His pupils gleam with energy, of sincere empathy? Or maybe just amusement at my now ridicules dream. “Does it make you upset that the opposite is in motion?”
My cup slides a little spilling some coffee onto the floor. Nobody from the Party, or in government alone, ever asked me that. I did feel deceived that the ideals of the Party changed so radically, but I came to acceptance with it, as that it was necessary, and have since reformed my morality on it. He must want me to break. To admit dissidence, one of the things the Party tirelessly hunts down.
He looks at the spilt coffee. “I am not trying to corner you Peter. It’s an honest question, no follow up action waiting to strike behind it.”
“I came to accept it as necessary.”
“Yes, we all have. But does it upset you is what I asked.”
“Yes… but not because it’s humanity’s fault, or the Party, but because the Herculeans stole something from us. We were so close to peace, and they came to ruin it all. Now we are back at the origin of it, back at killing.”
He releases a satisfactory sigh. “You are one bright man. Exactly how everyone in the Party feels. You truly are cut out Party material. But let me give you one reassurance, Peter. We are not fighting ourselves, we have not devolved into the primitive past of killing fellow brothers like we did a century ago. No, we are united, more so than ever!” He stands up, “We, us, together, Earth and this one, we are fighting them together, we are spreading the revolution here that was meant to take place when the first colonist arrived, but never stayed. Now, we are bringing it back.” He sits back down, gazing at nothing in particular with wonder. “Anyhow, you’re here to attend a Party rally. Where I’ll show you off sort of speak. Of your triumphs on the field.”
“Why?”
He focuses in on me, his brow sharply declining. “Why, to show how great you are! How great the Cause runs in you. You are a full-fledged Party member—granted almost all citizens are—but you were also an activist before soldiery. Learning about the Party, our goals, our mission. Now you are a warrior, but you still have the rational and mind of a Party member, heck, an Official. It is my belief that a citizen, becoming intelligent and educated in Party knowledge, and involved in the Party’s activities, then turned soldier, make the best citizens and warriors. You’ve showed that yourself, your ingenuity in battle, your knowledge of us. You are the ideal citizen and soldier, Peter.” He gets up again, taking his mug and setting it by the coffee maker. He grabs his overcoat off the hanger and places it back on.
“What am I to do there?”
“Behave like you did on the field. Use your intelligence, your will. You’ll be surrounded by people with a mind of equal caliber, like yourself once was in university. I must think that you will rather relish in it.” He opens the door, encouraging me to exit.
I rise and place my cup by his retired one, and leave. We are outside on the avenue once more, but this time we wait at a depot for a ride. My feet fidget against the pavement. Here I am, next to the man that could promote me into an Official career with the Party, and I feel disgusted. I should be proud, I’m a hero, aren’t I? They all mention my name and Tionem in the same sentence. I feel my stash inside my pocket. But I’ve started something sinister now.
No Peter, you’re not addicted.
They can never find out, I’d be lucky to fight as a penal if they did.
“I got to use the restroom, sir,” I say.
“Hurry back, or you’ll be walking.”
I reach a hastily created outhouse near the depot—a small upgrade from the porta-potty’s out on the field. I am alone again, only the sound of marching boots and mechanized traffic humming outside. I open my stash.
“It’s been a while Cloud.”
I take out the syringe. Insert the needle into Cloud, and smack the vein on my left arm for a bit. It is already getting bruised, and probably infected—great. I lean against the side of the hard wood wall, twiddling the syringe about. Is this what housewives before the Terrible War felt like? What they did to get by—what anyone does as an easy way out? What did they call it? ‘Their little helper.’
Cloud, you’re my helper. You help me get through the days. It’s not even that it’s the easy way out. It’s that no one understands me. No one would help me, instead they would criminalize me, ostracize me if I told them. I am alone here. I push on the plunger of the syringe to squirt a little out. Or at least, I was alone.
I take out the folded picture of the girl in her white dress. It weighs heavier than the sandbags of rubble I have filled the past week. My heart beats fast, it’s getting hard to breathe in here. I have stopped using her for my last habit, out of a better replacement I guess. Cloud relieves me. Cloud understands me. More than my sexual angst. Cloud is more than a release, it is my shelter. But yet, there was something about that girl, something I idealized over. Even something, something—no—but it’s true, something even Cloud doesn’t have. I have to have it back.
I hold the syringe in my mouth and unfold the photo, placing it against the sink handle. Perfect. She is so fucking perfect. Beautiful, ignorant of what I am or going through. Just perfect in her simple way of posing for the camera. I insert the needle. Cloud enters into me, I into Cloud. For a moment—even though the dose is half, maybe less of what our NCO’s would give us through our distributors—I still feel the mind numbing ecstasy that occurs right after injection. The relief of lying in the sky with the clouds. Breezy and floating. Innocent. Calm. Pure. Like her.
Like her and her white dress—then I see it, in the bottom left corner of the photo. Where her white dress crunches up causing there to be a few folds, is a stain. I try rubbing it off with my thumb—maybe it’s just dirt, but no! It won’t come off. How did I not see it before? A stain, right there. All this time. Her pure white dress, really harboring an imperfection. An ugly trespasser hitchhiking on her. It’s not, it’s not—no. I put the photo down, I can’t handle it. I won’t let her ruin it.
I put the stash away, and Cloud helps ease me. I open the door, and everything is great as I take a step from the outhouse back to Herus. I also hear the voice again, but this time, there is something new added at the end.
There you go my little warrior. There you go. I won’t leave you like her.
Fog blankets the streets as we exit the barracks this early morning, and step onto troop carriers. The carriers travel through the destroyed city to the recently created Coalition airbase on the other side. The sun eats away at the white mist shrouding this city, reminding us of the reality of what happened, the reality of what we are.
I have been ostracized from the unit, or so it seems. Envy for the Party’s interest? Hatred at Ray’s true demise? But I can hardly care as long as Cloud rides me through it. I twirl a coin between my fingers as I lean against the top railing of the carrier. A gift coin from the Party rally last night. In the center is a marine holding a flag of the UN on top of a heap of rubble titled Jericho. The Party motto outlines the edge of the coin, while on the back is the emblem of the Party itself. I flip the coin off the carrier and it splashes into one of the shell holes in the road.
Yesterday’s event was pointless. I stood quietly at attention while the Party Reps absorbed themselves inside their own self-congratulation and success. But I can hardly judge. I am no better anymore. For inside myself, in the waning moments between sobriety as I rush to Cloud, as I fight the self-hatred and depression, I still feel a resonating warmth. A guiding light. I could have their life. I could still become a Party Rep. Albeit, I will fight tooth and nail to avoid being a military one, but I could do it. I could escape to a better life.