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.
He pulled his finger from the glass. At that moment the ball careened toward the house and smacked into the side of the mansion below the window, drawing both sets of playing eyes to the man watching them. JB waved enthusiastically. Ashley flashed an unsure smile. Gordon walked away. — Trevor Stone sat at the head of a long table in the mansion's basement. A collection of televisions, audio equipment, and computers surrounded the room in cabinets and on counters.
Two doors led away as did a set of stairs. One of those doors opened to the armory. The second to a small utility room.
Unbeknownst to the council members gathered at the table, that second door led to more than a hot water heater. Trevor’s portal to the strange device that provided him with access to mankind’s genetic memories lay hidden in there while the key that unlocked that door-a key visible only to his eyes-hung on his neck.
Trevor glanced around the table at the assembling military council. They had met on numerous occasions in the three years since Trevor returned from his cross-dimensional excursion yet he still missed Reverend Johnny’s booming voice.
However, Jon Brewer attracted Trevor's full attention as he began the meeting with a disturbing report.
"We found the same thing in Seattle that we found in Grand Forks, Oklahoma City, Dallas, and Cincinnati," Jon licked his lips and fidgeted in his seat. "We found nothing."
"Nothing?" Dante Jones, Director of Internal Security, repeated with a question mark.
Brett Stanton scratched one of the scars on his thin, pot-marked face and asked, "There were supposed to be bad things there. Now wait, this wasn’t a reconnaissance goof, was it?"
Gordon Knox answered definitively, "I had people in there a month before the troops. Seattle was crawling with Deadheads, Mutants, and we even had reports of Wraiths." Brewer responded, "Well they were gone when we got there. Not a trace. Well, I mean, lots of bodies of people." "Wait a second," Dante asked. "You found bodies? Human bodies?" When Jon nodded Dante concluded, "So they were there not long before you guys marched in. They just vanished."
Trevor noticed Anita Nehru sitting at the far end of the table with her head cradled in one hand while vacantly swirling a twizzle stick in a cup of coffee with the other. Her husband, Omar, sat across the table trying to get her attention but failing.
"Trevor?"
"Huh?
Gordon repeated what Trevor missed, "I said, the way the hostiles are disappearing reminds me of how people were disappearing before all this."
Dante agreed, "Yeah, this looks kind of familiar."
"Alllrriiigghtty then, does that mean they're all going to come back, too?" Lori Brewer’s flippant remark raised a scary question.
Brett Stanton leaned forward and scratched his noggin as he laid it out, "Okay, now, well, if we were to go thinking back to all that, when was the last time we know for sure a bunch of people went missing?"
Trevor closed his eyes and revisited those chaotic days some ten years prior. The first signs of impeding Armageddon came in the form of mass disappearances. Those disappearances included Ashley.
Her group had been the first recovered, but not the last. For more than four years the expanding armies of the human Empire happened upon caches of ‘ark riders’, pulling them from gooey green sarcophagi with no recollection of their ordeal. However, no such riders had been found in the three years since ten thousand baseball fans showed up at Wrigley field. That group had disappeared the day before the invasion began in earnest; an invasion triggered by the conception of Trevor's son.
Unfortunately, the baseball fans at Wrigley field completed their journey through time before Trevor’s armies marched into Chicago. Instead of finding people waiting to be liberated from green globs, they found torn and shattered corpses. The ark riders, in that case, had completed their time travel too soon, arriving in the midst of a hostile city where they ended up a food source for a variety of nasty predators.
Trevor spoke, "I think Ashley was the last to disappear and the Wrigley field mess was the last to reappear."
Knox postulated, "So something stole away people, maybe to try and save them, at the start of all this. Now, here we are and something is stealing away monsters…to save them?"
"Not just any monsters," Trevor said.
Brewer agreed, "You’re right. It’s stuff from Voggoth’s place."
Trevor looked to the far end of the table again. Anita remained silent with one hand stroking her long dark hair and her eyes focused on that cup of coffee. Omar, frustrated at her trance-like demeanor, sat in his chair puffing on a cigarette. "Anita." She did not respond. Trevor repeated, "Anita?" "Huh? What? Oh, sorry." Trevor took a good look at her face.
Anita and Omar had immigrated from India to the United States long before the end-of-the-world. He spoke in a purposely bad accent and often times appeared more than eager to embrace the stereotype, if it served to his advantage.
Trevor considered Anita to be an amazing woman. The more he learned of her the more intelligent he knew her to be. That’s why he had named her Chief Analyst Hostile Information and Tracking, placing her in charge of the Red Rock research facility. After Reverend Johnny’s death, Anita also took the role of Chief Analyst of Hostile Biotechnology.
While she lacked a hard science background, she could translate scientific data into understandable information. Anita served as the perfect translator between the council and the scientists doing the hands-on research at Red Rock.
Trevor said, "We were discussing the fact that the hostiles disappearing in the major cities all seem to be from Voggoth’s realm. Is that the case?"
She ran a hand through her hair, sighed, and changed her posture from slouching to stiff. Still, the bags under her eyes suggested a severe lack of sleep.
"As far as we can tell, yes. Um, well, as I’ve detailed before, our analysis of the genetic structure of the various hostiles collected over the years has shown, that, um…oh yes, has shown that this invasion has come from…come from…come from eight different points of origin. We have…we have come to this conclusion by finding…I mean…tracking I guess or measuring the amount of cell damage done by radiation that we think the organisms were subjected to during their travel here."
She glanced nervously around the table, perked again, and spoke in a stronger voice, "Basically, we found that there’s eight different places these things are coming from. Maybe there’s more, we don’t know, but so far we found eight."
Trevor led, "And seven of them…"
"And seven of the different types of creatures, I guess, coming here share a DNA structure almost identical to our own. You could say we share the basic building blocks of life and are, um complex organisms."
Dante said, "Hey, like that goes for both the organized armies and the animals, right?"
"Yes," Gordon Knox answered while Anita nibbled on a finger nail. "We know that the Chaktaw and the Jaw-Wolves and Rat-Things all come from the same place. We know the Plats and Bloodhorns come from another. It’s like if we were to launch an invasion of another planet and take lions, tigers and sheep along with us for the ride."
Trevor’s heart skipped a beat as Gordon's words hit home. On that parallel Earth mankind played invader to a world belonging to the Chaktaw. Not only had human armies come through, but also pigeons and wolves and Grizzly Bears.
One man’s animal is another man’s monster.
Stanton, Jon Brewer, and Dante started a round of cross talk but Anita’s suddenly firm and loud voice silenced the room.
"Listen! I said there were eight different points of origin but only seven are like us. The others…the eighth… their cells aren’t like ours or the Hivvans’ or the Duass’. They aren’t complex organisms, and they don’t even seem to be alive! That’s Voggoth. Wraiths and Mutants come from Voggoth's place! Goat-Walkers and Deadheads. Totally…" her voice trailed. "…totally… different…"
Dante said, "Well wait a sec'. We always called The Orders stuff bio-mechanical. Johnny said the stuff was grown, as if they were one part machine and part organic. How does something grow that isn't alive?"
Anita snapped, "A balloon grows when you fill it with air. Is a balloon alive?"
Knox, his hands clasped on the table top, pushed to the point, "And those are the things that are disappearing. I guess we’re just going to have to tough it out and see where this goes."
"I like them disappearing, man," Dante Jones explained with the edge in his voice he always used when addressing Gordon Knox. "It’s them reappearing that bothers me."
An awkward silence hung in the air for several seconds. Trevor kept his eyes on Anita Nehru who returned her attention to the coffee and the twizzle stick.
"Jon, let’s get through this other stuff," Trevor desired to tackle the real focus of this meeting: California. He knew, however, that to get there they had to climb over other issues first.
Jon examined one of many papers piled on the table.
"Okay, yeah. Um…Hivvans. There are still Hivvan remnants operating in Cuba, Haiti, and a bunch of other islands down there, all the way to Trinidad."
Knox chimed in, "They have some fuel reserves in those areas, that’s why we’re seeing the occasional Screamer raid into Florida and along the Gulf coast."
"I didn’t think their Screamers had that kind of range," Dante said.
Brewer explained, "They’ve developed a longer-range version. Looks to have external tanks and better fuel economy. We think they may be capable of hitting deep into our territory."
That caught Trevor’s attention.
"Oh. So what are we doing about it?"
Brewer answered, "Intelligence is gathering info. After we’re done with the big stuff," everyone knew what Jon meant, "I’m thinking about sending a couple of dreadnoughts down there to finish the job."
Gordon broke in again as he often did when Jon spoke, "But there’s more than the Hivvans to worry about. They might not even be priority number two."
Jon huffed in a way that suggested I’m getting to that, hold on.
Before he could, Trevor asked, "What else? What’s priority number two?"
Jon answered, "Redcoats. Centurians. Whatever you want to call them, Intelligence indicates they’re active south of the Rio Grande." Trevor had heard those reports but Jon presenting them in a formal council meeting suggested the threat grew. "Break it down for me." Gordon, not Brewer, did just that.
"We’ve been trying to map out this whole thing. It's becoming clear that the invasion was well planned. Interrogation of Hivvan prisoners suggest they were told to take most of what was the eastern United States. We haven’t got much more information than that on them." Lori Brewer wondered, "Why not?" Knox answered, "SiSPA." Lori cocked her head and asked, "Huh? Chutzpah?"
Jon corrected, "SiSPA. Sentient Species Protection Act. One of Evan Godfrey’s pet projects. After he toured Red Rock a few years ago he decided to push a law through the Senate keeping us from dissecting anything with any intelligence."
Stanton felt it important to remind every one that, "The whole thing wasn’t just the Senator’s idea. No, now wait, it would not have gone through if it didn’t have backing." Eyes fell on Trevor who defended, "I thought it was the right thing to do." "Sudden change in attitude, if I remember correctly," Gordon Knox threw out his comment and studied Trevor's reaction. Trevor forced himself to keep a straight face but Lori Brewer, on the other hand, nodded in understanding.
Brewer moved the briefing forward. "The Witiko, we think, started in California probably with the hope of expanding. The war they had with the Californians, then the closing of the gateways stopped that cold."
Omar Nehru raised the question, "I am wondering then about the Red Hands and what they were doing around here. I would think the same could be asked of the outposts of The Order that we were finding in the early years."
Trevor presented his thoughts on those two: "I think the Feranites-the Red Hands-are basically cannon fodder. As for Voggoth, I think he does whatever he wants."
Brewer said, "Well, the Redcoats-Centurians-came in to South America. I mean, primarily. Of course, we found a bunch of them up here back that first year."
Remembering what he had learned on an alternate Earth, Trevor told them, "Sometimes the gateways can misfire, sending groups of invaders off-target. The Redcoats we fought at Wilkes-Barre may have been a case of that. But wait a second, let’s boil this down. Whatever is left of the Hivvans is hanging out in the Caribbean. Can they hurt us?"
"Air raids," Brewer answered. "A few here and there. I think they’re holding on by a thread. With the gateways closed, they’re in no position to cause us serious trouble."
"Gordon," Trevor ordered, "I want you to get people on those islands. Complete information. Jon, have your staff put together plans to hit whatever is left of the Hivvans as soon as we get the time. I also want better intel on Mexico. It sounds to me like you’ve got some guesses and hunches but that’s not good enough." Brewer defended, "Most of our resources have been pointed west." "The dreadnoughts were supposed to give us flexibility. I want to flex." Gordon nodded, "We’ll get it done." "Um, one other thing," Jon, given Trevor’s blooming bad mood, hesitated to speak but could not avoid it. "What?" "Red Hands again. You know, Feranites; whatever." Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead, give it to me." "A bunch of settlers got taken out in Boulder by Red Hands last Saturday. Must’ve been a mess of them." Dante Jones spat, "Why am I just hearing about this now?" Jon told him, "Because Dustin McBride’s cavalry found them." Trevor remembered, "Didn’t we have problems with Red Hands last fall in Colorado?"
Gordon Knox glanced at a paper and read, "Supply train hit by Red Hands last August outside of Cheyenne Wells. Ten I.S. agents killed and the train crew. Double that number in Red Hand bodies recovered. In November the garrison at Pueblo took a beating during a night raid by Red Hands. Another dozen people killed and ten more missing, probably taken by the Feranites."
Omar exhaled a ball of smoke and said, "I thought these aliens were of a kind to stay in one place."
Trevor said, "You’re right, Omar."
Omar stuck a finger in his ear, wiggled it, and begged, "Would you mind repeating that, my ears may have not heard what it is you said."
Trevor ignored the quip. "The Hivvans are adding long-range tanks to their Screamers, the Red Hands have changed from stationary tribes to nomads. And here we are, building giant air ships. Guess it’s true, life adapts."
"Got to be a lot them," Dante suggested. "Probably headed into the mountains last winter and are on the move again. I don’t have the manpower to-"
Trevor cut off Dante as he turned to Jon Brewer and ordered, "Handle this. A regular military unit. Can’t have that many of those bastards running around on our territory."
"First Cavalry is on it. Dustin will track them down. It might take a while, but he’ll do it."
"Hey, isn’t this my area?" Dante’s reaction sounded both hurt and angry.
Trevor answered, "That many Red Hands is a job for the military, not Internal Security. You’ve got enough to worry about, like the Tambourine line. What’s the status?"
Dante shifted uneasily.
Gordon Knox offered the answers Dante lacked: "Intelligence’s part of the deal is about done. We’ve finished the last stretch of sonar buoys along the Carolina coast. The stuff south and north of that, you know, has been on line for months. Now the computers are fully integrated, my people made sure of that. The last piece of the puzzle is the final batch of staffing in the control centers and the ground-based radar systems."
Trevor’s eyes went to Dante who explained, "Man, it’s been tough finding the right people for this; tech people. Hell, I don’t even know how half this shit works."
Omar-perhaps emboldened by Trevor having told him he had been right about something-joined the conversation, "Mr. Jones, it is not for your people to be worrying about the bolts and the nuts of this thing. If they have eyes they can see the radar sweeps and listen to the lovely little pings of the sonar."
Brewer said, "The Tambourine line is a big part of our defense program. If that isn’t going to be on line then I don’t feel good sending the Philippan to California."
Dante countered, "What difference does that make? The Tambourine line is an early warning system, it’s not armed."
Gordon pointed out, "Right now the Philippan is part of a surveillance network guarding the east coast until the tambourines are on line. At that point, it can go. But if the tambourine line doesn't become operational we need to keep it here as part of that network." Jones' next excuse: "I don’t have enough staff for the main monitoring station in DC." Brewer answered, "You don’t need a main monitoring station in DC. Just keep it compartmentalized." "I’ve got a bunch of politicians who want it in D.C. And guess what, buddy, they control the financing for this thing."
Knox said, "For God’s sake, tough it out man and tell those politicians where to go stick it. Who’s in charge of Internal Security? Dante Jones or Evan Godfrey?"
Trevor held a hand aloft. When the cross talk subsided he said, "Dante, finish up your end. Quick. I need Hoth’s ship out west. I don’t care how you do it, get it done." Dante opened his mouth, paused, exhaled a quick burst of disgust, then shut his mouth. Trevor pushed things forward saying, "Okay. California. We’re going to war. At least that’s how I’d bet." Dante found his voice again: "That’s it, just straight to war? Did you talk to them?"
"Yes, I talked to them. I made the same offer I made last month and the month before that. Now our troops are at their border. We’ve reached the tipping point."
Lori used a soft, reserved voice, "They don’t want to go through the runes? They refuse?"
Stanton ran a hand through what little hair he had left and observed, "Now wait, isn’t there a log jam on going through those? Don’t we still have Hivvan and Duass prisoners?"
"We’ve got another three months, at least, to go before all the prisoners we have are through," Dante, told them. "We take them in small groups because I don’t have enough people to provide security for large groups. Probably another six or seven thousand sitting in prisons in Pennsylvania and Maryland."
Trevor did not want to get bogged down by talk of the runes. Everyone at the table knew the two mystical pillars had been retrieved from the Arctic Circle by Jon Brewer almost five years ago, an action that had shut down the alien gateways while the runes themselves still offered a one-way ticket home for those same aliens.
The runes were not the issue. The Cooperative was.
"The people in charge over there have their heads so far up the Witiko’s asses they can’t see daylight. There’s no choice. I’ll issue an ultimatum and then we invade. Jon, break it down, what are we facing. The big picture, not the details."
"We’ll be facing a combination of human and Witiko forces. The human groups have Witiko advisors and officers. We’re thinking about thirty combat-ready air superiority fighters and one small company of helicopter gunships, mainly Super Cobras."
"On the ground?"
"Between twenty and twenty-five thousand troops broken up between garrisons and rapid deployment forces. The Cooperative’s ground forces have a strong center core of law enforcement and National Guard troops but they also have a nice chunk of raw recruits."
Lori said, "A lot like us."
Jon defended, "Yeah, well, we’ve been fighting for ten years now, we’ve got two academies, and good training programs. The ground troops in California haven’t been well trained and their equipment is getting old."
"Of course," Trevor told them. "The Witiko don’t want the human armies becoming too strong. The fewer, the better. Less of a threat. Might just bite them in the ass now, though."
Brewer continued, "They don’t have a lot of heavy weapons or armor. Most of that was wiped out when they were fighting the Witiko. Bottom line is that the ground forces aren’t going to be a big deal. First Corp by itself could probably do the deal on the ground. Throw in Prescott’s Second Corp coming in from Arizona and we’ll be able to overwhelm them."
Jon’s words spoke of an easy victory. His eyes told a different story as he glanced at Knox. The Director of Intelligence grasped another page in a stack of papers, coughed, and began his report.
"The Witiko have a dozen Stingray cruisers in their arsenal. We believe two of these are non-operational and are being farmed for spare parts. On the ground, the Witiko have small infantry units integrated into human battalions. They also get a kind of close air support from their Skytroops."
He glanced around the room as if to ensure everyone heeded his next words.
"Skytroops are individual soldiers who use jet back packs. It sounds funny, but you won’t think it so when they launch an anti-tank or anti-air missile at you or drop a grenade on your head before disappearing behind a building. Most Skytroops are officers, are heavily armed and capable. There are reports of individual Skytroopers taking out Blackhawks and even attack choppers during the California war."
Although Trevor already knew most of the details, he told Knox to, "Go on."
"The Witiko don’t need a lot of troops because they have a neat trick for recruiting."
Jon Brewer took the proverbial ball and ran with it: "When I think about it, Trevor, it reminds me of the Redcoat battle for Wilkes-Barre way back when. The Witiko can get animals to fight for them. Except, well, they’re a little more direct about it."
As Jon spoke, Gordon slid a photograph across the table to Trevor. It showed a metal glove long enough to extend to the elbow of the wearer. A compartment-much like a miniature computer-had been built into the forearm while a silver sphere about the size of a golf ball rested on the back. Two small metal prongs projected outward from that sphere.
"We don’t know how," Gordon said, "but my sources are working on it. Once the fighting starts, I think we need to make it a priority to get a hold of one of these things because…"
Gordon’s voice faded from Trevor’s ears as a bout of lightheadedness hit. His mind left the room…and went to a place of tall glass and steel towers in cities adorned with fantastic art and magnificent landscaping all on the rim of wastelands littered with churning volcanoes spewing clouds of thick ash. A world with small oceans so dense with salt and minerals that life only lived in the farthest depths while vast lakes high in mountain plateaus poured fresh water to the lands below in gigantic waterfalls.
He saw herds of big but docile beasts of short fur and long necks stalked by armor-plated lions and roaches as big as dogs spitting acid to battle large, carnivorous jellyfish floating in the air.
He saw the picture of the Witiko device in his hand…and understood.
He must have faded out for more than a split second because Lori Brewer, Jon, and Dante hovered over him pleading to know if he were, ‘okay’ ‘all right’ and ‘get a doctor down here!’
"Um…guess I blanked out there, huh?"
"Yeah, man, you could say that," the fear faded from Dante’s eyes but suspicion remained. "What was that all about? You on something?"
Trevor shot Dante an angry look. Dante defused the situation with a ‘just kidding’ smile. After a moment, Trevor smiled back…then focused on the picture of the Witiko device.
"It’s a slaver. They calibrate it to specific animals, shoot the prongs into the target, then they can control those animals, to a degree." "Wow," Jon gasped. "Want to tell us how you know that?" Trevor smiled and told him, "I just picked it up." "Not that shit again."
Trevor ignored Dante. "The Witiko map brain waves of certain animals, so they just can’t shoot these things into anything. They have to plan it out."
Gordon said, "Our intelligence indicates that the Witiko use some big insects the same way we use guard dogs." Knox thought about that and rephrased, "I mean, the way we used to use guard dogs before, well, before those guard dogs became Grenadiers."
Trevor explained, "It causes a considerable amount of pain to the subject animal. So much so that most of the time the Witiko put down the animal before releasing the slaver device. Animals released early tend to go nuts, sometimes turn on the Witiko handlers. So it’s a way for them to increase their fighting power but it has limits and dangers."
Lori Brewer asked a disturbing question, "Can it be used on humans?"
"I don’t think so. Humans and other sentient life have far too complex brain patters and personalities. It’s not like this thing thinks for the animal, more like it implants an urge. From what I can tell, the subjects don’t like being under this thing’s thumb. But it is effective." Gordon turned to Omar and asked, "We could use a means of blocking the signal." "Oh! What a wonderful idea you are having Mister Knox! I will go build something right now! Let me get my erector set!" Trevor kept things under control, "Good idea but that will take some time. Jon, how do those Stingrays match up?"
"They’re dangerous. First, they have both missiles and a short-range energy weapon. It can do some damage, but the beam itself dissipates after a half mile. Very much a close range weapon that they use more against stationery targets. Also, the Stingrays generate a stealth field. It’s not like an F117; it’s not a passive stealth but an active one. The Witiko have a good handle on electronics and jamming. We’ll see how they work in practice, but our information from the California war says no one ever saw them coming. Could be a problem."
Knox presented more bad news with photographs to match. "The Stingrays have built-in stealth field generators, but the Witiko have designed stealth fields in north and south California, one at Beale Air Force Base outside of Sacramento, another just went on-line at the old Marine Corps logistic base outside of Barstow."
Brett Stanton asked, "What do you mean, stealth field generators?"
Gordon answered, "The Stingray ships generate their own stealth capability but the Witiko have put together a system that, in theory, will allow all their ships in certain areas to become stealthy, as long as they have been upgraded with the right components."
Trevor examined Knox's photos. One showed what could have been a massive, three-sided stereo speaker with sloped walls stretching dozens of feet into the air.
"What kind of strange alien device is this?"
Knox corrected, "It’s not alien at all. It’s one of the PAVE PAWS phased array radar facilities. The US Air Force Space Command used to use them to detect missiles. The Witiko worked some of their high-tech alien magic on them. Now they emit what we’re calling a ‘stealth field’. Their human-built jet fighters and helicopters will have the same stealth capability as their Stingrays, as long as they’re within the radius of these generators, pretty much most of northern California and a nice chunk of the south."
"Wait a sec," Dante leaned forward. "We won’t be able to see their planes coming on radar? Are you kidding me?"
Jon said, "Our fighters won’t be able to get radar locks on enemy targets. We don’t think they can mask heat signatures, but we will be at a disadvantage in dog fights. The Cooperative’s human-built fighters will have a much greater stand-off distance. Could be a problem."
"Then we work the problem," Trevor grew agitated. He had heard bits and pieces for months now, but it seemed to be adding up to a bigger battle than he had hoped.
Gordon assured, "It’s all very theoretical, of course. These stealth fields might not work at all. We just have to buck-up and see what happens."
Dante shot, "Easy for you to say. You won’t be flying in a jet."
Trevor cut the confrontation off, "We have people inside; people who want out. The Cooperative isn't the utopia this Brad Gannon paints it to be."
Lori reminded, "He’s spent the last three days touring The Empire trying to drum up resistance to an invasion. He even met with the religious tribunal. Why did you let him in?"
Dante answered for Trevor, "Hey, the guy is a human being. Last I heard, we were taking in anyone who wanted to come over."
"Enough," Trevor brought the meeting to a close. As he spoke he made eye contact with everyone around the table. "Jon, you’ve been working on plans for this for months. Coordinate with the stuff Gordon has lined up and let’s get ready. I’m going to put together an ultimatum, we’ll give them a few days, then we take care of this. Now let’s get moving. There’s a lot to do."
Everyone gathered their papers and faded off toward the steps leading from the basement.
As he headed for the stairs, Trevor saw Anita Nehru and Omar standing in a corner talking. Or, at least, Omar talking and Anita not listening.
Trevor drifted over and asked, "What’s going on?"
Over the years, Trevor heard all manner of sarcasm from Omar as well as excitement, puzzlement, and terror. Yet he had never seen an expression of such desperation on the man’s face. Worse, Omar spoke without a hint of his usual accent, suggesting a great deal of worry.
"It is Anita. She has not been home to see the family in three weeks. She has been working non-stop at Red Rock. She does not call. She does not tell us anything."
Trevor studied the woman: vacant expression, her long black hair unkempt, bags under her eyes, chewed nails on fidgeting fingers. "Anita, what’s going on?" Her tired eyes widened as if forcing attentiveness. "Nothing. I’m fine. Omar is over reacting." "Over reacting? No, no, when have you been home last? When have you slept?" "I sleep. I catch an hour or two at the lab." Trevor jumped in, "Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard. What’s going on?"
"I’m not pushing too hard! Damn it, just leave me alone. I’m close to something, Trevor. I’m close. We’re making breakthroughs."
He contradicted, "I’ve seen nothing new out of Red Rock in a while."
"You can’t put everything in a report. Some of it…some if it…"
Omar pleaded, "You see! She is exhausted. She is not even thinking straight."
Anita rebounded, "I’m on to something, Trevor. Do you hear me? I’m on to something. Those…those…" her eyes glazed as her mind drifted back to the underground corridors and labs and containment cells at Red Rock. "…those things from Voggoth’s realm…I’m getting a feel for them… something to them…something… familiar." "She is talking nonsense! Trevor, you must do something." "Yes," Stone agreed. "Anita, take the next week off." She reacted as if stung by electricity. "No! I have important work to do."
"It can wait," he ordered. "And if you can’t pull yourself away from your work to take a week with your family, then I’m going to place you on forced medical leave and make you go see a counselor or something. Got it?"
She slammed her mouth shut so fast the two men heard teeth click. Her eyes flared with anger for a long moment, to the point that Trevor felt uncomfortable. Then that anger faded. She placed a hand to her head and closed her eyes. "I’m…I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right. I need…I could use a break." Omar put an arm around his wife. Trevor said, "I’m ordering relaxation and family time." Omar smiled. "One of your better orders, I must be saying."