The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Just as the Bi-Continental Assembly in Caracas had a space reserved for projecting the holographic imagery from Beijing, so the United Nations General Assembly was prepared to show holographic imagery from the headquarters of the Western Hemisphere Union. When the U.N. Secretary-General gave the okay for the Hemispheric Union to claim the attention of U.N. delegates, the Aztlano delegation demanded the privilege of speaking first. The current Secretary-General of the Hemispheric Union was a Bolivian pagan priestess.... and was one of the past guests of the Formenteras who had been allowed to try her hand at performing a human sacrifice on an Altar of Solar Influence. She accordingly recognized the Aztlano Ambassador to the H.U.: Ricardo Formentera, second son of the downfallen Tonio Formentera.

"You have heard the honorable Chinese officer at the U.N. speaking of how my late father was drawn into a connection with the Triads," Ricardo began. "My family can understand, painful though it is to remember, why Greater China saw the need to remove my father from power. But the Chinese cannot have imagined that any wider corruption was prevalent, or they would not have allowed my brother Emilio to succeed to our Presidency. And even my father would never have let himself be pressured into agreements with the Triads, if he had not been driven to desperation by the racist hostility of the bigoted capitalist Christian Anglos of the Diversity States, whose presence poisons the great Bronze Continent!"

He paused to acknowledge applause from delegations affiliated with the Venezuelan Alliance and the Caribbean Union, then continued: "No one here can possibly have forgotten the occasions on which Diversity States aircraft attempted to launch missiles carrying weaponized pathogens into our territory. Nor will it be forgotten how some of those Anglos viciously lied that my nation practiced HUMAN SACRIFICE!

"And now there is yet another outrage to be listed. My government, alarmed by the aggressive militarism of the Alchatkan Republic, attempted to purchase military aircraft from a consortium of European and African suppliers. The Atkinson administration pretended to make a conciliatory gesture by offering to facilitate the delivery of the aircraft. But scarcely had their fascistic Texas Rangers left the aircraft in question at one of our airfields, before we discovered that the airframes contained neither any weapons, nor the targeting systems for weapons! Can any more obvious proof be required of the treachery and greed of the white supremacists controlling the Rainbow House?"

Ricardo's timing in referring to "white supremacists" was unfortunate for his purposes, because even as he said that part, the _black_ President of the Diversity States, Megavolt Atkinson, was entering the Bi-Continental Assembly.

Her unscheduled arrival caused enough of a stir that Ricardo paused in his scripted speech... which had really been written for him by his considerably smarter sister Lupita. Meg Atkinson did not immediately attempt to address the crowd, but hurried to where Vibol Ritisak sat with his aides, including Vonetta Ashford and David Redfern.

"Please tell me that you haven't uttered any warlike threats yet!" Meg stage-whispered to Vibol.

"No chance yet, even if I wanted to," replied the Cambodian-American.

"Good. Now, let me deliver our initial response," she told him. "I _was_ our Secretary of State before I was President, after all."
 
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President Atkinson and the Bolivian priestess, both being "non-breeders," had seen each other socially in Meg's days as a Secretary of State; so Meg had no difficulty obtaining approval to speak.

"Honorable Secretary-General, and esteemed colleagues: remembering as you do the shameful fact that the old United States was the cause, the foundation, and the leading promoter of racism and hatred worldwide, I rely on you to understand what a task the Fairness Party has had to undertake. Five years and a few months is not enough time to eradicate ALL traces of the bourgeois corporate white-supremacist system that existed before--"

She had to choke herself off then, because she had been about to mention Jessica Trevette; and Ms. Trevette had been proven, before her supposed demise, to have been a party to the same ritual murders that Ricardo Formentera was claiming never even happened at all. To mention the previous D.S. President just now, even in the context of demonizing America, would be to imply that Ricardo was the liar that everyone in the chamber already knew he was.

And that would hardly suit the Fairness Party's appeasement policy.

So Megavolt Atkinson resumed with a slight revision: "--that existed before the great victory for economic justice was achieved. My government has to this day been trying to make amends for the exploitation and bigotry which the United States, alone and uniquely, inflicted upon an otherwise progressive and civilized world; but since there is no such thing as divine intervention, we cannot complete the whole job inside of six years. Therefore, allow me to make a daring offer to demonstrate our good faith. I expect by this means to compensate our bronze neighbors for the many egregious provocations which they have endured so patiently. This offer will be of economic benefit to the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic, and will further weaken the position of the minority of white supremacist neo-Nazis in our own midst...."

David had sidled close to Ambassador Ritisak, and now held a tablet computer in front of him with the typed words: DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE'S GOING TO OFFER? Vibol Ritisak only shook his head. Meg Atkinson went on:

"My country's Party Presidium is well aware of how Aztlan's loyal and productive workers have been unfairly hampered in economic development by the departure from their territory of anti-progressive, un-mutual capitalists who refused to stay in Aztlan and contribute their fair share to the new order there. Accordingly, I will submit to the Presidium a proposal... that we cede to Aztlan an area of land comprising not less than two-thirds of what is now our Great Plains Federal District. And with the land, I will propose that we recruit five hundred Diversity States citizens who possess high-level industrial and professional qualifications, and place them under Aztec-Maoist supervision, to assist the great Aztlano people in improving their standard of living -- a standard of living which of course would be much higher now if not for the malice and greed of Hispanophobic racists. The media experts from the D.S.A. who are currently IN Aztlan, can serve as liaison facilitators to expedite the arrangements for this act of reparations."

She turned to Vibol Ritisak, her face wearing the expression of one who reckoned that she had just eaned sainthood. "Ambassador Ritisak, do you have anything to add?"

Vibol whispered to Vonetta, "Keep out of this, and keep David out of it." Then he stood up.

"Yes, Citizen President, I do have something to say, thank you.

"It is true that racism continues to do great harm even in our modern world." He fixed his eyes on Ricardo Formentera. "Therefore, I invite all delegates to consider what OTHER THAN racism can motivate a government to make endless use of the slogan--" and he pointed at Ricardo; "--Para la raza todo, afuera de la raza nada!"

Ambassador Formentera was as taken aback as Count Dracula would be in an old-time movie if suddenly confronted with a crucifix. Meg Atkinson, and the pro-Aztlano Secretary-General, were almost equally stunned. Vibol used this momentary stunning to continued unchecked:

"EVERY person in this chamber, with no exceptions, is fully aware that EVERY allegation the Formentera regime ever made of 'provocation' from the Diversity States has been a fabricated and self-serving lie. Aztlan, and ONLY Aztlan, has in fact been the sole instigator of any and every military incident between our two nations. Many of you here have pretended not to know this, because it was a path of least resistance. But I say it to your faces: all of you KNOW that Aztlan is the aggressor! And since my own government has not even the backbone to ask for help against the aggression, I resign my Ambassadorship right now, and request asylum in Mexico!"

David and Vonetta had never conceived of any such possibility; but when they saw two men from the Mexican delegation striding toward Vibol with eyes fixed on him in a friendly manner, it became apparent that someone HAD been expecting it.
 
Meg Atkinson stared in disbelief as the Mexican men took Vibol by the arms in a gentle fashion and led him toward their section. Her pacifistic philosophy rendered her as unready mentally, as she was unable physically, to do anything to halt the defection. She did, however, manage to squawk, "We have your bioproduct!"

Vibol replied over his shoulder, "No, you don't! Kolab's been with my friends for the past two hours!"

As ineffectual babbling erupted in the Bi-Continental Assembly, Meg wrote off Ambassador Ritisak and turned to the eldest woman among his assistants. "Dierdra Heigl! You are now Acting Ambassador!" The woman she thus addressed was the same staffer who had long performed the thankless task of trying to keep make-believe diplomats like Samantha Ford on task when in Caracas. Dierdra Heigl plunged into a heroic effort to carry on the usual obsequious talk about how awful white supremacists were... while the white not-at-all supremacist David Redfern whispered in the ear of his black lover:

"What do we owe to these looshes? Let's join Vibol and Kolab!"

Vonetta Ashford gawked. "But -- my career!"

"What career? _Apologizing_ for our country _being_ attacked? This is our--"

A thick finger tapped his shoulder, the finger of his President. "Citizen Fo-- I mean Redfern, stop chatting! We need a united front with the new Ambassador, in order to defuse--"

David pushed her away, not even looking at her. "Vonetta, I want you with me, but with or without you..." He turned and lunged in the direction his boss had just gone, shouting, "Viva Mexico!"

Meg, Dierdra, and what was left of the ambassadorial staff did their own gawking, as Vonetta hurled herself after David, shouting, "Viva el amor!"

Ricardo Formentera visibly decided to let this unexpected scene play itself out. As with all Fairness Party dignitaries, Dierdra was more prepared to chew out her own people than to take any stand against a foreign aggressor; so she yelled across the chamber, "I demand that those un-mutual individuals return to their duties!"

Mexico's own H.U. Ambassador replied on behalf of Vibol, David and Vonetta: "Persons wishing to become subjects to the Fairness Party are able to, though I have not seen any great rush. Persons wishing to _leave_ it are welcome in my country if they respect our laws."

Vonetta, having overcome her hesitancy, swung all the way to boldness. Borrowing the Mexican Ambassador's microphone, she shouted, "I'm _glad_ to leave the Diversity States, Megavolt Atkinson! Your Party _murdered_ my parents and brother, and Sammy's wife Lacey!" She whipped around to face Ricardo Formentera, adding, "But _your_ government's even _worse!_ You've kidnapped hundreds of D.S. citizens to be slaves, and _everyone_ here knows it!"

This made the uproar considerably more serious. But a shrill tone broke through it: a tone recognized by all present as an attention signal over the comms link with the U.N. General Assembly.

Reltseotu Smith became visible in the hologram feed, saying, "The General Assembly asks the Bi-Continental Assembly to come to order! It has been brought to our attention that African Union officials have something to submit with relevance to the Western Hemisphere!"

Reltseotu's place was taken by a very tall black man, who introduced himself: "Delegates to the Hemispheric Union, I am Thomas Guduza, a special coordinator for the African Union. A former resident of the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic of Aztlan is among us now: someone who survived a seagoing mishap, and was rescued by Polish sailors. I ask all of you to listen to him." Guduza turned to one side and beckoned while retreating, whereupon another man entered the holographic space. This man had the look of a Native American... and the sight of him affected the Aztlano Ambassador like the sight of a ghost.

"Honorable diplomats, my name is Sunki Pavatea, and I was formerly in the employ of the Formentera family. I can attest -- in fact, I have already been proven by brain-scan to be truthful on this point -- that both Emilio _and_ Ricardo Formentera are as guilty of barbarous human sacrifice as their father was! It is my lasting shame that I was powerless to put a stop to this practice, but I now denounce it! The Republic of Aztlan is nothing but a gang of murderers, and any accusation brought against it, by the Diversity States or anyone else, can only be wrong by _not_ being condemnatory _enough!_ Persons other than myself have gathered more than sufficient proof that Aztlan, while not the prime mover in the illegal coup that has overthrown the Argentinian government, is in accord with the Venezuelan Alliance for this and other criminal ventures. Let the Diversity States President _stop_ apologizing to those predators, and _start_ accepting help to defend her country against them!"

The ex-jester in his turn was supplanted in the holo-transmission by China's Colonel Hsiao. "I am authorized to say this on behalf of the Greater Chinese government: although we are too preoccupied for the foreseeable future to interfere in Western Hemisphere politics, Beijing officially protests the unlawful revolution in Argentina, _and_ condemns the human-rights abuses persisting in Aztlan."

During the pandemonium that was redoubled when the holographic link was disconnected, Vibol Ritisak patted the shoulders of the two young aides who had joined him in defecting. Vonetta kissed David rather more passionately than was usual inside the Bi-Continental Assembly building, and told him, "I love you, David! You woke up something in me, something like the memory of standing for what's right!"

"Ambassador Ritisak deserves the credit," David answered her. "If he hadn't made the move, I never would have had the nerve." The very act of saying such a thing made the youth recall the gallant soldier who was his biological father. David had never had voice contact with Josiah Redfern in his whole time working in Caracas, only a few text exchanges -- and had never disclosed his sexual relationship with Vonetta. But _today's_ events might contain something Josiah _would_ be pleased to hear.

Vonetta's loving voice turned his attention back to the immediate moment. "Vibol's a great man, but he isn't the man I intend to marry."

"Huh? What?"

"You heard me! You're over the age of consent in most countries now, including Mexico! I love you, and I want to marry you!"

A memory of Osmawani Jalil flickered in David's mind; but he was sure she had meant it about being happy for him if he found something permanent.

David and Vonetta no longer had any diplomatic position anyway; so their attention remained riveted on each other while the Earth-Mother priestess fought to restore order. The lovers continued oblivious while Meg Atkinson and the Diversity States delegation issued a meaningless "expression of concern" about something or other, and all the remaining member nations of the Mexican Alliance joined in issuing a proposal that the seat of the Hemispheric Union be removed from Venezuela -- the new location to be in some place _other_ than Aztlan.
 
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Osmawani, for her part, was finding contentment of a sort as the new producer for the Blue Moon Stun-Jazz Orchestra. They had held a concert on Wednesday evening, September 2. Omnipotence Cortez, continuing to use the fragmentary approach which David had urged, was able to do plenty of singing overall, and could taste the prospect of celebrity. With this in view, she quietly encouraged the completely false rumors about herself and Osmawani that were getting started among government personnel who favored "relational diversity."

Two other women who _were_ dedicated "non-breeders" had a reunion that Friday: Samantha Ford and Hydrogen Forbes. Because Tim Govinda was showing remarkable evidence of mental improvement in the kindly company of the Rand family, Samantha had decided that she could now part ways with the former Chief Justice and yet still take the credit for his new rationality. Martina Caldwell the police chaplain had been able to linger a few extra days before departing to rejoin Eileen O'Hennessy's district-police contingent which had been withdrawn from North Dakota Sector; thus, Martina hosted one final segment of In The Enclave Today, in which (with a few video clips of Tim, but no personal appearance in which he might have contradicted the diplomat-actress about what had really happened) Samantha was able to boast shamelessly about "her" marvellous achievement. Immediately after this, the former Ambassador-At-Large eagerly sought the action-movie actress, who was also seeking her with equal eagerness.

Early on in their exuberant reunion, Hydrogen informed Samantha, "Practically all the movie people have cleared out; but Zimmo and a few crew people are still here. Zimmo wants to make one more daring, edgy movie inside the Enclave, with you and me as the only flesh-and-blood actors; all other characters will be computer-generated."

Drawing Hydrogen closer to her, Samantha replied, "I'll be delighted to do that with you; still more so if Zimmo can use Josiah's image again, and make him look _really_ ridiculous this time!"

The other woman beamed. "I'm sure he'll be glad to oblige. But we can talk about it more _after_ we enjoy our weekend..."

At some point on Sunday, word reached Samantha that her son had joined two other State Department officials in defecting to Mexico. She was in some small danger of feeling bad about this; but Hydrogen insistently reminded her that her only duty was to herself and her own karma. So Samantha shrugged off the news, and turned her mind back to immediate amusements.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

On that same Sunday, the first Sunday since Kim's return to Wyoming, Sussex Gospel Church was at standing room only. The extra crowding was partly due to numerous Grange volunteers, including Gerbil Sunderberg, and partly due to a number of laborers recently discharged from the Yellowstone geothermal project. These had not been _fired;_ it was just that, with _two_ complete geothermal power stations now operational, the Department of Sustainable Energy had postponed further construction for awhile. Alipang and other Sussex residents asked these workers many questions before and after the worship service.

_During_ the service, Peter Ionesco preached about God's order in creation. He cited various Bible passages about nature, and also said: "Contrary to what some think of us Biblicals, I don't 'hate' anyone for believing that macro-evolution has occurred in nature. I don't even say that they are necessarily atheists. But it remains true that no one in this world has _ever_ directly witnessed any animal, under natural conditions, giving birth to offspring which were so distinctly mutated that it was _impossible_ for the offspring to breed with the parent generation." Pastor Ionesco's words were not blatantly aimed at Tim Govinda, who was there with the Rands; but Summer Rand could tell that the long-deranged boy was absorbing the message about God, not the imagination of mortals, being in command of the biological world.

When the congregation was about to be dismissed, Alipang rose first and asked leave to make an announcement. When Pastor Ionesco agreed, Alipang went to the front with Kim, Wilson, Esperanza, Brendan, and (in Kim's arms) Baby Peggy.

"Friends," Alipang began, "we want everyone here to know something directly from us, before it has any chance to be distorted by the filters of rumor. You all know, or the adults know, what violence the regime has done to the very concepts of marriage and family; but what you are about to hear, in my own prayerful conviction and belief, is an event which _favors_ Biblical values for love and home-building. What our firstborn son is about to tell you all, has the _total_ approval and support of Kim and myself, and also of the parents of the other person most urgently concerned. Wilson?"

"Papa, Mother, I love you so much!" Wilson fiercely hugged both of his parents, then addressed the church. "Friends, because my Aunt Chilena and Uncle Dan have never been inside the Enclave until recently, some of you may not be clear on a certain point of fact. My Papa and Aunt Chilena are siblings only by adoption; because of this, my cousin Cecilia Ruth and I are likewise NOT related by blood. Based on the long friendship we enjoyed as children, and on our discovering how much we still have in common where faith and a view of life are concerned..... Ceciila and I want every friend of ours to know.... that we are now officially _courting,_ seeking God's will for an eventual _marriage_ between us.

"I wish Cousin Cecilia could have been here for this, but her immediate family has been compelled to depart the Enclave. Cecilia is aware that I am telling the truth to you all. I ask you all to pray for us; and frankly, if we _survive_ the dangers now hanging over us all, I will be inclined to perceive that as _confirmation_ that God is pleased for me to marry Cecilia when we are adults."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Tomisaburos were there also. Lucinda received Wilson's news with astonishment, Adrienne with little comprehension, and Victor with a gently sad resignation (which was also true of Gustave Rochefort). Peter Tomisaburo simply had no time to give any thought to the love lives of teens. In keeping with his deep-cover espionage role for Greater China, gathered all information he could from the geothermal-project workers. But the facts about improvements to America's power grid were to fade into the background....

....when the spy stepped outdoors, and his nanotechnically augmented eyesight recognized a call from his superiors. As before, any hostile cryptologist who detected those radio waves would be misled by trying to make sense of the signals themselves plus the changes of frequency -- when in fact, _nothing_ about the transmissions mattered except the simple on-off sequence which was producing a Morse-like communication. The content of what the intelligence service told him -- having to spread it over time, lest it become too obvious that the Enclave agent was watching the sky -- was this:

We are able to communicate with you securely because this method can be done entirely by analog means. Damage to computer networks continues, even affecting satellites. But manned spacecraft in orbit have been able to take up much of the slack. By this means, along with other intelligence assets, we have determined that the Aztlanos have procured ten or more surface-to-surface missiles, probably of Babylonian Caliphate origin, with powerful conventional-explosive warheads. All these missiles have been smuggled into Thompson Canyon, and will be fired at targets in the Enclave. Rapid City for certain. Probably not any power stations, since Aztlan wants the electrical grid intact for its own use; but they may want to destroy the substations that pass power out of the Enclave to supply the D.S.A.'s needs generally.

We cannot intervene militarily due to our present difficulties; but we are about to contact the Enclave triumvirate to warn them of their danger. We are also going to warn the Texas Rangers. Not the government in Washington, they are useless. They exiled most of their people with any brains. It follows that Enclave residents are the very people needed to salvage something from the chaos that is about to occur. You are instructed to act independently from this point, doing all you can to save the lives of skilled and intelligent persons among the people around you. You are authorized, in case of great need, to reveal your agent status to Americans, since the status quo in America is clearly about to end. Probably no more instructions to you until we see new developments. Good luck.

Peter Tomisaburo knew who was going to be the first person he told about his secret identity: his wife Lucinda. He surprised himself with his own sincerity when he prayed that she wouldn't be enraged at him for deceiving her all these years.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = =

In Dallas, two hours after Peter Tomisaburo had been briefed, Monica Sotero and her teenage son Miguel were snatched out of their house by friendly kidnappers: a group of armed Rangers led by Zella Greenlee. Only after they were inside a vehicle shielded against spy devices did Zella tell Monica: "The balloon's going up; Aztlan's about to attempt a Pearl Harbor! Still not _quite_ certain that we'll declare independence, but we _absolutely_ need to keep _you_ safe."
 
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On the same day, in Detroit, a yelling all-male crowd gathered in front of Harun Fuad (formerly Henry Ford) Hospital. Many brandished copies of the Koran in the air -- easy to do, since the Fairness Party had _never_ imposed any such limitations on Korans as on Bibles. Others carried hand-lettered signs with such slogans as "Death to the Canadian Crusaders!" and "The Northward Jihad Has Only Begun!"

Doctor Hassan Tamir knew what had set off their hair-trigger tempers. The Canadian government had taken one step that _wasn't_ limp-wristed: in recognition of the way the disbanded Mounties had helped to combat the recent wave of terrorism instigated by infiltrators from the Caliphates, the Canadian Parliament had hurried through a legislative bill re-activating the Mounted Police. And since residents of the Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment considered themselves free to move between the D.S. and Canadian sides at will, the revived Mounties had decided that this worked _both_ ways. Well-equipped, experienced Mounties, more than willing to show the world that they were back, had penetrated almost as far south as the former Indiana state line, raiding Cantonment hideouts of the terror instigators, killing some and capturing many. The raids had been smart and surgical; not even one innocent civilian had perished. Nor had any Mounties.

Doctor Tamir knew something else. The crowd that watched him as he stood before the main entrance of the hospital was of course furious that infidels had so easily defeated warriors of the Prophet; but most of these men were not entirely stupid. However they might publicly deny it, they truly did realize what a good deal they had gotten from the Fairness Party starting in 2021. They wanted to vent their prideful anger, but they _didn't_ want to provoke, for instance, the Dacoits of India (who were on good terms with Canada) to come into the Cantonment and make the Mountie raids look like a friendly soccer match.

Which led to the third thing that Doctor Tamir knew, though it still seemed unreal to him. Hassan Tamir knew that he himself, right now in this place, was the single strongest voice for moderation that remained in the Cantonment. Hundreds of the raging men facing him had personally been his patients, and their wives and daughters had been treated by his wife Gazbiyya. They respected him, and would listen if he could propose a course of collective action which _neither_ brought mass death upon them, _nor_ increased their humiliation.

So Doctor Tamir spoke of their duty to uphold the honor of Islam by proving themselves civilized. Surely, he told them, it must be possible to prevent future outside incursions by demonstrating that the Cantonment's Purity Warriors _weren't_ collaborators with terror groups. This line of argument actually _caused_ some fighting on the spot: between Tamir's supporters and his critics. But as kismet would have it, the men favoring Tamir prevailed.

Then came the _real_ surprise. A teacher from one of Detroit's mosques, possibly the oldest man present in the crowd, made his way to the front and said to the physician, "Hassan ben-Amahl Tamir! If _you_ were our Imam-Governor, we would _know_ that we had a leader with our well-being in his heart!" This ignited wild cheering.

When he could make himself heard, Tamir called out, "Friends, I do not wish to act from selfish ambition. But if it is the will of Allah being expressed here, then let us proceed in a lawful way to obtain recognition from the government. If it can be brought about without doing more harm than good, I _will_ assume this task, and strive to make the Cantonment an island of refuge amid the godless violence now engulfing our neighbors!" For although Tamir did not yet know about the impending Aztlano assault on the Western Enclave, he certainly did know about the random riots that were breaking out, for no known reason, in many cities of the Diversity States.

And if the Cantonment henceforth really did become an island of peace, then its people would gain credibility in the eyes of outsiders. Instead of joining in any more terror campaigns, they would win _moral_ victories.

It was a happy thought for the veteran healer; but he could not block off the remembrance of all the vicious abuse of women that still persisted right here in Detroit. The test of his leadership would probably be found in his efforts to discourage _that_ shameful custom.
 
I don't often put links in blogs like this, but reading some headlines today, I was struck by how it sounded like I was _IN_ Copperfox's story, "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens."

First this:
DID THE PINKSHIRTS WRITE THIS REAL-LIFE ARTICLE?!
Reading this, I for a moment found myself with the strong feeling that I was reading YOUR work on "Possible Future of . . . ." It sounds like it was written by the pinkshirts! Just having the opinion that the government is off its constitutional foundation is equated with hating the current POTUS's skin color--just like that! Written in the same breath so that people will begin to assume that one equals the other without question. I was waiting for the article to talk about sending people for re-education in one of the "Tolerance Centers!"

Then this:
More REAL LIFE News that could have been written by the Campaign Against Hate!
Being 'straight' is no longer normal--and the teacher's school refused to take out the "heterophobic" material out of his curriculum!!! It's like the news today is straight out of your novel--and you wrote a lot of this 3 or more YEARS ago! Unbelievable.

I realize that only one of these articles was written about the U.S., but this kind of thinking ISN'T confined to our Aussie friends, (where the school from the second article is located). May God help us repent and turn back to Him, so that we may have a HOPE of regaining His protection against these evils!
 
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Chapter 134: The Beginning of Another End


Less than an hour after Vibol Ritisak and two of his aides defected to Mexico, Vice-President Reed Harrison was in the Rainbow House Situation Room, conferring with numerous law-enforcement leaders: Continental Marshal Gorshkovskaya and the top commanders of Transport Police and Commerce Inspectors in person, and the commanders of the majority of the federal district forces (Texas District not among them) by two-D video.

The commander of the Inland Southern District Police, one of only three male commanders among the conferees, was asking, "Are you suspending division of riot-control duties for this emergency?" His own district had been hard hit; groups of proletarians, each group equally mixed in racial composition, were somehow simultaneously accusing each other of some kind of racism, and were battling each other accordingly.

"Yes, we are," Harrison told him. "The Supreme Court concurs with me, so the Marshals' Service will coordinate with all of you. No labor union is officially sanctioning any of the riots, so kinetic-negotiation procedures don't apply."

"And _every_ police body is authorized to emply deadly force at discretion, though no across-the-board order for deadly force is in effect," added Gorshkovskaya.

The female head of Transport Police, present in the Situation Room, asked for everyone's benefit: "Is it true that the Great Lakes Cantonment is requesting approval of a new Imam-Governor?"

"Yes, and the Presidium approves their choice," Harrison replied. "All indications are that letting Doctor Tamir govern there will ensure peace in _that_ quarter, at least. And the Presidium particularly likes having a physician in charge there; it will reflect our position that Islam has never, in all of its history, been a cause of any hatred or violence."

The woman in charge of the Seaway District Police changed the subject: "When is President Atkinson coming back to Washington?"

"That remains uncertain; but I believe she will turn over H.U. duties to our new Acting Ambassador as soon as there's been a vote on her latest proposal in the Bi-Continental Assembly."

"What proposal is that?" asked the police commander of the Gulf Coast Federal District.

"I have a real-time feed from the Assembly going right now. There was a motion by Nazi capitalists to remove H.U. headquarters from Caracas, due to absurd accusations that Venezuela acted illegally in aiding the Argentinian people to overthrow their feudal corporate oppressors. President Atkinson, seeing that there was a disturbingly strong level of support for the measure, has made a counter-proposal, one which would not completely overlook misgivings about the Argentinian liberation, yet would serve as a goodwill gesture to Aztlan. She has moved that the H.U. headquarters be relocated to the capital of Aztlan."

"I have to get off soon," interjected the woman commanding the Midwest District Police; "my own headquarters building is under attack. Will we be receiving air support from the Texas Rangers?"

"No; the Party has wisely kept their new provision of aircraft to a minimum. But the Transport Police have an old-type helicopter gunship, former Indoctrination Department property, in storage near your location; it was not offered to China, due to its low speed and lack of armor. We'll see to it that this gunship is gotten into the air for some strafing runs on your rioters."

"What about your tranquilizing chemtrails?" barked the man from Inland Southern. "Why the ________ aren't they being deployed now?"

"I'm afraid the supply of gas is badly depleted; we've used so much of it trying to control the misguided citizens in the Cantonment and the bloodthirsty God-fascists in the Western Enclave. But there's a reserve Pinkshirt gunship in your area too; I'll have it released to your command..."

= = = = = = = = = = =

In the city of Georgetown, in what had once been the state of Delaware, a screaming mob assaulted Leon Trotsky Middle School, incoherently accusing the teachers of being reactionary tribal marriage-bigots teaching the children to reject relational autonomy. Every faculty member in the building was horribly murdered, as were eleven of the children.

The attacking mob had barely gotten finished killing the principal who had replaced Juanita Porres, when a _second_ mob appeared and attacked the first one.

The boy called Butterfly Gambino, who had been under special tolerance mentoring ever since he had been made to take sole blame for the assault on Cecilia Salisbury, was trying to keep out of the way of both crazed mobs, when he distinctly heard someone in the new mob shouting that the people in the _first_ mob were all reactionary tribal marriage-bigots. Shortly after this, Butterfly managed to reach the communal bicycle racks. When he pulled loose the first bicycle he could get hold of, a robotic voice rebuked him: "Unauthorized operation of the people's bicycles is un-mutual!" But as no teachers were left alive to enforce the rule of collective ownership, the boy mounted up anyway, and fled the scene of carnage.

He made it no more than two blocks before he was detained by three Transport Police officers. They were not responding to the indignant robot at the middle school; they had simply been trying to avoid facing the frenzied rioters, and had happened upon Butterfly committing the infraction of unauthorized bicycle-riding. So they made a big deal of taking him into custody, telling him that he was likely to be sent to a Tolerance House.

Given what was happening in his hometown, this was the _best_ news Butterfly had heard all day.

 
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Lupita Formentera was so well-liked among the gang leaders of the Aztec-Maoist Republic, that regardless of the predatory attitude most of them took toward women in general, she could have safely walked in their midst with no bodyguard at all. But her brother, El Presidente, considered it good form for Vinu Dandekar and Vitaly Khloponin to accompany her on her visit to the bivouac in Big Thompson Canyon: a bivouac at which no females were stationed except in service capacities. Arriving by low-flying helicopter, Lupita first asked the pilot to fly the length of the canyon, so she could look over the ordnance gathered there. She gave a particular smile at the sight of the armored personnel carriers, which were made far more formidable by the mounting of rail guns on their turrets, in place of the machine guns which had been removed before the vehicles had been surrendered to Aztlan.

Those rail guns were just one step up in size from a man-portable rail rifle. But even the rail rifle was a weapon to be respected, and the guns now in the possession of Los Malignos would surely be able, assuming adequate target tracking, to destroy or disable anything the gringos in the Enclave possessed. Of course, they needed electrical power to be able to shoot at all; but each vehicle carried multiple accumulators at full charge, their power of course being supplied by the electrical current sent southward by the gringos in their futile attempt at appeasement. The same power supply was meeting all the energy needs of the Thompson Canyon encampment. This was a favorite joke in the minds of everyone in the invasion force; a few among them could recall how the state of Israel once had similarly furnished electrical power to Gaza even while terrorists in Gaza had been busy shooting rockets at Israeli civilians.

The other most important item was the short-range ballistic missiles obtained from Islamist allies overseas. Like the rail guns, these weapons had the merit of being _small_ enough to avoid attracting a punitive reaction from China. "Emilio really is wiser than Papa was, to keep our ambitions modest where armaments were concerned."

Vitaly nodded. "Yes, what you have here will be more than enough. Anything heavier can wait for the future."

Soon they landed on the space of level ground prepared for them. Lupita, purposely dressed to be admired, was greeted with wild cheers as soon as she emerged from the helo. The cheers were sincerely meant, not having to be commanded; for El Presidente had never failed to let his followers know that he gave his sister credit for helping him to plan policy.

The jefe of Los Malignos greeted her from a hastily-constructed platform: "We, the troops of The Race, welcome the smartest woman in the Americas! And we welcome your companions, who by their service to the People's Republic have earned adoption into The Race!" Applause filled the time from this greeting until the adored young woman took the microphone.

"Compadres, the historic minute is almost upon us! My brother only awaits a few more developments before he orders the launching of your missiles. Then we will _take_ what is ours by right, the Sun-given right of The Race! In the meantime, Colonel Dandekar has a few facts of interest to report to you all."

Vinu stepped up with as much self-assurance as if he had not just been given his military rank less than two weeks ago. "Amigos, I am now permitted to tell you where Los Lagartos have been for the past fifteen days. Helped by information obtained by La Bonita Jacinta, the potash miners under their command have driven a tunnel under the Enclave perimeter, nine kilometers east of the point where your armored battalion is to break through. They are now standing by to enter the pre-existing utility tunnels, whose farthest southern extent is only two kilometers into enemy territory. From these, they will be able to surprise the city of Casper, like paratroopers from beneath the earth! Our esteemed ally, Swapnil Vamsa, is providing a special Indian mafia kill squad which will assist the men sent by Los Lagartos...."

The briefing went on for a quarter-hour from there, with several pauses for cheering. Then Lupita, striking sexy poses for the men, spoke more words of encouragement, which included the usual denunciations of the gringos as Nazis. After this, the Malignos leader took over once more, leading the troops in singing a song which had been composed for them -- or the words written for them, anyway -- by La Bonita Jacinta, who was really Jessica Trevette:

"Aztlan, Aztlan sobre todo,
Sobre todo, Aztlan, si!...."

Lupita and Vitaly caught each other's gaze during the song, sharing the humor of it. For they were the only two persons now standing inside the canyon who knew that the melody Jessica had used for this battle anthem... was an old _German_ melody.

 
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Dan and Chilena Salisbury found it a bitter irony that -- apart from the airship shootdown -- the Western Enclave had not after all come under attack during the time when Kim and her children had been in Canada. In fact, Alipang's wife and children had come _closer_ to harm by being in Canada at the time of the Islamist uprising there, than if they had remained in Wyoming. Yet now that they _were_ back in Wyoming, _that_ was the place where new violence was increasingly likely.

Nothing had been heard from Isadora Cruller's party in Aztlan for two days now. Any hope that their bootlicking gestures toward the Formentera regime would accomplish any good was fading. Dan and Chilena had no choice now but to think of the safety of their own children. They could not milk any further the unique furlough that had been granted to Alipang's dependents; anyone who was an internal exile, was going to have to stay inside the reservation, come what might. Cecilia the Elder, and all of Chilena's other confined relatives, were unanimous in telling Chilena that they did not blame her a bit for escaping with her own household while she could. The farewell, of course, was not without plentiful embraces and prayers. Alipang's own household was there in Casper to take part in this.

An Atmosfleet plane took off from Natrona Airport, escorted partway by the Texas Rangers' one new Great Condor, and ordered by Emilio Vasquez to fly a low-level evasive course toward the north. Besides the Salisbury family, other passengers included Melody and Douglas Vasquez, all dependents of other married Texans (which did not include the widowed Rosa Cantu, who insisted on staying behind, to carry a rifle if she could get away with it), some other government personnel who were free to leave.... and former Chief Justice Tim Govinda. The once-insane boy sat near the Salisburys, talked in a startlingly normal fashion, and unabashedly declared how much he would miss being with the Havens and Rand families. He did not miss Samantha Ford.

Even the tiny token military air activity now occurring over the Enclave meant that aviation fuel was in shorter supply than usual; so the airliner had just enough, taken together with the solar-battery input to its hybrid engines, to fly safely to a destination in what had been the state of Iowa. The former inhabitants of Iowa's Amana Colony had, upon the turnover in American governance, been relocated in Nebraska Sector along with the similar-spirited Mennonites, and the Amana Colony had become the Amana Resort, exclusively for celebrities and highly-placed officials of the government and the labor unions.

The Transport Police, in approving the airliner's flight plan, had shared with both Texas Rangers and Atmosfleet personnel their knowledge of the state of the epidemic riots outside. All indications were that Amana would be a safer stop for the travellers than many points farther east, even if the plane had had more fuel to spare. Thus, flying a course into Iowa was never questioned.... not even when the air controller at Amana failed to answer the Atmosfleet pilot's call.

Air traffic in the Diversity States being at less than a quarter of the average volume when the United States had existed, and the arrival being in clear daylight, the crew did not hesitate to make a landing even without ground guidance. They came to a halt with the modest one-storey embarkation terminal on one side of them, and some sort of barns or farm sheds on the other side. There was visible damage to the resort's boundary fence, but no one was in sight. The passengers were told to pick up their carry-ons and use the plane's own retractable ramp to get off, since no one was showing up to assist them. Dan Salisbury had just enough time to remember old movie lines about a place being "too quiet"....

...when, as debarkation was half completed, a shrieking mob materialized from within and behind the far buildings. Some of these were unarmed, others had clubs of some sort. Bearing down on the travellers, they were screaming what sounded like, "Capitalist Nazi racists! Un-mutual reactionaries!"

"Get in the terminal!" Dan shouted at his wife. There would be no time for those on the ground to try to return into the airliner for refuge. The airline personnel, being unarmed and never trained for anything resembling combat, were the first to flee to save their own skins. Not waiting to see what anyone else did, Dan ran _toward_ the mob, surprising them by hurling at them first one and then the other of the two travel bags he carried. As four or five of the rioters fell off balance, Dan plunged into their midst.

His years of theatrically falling down when supposedly struck by invincible superwomen served now, to his own surprise, as a martial-art style all his own. A diving roll knocked the legs out from under two men in the mob, and a repeat of the move bowled over three women -- who seemed themselves to find it amazing that a mere male could in any way overpower them. A third time brought down one large man, and gave Dan possession of the length of metal rod the man carried.

Instinctively knowing he must not go to the well one time too many with his rolling maneuver, Dan came to his feet, gripping the metal rod like a two-handed sword. In spite of the current movie industry demanding that all women be superior to all men in combat, Chilena had grown so tired of her beloved husband being always humiliated, that she had secretly taught him the sword techniques she had learned. Thus, in this emergency, Dan was able to swing his newfound weapon with some effect. The rioters took many painful blows before they could swarm him.

And by the time they did swarm him -- help was on the way.

From the corner of his eye, even as someone was strangling him, Dan could see that a second crowd was charging at the first, and this crowd was not yelling like insane cavepeople. One voice from this group was Chilena's, frantically crying out his name. An instant later, Chilena herself was there, her fists furiously smashing the face of the man choking her husband. As Dan gasped for breath, it seemed that a battle raged all around him. He could make out Chilena's voice as her arms went around him: "The kids are safe, but it looked like you were forgetting to use your stunt double!"

As normal breathing returned to him, Dan looked around and beheld who was leading the rescue force: a massive woman, who picked up one enemy after another and threw them out of her way. When the still-conscious rioters fled, this woman turned, and her face confirmed that she was Pulverizer Clarendon.

"Chilena, is he all right?" the big actress inquired. Receiving an affirmative reply, Pulverizer helped Dan to stand up. "Glad I could be of assistance, Daniel. Here I was in convalescence at the resort after the improvements on my kidneys; I guess I'm back in shape, all right!"

"What's going on here?" Dan asked her.

"Part of the nationwide wave of random insurgency. All I know about the cause is that various dormitory groups, union locals and Party cells received what must have been fake directives, telling them that this or that _other_ group or local or cell had been corrupted by neo-Nazis or whatever. Gaia only knows what _these_ people were told about Amana; but they besieged us, and cut off our power lines. That's why the controllers couldn't communicate with your flight. Maybe we'll find out something about the reasons by questioning our new prisoners. Yes, I know, I'm not really a cop, I just play one in movies; but I'll wing it."

"You sure will," said Chilena, gratefully hugging the big woman.

Pulverizer spared a comradely smile for Dan. "You did mighty well, for a guy."
 
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Although Josiah Redfern, back at his familiar hospital routines in Kampala, was not part of the secret army's command structure, several factors argued for including him in the latest security briefing to be held in Uganda. One was the fact of his having been in the former United States not long ago; another was the esteem in which he was held for helping to stop the terrorist attack on the Ugandan capital; and a third was the fact of his own son David being part of the defection incident at the Bi-Continental Assembly of the Western Hemisphere Union.

Brendan Hyland, lately come from the last briefing in Nigeria, sat beside Josiah, as a report was given by the Moroccan agent Akhmed Ballul:

"Information given to our Mexican friends by Vibol Ritisak tends to confirm certain persons of interest as being Babylonian Caliphate agents assisting in the Neo-Marxist-fronted coup in Argentina." Faces were displayed on a large flat screen, and Akhmed reported relevant facts about each person. "They appear to be writing off their losses in Africa -- and to be congratulating themselves on getting the Egyptian Caliphate to absorb the greater share of casualties in that campaign." There followed a brief update on human and material losses for all sides in that unsuccessful attempt to conquer the African Union.

"The Venezuelan Alliance, though strengthened by gaining Argentina, has likewise written off any more involvement in schemes against Alchatka," the Moroccan continued. "But there is a high degree of danger that they will try reprisals against our friends of the Pacific Federation, probably by means of raids and acts of terror against vulnerable islands like Tonga and Fiji." He presented further details about the assets which these enemies could commit to a Pacific terror offensive.

"The Chinese are still being sorely harassed by sophisticated cyber-terrorists, and cannot be expected to intervene in support of the Pacific Federation anytime soon. The Indians are helping some, but are partly distracted by helping the Alchatkans and Canadians recover from _their_ troubles. It will be necessary for more of _our_ personnel and resources to take up the slack in helping the Pacific powers to root out the widely scattered threats to their populations.

"Which means, I am sorry to say, that our network will not be able to do much, if anything, to thwart the new aggression obviously planned by the Aztec-Maoist Republic. We can only do what we can do; and for my part, I hope in my future service to be worthy of the memory of my friend Yirimyahu."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After the briefing ended, Brendan ate lunch with Josiah, and brought up a subject which had been waiting to be addressed between them. Both men had learned recently about the rather-less-than-pure personal relationship which David Redfern was conducting with diplomatic worker Vonetta Ashford, but this would be their first time talking to each other about it.

"For what it's worth, Josiah, remember that I was actually acquainted with Vonetta and her family, back in Virginia. Whatever the changes in America have done to her, she still has a deep Christian foundation down there someplace. And with her ties to the Falseness Party finally cut off, maybe she can come back to what she was raised to be."

Josiah nodded. "Yes, I can see a bright side. More bright than gloomy, for sure. The very fact of getting _out_ of the Diversity States means _both_ less evil influence on David's life, _and_ being clear of the new storm that's about to break over America."

"Can't argue with you there. But does it bother you that David's so _young_ to be in an erotic relationship?"

"A bit. It bothers Melody more. A bit worse for Vonetta being what, is it eight years older than my boy? But when I compare this to what Samantha _wanted_ to make David into -- it isn't so bad."

Brendan smiled sourly. "Spot-on again, soldier. Are you inviting them to come live with your family?"

"Inviting _David_ to live with us. My last message told him frankly that I can't endorse everything he's doing, but that I _mean_ it about his relationship with Vonetta still being cleaner than a lot of what goes on these days. I let him know that I can't in conscience have him and Vonetta actually both sleeping under my roof while they're unmarried; but that otherwise Melody and I, and Isaiah and Elijah and Alyssa and Holly, will not in any way _snub_ Vonetta, or act condemning toward her. And I said I would do all I could to line up employment for them both if they do move to Uganda."

"Well, Jennifer and I will pray that this works out for you. And for David."

Josiah smiled. "Whatever else happens, the kid will never have to endure being called Daffodil again!"
 
In one of the small Mid-Atlantic towns where union official Carolyn Biao, one of Jessica Trevette's rearguard agents, had sent agitators to get citizens fighting each other.... a turning point was reached.

In a public park, two groups of proletarians, not one of whom had any combat skill worth mentioning, had worn themselves to exhaustion fighting each other without knowing exactly why. Only one pair of combatants felt obligated by Party loyalty to go on battling each other: two equally-matched middle-aged black women. They had tacitly agreed from the start not to pull each other's hair, since hairstyling was so hard to come by anymore if you weren't one of the elite class; deliberate clothes-ripping was also out, for similar reasons. The two ladies had shoved each other, flailed their hands at each other, and wrestled awkwardly, unsure what would constitute winning. Other fighters of either sex had inflicted quite a bit more damage on THEIR opponents; but these two, like the winning couple in an old-time dance marathon, had outlasted everyone else in the riot.

With weary breath coming harder and harder, while a few sprawled members of each woman's original mob half-heartedly called out encouragement, the two African-Americans managed to stand up again after a slow-motion clinch... gripped each other's arms and leaned into each other to keep from falling down again... and then paused, unable to do ANY more fighting, not even able to LET GO of each other until they felt less dizzy from fatigue. Propping each other up, they panted hard for half a minute; then, one of them wheezed to the other:

"Did you actually call me a WHITE supremacist?"

Her adversary stared, and replied in an equally dry-throated voice: "I thought you called ME that!"

Both of their jaws dropped. As soon as they could stand without each other's support, they separated, no longer interested in fighting each other. Instead, each approached nearby persons who had been on her own side in the brawl, and began asking them just HOW they had known that there were anti-collective racist reactionary Nazi capitalists needing to be stopped by loyal citizens.

Nobody there seemed to know.

But those who DID know, like Carolyn Biao, soon began to receive reports that the underclass people they had stirred up to riot were belatedly starting to figure out that they had been lied to. It was very belatedly. Not all of the mass fighting had been as trivial as the instance that led the two black women to be first to question WHY they were brawling. Law-enforcement estimates were that no fewer than seven thousand Diversity States citizens had been killed in the senseless urban battles.

Even the Party Presidium, which had far more than seven thousand murders on its collective hands, chose to feel indignant at whoever had set off this unauthorized bloodshed.

And Carolyn Biao hastened to accept an offer which came to her via the secret comms channel which Jessica Trevette had left available to her. The damage to the Diversity States having been done, deep-cover agents in imminent danger of exposure could clear out. Several aircraft were in the hands of Trevette underlings still in-country; they would make rounds to pick up the agents in need of evacuation to Aztlan.

Carolyn felt fortunate to catch a ride on one of the faster planes, a recent-model twin-engine turboprop. Not that she expected to be pursued by anyone; she had abandoned her office before anyone in the administration or district police had time to trace any riot-provoking to her. And although the Texas Rangers had had ZERO rioting to contend with in THEIR district, there still were too few Ranger aviators to bother checking out a civilian passenger plane just now.

The last stop Carolyn's ride made before crossing into Aztlano airspace (enjoying clearance with Los Flechadores) was just outside the Western Enclave, to pick up Winnie Drucker of Aero-Aquatics. She felt the need to get out before someone arrested her for supplying railgun ammunition to the Aztlanos. Carolyn and Winnie had never met before, so they struck up a friendship as their pilot headed his plane for the city once called Boulder, Colorado, now known as the city of Sisepuede.
 
When they made landing approach, it could be seen that one similar airplane, plus a helicopter, had landed ahead of them. No less a person than Jessica Trevette welcomed them in the terminal -- instructing them to address her by her new Hispanic name of Jacinta. Winnie and Carolyn mingled with those who had arrived ahead of them, some of whom were clergy of the Oneness Temples. Another helo came in behind them; and last of all, a lighter-than-air ship which had made pickups in the Northwest and Rocky Mountain Federal Districts. Its passengers included two animal handlers from the All-Species Council in Seattle.

Carrying an old but functional tablet computer, one of Jessica's guards tallied up the arrivals. Presently the ex-President announced to the travellers gathered around her: "Very good! Everyone who wanted to be extracted is here now! Come along with me, and you'll get to meet some celebrities!" There were twenty-six agents in all, counting some assistants of direct-line agents.

The group was transported by ground cars to what had been a university auditorium. Along the way, they beheld commoners of the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic, who were clearly under orders to cheer wildly for La Bonita Jacinta's motorcade. It was undeniably obvious that the very poorest proletarians of the Diversity States had better clothing than these people.

But there was little time to think about that, and no reason to remark on it to their hostess. Before long, in the old auditorium, they were being introduced to Isadora Cruller, Neutron Invincible, and the other media people who had come to Aztlan to work on the projected movie The Different Make the Difference. Then, ascending to the stage with two of her guards, Jessica invited everyone to be seated.

"Friends, you have been taught to keep saying, 'The collective is all!' Today, I'm going to give you some clarification on that subject.

"There was a military doctrine in the old Soviet Union, that wherever your forces are at their strongest and are already enjoying success, you reinforce them there, so they'll achieve STILL MORE success. It was always a doctrine of the Fairness Party to operate similarly. The movie people who have joined us did not know this, but you agents did know that the Aztec-Maoists were not acting AGAINST the Fairness Party when they claimed possession of the Southwest. The program of self-pity and grievance politics among Hispanics had advanced far enough in that region, that it was purely natural to take it still further, and place the Southwest under the banner of Aztlan Sobre Todo. Admittedly, the Mexican government did not support the Formenteras as we would have liked; but the Triads, and then the Indian mafia, made up the difference, enabling a reasonably successful regime in Aztlan.

"In most of the former United States, though, there was less of a clear advantage for one ethnic faction; so we relied upon generic welfare-state thinking. Just promise them everything, and make it sound good."

Isadora Cruller, accustomed to wielding authority as a movie director, stood up, eager to say something. Jessica permitted her to speak, and Isadora said, "And it worked! The collective in the Diversity States IS a success!" A weak round of applause faded when Jessica resumed speaking.

"It has managed to appear as a success, because of a certain amount of coasting on past prosperity, a bit of subsidizing by the Chinese who felt they owed America something for their having conquered it economically, tourist income from all the other countries that wanted to gloat over America's fallen state.... and the ongoing contribution made by the internal exiles."

"The God-fascists?" Carolyn Biao blurted out. "What good are THEY?"

Jessica grinned. "Citizen Biao, you have Citizen Drucker there beside you; she could answer your question. Greatly though you and I hate them, the God-fascists are in fact the MOST productive laborers, by orders of magnitude, anyplace in the D.S.A.! Their work in the energy sector above all, along with some role in feeding the nation, is a support without which YOUR union members would be like helpless babies tossed on a roadside. Of course, we've kept the general public from realizing this.

"It's easy to do so, because for years most Americans have literally wanted to be deceived, wanted to be told only things that appealed to their emotions. Before the Fairness Revolution, the United States in its last years already had a centralized welfare state, scarcely distinguishable from what the Diversity States has now. All that was missing, really, was to silence the remaining voices of religious dissent. So, in 2021, secretly coordinating our timing with the plans of the Formenteras, the Fairness Party pretended that the just-elected U.S. administration -- which in reality was almost identical with us in political views -- represented 'a terrifying surge to the extreme right' which had to be stopped. You'll recall my using those words at rallies. This allowed us to convince our human cattle that they were 'heroically taking their country back,' when of course all they and we were doing was to CONTINUE in the same unchanging direction of more and more centralized control.

"It was always on the agenda to weaken the minds and spirits of the D.S. population so much, that eventually they would roll over and let Aztlan conquer them outright. Sherman Lake's independent conspiracy gave me some trouble, and Carlos Anselmo came close to derailing me altogether; but thanks to my expendable clone, and thanks to the assistance of you deep-cover agents, I was able to proceed, with some adjustments. By this time next year, or sooner, Emilio and I will be ruling ALL of what used to be the contiguous United States.

"Yes, for any of you who aren't caught up on the fact, Emilio Formentera is my lover and consort. Has been so, on and off, since BEFORE the founding of Aztlan. Now, it's 'on,' full time. His sister Lupita also gets along very well with me; we both enjoy the ritual sacrifices, among other pleasures."

 
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"Then do you want us to produce a movie honoring the new order in America?" asked Isadora.

"You'll be _actors_ in such a movie, actually," Jessica replied. "Have patience, it'll all be clear momentarily. I need to make sure that all of you appreciate the true meaning of what you have _already_ contributed to the great changes now impending.

"As good Party members, all of you have studied the thought-control methods of early Communist China. You know how their Party cells would regularly conduct 'self-criticism sessions,' at which every proletarian was required to find some fault with _herself,_ some shortcoming in her usefulness to the collective. This, of course, was always intended to erode their self-confidence, to make them inwardly incapable of even _wishing_ to disobey the rulers. In the Diversity States, albeit in slightly subtler ways, we did the same thing: worked to make it _inconceivable_ in common people's minds that they could ever mutiny. At the same time, by periodically manipulating groups of proletarians into fighting each other, we created enough mutual distrust that they could never unite in large numbers against us.

"Starting today, the people we dumbed down will begin to realize just how tremendously the joke is on them. The few persons remaining in the D.S.A. who do still have the brains to be any threat to us -- and apart from the Biblicals confined in the Enclave, that chiefly means Texans -- have their attention focused on our expected ground invasion of the Enclave to seize the power plants. Of course, we _are_ going to invade there; but with our invasion depending on ground forces, all of the aviation assets belonging to Los Flechadores are free to surprise them, with an air attack on Texas. This attack, as a matter of fact, is already beginning as I speak.

The Texans will move their long-range defense aircraft there as fast as they can -- at which time, Emilio will order the launch of our short-range ballistic missiles held in readiness north of here. Apart from two missiles aimed at Rapid City, to kill or at least isolate their leadership, all of the missiles will be aimed at those power-transfer substations along the Enclave perimeter which pass power out onto the nation's electrical grid. Well before sunset today, the Diversity States will abruptly lose at least half of all its electricity. _Then_ they'll realize, too late, how much they owed to the labor of the exiles. The panic from this, naturally, will start the rioting all over again; so, any faint hope the Atkinson administration might have of resisting us will be dissolved. _Aztlan_ will still have all of its electrical utilities; and with the Enclave quickly falling under our direct control, Emilio and I will dictate terms to the Rainbow House as we please.

"Then, we will show the proletarians what _real_ domination means."

Jessica's voice put a chill in the spines of her hearers, even those who had worked most eagerly to assist her. The chill worsened when El Presidente Emilio Formentera suddenly entered by some back door, appearing on the stage with Jessica, whom he kissed sensuously in the sight of everyone. From somewhere, the number of armed guards in the auditorium had also increased.

"Gracias, querida," said Emilio. "No one puts things better than you do; but my machismo would suffer if I left _all_ the talking to you!" His laugh attested that he wasn't really worried about Jessica; whatever sort of power-sharing they had arrived at between them, it seemed completely satisfactory to both.

"Now, compadres, to wrap up your debriefing.

"Even the most empty-headed among you cannot have failed to notice that the Diversity States _never_ seriously tried to make _everyone_ equal. The difference between Aztlan and the D.S.A. has mainly been that the D.S.A. made more _pretense_ of caring about equality. But each one of you sitting before me has knowingly enjoyed special privileges in your society. All of you have long been accustomed to acting indignant about 'corporate capitalists getting rich on the backs of the poor;' and all of you, in actual fact, have yourselves been _more_ uncaring about the needs of the poor than the average capitalist _ever_ was! You, like Jacinta and me, have used people's envy and resentment of other groups to keep them looking to you for 'justice;' but you, like Jacinta and me, have always _liked_ being on top of the food chain yourselves.

"This, in the end, is what it has always been about: the superior dominating the inferior. Does not evolution teach us as much? Now, I grant you, Aztlan, even an Aztlan stretching from coast to coast, will probably remain a very minor power on the global scene for my lifetime. But we will enjoy enough support, from the Venezuelan Alliance and elsewhere, that we can be secure _within_ our borders to do as we please with our peasants. And my children, those I already have and those whom the Solar Influence may give to Jacinta and me, will live to see Aztlan growing stronger, perhaps even colonizing space!

"None of this, however, need occupy _your_ minds, my friends. The survival of the fittest ordains that the cunning shall eliminate the stupid. And, amigos, has it really not occurred to you how stupid _you_ are, to have come here of your own free will, when Jacinta and I have no more use for you?"

Winnie Drucker, Carolyn Biao, Isadora Cruller, Neutron Invincible, and the others who had expected a welcome here in Sisepuede, did not break their disbelieving silence until the gunmen of the Aztec-Maoist Party were actually dragging them out of their seats. Then, they all began their desperate pleading, insisting that _they_ were not the tribal white-supremacists and capitalistic marriage bigots who deserved to die. Emilio and Jessica enjoyed listening to their whining, as the guards hustled the victims out of the auditorium, bound for the nearby Altar of Solar Influence which awaited their blood, with a video crew standing by to record the ritual.

 
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Chapter 135: Under Fire

The termination of Jessica Trevette's no-longer-needed spies, and the commencement of Emilio Formentera's new attacks on the Diversity States, were taking place on Thursday, September 10, 2026. Emilio had not wanted to start on the eleventh, lest he go down in history as a copycat.

But residents of Texas had more immediate things to think about than wondering what might go into the history courses of a coming generation.

Aztlan's Flechadores gang, possessor of nearly all modern combat aircraft in Aztlan that were not under direct Party control, was venting its macho pride in an all-out attack into Texas, prodigal of both fuel and ordnance. Today, the Flechadores cared only about humiliating the Texas Rangers; and El Presidente was pleased to have them thinking that way, so that they would cheerfully make themselves weaker compared to the Presidential forces.

They were prodigal with jet fuel, but not suicidal. Their limited supplies made it wiser not to try to reach Dallas; they settled for bombing Lubbock, and smaller towns between Lubbock and the Texas-New Mexico line. Since Ranger aviation had not made use of Lubbock as a base, the Aztlano pilots anticipated their favorite kind of sortie: a mission to bomb defenseless victims, literally for the fun of it. El Presidente, after all, had assured them that this counted as making sacrifices to the Solar Influence, which would bring them good luck.

But their luck today was not to be totally favorable.

Operations Marshal Rodney Camberville of the D.S. Marshals' Service had been ordered to deploy his officers all along the west-facing border of upper Texas: not to resist any aggression from the Aztlano side, but officially "to prevent hot-headed Texans from creating racial incidents which might worsen the diplomatic situation." For Meg Atkinson was back in Washington; Ricardo Formentera had let her leave Caracas deluding herself that her offer to support an Aztlano location for Hemispheric Union headquarters had mollified his government. So President Atkinson was telling everyone that the supreme necessity was to "exercise restraint" while diplomats addressed "white-supremacist madness, the root cause of all the friction." Camberville placed his command post in Lubbock, and was determined to execute his orders -- to take action _only_ against Texans, no matter _what_ the Aztlanos might do.

But Ranger Vice-Commandant Jed Brickhouse was not meekly accepting the situation.

Some ten minutes before the fighter-bombers roared over the border, Jed landed near Camberville's command post in Ranger Aircraft Number 309, a small piston-driven helicopter, the same type as Lieutenant Vasquez's Number 343. With him was Ranger Annabelle Swain, a champion sniper. But both Rangers were unarmed on this trip, since the Main Party Presidium in Washington had directly ordered the Rangers on the ground to carry no weapons in the western parts of Texas which were temporarily under Marshals' Service jurisdiction. All Jed was hoping to do, besides observe what the Marshals were up to, was to find some chance to reason with them. He had, after all, met at least _some_ D.S. Marshals who had pre-Fairness Party police experience, and who weren't _quite_ brainless robots of the current regime.

Having been advised of their coming, Rodney Camberville admitted the two Rangers to his command post on the third floor of an apartment building, a building on whose roof a g.p.s. pickup antenna had been freshly installed. The once-only lover of Jessica Trevette (who was alive so far precisely _because_ he had not been in on the secret of _her_ still being alive) greeted them thus: "Welcome, colleagues! The collective is all! I'm pleased to see that folks back in Mid-Atlantic have it wrong about you Texans; you _are_ capable of wanting to grow and find paradigms beyond primitive belligerence...."

A rail rifle with drum magazine, a weapon whose workings all Texas Rangers understood, but which the federal government would not let them _have,_ was leaning on a stand beside one wall. Jed allowed Annabelle to see clearly how his eyes went to her, then to the weapon, then back to her. She gave him a microscopic nod. The electromagnetic gun was fitted with an electronic sight just like those on some of the conventional rifles the Rangers _were_ permitted to carry.

When Camberville had uttered enough diversity-speak for a preamble, Jed said to him, "Operations Marshal, we for sure do like to learn new approaches. But you know that what works at some times may not work at others. Were you informed of what Greg Jessup's ship reported?"

"I confess I was not. Is it at all relevant to my peacekeeping assignment?"

"It's as relevant as any case of gangsters _breaching_ the peace," Annabelle put in, irritated at Camberville's condescending manner.

"What Ranger Swain is referring to," Jed continued, "is the fact that Jessup used long-range optics at maximum altitude while overflying southwest Kansas, to see as far into Aztlano territory as he could, _without_ violating their airspace. He unmistakably saw fighter-bombers being loaded up with underwing ordnance, which--"

"Only for drills!" Camberville interrupted. "That's to be expected, when racist hatemongers like that loosh Vibol Ritisak have been slandering them."

Jed was still trying to argue with the uniformed Fairness Party puppet, when a command-and-control console beeped an alarm. Crowding as close as possible to the man who was minding this console, Jed and Annabelle saw the g.p.s. indication of eight jets heading straight toward Lubbock. Of these, one peeled off to the south and another to the north a moment after crossing into Texan airspace; the remaining six kept on their original vector.

"THERE'S your belligerence, idiot!" Jed shouted. "They're coming to kill people! If you've got _any_ air defense, get it moving!"

"I will obey my orders," Camberville huffed. "What matters is to prevent rash actions by--"

The Operations Marshal never completed his sentence, due to a rash action by the Ranger Vice-Commander, who kayo'ed him with one blow of a snake-swift fist. There were three Deputy Marshals in the room, besides the seated g.p.s. technician. Jed and Annabelle treated these with perfect sexual equality: two of the three standing deputies happened to be women, _and_ happened to be in Jed's immediate reach, so he knocked them out as ruthlessly as he had done to their leader. Annabelle similarly took down the one standing male adversary -- though he was big enough that she had to hit him three times before he collapsed. Then she gathered up the rail rifle, while Jed put out the console man with a neck-chop.

"Warm up the chopper!" Jed yelled. "I'll be there in a second!" As Annabelle ran downstairs, the rail rifle in her hands disssuading anyone from trying to detain her, Jed put out a radio call on a common police frequency, hoping that Jessup and Finnegan would hear it: "All Texas aircraft, alert! Bogeys attacking Lubbock, repeat, bogeys attacking Lubbock!"

That much would have to be enough. Not even waiting for a reply (though he intended to come up in comms from his helicopter), he ran to join Ranger Swain.

She had the rotors turning, and they got airborne just before the first bomb hit the apartment building. With Jed flying, the young sniper made ready. _Any_ size of railgun could be bad news for any airplane, and the sighting array on this weapon was all passive: no emissions to reveal the threat to the cocksure Flechador pilots.
 
The Aztlano pilots had already swept past the ruined building (which was now the tomb of Rodney Camberville and some of his deputies) before their minds could register anything happening with the small helo that had been parked near the building. But Jed reckoned that they would stay in the general vicinity, since (thank God for small favors) they still had only guns and gravity bombs to attack surface targets, not long-range missiles. As he got airborne, he picked up a return call, recognizing the voice of Colt Finnegan:

"Caller, this is Bright Stetson! Caller, Bright Stetson! We confirm bogey report, have them on g.p.s.; any details?"

Jed came back, using his flying callsign: "Bright Stetson, Dirty Cactus! Eight known fighter-bombers, hitting Lubbock and points northwest and southwest! Using bombs, not yet seen strafing. Already ground casualties, including Spoiled Soybeans." The last code phrase was private Ranger slang for all high-ranking D.S. Marshals. "Am up in my 309, attempting to interfere with bogeys. Track me! Busy now -- good luck!"

"Ten-four, Dirty Cactus. Our e.t.a. Lubbock, thirty-four minutes." Finnegan was putting it simply, realizing that the last thing Jed needed was longwinded talk distracting him. It was actually only Greg Jessup's Tu-95 that could reach Lubbock in just over half an hour at top airspeed; Finnegan's ship, starting from farther north, would arrive eight minutes later than Jessup's. Captain Finnegan promised himself that if he lived, Meg Atkinson and Reed Harrison would hear what he thought of their only allowing the secret army to provide the Texans with two more of the long-range defense aircraft.

Jed Brickhouse, meanwhile, visually sighted one of the Aztlano jets curving back over downtown Lubbock, dropping what seemed to be its last underwing bombs. Turning his chopper to give Annabelle a leading line of fire, he said nothing to break her concentration, relying on her own situational awareness. And sure enough, helped by the speed-calculating electronic sight, the lady sniper sent two aluminum slugs flying at nearly half the speed of light. Both shots hit the target's fuselage, doing enough damage that the plane spun out of control and crashed.

Jed and Annabelle both realized that the falling jet might itself crush civilians to death as it struck pavement; but people on the street would at least have _some_ chance to dodge a conspicuous falling airplane, more chance of this than to dodge bombs and bullets intentionally aimed at them. And every Aztlano plane destroyed was one less plane that could return again and again to murder still more Texans.

The first enemy pilot killed had had no time to realize his danger, thus no time to alert others. Jed found a second target for Annabelle, and she uttered a rebel yell when her first shot at this target went right into the cockpit. "Save a seat in Hell for Formentera!" she then shouted as her second victim fell.

Jed was making altitude changes between Annabelle's shots, to create as much difficulty as he could for their adversaries. This tactic bought him and his sister Ranger another moment of life as one Flechador pilot, finally detecting the threat, opened up on them with his rotary cannon. The shells passed below Number 309.... and with Jed spinning his helo as this jet went by, Annabelle got off one more shot, right into the fighter's fuel tanks.

The bogey vanished in a sphere of flames. Four seconds later, so did Number 309, as the cannon fire of a fourth jet found them. Thus did Jed Brickhouse and Annabelle Swain earn their place on the rolls of the fallen heroes of the Texas Rangers.

Their deaths had saved more Texan lives than they would even have expected; for the surviving Aztlano fliers, having lost three planes that suddenly, began remembering their own mortality. Not knowing if another such adversary might show up, they contented themselves with strafing houses as they high-tailed it back home on afterburners.

But the cowardly murderers were not home free.

Colt Finnegan had known that he and Greg Jessup could not physically get to Lubbock before the attacking jets would complete their sortie and withdraw. He had ordered Jessup's plane and his own southward anyway, hoping that the jets might turn to engage them instead of continuing the attack on Lubbock. As it was, he saw how Rangers Brickhouse and Swain had repelled the raid. His g.p.s. technician also saw that additional jets were attacking the airfield at Fort Stockton.

The unarmed Tu-95 which President Trevette had formerly used as transportation happened to be kept at Fort Stockton; and Finnegan had suggested a new use for it. Right now, the Rangers at that airfield were doing just what their aviation leader had recommended: sending the plane up on robotic pilot, unmanned, in order to make the bogeys _think_ that they had an armed Texas Bear to cope with. The diversion would at least give the people on the ground more time to get under cover while the robot plane (someone had jokingly called it "a Texas-sized drone") was being shot down.

As for Colt Finnegan, he had had enough of blatant acts of war going unpunished. That was going to stop today. He called Jessup's plane by encrypted cognitive radio: "Wide Noose, Bright Stetson. Change to Reserve Plan Seven. We're going to collect on a debt."

"Ten-four, Bright Stetson."

Both Tu-95's did not await anyone's permission for what came next, but they did transmit encrypted reports on their intentions to Ranger HQ.... as they changed course to cross into Aztlano airspace and attack the base the aggressor jets had come from. As they did so, their g.p.s. deception software was doing its best to conceal their approach from the enemy. Jessup slowed his plane to facilitate Finnegan's plane converging on him. They arrived together as the enemy pilots were presumably meeting with their wing commander in one of the airfield buildings; and they achieved near enough to total surprise.

The weapons fit on the Texas Tu-95's was all meant for air-to-air combat, since (as everyone everywhere knew, though Aztlan's apologists pretended to believe otherwise) the Diversity States had _never_ formed any notions of invading Aztlan. But with a banking approach, and shallow diving as appropriate, the avenging Texans could bring both their chain guns and their particle beams to bear on ground targets... reserving their compact air-to-air missiles for any hostile aircraft that managed to get airborne.

Jessup took the southern half of the enemy base, Finnegan the northern half. When they had their targets in fire control, and saw what excellent surprise they had achieved, both plane commanders, using different frequencies, sent a clear transmission to their enemies, a spontaneous variation upon an old battle-cry:

"REMEMBER LUBBOCK!"

Not one Aztlano plane at this airfield survived to fight back. It took half a squadron from the next base, these also being Flechadores, to stop Finnegan and Jessup, and even these planes took severe losses from Texan missile fire before the Rangers died.

Colt Finnegan, Greg Jessup and their crews had struck a good bargain indeed. They killed more than thirty enemies for every death of their own; left the aggressor base in smoking ruins; and left Los Flechadores virtually destroyed as a viable military force.

 
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Even in the midst of deadly peril to everyone he loved, Peter Tomisaburo could congratulate himself on a bit of stereotyped Asian subtlety. Everything he had told his wife had been perfectly true, as far as it went. He had told Lucinda:

-- That the Chinese government knew who he was because his parents had lived in China for a time in their youth.

-- That during Yang Sung-Kuo's first visit to the Enclave, he had spoken confidentially to Peter about China's interest in hearing how life was for the exiles.

-- That a Chinese intelligence officer had subsequently planted nanobots in the body of a person due to visit the Enclave, so that when this person met Peter the nanobots would be transferred, giving him the power to see radio-spectrum waves as if they were visible light.

-- That these nanobots had accidentally been transferred instead to their son Victor, which was why the boy had experienced a bewildering change to HIS eyesight until the mistake was rectified.

-- That once Peter had the nanobots in his own body, the Chinese had used signals visible to him to communicate in an equivalent of Morse code which his parents had learned in China, their purpose being to instruct him to observe events on the ground for them.

-- That he had had cause to believe he would be endangering the lives of his family if he revealed his situation to them without permission, but that now he had received permission to tell them.

-- That the remarkable weapon he showed to her had been given to him by Lieutenant-Colonel Yang. (This was true, only Peter omitted to mention that Yang had been giving it BACK after borrowing it.)

This much information meant that it would make sense to Mrs. Tomisaburo when Peter announced that Beijing had warned him of a coming Aztlano attack from the direction of Colorado. It merely left out the part about his having already been a Chinese spy even before he had married her. Peter genuinely loved his wife and their children, but he had seen too many movies about women's reactions to being deceived by men, to feel comfortable about letting Lucinda in on the WHOLE story all at once.

As it was, once he had informed her sufficiently that she could start packing in case of evacuation, Peter had run to the small office building which handled all federal affairs for Sussex, and had insisted on being allowed to pass his warning to all four police forces currently represented on the reservation. When the dull-witted bureaucrats had balked, Peter -- ever mindful that missiles might begin falling on Wyoming at ANY time -- had played his hole card. His micro-whip, a weapon the office workers had never even heard of, had sliced three heavy desks into neat pieces in five seconds, then had effortlessly cut a new triangular door in one exterior wall. After this, Peter had gotten his call to Rapid City made without further argument.

The first person of consequence he had reached by phone was the commanding officer of the Enclave's contingent of Commerce Inspectors. She had surprised him, as soon as he introduced himself, by saying, "One, one, eight, eight, pink, black, orange" -- a recognition code meaning in substance, "I have been told to cooperate with you." She had followed this by quickly explaining that she was not a full-time agent for China, but someone from the nearest Chinese consulate had contacted her to let her know an agent would be calling her. That man had given her the recognition code to ensure that when Peter called and she took the call, he would know he could expect her cooperation.

The Commerce Inspectors commander had gotten the ball rolling, alerting the triumvirate and all of the diverse law-enforcement groups, plus the Grange Association. Such civil-defense measures as the Enclave administration could manage, had gotten underway, including the evacuation of non-essential personnel out of the Enclave towns nearest to the Colorado border.

Now, on Thursday, less than an hour after the "Sky Rangers" had won a costly but meaningful victory against their Aztlano enemies, Peter was about to meet with several persons who were taking charge of keeping civilians alive in the Wyoming and Yellowstone Sectors. Among these persons were Grange volunteers John Wisebadger, Alipang Havens, and Henry Spafford. Facilitating the meeting was Lyra Bender, the ranking Forest Ranger for Wyoming Sector....
 
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"Your father," said Forest Ranger Bender to Alipang, "is doing wonders getting the people in Casper organized to evacuate in this direction. It helped, of course, that people held planning meetings the _last_ time it looked as if we were about to be invaded."

"Our Amish friends," reported John Wisebadger, "are on the ball, getting food and other survival supplies ready for temporary refugee camps."

"At least _these_ camps won't be _concentration_ camps," growled Pastor Peter Ionesco, who had ministered to many new Enclave arrivals who had previously suffered in the concentration camps of the now-disbanded Campaign Against Hate.

"But what's being done about _fighting_ those Aztlano thugs?" Alipang demanded. "My brother-in-law has _some_ combat assets, but by no fault of his, he _doesn't_ have a well-rounded fighting force. Is Washington going to do _anything_ to defend this territory?"

Lyra Bender sighed. "I'm told that Aztlano planes have attacked Texas again, diverting the Texans' fixed-wing combat aircraft to defend there. As for Washington, the Atkinson administration is doing the same thing the Trevette administration used to do: cringing and whimpering at the feet of the Formenteras, while finding just enough aggressiveness to stomp on our _own_ citizens."

"In the riots outside the fence, you mean?" asked another participant in this conference, the handyman-mechanic Raoul Rochefort.

"Yes. Deadly force has been used quite freely in the worst-hit cities. Nobody seems to know for sure what caused the disturbances -- though it's been revealed that a couple dozen officials, including Winnie Drucker from Gaia's Guts, fled the country shortly after the rioting started."

"Nothing we can do about those characters," Kimberly Havens remarked, stepping closer to Lyra. "Let's get back to Al's question about _fighting_ the invasion. What _can_ we do?"

"Well, the Energy Undersecretary has just taken one useful step. You, Citizen Spafford, will recall your own part in uncovering that unauthorized air-defense base that Nash Dockerty built in support of Sherman Lake's conspiracy. Gaia knows what became of the _weapons_ Dockerty stored there; but the Undersecretary is letting Lieutenant Vasquez have the holographic deception projectors which had been used to conceal the base. The Rangers can present the Aztlano troops with a fake landscape, maybe in front of the first power plant they try to seize, and so spring an ambush on them."

Peter Tomisaburo drew himself up like a man who has just made a momentous decision. "Ranger Bender? The Texans have hardly anything for _ground_ use that can damage an armored fighting vehicle--"

"They may soon be receiving two or three of the rail rifles the Overseers used to carry. Those can damage armor."

"That's good. But with the extent of the front our side has to try to defend, what I was about to propose is still pertinent." He held up his micro-whip. The cautionary fear of offending China, which had become ingrained in most Americans, had prevented anyone from trying to confiscate Peter's weapon. "If I could get close enough without being shot first, _this_ weapon can slice through any armor ever made as easily as cutting cheese. I hadn't planned on trying it, since I'm not bulletproof; but if a holographic illusion kept enemy tank crews from knowing I was there until I was on top of them, it _would_ be possible for me to disable several of their vehicles, and maybe even escape again before they realized what had hit them."

Henry Spafford's face lit up. "That's right! And if that ambush made it possible to use _your_ weapon effectively, it could also give a chance for success to _other_ weapons which would normally be useless against a modern army." Henry shifted his gaze from Peter to Alipang, who completed the thought for him:

"Bows and arrows! Effective against infantry, at least."

The new suggestions accelerated the pace and volume of talking. Lyra was preparing to use her dataphone to try to reach Emilio Vasquez and let him know about what the civilian volunteers were proposing.... when a ripping, screaming noise interrupted everything.

Those who looked up quickly enough -- which included Alipang and Henry -- saw that a modest-sized guided missile was passing above them, heading in a direction which apparently would take it toward Yellowstone Sector, or maybe the western part of North Dakota Sector. Even those who had reacted too slowly to see the missile, kept staring skyward in stunned horror after the missile passed.

"We just ran out of time for lengthy deliberations," John Wisebadger declared. "As an Ombudsman, I'm already committed to helping to manage the evacuation. Ranger Bender, if you'll take my advice, you won't wait for permission; you'll begin _immediately_ to assist our informal militia to get down to Casper and join Lieutenant Vasquez."
 
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The missile which Alipang and Henry had glimpsed was in fact bound for one of the power-transfer substations just outside the Enclave perimeter: in its case, the one close to the northwest corner of North Dakota Sector. Its controllers had video guidance on it, and were aiming to bring it down where it would wreck the substation -- yet leave the boundary fence intact, thus NOT giving anyone outside an easy way to come in and try to repair the electrical connections. The plan was the same for other shots at substations feeding the Diversity States. But except for the southernmost of these targets, none of the substations would be hit sooner than Rapid City was hit.

In the Enclave capital, two of the triumvirate members, Distribution and Agriculture, issued pompous instructions for "avoiding panic" -- before they themselves retreated into the cavernous fortifications inside Harney's Peak. Some government personnel had already contrived reasons to get out; but the two Undersecretaries felt they ought to maintain at least a faint appearance of remaining at their posts.

The Energy Undersecretary, with her military background, was just as glad to have her two colleagues out of her way, as she kept in contact with the Texas Rangers and other police types, giving such guidance and help as she could.

As one of the efforts to project business as usual, the Blue Moon Stun Jazz Orchestra was proceeding with a scheduled open-to-the-public rehearsal. Even some of the exile musicians echoed the sentiment of the young non-exile woman among them called Frigate, the one whom Alipang Havens had once protected from bullying. The sentiment was to the effect that art was always important, and the show must go on.

Osmawani Jalil, as the orchestra's manager, was present -- but more physically present than mentally. She kept looking out the windows of the rehearsal building. Sixty percent of her attention was on the possibility of an air attack against Rapid City, and another thirty percent was on David Redfern. She missed the boy painfully, but she still was glad that he was free now from Fairness Party supervision.

The ten percent of her mind that was listening to the musicians gained ground for a moment, when she noticed them hitting a difficult passage, one of the sharp changes in tempo and instrument selection that gave stun jazz its name. But a moment later--

A noise too loud for the hearer's brain to accept shook the building, and windows exploded into fragments. At least the windows were of a "safe-break" type of glass, which when shattering turned into small rounded bits which would inflict little if any harm on people. Her hair and clothing spangled with these glass fragments, Osmawani ran outside. There, she could see that flame-streaked smoke was rising from a nearby place toward the west, and a more distant place toward the east-by-northeast. The nearer place appeared to be the campus where Western Enclave Medical University had just been getting started forming classes; the other, judging by the secondary explosions following the first blast, was the former Ellsworth Air Force Base.

Ducking back inside the rehearsal hall, Osmawani commanded order from the chaos of astonished and frightened musicians. "Listen up! The city has been bombed -- or hit with rockets, I didn't see any planes. Anyone who has any first-aid training, and anyone strong enough to dig in wreckage, come with me! We'll go the closer impact site!"

About one-third of the persons present, including a few of the onlookers at the rehearsal, came with her. One young man among the onlookers, happily, was a night-shift physician's assistant at Sioux San Hospital. As they ran toward the university campus, they saw several Commerce Inspectors cowering down in terror, not at all resembling the heroes of the collective who had been depicted in Isadora Cruller's two Enclave movies. A Transport Police helicopter was airborne, heading for the airfield. The only official figures who were ahead of Osmawani's party at the university campus and actually doing something useful, were the Forest Rangers Mark and Dana Terrell -- with Whiplash.

Coming upon the scene at the head of their group, Osmawani and Frigate beheld the enhanced border collie digging into some of the smaller brick-rubble from what had been designated as the new university's library. Turning toward his master, Whiplash uttered two barks in differing tones, and made some startlingly humanlike gesture with a forepaw. Whatever it was that the dog meant to say, Mark Terrell seemed to understand it perfectly, and he and Dana went to work where Whiplash had begun.

Osmawani gestured for the physician's assistant to join the Terrells and their collie, while she led the others to search for victims elsewhere.

By nightfall, Osmawani's hands were bloody and bandaged; but she personally had saved the life of one casualty: a Quaker girl who had come down from North Dakota to realize her dream of becoming a physician. Thanks to a tourniquet the Malaysian woman had applied, the girl would still live to pursue her dream. But for others, earthly dreams had ended here. The most prominent losses at W.E.M.U. were Doctors Barney and Ursula Jamison, who had been meeting with new students one instant, and who (in the company of those new students) had entered Heaven together the next instant.

Over at Ellsworth, one Texas Ranger had been among the slain: Rip Falkirk, who had been keeping watch over a supply of aviation fuel earmarked for his detachment's use. The ignited fuel had left Ranger Falkirk's corpse unrecognizable, even as his spirit was being recognized and welcomed by his Savior. The two Atmosfleet passenger planes remaining in the hangars, plus a Distribution Department passenger helicopter, had also been destroyed, along with various hardware and supplies.

As of now, even the most delusional of the Fairness Party members in Rapid City could no longer set much store in the likelihood of diplomacy doing them any good.
 
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The Department of Sustainable Energy had given clear instructions to its personnel assigned to the southern edge of Wyoming which was a narrow buffer between the Enclave boundary and the Aztlano border. The instructions were to re-adjust the infrared projectors which were stationed west of Cheyenne. Used normally to heat up air masses as directed by the Energy Secretary, so that rising air would affect the direction of winds as part of national weather control, these projectors could have their apertures narrowed, so as to produce damaging heat rays. Not properly lasers, not true coherent light, but enough heat to overheat vehicle engines and inflict heat stroke on humans. This would create at least some difficulty for the impending Aztlano invasion.

The problem in practice was that the Fairness Party had spent years relentlessly deriding and mocking such "primitive" qualities as patriotism and bravery. As a result, even before the Aztlano missiles were launched from the vicinity of Big Thompson Canyon, most of the Energy Department workers in that Wyoming strip, including Fawn Seavers, had fled eastward.

But Odette Galloway could not forget an Apache brave who had saved her life less than a year ago. That warrior, and his family, were in the Enclave now, targets for the merciless Aztec-Maoists. Odette remained at her post, along with four male technicians who also vaguely remembered things like duty and honor. Odette coordinated their efforts with the heat projectors, until all of the devices were ready to be set off by a single switch. Once they opened fire, the projectors would keep on emitting their infra-red light until they were destroyed. Meanwhile, Odette and her companions -- who were by no means suicidal -- would maximize their own chance of living by fooling their attackers. A programmed ground car, upon being signalled, would start moving eastward, as if emulating those workers who had already escaped that way. Then the five technicians would actually run for it in the opposite direction, making for the high ground farther west.

No ground assault came during daylight hours on Thursday; but Odette waited with her four friends, while thinking about whether her life had ever counted for anything. Now, it might.

Around eleven-thirty that night, they heard the sound of approaching engines. No headlights shone; the drivers must have night-vision gear to steer by. Hopefully, the huge heat output from the weather-control station would mask five human bodies running from there. Not bothering with any theatrics like waiting "to see the whites of their eyes," Odette threw the master switch. The heat beams blazed away at the highway up which the enemy had been correctly predicted as coming. A moment later, one of the men started the robotic decoy car fleeing east on a side road. Then all five temporary artillery soldiers fled westward for their lives.

They made it clear with little to spare. Volleys of railgun projectiles demolished the heat projectors, though not before half a dozen armored vehicles had suffered damage that would need repair before they could be used again. The seeming getaway car was also destroyed. By the time any Aztlanos became aware that no one had been inside this car, Odette and her friends were well out of the path of the invasion force, using all available cover to avoid being seen as they fled.

Odette had done what she could. Now Henry Spafford of the White Mountain Apaches, and his fellow Grange huntsmen, were on their own.

 
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Chapter 136: Lights Out

Time zones being what they are, it was already evening in New York City, Boston, Washington, and other East Coast cities at the moment when Aztlano missiles destroyed the connections carrying electrical current from the Western Enclave to the rest of the Diversity States. This left the computers in charge of the power grid to follow their protocol telling which consumers enjoyed priority for the remaining electricity. What was generated by solar-energy plants, windmills, tidal generators, and natural gas-burning power plants, went first of all to the workplaces, offices, homes, and recreational spots of the elite rulers and their enforcers.

Which left many other places blacked out.

In hundreds of high-rise residential buildings, both ones for employed persons and ones configured as Collective Dormitories for welfare recipients, all the lights went out in unison. Once the dumbed-down residents figured out that no one on their own floors had power, and figured out that the comm systems and elevators didn't work, there began to be enormous human avalanches pouring down the stairways, in search of whatever Party officials or labor-union officials might be able to help them in their helplessness.

Those officials, however, had in almost every case fled for their lives before the crowds found them, since they had seen the effects of the latest wave of riots which had only just been suppressed before this new calamity struck.

The vast numbers of proletarians now milling about in fear did not even have to be intentionally rioting, for their panic to become a disruption even worse than the previous crisis.

Former state or federal penitentiaries, now known as Self-Esteem Centers, had always been low in priority for power supply. This, because the Fairness Party had been fully aware that, with no more than a handful of exceptions, the inmates now inhabiting those prisons WERE NOT criminals. The criminals previously sentenced there had been either terminated, or appointed to government and labor-union jobs. Now, therefore, the powered gates and electronic locks in all the Self-Esteem Centers went dead, and the guards fled for the same reason as apartment managers had, leaving thousands of political prisoners to wonder whether they dared to walk outside.
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In what had been the state of Oregon, there still was daylight at the time the blackout hit. Just before the power loss, a young woman from a collective farm had gone to one of the women's-health clinics of the Genetic Health Service, one located very close to her farm, in order to get rid of the new life inside her which had somehow bypassed the usual preventions.

This barely-adult woman, an enthusiastic worshipper of Mother Universe at the Oneness Temple which served her agricultural collective, had been born Lisa Granholm, but since the Fairness Revolution she had been calling herself Lyrical Granite. The father of her unborn baby was one of six co-workers at the collective farm; without access to DNA testing, she could not have said which. But although the Genetic Health Service had previously certified Lyrical as qualified to reproduce, not one of the six possible fathers wanted to be bothered with a bioproduct; and Lyrical did not care to give up the special favors with regard to working conditions that she had been obtaining by putting out for men who could help her. So the bioproduct was expendable.

But before the termination could be performed, the clinic lost its electricity. The collective farm did have stand-alone solar panels of its own, and so did not lose all power; but the clinic was lower in priority, because most pregnancies these days never even began unless they were pre-planned and approved. So Lyrical did not get to kill her baby that day, and her mind was called to other things as locally-powered loudspeakers ordered all the farm workers to report in and begin emergency recovery procedures.

The people of this collective were of course not as hard hit as the dwellers in big cities. They did not yet realize just HOW bad things were about to get. But it was the destiny of Lyrical Granite to survive all the coming troubles... to decide that she didn't mind carrying a baby after all, when some people in the midst of danger showed her special consideration BECAUSE she was pregnant... to give birth to a son, whom she would call Tristan... and to let him use her original surname of Granholm.

Citizens of the Diversity States had been encouraged never to care about events any farther in the future than five years or so. But it was a fact, known to the Heavenly Father Whom the Party denied, that the son of Lyrical Granite would have a great-grandson called Eliot Granholm, who in the 22nd century would become a truly remarkable hero.


* * * And that, my cherished readers, is the foreshadowing of the new series of novels I plan to write AFTER the Alipang Havens saga!
 
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