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It’s getting on in the day and I did wonder if he wasn’t going to show. In times gone by Sid has been early by a day, maybe even two, before the 31st. When that happens I have a little time to prepare, which doesn’t really make much difference because from mid-October onwards I’m organizing myself for it. Whenever Sid arrives, I’m ready. I have to be. Sid’s face turns towards the stairs, the vast cavern of the pub on the level below beginning to fill, not a seat left on the mezzanine floor we’re on. Our booth, of course, is perfectly positioned to watch the traffic up and down the stairs, and Sid’s movement is an indication for me to pay attention. His interest is my cue. I gulp when I see her: she’s gorgeous, absolutely stunning, her straight blonde hair in a ponytail, the cream-coloured, long-sleeved sweater caressing her generous frontage sending a frisson of desire through me. She looks so clean and healthy, so full of life and vitality, the crocheted sweater and flowing. "Trey reached down deep inside for every remaining trace of military discipline that he had left. He squared his shoulders and lifted his head up as had been drummed into him at West Point not quite two years ago. Every year each state was permitted two slots for militia officers at Capitallia's military academy. As a prisoner and future slave, Trey wasn't even permitted his class ring. Trey took a deep breath to steel himself and he marched to the open door. He hammered three times on the door and announced: "Sir, Second Lieutenant GordonBrian Venters III, Massachussets state Militia on temporary duty to theCapitallian Defense Organization, service number MA 1013-2129-7543 request entry to see the commander for the purpose of voluntary enslavement, sir!" Enter!" Chief Masterson bellowed.Trey marched inside. Colonel Jason Mithras was in full dress uniform and was seated behind a battered steel desk that was painted a dark gray. Trey stood on the tape mark, exactly one meter in front.
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