Defying Terror

Chapter LXIV

Pvt. Slater J. Tross, No. 305

September 8th, 2030, 10:23 am

CJ drives his finger into the dirt of the driveway, plowing a ravine next to his thigh. He draws his opposite leg toward himself and hugs it with his free arm. "So, you got some superpowers from Rodney Roarke or whatever his name is? You aren't turning into one of those crazies, are you?"

I scoff, planting my hands in the dirt as I lean back. "Yeah, I sure hope not. If I do, promise you'll shoot me in the head."

"I don't know if I could," he laughs to himself. "How about you, Hal? Would you shoot Slater if he turned into one of those psycho murderers?" CJ gestures upward above my neck. "I mean, come on, how could you hurt an ugly mug like this? It'd be senseless!"

Hal sneers while tugging at the lonely blades of grass that sprout apart from each other. "Slater, I would shoot you if you woke me up early on a weekend. You know, like you did this morning."

"Hey, you chose to come over. Nobody forced you to be here," I explain with assertion.

The Corporal shrugs. "The things I do for my friends."

It was CJ who arranged for us to hang out this morning, but he suggested that we meet at my house because his parents are disappointed in him for going out on Friday night. He didn't even have a sip of alcohol but they expect their son to be an outstanding, perfect citizen who never breaks the law. He claims to be grounded and says his parents believe he locked himself in his room. Instead, he escaped confinement and made his getaway in Hal's car.

The last time we spoke to each other in our collective presence was when he relieved Craig and I from the car on Friday night. He saw Craig and I together and did not seem pleased as he barreled down the driveway to the street. I don't blame him; the attitude toward the Sergeant could be much, much better. If my best friend suddenly jumped ship and befriended his enemy, I would be upset, too. But this is CJ Martin; the one whose forgiveness shines through without fail.

Hal was too inebriated to witness Craig and I's fondness for one another after we left the club. Good thing, too; there's no one who he hates more than the Sergeant. I doubt his animosity would even spread to a given member of the Medo based on the way Craig once treated me. Maybe he'll never have to know about our relationship, short-lived as it will be.

The thought of talking to Craig births a demon in my stomach. I understand the circumstances for which I have to speak to him, but I dread it. Not for my sake, but for his. It's not going to be what he wants to hear. These past few days, learning more about who he is, I know that this could hurt him. What's worse; he might return to hating me and wanting me dead.

But what would I rather have? A close companion that may compromise my fragile, status of freedom or a disappointed acquaintance?

CJ shuffles in the dirt. His shoes stamp the baby blades of grass, leaving a mark on the earth. "So, show me some your powers. What did he give you? Super speed? Time travel?"

Man, if only I had time travel.

I press off the ground, brushing the dust from the back of my pants. "I can go invisible. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't."

"Why wouldn't it work?" CJ stares at me, enthralled. Hal merely observes.

"Apparently it only happens if I want it to happen. If I really need it."

"When would you need it?"

I hold my tongue between my teeth as the Medo spears through my mind. The only people who know of Roarke's deal are three Imperial Guard officers and Celestine. Nobody else shares the burden of comprehending the chaos that may descend upon Oltima. To extend this crisis to two of my closest friends would be irresponsible. It would worry them as it worries me, and I never want that.