Pvt. Slater J. Tross, No. 305

September 4th, 2030, 5:12 pm

The dying daylight of this Wednesday afternoon is crawling over the line of trees that sweep by with the movement of the car. Some strips of light drool onto the beaten road of West Stanville, blinding me with every pass. Maybe if I close my eyes, I won't be affected by this unfortunate phenomenon. I know I should have sat behind Celestine in the passenger's seat.

Look, she called shotgun, okay?

The other day, Captain Manchester received a call from his pal James, inviting us to dinner at his house in West Bluefield. Brian said that it wasn't that great of an idea, considering the intensive investigation proceeding the catastrophe at the ceremony. There was work to be done in order to uncover his assailant, and he didn't want to unintentionally bring harm to the Colonel's young family. But being stubborn always gets the best of Brian, and he gave in to the invitation. If you ask me, he just made excuses.

Well, maybe that's because I know more than the average person around here. No, I'm not being pretentious or stuck-up. It's the black rips over the flesh of my inner arm that illuminate at various periods throughout the night. It's the thick, assertive voice of Rodney Roarke pounding against the edges of my skull as I toss and turn in my bed. And it's waking in the hours of budding sunlight, screaming with a damp chest.

On Monday night, my throat burned as I snapped into consciousness. I was slicked with a layer of sweat all over, and the crumpled sheets where I slept were moist. The Captain burst into my room and saw me convulsing. When he asked me what happened, I had to hide the truth. I couldn't leak a word about what I was informed at the ceremony. Just a bad dream, I reported.

I haven't told a soul about my encounter with the leader of the Medo since it happened. Sometimes I have a hard time relaying the conversation to myself, but then he reminds me. I have no measurement to gauge just how serious his proposal is. Surely it must be beyond a simple task if Roarke upheld one part of his end of the deal, allowing Brian to make a full recovery.

If Brian had died a week ago on that stage, I would never be able to forgive myself. For starters, I could not gain the strength to look Celestine in the eyes, if I would ever see her again. Soon, the guilt of knowing the motive for the attack would consume my insides and I would force myself to announce my involvement. The Imperial Guard would revoke all my privileges of freedom and I would never see the light of day again. They would disregard any kind of precious intelligence I possess about the Medo and lock me away for the rest of time. Or even shoot me to end it.

Celeste and I had a heart-to-heart talk early Sunday morning when I lacked the fatigue to go back to sleep. She said that seeing her dad face-down on the platform made her heart stop. She had already lost so much in her short life and witnessing her father's death would have been the nail in the coffin. If she was left an orphan, she would be cared for by her uncle, Robert. And it would have been all my fault.

As for the other events that have inflicted her, she didn't go into further detail. It's starting to get frustrating how I don't know the reality of the situation. One of these days I'm going to muster up the courage to ask one of them where Hayes and the Captain's wife went. As I think about it now, I have a collapsing feeling in my stomach, persuading me to suspend the action. But it's going to kill me if I don't know. After all, I am living with them from now onward.

I am thankful to have the Manchesters in my life after the previous five months. It's as if I am a part of their family, and I appreciate all the support I can get. I have accepted the notion that my mom doesn't give a shit about me anymore, and I find it to be quite refreshing. I would much rather be surrounded by people who truly care about me and don't hit me across the face. Celestine has turned into arguably my best friend, and I can count on her when I need someone to talk to. I can't fathom where I would be without her and her affection.

My eyelids flicker, and I twist away from the window. In my thoughts, I forgot that I was letting the oozing sunlight link to my eyes. Maybe I shouldn't do so much thinking.

Celestine peers at her dad beside her. "Slater hasn't met James before, has he?" She scans me and one corner of her mouth curls. "Lucky you."

I frown. "Is he really bad as you guys say?"

"No," the Captain chimes.

"Yes," Celestine follows. "Don't listen to my dad. He just doesn't like it when people diss his boyfriend."

He sighs, and I see his eyes for a split second in the rearview mirror. "Slater, trust me. He isn't that bad. He's flighty and impulsive, but believe me when I say that he's a good man. He means well."

My gaze bounces between the two. I'm uncertain of who to believe. Judgment of character must come from my own experience. "So have I met him? I don't think I've ever seen him before in my life."

"I'm sure you have." He continues. "But again, it was before your father passed away, so that may infringe on your memory."

Celeste purses her lips and glances at me. "I'll say it again: lucky you."

Our vehicle charges up the highway toward the looming shadow of the Queen's City. The pink lemonade sky beyond the skyscrapers casts a gray aura around the metropolis. The buildings in Bluefield nearest to us don't pierce through the clouds like the ones in the distant Woodrow do, yet they retain some height.

I remember the day I visited my mom last week and the dreadful journey out to her house. The haze of the rain drained all the color out of the city, while the poison of my father's death boiled my blood on the inside. I was more pissed off and bewildered than I was distraught. Now every time I think of Bluefield I have to recount that fateful encounter with Mom, and there's no escaping it. Each instance in which I go toward the headquarters, I risk reminiscing.

I just wish Brian would take the eastern highway instead.

Celeste beams at me with a glint in her night wood eyes. "Okay, so a few ground rules before you meet James. First of all, he can be very full of himself. Ignore it, everyone does. It is inevitable that he will mention Arthur Jameson at some point. He's the one that came to our house that one day, remember? They hate each other. In some way, James will make himself seem superior to him. An eye roll will suffice."

"You know, Celeste," the Captain says, "Arthur saved my life. If he wasn't at the ceremony when I was attacked, I probably would have died."

She scans him with her lip upturned. "Ugh. Dramatic." Her gaze redirects to me and returns to normal. "James also likes to vaguely refer to all the terrible things that have happened, trying to start a conversation. Those are quickly shut down. Maybe tonight, Slater, you should bring up 2010. Just say it; 2010."

Brian peers at me through the rearview again. "Slater, please don't do that. That's not something anyone wants to remember. And it is certainly not a joke."

"Kidding! I was kidding, Jesus." Celeste reiterates, glancing at her father again. "He's still annoying as hell. He can be, at least."

"Slater, listen to me." The car rolls softly across the pavement as we ease behind an ash-blue truck. Damn city traffic. The Captain swings in his seat to face me and shoots me a bolted stare. "You are not going to go in there with preconceived notions, okay? Don't let Celestine make you think one way or another about James. She's not being serious."

"I kind of am."

There is a flash of a smile from him before continuing. "Look, just please make your judgments once you meet him, just as you would any other person. He is truly a good man." He turns back to the wheel as the truck in front of us inches ahead. "He and I are close enough to be brothers."

"Boyfriends," Celeste coughs. Her father glares at her.

I lean forward in my seat, resting my arms on my sharp legs. "You must've known each other for a while, then."

"Yeah, we met twenty years ago. By chance. And we've been friends ever since. Not boyfriends, Celeste." He takes a glance at her, and she rolls her eyes. "Trust me, Slater, he is someone you want to have on your side in anything. He appears harmless from the outside, but he is the most intelligent man I have ever meant. And he's an amazing fighter. You know, he used to be the best swordsman in the Empire."

I nod, though Brian cannot acknowledge it. "Cool. You know, for being just friends, you sure talk about him a lot."

Celestine twitches in her seat and shoves a finger in her father's face. "Ha! See, I told you!" She draws her hand back and hugs her body against the passenger's seat. "Nah, I'm kidding. He has a thing for Lieutenant Hill."

I release a swift chuckle. "Ha! No way!"

She flips back to me, lunging in my direction. "Way. They're always too nice to each other, you know? The officers usually have a family dinner every year and you should go this year. It's so awkward, you're going to love it."

"Celestine, that's enough." The Captain grumbles in the driver's seat. "I don't want to hear another word until we get there."

I stifle another laugh. "Ooh, he used your full name!"

He clears his throat and gazes into the rearview. "Don't start, Slater John." I pull my bottom lip over my top and swivel my head to the window. You got me there.

"Listen, you two, I get, okay? James can be a bit of an asshole. That's just how he is." The Captain exhales, placing his elbow on the window sill as the traffic starts moving. "Say what you want, Celeste, but you know that James has been there for us when we needed him."

She draws her sight to her lap, and I see the muscles in her jaw pop. "Yeah."

I find myself tugging at my seatbelt crossed over my chest. I hate how vague they are. Cracks in their facade just as the breaks in the tree line out my window. I'm about to walk into a house filled with even more drama and anxiety, and the last thing I want to do is be behind in reality. I bet the Colonel's young kids know more than me about all of these tough times that they speak so frequently of.

I know I shouldn't ask. For fuck's sake, the night I came home from the ranking, the Captain almost freaked out when I argued about the mark. The mark! Then Celeste got all up in my face and told me to stop prying when I wasn't even trying to. If I'm going to be roped into all their drama out of the blue like this, nearly against my will, then I should be able to know. That's fair, right?

Except they housed me. Treated me like one of their own. Healed my wings back. I should be patient and wait until they're ready to tell me themselves. But I didn't get where I am today without being adamant and stubborn. It's given me grief, yes, but this will feed me a savory peace of mind.

I dispense my seatbelt from my suffocating grasp and lay back in my seat. I loosen my chest. "Can I ask you something, Captain?"

"Yeah, go for it. Anything," he replies with his attentive vision unwavering.

"Anything? At all?"

An SUV saunters along our left, and he fractures his focus. "Of course. Anything that will make this traffic any better."

I didn't think I would make it this far. I don't know much, if at all, about anything to ask him. I know about his encounter with the Medo when he was a rookie in the Imperial Guard. He was there for the mission where my father took his own life, but something is clawing at the back of my mind to refrain from proceeding. I would much rather not know all the details about Dad's death.

Brian appeared to become awfully defensive of James when Celestine mentioned 2010 earlier. If I do the math correctly, that's twenty years, which happens to be the same amount of time the two officers have known each other. Interesting.

"How did you meet the Colonel?" I throw the question out into the air, followed by a silence between the Manchesters. The man from the news reports on the horrid conditions of traffic through the radio, but that is the only sound that rattles against the windows.

Celestine jerks her head at me. Her lips are parted and frozen. "Slater..."

"That's fair," mutters the Captain. "I did say anything. So have you ever heard of Labelle's Insurgence?"

I blink, gently twisting my neck. "I can't say I have."

"Well, you'll learn about it at some point during your first year, I'm sure. I'll give you a brief run-down. Colonel Linus Berglund and a coup seized control of the Imperial Guard by murdering General Labelle. He enforced strict rules on civilians and ran a tight ship in the Imperial Guard. Half of our days were to be spent at HQ, leaving very little time to be home. None of which is something that a General has the authority to do. Eventually, a majority of the Imperial Guard was fed up and decided to rise against Berglund with civilian help. We marched down the bridge, armed and ready to take back HQ.

"There was a snake that informed the Berglund's loyalists that we were coming, so they met us halfway. They ordered us to turn around and shoot the civilians or they would kill us. None of us were thinking when we all lined up and fired. I closed my eyes, but I'm certain I hit someone. Only seconds later did I follow the brave ones who jumped off the bridge into the ocean. The loyalists shot into the open water, but they didn't catch me.

"I took refuge in an empty basement. Someone was living upstairs, and they would have called the Guard if they saw me. I overheard some survivors talking about a second attempt being plotted four blocks from there and I needed to move once the coast was clear. So I had to stay quiet and wait until the gunfire stopped outside. It didn't. Nightfall came and I was still there.

"At around midnight, a figure crawled in through the egress window. Bawling his eyes out. I told him to stay quiet and tell me his name. Instead, he told me that he was a Sergeant and I was probably nowhere near the top ten of my class. I was a Sergeant too, and that humbled him. He then said his name was James MacTavish, and from that point on, we were friends. Bonded by that moment of struggle."

Everything I have experienced in the past month has lost its sucker punch. How can I say that I've had strife when the Captain has fought for his life more than once? I know what it's like to kill people who don't deserve it. But not consciously. He has felt the cumbersome sensation of pure murder. I was spared the trauma.

The type of friendship they shared in those instants resonate with me. I see how CJ and Hal stood by me when I was at my worst, just like Brian did with the Colonel all those years ago. How we worked through our problems and tackled them head-on. And how we ultimately prevailed. Looking at our relationship now, I can picture a long future ahead of us. This bond we administer cannot be snapped by any force, real or supernatural.

My lips twitter. "Oh. I'm sorry I asked, Brian."

"No, it's not your fault." The Captain peers out the window at the vehicles processing by us. "You asked, I answered. That was the deal."

"No, I'm really sorry. I had no idea, I didn't mean-"

"Slater, stop it," he stammers. "There's no need to be sorry. I don't care. It's good that you're asking me these things."

Celestine turns to me holding a pinch of a smile. She observes me with her glittering eyes. "Yeah. You're basically a part of the family now."

I take a sharp inhale and the air glues to the walls of my lungs. I watch them carry on, studying the patterns of incredible traffic and listening to the reports from the radio. She says that like it's nothing, but I know better than to receive it as such. It's as if they have known this, felt this, and they never told me. They thought, until now, that I knew. Now, I do. I definitely do.

The lanes break off and our car veers to the left along with the row beside us. This expressway will take us to the west coast of Queen's City, close to the HQ. The Captain told me that the Colonel and his family live in West Bluefield. I used to live in South Bluefield, so I know the shoreline pretty well from frequent visits. It's good to be back to the place I grew up, but at least this time it is under happier skies and no bad omens.

Or worse, depending on how you look at it.