The First Love Of Alipang Havens

The next morning, after breakfast, Lynne took possession of a sheaf of letters which various members of the Montefiori household had written to various addressees outside the Enclave, to deliver them also to the postal hub and censoring office in Casper. No big deal was made of goodbyes, since Kim and Lynne expected to be back at the sheep farm before another night fell.

It was during the last two southbound kilometers that Lynne revealed that she had also picked up on the possibilities inherent in the newspaper proposal.

"You know that my John obtains medicinal herbs from growers scattered over a wide area, more than three counties' worth by the old land divisions. He never tries to consolidate the growing in one location, because he _wants_ to have a valid excuse for going all over Wyoming. The flexibility that comes with the Overseers not minding us riding back and forth would be enhanced if some of us could say we were occupied gathering news for the paper!"

Coming to the city, the two women first rode to the post office to hand over all the letters Lynne was carrying. The censor on duty told Lynne to come by again before leaving Casper; "I have some newly-received letters from outside, for persons in your Grange area; I should be done going over them in the next two hours, after which you can have them to take back with you." Lynne assured the man that she would be back well before the post office closed. Then she and Kim went their way, left Lacey and Hashbrown in the ostler's care at the livery stable nearest to Eric and Cecilia's home (Eric Havens had paid for this in advance for them), and walked the rest of the way to their destination.

Eric warmly greeted his daughter-in-law and her companion, but told them to start lunch without him; he had patients piled up, getting a backlog of dental needs taken care of now that the dentist was better supplied.

Over lunch, Cecilia--who was almost as happy to have Kim there as if Chilena or Melody had been able to visit--told both guests about the new powerplant technicians, all at work by now. Cecilia especially detailed the antics of the most obnoxious one. "When Aretha was told that she would be working at one of the coal-burning powerplants, she complained that they were assuming she wasn't qualified with nuclear reactors because she's black. So they told her she could work at the nuclear plant, and then she complained that they wanted her to suffer from radiation poisoning because she's black. But when they asked her if she wanted to stick with her original job assignment after all, she suddenly claimed that she was entitled to a high administrative post where she wouldn't even have to do any hands-on technical work, and the only reason they weren't giving her such a post was....because she's a woman. So at least she has a little variety in her made-up grudges."

When Cecilia got around to telling more about the one Christian among those technicians, Kim was intrigued to learn how much Mr. Shao had learned from Rick Pelham about the whole circle of acquaintance the Tisdale and Havens families had had back in Virginia. An idea struck her. "Cecilia, do you think that Mr. Shao, as a man relatively valuable to the government, might be accorded, well, more leeway in some of his actions? Like, maybe, more ease of communication with persons on the outside?"

"That's possible," Cecilia replied; "but it isn't something any of us have asked him about."

"It's always possible," Terrance volunteered, "that Mr. Shao is a government agent himself, instructed to see if we ask him for any special favors that the Pinkshirts might not like us asking for. God knows, I would jump at a chance to have more contact with my sisters on the outside, and friends likewise...but not at the cost of being marked as untrustworthy."

Lynne sighed. "They already consider ALL of us untrustworthy, or we wouldn't be in exile."

"But I know what you mean," Kim assured her young brother-in-law. "So I suppose you plan to wait and see if Mr. Shao indicates having some communication advantage, and _offers_ to help us get more frequent news of loved ones outside."

"Yeah. And if he offers, we'll have to decide if we trust him not to be up to some kind of entrapment."

Cecilia concluded, "We're all praying for discernment in this." Then the lunch conversation turned to the subject of the proposed newspaper; as far as anyone seated here knew, this was the first attempt by any of the exiles to be allowed to practice journalism.
 
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After lunch, there was another hour or so to spare for plain visiting, with Eric slipping back into the house for a few minutes of it between patients, at which time he gave Kim the container of dental epoxy that she was to take to Alipang. Cecilia and Harmony performed a Keith Green medley that they were going to sing together at The Church of the Faithful on Pentecost. Lynne took a photograph of them singing. She used an emulsion-film camera, of course; digital cameras were too computer-like for exiles to be allowed to have. This was the next to last shot Lynne had on the roll of film which had been in her camera for more than a year; the difficulty of obtaining more film forced her to ration herself on taking pictures, and the difficulty of getting film developed under government controls was so great as to make the first difficulty almost irrelevant.

When Kim and Lynne had reluctantly said their farewells and started walking back to the livery stable, they were met by a young woman who looked like a native of India or Pakistan. She was just getting off a bicycle. Giving her name as Dalbir Pitafi, she tried to cram into twenty seconds an explanation of why she had approached them so suddenly. "A neighbor told me that you were just finishing a visit to the dentist's family, and would be riding up to Sussex. I will ask you to do something which will cost you nothing, but which can benefit numerous households.

"My husband Sarbar and I were employed by the Federal Consumer Merchandise Service until we became Christians, less than a month ago. They transferred us here--to Rapid City, actually; but they said it was not strictly exile status. Because we had such a good work history, they told us we would be allowed to work for a new branch of F.C.M.S. _inside_ the Enclave. Part of our job is to give _these_ out to people." From a fannypack, she brought forth something like a colorful paperback book, and held it out to Lynne.

Taking the object, Lynne suddenly exclaimed, "Why, this is a mail-order catalogue! Dalbir, do you remember Sears and Roebuck?"

"One of the old business corporations that was abolished, wasn't it?"

"That's right. A _very_ long time ago, Sears and Roebuck was famous for providing catalogues like this to homes in rural areas--a way for people to shop who couldn't easily get to large cities. How about that: the collective society is reviving a free-enterprise phenomenon from over a hundred years ago!"

"If I give each of you ladies three of these catalogues," said the young Mrs. Pitafi, "will you make them available for families north and west of here to see? Sarbar and I were given considerable discretion in how we would get the catalogues distributed, but not much money for train travel; so we are enlisting help as we can."

"Sure, we'll take them," Kim answered. "We'll probably leave one book with a good family we'll be seeing this evening, about fourteen kilometers north of Casper. They'll share it with all the people they see regularly."

"Thank you! If you look on Page 71, you'll see that they're offering analog audiotape recorders, with a library of music on tapes." The saleswoman lowered her voice. "They can't be plugged into a computer network, so the government judges this a harmless way that exiles can be allowed to enjoy recorded music again."

Lynne looked at the indicated page. "After more than two years of having the Enclave in operation, some of us have gotten accustomed to making our own music, or accepting the silence. On the other hand, I would _love_ to be able to listen to Sibelius' Second Symphony again."

"But how do we pay for things?" Kim asked. "In here, we don't even have checking accounts, let alone debit and credit cards."

"There will be centers people can come to. They can pay in cash when they pick up the products."

Eventually, the two travellers were able to get moving once more. When they were on their horses and clear of the city, Lynne remarked, "If they're setting up something like this--a piece of long-term normalcy, but one tailored to our conditions--they must not be planning to let us out anytime soon, but not planning to exterminate us either."

Kim grunted. "Exterminate is the more likely of the two. But if they wanted to kill us, they wouldn't really need to pretend they _didn't_ want to, since we have no way to fight...back...." Her words trailed off. Her mother-in-law had dropped hints of what Bill Shao had said, about just how vital the powerplants inside the Enclave were to the whole continent. If exiles knew that a genocide was intended, then with nothing to lose, they _could_ strike back--by damaging or destroying the powerplants which their oppressors needed.

This was a card that could only be played once, and only in the greatest extremity; but it was something.
 
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Chapter Six: One Tactical Sortie, One Ranger


The two-seat helicopter patrolling the Texas-Aztlan border, bearing the number 343 for clear-channel callsign purposes, was as near to an air force as anything the Diversity States was allowing federal-district authorities to possess, under its interpretation of the conditions dictated to it by the Hemispheric Union, the Hemispheric Union in turn having been told by China what to dictate to the former U.S.A. Within the restriction of prohibiting jets, the central authorities possessed the best aircraft available (which didn't mean they had the best pilots). Texas Ranger Aircraft 343 was a piston-engine helicopter with scarcely over 180 horsepower, though kept in excellent working condition because the Rangers didn't rely on mechanics from Fairness Party labor unions. But neither Beijing nor Caracas had been able to take away the spirit and ingenuity of the Texas Rangers. And Ranger Sergeant Emilio Vasquez, brother-in-law to the exiled Alipang Havens, was praying that this would be enough to deal with what he was expecting.

Friends on the ground were following their progress. Communications with these friends proceeded by cognitive radio: a communication suite programmed to anticipate threats of jamming, hacking and eavesdropping, and to shift frequencies and encryptions to maximize the chances of calls getting through as desired.

They were over the arid Trans-Pecos region of West Texas, a sparsely-populated region which bandits could easily feel bold about penetrating. Emilio himself had responded to nine Trans-Pecos border-fence penetrations in the time that the Aztec-Maoist Republic had existed; that was just surface incursions, and didn't count incidents which the D.S. Marshals had covered. Here, Texans had Aztlano territory hanging above them to the north, like the Sword of Damocles.

"Do you think we're staying far enough in?" asked his co-pilot, Sergeant Juan Riquelme of the Mexican Federales. The Mexican Alliance, which Juan served, was actually friendly to Texas now, because all the most parasitic and felonious elements of Mexican society were now firmly planted in Aztlan, Mexico proper was becoming more stable and productive than ever before in its history--and both Texans and Mexicans were affected by the chaotic behavior of Aztlan. The Mexican Federales had not only lent Juan Riquelme for this operation, they had also provided certain crucial hardware which the D.S.A. was no longer allowed to own.

Which, God willing, was going to come as a surprise for the Aztlanos the two law-enforcement aviators were expecting to meet.

"Yes, the last chopper they shot down was ten clicks inside the border," said Emilio. "We are not at any time coming closer than twenty clicks to what used to be New Mexico. When they come after us, the unprovoked aggression will be even more obvious."

"Tell me, compadre, why did you of all people take this mission, when you and Mrs. Vasquez have a child on the way?"

"I took it _because_ Melody and I have a child on the way. I don't want my family to be sitting in the crosshairs of gangsters with military armaments."

Both men alternately watched the western sky, and watched their sensor displays and g.p.s. monitor. When the United States had been stripped of all its fighter jets, those jets had not been melted down to make bicycles, as one legislative proposal had called for. Some had been given to the Venezuelan Alliance; and some had been given to......

"Bandit acquired!" snapped Juan.

"Keep tracking him," replied Emilio. "He has to come into our airspace, and the attack has to be unmistakably premeditated. Are all the ground stations tracking and recording?"

"They are."

"Then the ball's in his court. All we have to do is be sure that we don't dive to cover too soon, OR too late."
 
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The destruction of Texas Ranger assets, and one Marshals' Service airplane, by Aztlano fighter pilots might have several concurrent objectives; but one motivation certainly was to render the Rangers and the Marshals' Service unable to stop smuggling operations across the Aztlan-Diversity States border.

With a population so heavily weighted toward gangsters and welfare-entitlement seekers, Aztlan had started suffering want as soon as the gringo loot ran out. The only _honest_ industry it now possessed which could bring in any substantial foreign currency -- China having already confiscated Aztlan's petroleum deposits by the beginning of 2022 -- was potash mining. This, at least, was a substantial help to the Aztlanos, since China and India, the world's current superpowers, had both inflicted soil exhaustion on themselves and were in long-term need of potash-based fertilizers. But when it came to obtaining high-tech manufactured goods, the Aztec-Maoists found it easier to steal modern devices from the D.S.A. rather than try to manufacture their own. It was possible for someone from Aztlan to go down into Mexico, jog east, then go up into the D.S.A.; but the Mexican authorities, now that all their own worst apples were eliminated, were very good at interdicting efforts to smuggle stolen merchandise into Aztlan by that roundabout route. Some technological items could be bought from Canada; but the Canadians would not sell the criminal nation anything with clear military applications. Accordingly, direct west-to-east border penetration of the Diversity States was still worth trying: not only for weapon components, but also for luxury items, _and_ equipment for the exploitation of the coal reserves which the Chinese had allowed Aztlan to keep. AND.... to kidnap Diversity States citizens for enslavement.

This border was more fortified than the old U.S.-Mexican border had ever been, but there was limited manpower to patrol it and find the temporary breakthrough points. Aircraft, of course, could cover the frontier faster than ground vehicles; thus, reducing Texan air surveillance was to the advantage of the Hispanic-supremacist gangsterocracy. The Rangers, and the sympathetic Mexican Federales, hoped to be able to halt the attacks, and _then_ find out what additional reasons there might be.

The Mexican Alliance Air Force did have up-to-date fighters, years ahead of anything Aztlan possessed; but to bring these onto Diversity States soil would only scare off the raiders for the length of time that the fighters were able to remain in the D.S.A. as a deterrent. And Hemispheric Union leadership, always eager to keep North America weak, would pressure the Mexicans to keep the visit short. So something else had to be tried.

Emilio and Juan had much more in the way of radar and electronic warfare apparatus than had been on board the three Ranger aircraft (one other helicopter and two fixed-wing propellor planes) which had been shot down by former United States Air Force fighters operating out of southern Aztlan over the past five weeks. This was besides bombing attacks on Ranger outposts. The Hemispheric Union had confiscated all guided missiles from the Aztlanos, but had left them plain gravity bombs--which were perfectly adequate against surface structures which had no air defense, just as rapid-fire cannon were good enough against far slower aircraft which could not effectively defend themselves against a recent-model jet.

The instrument suite on board Emilio's chopper could at least tell them the best moment to duck; and some inconspicuous ground-level preparations would help them in this.

Rangers in on the plan had secretly dubbed their work the Stegosaurus, reflecting the series of bone plates which had protected the spinal column of that famous dinosaur. The area over which Emilio and Juan would fly as bait already had some hills which were big enough that a helicopter could use them as shelter; and various random-looking actions had been performed to plug the gaps in the available protection. In one space between hills, for instance, the rubble from one of the destroyed Ranger buildings had been piled in around two already-standing trees, as if just getting it out of the way. In another spot, a quantity of damaged railway cars from a winter accident had been stacked--again, as if a new junkyard "just happened" to be started there.

"He's painting us!" shouted Juan--meaning that the oncoming fighter, a Strike Eagle by all sensor indications, had just lit up its APG-82 air-combat radar. A burst of 20mm cannon fire was sure to follow in seconds; but _this_ intended victim both was forewarned, and had the means to get out of the line of fire.

Emilio flung the helicopter down, dropping on the east side of a huge gravel pile, one of the manmade additions to the Stegosaurus. Sure enough, shells flew through the space they would have occupied if not for the dive; and an instant later, the twin-engined jet itself roared overhead. While the fighter fought its own velocity in order to turn back for another attack run, Emilio let himself be plainly seen grabbing altitude again, then fleeing farther south.

When it seemed the enemy was almost ready to fire again, Emilio ducked down on the west side of a natural ridge. Hunks of ancient stone were dashed loose from the ridge top by the cannon rounds which had only barely failed to overtake the quarry.

As the Strike Eagle banked once more for a third attempt, Juan made the call, on an encrypted frequency: "Sugar to Flyswatter, commence counterattack! Commence counterattack!" Even though there would be satellite video of the border-violating plane's actions, the counterattack had to happen when the plane was on a vector heading _into_ Diversity States territory. Otherwise, the Aztlanos would lie that their plane had been heading home after making "a little mistake" about whose airspace it was in.

Emilio popped up and over to the other side of the same ridge. Now that the counterattack had been ordered, he wanted to stay in the same approximate location his friends had last known him to be in. Things were about to get really exciting.
 
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Unmanned Aerial Vehicles were another kind of military hardware which had been plundered from the United States and thereafter prohibited for the Diversity States. But none of America's U.A.V.'s had gone to Aztlan; a few had gone to Canada, and the rest to the Mexican Alliance. And in Honduras, now part of the Mexican Alliance, former United States defense-industry workers had worked in a research center to expand the drone aircraft's capabilities.

Unlike top-of-the-line Maquahuitl* fighter jets --also contributed to by expatriate gringos --U.A.V.'s could be, and now had been, brought into their old homeland without Aztlan's gangster government finding out. Eight U.A.V.'s were now revving their motors in hidden spots both north and south of where the Aztlano Strike Eagle had violated Diversity States airspace. All of these were close enough that they would be able to use the new armament created for them in Honduras. Once Juan called for help, the drone operators, who were genuine Federales -- for it was Mexico's law-enforcement community which had use for U.A.V.'s -- got their winged automatons airborne.

Driven by propellors, these miniature planes could not have overtaken the Strike Eagle in a stern chase; but they didn't have to. They had the bandit surrounded, and they were close enough to launch their armament: two compact air-to-air missiles from each drone, slim rockets even smaller than shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles. All sixteen weapons ignored the Ranger helicopter, to go after the Aztlano fighter like fleas in need of a dog.

The Strike Eagle activated countermeasures and tried to evade; but there were simply too many incoming weapons. Five of the sixteen missiles scored hits.

Each explosion was no more powerful than a grenade. Small warheads were one reason these U.A.V.-mounted missiles _could_ be so light; but together they were enough to disable the jet. The pilot and weapons officer succeeded in ejecting; but that was fine, they weren't going anywhere. The ambushers _wanted_ them alive.

But it would be still better if the raiders' bosses, back at the former Holloman Air Force Base in the former New Mexico, _believed_ the two men to have perished.

For this purpose, even before the dwarf missiles from the U.A.V.'s had struck home, a still greater quantity of less-sophisticated rockets had begun taking to the air. These were not meant to hit anything, but to release enormous amounts of thick smoke...which would obscure the view of events, as seen by satellites passing overhead. So no satellite, Chinese or otherwise, recorded any clear view of what followed.

The maimed fighter-bomber shot far off before hitting one of the hills of the Stegosaurus; it thus had no effect on what happened to the two Aztlano aviators. But in the upper layers of the smokescreen, two of the drones were deliberately made to crash into each other, close to where the soon-to-be prisoners were descending to earth. A third struck the first two as they fell in a tangle. The latter impact happened farther down in the smoke; it prevented the first two collided U.A.V.'s from falling onto the parachuting men, but did not undo the _appearance_ that those men had been hit from above.

So a tragic and freakish accident would be reported to the Aztlano government in Los Angeles; but the Aztlanos would have only themselves to blame--no one had asked them to invade Texas airspace.

And the two "dead" fliers would be available for interrogation.


* Maquahuitl, pronounced "mac-WEE-tul," is the name for the obsidian-edged swordlike weapon wielded by Aztec warriors.
 
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Emilio brought the helicopter down reasonably close to the spot where the parachuting Aztlanos were landing. Rangers on solar-powered dune buggies were already closing in; they, not the Federales, had the right to make the actual arrest -- though it was agreed, in case of more than one hostile being taken alive, that one prisoner would be turned over to the Mexican officers for their own government to interrogate.

The discipline of the Texas Rangers was proven by their not instantly slaying the aggressors. More than twenty Rangers lay in star-marked graves because of these Aztlanos or their comrades. But one thing was done to both culprits when their helmets had been yanked off: some hair was cut from each one's head. The DNA in the hair would enable a covert biological laboratory--one which _was_ provided with N.B.I.C. technology--to synthesize genetically-convincing pieces of bone, which would seem to have been retrieved from the fire where the crashed U.A.V.'s had supposedly fallen on the Aztlanos and killed them. These "remains" would be sent home for burial. As for having a fire, firebombs containing the same kind of aviation fuel used by the drones were set off where the three drones had hit the ground; and the parachutes, helmets and boots of the prisoners were tossed into the flames.

The Rangers put explosive collars around the necks of the raiders; the charges were sufficient to blow the men's heads off, but could not be detonated by mere heat or impact. They would only explode if receiving a specific radio signal. One Ranger made very sure that both prisoners understood exactly what they were wearing. These men were not altruistic fanatics, only criminals in uniforms; thus, they feared death, and would not do anything suicidal. In fact, they began outdoing each other in whining that they had been forced into this, that they were glad to be captured, that they were delighted to cooperate, and so on.

The arresting officers saw Emilio and Juan walking up. The female lieutenant in charge said, "Let them have their look, they certainly earned it." She shook hands with both men who had been in the helicopter, telling them, "Remember, these Aztlanos are dead; all you saw was one of our vehicles carrying away their charred corpses."

The obscuring smoke overhead would soon begin to dissipate; there wasn't much time. Emilio settled for walking up to the prisoners and telling them, in Spanish of course: "You two are not heroes; it's almost giving you too much dignity _even_ to call you crawling cowards. But even dirty snakes can become something better. I hope you live long enough to learn that there's a better way than the way you've lived. But in any case, you _won't_ be murdering any more Texas Rangers."

He sighed as the raiders were smuggled away. If he had mentioned the transforming grace of Jesus Christ to them, he would have been immediately drummed out of the Rangers -- not because anyone _within_ the Ranger chain of command would wish to do so, but because the Campaign Against Hate would require it. The offenders would never hear the gospel in prison, either; well, actually, the one taken to Mexico might hear it, but the one kept in Diversity States custody would be lucky if he even got to talk to a government-approved Oneness Priestess.

"Look on the good side," said Juan to his friend. "Soon you'll be with your wife again, safe and undamaged. You can never tell her what really happened, but you can tell her that you had a part in stopping the air attacks. For one thing Aztlan _will_ know, is that Mexico finally intervened on your side, which will make them think twice about launching any more unprovoked aggression."

"You're right, Juan. Hey, once we've made our sanitized reports, come on home with me for dinner. Melody has learned how to make awesome fajitas, or as awesome as they can be when they have to be meatless."
 
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Juan Riquelme did eat at the Vasquez household, where he listened with polite interest to everything Melody told him about her pregnancy. But it was only that night, after Juan departed and Emilio and Melody went to bed, that the most important conversation took place.

Emilio had formed a lingua franca with his wife, blending English, Spanish, Chinese and Tagalog words. By design, they mostly used this for mutual endearments; but more could be embedded in it, especially when Emilio and Melody were embedded in bed. The problem was never knowing if some Pinkshirt with surveillance technology was listening in on even their most intimate moments, even with no bugs physically planted inside the apartment. The solution was--that no Pinkshirt had any way of knowing what their code-key was. The mixing of languages was the very least of it.

The key was that, when having serious things to say to each other, either spouse was only saying the real message when simultaneously pressing exactly two fingertips against some exposed part of the other one's skin. There might be only two relevant words said, followed by three or four trival sentences; and then the finger pressure would announce another fragment that mattered. It could take five minutes to form one sentence of the true discussion. At least it was a good mental exercise; occasionally they laughed when one lost the thread of the thought--for which four pressing fingertips were the indication.

On this night, having already told Melody in an open fashion those facts he was allowed to tell about himself and Juan having been bait for the raiders, Emilio began the real conversation as he and his darling lay in each other's arms. They needed more than an hour to weave into their pillow-talk this much actual substance....

Melody: What really is troubling you?

Emilio: Although I did strike a blow for my fellow Rangers, it was also a blow for the interests of the iron hand holding us.

Melody: It bothers you that in doing your work well, you serve the advantage of our masters.

Emilio: Yes, it does, when they are no better than the Aztlanos.

Melody: But our Lord and His helpers did not tell every Roman soldier they befriended to quit the Roman army.

Emilio: Yes, up to a point we are supposed to give loyalty to the country of our citizenship.

Melody: Which disproves some accusations made against us.

Emilio: And we have to ask the Dove Who descended on our Lord to show us when it becomes our duty to disobey.

Melody: Not a light matter. But I will trust you always to be doing your best to get wisdom in such things. I love you and I'm proud of you.

Emilio: I don't know what I ever did to be worthy of you; but may the One Who made us, make us able to face death together for Him if the time comes.

Melody: Meanwhile, remember that it's worse in all the other Federal Districts.

Emilio: And we don't know if it's worse or better in the enclosed area northwest of here, because they won't let us have real news....
 
That's right, Zella. Two persons who both have good intentions could greatly differ on this very matter. In fact, THE SAME person could disagree with HIS OWN views from a previous period in life. In America right now, there are mature adults who used to chant about revolution, yet who now advocate absolutely unlimited obedience to government.

I'm only just getting started with dramatizing this hard issue of conscience.
 
Chapter Seven: Correcting Tsar Aleksandr


The executive airplane roared along the runway, its counter-rotating coaxial propellors chewing through the rain, and took to the gray skies over southeast Alaska. April was departing, and so was the emissary from the State Department of the Diversity States.

By the time Ambassador-At-Large Samantha Ford had occasion to set foot in Juneau again, Alaska would no longer be part of the D.S.A.; by the same token, Kamchatka and Chukotiya would no longer be part of the diminished Russian Federation. Instead, Alaska and the far northeast end of Russia would be merged into a new and independent nation, Alchatka. Really independent, in fact -- not even bound to obey the Hemispheric Union, since not all of it would be in the Western Hemisphere. Making Russian the official language of Alchatka had helped to assert this independence, while also making Moscow feel a little better about _losing_ more territory instead of gaining back what had been sold to the United States over 150 years ago. How the Alaskans felt about this point was the very least of Ambassador Ford's concerns; but she knew that, for many Alaskans, having to learn Russian was a small price to pay for no longer having Pinkshirts looking over their shoulders.

"That, my dear, was the greatest job of negotiations I ever saw," declared Nalani Hahona, Ambassador Ford's personal secretary and all-purpose confidante.

Samantha laughed. "And of course, _you_ have no emotional bias in my favor!"

"If I do, you deserve it. When you cleared the way for Hawaii to secede last year, I thought you could never top yourself. But this time, you not only enabled a secession to proceed painlessly, you also facilitated the _creation_ of a new member of the global community -- and you were able to make China AND Canada happy about it!"

The airplane was now above the rainclouds, and spectacular sunlight both poured in the windows, and began freshly charging the solar panels on the plane's exterior, supplementing the power of the inboard batteries. Samantha and Nalani fell silent for awhile, enjoying being together as they basked in the success of Samantha's diplomatic mission. When Samantha spoke again, it was in a more pensive mood:

"Are you sure you don't want us to take our next vacation in Hawaii? News is that they're already feeling the loss of federal money, and trying hard to coax back the tourists."

Nalani shook her head. "Not yet; not any time this year or next. The Polynesian-purist movement is still too strong. I wouldn't be in any danger, obviously, but you might be, even accompanied by me. You helped them get what they themselves wanted, but they might decide to forget that it _was_ their own idea. Let more time pass, while their infrastructure decays further; when they get _really_ desperate, then we'll go spend some money there."

That was enough serious talk for now. An attendant served bottles of Joy Nectar to both women. This beverage contained no alcohol, no narcotics, and nothing else that was addictive; but its highly sophisticated biochemical formula stimulated endorphin production, reduced tension, and enhanced the functioning of those nerves which conveyed pleasing sensations. It would magnify the psychological high which success had already given them; it would even allow them, without adverse effects, to indulge fantasies about themselves being far more important in the cosmic scheme of things than they actually were.
 
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Once crossing into Canada, the two women could switch to a jet airliner, Canada not being under the aviation restrictions which bound the Diversity States. This would make up for some of the time lost by crossing Alaska in a propellor-driven airplane; but their takeoff from Juneau had been late enough in the morning that by now, lacking a cutting-edge hypersonic craft in this instance, there could be no thought of reaching Washington today, even with a partly-oceanic route which let them go by jet all the rest of the way. Accordingly, while still on the Alaskan plane, the Ambassador's staff had contacted a hotel in Winnipeg. The whole entourage would sleep there tonight.

None of them knew, and they would not have cared if they had known, that Winnipeg was now home to some relatives of Kim Tisdale Havens, wife of that infamous dissenter Alipang Havens.

For entertainment on the jet flight, they had a holovideo show to watch: a pop classic, the first installment that had ever been made in the Revised Shakespeare Series. Titled Queen Cordelia, this drama contained what was left of Shakespeare's actual play King Lear. The role of Lear was played by the popular star Daniel Salisbury, aged by computer imaging...but he was only in it as Lear for the first six minutes, after which he was killed by Goneril and Regan. So, to show both his acting versatility and the quality of the image manipulation, Mr. Salisbury had also been cast as both the Duke of Cornwall and the Duke of Albany. This raised his total on-scene time to fourteen minutes; but of course, he was not allowed to do anything more impressive in those roles than in the role of Lear. All the individual swashbuckling in the whole show was done, with plentiful C.G.I. help, by exactly one actress: Chilena Salisbury, playing the roles of ALL THREE of Lear's daughters. Thus, as Cordelia, she literally fought herself in the persons of Regan and Goneril, in a series of one-against-one and two-against-one swordfights and gunfights.

Even this much political correctness did not completely exempt the production from criticism. At one point, Samantha grumbled about "stereotypical caveman machismo"--because Cornwall and Albany were actually permitted to get their swords out of the sheath and take two paces forward before being annihilated.

After the projected play was done, the Hawaiian assistant said, "That makes me think about your son. How is he doing at the Tolerance House?" She was referring to Samantha's fifteen-year-old only child. The boy was currently living at the Boston Tolerance House, but not as an inmate needing to be reprogrammed; rather, he was considered already satisfactory in his conformity scores, and was in that institution as something like a college residence advisor, showing the way to children who (according to the Campaign Against Hate) needed to be cured of the depravity of believing in Jesus Christ, or of preferring traditional marriage to the various other sleeping arrangements, or of thinking that maybe the government ought not to be the sole owner of everything.

"He's doing very well," replied Samantha; "credited with helping eleven children find the self-esteem to denounce their parents in this term alone."

Nalani beamed. "Well, that IS impressive. Maybe we should take in his end-of-term sporting event."

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea."
 
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Samantha and Nalani were left in peace for the night in Winnipeg. When they were settled in their suite for the night, Samantha considered making a webcam call to her son in Boston, but decided against it. As she told Nalani, "His whole business there, besides continuing his own academic studies, is to wean young citizens _away_ from the oppressive structure of religion and family. So if he were seen jumping to take a call from his parent, it might undermine his social authority with the younger students."

After breakfast the next morning, Samantha gave a media conference. This was a sufficiently historic occasion that reporters were _actually_ there, not just videoconferencing. Samantha and her secretary and bodyguards beheld representatives of the state-controlled media of Greater China, the state-controlled media of the Russian Federation, the state-controlled media of the new European and Central Asian Caliphates, the state-controlled media of Canada, the state-controlled media of the Diversity States, the state-controlled media of the People's Republic of Aztlan, and _even_ media outlets of countries that still had free enterprise.

Nalani introduced Samantha with a brief reference to her work helping to draw the plans for the new nation of Alchatka; but the first question from a journalist had nothing to do with the purpose of the media conference.

"Senora Ambassador," said a reporter from the Libertad de Aztlan streaming network, "why has your government been violating Aztlano airspace and shooting down our Air Force pilots in the middle of their unarmed training missions?"

Samantha looked into the eyes of the speaker. He had been at many media conferences with her and with other officials of the D.S.A. There was no hostility toward her in his eyes; rather, the glance they exchanged was like the rapport of actors doing a familiar show together. After all, both of them knew that both of them knew that the Aztlano reporter was purposely lying, in fact that his words were as opposite to the truth as words could possibly be. So Samantha put on her best solemn expression as she replied:

"The government of the Diversity States deeply regrets the loss of life caused by lingering intolerance in the Texas Federal District." Taking this line allowed her to sidestep the absurdity of suggesting that Texas had any _means_ of chasing after Aztlano fighter jets inside Aztlano airspace. "I am advised that an investigation is already underway. But you can take heart from the significance of the event I was taking part in over the last four days. Detaching the former state of Alaska from the former United States is a vital step in undoing the American legacy of aggression and capitalistic imperialism. The Russian reporters here have special cause to applaud the righting of a historic wrong, when the predatory American business corporations tricked Tsar Aleksandr the--" She paused and looked at Nalani, who mouthed the word "second."

"--Aleksandr the Second into selling Alaska, subjecting Alaskan Russians and the Inuit people to decades of racist persecution. This week's progress in dismantling the American corporate empire is sure to make the global village breathe easier, even though reactionary elements like those in Texas may still cause a few tragic incidents."

Another pair of eyes now signalled silent approval to Samantha: the eyes of a Chinese reporter who was _purely_ an agent for Beijing's Party apparatus, not a reporter at all. Satisfied that she was pleasing those whom she was supposed to please, the Ambassador-At-Large invited more questions. Now, the media conference was allowed to get into its putative subject matter. There was discussion of how English-speaking Alaskans would be assisted in learning to speak Russian; of whether Alchatka would be considered free from the prohibition on jet planes in its internal airspace; of whether the greater degree of private property ownership currently allowed in Russia would prevail in Alaska, and whether this would threaten to bring back the reactionary bourgeois attitudes which the D.S.A. had only just barely managed to purge from the Alaskan population; and how much of a share of Arctic Ocean resources Alchatka would be permitted to exploit.

But the greatest share of media attention tonight would not be on any aspect of the founding of Alchatka, important an event though this was. The attention of talking heads would be fixed upon a spokesperson for the Diversity States expressing proper contrition for the Texas Rangers presumptuously refusing to lie down and die without a struggle.
 
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There was informal mingling after the media conference was over: not so much with journalists as with local Canadian dignitaries and guests of theirs. Thus it was that Nalani Hahona, who very seldom was farther than three meters away from Ambassador Ford at any time, was drawn away into a conversation by a man who radiated more self-confident maleness than she normally cared to have anything to do with. Even before he spoke, it was obvious to her that he was an Australian.

"G'day, Miss Hahona. My name's Bert Randall; I'm a researcher from the University of Sydney, and a language analyst for the Pacific Federation." By this, he meant a loose association of countries all over the Pacific Ocean, the two most powerful being Japan and Australia. These nations had been drawn together by a common desire NOT to be vassals of China; with some help from the Mexican Alliance and India, and with fortunate success in developing defensive weaponry, they had been managing to stay free so far. The very next words he said were in fluent Hawaiian: "This should show you that I am telling the truth about my profession." Then he added in equally fluent Russian: "I followed with interest all the news of the Ambassador's work for the creation of Alchatka."

Her curiosity piqued, Nalani addressed him in Chinese: "So what can I do for you, sir? Are you here to act for commercial interests which want a foothold in the new nation?"

Bert Randall not only understood what she said; he apparently also knew enough about Nalani to know that she would understand his next words in Spanish (not that there were very many residents of the Western Hemisphere by now who _didn't_ know Spanish). "That would put me in a very bad light with you, wouldn't it? If it makes you feel any better about me, Miss Hahona, I am acting in a _governmental_ capacity. The Pacific Federation is interested in having Hawaii join us, now that they've seceded from America. I'm here to make the first overtures for your Ambassador to facilitate this." Now he switched back to English: "My overtures are informal, but not secret; the informality means you're under no pressure to decide, but you can tell anyone you like about it, we're not hiding anything."

Nalani raised an eyebrow. "If there's no urgency now, is there some condition that would cause your Federation's desires to _become_ urgent?"

"Well, there's this. You Yanks, or I should say you successors to the Yanks -- a lot of the _real_ Yanks have moved to Australia, Mexico or Africa -- have not got most of your people implanted with tracking chips. While your Fairness Party still was working up to its takeover, you made it a concession to dissenters that you _wouldn't_ force the implantation of transmitters in everybody, and you even removed many chips that had been implanted. It was a concession you could afford, because you already had so many _other_ ways to monitor what people did. Anyway, the freedom from personal tracking chips also applies to the Alaskans and Hawaiians who have pulled out of the Diversity States. The Hawaiians, unlike the Alaskans, have staked everything on trying to make an enclosed world for the indigenous race only. When that flops, as it will unless they _really_ like primitive living, they're going to want to be part of something larger and more prosperous again. If you take them back, you'll want them _firmly_ committed to you; you'll insist on control measures -- perhaps to include mandatory tracking chips for everyone there.

"We Aussies, and the Kiwis, and Samoans and others, _don't_ happen to like being tracked every minute; and the Japanese have come around to our way of thinking on this. Our own offer to the Hawaiians will be precisely that they _won't_ have to be on the monitor screen for life. But since we're not a superpower that can throw its weight around at will, we can't simply disregard what the D.S.A. and your Hemispheric Union generally think of it."

Nalani perused the Australian. "Are you asking to meet the Ambassador this morning?"

"No, miss, I realize that you and she will be catching your next flight soon. Just tell her about this conversation, stress that I didn't try to be secretive about it; and give her this." He drew an old-fashioned business card from a pocket and handed it to her, saying in Chinese, "This is low technology on purpose. Not every added layer of technology is an improvement."
 
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While Bert Randall had been truthful and open with Nalani, Nalani had concealed something from him. She had implants in her ears, voluntarily accepted by her, which (as long as she was within half a kilometer of Samantha, which was easy since they were inseparable) transmitted _everything_ she heard or said into Samantha's personal tablet computer. So after parting company with the Australian, she had only to tell Samantha that there was something new on her device worth listening to.

Samantha listened to it during the flight which took them to the east side of Canada and then turned south to approach Washington over water. She only had to have the Chinese parts translated for her. When it was finished, her first remark was, "How the President reacts to this will depend on whether she thinks there would be any advantage in persuading Hawaii to rejoin the Diversity States."

"Great beaches," Nalani reminded her.

Samantha messaged ahead to the Rainbow House from the airliner. No immediate instructions came back, so the two women felt free to relax. An old-style movie was shown on this flight: one of the adaptations of The Scarlet Letter. If there was one kind of entertainment which was always in demand for citizens of the D.S.A., it was anything that portrayed Christians as evil, bullying fascists.

Arriving at Dulles Airport in the evening, Samantha and Nalani rode a Presidential helicopter to the Rainbow House. These helicopters were no longer operated by the disbanded Marine Corps, but by loyal Pinkshirts. Other protective services were furnished by federal-district police. A senior member of the Rainbow House staff debriefed the Ambassador-At-Large, after which she and her constant companion were free to enjoy some well-earned relaxation.

Tomorrow they would meet with the Secretary of State, and with a liaison person for the Hemispheric Union. Two days after tomorrow, they would ride in a V.I.P. car on a mag-lev train up to Boston. In Boston, they would attend a sporting event at Nickerson Field.

The sport to be played would be the new national sport of the D.S.A., known as Equalityball. The player of interest for Samantha and Nalani would be Samantha's son, whom she had named Daffodil.
 
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