stopped walking as an interesting piece of data grabbed his interest. He traced a line on the sheet with a finger and leaned against an open doorway. A flash in the corner of his eye-movement- diverted his attention.
He stood at the entrance to the 'den', a chamber that served as a library, a playroom, and sometimes a classroom. The movement that caught his attention came from the side yard as visible through the den's casement windows.
Gordon crossed the room slow, almost trance-like, and came to the window.
Ashley and her son, Jorge, played in the yard. The sun had baked the muddy lawn hard and a slight hint of green infiltrated the otherwise brown grass. The mother and son kicked a soccer ball between them.
JB-still two months from his eighth birthday-giggled incessantly as his mother tried to steal the white and black ball from between the blond haired boy’s legs. The sound of his playful laughter managed to squeak through the window pane, albeit muffled and dulled.
Gordon watched.
Ashley smiled as she lunged one foot then another at the ball, as if actually trying to steal it away. Gordon knew it a mother's ruse.
Knox grew transfixed by that smile, by those giggles, by Ashley’s lunging at the ball, at JB’s clumsy but successful dodges. He pressed a finger against the glass, as if maybe he could touch the giggles, the fun, and the mother’s love through the window. But he felt only a cold barrier.
He did not dream of winning Ashley’s love. He lacked these designs not merely because of the twelve years separating their ages or his unflinching loyalty to Trevor Stone. No, Ashley lived on another plane. He watched her with the same sense of awe that a young art student might feel strolling The Louvre; studying and watching but knowing his hands could never grasp such splendor.
Ashley showed The Empire her smile when they needed to see the warmth of the mother of the post- Armageddon world. She gracefully walked at Trevor’s side as per the script drawn for her character to play on the public stage. She lent her name and her words to the fight against infant mortality, to gather volunteer work parties to build new schools, to conservation initiatives during times of rationing.
