Driver had been sick since the second week of the Third Month. His lungs were the main culprits. The Doctors used strong antibiotics to kill off bacteria plus a steroid bronchial mist to subdue bronchial spasms. These depressed his autoimmune system and resulted in an unpleasant infection. After all this, he was still suffering with bronchial spasms. An inner ear infection from coughing made him dizzy at times. The bronchial spasms caused him to see black swirling spots. He was so sick of being sick.
As if intensifying his doom, Driver went cold turkey off Aino, an addictive barbiturate. Physical withdrawal symptoms included shakes, insomnia, and irritability. He was hooked pretty bad but hoped going straight would alleviate his wheezing.
Driver was a biotechnician. Because of his drug habit, he missed a lot of work. He’d arrive to work late. He was almost always tired. He’d head home sleepy. Sometimes he was more tired than hungry and slept through dinner in a heavy deep slumber. He forgot things a lot at the lab and appeared disorganized. He couldn’t concentrate very well. He had increasing anxiety about his job. Where would he work if he lost it? This is why he quit the complexity of biotech and joined the Military; he couldn’t stand his job anymore.
All of Driver’s chaos was more than a burden; it was a precursor to death. Driver’s friends weren’t startled any more when he’d say, “I look forward to Death, the day I’ll be released from bodily burdens and fly free.” Death for Driver was a release, a portal, an altered state. He was eager to walk through it. A fog frequently came over his mind as he struggle with life. A heavy tiredness weighing him down. This was another reason he joined the Military: not only did he hate his job but he couldn’t stand life anymore either.
In the midst of all this turmoil, Driver was shell-shocked, battle-fatigued before he even went to war. His reality was distorted. His anchor was up in stormy waters. He felt sometimes as if he was mad; swept away in the backwash. Silently drowning. No one seeing to throw him a lifeline or a life preserver, alone tossing in a sea of despair. “No comfort. No pleasure. This isn’t life. I am a zombie, the living dead. I want to die but can’t,” he thought to himself. So he joined the SCARAB rebel force, hoping to die.
One day, Driver went to his usual seaside diner located in Certan for a buffet lunch. He had been transferred by SCARAB to Certan in hopes the fair weather would improve his health. There was an unusual blonde girl in the diner that day. She was very interesting to Driver. She appeared sophisticated and wise. “Could we talk?” he thought silently.
Before long she was done eating but stayed, sitting on a bar stool. “She noticed my glance,” he thought.
Driver was too timid to approach her. Fearful, he turned his back to her while eating his lunch.
She suddenly appeared to his left. Her face disturbingly close. Driver blushed while staring away.
“If you won’t come sit by me, may I sit by you?” she peered right through him. His school-boyish fumbling for words and vulnerability amused her. They talked profusely. She was a very discerning person.
The restaurant habitually closed after lunch until the evening meal. They began silently walking down the ocean front surrounded by sounds of the huge sea drowning their thoughts.
Arriving at her quirky tent shelter, she invited Driver inside but he wouldn’t go. “Maybe later we can meet again,” he said.
Happy with the possibility she smiled, “Good-bye, ’til later then.”
Back at the military base, Driver arranged files in his drab office. An attractive redhead in battle fatigues entered through the front door.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Hi, I’m Arrow. I forgot my gloves and stopped back to pick them up,” she replied.
At the back-door, a knocking was heard. There stood the blonde girl from the restaurant. A leashed large black dog accompanied her. It wasn’t her dog. She was keeping the dog for someone else.
“May I come in?” she asked.
The room seemed to laugh as the eyes of the redhead and the blonde’s met.
The blonde’s first visit appeared too customary and intimate as if occurring regularly.
An unplanned visit? She turning up at leisure, yet all appearances to the contrary.
“Who is she?” asked Arrow feigning suspicion, winking secretly at the blonde.
“I met her at a restaurant this afternoon,” Driver replied shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know her name. Is that a problem?”
The girl’s name wasn’t important until now.
“If now is a bad time, I’ll come back,” said the pretty blonde smiling.
“I was just leaving,” said Arrow gesturing a mock salute to the mysterious blonde.
The blonde tied up the big black dog on the back step. The blonde stayed. Two females in Driver’s office. He felt a headache throbbing at the front of his pained skull. He didn’t realize the blonde civilian, Anchor, and the military redhead, Arrow, were old friends and traveling companions.