ACT 2

"Blood spilled and humanity unleashed, war has come, and innocence destroyed. The seed was planted but now it takes root as the world gets closer and our distinction is blurred. The more we reflect Him the more we're put down till no longer we bear His image and become one with the world."

Chapter 23: Peaceful Men of a Violent World

Weeks later – Mid January 2278

My home of New Canaan had every reason to believe that the New Year would start right, and that it did. A new start is a wonderful thing, and the wonder and hope of Christmas Eve only gave way to even more restoration with the celebrations of Christmas day despite the somber tone of that time on the way home after the end of the Christmas Eve sermon. After a wonderful morning with the family, my wife and I agreed that we'd attend the celebration with the general population rather than the guard's special celebration since we attended the guard one last year. As great as the guard's community gatherings were, Daniella was right in saying it was good for me to associate with my neighbors more often, but she did agree that we should take the kids to the guard's party if just to say hello before the Christmas Day sermon in the Temple.

The celebration with the general population was quite the spectacle, and unlike anything you'd see in over a hundred miles in any other direction. Almost every inch of the town square was packed with stalls from the local trades and every able-bodied New Canaanite within the walls. It wasn't often we saw the square as lively as it was, and between all the fun and laughter and incredible food, I had a great time. Although, despite the amount of wonderful neighbors I hadn't associated with much, and despite the warmth and love beneath the speakers playing Joy to the World or other tunes, I frequently found myself looking off towards the southeast quarter of town where I knew all the guards and their families were having their celebration. I tried not to think about it and had many conversations with my brothers in the general populace, but it was very difficult to find anyone I knew more intimately amongst the crowds.

I exchanged brief words with Mr. Mathers and Daniel, but they were occupied with other matters and people demanding their attention, and all the while I found myself looking over the crowds in search of Graham. Much to my surprise, I couldn't find him anywhere. I figured a large crowd centered around someone buried deep within would indicate his location, but there were no such crowds beyond the ones around performers of the community, so I began to think he may have been attending the guard's celebration. My wife sat engaged with the wives and young women of her volunteer group, Michelle was engaged with her friends about to go on mission, and Hannah and Joseph were off running around with their friends.

As I sat there, I couldn't quite shake this strange feeling of loneliness. Eventually my wife must have seen this in me and perhaps noticed my stare at some of the guardsmen's widows or the parents of guardsmen I lost, and figured we'd been at the general gathering long enough. With that, she nudged me and said we could go to the guardsmen's party over at the "Single boy's home" or Barracks.

How our children found us on the walk over to the southeast quarter, I don't know, but when I arrived at the party I was with my whole family. We passed several of the younger guardsmen in the street on their way to the party with the general populace to meet with girls they liked or things like that, and soon we arrived. Just like the other, but quite a bit smaller, the plaza before the barracks where we held our morning musters was full of guardsmen and their parents or families. Joseph ran off to go brag to the Langdon kids and Constable's girl about the new shoes I'd gotten him while the rest of us approached the tables and the somewhat thinning crowds around this private party.

We weren't able to spend more than 15 minutes at the table with the Constable, Doyle, Pryor, Camden, Salazar, Canady, etc, and their prospective families, but even the remaining single guardsmen greeted our arrival warmly. We all chatted about this and that, knowing the time was fast approaching for the Temple service, but the jokes went on about who was on the skeleton crews and why they were there while at one point I began looking around. It wasn't a moment later that Salazar asked me if I knew where Graham was since they knew I'd just come from the town celebration. However, the topics went right along as soon as I explained I didn't know and thought him here. I did wonder where Graham was and considered asking the Constable if he'd send someone to fetch him if he was still in his lodgings on the other end of town. As soon as I was about to ask this, it was time to go, and I was distracted by the effort of rounding up the kids.

I didn't think much of Mr. Graham again on approach to the Temple, while filing inside of the Temple, or while taking a seat in the guard section of the pews, or even while worship began. I think the majority of my search for him amongst the crowds was just to ensure a man or even men like him weren't isolating themselves while the community all got together. In the end, it was about halfway through Mordecai's Christmas Day sermon that my unconscious search ended abruptly when I caught a glimpse of him sitting wrapped as usual in an aisle seat on the other side of the Temple. I didn't recognize the elderly woman he was sitting next to since I could only see the backs of their heads. Either way, upon seeing him, and upon surmising the woman to be one of the elderly who wanted to pray with him, I couldn't think of anything other than "Oh? There he is."

That was the end of my curiosity about the matter, but figured I would try to see how he was holding up once the sermon was over. In the end, I intended to follow through on this, but something else happened at the end of the concluding prayer and the words "Amen... I wish you all a merry Christmas and a wonderful start to the new year." As the town filed out the large Temple doors ready to finish their day and make dinner plans full of the Christmas spirit or ready themselves for the new year, I lost Graham in the crowd but ran into someone I didn't expect.

Walking into the center aisle with my family behind me, I ran into a man accompanied by two uniformed men of the New Canaan guard who looked vaguely familiar. I couldn't quite place who he was till the man in a plain collared black long sleeve and tan slacks said timidly,

"Hey. Paul, right?" his face looked familiar in a way I couldn't place, but I couldn't make heads or tails of his identity until I noticed the guardsmen had stopped when he did while the rest of the town filed around him towards the doors.

"Tom Cade?" I asked, letting the question hang and trying to remember whether or not he always had a short beard. I hadn't thought about him in weeks, and seeing his face didn't help much with my recognition. It was only instinct that saw the clean but bearded face that made me suggest the name I did. The man began to work his sleeves through the big faded black jacket in his arms and the guards continued to stay where they were while a faint smile grew on his face and he replied;

"The very same. How've you been?"

Looking over his outfit one last time before he zipped up the jacket, it was his slicked back hair for some reason that truly impressed me since I remembered the last time I saw him every part of his physical appearance said he was still recovering from a gunshot and wearing his dust covered waster jacket and accouterments that went with wasteland life and bounty work. All I could say in response to the clean and neutered-sounding man between two guardsmen in the New Canaan Temple was;

"I've been well. Just here with my family. What about that sermon? What about you? How have you been these days?"

He zipped his jacket all the way up, smiled calmly, and said in that same timidity, "That sermon was wonderful. Of course I'd heard about Christmas in the wastes for a long time, but I hadn't known what it was truly all about since the start of the season. That sermon, and the one last night certainly told me a lot about it, and I'm glad my escorts here told me which chapters of the gospel I should read beforehand..." He paused thoughtfully, gesturing to the two guardsmen behind him at the word "escorts," and I stood there with a blank mind completely dumbstruck when I compared this guy with the "Tom Cade" I met over a month and a half earlier.

The man went on after a moment, "... I think I'd really like to talk to Mordecai himself one of these days. Seems real approachable, and makes some of what I've read about in bed so much easier to understand…"

Somewhat stupefied, I glanced back at my family who stood staring at him wondering if they'd seen this man before. I briefly considered introducing him to my family, and the feeling was strong, but he went on,

"… But I'm doing alright. I'm still confined to the cell mostly, some of my escorts have said I've been in there quite a while longer than most, but that's okay. They let me decorate the place, and I get to walk the southeast quadrant for a good hour or two every day. It's also really kind of them to reserve a spot for me in the Temple every Sunday. That's never been necessary, but it's more than appreciated…"

As he spoke in that tone, and as I heard his words, I began to feel legitimately bad about suggesting to the Constable that he be confined until further notice. My suggestion was clearly taken up, and although it may have given him the humility that the outlaw I met at Rock Shack nearly two months ago desperately needed, it hit me in a way I didn't expect when he went on;

"… Although it sounds like they're going to let me out of my cell for work in the fields or a trade at the start of the new year, so I've really been looking forward to that…" he paused, glanced over both shoulders towards his escorts, and I was still too speechless to say anything when he concluded;

"… Anyway I'll let you and your family on your way. It was real nice to see you though, and I pray there's no hard feelings between us."

At that, he left. His escorts moved him towards the doors and into the crowds of my brothers and sisters. After a moment, my wife asked who he was, but for a moment I had nothing. At the passing of a few seconds, I told her the name and she was left with a simple, "Oh?" probably trying to remember who I told her that name belonged to as my eyes followed him out.

I never got to speak to Graham on Christmas Day, and that was the last I would see of Tom Cade for yet another while. Running into him gave me lots to tell Doyle and the members of my detachment who knew him on that trip out to investigate the Totem. Later on, after telling them how he was and the impression he left me with, such things would give rise to statements from John and Ramos like "He HAS to be faking" and Nathan, "He's either faking or he's genuine… Suppose change could happen if I were locked in a room with a Bible for weeks on end."

Later on, a talk with Doyle revealed his simple conclusion about the Cade matter, "I hope he does change, or I hope it sticks at least." Hudson and Lockwood were of the same mind and landing on the same conclusion as John and Ramos while Mr. Schmitt's only thoughts on the matter were, "The guy I got this hat from? I don't remember him."

Either way, the matter soon faded into the background with the passing of each day and the routine of life resumed. Once all the family matters around this season were formally over, and that routine became too much, I was reminded of something I told myself I would do at the start of the new year, and leapt at that with some enthusiasm I wouldn't have expected after the emotions of Christmas Eve.

I think it was the fact that I didn't recognize the guards who served as Cade's escorts on Christmas Day that grew in my subconscious and gave me the enthusiasm to finally restore my detachment to full strength after the events of last September.

After the start of the new year and after settling back into the routine of my duties, the routine made me grow restless and it was in this period around the first weeks of January 2278 that I approached the Constable with my request. To keep it short, he was delighted to hear that I was finally going to act upon something that I probably should have begun around late November with the end of the mourning period. Shaking the lingering depressive thoughts of those men I failed like Evan Buller out of my mind, I began the recruitment effort perhaps around January 12th.

The idea was a wonderful one to the men of my detachment, and I would regularly head over to the little Southwest Qd. Library to begin drafting the requests for volunteers. The men especially liked being diverted from the monotony of tower duties and market patrols to make posters with me. I used this time to spend more time with the men under Rhynes' squad while still keeping close with the boys like Ramos, Carl, and Nathan. Even the guys under Mr. Langdon's squad didn't see their comrades under Rhynes that often at least on duty, so the task of making and posting flyers for the young men of New Canaan to volunteer was a wonderful bonding time for them as well. Personally, and as much as I enjoyed these little moments, I knew they wouldn't have to be involved in the hardest part:

Two Sundays in a row, I would spend leaving my detachment in the towers or gate posts as soon as Mordecai's sermon was done on the radio, and headed inside to speak with the population of New Canaan in the square. As it turned out, the posters were largely useless in the purpose they were created for because the number of young men to approach the barracks or home due to them was zero. It was easy for such things to be overlooked by the populace when they were posted to the same boards as the ones asking for mission volunteers, charity work, language programs, or voluntary work groups. However, they were noticed by some, since after each of those Sundays, there would always be two or three groups of parents who'd see me and approach with something along the lines of;

"Hey, Lt. Young! My Husband saw your poster the other day and we thought that was a fantastic idea for our dear boy! We were going to take him over to your house but the husband and I have just been SOOO busy we hadn't even mentioned it to him yet!..."

After such things, and after being told to give Daniella their best, they'd usually send me to their directionless son's address on the other end of town. From there, the door knocking began, and the doors would open to present me with a fine young New Canaanite man that I didn't have much to say to. So many of those parents after their introductions would add things like;

"… Jimmy has been back from mission for nearly half a year now and is still rather undecided in what to do with himself. I hear he's looking to join the smithing trade, but we hear from him so little these days! You should go talk to him!"

Upon seeing the young man in the open door, and remembering what his parents said, I usually couldn't say much more than, "You wanna join the New Canaan Guard? Your parents said you might be interested."

If the response wasn't "I can't, I already promised Mr. Soandso I'd apprentice with the smithing, teamsters, construction, outreach, sanitation, etc trades" the other response was "I'd like to, but my mom said she'd kill me if I did without getting married first… I'm going to propose to Ruth, Sally, Maya, etc soon, but she seems to want me working in X,Y, or Z trade…"

Bottom line, the work was not fun, and the second response or something like it was more common than I expected. In fact, some of the times I mingled with the populace after Sunday service, those parents came to me in other ways, like;

"Oh, Paul! I can call you, Paul, right? Either way, the wife and I saw your posters, but please don't let our precious little Billy join the guard if he comes to you! He had such a rough time on Mission last year and we heard what happened to the Buller boy, Gates brothers, etc! Billy isn't cut out for the guard, and we think he's going to be much better off in the X, Y, Z trade! Also, Sally, may say yes if he proposes soon!"

In the end, whether I was door-knocking in the housing blocks for single men, telling people about the job at men's Bible studies, or asking around the trades for those apprentices who might not be adjusting too well to their desired job, I had little luck at the start. Of the 10 interviews I conducted when things did start picking up, the very first six were complete failures. I hinted at later success, but when the first six were flops, my enthusiasm for the task was almost gone.

After the seed had been planted by Mr. and Mrs. Soandso, and after their boy decided to seek me out, I was notified by one of the Constable's runners that the young Mr. was waiting for me at the barracks or my home. A firm handshake and inflation of my posture made me excited, but then the interviews started and after introductions, the first question about the job was always;

"Entrance Enforcer? What's that? I thought I was here to join the Guard?"

I'd forgotten. The official title for everyone in the black and white uniform was "Entrance Enforcer." Although it was true we were generally referred to as the Guard by the general population and us, the formalities and titles might have been something of a turn-off since it implied a specific responsibility. Regardless of my explanation of duties and how they were more than just watching over the gates, the job did not appeal to any of the young men who applied, and I felt like I was trying to convince them to join rather than see if they were qualified or had the right mindset.

That said, my first three interviews with young New Canaanites were flops, none of them wanted anything to do with the guard. Strangely enough, however, the next three would have been perfect candidates with the amount of enthusiasm they had… if only they were a few decades younger.

I truly meant it when I told Mr. Larson that I would love to have him in the guard, and the light in his eyes at that didn't make it any easier when I told him that I would unfortunately have to deny his placement in my detachment. I simply didn't believe he would be able to pass the training regimen or be able to participate in the duties given his broken hips. Although he was over sixty and nearing seventy, his spirit would have more than made up for his abilities if both of those hips weren't broken twice over in the past two years. It felt really bad to tell him that it was in fact too late to change trades. I knew he had been a wonderful butcher for more than four decades, but he probably missed his chance to join the guard after his second of four hip surgeries.

This thing happened for the remainder of those first six interviews. Old men would come to me who wished they'd done more, only to be let down when I said they weren't physically able. It wasn't like the training for guardsman duty was that strenuous. Training wasn't more than 4 weeks where the new man would exercise, practice shooting at the range, learn how to detect threats, learn techniques for de-escalation, and then techniques for taking people down or self-defense. The rest was learned on the job and through experience. However, the idea of Mr. Larson needing yet another hip surgery after getting floored in sparring practice was too much for my conscience, so I think I made the right call. Mr. Larson was the only one I truly felt bad about, the other two old-timers were very understanding, and I think Mr. Hokatan, an old tribal New Canaanite just came into the barracks office to chat about his grandkids who were coming up on 8.

Either way, after those first six failures, my plan to get a simple five additional men for my detachment was not going too well. And so, it was probably around January 20th of the New Year that I began door-knocking again with little hope.

The only hope about this whole thing came when I went to a Mission Coordination meeting with Michelle a few evenings previously once I was off duty. After the event was over, and after the groups of young adults were dispersed, it was then that several young men approached me saying they'd seen the posters and would love to join the guard as soon as they got back from their first mission. That brought some hope to my heart, but I couldn't wait another 8-10 months to fill my ranks, and I knew some of the young men would lose that drive out there on mission. I actually brought this up, and it was then that some of them asked if they could enlist instead or postpone their mission since I'd told them how the guard gets sent all over the wilderness a few times a year. Unfortunately, I had to tell them that such a thing wasn't allowed… except for…

As I told the young men that mission work was mandatory before joining the guard, I found myself wondering if I should bring up Duncan Schmitt.

Duncan Schmitt was about 18 at the time and had only joined the community of faith about a year and a half or so prior. That young man I've mentioned on many occasions was one member of the guard that not many New Canaanites knew about. This was understandable given his character and reclusive nature, but I felt myself to be playing the hypocrite by telling the young men of Michelle's class that they couldn't join the guard because they weren't matured enough to do so. Their first mission would give them the maturity required by the job, and required by the Elders. As I spoke to the young men, however, I got to thinking about Duncan who wasn't nearly as spiritually mature as them, but was much more worldly mature. I think that was the key difference.

I thought of the young man, Mr. Schmitt, and didn't even really see a kid. Despite a few small mannerisms and behaviors, I saw a young man when I looked at Mr. Schmitt, unlike what I saw when I looked at the young men of Michelle's class about to leave for mission. I knew from many guard Bible Studies over the past year that Duncan lived a hard life on his own in the Utah wilderness from a young age. The kid was a survivor, a hunter, a scout, and definitely a fighter when it came down to it. He was what the guard needed at the time he was brought in, and he more than fit the bill when he came to us covered in dirt and with that worn rifle on his shoulder saying he was here to offer what skills he had, so long as we gave him purpose or kept a roof over his head. That was to say nothing of his little display of "expertise" in the middle of the market where he first introduced himself to us. I mentioned that in chapter 3. Still, a single look at that boy, even over a year later, said that he grew up wildly differently than the men of his age who grew up within New Canaan's walls. Looking at the boys like Isaiah, Hector, Ian, Jacob, Micah, or Dean, I knew that all of these boys could count the number of times they'd gone 5 miles beyond New Canaan's walls on one hand.

In the end, and as enthusiastic as these boys may have been, they could not help fix my problem. They did however give me a glimpse of hope that there were some New Canaanites in town who would join.

The first successes in the guard's recruitment came two days after the event with Michelle's group. Another day of knocking on doors in single men's housing blocks passed, and I found myself at a particular block I think I was subconsciously avoiding.

There at the Northwest Quadrant, Common Housing, Building (Bldg.) 2, I found a group of 7 young male workmen occupying the curb of that rundown motel building. They were kids, really, all sitting right in front of the door marked "Unit 4" and on the side of the building with the big open parking lot overlooking the North Fields. The sun was very low and the boys looked as though they were done with their work in the fields or trades for the day, and the men quieted their jovial talking as they eyed my approach. One of them was an older man I knew I had met before on a few one-off occasions by the name of "Granger Till."

The older man was stirring some stew or something from his chair next to a fire pit in the asphalt parking lot not more than ten feet from the group of young men. As the younger men quieted their talking, they didn't appear to do so out of suspicion since I recognized a couple of them, but they seemed to do so out of curiosity. As the smell of that stew entered my nose, I realized how hungry I was and remained thankful I sent Carl over to my place to let my wife know I'd be late for dinner. As I stepped up to warm myself by the fire and take in more of the smell, the older man in his early 40s caught eyes with me asking;

"Paul, right? Lieutenant Young?"

I nodded at him, "You got it. Granger, right?..."

"Yessir" said the man before tasting the spoon and starting to stir the pot again. I added;

"How'suh?.. How's construction these days?"

The acquaintance of mine grinned and squinted, seeming to know how hard I was searching my brain to remember him or his trade. Still, he replied kindly enough again with a "All's good. Mostly just maintaining streets these days and patching up pipe work in the homes now that the holiday's over..."

He paused and looked me over as he must have figured I hadn't come to this part of town to associate with some lowly workmen or warm my hands by his fire. The man cleared his throat, wiped the dirt from his face with a jacket sleeve that only made the problem worse before asking;

"What brings you up this way? Guard need repairs on a tower again or something?"

"No, not today. Just business…" I paused, and he saw where my eyes were looking.

"You can have some if you'd like, Lieutenant Young. There's more than enough for you to join us."

"Us?" I asked before immediately realizing that's what the young men on the curb were waiting for.

Granger said with a dry chuckle, "Sure. I keep my boys on this block fed best I can off work. Aint that right, kiddos!?"

A couple of the post-mission young men laughed and affirmed the words of Granger. One of the quieter men of the group, I believe the Hansley family's eldest son sat quietly as the young tribal man behind him gave Hansley a light kick on the back with the words, "Honor thy father, Don Hansley"

The others laughed at this, Donald Hansley shook his head and muttered something I'm pretty sure was, "I got no family on this side of town" and Granger Till said to the group, "Give it another minute, boys' almost done."

The young men of varying ages pulled rusted or clay bowls and utensils from their laps or out of satchels and were ready to eat. I found myself staring at the Hansley kid and studying that frustrated look on his face as he stared at the crews hauling out their equipment for the morning to the north fields. Just then, Granger Till asked me after one more taste from the pot;

"So, Lt. Young, what sort of business you got on this end of town at such an hour?"

I only kept looking at the young Hansley man until a second or two passed and the quiet young man felt the look enough to turn to me. There I said;

"Donald Hansley?"

"Yeah?" asked the young man, still evidently frustrated at something in general.

I glanced at Granger, then back to the Hansley kid, "I had a chat with your parents outside the Temple last Sunday, you know that?"

The man shook his head, still staring distantly, "I didn't know that. What did they have to tell you?"

"Seems as though they don't feel you're getting by too well working the North Fields. That true?" said I, feeling the eyes of everyone present drift towards me.

The young man only shrugged and said, "Sorta" before resuming his look off at the fields.

"You have a rough time on mission last year?"

"Yeah he did," said some of the young men at the same time beneath a chuckle as if to indicate a joke I wasn't aware of. This response included Granger before the older one added, "Dinner up."

The group of young men stood and made a line to get some dinner from their communal father, but the Hansley kid stayed put. I filled a spare bowl myself that Granger offered me, and said to the kid, "Well I'm sure you've seen my fliers I've been putting across town?"

The Hansley kid didn't move, but at this, all the men present added things like "Hadn't seen them" or "Where?" including Hansley when he heard the interest in his fellows. With the general confusion, Granger said as he filled his own bowl, "I hardly even see them flier boards anymore, even around the Temple. Got no time for all the volunteer groups and I use my Sundays for rest."

This statement was shared by the group of young men. All of them, whether they were from loving families on another side of town, if they were brought to this housing block by conversion from places in the wilderness, or if they were awaiting their wedding day to their sweetheart after return from mission, all of them were field hands, farm workers, construction men, teamsters, scavers, restorationists, etc. Bottom line, they were all kept too busy in their temporary or permanent jobs to pay any mind to the Temple or community requests for volunteers.

There had been groups of men like these I'd reached out to over the past few weeks, but normally those were on the other side of town, or in parts of the community that belonged to young men less crushed by daily drudgery. I felt something different here, and upon learning that this group too had no knowledge of my task, this time felt unique for some strange reason.

All the young men save for Hansley had their bowls filled and returned to their spots on the curb awaiting prayers before eating. One of the young men wiped the black dirt from his face with the sleeve of his jacket, and resumed looking at me in anticipation of what I would say next. Seeing all the younger and older men looking at me, I kept my eyes on Hansley who wouldn't return his attention to me. To wrangle his attention, I simply said;

"That's why I'm here, Donald. If you're looking for a way out of what you're currently doing, my detachment needs more hands."

The kid glanced at me but stayed silently nodding to himself in contemplation. He looked briefly towards the faces of his friends or neighbors as if looking for what to say, but all of them were looking at me. The momentary silence ended when one of the young men with another dirt-covered face asked, "Can anyone join?"

I told the group, "I gotta interview you, but yeah" feeling a grin creep across my face at the sight of theirs.

I had found my recruits apparently. Why all the other young men I've spoken to over the past couple weeks didn't share this interest, I didn't know. However, that didn't seem to matter when I saw all the young men looking to one another and begin talking lowly.

Almost immediately after giving my response, one of the men set his bowl aside and leapt up saying, "I'm gonna get Pat Fleischer."

It felt satisfying to see all the interest these men had, but my attention was still largely on Donald Hansley as I remembered my talk with his parents last Sunday. I told his parents I'd simply ask him about it if I stumbled across his path, and even though his sour mood didn't seem to change, that didn't appear to matter when I saw his pals and watched the one who departed run down to what I figured was Unit 9 or Room 9. Returning my attention back to the group, my eyes lingered on the door he passed, the one marked Unit 8, and briefly remembered who inhabited that unit.

I couldn't think about Unit 8's inhabitant long before my attention returned to the low conversations happening just before me. I brought myself back to the moment, looked down at Donald Hansley who was at least looking towards his friends and neighbors now as I said for all of them;

"Just think about it. Just ask a guardsman for me when I'm on duty, or come to my home whenever I'm off. You can find my address on the fliers near the center of town-"

Even though I was done, Granger spoke up, "Hate to interrupt, Mr. Young, but can we pray? The boys and I are starving."

Seeing the young men on the curb were still considering the offer to join the guard, I remembered I was famished as well and said, "Of course."

"Care to lead it, Mr. Young?" asked the communal father.

The boys bowed and the rest of us did too, and there I began, "Lord, thank you so much for this time and this stew. If it's at least half as good as it smells, we'll be more than thankful. I thank you for this time and this company I'm in, and I pray we use it well in your name. Amen."

Some of the young men snickered, and the next few moments were quiet as we all ate. After a few seconds, one of the young men said, "Keep it short, Lieutenant Young. I like that."

Another said after a mouth full, "Hansley, you're dad's the worst about it. Why he always take 30 minutes to pray? And always when I'm starving too."

"It's like he knows when you're starving and does it on purpose," said another one of Don's friends.

"There's a difference between thanking God and being long winded about it," laughed another. I smiled. Even such a simple little prayer seemed to tell me all I needed to know about these young men. Each one of them would fit in perfectly with the rest of the guard.

The others laughed or went into topics about this and that between bites, and I answered a few questions that came my way before I was done. There was a connection with these young men, and Granger. Overall, it was a nice time, and even Donald Hansley began to loosen up a bit. Things were looking good.

After a few minutes when the sun was almost completely below the west, the young man who took off for Pat Fleischer's door returned without the man he sought. Sitting down to join his pals, he looked up at me and explained after another brief prayer he only mouthed;

"Couldn't get Pat out here, Mr. Young. He's not really in a social mood right now, but he did say he's interested in applying to your guard."

"He alright?" I asked, finishing the last contents of my bowl.

The glow of the cooking fire got brighter and the wind got a bit colder as the returned boy said nonchalantly, "Yeah. He's just been in a weird mood since he got back from mission last July."

"I'll pray for him-" said I, only for one of the young men to chime in,

"That ain't it. He's been weird since that stuff with his dad."

I couldn't distinguish much more beneath the increasing chatter before I asked the group, "Pat is Darrell's kid, right? Darrell from Missions Outreach?"

"Yeah" said Hansley, now more sociable like his friends.

"Pat's dad got the crap kicked out of himself at that brothel or bar last month."

I thought about this, and it was certainly understandable for a frustrated young man with a bad mission experience to become even more willing to join the guard after hearing his father was sent into a short coma by that world outside. As uncomfortable as it was to even think this, I found myself thinking I had at least one jackpot winner in the name Pat Fleischer.

From this point I spent about another 30 or 40 minutes with this group of young men. As I answered their questions about the guard or joined them in chats about whatever was going on, word was spread as more of the motel's occupants came out. Before I left, there were about 20 more residents of this block surrounding the fire or curbside till Granger's stew was all gone. Some of the men were young, some were around mine and Granger's age, but this place was like a little family and treated me as caringly as they would their own. Some came, some went, and some asked me about the guard while others were just there for the stew or to socialize with their neighbors as night arrived.

Someone had just turned on the building's exterior lights once the sun was long gone and the fire was too dim, and that told me it was about time to head back to my own family when I caught sight of Unit 8 beneath one of the lamps. Part of me was expecting that door to open and its occupant to come out to join his neighbors, but the other part of me was not surprised at all that it stayed shut. Perhaps he saw where I was looking and noticed my demeanor because Granger asked me with a nudge;

"How many volunteers you need for the guard?"

Turning to him, I answered honestly, "Just five…"

I was going to say something else, but forgot what it was when the man's head and eyes made a gesture toward the building, "Well it should be easy enough to find some volunteers here…"

He looked as though he was going to add something else and decided to continue on, "… It's a lot of thankless work that's done by the men in this block. Some of us been in our trades for decades. I'm one of them. The younger ones especially may be looking to change things up, before they end up like some of us older fellas, get me?"

"I understand totally," said I, remembering some of those older men in the failed interviews and the young men who liked their trades too much to offer themselves to the guard. I saw a lot of myself in a lot of the men in this particular housing block, and even looking at Granger told me that a place like this is where I would have ended up if it wasn't for the woman I married and my relationship to the Constable who almost raised me. I liked Granger, and I liked all these men, I knew it wasn't too late to change things up, even for the ones like Granger, and I think I communicated that the more time I spent with them this evening.

Still, as nice as it was to tell these hard-working men that change was an option, I started to wonder if I should have been a bit more open about what that change could potentially do to you. Memories of all I'd been through for the guard flashed in my mind. Just as I was going to let Granger know to pass on word to his enthusiastic "kiddos" that the job was not an easy one, I think he already understood that because the next words out of his mouth implied a level of knowledge I wouldn't have guessed him or anyone in this block to have;

"I don't know if you know Graham too well, but don't think too much about his old reputation. I seriously think you should think about asking him to join if you knock on Unit 8. Boys and I don't see him too much, but when we do, he's a nice enough fella, and he's definitely got some stories to tell."

I didn't tell Granger all I knew about Graham or how familiar with him I truly was, but that door to Unit 8 remained shut the rest of the time I was there, and I departed not long after giving some casual farewells to everyone I'd spoken to.

On the walk home in the cold January air, I thought of everyone young or old I'd spoken to at "Graham's Motel," and mentally considered who I felt would honestly come in for interviews. Then I got to that suggestion again and began wondering if the spirit and openness to join up with New Canaan's defenders came from the influence of their neighbor Graham. That was ridiculous. Perhaps it was Part of the reason I got so many candidates in one evening, but there were so many other factors too. In the end, I just figured that whoever comes, will come, and left it at that.

I got home that evening, had a nice quiet time with my family before it was time for the kid's bedtime. I read the younger ones a story to make up for my absence for most of the evening, and soon enough I was lying in bed with the wife. Together we did our nightly reading for 45 minutes and talked here and there. As I read however, I couldn't get much past the page in 1 Kings I started at since I kept thinking;

"Would he even be allowed to join if he tried?"

The very next day I was pulled from tower duty by one of the Constable's runners for an interview. I wasn't given any word about who it would be until I was directed to the small little office beside the barracks' armory and saw who waited outside. I didn't recognize him at first, but the waiting person was a young face I met last night. He was one of the ones I answered several questions for and was a handsome young man I indicated previously as one of tribal descent. A friendly reminder at the start of the interview told me his name was "Licus Messiah", originally a tribal convert from the Talmagerians tribe. Although I will have more to say about this young man later, he was a perfect fit, and I was happy to accept him into the guard. With a training start date set two days from the interview, he immediately left to say farewell to his trade supervisor in the fields.

That same day, and around three hours after the first interview, I received word from yet another one of the Constable's runners about a new interview. Upon return to the office, I saw a man I'd only ever met a handful of times at community gatherings or Christmas Day ceremonies. This man was the one I hadn't had the chance to meet last night, Pat Fleischer.

Pat indeed had a bit of a rough time on his mission trip last year and although he would explain more to me and his new comrades about it, he wasn't content with the work he was doing immediately after returning. He originally never really considered joining the guard, especially since his family and father were very involved in the Temple Sect and Missions Outreach. However, it wasn't until the events around the Brothel I detailed earlier that he began to think about it. The poor lad was very upset and disappointed to hear what happened to his father during the first stage of the brothel shutdown, and heard about what the Guard did in response. Once again, I had yet another trainee for my detachment beginning the same day as Licus.

Two days after the evening at the motel, I had a visit at my home from a man I was starting not to expect. Donald Hansley didn't seem much interested in the idea of joining the guard when I left him and his neighbors that night. He didn't really have any questions to ask even when his intrigue turned into a faint flicker by the enthusiasm of his neighbors. So, I invited the young man inside, the wife gave him an extra serving, and he joined us for dinner before I interviewed him in the living room. I decided it wasn't best to go into specifics during the interview, and I didn't want to scare him off because he was certainly a fit and healthy enough man for the job. In the end, he shook my hand and agreed to join. However, there was part of me that felt his decision was at least in part inspired by words with his parents. Either way, the words, "Couldn't hurt to try" and "It's gotta be better than field work" was good enough for me, so I told him after the handshake that he'd start when Licus and Pat would the very next morning.

I had just finished introducing the new guardsmen to my detachment and handed them over to John to get them uniforms when the Constable told me about a new candidate immediately after morning muster. Inside the barracks, I met with Granger Till himself. My interview with that man was much longer than the others, mostly because I simply enjoyed talking to him. Once the interviews were over and before it went on too long, he ended up telling me how he thought it over for quite a while, and decided to give his request to leave trades just yesterday. He was practically one of the heads of construction himself, so his partners were rather shocked when he told them he was going to leave the trade he was in for 20 years in exchange for service in the guard. He would be missed, and asked if it would be alright for him to assist his replacement if construction ever needed him to, and I told him I would ask the Constable about it. Later that day, the Constable approved, and we agreed he'd start his first day in my detachment at the start of the next week.

So that was it. I got four replacements in the span of three days. I felt as though my job was done as the days passed and I had my four new trainees running sparring drills with the Constable's trainer until the day was over. I spent a whole week feeling proud and accomplished with my new trainees doing just great. At sunset, when the changing of the guard was underway I found myself outside the barracks with all the day shift boys heading inside. Looking at the building and ready to head back home for time with the family, I was stopped by the Constable, who put a hand on my shoulder and said,

"The new lads are doing great, Paul. You must be proud…"

I was just about to tell him how proud exactly I was of the new guys when he added, "Where's the last one coming from?"

By the time I was laying down for bed, I had concluded that the fire started by my evening at the motel had officially died and I too was at a loss on where to get the last man to replenish my detachment.

The next morning during muster I was called to the office for one last interview when he stepped through the door.