The First Love Of Alipang Havens
- Thread starter Copperfox
- Start date
Copperfox
Well-known member
One of the journalists who had attended the American veterans' memorial event in Onitsha, Nigeria, was a young woman called Reltseotu Smith, whose parents had given her a name derived from the made-up alien language in a popular science-fiction movie of an earlier decade. Reltseotu had been born seven years before that movie had been made, but her parents had been such enthusiasts for the new language that they had _changed_ her first name from Rebecca. The change at least had the advantage of compensating for a last name of Smith. Reltseotu's parents had ended up getting sentenced to Self-Esteem Centers amid the turmoil of America's own renaming; but she herself had escaped from forced reprogramming, thanks to the influence of a slightly older woman who was a rising star in politically-correct streamcasting.
So now Reltseotu was a direct employee of Neutron Invincible, host of the TV talk show The Glance, which was the one program regularly streamcast on _both_ the Oneness Channel and the Collective Network.
Very early on the morning after the day of the ceremony, which still was the previous night back in the Diversity States, the young woman was awakened in her hotel bed in the capital of Nigeria by the signal of an incoming holophone call. (One reason for her to be in this hotel was because it was the only one in Nigeria which provided 3-D communications to guests.)
The appearing image of Ms. Invincible said "Good morning, Relly!" to the flesh-and-blood Ms. Smith, after which the return hologram of Ms. Smith asked the flesh-and-blood Ms. Invincible, "What can I do for you?"
"You already _have_ done something good for me, dear: you created interest in a new story. Audiences over here have already watched your on-site report of that barbarian ritual--and what great color it is, that the event was held at the New Vatican! We can make all sorts of insinuations from that!"
"Um, Neutron, you didn't actually _tell_ people that it was literally AT the New Vatican, did you? Because it wasn't."
"Might as well have been. Remember, kid, it's the emotional _associations_ we're going for. Catholic Church: all about hating whoever's different. Old United States armed forces: all about _killing_ whoever's different. They cook together well in the same wok, and our viewers will eat up the mix."
"You're right, I see what you mean. But anyway, what is it you need me to do now?"
The celebrity hologram smiled. "Easy: keep on the story. I called you this early just to make sure you _don't_ leave Nigeria. I need you to produce plausible dirt on these American expatriates. If any of it is factually true, so much the better. Enough white males were attending the ceremony, that you should have no trouble convincing our audience that Nigeria, and probably some other African countries like Uganda, are in imminent peril of being taken over by an invasion of white male Nazi Catholics."
Reltseotu had not been in the business long enough to swallow such fabrications as easily as someone like Rhoda Gardner could do. "But, Neutron, the current Pope is a dark-skinned Brazilian, the next Pope will almost certainly be an African, and every Nigerian government official I've spoken to tells me that the Americans here are model citizens who never start any trouble!"
"Who cares what _they_ think?" snapped Neutron. "What matters is what we _want_ the proletariat over _here_ to think. This is an opportunity, Relly. I know you can do this. You'll need to keep me in the loop on how you plan the story, but you can mostly act independently. Give me my evil Christian white supremacists, and the Pinkshirts and I will be happy."
When the call was ended, Reltseotu sat in bed for awhile. She was not yet thinking about the best schemes for making the Christian emigrants look like the flesh-eating zombies in an old horror movie. She was thinking about the fact that, during her childhood, the African nation of Congo had been suffering from colossal and protracted violence. She had not learned a thing about this until her first trip to Africa as an adult....because American media figures like Neutron Invincible had intentionally refused to make a story of the events in Congo. The reason why they had stayed quiet about Congo (as Neutron had admitted to Reltseotu some weeks after hiring her) was because the violence there had consisted of _black_ people killing _other_ black people. There had been no race card to play, thus no agenda value in the story.
Reltseotu did at last begin planning how she would go about inventing white-supremacist boogeymen to menace poor Nigeria; but she could not feel as much enthusiasm for it as her boss clearly felt.
So now Reltseotu was a direct employee of Neutron Invincible, host of the TV talk show The Glance, which was the one program regularly streamcast on _both_ the Oneness Channel and the Collective Network.
Very early on the morning after the day of the ceremony, which still was the previous night back in the Diversity States, the young woman was awakened in her hotel bed in the capital of Nigeria by the signal of an incoming holophone call. (One reason for her to be in this hotel was because it was the only one in Nigeria which provided 3-D communications to guests.)
The appearing image of Ms. Invincible said "Good morning, Relly!" to the flesh-and-blood Ms. Smith, after which the return hologram of Ms. Smith asked the flesh-and-blood Ms. Invincible, "What can I do for you?"
"You already _have_ done something good for me, dear: you created interest in a new story. Audiences over here have already watched your on-site report of that barbarian ritual--and what great color it is, that the event was held at the New Vatican! We can make all sorts of insinuations from that!"
"Um, Neutron, you didn't actually _tell_ people that it was literally AT the New Vatican, did you? Because it wasn't."
"Might as well have been. Remember, kid, it's the emotional _associations_ we're going for. Catholic Church: all about hating whoever's different. Old United States armed forces: all about _killing_ whoever's different. They cook together well in the same wok, and our viewers will eat up the mix."
"You're right, I see what you mean. But anyway, what is it you need me to do now?"
The celebrity hologram smiled. "Easy: keep on the story. I called you this early just to make sure you _don't_ leave Nigeria. I need you to produce plausible dirt on these American expatriates. If any of it is factually true, so much the better. Enough white males were attending the ceremony, that you should have no trouble convincing our audience that Nigeria, and probably some other African countries like Uganda, are in imminent peril of being taken over by an invasion of white male Nazi Catholics."
Reltseotu had not been in the business long enough to swallow such fabrications as easily as someone like Rhoda Gardner could do. "But, Neutron, the current Pope is a dark-skinned Brazilian, the next Pope will almost certainly be an African, and every Nigerian government official I've spoken to tells me that the Americans here are model citizens who never start any trouble!"
"Who cares what _they_ think?" snapped Neutron. "What matters is what we _want_ the proletariat over _here_ to think. This is an opportunity, Relly. I know you can do this. You'll need to keep me in the loop on how you plan the story, but you can mostly act independently. Give me my evil Christian white supremacists, and the Pinkshirts and I will be happy."
When the call was ended, Reltseotu sat in bed for awhile. She was not yet thinking about the best schemes for making the Christian emigrants look like the flesh-eating zombies in an old horror movie. She was thinking about the fact that, during her childhood, the African nation of Congo had been suffering from colossal and protracted violence. She had not learned a thing about this until her first trip to Africa as an adult....because American media figures like Neutron Invincible had intentionally refused to make a story of the events in Congo. The reason why they had stayed quiet about Congo (as Neutron had admitted to Reltseotu some weeks after hiring her) was because the violence there had consisted of _black_ people killing _other_ black people. There had been no race card to play, thus no agenda value in the story.
Reltseotu did at last begin planning how she would go about inventing white-supremacist boogeymen to menace poor Nigeria; but she could not feel as much enthusiasm for it as her boss clearly felt.
Last edited:
Zella
New member
It is quite the name. At least it's better than Daffodil.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Let me unfold a bit of back-story for you here, in case I never find a place to fit it into the actual narrative. The name "Reltseotu" is actually a word meaning "artist"--in the "Na'vi" language of the "Avatar" movie. I imagine that the parents of the young Reltseotu Smith were "Avatar" fans, but were also believers in Christ. Their changing of their daughter's name from "Rebecca" would have happened in or around the _present_ time, as in September 2010 when I am writing this post. The Smiths would have seen what I see: the increasing tendency for society to pretend that taking a stand for Jesus is "hate speech." So they tried to give their daughter a sort of protective coloring, by changing her first name from a Biblical name to a pagan-fantasy name--very much as Esther in the Book of Esther underwent a change from her original name of Hadassah. It's true as I say above that they were "Avatar" fans, but also true that they were thinking of their child's future.
Reltseotu has benefitted pragmatically from the re-labelling; it was part of the reason why Neutron Invincible was able to keep the Pinkshirts away from this girl she had taken a liking to. But Reltseotu has not shown much gratitude to her parents for trying to safeguard her; it is also in the back-story that she has never bothered trying to communicate with them in their imprisonment. Like Odette Galloway, however...she can still be redeemed.
Reltseotu has benefitted pragmatically from the re-labelling; it was part of the reason why Neutron Invincible was able to keep the Pinkshirts away from this girl she had taken a liking to. But Reltseotu has not shown much gratitude to her parents for trying to safeguard her; it is also in the back-story that she has never bothered trying to communicate with them in their imprisonment. Like Odette Galloway, however...she can still be redeemed.
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 33: Gills for the Guiltless
The portion of Wyoming NOT included in the Enclave was like a letter C, enclosing the fenced-off part that bordered Nebraska and South Dakota (though the slant of the Continental Divide caused the southwest corner of the Enclave to be rounded off more than the northwest corner). Ownership of the non-Enclave areas of Wyoming was divided between the Rocky Mountain and Great Plains Federal Districts, the former having the larger share in terms of perimeter length. The Fairness Party had been determined to maintain a land buffer between the Enclave and the former state of Colorado that had been annexed by Aztlan, as well as to keep Yellowstone National Park (with its supervolcano) outside the reservation, AND to give the exiles no part of the Rocky Mountains in which they might be harder to observe with satellites. It was at a northwesterly point on the curved dividing line of Wyoming that a town existed which was the only entirely new settlement built for exile habitation _since_ the Enclave had been planned.
With an ear for intentional incongruity, the Undersecretary of Sustainable Energy had furnished the name for this town: Frontier Plaza. Personnel of her department, and of the Overseers, operated a communications and air-surveillance station here atop one of the foothills, with the mountains in plain view. This was one federal site inside the Enclave which had a purpose _other_ than controlling the exiles and generating electricity; it was part of the limited early-warning network which remained to the demilitarized Diversity States. Exiles--particularly ones employed by Life Quality Incorporated and the Federal Consumer Merchandise Service--had been allowed to settle near the station, so as to provide various amenities to the government workers. Frontier Plaza had, if anything, become a livelier community since this year's invasions of D.S. airspace by Aztlano fighter jets. Among themselves, the station personnel did not have to pretend that the Aztlano aggression had been in any way "provoked by Texan racism."
No exile had been told whether the early-warning station possessed any kind of _weapons_ that might be used if Aztlano aircraft overflew the Enclave with hostile intent.
At the end of this Friday, which was his first full day of acquaintance with Henry Spafford and Gabe Ellison, Bert Randall rode with them into Frontier Plaza. Gabe was greeted by a fellow black man, who was quick to express interest in the cougar hide that Gabe had with him. A barter deal was struck on the spot: a case of canned vegetables, a large box of matches, and two new pairs of undershorts for the cougar hide. "Things I can't exactly pick off a tree," Gabe remarked to Bert.
"What will your friend do with the hide?" the Australian asked. "Use it as a decorative rug, since you left the head attached?"
"That's exactly what he'll do. He's got a tiny taxidermy shop in the back of his house, so he can fix it up right. Then he'll sell it to the first federal worker who's interested. You'd be surprised at how many of the Overseers and Energy workers love to own hunting souvenirs."
"What, a rare novelty, because of all the no-animal-products rules outside the Enclave?"
"Exactly," said Gabe. "They decorate their living quarters like hunting lodges; but only the high-ranking ones can get away with taking the furs and things with them when they transfer elsewhere. Just as only the upper class can get away with eating meat on the outside."
"I'm glad you're _permitted_ to transact business, without them telling you that you're compromising the integrity of the Grange. Henry, do you have anything to sell here?"
"No. Unlike certain evil bourgeois capitalists, I'm here _purely_ in my Granger capacity." The Apache grinned at his African-American comrade, then looked at Bert again. "I expect to pick up more letters from folks here, to take to points east. Some of the letters are likely to be for persons in or near Sussex, so if you want to send one to anyone there, I could carry it also."
"Thanks," Bert told him, "but I'll just phone back there if I need to. What you can really do for me is to return my horse to the family I borrowed it from. This riding's been fun, but I mustn't keep the horse for too long, and I plan to ride a train after this."
Henry suddenly asked a question: "Mr. Randall, is education the _only_ thing you do research on? Since education is viewed in the D.S.A. as a way to form new conformists, do you ever think about studying _other_ things that create or enforce conformity in America? Like the activities of the Overseers?"
The young man's expression had grown intense--more like a brave on the warpath two hundred years ago, than like the laid-back type he normally was. He seemed even to be forgetting the hazard of being overheard in a place like Frontier Plaza.
The portion of Wyoming NOT included in the Enclave was like a letter C, enclosing the fenced-off part that bordered Nebraska and South Dakota (though the slant of the Continental Divide caused the southwest corner of the Enclave to be rounded off more than the northwest corner). Ownership of the non-Enclave areas of Wyoming was divided between the Rocky Mountain and Great Plains Federal Districts, the former having the larger share in terms of perimeter length. The Fairness Party had been determined to maintain a land buffer between the Enclave and the former state of Colorado that had been annexed by Aztlan, as well as to keep Yellowstone National Park (with its supervolcano) outside the reservation, AND to give the exiles no part of the Rocky Mountains in which they might be harder to observe with satellites. It was at a northwesterly point on the curved dividing line of Wyoming that a town existed which was the only entirely new settlement built for exile habitation _since_ the Enclave had been planned.
With an ear for intentional incongruity, the Undersecretary of Sustainable Energy had furnished the name for this town: Frontier Plaza. Personnel of her department, and of the Overseers, operated a communications and air-surveillance station here atop one of the foothills, with the mountains in plain view. This was one federal site inside the Enclave which had a purpose _other_ than controlling the exiles and generating electricity; it was part of the limited early-warning network which remained to the demilitarized Diversity States. Exiles--particularly ones employed by Life Quality Incorporated and the Federal Consumer Merchandise Service--had been allowed to settle near the station, so as to provide various amenities to the government workers. Frontier Plaza had, if anything, become a livelier community since this year's invasions of D.S. airspace by Aztlano fighter jets. Among themselves, the station personnel did not have to pretend that the Aztlano aggression had been in any way "provoked by Texan racism."
No exile had been told whether the early-warning station possessed any kind of _weapons_ that might be used if Aztlano aircraft overflew the Enclave with hostile intent.
At the end of this Friday, which was his first full day of acquaintance with Henry Spafford and Gabe Ellison, Bert Randall rode with them into Frontier Plaza. Gabe was greeted by a fellow black man, who was quick to express interest in the cougar hide that Gabe had with him. A barter deal was struck on the spot: a case of canned vegetables, a large box of matches, and two new pairs of undershorts for the cougar hide. "Things I can't exactly pick off a tree," Gabe remarked to Bert.
"What will your friend do with the hide?" the Australian asked. "Use it as a decorative rug, since you left the head attached?"
"That's exactly what he'll do. He's got a tiny taxidermy shop in the back of his house, so he can fix it up right. Then he'll sell it to the first federal worker who's interested. You'd be surprised at how many of the Overseers and Energy workers love to own hunting souvenirs."
"What, a rare novelty, because of all the no-animal-products rules outside the Enclave?"
"Exactly," said Gabe. "They decorate their living quarters like hunting lodges; but only the high-ranking ones can get away with taking the furs and things with them when they transfer elsewhere. Just as only the upper class can get away with eating meat on the outside."
"I'm glad you're _permitted_ to transact business, without them telling you that you're compromising the integrity of the Grange. Henry, do you have anything to sell here?"
"No. Unlike certain evil bourgeois capitalists, I'm here _purely_ in my Granger capacity." The Apache grinned at his African-American comrade, then looked at Bert again. "I expect to pick up more letters from folks here, to take to points east. Some of the letters are likely to be for persons in or near Sussex, so if you want to send one to anyone there, I could carry it also."
"Thanks," Bert told him, "but I'll just phone back there if I need to. What you can really do for me is to return my horse to the family I borrowed it from. This riding's been fun, but I mustn't keep the horse for too long, and I plan to ride a train after this."
Henry suddenly asked a question: "Mr. Randall, is education the _only_ thing you do research on? Since education is viewed in the D.S.A. as a way to form new conformists, do you ever think about studying _other_ things that create or enforce conformity in America? Like the activities of the Overseers?"
The young man's expression had grown intense--more like a brave on the warpath two hundred years ago, than like the laid-back type he normally was. He seemed even to be forgetting the hazard of being overheard in a place like Frontier Plaza.
Last edited:
It seems odd that the Chinese would want the Diversity States de-militarized, but at the same time allow for its Pinkshirts and Overseers to so completely control everyone with high-tech weapons. They must have a lot of confidence in the stupidity of American officials.
Copperfox
Well-known member
The thing is that quantity and power of weapons permitted them are limited. Much earlier in the story, I noted that the particle beams possessed by the patrolling Overseers can only shoot a few times before having to be recharged at one of their bases. And though I didn't add this at the time, you can take it from me that the power level per shot is such that effective range is limited. Probably at any distance greater than a mile, the most an Overseer particle beam could do to you would be to give you a sunburn. The Chinese, by contrast, would surely have particle beams which can fire many times in quick succession, and whose blast could fry a hundred men into bacon strips _twenty_ miles away.
Those surplus Russian airplanes which the Texans are working on as defense against Aztlan will be mounting somewhat stronger beam weapons than what Overseer motorcycles carry, but still "weak" enough that the Chinese permit them. Even though the Chinese government made possible the creation of the People's Republic of Aztlan, they don't want Aztlan to be able to make trouble without restraint--especially since the remnant of the Chinese mafia has begun collaborating with the Aztlano gangs.
Those surplus Russian airplanes which the Texans are working on as defense against Aztlan will be mounting somewhat stronger beam weapons than what Overseer motorcycles carry, but still "weak" enough that the Chinese permit them. Even though the Chinese government made possible the creation of the People's Republic of Aztlan, they don't want Aztlan to be able to make trouble without restraint--especially since the remnant of the Chinese mafia has begun collaborating with the Aztlano gangs.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Saturday morning in Casper saw Cecilia Havens and her daughter Harmony visiting Miguel and Tilly De Soto. Miguel by now had made his commitment to Jesus Christ clear and emphatic, and was as ready to die as anyone had any right to ask a cancer patient to be. Which was a good thing, since Dr. Torvill now expected Miguel to be around no longer than another six weeks.
The good doctor had succeeded in scrounging a third oxygen tank for Miguel's use. This, too, was a good thing, since Miguel's failing lungs now needed a heavier flow of oxygen, thus using up each tank sooner. In view of electrical-utility stinginess, multiple homes had been furnishing electricity for the oxygen separator and pump; on weekends, this meant the Havens residence and two others which had weekend electrical power. Tilly, and the helpers who took some of the burden for her, had seemed never to get any break from refilling one tank while the other was in use, until the additional tank was delivered. The new tank even had a larger capacity than the first two, so it had promptly been designated for nighttime use. With this tank on the lighter flow setting for when Miguel slept, Tillie could now count on at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep each night for herself (or whoever acted in her place) before a change of tank was necessary.
"Good morning, Miguel," said Cecilia, once Tilly had brought her and Harmony to the sunny room where the newspaper man spent his daylight hours. "Are you _still_ working on those memoirs?"
"Sure am," he wheezed past his cannula. "Ulysses Grant had cancer, too...but he didn't let it...stop _him_ from writing memoirs...And he was writing by hand...just like me." Miguel was putting on paper many anecdotes and reflections from his long experience as an anti-Communist Cuban; he considered this work his supreme flashlight beaming into the night sky. Only a few persons knew that he was composing this grand indictment against collectivist government and the persecution of dissenters. He still did some of the editing and a bit of writing for the Wyoming Observer, chiefly to conceal the fact that a separate project was his real priority now. The brunt of the newspaper business was being handled now by Eric, Cecilia and Harmony Havens. (Terrance would have been capable of contributing text also, but he had too little time to spare from manual labor these days.)
Miguel and his few confidants could not say when there might be a chance for the memoirs to be read by someone who would profit by their content. There would be no launching this manuscript on arrows over the perimeter fence--especially not since the ominous rumor had spread of some exile in the Nebraska Sector getting killed while making an escape attempt, right near the place where Miguel had pulled his crossbow stunt when he still had the strength.
But he had to try to pass to others what he had learned in his life; and with his new-found faith in Jesus, he was now adding a few Biblical points to what would otherwise have been a purely political tract (albeit a truthful one with worthy messages). His longest single dissertation on a spiritual theme used his wife as the illustration of Proverbs chapter 31, lavishing deserved praise on Tilly for her faithful efforts to help him in his ordeal.
"We had a phone call from Kim," Harmony told the De Sotos. "She told us enough about those foreigners visiting the house to make a great article. I have an outline for it; Tilly, maybe you would have time to check it out."
Tilly answered minimally, not because she didn't welcome the input for the Observer but simply due to fatigue: "I can do that."
The good doctor had succeeded in scrounging a third oxygen tank for Miguel's use. This, too, was a good thing, since Miguel's failing lungs now needed a heavier flow of oxygen, thus using up each tank sooner. In view of electrical-utility stinginess, multiple homes had been furnishing electricity for the oxygen separator and pump; on weekends, this meant the Havens residence and two others which had weekend electrical power. Tilly, and the helpers who took some of the burden for her, had seemed never to get any break from refilling one tank while the other was in use, until the additional tank was delivered. The new tank even had a larger capacity than the first two, so it had promptly been designated for nighttime use. With this tank on the lighter flow setting for when Miguel slept, Tillie could now count on at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep each night for herself (or whoever acted in her place) before a change of tank was necessary.
"Good morning, Miguel," said Cecilia, once Tilly had brought her and Harmony to the sunny room where the newspaper man spent his daylight hours. "Are you _still_ working on those memoirs?"
"Sure am," he wheezed past his cannula. "Ulysses Grant had cancer, too...but he didn't let it...stop _him_ from writing memoirs...And he was writing by hand...just like me." Miguel was putting on paper many anecdotes and reflections from his long experience as an anti-Communist Cuban; he considered this work his supreme flashlight beaming into the night sky. Only a few persons knew that he was composing this grand indictment against collectivist government and the persecution of dissenters. He still did some of the editing and a bit of writing for the Wyoming Observer, chiefly to conceal the fact that a separate project was his real priority now. The brunt of the newspaper business was being handled now by Eric, Cecilia and Harmony Havens. (Terrance would have been capable of contributing text also, but he had too little time to spare from manual labor these days.)
Miguel and his few confidants could not say when there might be a chance for the memoirs to be read by someone who would profit by their content. There would be no launching this manuscript on arrows over the perimeter fence--especially not since the ominous rumor had spread of some exile in the Nebraska Sector getting killed while making an escape attempt, right near the place where Miguel had pulled his crossbow stunt when he still had the strength.
But he had to try to pass to others what he had learned in his life; and with his new-found faith in Jesus, he was now adding a few Biblical points to what would otherwise have been a purely political tract (albeit a truthful one with worthy messages). His longest single dissertation on a spiritual theme used his wife as the illustration of Proverbs chapter 31, lavishing deserved praise on Tilly for her faithful efforts to help him in his ordeal.
"We had a phone call from Kim," Harmony told the De Sotos. "She told us enough about those foreigners visiting the house to make a great article. I have an outline for it; Tilly, maybe you would have time to check it out."
Tilly answered minimally, not because she didn't welcome the input for the Observer but simply due to fatigue: "I can do that."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Cecilia and Harmony spent the next two hours performing miscellaneous housework for Tilly that Tilly had been unable to make time for because of her husband's needs. This was something Cecilia had done plenty of during several years in which she had been a hospice volunteer in Richmond. They finished by preparing lunch for Tilly and Miguel, a lunch which the couple would eat by themselves after the two helpers had prayed with them and left.
The dying Miguel and the careworn Tilly were glad enough to let Cecilia lead the prayer. She covered intercessions for the needs of others they cared about, before coming to the subject of her two friends themselves. Her eyes leaked fresh tears as she prayed:
"Lord, Your Word says that our times are in Your hands...and that it's better to enter Heaven with a damaged body, than to have an intact body but be lost for eternity. We thank You so much that Miguel is Your child now, and IS headed for Heaven; and we ask you to comfort Tilly, and reward her for her faithfulness and love to Miguel. But still...God, I don't want You to have to say that we had not because we asked not. With all the things Miguel has learned from a long lifetime, he could be _such_ a fisher of men...if You would be pleased to let him _stay_ in this world for more time. I mean, time with life and health, not still suffering! So although Your will is sovereign, I am _asking_ You, even this late in the day, to _heal_ our friend. Actually, genuinely to heal him, to _destroy_ this thief which is robbing him of life and robbing us of his fellowship! Please, Lord, let Miguel BE with us, to help gather the fish into Your heavenly net! In Jesus' name, amen."
Miguel said nothing; but Tilly caught Cecilia's eye and hoarsely echoed, "Amen."
When the two Havens women began the walk home, Harmony was deep in thought. Suddenly, around the halfway point of their walk, the young Chinese-born woman stopped in her tracks and grabbed at her head, as if trying to prevent an idea from escaping out of her brain.
"Fish! That's it, Mom--fish! Mom, fish have _gills!_" Now her hands changed to waving wildly in the air between herself and her startled mother.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?"
"It's an answer! Gills!" Harmony flung her arms around her mother, who was the person she loved most in all the world. "Mom, God put that fish part in your mind when you prayed, so that I would remember the gills! Gills! My report, two years before we were exiled! Gills! Don't you remember?"
Then Cecilia did remember. Harmony had written a science report about current progress in creating prosthetic gills for persons doing aquatic work--such as beach lifeguards, so that they could not themselves be drowned by the struggles of drowning swimmers they were saving. One point Harmony's paper had covered was that fish out of water could still breathe for a little while because the moisture still in their gill flaps would absorb and dissolve surrounding air--and that the latest artificial gills were likewise designed so they could be made wet and also give benefit even while the human wearer was _out_ of the water.
"You mean, gills for Miguel?" Cecilia gasped, hugging her daughter back as the thrill of a new possibility took hold of her too.
"Yes! Gills! Mom, you know the excuse the bosses give us for not helping Miguel: the only cures that would work for him would involve computerized technology, and they 'have to' keep computer technology away from us exiles. But it _must_ be possible for a set of gills to be transplanted into Miguel's neck by an operation that _doesn't_ depend on any computers! It's only losing the use of his lungs that has him close to death; if he had gills, they would put oxygen in his blood without his lungs! It wouldn't actually cure the cancer, but it could give him months more, maybe years more, of meaningful, active life!"
Mother and daughter squeezed each other in a shuddering of hope for their suffering friend. Of course, as any Buddhist might have pointed out, to have hope also meant to fear disappointment. "Harmony, we mustn't tell the De Sotos yet."
"I know, Mom. False hope's the cruellest thing there is. But we _have_ to try to find a way to make this happen!"
"Your Dad has as many helpful contacts as any exile in health care can have. You know he'll do what he can when he hears this idea." Cecilia gently tugged at Harmony, and they resumed walking.
"Yes, I know Dad will do as much as possible. But maybe there's another possibility besides. Do you remember the saying 'God does all things for each'? Maybe God had Miguel in mind when He planned for that Chinese man to visit the Enclave. Dad says that when Beijing sneezes, the Rainbow House offers its own sleeve as a hanky. If that man Yang would ask the triumvirate to let Miguel have gill implants, since it wouldn't really be asking them to change any stated policy, I'll bet they would agree!"
The dying Miguel and the careworn Tilly were glad enough to let Cecilia lead the prayer. She covered intercessions for the needs of others they cared about, before coming to the subject of her two friends themselves. Her eyes leaked fresh tears as she prayed:
"Lord, Your Word says that our times are in Your hands...and that it's better to enter Heaven with a damaged body, than to have an intact body but be lost for eternity. We thank You so much that Miguel is Your child now, and IS headed for Heaven; and we ask you to comfort Tilly, and reward her for her faithfulness and love to Miguel. But still...God, I don't want You to have to say that we had not because we asked not. With all the things Miguel has learned from a long lifetime, he could be _such_ a fisher of men...if You would be pleased to let him _stay_ in this world for more time. I mean, time with life and health, not still suffering! So although Your will is sovereign, I am _asking_ You, even this late in the day, to _heal_ our friend. Actually, genuinely to heal him, to _destroy_ this thief which is robbing him of life and robbing us of his fellowship! Please, Lord, let Miguel BE with us, to help gather the fish into Your heavenly net! In Jesus' name, amen."
Miguel said nothing; but Tilly caught Cecilia's eye and hoarsely echoed, "Amen."
When the two Havens women began the walk home, Harmony was deep in thought. Suddenly, around the halfway point of their walk, the young Chinese-born woman stopped in her tracks and grabbed at her head, as if trying to prevent an idea from escaping out of her brain.
"Fish! That's it, Mom--fish! Mom, fish have _gills!_" Now her hands changed to waving wildly in the air between herself and her startled mother.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?"
"It's an answer! Gills!" Harmony flung her arms around her mother, who was the person she loved most in all the world. "Mom, God put that fish part in your mind when you prayed, so that I would remember the gills! Gills! My report, two years before we were exiled! Gills! Don't you remember?"
Then Cecilia did remember. Harmony had written a science report about current progress in creating prosthetic gills for persons doing aquatic work--such as beach lifeguards, so that they could not themselves be drowned by the struggles of drowning swimmers they were saving. One point Harmony's paper had covered was that fish out of water could still breathe for a little while because the moisture still in their gill flaps would absorb and dissolve surrounding air--and that the latest artificial gills were likewise designed so they could be made wet and also give benefit even while the human wearer was _out_ of the water.
"You mean, gills for Miguel?" Cecilia gasped, hugging her daughter back as the thrill of a new possibility took hold of her too.
"Yes! Gills! Mom, you know the excuse the bosses give us for not helping Miguel: the only cures that would work for him would involve computerized technology, and they 'have to' keep computer technology away from us exiles. But it _must_ be possible for a set of gills to be transplanted into Miguel's neck by an operation that _doesn't_ depend on any computers! It's only losing the use of his lungs that has him close to death; if he had gills, they would put oxygen in his blood without his lungs! It wouldn't actually cure the cancer, but it could give him months more, maybe years more, of meaningful, active life!"
Mother and daughter squeezed each other in a shuddering of hope for their suffering friend. Of course, as any Buddhist might have pointed out, to have hope also meant to fear disappointment. "Harmony, we mustn't tell the De Sotos yet."
"I know, Mom. False hope's the cruellest thing there is. But we _have_ to try to find a way to make this happen!"
"Your Dad has as many helpful contacts as any exile in health care can have. You know he'll do what he can when he hears this idea." Cecilia gently tugged at Harmony, and they resumed walking.
"Yes, I know Dad will do as much as possible. But maybe there's another possibility besides. Do you remember the saying 'God does all things for each'? Maybe God had Miguel in mind when He planned for that Chinese man to visit the Enclave. Dad says that when Beijing sneezes, the Rainbow House offers its own sleeve as a hanky. If that man Yang would ask the triumvirate to let Miguel have gill implants, since it wouldn't really be asking them to change any stated policy, I'll bet they would agree!"
Copperfox
Well-known member
With Bert Randall still absent, it was supper for two at the Lathrop house. In the background, Sylvia's tape player was playing an extremely rare tape copy of an album by Joel Steinke, an obscure 20th-century Christian singer and composer from Wisconsin, who had deserved more attention than he ever got on Earth--but who at least had been a great inspiration to Sylvia and her deceased Harry.
" 'If you love your life you'll lose it' were the words of Christ,
But there are so few who will heed that advice.
While the righteous man progresses into love and peace of mind,
The lovers of their life are falling far behind..."
Yang Sung-Kuo finished his first helping of stewed grouse; then, as his hostess dished out seconds for him, he said casually, "Citizen Lathrop, you want to convert me to Christianity, don't you?"
"Of course I do," she replied just as casually. "After all, coming to Jesus would not cost you your job now, as would once have been the case in your country."
"True. Would you please pass those biscuits?....Thank you. Tupsim would be more upset than General Shuei would be, since he's an open-minded agnostic, while she's a lifelong Buddhist."
Sylvia shrugged. "I wouldn't ask you to accept any belief unless you become convinced that it's true. But if it's true, then it has a claim on you, no matter who doesn't like it. You don't have to satisfy me; but if my God is real, you _will_ have to answer to Him one day."
"For sins?" Yang's voice turned maybe one degree colder.
"For the ultimately central and essential question of whether you desired truth, or _didn't_ desire it. That song that's just been playing, based on something Jesus said in the Gospels, isn't calling on anyone to perform this particular action, or confess that particular action as wrong. It's about which direction your spirit is oriented. If truth gets into the core of your being, the details will work themselves out."
The Major sighed; he wasn't really annoyed with this kindly old woman, but this was an uneasy subject to think about. "You and your friends have certainly picked an unpopular orientation."
"So we have; but I can't say that the establishment outside the fence gives us much incentive to prefer its orientation. You've spent time in several American cities; how many _elderly_ persons did you meet?"
Yang stopped to think about that. "Not very many, actually."
"That's because, out there, the elderly are disposable. A person my age, if she has any serious illness, and if she has no position of privilege, doesn't even receive any treatment. The young simply celebrate the completion of her life, congratulate themselves on being 'sustainable,' and go back to their carousing."
"We did it at the other end of the lifespan," Yang muttered to himself in Mandarin. The conversation faded; they finished eating in a subdued quiet.
While clearing the dishes from the table, Sylvia patted her lodger's shoulder. "Just keep what I've told you in a file. If God really wants you in this orientation, maybe He'll make Himself known to Mrs. Yang by some other means."
A minute later, the telephone rang. The call was from Alipang and Kim's house, but the caller was Alipang's sister Harmony. The young woman had caught a train up from Casper, and was now practically begging for a chance to meet with Yang Sung-Kuo.
" 'If you love your life you'll lose it' were the words of Christ,
But there are so few who will heed that advice.
While the righteous man progresses into love and peace of mind,
The lovers of their life are falling far behind..."
Yang Sung-Kuo finished his first helping of stewed grouse; then, as his hostess dished out seconds for him, he said casually, "Citizen Lathrop, you want to convert me to Christianity, don't you?"
"Of course I do," she replied just as casually. "After all, coming to Jesus would not cost you your job now, as would once have been the case in your country."
"True. Would you please pass those biscuits?....Thank you. Tupsim would be more upset than General Shuei would be, since he's an open-minded agnostic, while she's a lifelong Buddhist."
Sylvia shrugged. "I wouldn't ask you to accept any belief unless you become convinced that it's true. But if it's true, then it has a claim on you, no matter who doesn't like it. You don't have to satisfy me; but if my God is real, you _will_ have to answer to Him one day."
"For sins?" Yang's voice turned maybe one degree colder.
"For the ultimately central and essential question of whether you desired truth, or _didn't_ desire it. That song that's just been playing, based on something Jesus said in the Gospels, isn't calling on anyone to perform this particular action, or confess that particular action as wrong. It's about which direction your spirit is oriented. If truth gets into the core of your being, the details will work themselves out."
The Major sighed; he wasn't really annoyed with this kindly old woman, but this was an uneasy subject to think about. "You and your friends have certainly picked an unpopular orientation."
"So we have; but I can't say that the establishment outside the fence gives us much incentive to prefer its orientation. You've spent time in several American cities; how many _elderly_ persons did you meet?"
Yang stopped to think about that. "Not very many, actually."
"That's because, out there, the elderly are disposable. A person my age, if she has any serious illness, and if she has no position of privilege, doesn't even receive any treatment. The young simply celebrate the completion of her life, congratulate themselves on being 'sustainable,' and go back to their carousing."
"We did it at the other end of the lifespan," Yang muttered to himself in Mandarin. The conversation faded; they finished eating in a subdued quiet.
While clearing the dishes from the table, Sylvia patted her lodger's shoulder. "Just keep what I've told you in a file. If God really wants you in this orientation, maybe He'll make Himself known to Mrs. Yang by some other means."
A minute later, the telephone rang. The call was from Alipang and Kim's house, but the caller was Alipang's sister Harmony. The young woman had caught a train up from Casper, and was now practically begging for a chance to meet with Yang Sung-Kuo.
Copperfox
Well-known member
As soon as Yang had some idea of what was going on, he asked Sylvia to let him speak to Harmony. When the receiver was at his ear, he told the caller, "This is--" He almost finished "--Major Yang," but changed it to "--Yang Sung-Kuo. You're Alipang Havens' sister? What can I do for you?"
For a young woman over the age of twenty, Harmony's experience at speaking with unfamiliar men was quite limited. Nervousness due to this, plus the urgency of her purpose, turned her speech into rapid-fire babbling. "Yes, I'm his sister, Al says it was interesting having you and your colleague visit there, I mean Kim really told me that, but Al agrees, I hope it was interesting for you too, we all figure you must be a man of some importance to be allowed inside the Enclave, China being the superpower and all, but nobody knows if you plan to visit our town, did they tell you I'm Chinese too?"
"Yes, I've heard that you're Chinese. Your friend Lorraine's invisible fiance seems to be Chinese also. My wife, on the other hand, happens to be Thai." It was highly unlikely that any woman from the Havens family was going to be a promiscuous pest, but Yang figured it never hurt to make his married status clear to women when travelling. "Now, how does my importance come into this conversation?"
Harmony audibly took a deep breath. "Sir, this will sound a little strange, but you must realize by now that our lives here are strange in several ways. Look, may I please come over and speak to you in person?"
"After what I've seen of the animal life in your settlement, I don't like to be the cause of a young woman venturing outdoors at night, even in town. Are you at your brother's house?"
"Yes, and if you're about to suggest that you come here instead, I already know it'll be all right with Al and Kim."
"Then I shall. It won't be long."
Telling Sylvia that she needn't wait up for him--and adding, "Who knows, maybe this girl and her family will convert me the rest of the way?"--Yang took his pistol and stepped out the door. It was an easy run, by his standards, to where the town dentist lived; and when he knocked on the door and Alipang opened it, Yang felt a tiny proud satisfaction at seeing that the Filipino looked surprised that he had gotten there so fast on foot.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Yang. This is my sister Harmony. What she's going to talk about is her own idea, so she deserves the right to explain it to you. Only, let me establish up front that what she will ask of you is nothing against your country's interests, nothing contrary to the laws imposed on us exiles, and nothing that should have any adverse affect on your own stay here."
"Thank you, Dr. Havens." Yang looked from the coarse-featured Alipang to his better-looking younger sister. Having a detailed knowledge of all Chinese ethnic groups, Yang could tell that Harmony was not a Han Chinese, but from one of the minorities within China proper, probably a Yao. Not that she would know her own parentage, given the circumstances of her adoption by Eric and Cecilia Havens. She was a living reminder of the consequences of the old One-Child policy, a rule Yang privately considered a disgrace to his homeland. This made him, an enforcer of Beijing's rules, more inclined to give a favorable hearing to whatever it was she wanted.
For a young woman over the age of twenty, Harmony's experience at speaking with unfamiliar men was quite limited. Nervousness due to this, plus the urgency of her purpose, turned her speech into rapid-fire babbling. "Yes, I'm his sister, Al says it was interesting having you and your colleague visit there, I mean Kim really told me that, but Al agrees, I hope it was interesting for you too, we all figure you must be a man of some importance to be allowed inside the Enclave, China being the superpower and all, but nobody knows if you plan to visit our town, did they tell you I'm Chinese too?"
"Yes, I've heard that you're Chinese. Your friend Lorraine's invisible fiance seems to be Chinese also. My wife, on the other hand, happens to be Thai." It was highly unlikely that any woman from the Havens family was going to be a promiscuous pest, but Yang figured it never hurt to make his married status clear to women when travelling. "Now, how does my importance come into this conversation?"
Harmony audibly took a deep breath. "Sir, this will sound a little strange, but you must realize by now that our lives here are strange in several ways. Look, may I please come over and speak to you in person?"
"After what I've seen of the animal life in your settlement, I don't like to be the cause of a young woman venturing outdoors at night, even in town. Are you at your brother's house?"
"Yes, and if you're about to suggest that you come here instead, I already know it'll be all right with Al and Kim."
"Then I shall. It won't be long."
Telling Sylvia that she needn't wait up for him--and adding, "Who knows, maybe this girl and her family will convert me the rest of the way?"--Yang took his pistol and stepped out the door. It was an easy run, by his standards, to where the town dentist lived; and when he knocked on the door and Alipang opened it, Yang felt a tiny proud satisfaction at seeing that the Filipino looked surprised that he had gotten there so fast on foot.
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Yang. This is my sister Harmony. What she's going to talk about is her own idea, so she deserves the right to explain it to you. Only, let me establish up front that what she will ask of you is nothing against your country's interests, nothing contrary to the laws imposed on us exiles, and nothing that should have any adverse affect on your own stay here."
"Thank you, Dr. Havens." Yang looked from the coarse-featured Alipang to his better-looking younger sister. Having a detailed knowledge of all Chinese ethnic groups, Yang could tell that Harmony was not a Han Chinese, but from one of the minorities within China proper, probably a Yao. Not that she would know her own parentage, given the circumstances of her adoption by Eric and Cecilia Havens. She was a living reminder of the consequences of the old One-Child policy, a rule Yang privately considered a disgrace to his homeland. This made him, an enforcer of Beijing's rules, more inclined to give a favorable hearing to whatever it was she wanted.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Yang took a seat, and Kim brought him some herbal tea. Ransom and Wilson hovered silently but with undisguised curiosity. Lorraine was upstairs minding the young children, and keeping out of range of any intrusive questions the visitor might ask about Bill Shao.
"Mr. Yang," Harmony began, "have you seen our little regional newspaper?"
The Major nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Lathrop and a few others have shown me copies of recent issues. A good piece of work, in view of your limited technical resources."
"Thank you. If you saw anything about the Philippines, my brother wrote that. But 'limited technical resources' touches the very heart of the favor I need to ask of you. Let me tell you about Miguel De Soto, the founder of the Wyoming Observer."
"I hear that he's ill."
"Dying, actually," Alipang interjected, "and of a disease which has been completely curable in the world at large for several years now." Kim squeezed his arm, pleading with him not to unleash his resentment of the callousness of the triumvirate. Harmony had her plan made. Alipang subsided, and his sister continued as if nothing amiss had happened.
"Miguel De Soto and his wife live down in Casper, where I live with my parents and younger brother. Around the start of summer, Mr. De Soto was diagnosed with Adenoid-Cystic Carcinoma, and it has metastasized fast. As is typical of this cancer, it has taken over the pleura, and is constricting Mr. De Soto's lungs. He already needs oxygen to live, and he isn't expected to last even two more months... under the prevailing infrastructure conditions of the Enclave."
"Your brother is right about that being curable," observed Yang. "In China, we use intersecting microfocussed sound waves to destroy tumors inside the body, cell by cell. Nanobots can also be used. Or a patient's own stem cells can be modified to fight the cancer."
"Yes, for a person whose body cannot tolerate taxane chemotherapy--which is the case with Mr. De Soto--those three treatments are the options for an Adenoid-Cystic patient. And they work. But both of them by necessity are performed with sophisticated computer guidance. And as you have seen, the Enclave is at a relatively primitive level of infrastructure. Neither my father, nor Alipang here, possesses any form of computer at all, not for their dental practice or for any other purpose. Various factors, including limits to available electrical current, make it unlikely that civilian Enclave residents will have any access to modern data processing anytime soon--certainly not soon enough to do Mr. De Soto any good. Ours is a society still in the making." Harmony now fell silent; she and her family could see that wheels were turning in Yang's head.
The visitor shifted in his seat, not taking his eyes off the young woman. "Citizen Havens--what a stupid form of address, it means equally everyone in this room except me and Ransom Kramer--Harmony, I like your sense of discretion. You have spoken of your people's situation in a way that an uninformed person would accept as the full truth; you have _avoided_ mentioning the _real_ reason why Mr. De Soto can't get the treatment he needs. The regional rulers, or those to whom they answer, simply DON'T FEEL LIKE helping your friend. But since I come from the very nation which sponsored the creation of the regime under which you now exist, you see no point in complaining to me. So you seek to reach your request _without_ having openly spoken against your rulers in the process. That's well done. But on the telephone, you talked as if you already knew of a way to get around your dilemma. So tell me what that way is."
Harmony therefore told him her idea about gill implants, concluding with: "You see, it _wouldn't_ violate any standing rule. If any computer technology were needed in making the gills, that part could be done outside the Enclave, so no exile would come near a computer. The surgery to put the gills in place could be done by ordinary human surgeons' hands."
Yang was intrigued. "And what about cost?"
Kim, feeling as if things were going their way, now forgot the caution she had enjoined on Alipang. "Our friends and relatives on the outside haven't had ALL their income confiscated, nor are we entirely unable to communicate with them. We could line up twenty or thirty persons outside the fence who could raise the money to do this for us."
Harmony smiled nervously. "Yeah, what she said. And all we ask of you is that you say a few _words_ to the bosses while you're still here: tell them you see no reason why this shouldn't be allowed. You're Chinese; they don't want to antagonize China, and it would cost them very little to do as you suggest. Please, Mr. Yang....think of it as helping a collective that needs its intelligentsia."
Yang smiled. "You Americans used to be stereotyped as obsessed with profits. None of you, however, has mentioned the question of how * I * would profit by helping you."
"Unless you need a tooth filled," said Alipang, "we don't _have_ much to offer."
"Then this is your lucky night, friends. You're right that it would cost this regime hardly anything to grant your request, and it will cost me even less to relay and advocate your request. So I'll do it; and the _only_ thing I will ask in return is something which will not be dishonorable or humiliating to anyone concerned." Yang put it that way for the same reason he was in the habit of telling people he was married: so that no one would think for an instant that he was looking for anything immoral. Harmony Havens, after all, was an attractive girl; these exiles, accustomed to authority figures with no conscience, might well have dreaded that he would ask for...payment...from her. But the reward Yang would ask for himself should be morally acceptable all around.
"Mr. Yang," Harmony began, "have you seen our little regional newspaper?"
The Major nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Lathrop and a few others have shown me copies of recent issues. A good piece of work, in view of your limited technical resources."
"Thank you. If you saw anything about the Philippines, my brother wrote that. But 'limited technical resources' touches the very heart of the favor I need to ask of you. Let me tell you about Miguel De Soto, the founder of the Wyoming Observer."
"I hear that he's ill."
"Dying, actually," Alipang interjected, "and of a disease which has been completely curable in the world at large for several years now." Kim squeezed his arm, pleading with him not to unleash his resentment of the callousness of the triumvirate. Harmony had her plan made. Alipang subsided, and his sister continued as if nothing amiss had happened.
"Miguel De Soto and his wife live down in Casper, where I live with my parents and younger brother. Around the start of summer, Mr. De Soto was diagnosed with Adenoid-Cystic Carcinoma, and it has metastasized fast. As is typical of this cancer, it has taken over the pleura, and is constricting Mr. De Soto's lungs. He already needs oxygen to live, and he isn't expected to last even two more months... under the prevailing infrastructure conditions of the Enclave."
"Your brother is right about that being curable," observed Yang. "In China, we use intersecting microfocussed sound waves to destroy tumors inside the body, cell by cell. Nanobots can also be used. Or a patient's own stem cells can be modified to fight the cancer."
"Yes, for a person whose body cannot tolerate taxane chemotherapy--which is the case with Mr. De Soto--those three treatments are the options for an Adenoid-Cystic patient. And they work. But both of them by necessity are performed with sophisticated computer guidance. And as you have seen, the Enclave is at a relatively primitive level of infrastructure. Neither my father, nor Alipang here, possesses any form of computer at all, not for their dental practice or for any other purpose. Various factors, including limits to available electrical current, make it unlikely that civilian Enclave residents will have any access to modern data processing anytime soon--certainly not soon enough to do Mr. De Soto any good. Ours is a society still in the making." Harmony now fell silent; she and her family could see that wheels were turning in Yang's head.
The visitor shifted in his seat, not taking his eyes off the young woman. "Citizen Havens--what a stupid form of address, it means equally everyone in this room except me and Ransom Kramer--Harmony, I like your sense of discretion. You have spoken of your people's situation in a way that an uninformed person would accept as the full truth; you have _avoided_ mentioning the _real_ reason why Mr. De Soto can't get the treatment he needs. The regional rulers, or those to whom they answer, simply DON'T FEEL LIKE helping your friend. But since I come from the very nation which sponsored the creation of the regime under which you now exist, you see no point in complaining to me. So you seek to reach your request _without_ having openly spoken against your rulers in the process. That's well done. But on the telephone, you talked as if you already knew of a way to get around your dilemma. So tell me what that way is."
Harmony therefore told him her idea about gill implants, concluding with: "You see, it _wouldn't_ violate any standing rule. If any computer technology were needed in making the gills, that part could be done outside the Enclave, so no exile would come near a computer. The surgery to put the gills in place could be done by ordinary human surgeons' hands."
Yang was intrigued. "And what about cost?"
Kim, feeling as if things were going their way, now forgot the caution she had enjoined on Alipang. "Our friends and relatives on the outside haven't had ALL their income confiscated, nor are we entirely unable to communicate with them. We could line up twenty or thirty persons outside the fence who could raise the money to do this for us."
Harmony smiled nervously. "Yeah, what she said. And all we ask of you is that you say a few _words_ to the bosses while you're still here: tell them you see no reason why this shouldn't be allowed. You're Chinese; they don't want to antagonize China, and it would cost them very little to do as you suggest. Please, Mr. Yang....think of it as helping a collective that needs its intelligentsia."
Yang smiled. "You Americans used to be stereotyped as obsessed with profits. None of you, however, has mentioned the question of how * I * would profit by helping you."
"Unless you need a tooth filled," said Alipang, "we don't _have_ much to offer."
"Then this is your lucky night, friends. You're right that it would cost this regime hardly anything to grant your request, and it will cost me even less to relay and advocate your request. So I'll do it; and the _only_ thing I will ask in return is something which will not be dishonorable or humiliating to anyone concerned." Yang put it that way for the same reason he was in the habit of telling people he was married: so that no one would think for an instant that he was looking for anything immoral. Harmony Havens, after all, was an attractive girl; these exiles, accustomed to authority figures with no conscience, might well have dreaded that he would ask for...payment...from her. But the reward Yang would ask for himself should be morally acceptable all around.
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 34: Wyoming Proves Wild and Woolly
A day of miscellaneous transactions in and around Frontier Plaza included more postal customers turning up for Henry Spafford than the Apache Granger had anticipated. Though Grange volunteers were not paid a wage, there was nothing unethical about their accepting hospitality; and a handyman similar to Raoul Rochefort of Sussex had Henry over to lunch, his house thus becoming the point on which numerous townspeople converged with letters written hastily to seize the opportunity. Bert Randall, meanwhile, fed himself and Gabe Ellison by other means: the town had a small grocery store under the auspices of Workplace Food Services, where Bert bought sandwiches and bottles of low-alcohol beer for himself and his new friend. Clementine, of course, was given morsels of what the men were eating, along with another hunk of smoked cougar meat. Sitting on treestump seats near the livery stable where the three men's mounts were lodged--a service given free to the Grange riders, and ungrudgingly paid for by the Australian in his case--Bert and Gabe talked with the hearty randomness of new acquaintances who enjoy each other's company but know that their soon parting may be permanent.
Gabe told Bert some of his personal spiritual history as a Christian man--unaware that he was watering where Sylvia Lathrop had planted. One of Gabe's role models had been a black preacher of the previous generation, Jesse Lee Peterson, whose organization had advocated self-reliance under God. As a teenager, Gabe had witnessed America's last rally against totalitarian collectivism; as a college student, he had seen the public losing interest again in faith and responsibility. His perseverance in opposing the welfare state had cost him the love of his fiancee, and then had cost him his freedom. "But I wouldn't change anything I did," he told Bert; "my concern's to have a clean conscience before God, not before the Fairness Party."
Later in the day, it was Gabe who was attending to business of his own, and Henry who got to speak with Bert privately. The tension being still visible on his ruddy face, Bert resolved to ask him about it. "Is something bothering you, Henry? I mean, something more serious than Odette Galloway?"
Henry nodded. "A lot more serious. And you know what? Although the mirror-men are able in theory to eavesdrop on conversations almost anyplace, I've learned enough to know that in actual practice, their manpower and their level of interest mean that the odds favor their NOT hearing a conversation by anyone they aren't actively suspicious of. And I'm considered an okay guy since that plane crash, though I don't recall DOING anything at the scene."
"So that incident itself is bothering you?" asked Bert.
"Yeah, it is. I don't like not knowing something that happened to me." Henry instinctively scanned their surroundings before continuing. "If I had been hit on the head and forgot things because of that, I wouldn't be upset. But I wasn't hit on the head, and the Overseers themselves say I suffered a mild chemical poisoning. So, I ask, WHAT chemical? I never heard of mere engine-fuel fumes causing amnesia; that airplane was transporting chemicals for some purpose. They admit that much. But was it a mere side effect that the fumes leaking out would make Alipang and me forget those minutes? Or was the plane carrying something specifically MEANT to make people forget things? Or is it all a lie about chemicals ON the plane, and the Overseers used it as misdirection to hide something THEY did to Alipang and me AFTER the crash incident?"
Bert held up a hand in a stopping gesture. "Please pause right there. When Mr. Yang and I were cleared to enter the Enclave, we gave our word not to take any action disruptive to the administration of this place. Up to this instant, I have not heard you say anything indicating that you have any intention of disobeying their laws. I need to be able to say truthfully, in case of another brainwave scan, that I am not concealing any knowledge of rebellion."
Henry looked as if he had been slapped. "So I'm compromising you by talking?"
"Not if you stop at this point. Listen to me now, please listen. Precisely BECAUSE you have not yet expressed any rebellious intentions, I believe I can get away with telling you something of interest. Now listen, without commenting.
"In this century, in the years preceding the end of the United States, a number of national governments experimented with massive-scale drugging of their populations, for the purpose of making the people more tractable, not likely to revolt. Sometimes the drugs were diffused in the drinking water, and sometimes....poured out IN THE AIR from airplanes, in a gaseous or vapor form. There were even airborne-vapor versions of well-known tranquilizers like Valium."
Now Henry looked, not slapped, but stimulated to rapid thinking. "I notice that you're not actually SAYING that the Overseer airplane Alipang and I went to had been spreading tranquilizers in the air before it crashed."
"That's right, I am not saying any such thing--just as you're not saying that you wish to be able to overthrow the regime under which you are living. You and I are as innocent as little babies. Isn't it a grand thing to be so innocent?"
Henry placed a hand on Bert's shoulder. "Sometimes, anyway...and thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, consider this. Hypnotism cannot MAKE people knowingly do anything against their own character and conscience. The same holds true for chemicals to some extent. Enough of a drug may overpower the mind by force, causing death or disability--or a lesser effect like forgetting a period of time. But short of chemically clubbing your personality to death, such things cannot make you NOT be yourself if you don't let them."
Henry smiled for the first time in this conversation. "So, in the purely hypothetical event of my brain being chemically tampered with, I would still have hope of being able to keep my free will."
"The more so if you were AWARE of the interference. And...if your God is real, He just might help you there, in ways not understood by the men doing the tampering."
A day of miscellaneous transactions in and around Frontier Plaza included more postal customers turning up for Henry Spafford than the Apache Granger had anticipated. Though Grange volunteers were not paid a wage, there was nothing unethical about their accepting hospitality; and a handyman similar to Raoul Rochefort of Sussex had Henry over to lunch, his house thus becoming the point on which numerous townspeople converged with letters written hastily to seize the opportunity. Bert Randall, meanwhile, fed himself and Gabe Ellison by other means: the town had a small grocery store under the auspices of Workplace Food Services, where Bert bought sandwiches and bottles of low-alcohol beer for himself and his new friend. Clementine, of course, was given morsels of what the men were eating, along with another hunk of smoked cougar meat. Sitting on treestump seats near the livery stable where the three men's mounts were lodged--a service given free to the Grange riders, and ungrudgingly paid for by the Australian in his case--Bert and Gabe talked with the hearty randomness of new acquaintances who enjoy each other's company but know that their soon parting may be permanent.
Gabe told Bert some of his personal spiritual history as a Christian man--unaware that he was watering where Sylvia Lathrop had planted. One of Gabe's role models had been a black preacher of the previous generation, Jesse Lee Peterson, whose organization had advocated self-reliance under God. As a teenager, Gabe had witnessed America's last rally against totalitarian collectivism; as a college student, he had seen the public losing interest again in faith and responsibility. His perseverance in opposing the welfare state had cost him the love of his fiancee, and then had cost him his freedom. "But I wouldn't change anything I did," he told Bert; "my concern's to have a clean conscience before God, not before the Fairness Party."
Later in the day, it was Gabe who was attending to business of his own, and Henry who got to speak with Bert privately. The tension being still visible on his ruddy face, Bert resolved to ask him about it. "Is something bothering you, Henry? I mean, something more serious than Odette Galloway?"
Henry nodded. "A lot more serious. And you know what? Although the mirror-men are able in theory to eavesdrop on conversations almost anyplace, I've learned enough to know that in actual practice, their manpower and their level of interest mean that the odds favor their NOT hearing a conversation by anyone they aren't actively suspicious of. And I'm considered an okay guy since that plane crash, though I don't recall DOING anything at the scene."
"So that incident itself is bothering you?" asked Bert.
"Yeah, it is. I don't like not knowing something that happened to me." Henry instinctively scanned their surroundings before continuing. "If I had been hit on the head and forgot things because of that, I wouldn't be upset. But I wasn't hit on the head, and the Overseers themselves say I suffered a mild chemical poisoning. So, I ask, WHAT chemical? I never heard of mere engine-fuel fumes causing amnesia; that airplane was transporting chemicals for some purpose. They admit that much. But was it a mere side effect that the fumes leaking out would make Alipang and me forget those minutes? Or was the plane carrying something specifically MEANT to make people forget things? Or is it all a lie about chemicals ON the plane, and the Overseers used it as misdirection to hide something THEY did to Alipang and me AFTER the crash incident?"
Bert held up a hand in a stopping gesture. "Please pause right there. When Mr. Yang and I were cleared to enter the Enclave, we gave our word not to take any action disruptive to the administration of this place. Up to this instant, I have not heard you say anything indicating that you have any intention of disobeying their laws. I need to be able to say truthfully, in case of another brainwave scan, that I am not concealing any knowledge of rebellion."
Henry looked as if he had been slapped. "So I'm compromising you by talking?"
"Not if you stop at this point. Listen to me now, please listen. Precisely BECAUSE you have not yet expressed any rebellious intentions, I believe I can get away with telling you something of interest. Now listen, without commenting.
"In this century, in the years preceding the end of the United States, a number of national governments experimented with massive-scale drugging of their populations, for the purpose of making the people more tractable, not likely to revolt. Sometimes the drugs were diffused in the drinking water, and sometimes....poured out IN THE AIR from airplanes, in a gaseous or vapor form. There were even airborne-vapor versions of well-known tranquilizers like Valium."
Now Henry looked, not slapped, but stimulated to rapid thinking. "I notice that you're not actually SAYING that the Overseer airplane Alipang and I went to had been spreading tranquilizers in the air before it crashed."
"That's right, I am not saying any such thing--just as you're not saying that you wish to be able to overthrow the regime under which you are living. You and I are as innocent as little babies. Isn't it a grand thing to be so innocent?"
Henry placed a hand on Bert's shoulder. "Sometimes, anyway...and thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, consider this. Hypnotism cannot MAKE people knowingly do anything against their own character and conscience. The same holds true for chemicals to some extent. Enough of a drug may overpower the mind by force, causing death or disability--or a lesser effect like forgetting a period of time. But short of chemically clubbing your personality to death, such things cannot make you NOT be yourself if you don't let them."
Henry smiled for the first time in this conversation. "So, in the purely hypothetical event of my brain being chemically tampered with, I would still have hope of being able to keep my free will."
"The more so if you were AWARE of the interference. And...if your God is real, He just might help you there, in ways not understood by the men doing the tampering."
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
Glenburne, you raised a good point about high dosage. But heck, things are tough enough for the good guys--! Let's just assume that, when Alipang, Henry and those Amish bystanders were in the Overseers' infirmary, the medics detoxified them.
Before sunset, Bert left word of his intentions with the management of the air-surveillance station: he would ride east from Frontier Plaza with Henry and Gabe for just a kilometer or two, to continue "interviewing" them, and to camp the night with them. He had bought a sleeping bag for himself in town, since the one borrowed from the Arapahoe family at the gas-extraction site would soon be going back to them along with the borrowed horse; thus he would be at least partly equipped in case he found more occasion to rough it. Their campsite would be near the northernmost line of railroad tracks in the Wyoming sector, a line that ran along within a kilometer of the boundary fence. In the morning, Henry and Gabe would see the Australian to a railroad siding used when one train had to make way for another; the federal employees in Frontier Plaza would notify the first passenger train of the day to stop on the siding and take the foreign dignitary on board, this plan being confirmed by a call to the administrative seat in Rapid City.
That night, the men fed their campfire with sackfuls of dried-manure chunks which Gabe had been given by a townsman who owed him a favor. Wyoming, like the Enclave as a whole, was not so forested that Grange volunteers (or any exiles) could afford to turn up their noses at this form of fuel.
Having already talked with his new friends as much as he dared about heavy subjects relating to the Fairness Party regime, Bert found a lighter subject he could raise: one suggested by the Irish setter who shared the warmth of the fire. "Gabe, what exactly DO you feed Clementine when there isn't an opportunity to share deli sandwiches with her? I mean when you're in your hometown, between times of butchering cougars." Bert could reasonably wonder about this, because America's dog and cat populations had been dramatically reduced even before the Diversity States had been established--so reduced, that major commercial production of dog and cat foods had ceased.
"I do what a lot of exile dog owners do," the black crossbowman replied: "I take modest amounts of any available meat, and mix it with stuff like cornmeal as available."
"We spoke before about Mr. Wisebadger who's an Agriculture liaison person," said Bert. "Is the care of domesticated carnivores any part of his portfolio?"
"Yeah, it is, as a matter of fact. And sometime before winter, old John's going to bring up to the Consultant the possibility--which the Department of Distribution would get a say in--of somebody starting an independent business precisely for the purpose of regularly feeding working dogs."
Henry added: "You realize, ALL dogs in the Enclave are theoretically working dogs, or we wouldn't be allowed to have them. The same ruling party that curses Christians for not admiring animals enough, is responsible for destroying five-sixths of all dogs that existed in this country at the time they took power."
"But since they're clearly encouraging our agriculture in the Enclave to expand," Gabe resumed, "the remaining dogs would seem to have a strong claim to life. As a matter of fact, Bert, when you're at your pickup spot in the morning, you may get to see some true-bred English sheepdogs in the neighborhood."
Henry smiled broadly. "Hey, that's right! You did say that the old shepherd Yitzhak was going to be pasturing his flock up in those parts this week, didn't you?"
"Yitzhak Rosenbaum is one of the leading sheep ranchers in the sector," Gabe explained. "Used to live in Israel. More than half of his extended family was murdered by Palestinian raiders, and this being before China intervened in Israel's favor, it was a time when things looked bad for ANY Israel surviving at all. So the remaining Rosenbaums fled to America--just in time to run afoul of THIS country's growing anti-Jewish bigotry. When China did come to Israel's rescue, the authorities here wouldn't let Yitzhak and his people turn around and go back; and then the Fairness Party came to power, and in spite of their Chinese backers being friendly to Israel, the Campaign Against Hate sentenced the Rosenbaums to internal exile."
"Crashers!" exclaimed Bert. "I expect your shepherd friend is NOT a happy camper."
"Of course he misses Israel," Gabe said. "But the times I've spoken with him, he's told me that apart from government personnel, every person he's ever met in the Enclave has been friendly to him. So he says it could have been worse."
Before sunset, Bert left word of his intentions with the management of the air-surveillance station: he would ride east from Frontier Plaza with Henry and Gabe for just a kilometer or two, to continue "interviewing" them, and to camp the night with them. He had bought a sleeping bag for himself in town, since the one borrowed from the Arapahoe family at the gas-extraction site would soon be going back to them along with the borrowed horse; thus he would be at least partly equipped in case he found more occasion to rough it. Their campsite would be near the northernmost line of railroad tracks in the Wyoming sector, a line that ran along within a kilometer of the boundary fence. In the morning, Henry and Gabe would see the Australian to a railroad siding used when one train had to make way for another; the federal employees in Frontier Plaza would notify the first passenger train of the day to stop on the siding and take the foreign dignitary on board, this plan being confirmed by a call to the administrative seat in Rapid City.
That night, the men fed their campfire with sackfuls of dried-manure chunks which Gabe had been given by a townsman who owed him a favor. Wyoming, like the Enclave as a whole, was not so forested that Grange volunteers (or any exiles) could afford to turn up their noses at this form of fuel.
Having already talked with his new friends as much as he dared about heavy subjects relating to the Fairness Party regime, Bert found a lighter subject he could raise: one suggested by the Irish setter who shared the warmth of the fire. "Gabe, what exactly DO you feed Clementine when there isn't an opportunity to share deli sandwiches with her? I mean when you're in your hometown, between times of butchering cougars." Bert could reasonably wonder about this, because America's dog and cat populations had been dramatically reduced even before the Diversity States had been established--so reduced, that major commercial production of dog and cat foods had ceased.
"I do what a lot of exile dog owners do," the black crossbowman replied: "I take modest amounts of any available meat, and mix it with stuff like cornmeal as available."
"We spoke before about Mr. Wisebadger who's an Agriculture liaison person," said Bert. "Is the care of domesticated carnivores any part of his portfolio?"
"Yeah, it is, as a matter of fact. And sometime before winter, old John's going to bring up to the Consultant the possibility--which the Department of Distribution would get a say in--of somebody starting an independent business precisely for the purpose of regularly feeding working dogs."
Henry added: "You realize, ALL dogs in the Enclave are theoretically working dogs, or we wouldn't be allowed to have them. The same ruling party that curses Christians for not admiring animals enough, is responsible for destroying five-sixths of all dogs that existed in this country at the time they took power."
"But since they're clearly encouraging our agriculture in the Enclave to expand," Gabe resumed, "the remaining dogs would seem to have a strong claim to life. As a matter of fact, Bert, when you're at your pickup spot in the morning, you may get to see some true-bred English sheepdogs in the neighborhood."
Henry smiled broadly. "Hey, that's right! You did say that the old shepherd Yitzhak was going to be pasturing his flock up in those parts this week, didn't you?"
"Yitzhak Rosenbaum is one of the leading sheep ranchers in the sector," Gabe explained. "Used to live in Israel. More than half of his extended family was murdered by Palestinian raiders, and this being before China intervened in Israel's favor, it was a time when things looked bad for ANY Israel surviving at all. So the remaining Rosenbaums fled to America--just in time to run afoul of THIS country's growing anti-Jewish bigotry. When China did come to Israel's rescue, the authorities here wouldn't let Yitzhak and his people turn around and go back; and then the Fairness Party came to power, and in spite of their Chinese backers being friendly to Israel, the Campaign Against Hate sentenced the Rosenbaums to internal exile."
"Crashers!" exclaimed Bert. "I expect your shepherd friend is NOT a happy camper."
"Of course he misses Israel," Gabe said. "But the times I've spoken with him, he's told me that apart from government personnel, every person he's ever met in the Enclave has been friendly to him. So he says it could have been worse."
Last edited: