You can count on me
like one, two, three
I'll be watching you
like four, three, tw-
Count on Me - Bruno Mars (Paraphrased)
BY THE MARSHALS. Why did it have to be this song?
My right arm groggily leaps out of bed, landing on a bedside table, while the other tears at my ears, blindly searching for the miniscule earbuds. The right one wins, violently grasping the ancient device and striking the next button. A far more pleasing melody begins to fall upon my ears, and I relax, my mind rousing itself to full cognitive capacity. Or what would pass for it after last night.
I groan, stretching my arms upward. My head rings irritatingly, leaving no doubt in my mind that the glass of soda was spiked. I proceed to check the MP3 player for damage, fortunately finding none. I breathe a sigh of relief. Well, there's nothing for it. I get out of my bed, quickly getting dressed and drinking a glass of water. It then occurs to me that there was probably a reason for my rude awakening. Expanding the nearly-transparent plane that normally resides in my pocket, I bring up the calendar, only to freeze moments later.
Not only did I have to let them drag me to that party, but I had to let them do it last night. Music had been playing for at least fifteen minutes beforehand.
"Mankind's Light, I'm going to be late. And hungover!" I curse to no-one in particular, jumping into rapid preparation mode. I scramble through the drawers, finally discovering what I am looking for. A medical nanite pill canister. Quickly, I swipe through the options until I find "alcohol intoxication", and place one of them in my mouth, swallowing the bitter metallic taste with a large swig of water. Then, practically stumbling over myself, I dash across all three metres of my apartment space to the closet, extracting the dress uniform and snapping it shut around myself. I then double that particular part of prep-time by smoothing over the imperfections. It would be dumb to show up late, but it would also be downright disrespectful to arrive at any of the Victory Day parades in a state that was less than utterly immaculate.
By the time I was out the door and leaping down the stairs, the pill had begun to take effect, and I could feel my head begin to clear. As I reached street level, I could already see the empty vehicle that had peeled away from morning traffic just outside the front door. As I sat down in the car and the door closed behind me, I finally let myself relax. I slumped a little in my seat as I checked the morning traffic patterns, noting the long commute time to my intended destination as soon as I keyed it in. I cleared my throat.
"Second Lieutenant Shaw, requesting priority passage on State business. Code Romeo Seven Indigo, Nine Alpha Foxtrot. Confirm." I spoke firmly, properly enunciating each syllable. It would do me no good to stumble over a word. After a long second, the vehicle beeped confirmation, updating the travel time to something far more manageable. Breathing a sigh of relief, I raised my voice again: "Execute course."
The car dodged and weaved through traffic which parted before it. Placing my right arm over top of the power strip along the centre of the car, I gave the smart-looking uniform the order to iron and press itself. It quickly became uncomfortably hot, but I endured. This was my punishment for not getting up earlier. To pass the time while my garb fixed itself, I looked out the side window.
The first thing I noticed was that it was a partly cloudy day, with the April sun piercing defiantly through the shrouds of soot, ash, and pollutants. The high rise buildings in Vancouver's slowly expanding restored segments gleamed in the sunlight, and I saw a little of Earth's characteristic blue above the shadowy nimbus that covered the city. At city limits, I spotted hives of activity, as men and their machines swarmed around the brand-new steel lacing of skyscrapers still under construction. Beyond them, reclamation bots devoured the mausoleum of concrete and metal, reducing these boneyards to the fundaments of new construction. Among the metal spires I saw the verdant green of agronomy arcologies, and the aspirant silver needles of atmospheric scrubbers. Those last were a recent addition to my home's skyline, and they would be there for generations to come. But the air about their tips already looked a bit clearer, though it might've been my imagination. This city, and dozens of others like it, were the rewards for generations of hardship and sacrifice. Humanity was finally turning a profit on the billions of lives spent to ensure our survival. It was magnificent.
Hope blossomed in my chest as I took in the sights. Human rejuvenation was truly boundless.
After some time had passed, my vehicle stopped in front of the North Segment Armoury. I got out of the vehicle, my newly-issued uniform's cloak billowing behind me. I snickered at the accoutrement despite myself, knowing full well its value during stormy weather and its symbolic purpose. The royal blue of the overgarment contrasted sharply with the traditional dark colouration of the uniform proper, looking at once handsome and ridiculous.
I entered the building with a crisp, rapid stride, stopping only to salute my fellow soldiers of the Coalition. Moving out of the "civilian" areas of the armoury, I finally reached today's deployment schedule. Knowing now where I needed to be, I continued onwards, running my hands through my hair again with the forlorn hope that my hasty combing job this morning would not be noticed. There is only so much one can do when you are already about to be late.
As I reached the door to Assembly, I stopped, removing my earbuds. The music in my ears cut out abruptly, and I stowed them in the canister in one of the uniform's few pockets. I then entered the hall, making my way to an already assembled platoon. It was a simple affair to distinguish the commissioned officers from the other soldiers: Those my rank and above wore raiment similar to mine, differing only in insignia, while the majority had the standard H-90, polished until it shone despite the black alloy used in its construction. I fell into line, standing at the end of my group, only to hear Lieutenant Jacob Anderson.
"Mr. Shaw," he called out in an authoritative and accusatory tone, "you're late. I assume you have an explanation?"
I decided to go with a stripped down version of the truth, for brevity.
"Yes, sir. Due to events last night, I slept through my alarm." Even though I knew that this was largely the fault of whomever added alcohol to my cup last night, it is a generally bad idea to blame anyone other than yourself for your own misconduct.
"Ensure that it does not happen again." I relaxed slightly as Anderson's response reached me. My record was pretty good otherwise, so this anomaly would go largely unnoticed, unless it ceases to be an anomaly. I brought my right hand up in a salute, and produced a short acknowledgment.
"Yes, sir, it will not."
Following this, the Lieutenant returned my salute, and the matter was dropped. Except, of course, by the person standing beside me.
"Can't handle a little liquor, eh sir?" It took me a moment to identify the helmeted voice as Dilyp Yenson, the main reason I went last night.
"Sergeant, if you know that I had something to drink last night, then you are the reason I had problems getting here, or were at least complicit." My words were clipped, annoyed. This was something to be discussed another time. And when it is, sunlight will not shine favourably upon Dilyp.
"If you say so, sir." Dilyp's response acknowledged my irritation, signalled through strict adherence to protocol.
"Alright soldiers," Lieutenant Anderson barked, "we need to be setting up now. Let's move out!"
Similar orders resounded throughout the assembly hall, and I heard the drumbeat of synth-leather and the staccato of steel strike the ground right as my first footstep landed. Rapidly and efficiently, we filed out of the hall, and into the streets. Nearby, I could hear a military band striking up a tune, their clear notes of percussion and brass merging into a medley I had heard many times before, but never grew tired of. The national anthem.
There is a thin line dividing show of force and of nationalistic pride. As fightercraft screamed through the skies, and the old ceremonial artillery boomed, I figured that this particular parade was a bit of both. While there was far more to Victory Day than the two military parades, devastation still lingered in the middle east after the war with The Word of The Prophet. As such, a day like today would be used to show that The Sol Coalition remained as strong as ever, despite the hardships some citizens still had to endure. The Word was simply another one of the threats which humanity must necessarily triumph over on its road to glory, a minor setback and nothing more.
As the morning demonstrations and speeches drew to a close, my feet ached. I could march for several hours, but coaxing the ritualistic pounding from my footwear was causing far more of an impact than the normal stepping. By the end of today, my feet will thank me for sitting down for the rest of forever.
I was offered food at the mess hall, which I of course accepted. Yes, it did invalidate my packing of lunch somewhat, but I'd have thrown that BLT in the compost in a day or two anyway. Once its vacuum seal broke it would go from fresh to forlorn in no time flat, and the bioplastics used to produce it didn't exactly last a century. Oh the price we pay for food that is actually fresh. I would have to kill something if I didn't at least try to eat it.
Not literally, but… whatever.
Fatigue was starting to set in, and I suddenly found myself regretting taking the meds this morning. Sure, they purged the hangover, b-
"What are you thinking about?" I heard a voice from beside me, restoring my connection to my surroundings proper.
"Oh, nothing in particular. Just that I'm going to absolutely obliterate Sergeant Yenson when I find him in the mess." A twinge of sarcasm and mirth tickled the edge of my voice, just barely peeking out from behind the rigid, formal tone. Captain Desdemona looked at me for a moment, as if trying to place whether the sarcasm was actually present. Then, satisfied with the answer she reached, she smiled.
"Alright, what did he do this time?" The words rolled off her tongue as if they were old friends. Which, they were.
"I am quite certain that he spiked my drink last night, which caused me to be late for assembly this morning." The slight mote of bitterness crept into my voice.
"Ah. Well, you know he means well. He just wants to get you out into the world. You told me once that the reason you originally started tolerating him was because he brought you to experiences you'd never reach on your own."
"So?" I asked.
"So he was doing just that. In his own way."
Her words made sense, but I remained annoyed at the implied result. A scowl shot across my face before being replaced with my more traditional neutral expression.
"I told him I'd go, but wouldn't drink. What was so hard for Dilyp to understand about that? He's certainly intelligent enough."
Alice pursed her lips. "I'm sure he'll have something for you, if you just let him explain himself, Alasdair. Could you just let him talk?"
"I'll give him a chance. But only because you asked nicely. At least I'm good enough at this to know that it's your field of expertise, not mine."
She smiled. "I think that will be all, Mr. Shaw. Perhaps we should both be off to go deal with our own problems?"
I returned her smile. "Don't forget about what I told you regarding the guy at the end of the room." As I said this, I held open the lunchroom door for her. "After you, Ms. Desdemona."
The two of us went our separate ways. After collecting my lunch, I made my way over to the table at which was seated the few others I called friends. While I approached, I noticed that Lance Corporal Richard was standing nearby, in conversation with Dilyp.
"We've been over this. It doesn't matter if this table is in the officers' section. We're paired, we sit together."
"Sir, with all-"
"With all due respect, Richard, you don't 'Sir' your partner, regardless of their rank, except in combat when other people are involved. Unlike the divide you were about to mention, that is a rule. Camaraderie creates trust, trust creates effectiveness. Sit down."
He rolled his eyes with a 'can you believe we're doing this again' expression. The Lance Corporal sat down.
As I sat down, I locked eyes with Dilyp.
"First off Sergeant Yenson, I believe that the rule you are quoting states that rank deference isn't necessary within a fireteam. Second, you owe me an explanation. Now, if you would be so kind."
Sergeant Yenson looked up from his meal. He pondered what he was about to say for a minute, then spoke.
"If it makes you feel any better Sir, I didn't get what I wanted either."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Do you remember much of what happened, Sir?" He asked. I wasn't really sure where he was going with this, so I answered as truthfully as could be managed.
"Nothing specific. It was all really blurry."
Dilyp seemed shocked. Then, he composed himself.
"Basically, you were, um..."
He trailed off. I gestured for him to go on.
"... more socially reserved than you normally are. No offense." He quickly added.
I blinked.
"How so?" Genuine confusion cycled across my mind.
"After the first drink, you just sat in a corner and drank more. I had hoped that the shot and a half I added to your cup would be enough to get you tipsy and enjoy the party, but all that happened was further..."
"Withdrawal?"
"Yessir."
That, I had not anticipated. Without memory of last night's events, I assumed that something embarrassing must've occurred. To learn that nothing happened; that was a relief.
Heedless to my reverie, Dilyp continued.
"It's like this. You're a good guy, Mr. Shaw, but no one knows that until after they get to know you. When I decided to befriend you, I knew nothing about then-Corporal Shaw other than that he was somewhat nice and a bit of a nerd. I had to work in order to get anything else out of you."
He paused, waiting for me to acknowledge what he had said. I nodded, though I was still processing in the background.
"So, all I'm saying is that I hoped to draw you out during that party. I thought that the person I knew would come out to greet people, instead of the standard exterior you present wherever you go."
I decided it was time to interject. The small group at the table had remained quiet during Dilyp's monologue, and I figured it was best to work on this more another time. I mentally flagged the conversation for later consideration, as it would be better to do this in a civilian setting.
"I think I get it. Anyway, how have you all been doing?"
A chorus of "fine"s and similar qualifiers issued forth. Yuuna proceeded to launch into an exhaustive description of her day so far. I always enjoyed these, they were frequently colourful and managed a cheery spin on all events. I could never go through my day in such a way that no listeners would get tired of fifteen minutes of someone else's life, but Yuuna pulled it off with ease. I frequently wondered what on Earth she was doing in the army, though that often strayed onto myself, where the subject fell off. Sometimes there isn't a clear reason.
After she was done, a moment passed while we all began eating. After it had occurred, Dilyp looked up again.
"So," he said, pointing his fork accusingly at me, "what is the deal with you and Captain Desdemona?"
I rolled my eyes.
"What 'deal'. Like you said, camaraderie fosters effectiveness. We're still partners, and we maintain the components of that, professional and otherwise."
"But you walked into mess together, clearly just wrapping up some banter. And besides, I know what kind of smiles those are."
I groaned. Couldn't I just eat my stupid potatoes in peace? Is that too much to ask?
"If you are trying to imply that the Captain and I are romantically involved, or are wishing we are, then you are sorely mistaken, Sergeant. What you were seeing was the chemistry of a three-year-old combat pairing. We've stayed close, which, as you stated before I sat down, is not exactly discouraged."
Dilyp was not discouraged.
"Oh come on, sir, you can tell us. No one here is going to report you two." He looked around the table. "Isn't that right, Richard?"
The Lance Corporal raised his hands defensively.
"As long as it doesn't affect their professionalism, it's fine by me." He said quickly. "Besides, Dilyp. It was ONE TIME. Can you stop riding me about that for two-"
"There, see?" Dilyp cut him off. "Everyone's fine. You can tell us."
"Where on Earth did you get such a fantastical idea from, Dilyp? Oh, wait, I know." I looked at him with an expression of utter seriousness. "It wasn't on Earth, was it?"
The table erupted at my comment.
"Whoa there, sir! No need to accuse me of treason over something so minor."
"Then don't consider it." My voice had only the barest hint of menace in it. This sort of idea must be quelled upon discovery. I will not have untruths about myself circulating in the barracks. That could be disastrous.
My meal finished, I excused myself from the hall and took on civilian garb, neatly folding my dress uniform into a school bag. I would not be participating in the evening ceremonies, at least as part of the display, so I should best get some studying done.
A/N: For future reference, the songs that appear at the beginnings of chapters do have relevance to what goes on in the story.