neck for a better view.
'He's at peace now,' Benjamin Trump consoled through watery eyes as he recalled the funeral for his wife who died of breast cancer two years after 'riding the ark' with the rest of her family.
Ashley raised a handkerchief to her eye. Surprisingly, she shed no tears at that moment as her mind focused on projecting the proper image, but that image demanded a handkerchief and tears, so she went through the motion.
She had lived ten years as a character called 'the Emperor's wife,' and now she needed to play the role a while longer for the good of others, no time for her own feelings. Perhaps, she thought, Trevor had felt this way for the last decade.
The three moved away from the casket and stopped off to the side where they waited for their friends to pay respects.
Dante Jones, waiting behind the Brewers, ran an arm over his forehead to clean away beads of sweat that had formed despite the cold day. As he did, he caught sight of Jorge pulling his mother to a stoop so as to whisper in her ear. As Ashley listened, her eyes grew wide in something akin to shock, but she regained control and painted on the face of a consoling mother dealing with a child who could not comprehend the truth of the day.
Dante turned his attention to the memorial as his turn came. He approached the coffin, glanced at the contents, closed his eyes, bowed his head, then moved off, making way for Eva Rheimmer and Brett Stanton.
He stood next to Ashley, curious as to why she appeared annoyed at JB even though her son remained quiet and still.
When that curiosity got the better of him he asked her, 'What was it JB said to you?'
Ashley, a little surprised at Dante's intrusion, answered, 'It was nothing. He's trying to cope. He doesn't understand.' JB, overhearing, faced Dante Jones and repeated what he had whispered. 'That's not father.' — The malaise that had gripped The Empire after the assassination burst. First came the financial markets; they fell apart. Inflation turned Continental Dollars into worthless paper. This led to labor problems, shortages, and a spike in unemployment, but surprisingly little violence.
Dante Jones personally led the investigation. By the time Trevor was entombed inside a stone mausoleum on the grounds of St. Mary's cemetery south of Wilkes-Barre, the focus had narrowed to a few select lines of thinking.
First, the Centurians had flown from a secret base in Mexico, somehow avoided the various radar stations along the way including the intense monitoring around D.C., refueled their hydrogen engines at various rivers and lakes, and managed to ascertain The Emperor's schedule from news reports.
This theory held several obvious flaws but did offer a rather obvious motive: the Centurians must assume that the death of Stone would delay any attack on Mexico.
A more elaborate version of this theory suggested cooperation between the Centurians and the remains of the Hivvan Republic in the Caribbean. Both alien groups sat in The Empire's cross hairs; both would benefit from Trevor's death.
More theories arose, including a few from the most ardent pro-Trevor pundits that suggested a conspiracy involving Trevor's domestic enemies and the former residents of The California Cooperative. Those theories nearly gained traction, until the day after the last formal viewing of Trevor's body. On that day, Dante Jones and Jon Brewer were summoned to the Internal Security extraterrestrial penitentiary outside of Washington.
Chancellor D'Trayne of the Witiko resided in a well-appointed prison cell complete with mirror, vanity, and queen-sized bed. The guards treated him with respect. He counted Senators, media representatives, and peace activists among his daily visitors, and received meals prepared for his extraterrestrial palate
As Jon and Dante arrived at D'Trayne's cell, the alien sat down to just such a meal at a table facing the bars.
While the Chancellor received almost every luxury and necessity he craved, he did lack the silver cosmetic his people seemed addicted to. This made him appear somewhat uncomfortable-naked, even-with his gray skin on display for all to see, despite the toga he wore over a tight body suit. The Witiko, apparently, did not like to show their true colors.
Nonetheless, the Chancellor maintained a dignified tone in his voice. Confident, even.
'You'll have to excuse me, but I am a slave to the prison schedule,' the alien insincerely apologized as he prepared to eat.
'Don't mind us,' Jon said with an equal amount of insincerity.
A guard delivered a metal tin the size of a shoe box accompanied by a bottle filled with orange-tinted water. The alien placed a napkin on his lap, slid open the tin, and-with a small skewer in each hand-stabbed into the water-filled container causing a few drops to splash out.
'I'm glad you accepted my invitation. I feared you would not.'
The Chancellor pulled a squirming fish from the tin and flopped it onto a plate next to a kind of creamed potatoes. He pinned the struggling food with one of the skewers then flayed the meal with a knife as he spoke.
'While you will find this hard to believe, I am sorry about the death of your Emperor.'
'I'm sure,' Jon sneered.
'I speak the truth. While I found him overly aggressive and myopic-I believe that's the right word-his presence did keep your tiny nation rather stable. Stability, the Witiko believe, is a worthy goal of politics. Certainly I wish he would have maintained that stability by not invading The Cooperative. Had he listened to reason, perhaps we could have forged a real friendship. An alliance, even, that would have benefited both our races.'
'There's a reason you asked me to come here,' Brewer grunted as his patience-already stretched thin-neared snapping.
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.
