The lovely young redwood had grown quite tall now.

When it had been planted, it only used to reach Culver's knee. Now its top could easily graze his chin. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you these two years," Culver said softly, running his finger along a tender needle. "It hurt too much."

It still did. His chest and throat felt like they were immersed in lava. He'd been dreading the day he'd have to come face-to-face with this tree. Though he'd always known he couldn't stay away forever, he'd hoped for a gap of a few more years so he could steel his heart.

But Orion, that stupid human high-rise, had to go and say all those things and then disappear off the face of the Earth. For a fortnight his words had eaten away at Culver, and when the the latter finally couldn't take the sleep deprivation and anxiety anymore, he'd packed an overnight bag and driven all the way here.

"Why a redwood," Culver lamented. "Damn you. I hate this tree so much."

"Culver? Is that you?"

Culver turned around. A familiar ginger was standing a few feet away, mouth hanging open, bouquet dangling loosely in his hands. He stared for a few seconds before approaching Culver, who remained unmoving with a contrite expression on his face. "Daniel," said he. "Hi."

"...what are you doing here..." Daniel closed his blue eyes and shook his head, as if trying to shake his thoughts into place. "I'm sorry. Excuse me." He placed his bouquet at the foot of the tree and brushed a few leaves off a plaque in the ground. Gently, he ran his finger across the name on it before straightening up and smiling warmly. "Have you been here before?" he said. "I haven't seen you since..."

"Since the funeral. Yes." Culver pushed his hands into his pockets to hide his fists, clenched tightly in pain and barely controllable grief. "I didn't come here until today. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me, though I'm sure he has missed you." Daniel tapped the young redwood's trunk. "It's okay, Culver. We all understand."

With great difficulty, Culver forced a smile. "Thank you," he said.

"Gosh, there's a lot to talk about!" With a genial laugh, Daniel thumped Culver's back. "Do you have some time? Let's talk over lunch at my place."
*
"So. Ask me how I've been."

Culver raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Shouldn't you be asking me that too?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Man, everyone and their pet cat knows how you've been, on the surface at least."

"Alright, alright, I'm asking you. How have you been?"

"Pretty good. Still romantically impaired. On a good day, I can manage a short trip in a plane."

Daniel was one of the survivors of the fight that had killed Culver's lover. Ever since that horrifying battle, he'd been suffering from severe PTSD and insomnia, and he couldn't bear to set foot in an airplane. The last time Culver had seen him had been at the funeral two years ago, and then he'd barely be able to speak. During the rare moments Culver allowed himself to think of that time, he'd always wondered what it was that Daniel had seen to make him look like he'd had his soul stolen.

"You've come a long way," Culver finally said. "I'm happy for you."

"Thank you." Daniel smiled, but only for a second before leaning forward with a frown on his face. "But you...you're still stuck in the past, aren't you?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Extremely. You look uncomfortable and it's hard to hold your gaze. As if there's someone else you'd rather talk to."

So that was what had clued Orion in. Guiltily, Culver lowered his eyes to his hands white around his silverware. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I understand. You know, I'm glad you came. It seems you're finally ready for closure."

Culver's head snapped up. "No," he said firmly. "I don't deserve closure. It's my fault he died."

"Don't you dare." Daniel glared at Culver, pain and anger dancing in his watery blue eyes. "He died because of the cursed bastard that shot him down. I was right there. I saw the man who killed him."

"You saw? How? Weren't you fighting too?"

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, summoning the courage to speak about his worst memories. "He called for help," he said, voice quivering. "It was so strange. "I'm surrounded," he said."

"Surrounded? In the air?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. It was like one of those World War dogfights. There were three Astorian planes around him. I took out one, one of the other boys took down the other. The third...I couldn't reach the third in time. It got him."

Culver flinched violently.

"It drove me mad, Culver. My best friend...and I couldn't do anything." Daniel coughed to disguise his soft sob. "That was when I truly understood what it means to be bloodthirsty. It makes taking another man's life pleasurable. I went after him with a vengeance. Those stupid planes they gave us...I'd never thought I'd see my plane's wing snap off in this day and age. But I still managed to destroy the other guy's plane. We both ejected and landed maybe ten feet from each other."

Daniel paused to drink some water and dab at the beads of sweat on his face. "It was Astorian territory," he continued. "Not that I cared. I gave chase. Caught him, too. But I'd been spotted by ground troops, and they were almost upon me by the time I'd managed to expose the face i'd be putting a bullet in. So I let him go and made my escape - but not before swearing to him that I'd kill him the way he'd killed Daniil."

Culver was shaking by the time Daniel was done. he couldn't decide whether he was glad he finally knew that Daniil met his end quickly or regretting ever hearing the story. "And?" he asked in a choked whisper. "Did you keep your promise?"

"I definitely will. But tracing that bastard has been hard, even though I have the right contacts and enough money. For a border skirmish gone bad, they're keeping its details way too secret." Daniel leaned forward and lowered his voice. "The whole affair was fishy from the get-go. This is confidential, but fuck this government and its dirty secrets - no offence - I don't give a damn about its rules."

Once upon a time, Culver would never have condoned the divulging of secure information. But the last time he'd been that idealistic, he'd sent Daniil down the jaws of death. Besides, now that he knew the manner in which Daniil had died, he didn't care what else was at at stake as long as Daniil was avenged.

"Go on," Culver said.

"The whole battle was weird. For one, they sent us up in the middle of a blizzard. We couldn't see a thing. For another, when we crossed the cloud ceiling, the sky was empty."

"Eh?"

"Not a singly enemy plane on the radar. We were flying around like lost geese. Then out of nowhere, an overwhelming number of Astorian planes were upon us like a swarm of bees. But then it got even weirder."

"That isn't weird enough?!"

"Not in the least. The Astorian pilots seemed to be...weaving. They wouldn't engage the first Mevinjean plane they saw. I myself had at least five guys come so close our planes' wings could have touched. They didn't engage. They circled around me, stared - literally - and moved away."

"Wait, wait, hold on." Culver held up a hand and frowned. "The report I received basically said our boys were butchered."

"They weren't butchered. They were hunted."

Culver's stomach convulsed painfully. "What...do you mean?" he coughed, clutching his side.

"The Astorians picked our guys off one-by-one. I still hear them in my dreams, screaming desperately that the enemy planes just wouldn't get off their tail. Screaming for help. And screaming, even though the other guys couldn't hear it...for mercy."

The little food Culver had managed to eat made a reappearance. He barely made it to the kitchen sink before his entire digestive system emptied itself out. Panting, sweating, trembling so hard he could barely walk, he rinsed his mouth and returned to the table to find Daniel slumped dejectedly in his chair. "Why..." he gasped. "That report...why lie? No, what...how did it become so bad? I know we train our pilots for dogfights, obsolete though it may be."

"I wonder. It's not like their planes were any better than ours."

Culver's brain screeched to a halt. "What..." He gave his head a violent shake, trying to force his shock aside. "No, no, that can't be. Astor won because it had better planes. I saw the pictures of the wreckage. Those models were superior to ours."

"See, that's one of the things that confounds me. I've read the news articles claiming the same thing. I myself saw the model names on Astor's planes. During the fight, everyone kept wondering what the hell was in those planes. Every piece of evidence supports the superior plane theory."

"But?"

"But I still say it's a lie. You see, I'm the only one to crash and come back alive. All the others returned to our base from the air or died before they ever hit the ground."

"I don't see the link," Culver said, rubbing his face wearily. "God, what the Hell is going on in this country..."

"From what I remember, we were herded into Astorian airspace before they started bringing down our planes. The pictures you've seen in that must have been satellite images, because I am the only one who has seen the wreckage up close. It's all in Astorian territory."

"No, Daniel, there were two reports. The first one is the bullshit one. The second has pictures of the wreckage taken from the ground by an ad hoc investigative committee I myself ordered the creation of. There must be a few crashed planes within our borders too."

Now it was Daniel's turn to look confused. Crossing his well-muscled arms across his chest, he leaned back in his chair and scowled. "I still call bullshit," he growled. "I hid in the wreckage as I made my way back to base and got a pretty good look at both kinds of planes. They looked exactly the same."

"How the hell can you say that when they were so mangled?"

"Not all the pieces were unrecognizable, Culver. That's exactly what I mean - that report you have is lying, by omission if not outright. I loved my plane, but she was one butt-ugly hunk of metal. I'm not likely to mistake that model for something else."

"Maybe the new models don't look very different from the old ones. Maybe the difference was internal, like in the engines."

"Or maybe their planes weren't better - ours were just worse."

"Come again?"

"I told you, my plane's wing snapped off mid-air. Fighter jets shouldn't be falling apart like that."

"...I don't know," Culver groaned, despairing. "I don't know what to think. I don't know how this will help avenge Daniil." Saying his dead boyfriend's name overwhelmed him, and Culver broke down. "What does it matter!" he cried. "What difference does the truth make now? Daniil's dead! He's not coming back!"

"Daniil was murdered," Daniel said, quietly but with no small amount of rage. "Half our troop was murdered. I want to know why. Whoever is covering this up is the reason my best friend is a pile of ashes with a fucking tree growing in it!"

Culver shrunk into his chair. "Don't say that," he said meekly. "Daniil wanted to be buried that way. That tree represents - never mind."

"Represents what?" Daniel snapped, raising his voice. "A damn tree doesn't stand for him. Don't you give me any bullshit on how it stands for Daniil's strength or something. He cannot be represented by a plant."

"That's not what it stands for. You wouldn't understand."

"What, is it his undying love for you or something?"

The glass Culver had been raising to his lips slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. The crash didn't even register in Culver's brain. "What are you saying," he scoffed, pulling himself together with supreme strength. It was okay. It wasn't the first time someone had accidentally hit the nail on the head. But today, his raw, reopened wounds were making it hard to remain calm. "Don't mock his choices."

"Don't drop red herrings. Yes, I know you're gay. I know you were dating Daniil."

"Just because we were close doesn't mean -"

"Damn it, he told me, okay?"

"There was nothing to tell."

Daniel slammed his hands onto the table and stood up in a fit of rage. His chair grated over the floor and toppled backwards. "You'd made him swear on your life that he wouldn't tell anyone you were gay," he snarled. "But guess what?"

Culver cowered in his chair, too emotionally weakened to stand up to his friend. "He'd never," came his tremulous whisper.

"He most certainly did. He sat in this very chair you're sitting in now - and in a heartbeat, he betrayed you."