The armada split into three massive columns and pushed across the wilderness in a tempest of marching soldiers and thundering beasts and rolling wagons. The army climbed mountains and descended into valleys and flowed through forests as it drove east.
Trevor and Major Forest accompanied that army and while they remained under close guard as they rode atop one of the pack lizards, Fromm unbound their hands. Not so much a sign of trust but an acknowledgement that the two humans posed no threat to cause harm or escape.
They traveled without a break for the entire first day, stopping only for a few hours after night fell and resuming again before dawn. Once again, Chaktaw stamina impressed Trevor and he noted they did not require nearly as much sleep as humans.
However, on the second night they paused at the base of a rocky hill for a longer spell. Trevor got the sense that Fromm needed to reign in stragglers and regroup his army, most likely because their destination neared.
Whatever the reason, the Chaktaw constructed a series of temporary shelters out of wood posts and canvass tents that shared the same material as their camouflage ponchos. As a result, the tents ranged in color from black to rust to green, depending on whether they sat near one of the rocky ledges, in a grassy patch, or alongside one of the several streams crisscrossing the bivouac spot. Ten or more Chaktaw shared each shelter, possibly by squad.
Fromm joined Trevor and Nina who rested near a campfire. The woman slave serving as his translator sat just outside the ring of flickering light.
"Your army is impressive," Trevor said. "But even more impressive is your patience. You waited a long time to gather your strength. I don't know if I could be so patient."
"Yes, I have seen. You humans fight with great emotion. Sometimes too much. You make mistakes as a result."
Trevor prompted, "And we can get lulled into a false sense of security. All this time you’ve been launching attacks against both Thebes in the west and the Geryons in the east, haven’t you? And it was the same army. They’d hit Thebes, go east and hit the Geryons, then march on back to hit Thebes again. Like clockwork."
The translator struggled with ‘clockwork’ but managed to get the point across.
"It has been effective."
Their conversation halted as a sound drifted across the camp, starting lower than the chirping crickets but growing to their ears like a soft breeze carrying through the trees. At first, Trevor thought it a moan but then realized he heard a chant. A gentle, somber chant coming from a group of Fromm's soldiers gathered around their own campfire.
Trevor did not understand the Chaktaw language, but he understood the song well enough. The verses spoke of lost friends and family; of a people splintered and driven to the brink of extinction. But the chant did not merely bemoan the loss; it carried a tone of resolve. Less anger or vengeance, more determination.
In that song, Trevor felt the undercurrent of strength that gave the Chaktaw their endurance and stamina; that gave them the patience to wait for their day. And as he listened, he realized that Fromm and his people would win back their Earth.
He closed his eyes for a moment and envisioned Chaktaw infantry pouring through the streets of Thebes, their terrifying artillery shells blasting buildings, their Behemoths-Jaw-Wolves-chasing down and tearing apart not only foot soldiers but armored vehicles, too.
A gruesome vision. And while he understood Fromm’s people had a right to their Earth, he could not help but feel pity for his fellow humans.
He looked over at Major Forest as she sat silently in the glow of the campfire while the Chaktaw chant echoed about the camp. Her blond hair seemed nearly black with grit and grime, her distinctive twin ponytails masses of tangles now. The woman appeared completely exhausted, both physically and mentally.
"Fromm," Trevor spoke quietly so his voice would not disrupt the flow of the chant. "Will you keep your promise? Will you offer Thebes a chance to leave through the runes?"
"If all you have told me is true, then when we turn our armies on the human cancer upon my planet, I will offer them passage through those runes. I will not offer twice. Should they not accept I will destroy them without mercy."
Just a week ago, Trevor Stone was the Emperor of Thebes fighting to reclaim a planet he thought belonged to mankind. He showed no mercy, offered no quarter. Then came the truth. Suddenly he was one of the invaders, and they were not faceless devils.
To his side, Nina sat quietly making eye contact with no one, the type of diminutive behavior he would have expected from the Nina Forest back home during those months before they fell in love. A quiet, shy woman despite her talents for battle.
In this case, however, Major Forest had good reason to try and pass unnoticed. While Fromm needed Trevor and seemed to believe his story of alternate worlds and deceptions, Forest could claim no such excuse, no such ignorance. She was an original member of an invading army and remained alive only as a result of Fromm's benevolence.
Trevor brought her into the conversation nonetheless.
"You fought in a big battle, seven different armies, right?"
She answered with a nod.
"What armies? What races were there?"
At first she did not understand the question, or maybe she hoped he would just let it drop. Yet Fromm and Trevor both sat and waited for an answer.
"Well, I mean, there were the Duass and the Geryons and ourselves and the Chaktaw. I think, wait, yeah, the Centaurians were there and the Witiko," she looked skyward as if maybe the answer flickered up there with the stars. "Oh, yeah, and a bunch of Malebranches."
While the slave translated for Fromm, Trevor tried to translate the races into names he knew. Of course the Duass equated to the Platypuses and he knew the Geryons. He also knew that Malebranches were what he thought of as Mutants, one of the long list of creatures from the realm of Voggoth. That left two he did not recognized.
"Centaurians? Witiko?"
Fromm spoke before the Major could answer. "I remember we were without our Behemoths and on the run. We inflicted great casualties upon our enemies before withdrawing."
"Who are the Centaurians and the Witiko?"
Fromm spoke to his translator who relayed, "The Centaurians are disciplined but arrogant and easily confused, easily tricked. They have powerful weapons and aircraft, but they do not use their aircraft for fighting, only to watch. This is but one of their many weaknesses. Before we knew their name we called them the ‘Black Eyes’ for their eyes are big and black underneath their helmets."
"Red uniforms with helmets? Guns that become more powerful as they charge?"
Fromm answered, "Gold armor, slightly taller than you. Their aircraft use water for fuel."
"Okay, so their colors are different but we called them Redcoats on our Earth. I have to remember even the invading armies are from different universes. Those hitting my Earth are from my universe; those attacking here are of this, well, reality or dimension or whatever. Point is, they are a lot alike, but still with some differences. Red armor invading my earth, gold invading yours. Still, armor and air ships. The civilizations must all be about the same level. That was probably planned, too. Anyway, who are the Witiko?"
For the first time during the conversation, Fromm looked directly at Major Forest who, for her part, looked to him as well. Trevor judged that by the way they glanced at one another-eyes a little wide, mouths a little open-the two shared an understanding of these Witiko that Trevor lacked.
"Well, who are they?"
"They are dangerous," Nina said. "They've got air power and solid infantry, and they can make animals fight for them. But more than that, they're clever. Trevor-my Trevor, that is-couldn't stand them and didn't trust them, even when we were supposed to be working together."
Fromm spoke through his translator, "They are little larger than you or I but their strength is not physical; they are sophisticated and cunning. Be weary of them."
Trevor said, "Okay then, that answers the question of who was at the big dance," he stopped and corrected for the sake of the translation. "I mean, fight. The only ones not there were the Hivvans and the Red Hands. That would make eight and we’ve got ourselves a complete set."
"We have not faced the Hivvans much here," Fromm explained. "But I know they are strong in parts of the world. Their time will come. I do not know the other name."
Trevor turned to Nina who also shrugged at the name 'Red Hands' so he described, "Kind of primitive. They paint themselves red, usually a hand. Fight with bows and pointed sticks."
Major Forest said, "Sounds like the Feranites. The Order of Feran."
Fromm nodded as he listened to the translation of Nina's answer. Trevor went on, "So there you have it. Eight different Earths, eight different races. Well, actually, nine. So we're short an Earth. The only question is…where does Voggoth fit in?"
Fromm recognized that name. His face twisted.
"Voggoth and the nightmares that come from his place. Where ever that may be, it is no doubt dark and lifeless."
Trevor considered Fromm’s observation. He also wondered about creatures like the Mutants and Wraiths and Roachbots. They were organized, they had technologies, yet he knew from the research done at Red Rock that those creatures-and many more-did not come from the same tree of life as the eight races on the eight Earths.
Trevor asked, "Tell me something, on my world before the invasion began, thousands of my people disappeared. In the years since, they've been reappearing in areas we've liberated. We call it 'riding the ark'."
Through his translator, Fromm answered, "We experienced nothing like that."
"Are you sure? We keep finding people stuck in this green stuff, sort of like a coffin but when we pull them out they're fine, they just don't remember what happened."
Again, Fromm answered, "That is a mystery unique to you."
Trevor turned to Major Forest and asked, "Do you know anything about that?"
"Sorry, no. I don't remember anything like that. One other thing, though, when you're talking about all these races that are fighting. Don't forget The Nyx."
"The…the Nyx?" Trevor remembered the oily black entity from which Nina’s people had stole the dimension-crossing building. Apparently Fromm had not heard of the Nyx, either.
Trevor asked, "How do they fit in? Do you know?"
Nina hesitated but stares from Trevor and Fromm forced her to speak.
"I don’t know, but my Trevor-the one from Sirius-I heard him joke about them. He called them something…I don’t know if it means anything…he called them the ‘umpires.’"
"The umpires?" Trevor did not so much ask a question as he did roll the idea around in his mind. Fromm remained quiet after listening to the translation.
"I think they are close to Voggoth. Maybe even under his control. I told you, Snowe set up everything to, well, to go and get you and he was in contact with Voggoth's agents."
Trevor placed his hands over his ears and gave his head a good squeeze.
"I think I’ve stuffed too much in here. I’ve learned more than I ever bargained for."
Fromm spoke slowly to his translator who said, "Until the truth of the matter is revealed, we can only play our part inside the scheme. Perhaps a day will come when we can fight against the scheme itself."
– The early evening sun hung low in a clear sky, sending sharp streaks of brilliant gold above the mountain tops, over Trevor's position, across open grassland, and slamming into the city by the shore like laser beams.
He hid among the remains of abandoned Chaktaw cliff dwellings near the crest of the last hill in a series of hills rippling away from the coastline like protective walls. Through binoculars, he eyed the city that sat along the crescent-shaped coastline.
At one time, that city had belonged to the Chaktaw, but now the Geryon Reich laid claim to the place. Trevor clearly saw the differences in architecture.
The original buildings resembled something like sandcastle towers built by the ocean including grand balconies, stylish archways, terracotta roofs, patios made of rock pavers, as well as statues and fountains decorating intersections. All the signs of a beachside resort, reminding him of his own summer house along the shores of southern New Jersey.
Jorgie liked to build sandcastles.
In contrast, the Geryons added a fifteen-foot tall perimeter wall made of black and gray steel and built in stretches with each section hinged to the next. Catwalks and guard towers with both spotlights and gun emplacements were fixed to the interior side of the barrier, and Trevor spotted a dozen robotic Steel Guard Golems marching the exterior perimeter.
Inside, alien buildings rose from the ground like iron stalagmites reaching fifty to one hundred feet in the air and clustered together in large numbers akin to steel cancers on otherwise beautiful flesh.
A trio of large structures dominated the city center, two rectangular and colored gray and white with a series of antenna and towers on their roofs. The third a circular, dark building resting atop a wide pedestal and lined with both windows and what resembled loudspeakers.
Regardless of aesthetics, the invaders had turned the seaside resort into a fortress. If the walls, guns, and towers were not imposing enough, a Geryon battleship cast its shadow over the scene, floating above the central area not far from those big rectangular buildings and nearly directly above the circular one. The juggernaut was tethered to the ground by heavy iron chains affixed to massive anchors wedged into the earth below.
In addition to the formidable defenses, an attack from inland would have to traverse the open field of grass, mud, and debris that stretched between Trevor's position and the front gate. Apparently someone had tried at some point because the remnants of many battles lay in that field like broken and burned fossils.
Just like the wastelands at Thebes' northern gate.
Stone lay on his belly amidst a tangle of thickets in front of the collapsed entrance to a long-forgotten Chaktaw cliff dwelling. Fromm stood in the shadows behind him with his interpreter at his side who relayed, "There are docks on the southeastern side of the city. They are of importance to us."
Trevor raised his field glasses and scanned. He saw huge buildings along the coast to the southeast but they appeared neglected, as did the nearby, sagging docks. It stood to reason that with air ships, the Geryons held seafaring vessels in little regard.
He crawled backwards until in the shadow of the mountain and then stood next to Fromm. The Chaktaw leader spoke and his interpreter said, "Tough walls. Towers have rapid fire guns but will be no problem. The big problem is their airship. Very powerful."
"Yes," Trevor agreed as he recalled his encounter with the Geryons at this Earth’s estate. "Very powerful. But not invulnerable."
Fromm asked, "Tell me, what strategy would you employ?"
Judging by the sharp squint of Fromm's eyes, Trevor suspected he did not seek advice but, rather, wanted to understand how a human leader saw the situation. No doubt such insight would help him better fight mankind.
"That depends on what the objectives are."
Fromm first pointed toward the big rectangular buildings sitting beneath the air ship. "They must be taken whole." He then pointed at the circular building. "That one must either be destroyed or over run." Then the Chaktaw pointed his finger toward the big dock buildings on the southern stretch of the city. "I want those intact."
Trevor scratched his nose and offered Fromm his thoughts. "I’d open up with artillery on the northern end supported by air power, send a sizable force down from the north to draw their attention, and then hit them with a smaller, more mobile force from the south. Break the walls down there and then move toward the center of town taking the objectives along the way."
Fromm listened to the translation then shook his head. "Why do you always try tricks? You don’t know the Geryon, do you? They get stronger with time. While you waste effort to the north, they send that ship to blow everything up. Then the Steel Guard is waiting for you in the south where your small force is struggling to break down the wall. Too fancy, Trevor Stone."
"Okay, then, what is it you’re going to do?"
"I am going to strike at the heart of my enemy as fast and as hard as I can so as to kill him with one blow."
Stone watched as Fromm turned his hazel and green eyes toward the city. In that gaze Trevor saw more than a commander looking at the things he planned to destroy, he saw a leader contemplating a decisive blow much greater than an isolated victory over a solitary fortress.
Trevor remembered the strange room when first arriving at the Chaktaw caves. He remembered the door that opened long enough to see a mocked up control room inside.
His eyes widened and he said, "You’re going after their battleships, aren’t you?"
Fromm faced Stone again. And smiled.
– The Earth shook. A cloud of dust stormed across the plains approaching the coastal city and the walls protecting it.
They came.
Hundreds of fearsome Behemoths galloped…charged…rumbled over the mile-long span of open terrain between the wilderness and the Geryon defenses. They moved like tanks on legs, their massive jaws swaying side to side with the motion of their bodies. Their mass blanketed that open stretch and surged forward as an unstoppable force.
Fromm's timing served his purpose; he sent his army forward with the sun still low in the sky yet just above the hilltops, meaning those laser-beam-like rays of light shooting in from the west nearly blinded the Geryon defenders and thus hid the true weight of the oncoming assault.
Geryon alarms-screeching horns and muffled shouts-sounded from behind the wall.
Both of the human 'guests' watched the battle unfold from atop a pack lizard, waiting with the second wave in the shadows of the mountainside. As he watched, Trevor felt he had never seen such a scary sight. He almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the Geryons. Almost.
As he watched the beasts approach the city, a sound stole his attention away from the sight. A roar. He wondered what other beasts fought at Fromm's command but saw that the sound belonged to a machine, not a monster.
A streak of five aircraft joined the battle. Each resembled more a flying gas tank on fire than the fighter jets of Trevor’s world. As he observed them, he felt certain they would explode on their own with no help from the enemy. Nonetheless, the rocket-planes roared forward above the mass of stampeding Jaw-Wolves.
Geryon fire rose to meet enemies on land and in the air.
A squad of the red-metal Golems stood their ground and raised the barrels on their robotic arms. Explosive shells and small missiles fired at the Behemoths. The armor-plated beasts did not so much engage the Golems as bowled them over, crushing and smashing until little more than scrap remained.
The Geryon towers came next. Heavy fire flashed from those guard posts like arrows of plasma, severing Jaw-Wolf limbs, puncturing eyes and blasting away chunks of gray armor plating. But that did not slow-not even a little-the breathing battering rams as they smashed into the main gate.
Geryon infantry dressed in leather and metal battle suits with tight-fitting helmets and ball-gag-like communicators fired futuristic crossbows and tossed hand-held explosive devices from the battlements.
In the sky, the Chaktaw’s air force rocketed directly for the dirigible. The rust-colored air ship with one central blimp and two smaller ones came to life. First, the gigantic, sharp anchors retracted into compartments on the front and rear of the battleship. Then the maneuvering propellers on its port side spooled to life and turned the nose cones of the three fuselages to face the fast-moving planes.
Those planes broke formation and scattered, turning from a flight of angry hornets into individual craft zigzagging and looping as they moved in closer to the target vessel.
Anti-air batteries onboard the battleship fired slowly and methodically, the exact opposite of what Trevor expected. However, the guns more than proved their mettle as their shells exploded in balls of crimson as if offering the grand finale of a fireworks display, creating a large kill zone and catching one of the planes with the first volley.
That rocket-plane smoked and rattled, dipped, then escaped to the west, a contrail of flame dancing from its aft quarters.
The remaining flyers attacked with nose-cone-mounted mini-guns. Bits and pieces of the battleship's protective outer layer flaked away but hull integrity held for the moment.
Trevor’s attention refocused to the ground attack as the second wave started forward. They did not march and they did not run; something in between.
Two thousand Chaktaw warriors comprised that second wave. They descended the mountainside with discipline but also with a determined enthusiasm. Ponchos morphed colors in reaction first to the dead bark of the trees then the pale green and dirty brown of the plains.
The pack animal carrying the two humans moved slow, keeping Trevor and Nina a safe distance to the rear. In contrast, Trevor spied Fromm at the head of the second wave with his rifle held high and waving his men forward.
Exactly where a leader is supposed to be.
Meanwhile, the Behemoths weathered the withering fire from the battlements and pounded at the gates with their armor-plated shoulders. A few even launched their extending jaws to batter away at the barrier.
The gate held…it held…it bent ever so slightly…the metal hinges and locks groaned from the strain…the guns in the guard towers intensified, ripping more of the attackers into bloody pieces but the monsters did not stop.
Then came the first crack in the middle of the two heavy doors. The constant smashing of the Behemoths from their bodies and their punching jaws was too much. Even as guns and grenades turned another ten of their number into gory piles, the creatures focused on the task.
Trevor recognized that blind determination, that blind loyalty. He often witnessed it in his army of K9s back home.
Finally, both doors of the gate gave way, one falling flat to the ground with a heavy impact, the other swinging open.
The mass of smiling Behemoths-some stacked on top of one another in their hunger to punch through the wall-hovered at the open portal for a moment. The streets of the city lay ahead; streets of dirt and gravel running between the obsidian peaks of the Geryon buildings and the sad remnants of Chaktaw architecture.
Across from them waited the last line of defense before anarchy: one hundred Golems of the Steel Guard in tight formation with their camera-eyes glowing. Yet somehow those beaked robotic skulls did not look so horrid in the face of Fromm’s pets.
Overhead, the massive solitary propeller at the rear of the three-pronged Geryon air ship revolved, the big blades turning slowly and providing the vehicle forward momentum.
The Chaktaw rocket planes made another series of runs, each from a different direction. Despite their speed, the attackers suffered another casualty from the battleship's anti-air batteries. A damaged fighter careened into a flat spin like an out of control bottle rocket before falling to the city in a gold and black fireball.
Below, the Chaktaw infantry advanced to support the Behemoths as the latter rushed the Steel Guard. Those machines opened fire with missiles and heavy shells, shattering several circular maws and ripping away armor plating. Two…five…a dozen Behemoths fell by the time the horde reached the defenders…and smashed their line under a sea of armor and teeth.
Behind that vanguard of Jaw-Wolves, Chaktaw rifles found targets along the walls and short-range artillery hit Geryon infantry forming for a counter-attack.
Trevor expected the Jaw-Wolves and the Chaktaw soldiers to fan out once they breached the wall. Instead, the column of Behemoths and the following infantry stayed tightly formed and advanced along the main street, bulling through any opposition.
Suddenly, a burst of light caused Trevor to avert his eyes, as if he had accidentally gazed into the sun. It seemed the battleship had brought its main gun to bear, sweeping a stream of energy into the lead elements of the assault. In an instant, a score of Behemoths disintegrated leaving behind charred, lifeless shells.
Despite this show of power, the advance did not falter. More Jaw-Wolves took the place of their fallen comrades with no hesitation. Behind those monsters came row upon row of determined Chaktaw soldiers.
Overhead, the fighter planes did their best to draw off the blimp. Their guns rained across the surface of the battleship even as its anti-air batteries responded with methodical shelling.
Another of the flyers exploded in mid air.
Two planes remained. Small odds against the lumbering juggernaut yet those planes did not panic, did not shy off. Instead, they accelerated and whizzed over and under the dirigible at speeds approaching supersonic.
Nonetheless, another stream of energy hammered down from above, cutting a swath across the main thoroughfare. Not only were Behemoths and infantry melted alive, but many of the black buildings along the street crumpled and fell creating a chaotic mass of flames and dust.
One of the Chaktaw rockets strafed the bow of the giant air ship. Sparks flew from the dish-shaped energy weapon and it fell dark, obviously knocked out of commission, at least temporarily.
Fromm led his men forward through the crater lined with glass that had been his vanguard moments before. The number of Behemoth carcasses scattered in front of the city wall and along the center road began to pile up, but Fromm still counted dozens of the creatures in the attack's spearhead and hundreds more in reserve hidden behind the mountains to the west.
Trevor and Nina, on back of a pack animal and in the midst of another column of infantry, entered the city. Their ride wobbled around bodies and bones of Jaw-Wolves and stamped over the broken pale and black Geryon defenders as well as the metallic remains of the vaunted Steel Guard.
Far ahead at the tip of the spear, the battering ram of an army finally did disperse. Three distinct groups moved in three different directions. Two groups each headed for one of the big, rectangular structures.
The main group-with Fromm at the lead-aimed for the dark building that sat atop a wide pedestal, apparently the heart of the Geryon garrison.
A pair of Golems and two squads of infantry blocked his path taking cover in the ruins of an old Chaktaw market and behind a pair of armored, tracked vehicles that played the role of Geryon tanks.
Fromm met those defenses with a dozen Behemoths and three times that number in infantry, some armed with portable rocket launchers.
A fierce firefight ensued. The Golems stopped two of the giant beasts with well-placed missiles. The tanks opened fire with smaller versions of the dirigibles’ main energy weapon, frying another Behemoth and forcing much of the approaching infantry into cover.
For a moment, the Geryon infantry cheered. The buzz of electronic chatter from their ball gag like communicators sounded akin to a futuristic football team celebrating one good play. It would be the only good play of the day for the Geryons.
The wave of attackers once again poured forward. Portable rocket launchers hit and disabled both of the tracked vehicles. Chaktaw guns found their marks in the leather and metal uniforms of the defenders.
Then the Jaw-Wolves moved in for the final kill. The remaining enemy troops actually ran-not retreated-but ran. One was gobbled whole from behind as an extending jaw clamped over his screaming body.
The Golems held their ground only to be overwhelmed by small arms fire, grenades, and missiles.
Fromm moved his shock troops to the Geryon command center. A pair of his soldiers approached the heavy black and silver door at the base of the large pedestal. They attached round devices resembling thick gears. A moment later those gears whirred to life and spun-drilled-into the surface of the door. Sparks and smoke billowed from their rapid movement; metal flaked away from the door.
The devices buried themselves into the door, stopped, and then they exploded. The surface of the bulkhead rippled as if liquefied, then fell into pieces like shattered glass leaving only a thick cloud.
A torrent of enemy fire shot out from the confines of the building.
Two Chaktaw wearing tube-like back packs attached to hoses took position to either side of the open door frame and waited. Fromm rolled a round device between his men into the cloud. A second later a brilliant flash and sparks erupted, followed by the garbled cries of Geryon defenders.
The two back-pack-wearing soldiers fired a wide stream of gushing acid swaying that stream side to side like firemen dousing flames.
More screams and a sickening sizzling sound.
While the Behemoths could not fit into the tight confines of the building, Fromm sent his troops rushing inside. They met a handful of disorientated and injured Geryons still trying to protect a spiral stair case in the center of a round chamber. That last band of pitiful protectors was brushed aside and fell next to the melted remains of their comrades caught in the acid bath.
As Fromm’s force climbed those stairs, the floating Geryon battleship’s defenses scored another critical hit on one of the flying attackers. The fourth of the original five fighter planes was swatted from the sky. Its thin frame broke into two pieces-one burning-and fluttered to the ground.
Trevor and Major Forest on lizard-back moved toward the center of town where the battle seemed to enter its final stages. Trevor did not have to see the fights at the front lines to know that things went well for the Chaktaw; he could practically smell their victory among the stench of burning metal carried on a crisp ocean breeze from plumes of dark smoke rising around the city. Birds similar to seagulls circled overhead in vast flocks, waiting to dine on dead flesh.
He saw something even more interesting than birds up there. Trevor narrowed his eyes and focused on the dirigible hanging in the evening air over the city. Its main gun had been quiet for several minutes, ever since a fighter plane riddled its firing mechanism with bullets.
Now a metal catwalk extended from the blimp’s command module to provide access to the gun. A trio of pale-skinned Geryon technicians worked vigorously on the array.
He was not the only one to spot the repairers. The last remaining rocket-jet finished a sweep over the city skyline and made an almost suicidal lunge toward the bow of the juggernaut. Its nose-cone gun fired, causing sparks along the length of the undercarriage.
The plane never finished its run. An anti-air battery scored a perfect hit. The fighter died in a bright burst of flame and smoke, its pulverized pieces drifted in the wind like confetti.
At that point, the dirigible’s energy weapon returned to service. A fresh stream of plasma pummeled the city below firing so hurriedly and haphazardly that most of its destructive power was wasted on buildings, not invading troops.
Nonetheless, that beam ended the lives of a dozen more Chaktaw soldiers only a few yards ahead of Trevor and Nina. He felt the urge to dismount and find cover but guessed their escort would not allow it.
As the battleship recharged its weapon, Trevor saw that Geryons might yet turn the tide of the battle, and it caused a lump in his throat.
The roof of one of the large rectangular buildings retracted. It appeared that these buildings were, in fact, hangers. A second Geryon zeppelin ascended to the sky, the blimps to either side of the main fuselage inflating and expanding as it gained altitude. The rear propeller chugged to life.
Both of the zeppelins fired their main weapons at the same time.
The first’s slammed to the surface again, causing a brilliant light and ripping apart walls and melting roofs all while obliterating Chaktaw infantry. Before it could do even more damage, the second dirigible's main gun slammed into the first battleship, slicing across the air and skewer the lead ship. The thick line of plasma entered through the first’s rear propeller, cut across the main balloon, and continued off toward the horizon where at some distant point the beam lost cohesion and dissipated.
The same could be described of the stricken air ship. It fell to pieces from the inside out. No secondary explosions; the energy weapon claimed all the destructive glory for itself.
Unlike the battleship he destroyed at the lake, this one died nearly in an instant with little wreckage, the energy weapon evaporating all but the most stubborn bulkheads, struts, and supports.
Before he could fully appreciate that victory, the sound of additional destruction pulled his eyes in another direction. From his vantage point, he saw the circular top of the Geryon’s main building. Flashes came from inside that structure, then the walls blasted out destroying the Geryon command center and leaving behind an inferno.
The city by the sea belonged to the Chaktaw once more.
– Sporadic fighting continued through the night because the Geryons had nowhere to retreat and the Chaktaw accepted no surrender.
Fromm established his command post on the southern end of town inside one of the sagging, crumbling, but gigantic dock halls. Trevor and Nina spent the night under casual guard in a corner there, listening to the scattered sounds of gun fire and explosions. Still, the gentle sound of the lapping ocean waters outside their quarters-some kind of office-managed to create a small sense of serenity.
In the morning, Jaff escorted them to Fromm at his post in the main chamber of the massive building. The ceiling reached two hundred feet high but neglect led to cracks allowing bits of morning sun to streak in. A huge door on one end of the chamber stood closed but, when open, allowed access to the sea and Trevor saw why.
Gently swaying in a pool of water inside the hall waited a magnificent vehicle. Trevor thought it one part clipper and one part ark with vertical tubes rising from the brown hull, probably housing retracted sails.
Judging by its size, Trevor guessed it required a crew of dozens while a hundred or more men or beasts could travel in its belly. He did not know if it served more the purpose of transport or as a Man-O-War, but he figured it could probably act in either role.
It was, however, in a bad state. Some boards along the hull had warped and sprung loose and the superstructure-a series of compartments with sharp edges and a wide, sweeping bridge-showed signs of damage from both battle and time.
Fortunately, despite a long occupation the Geryons never bothered to dispose of the relic. Perhaps-again-because they did not give proper consideration to water craft. Whatever the case, the Geryons or another of the invading races would some day rue the occupiers' failure to sink the thing. Trevor saw Chaktaw engineers already hard at work on this boat and he knew there to be six more huge dock halls potentially housing similar ships.
Trevor turned his attention to the trappings of Fromm’s makeshift command post. He saw desks and tables, computer terminals that resembled 1990s vintage PCs, and communications gear, as well as portable generators, all arranged along the inside wall atop a stretch of cracked concrete floor.
Bangs and clangs from repairmen tools competed with the chirps of computing machines, the crackle of radio traffic, and the murmur of conversations for Trevor's ear. The huge space inside the dock hall gave each of those noises its own echo.
Jaff separated Trevor from Major Forest and led him to a table around which stood Fromm and his lieutenants, their battle ponchos discarded for simple tunics with little or no markings of rank.
As Trevor joined the gathering, he saw a map on the table and recognized what on his world would have been the northeast coast line of North America as evident by the curl of Cape Cod and the unmistakable stretch of Long Island.
He waited patiently and in silence as the Chaktaw commanders pointed, discussed, waved their arms, and shook fists at unseen enemies. After much debate, Fromm stopped the cross talk and spoke in firm, determined words.
Trevor could not decipher the language and Jaff did not translate, but he understood that Fromm issued orders to his most trusted officers the way Trevor gave direction to Brewer, Stonewall, and Shepherd.
Reverend Johnny?
As the Chaktaw leader spoke, he moved his gaze from comrade to comrade, finding their eyes and giving some of his strength to them in a glance.
It boggled his mind to realize that across parallel universes similar leaders gave similar orders to what remained of their resistance movements. On his world that leader was himself, a human. Here it was Fromm of the Chaktaw. Somewhere else a Centaurian, a Feranite, a Hivvan, and more. Eight universes in all with eight different Earths hosting eight different civilizations under siege.
Fromm finished his orders and dismissed his commanders and spoke to Trevor Stone with Jaff translating. The somewhat friendly, less guarded tone of recent days disappeared, replaced with a threatening tone.
"This is our city again. Many more of our cities wait to be reclaimed. That was my intention, to retake all of what was ours. But you have changed my plans. Now I must go on this errand to the Ring of Ice. If what you say is true, then it will be a worthy cause. Before we depart, you must know this is your last chance to admit to deception. Tell me now if you lie and I will spare your lives. But if we go and find nothing then you will suffer terribly."
Fromm hovered, waiting for Trevor to respond.
"I speak the truth. I will take you to the runes. Once they are yours, the gateways that have brought the invaders to your planet will be shut off. Their supplies and reinforcements will be no more. On my Earth, this changed the balance of power and has allowed my armies to conquer much of what we had lost."
Fromm listened to the translation without taking his hazel and green eyes from Trevor. The Chaktaw breathed deeply, a sign of agitation born from the unexpected twist impacting Fromm’s meticulously prepared battle plans.
Trevor remembered how difficult it had been to gather the resources and manpower to send Brewer’s task force north while still carrying on the struggle against the Hivvans to the south. But he had found a way. Now Fromm had to find a way and he had to find that way now because, Trevor knew, at that moment the other alien races mustered expeditions to race for the runes, just as had occurred on his Earth.
Fromm accepted Trevor’s word.
"We depart today."
– Trevor had hoped that the mode of transport would be one of the fantastic sea vessels harbored in the dock halls. However, taking the stolen Geryon battleship was, of course, a much better choice. It offered plenty of firepower and could hold the fifty soldiers and dozen Behemoths that formed Fromm’s expeditionary force.
Nonetheless, Trevor caught a glimpse of the sailing vessels as they eased forth from their long-neglected dens and slid out to sea.
Standing on the gondola's command deck with Major Forest and his armed escort at his side, Trevor spared a glance down at that the liberated city as the zeppelin gained altitude and turned north.
He saw the Chaktaw ships escape their confinement. As they cleared their moorings, beautiful golden sales unfurled from the vertical masts and turbine-like engines rose from the deck.
First one, then two, then four moving together in a fleet, their bows set on points south, gaining speed at an impressive yet graceful pace as they carried the Chaktaw crusade of liberation to other points around this Earth.
After several seconds, the sails disappeared from Trevor’s view as the dirigible set its sights to the northeast.
To the Arctic Circle; to the Ring of Ice.
To the way home.