CHAPTER SIX – JAMES
ONE TABLE FROM HELL, PLEASE
"Because that idiot engineer whacked me with the tail end of the equipment he was carrying!" Mariah shouts.
"But did you really have to shove him to the hangar floor?" Woody counters.
"Yes, absolutely..."
As I tread down the Invidia ramp toward the hangar floor, half the aviation department gapes in shock at Mariah Alvarez standing at the foot of my aircraft. Her serpentine physique, complemented by hoop earrings and scarlet lipstick, stands at nearly six feet tall. "What are you guys all looking at?!" After eyeing the technicians, Mariah's amber eyes find mine, and when we embrace, I receive a face full of her frizzy almond hair. "Nice to see you again, James."
"Only been about two days..." Woody snickers. His smile could light up a town during a power outage with his glittering white teeth set against chocolate skin. "Sorry about her commotion, everyone! Drinks on the house tonight at the Midnight Moon!" he calls to the room with a charming wink.
As Bradley speaks with the aviation technicians, and Woody shakes hands with potential customers on the way out of the Camp Maverick hangar, my eyes find the floor. The questions I knew my friends would toss at me, but that I am not keen on answering, come as soon as we enter the elevator heading down to the second floor of the military compound.
"So how was the home visit?" Woody asks.
When I look at him, Woody's electric blue eyes fade to brown, his nappy hair curls, and his face melts into Luke Butcher's. I stare at my old high school friend for a moment, and my chest feels hollow. I check my Z-Pulse, but Luke never bothers to call back anymore. "Went pretty much as expected."
Mariah, noticing my discomfort, bites her tongue for once as she struts along the hall. "I'm sure everything will be fine." She analyzes the row of fighter jets to our left, and her eyes light up.
"I'm worried about something else a little more..." I lower my voice. "I've been assigned to a mission."
Woody and Mariah exchange a look. Then they burst into laughter. "What a coincidence. So have we. Terra-54th?" Mariah asks, electricity crackling in her eyes at the thought of the Sedona raid.
"Looks like we'll be headed into certain death together..." Woody jokes. "We'll be fine. Just a simple in and out... with the Red Doves' second-in-command." I offer an unconvincing smile and bow my head.
The elevator doors open on the second floor to a white-tiled, spotless hallway which houses the Miners' military offices organized by rank, lowest to highest: lieutenants; generals; department administrators for weapons development, soldiers, intelligence, and aircraft; and then Stripe General Maddox's personal quarters. Some generals and commanding officers were deployed from the Pentagon and other American military base camps to work at CANARY, but most were stationed overseas to contain the Red Dove wannabe rebels. The office we walk past now belongs to Ltg. Reginald Highrun, one of many officials goaded out of retirement with a sky-high salary.
American rebels in the First Revolutionary War united an army across the colonies against the far-off British monarchy. This time around, the Red Doves see themselves as the rebels raising an army within the monarchy itself. Even as CANARY's military grows alongside the Red Doves, the first battle has yet to occur. But when the ice on this Civil Cold War finally melts, we will all be facing down a Second Revolutionary War.
We walk through steel doors at the end of the hall. Our living quarters are a glass dome with rows of cots, each with a chest of drawers and privacy curtains, spread across the massive floor. A view of El Yunque Rainforest dominates the horizon outside the dome. Fans attached to the high ceiling churn the muggy air around. Some U.S. Army reserves staying at Headquarters part-time are playing a hacky sack game near my cot positioned between Woody's and Mariah's.
"I've finally been able to work a few shifts at the restaurant this past week with the last graduate training sessions winding down. Still not a lot of time for the family. Or Elyse. Or anything..." Woody says. His eyes wander outside the dome toward Main Campus with a longing stare. He adjusts his camouflage uniform that has always been too tight. Our commanding officer strolls past and claps Woody on the shoulder, snapping him back to attention. "So... James, you still eating with your family at the restaurant tonight?"
"Unfortunately... Meili's been trying to set this dinner up for weeks. I think we're all just agreeing to go so she shuts up."
"James, I don't want to force you into anything, but I think you need to make up with your family. Or at least try. You'll need them during your time here." Woody offers an encouraging smile as he sits on the cot opposite me.
I purse my lips, hesitant. "I wish their forgiveness was that easy to come by."
"They'll come around. What else do we have here in the end? And besides... I can always crack some jokes while taking your orders if you need the tone lightened up," Woody says with a grin, and I realize how thankful I am he will be with me in Sedona. I just hope I don't lose him like all the others. Maybe I should be kinder to Woody. He is my second chance after all.
* * *
I ride the elevator down to the lobby a few hours later. The words "Welcome to Camp Maverick" are mounted above the granite receptionist desk. Photos of CANARY Miners during missions or on-campus training border the welcome sign.
Then I catch sight of a television news broadcast to the left of the receptionist desk. A mound of dead bodies litters the concrete in front of an ornate city building. Officials in quarantine suits are securing the area. An anchor's voice layers over the broadcast, "An unnamed suspect deployed an aerosol poison near the Federal Chancellery building in Berlin, Germany. Luckily, the Chancellor was not present. The culprit remains at large and is a suspected member of a German revolutionary group. Surrounding city blocks have all been evacuated while officials search for additional information...."
The receptionist shoots me a haunted look. "I guess people didn't realize how angry they were at their government before the Red Doves reminded them. World War III might be right around the corner."
"I think the Red Doves just made people realize a revolution was possible," I counter.
"Only a matter of time before one of these attacks takes a leader out. Like Archduke Ferdinand in World War I. Could even happen here..."
The channel shifts to a piece about rising Red Dove abductions along the Eastern Seaboard. I avert my eyes as a flurry of missing people, including children, flashes across the television. "Our forces here and around the world will keep people in check," I say to the receptionist, turning my back on the screen. But how long can I continue to turn away?
I stroll down the front steps of the military compound. From the outside, Camp Maverick is a massive three-story building made of bulletproof glass. A crystal tunnel branches off the main facility and connects to the Armamax Special Weaponry Unit, a box-shaped command center with glass as dark as shadow. The CANARY Miners are the "secret sixth branch of the U.S. military," kept classified to prevent tipping off the Red Doves about our true fighting capabilities. After the United States Armed Forces deployed thousands of troops overseas to contain the Red Dove-inspired rebel groups, CANARY filled the shortages by training interested refugees and spare army reserves, along with state and local military personnel assigned here, for the Miners. CANARY Headquarters is tucked away in Puerto Rico rather than D.C. to not only house the thousands of refugees, but to directly enlist and train them like the army recruiters in high school cafeterias. We are all a united front, refugees and military officials alike, out here at the edge of a country in turmoil. Many refugees would never be soldiers under normal circumstances, but the thought of doing nothing after a loved one's abduction is almost shameful. Almost...
"Hey! Wait up!" I spot Mariah racing down the Camp Maverick steps and across the West Campus lawn. She holds up a check. "Still need to cash my military stipend at the Financial Offices to send back to my parents."
"They doing all right?" I ask as we start along the dirt trail toward Main Campus.
"Well... they can't afford a security system for the Red Doves during lockdown, and there's been a spike in abductions in the Liberty City area recently. I'm trying to appeal my case at the Infinity Court to move them here, but the House of Discussants might shoot me down again. 'Lack of cause for refugee protection for families of Army reserves.'" Mariah quenches the worry registering on her face.
"The court will shelter them here even without a family abduction; don't worry."
Mariah sighs. "I can't help but feel guilty spending time in this bubble while my family scrapes by on the outside. Coming here after a childhood in one of the country's most violent cities certainly takes some adjusting." Her eyes dart erratically around the jungle as the wilderness settles in for the night, as if distrusting the peace CANARY Headquarters brings.
"I wish I could swap your family with mine right now."
"You don't mean that..." Mariah says in a commanding tone. I bite my tongue; maybe I should be more appreciative.
We walk in silence through the rainforest between Main and West Campus. Songbirds flap across the jungle canopy. Bugs hum along the forest floor. After a while, I find myself glancing over at her. She wears her signature hoop earrings and red lipstick. Her south-of-the-border complexion is heightened by the shadows of the jungle. Her almond hair cascades down her shoulders in a shower of—
Stop, James. Look away. Eyes ahead.
But as I mull over Mariah's family situation, I feel a swell of pity for her. Almost as if her weight is mine. But is the weight platonic, as if finally prioritizing friends after years of neglecting them? Or something more? I may be wise beyond my years in other arenas, but in this gladiator fight, I am the challenger eaten by the tiger in the first five minutes. Might as well not even enter the ring. But I do find myself thinking how compatible we could be. Mariah is much more grounded with the simple desire of providing for her family, while I have always had my spinning wheel of a mind in the clouds, writing and chasing blind ambition with seemingly no end.
Mariah turns to me, her eyes glinting with excitement. "At least we finally have a real fight ahead of us. I'm tired of hiding behind a forcefield. Feels unnatural..." The wind whistles through the trees behind us, and Mariah whips around as if to tend off an attacker.
"Easy, tiger. You could always practice your shot on the wind," I suggest.
"At least I can always be able to defend myself." Mariah chuckles and shoves me into the dirt beside the trail.
We lock eyes as I rise from the ground, and the cold night air suddenly heats up. Mariah's eyes soften and her breathing evens as my heartbeat drowns out my racing thoughts. But when we reach the CANARY Building at Main Campus, the tension loosens as if carried away by the wind.
* * *
We enter the tunnel running from the north end of the Quad into the crowded Commons. Mariah ascends the winding staircase in the center of the Commons to the Financial Offices on the seventh floor. I veer right down the adjacent hallway leading to the Greasy Spoon. Tiki the parakeet squawks from inside his cage dangling from the ceiling. The bird repeats people's conversations as they pass underneath.
I take a left halfway down the hall. A pair of sparkling doors stand at the end of the next passage. The words "Gilbert's Glorious Galleria of Gadgets, Grilles, and a Ginormous Groundhog" are scratched into the glass. I push open the doors and step into a vast mall. A skylight peers down from above, reflecting the checkered floor tiles. Shops and restaurants are set into the walls. A colossal sculpture of Nelly the Groundhog, the prized pet of an old orchard worker named Gilbert who died a few years ago, sits in the center of the Galleria. Beyond the sculpture lies a playground with a zipline stretching all the way across the mall. A kid soars across the line, his mother angrily chasing after him. Right next to the playground, a double-decker carousel spins.
My eyes wander over to El Yunque Cinema, one of my favorite places at CANARY Headquarters. Teenagers hasten into a show, starving for entertainment from the outside world. Out front the snobby Montgomery sisters, Lela and Leira, pass out copies of their bi-monthly pop culture magazine The Gossip Dollop. Next to the movie theater, a mural depicts refugee activists outside the old CANARY Headquarters near the Hoover FBI Building in D.C. Their faces are cold and determined as they protest. After the first wave of Red Dove abductions, families-turned-refugees complained about the living conditions at the underground government safehouses. These refugee activists wanted a separate base where they could be hidden from the outside world but continue some semblance of a normal life while raising their children. Their request was only granted after the old CANARY Building in D.C. became the target of frequent bombing from Red Dove sympathizers.
I stroll across the mall and pass the "Jungle's Finest! Organic Fruit Stand" before expertly dodging some aggressive mothers trying to hand me a sack of Jewelberries, an emerald-green fruit. Even as I refuse, one mother yells, "These were just FDA-approved, son! And grown right here at the eastern orchards!" I jostle through a crowd of Registration Officers heading to Ricky & Micky's Aquatic Outlet and shuffle past the Cherry-on-Top Sweetshop toward the restaurant at its immediate right: the Midnight Moon. Two magenta stone pillars flank the entrance. I feel tempted to head over to Felexacomb's Electronics to check out the new Z-Pulse model and stall this family dinner, but Meili did go through the trouble of putting this together. Plus, a part of me wants to reconcile with everyone. Or am I just lying to myself?
Wesley Manitou, Woody's father, greets me at the host stand. "James, my boy! How are ya?" Wesley has the body of a string-bean and a smooth baby face. His voice, like all members of the Manitou family, runs at a higher volume than the rest of us. Woody's adorable younger brother, Wyatt, peers shyly around the side of the stand. His great big brown eyes meet mine, but then he retreats behind his father's leg. "Wyatt... say hello to James. He's a friend." Mr. Manitou leans down to console his son. Wyatt, barely scratching four years old, turns into his father's arms.
"Hi, Wyatt. I heard you started preschool," I say with heightened enthusiasm.
After about a minute of persuading, Wyatt commits to a half-hearted wave. Mr. Manitou deposits him in a seat next to the host stand before escorting me to my table. "I hope Wyatt'll be fine at school. He's just so painfully shy. I've had him with me at the host stand so he could try talking to people more."
"Wyatt's quite the singer, I've heard. Maybe talking isn't his forte. Get him into choir," I suggest.
Mr. Manitou leads me through the New Orleans-themed restaurant. Circular tables draped with white cloths are scattered around. Orange-blossom scented candles sit in glass orbs on each table, casting long shadows up the Mardi Gras paintings splashed across the walls. Framed photos of Kermit Ruffins and Louis Armstrong are mounted above the mahogany bar. We near the stage at the back where locals can perform jazz music. And by locals I mean Mr. Manitou on his saxophone.
My mother, sister, and brother sit at a table next to an old jukebox. Mr. Manitou heads back to greet a new party. My insides start to churn. "Uh... hi, everybody. Sorry I'm late." I plant my gaze somewhere past the table. My twin brother Phillip, a pale broad-shouldered man with my same green eyes but a far more muscular physique, clenches his jaw at my arrival. With his arms crossed, Phillip sits on the opposite side of the table as far away from everyone else as possible.
"No problem, sweetheart. Good to see you..." My mother rises from her chair with an enthusiastic embrace and radiant smile, but I just stand there frozen until her arms fall away, unsure what to do. Her narrow-bridged nose and high cheekbones look exaggerated in the ambient lighting. She still wears her charm bracelet with all our initials, along with her wedding ring.
"How was home, James?" Meili asks with a sunny smile as I sit down at the Table from Hell. My adopted Chinese sister's long black hair falls over a lean figure on either side of dark angular eyes.
"Um... as I expected... I guess...." I reply.
An awkward silence settles over the table. After a few moments, Meili clears her throat. "So how is everyone? We haven't done something like this in a while."
"I've been well. Working on a new case at the Infinity Court, which reminds me..." My mother whips out her Z-Pulse and begins tapping like mad. She sounds out her words as she types, "9:30am... briefing with clients... 9:55am... appeals hearing with Senior Discussant Aurellio..." Mom sits on the edge of her chair like a bird on a branch, ready to fly away at a moment's notice. I suddenly realize I am sitting the exact same way, so I try to ease up and not think about how much I want to frantically organize my own schedule for tomorrow.
My mother, a woman who balanced her career and family with absolute precision, is the worst type of person to deal with a Red Dove abduction. Grief cannot be organized, slapped on a to-do list, or controlled by a daily routine. No wonder moving across the country to this foreign paradise, separated from her blossoming legal career with a dysfunctional family in tow, destroyed her sense of self. She had to begin a new life with her greatest accomplishments torn away. So why am I still holding a grudge? I should be able to empathize more than anyone.
But then I picture her curled up in bed and immobilized by grief for months, unable to even acknowledge her children were hurting, too. I hear the sound of shattered dishes as my mother refused food for days on end as Meili begged her to return to the world. I smell the rancid clothes stuck to her body after weeks of neglecting to shower. M.J. Starling was a frail, dying leaf abandoned by the tree giving her life. We lost our mother the night we lost our father. I would have to take my own grief out into the hallway, and from then on, I never wanted to need her ever again.
Mom puts her Z-Pulse away and tries to cover the cuts on her forearms. "Sorry about that... back to you guys. How are my kids doing?" She talks using her exaggerated hand gestures again.
"I'm just training," Phillip says, crossing his arms again and eyeing the floor.
"Same..." I mumble, taking my brother's lead.
"Ah, yes. I'm not allowed to ask specifics about the famous Diamond Temple over at Camp Maverick, am I?" Mom's radiant smile dims as she anxiously touches her dark bob of hair. Attempt number infinity of returning to our lives has failed. Should it have? I don't know. Mom cannot just act like nothing happened.
As time drags on, silence pulls up a chair at our table. At least looking at the menu gives everyone something to do. My eyes comb over the Cajun-style menu: foie gras, crab bisque, shrimp po'boy, cornmeal-crusted catfish, alligator, chargrilled oysters, and, of course, Woody's mother's special dish called Wanda's Jumbo Shrimp Gumbo.
Woody's brother Willie comes to take our orders. "Hello... yes... I'm getting the crab bisque without any of the extra spices... Make the dish as bland as possible... Thanks, hon...." my mother booms in her energetic tone. She flashes Willie a smile that brings the dim lighting of the restaurant up to stadium-level. My mother flashes Willie a smile that brings the dim lighting of the restaurant to stadium-level, but behind that smile is a certain level of restrained contempt for Woody's brother. Not that the Manitous have done anything wrong, but because I have chosen them over our own family lately. At least Woody's mother is too busy in the kitchens to wait our table.
I quickly scramble to find another item on the menu because I was planning to order the exact same thing as Mom, even down to the "no spices" instruction. After everyone orders, we are plunged into silence again.
Meili looks around with frantic eyes, trying desperately to provoke some more dialogue. "Well, Mom, I'm glad you're back at work!"
M.J. smiles. "Having some structure to my life after so long is nice. I mean... along with the European bribes... these sexual assault cases under Page are ridiculous. Just a complete lack of oversight. At least some justice can be achieved in the world after all the Red Doves have done." The light in her eyes fades for a second. She's thinking of him again. "That's... that's what your father would want me to do: the right thing. Even if no one notices. Right, kids?"
No one knows what to say. As Mom reaches for tissues, Phillip scans the restaurant to make sure no one witnesses this breakdown-in-the-making. God forbid anyone shoots him a pitying eye and puts his military reputation at stake. He straightens the camouflage uniform he insists on wearing in public. I can feel my brother's anger rising as he glares at Mom and want to warn the table it might be flipped over soon. He clenches his jaw and puffs up his chest.
Meanwhile, Meili offers a comforting smile, ignoring Phillip's sour attitude. "Mom, this move is hard on all of us still. Dad's abduction isn't exactly something you get over. We're all here for you." She peers over at Phillip and me. Perhaps I have not made Meili's life any easier with my grudges, forcing my gentle sister into this prolonged family conflict as the de-facto peacemaker.
My mother, crestfallen, wipes away another tear. "Work has been helping me cope."
Phillip scoffs. "I can't believe you're finally toughing it out at a job like the rest of us and not crawled up in bed anymore. Only took three years..."
Meili's warm smile fades into a cold frown, but she maintains her composure. "Phillip, everyone is handling this differently. We need to have empathy for each other right now."
"Thank you, Meili, but I don't need you defending me," my mother says. "I know I let you kids down, but I'm doing better. We all need to do better to get through this together...."
"Where was that attitude when we first got here? At this point, Mom, I don't need you or anyone else to 'get through this,'" Phillip says with a glower.
"Phil, calm down, all right?" I say. Despite my resentment toward Mom, I realize Phillip's attitude will not fix anything.
"Don't tell me to calm down, James..." Phillip barks. "The fact that he's gone is your fault in the first place."
"That who's gone, exactly?" I challenge sarcastically.
Phillip stutters on our father's name and refuses to say it. His emerald eyes betray his true melancholy, if only for a moment, before he readjusts his armor and hides behind the only acceptable emotion he can muster. "You know who I'm talking about! Just get over him, all of you. Tough it out and move on... I have to go to training." My brother shoves his chair back in fury. His burly figure towers over the table, then Phillip stomps away and disappears into the Galleria crowd. The other patrons make a path for him to exit, as if repelled by his very energy.
"Phillip's making things impossible." Meili sighs. "I thought if we just had dinner together, we could all be at peace again."
"I don't blame him for being angry with me. He just needs time to be alone." Mom says.
"Time won't fix him. Phillip's not allowing himself to deal with his grief; that's the problem," Meili remarks. "He hasn't talked about Dad once since we've been here. Plus, I never see him anywhere besides training by himself in the Diamond Temple."
"Terry was the last person to deserve getting abducted. Such a loving and selfless father to you kids," my mother says to Meili.
I shoot my mother a wicked glare. "Really? That's what you're going to say right in front of me? You think I don't know that already?"
All the memories come roaring back again. Kaneville Road. The night I finally had what was coming to me after years of neglecting my father. The night I let Dad become a brainwashed slave. Phillip is right; our family falling apart, becoming refugees, Dad's abduction, Mom's arresting sadness... was all my doing. Suddenly, I cannot sit here anymore.
"James, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" my mother stutters. I rise from the table, knocking the silverware over in my haste. "Where are you going?!" my mother calls.
"I give up!" Meili slams her hands on the table in defeat.
I sprint out of the Midnight Moon, trying to ignore the stares from the other customers. When fighting with family, people have more ammunition than they should. Apparently us Starlings want to escalate our own Civil Cold War.
* * *
For the next few weeks, Bradley has Terra-54th training day and night for the Sedona mission. My brother makes a point to glare at me and shake his head whenever the opportunity presents itself. Phillip whispers behind cupped hands to his friend Malacai, a tall man with curly hair, probably about why I could have been chosen for this assignment. Woody and Mariah have to remind me to ignore him. "I can always offer him a swift kick in the jewels if you need," Mariah whispers. Woody and I try to stifle laughs.
One day, our squad stands in the Universal Tube, a platinum hallway shaped like a cylinder on the second floor of Camp Maverick. Bradley taps on a control panel next to the metal door at the end of the passage. His Ragamuffin assistant and best friend Tilly Tartar sits on his shoulder like a hawk on a limb. Tilly, a small gnome-like creature with a pale pink face, dons a kelly green hat with black overalls and stands at roughly thirteen inches. As it positions Bradley's water straw near his mouth, the general's face softens for the first time since training began. Then Tilly hops to the floor, and Bradley finalizes the simulation settings to mirror expected weather conditions on the night of the Sedona raid. He taps a final button, and the simulation entrance glows red.
"Bradley, can you let me create the next sim?" Miles Waterhouse, a middle-aged man with blonde hair and beady blue eyes, growls. "I brought the Universal Tube training tech to CANARY in the first place."
"As much as I appreciate your contributions from your military technician days, Miles, I can handle this," Bradley says with a firm look before turning to our squad. "All right... the Defense Secretary and his staff are meeting us inside for a quick word. They'll be connecting to our simulation from their Universal Tube in D.C., which reminds me: I have to send his assistant our guest passcode." He types a message on his Z-Pulse before pocketing the phone.
Bradley twists open the entrance portal. I cock my Excalibur, the official weapon of the Miners. The Excalibur is a foot-long glass tube with a trigger handle attached. The gun can only activate at its owner's touch, and the purr of the weapon in my hands gifts me a temporary jolt of confidence. Tendrils of green smoke still rise out of the end of the tube from the last simulation; each weapon shoots scorching beams of light to incinerate targets on sight.
Our squad files through the portal into the dry Sedona wilderness beyond. Just as we enter, the air itself splits into a gaping hole about ten yards to my left. The Defense Secretary and his team, crossing hundreds of miles in a few footsteps, walk into the simulation. Over the Secretary's shoulder, I can see what appears to be the walls of a military conference room. "General Buchanan, we just want to conduct a final tactics review with the squadron and oversee their last few rounds."
After a brief talk with the Defense Secretary, Terra-54th breaks out of our huddle. The perimeter team scurries off into the woods while my team eyes the Recruitment Center clearing fifty yards ahead. And even after our countless training simulations, the walk straight into the Red Doves' nest has never gotten easier....
On the final night before the raid, Bradley holds me back inside the Universal Tube. I avoid his eyes by picking the leaves from the simulation off the bottom of my combat boots. "James, I know being a soldier on this mission probably wasn't your life's greatest desire, but I appreciate you being here." Bradley rests his hands on my shoulders like he did to Bruce that night in Chicago.
"Of course, Bradley..." I say, forcing a smile. "I want to go on this mission." But what I really want is the reward—recovering my father, reversing my guilt for his abduction, reuniting my dysfunctional family, returning this panicked world to normalcy—without the risk: losing my own life, ambitions for the future, and chances to exorcise the mistakes of my past. But my involvement could be the difference between a failed or succeeded mission.
"Get some rest, son," Bradley urges. A frown crumples his lips downward. Maybe he knows I truly don't want to be here. He shifts his footing as if trying to keep his emotions in check.
As if preparing for the possibility we only have one day left to live.