The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Bert Randall's mother and father in Australia had warmly welcomed their new daughter-in-law and their new step-grandchildren. With Ma'at, Meretseger and Montu safely looked after, Bert was free to fulfill his promise to Daffodil Ford in Boston. He even was able to combine this with business: as it was well known that he had studied current American educational methods, he was able to set up a meeting with Arista Penfield, the Diversity States Secretary of Indoctrination, to put out the first feelers on an idea of letting young Americans come to Australia as exchange students.

As it was, the D.S.A. welcomed foreign students in American schools, but would not send any American teens abroad; the Fairness Party wanted to keep all changes of beliefs moving in only one direction, the totalitarian direction. Bert was privately not optimistic about getting them to relax this policy; but he figured that one had to keep on pushing and probing.

Visiting Daffodil, however, came first. He found the boy in the fitness center of the hospital's rehab wing, working out on an elliptical stepper, obviously trying to regain some of his former fitness. But the boy practically flew off the machine when he saw Bert coming in. Vigorously shaking the Australian's hand, he said, "This is great! I'm so glad you came! I want to know how you _really_ found your new partner."

"Well, get back on your machine, and I'll take this one beside you. Don't want to spoil your session." When they were both elliptically stepping, Bert continued: "I can tell you this much freely, that Ma'at was being used, used cruelly, by another man, before I gave her a way out. I could have loved her with our acquaintance being started in a more conventional fashion; but the way things went, it was an extra satisfaction for me to be able to make _such_ a night-and-day difference in her life."

" 'Using cruelly' is how my care--my _mother_ would describe _every_ male-female relationship," Daffodil grumbled. "And, no offense, the first thing she would say about your story would be that you _taking_ Ma'at away from another man was proof of the selfishness and greed of men."

"It _would_ have been selfishness on my part," replied Bert, "if I had stolen a _married_ woman. That's a concept you Yanks have lost, with all this partner-this, partner-that billabongary. These days, all relationships for the majority of you are as trivial, and interchangeable, as who marches beside whom in the lineup for an Equalityball game. So you don't have any _basis_ for saying that this person shouldn't take that person away from another person--except for purely subjective emotions on the part of whoever comes out losing. But Ma'at not only _wasn't_ married to the crudbucket I took her away from; she had _never_ even wanted to be with him in the first place. She was in a position of slavery."

Daffodil shot him a humorless smile. "And 'a position of slavery' is where my mother says _every_ woman is who lets a man possess her."

"I guess she even wants to avoid a man having any claim on her as her SON. For begging your pardon, I already ascertained that Ambassador Ford still _hasn't_ visited you since a time when she flitted through momentarily with two of her girlfriends."

Daffodil averted his gaze. "That's right. She's busy with human resources. Her new assistant is one she never knew before, some Native American woman named Moonrose Quickpace. They're spending 'mutual orientation time' at a women's luxury resort where my mother has time-share quarters. It's a place only the upper class can use, never mentioned in the media, isolated inside the Finger Lakes Nature Preserve."

"Well, Daffy, I hope you believe me when I tell you that I _don't_ intend to make up excuses to ignore the children who have become my children."

"I believe you, sir."

"Thank you, but call me Bert."

Their talk went on from there to examine, from all angles, Daffodil's wish that he also could spend time in the Enclave, and meet other people who looked at male-female relationships the way the Australian did. Bert kept a thought unspoken, lest he create false hopes; but his mind was already churning with the possibility of convincing the Secretary of Indoctrination that "selected" adolescents visiting the Enclave could be seen as a warmup for exchange-student programs. And who better as a willing test subject than the bioproduct of a well-indoctrinated career diplomat?
 
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Like Ambassador-At-Large Samantha Ford, United Nations Ambassador Carlota Ruiz had found a new "girl Friday" with whom she got along well, both on and off the job. This time, she had hired a fellow Hispanic, a former fashion model born in Paraguay, named Juanita Milagros. Juanita had undergone an expensive biomodification which caused her hair to change color by itself, randomly, every three or four days; she was fond of singing the old Whitney Houston song "I'm Every Woman." Carlota, at any rate, found Juanita to be *A* woman whose companionship was pleasing, and who had no problem about accepting the ear-implants which would relay her conversations into her employer's dataphone.

Juanita's first day working at the United Nations in Beijing was an uneasy one, but not because of any personal difficulties with Carlota. What was uneasy for both women was that Carlota was forced to abandon the usual script. When the General Assembly addressed the recent attempt by the Aztec-Maoist People's Republic of Aztlan to bomb Kansas, Carlota _couldn't_ parrot the usual politically-correct line about white supremacists having stirred up trouble. There simply was too much audiovisual proof of what had _really_ happened: the Aztlano Air Force, without any kind of provocation at all, had committed an undeniable act of war against the Diversity States. And a _black_ law-enforcement officer in Kansas had played a role in making sure that the United Nations would know the truth. The Ambassador from the Mexican Alliance was not slow to emphasize this point, and had lavish praise for the ingenuity of the Texans who had foiled the attack.

A rational person from a sane civilization, if placed in Carlota's position, would have been relieved and comforted by the fact that a clear majority of General Assembly delegations condemned Aztlan's action, dismissing the Aztlano Ambassador's incoherent excuses. Indeed, in a rare case of agreement, both China and India sided with the D.S.A. Carlota, however, was a creature of the Fairness Party down to her marrow. So, though forced to improvise, she cobbled together some kind of argument to the effect that increased cultural exchanges would solve the problem.

Debate over how to penalize the Aztlanos carried over to the next day. By the close of business on that next day, a decision was reached: Aztlan would be given _only_ five coveted committee seats instead of six.

Feeling better precisely _because_ no severe sanctions had been applied, Carlota and Juanita determined to relax after the whole business by going out dancing. The club they went to was not a very exclusive one; the most exclusive clubs in Beijing wouldn't _admit_ Americans. But the nightspot they chose had good music, and good food.

After taking part in a sort of line dance after the Laotian style, the two women were headed for a booth to order a meal....when two Asian men, one wearing a uniform with sidearm, crossed their path. Neither man was known to Juanita, but both were known to Carlota: Major Yang Sung-Kuo, chief of U.N. security, and Nyunt Zeyar, the Burmese-born safety guard from the Orbital Palace. The heavy-set Burmese bowed politely to the women, but deferred to the Major where talking was concerned.

"Good evening, ladies. Ambassador Ruiz, I take it this is your new aide?"

Juanita spoke for herself, though not offering to shake hands. "Yes, I'm Juanita Milagros. Are you a Chinese military liaison?"

Sparing Carlota from having to say anything about her new assistant's ignorance, Yang answered, "Paramilitary is more like it: Major Yang Sung-Kuo, Internal Affairs. I'm here to prevent men from the Caliphates from tackling you right on the dance floor and forcing a burka onto you."

Juanita shifted her eyes to the man who wasn't speaking. "And is that also your friend's job?"

Yang sent a glance which seemed to give the other man permission to talk. "No, Miss Milagros, I prevent groundrunners from injuring themselves in zero gravity." Seeming satisfied with this, he fell silent again, leaving the taller man to say more.

"As Ambassador Ruiz knows, Nyunt here also observes the general behavior of guests at the Orbital Palace. Right now he's on leave." Yang pointed in the direction he and the Burmese had been heading. "His wife and mine are seated over there; we'll be rejoining them presently. Since my wife isn't Chinese either, we mingle with non-Chinese quite a bit. Nyunt always has interesting things to tell me about goings-on in space, all of it very informal, and some of it very funny." His eyes were on Carlota when he said this.

"All fascinating, I'm sure," Carlota snapped, not liking the Major's offhand manner with her, remembering what Samantha had once told her about the D.S.A. being disrespected generally. "But if you'll excuse--"

"In a moment." Yang's velvet voice carried sharp steel just under the surface. "I need to say this to you, Ambassador. Just as Nyunt brings me interesting news in an informal way, so you might sometime have reason to tell me things informally. What went on publicly in the General Assembly yesterday and today has undercurrents and subtext; I don't know all of them, nor does our foreign-intelligence community, but there IS more happening than gets into the streamcasts. My government and I have no ill-will toward you and your government; and the D.S.A. might find itself in dire need of help in the near future. So please regard me as one of the many channels by which you could seek help. With me, it would indeed be informal, which is why I can be telling you this in a public place; but in days to come, if you have sense, you'll be keeping your eyes open, and using your own judgment about telling us anything unusual you encounter."

"Thank you for the advice, Major," said Carlota, linking arms with Juanita.

Yang, for his part, turned toward Nyunt Zeyar. "Shall we rejoin our wives?"
 
The letter from Alipang Havens did reach Forest Ranger Mark Terrell, and even was uncensored. Since the modern postal service rarely carried anything but packages, Mark guessed correctly, as soon as he saw a hand-addressed envelope, who had written to him. He was also quick to figure out "an ARROW-minded man."

Mark knew that there was no way Alipang could have known about Whiplash detecting that out-of-place metal box in the electrical substation, and about the D.S. Marshal acting so mysterious when coming to remove the box. Yet here was the exile dentist writing things like how glad he was that no organized-crime gangs had been moved into the Enclave, since they might have brought their gang wars with them. If not for this year's events, Mark would have taken Alipang's phrases at face value, and been unconcerned; but as it was, Mark was grimly certain that the letter was ominously hinting about factional strife in the Diversity States government itself.

He first read the letter in Dana's absence; and before they next were together, a shuddering suspicion came to his mind uninvited. He had never even heard of Dana _before_ he had found and hidden the messages shot over the fence by Miguel De Soto. Then, when this beautiful female Overseer had met him for the first time, she had behaved so amorously toward him, seemed so eager to start occupying his time....

What if Dana had not taken up with him because she was attracted to him, but because he was under suspicion? What if she was on an assignment, investigating his loyalty to the Party? Each time they made love, Dana _seemed_ passionate enough; but Mark realized that, in the history of the world, there had been men and women capable of _pretending_ to feel ecstatic desire, in order to trick someone. By the same token, Dana might only have pretended to be baffled about the unauthorized object at the substation, and the Marshal could have been only pretending to be a stranger to her, so they could see how Mark would behave in their scenario.

Fleetingly, he thought of destroying the letter before Dana ever saw it. But that would be _worse_ than useless. If Dana was in fact investigating him, then her superiors would have been notified by postal censors, and would in turn have notified Dana, that a letter had come from Wyoming for Mark. Destroying the letter would only look like an admission of guilt; it might even cause the Overseers inside the Enclave to seize the innocent Alipang Havens and put him to the question. No, there was nothing for it but to act casual.

It was when Dana returned to their quarters that Mark had his first sign of hope that his worries were groundless. It was the way Whiplash greeted Dana. Mark had not been thinking about his mutant border collie when fretting about being investigated; but there was the dog now, acting _nothing_ but pleased for Dana to return.

Whiplash had been with his Ranger partner since puppyhood; Mark knew that this beast could not easily be deceived by anyone. So he ordered himself to stop worrying, and kissed Dana normally.

When told about the letter, Dana was the one who seemed nervous for a second or two. Mark wondered, without saying it, whether Dana might at some time in her Enclave stint have taken a fancy to the dentist and Grange volunteer. But even if she had, what of it? It wasn't as if Mark had never looked at any other woman before Dana. Soon, Dana was reading the letter for herself, and discussing its contents with her lover in a perfectly natural way. The first halfway dramatic thing she said was: "I understood while I was acquainted with him in Wyoming Sector, that Dr. Havens had no romanticized view of the administration. I would never expect him to lie, even about his worst enemy; but I don't think that any actual flaw in the Fairness Party would surprise him, nor would he easily accept any justifications for it."

Mark thought that this much from Dana gave him the go-ahead to say this much in turn: "If Dr. Havens knew about that box in the substation, do you think he would _assume_ it to be the doing of someone in government?"

Dana paused in thought before answering. "Mark, you and I know that, if we count the Party apparatus and the labor unions as part of the structure of government in America, then it scarcely is possible for anyone _other_ than government to do _anything_ in America today. So yes, I'm sure that Dr. Havens _would_ assume that box to have been put there by someone IN the government, whether or not it was done in obedience TO the government."

Just on the _teeny_ off-chance that his mistress _might_ after all be testing him for entrapment purposes, Mark did not take this train of thought any farther. The rest of the evening, right on through abundant loving, proceeded in a normal manner. But as they were going to sleep, Mark was nagged by the thought:

How did we come to a time when everyone in America has to be afraid that someone else might get him arrested for saying the wrong thing?
 
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THIS IS THE NEXT SUMMARY!


It's October in the year whatever (probably 2025). An exile surgeon named Barney Jamison, based in the North Dakota Sector, came down to Casper to perform the gill implantation on Miguel De Soto. It worked, and so Miguel was able to resume editing his newspaper. Bert Randall had the satisfaction of knowing how well this affair (in which he had helped) had turned out, before he departed the Enclave with Ma'at, Meretseger and Montu. He got married to Ma'at at a Pacific Federation consulate, then--after communicating with Daffodil--flew his new family to Australia and freedom. Thoughts of eventual marriage (when they're old enough) are also on the minds of a young couple: Ransom Kramer, and the niece of that Amish man who was rescued from a grizzly bear early in the book. Daffodil's mother, and Carlota Ruiz, both acquired new secretaries, respectively named Moonrose Quickpace and Juanita Milagros. Samantha went right on ignoring her son; but when Bert later visited Daffodil in Boston after getting his new family safely housed, the Australian decided he would try to assist the boy's ambition to visit the Enclave also. Daffodil's discontentment with his present life had been aggravated when a psychiatrist treated him as being LESS normal than a literally psychotic boy named Tim Govinda. Carlota returned to United Nations duty, where she was warned by Yang Sung-Kuo that there was more going on in the Aztlan situation than she suspected.

In Africa, the phony journalist Reltseotu Smith made Nigeria too hot to hold her by broadcasting outrageous lies, pretending that white security troops including Brendan Hyland, acting FOR the Nigerian government, were neo-fascists aiming to murder black Nigerians out of racist hatred. Moving on to another idiotic assignment in Uganda, she was hurt in an outdoor accident; and the secret army of good guys used this opportunity to plant their own tracking chip in her body without her knowledge. Involved in this procedure was an American emigrant named Josiah Redfern--actually a crossover character from a text-based roleplay that I used to be in before others dropped it.

Summer and Evan have all of their children back now; but an establishment journalist began putting pressure on their benefactors, the Salisburys, to prove that they're being IMMORAL ENOUGH to suit current social customs! Texas Ranger Emilio Vasquez told his Commandant that he believed Aztlan had smuggled agents into Texas with the collaboration of Diversity States Marshals (these being under the authority of the court system, whose head Sherman Lake is under suspicion). Back in the Enclave, as a way of acting on Major Yang's hints of discord in the regime, Alipang used his contacts to spread the idea of ministers preaching sermons about evildoers in rivalry with each other; this, Alipang hoped, would "subliminally" render other exiles ready to recognize any such situation developing on the reservation. In their shared patrol area in Nebraska's "open spaces" just outside the Enclave, Overseer Dana Pickering and Forest Ranger Mark Terrell, now full-time lovers, encountered evidence that electric power lines leading out of the Enclave to supply the nation were somehow being tampered with; and it was a Diversity States Marshal who took over the case and kept them in the dark.

Alipang wrote a letter to Mark, because Mark had once written to him and seemed sympathetic to the exiles. Alipang hinted cautiously at the same suspicion of power struggles in the Fairness Party regime. The letter, coming after the funny business with power lines, has got Mark more than half convinced that some foul play IS in progress. Meanwhile, Henry Spafford finally got to SEE an Overseer airplane spreading the pacifying vapors, but satisfied himself that their effect can be resisted by a positively opposed will.
 
Chapter 45: Undercover, Future Style


What the United States had failed to do for itself in the past, the Mexican Alliance had done FOR the Diversity States, as part of the arrangement which had redrawn the North American continent. Mexican engineers--as usual, with United States expatriates working among them--had built REAL border defenses to seal off the People's Republic of Aztlan. Thus, the recent penetrations of the D.S.-Aztlano border, first for kidnappings and most lately for undetermined purposes in Texas, had been serious affairs, requiring the use of explosives AND high-tech measures to deceive surveillance satellites. No official land passage existed between the two main pieces of the former U.S.A., despite the fact that Aztlan received much of its electricity from inside the Diversity States without paying for it.

There was air traffic across the border; but the only legal way to travel on the surface of the Earth from the Diversity States into Aztlan was to go down into Mexico, then back up through the one official Mexican-Aztlano border crossing, from the Mexican city of Nogales. This was, accordingly, the route followed by Texas Ranger Emilio Vasquez, temporarily renamed Ernando Robles, as he set out on his first undercover assignment.

Emilio didn't need to be a veteran of undercover work, since he was merely assisting someone who was--in fact, someone he had met once before. But at their first meeting, she had not been dressed nearly so sensuously. Now, in October weather which still was as hot as much of the D.S.A. in summer, Gloria Cervantes was convincingly demonstrating that in modern times, a woman over forty was FAR from being past her years of sexiness.

"Come on, Ernando, hurry up! Do you want Senor Formentera to think we're not interested in his party?" Gloria, known for the present as Amalita Cortez, tugged at Emilio's arm. Before them, as near as it could be handily parked to the stream of traffic on the New Mexico side, stood a jump-jet, a sort of passenger-carrying mutation of the old Harrier fighter-bomber. It was not the most fuel-efficient mode of air travel, but it was a status symbol for Emilio Formentera, pampered son of El Presidente Tonio Formentera. Emilio Vasquez had been urgently reminded many times not to react if he heard his own first name being uttered by persons addressing the Aztlano aristocrat.

The heir-presumptive to the unsteady throne of the Aztec-Maoist People's Republic certainly didn't LOOK like the Texas Ranger. Where Emilio Vasquez had by nature a friendly, sincere face, Emilio Formentera had exactly the right look for a villain in an old spy movie--only, there was no pretense about his cruelty. What was fake was his smile when he greeted Gloria; not so fake was his enjoyment of scorchingly kissing her in the presence of the unfamiliar man who he had been told was Amalita Cortez's new boyfriend.

Laughing coquettishly, Gloria pulled free from Formentera's grasp--not too hastily--and said, "Now, excuse me, I mustn't make my lover feel neglected." Then she kissed the incognito Sergeant Vasquez a few seconds LONGER than Formentera had kissed her. Before the mission had begun, Gloria had promised her new partner that she would try not to kiss him more often than one time in any day, and would not require him to put his hands on her in any intimate way until they were actually mingling with their targets. It was a different part of the masquerade which was called for now: a bodyguard presented the seeming couple with an iris-reader. Gloria and Sergeant Vasquez looked into it in turn. Gloria's natural eyes were in the Aztlano database as the Mexican industrial executive the Formentera clan believed her to be; her "boyfriend" had on prosthetic iris-overlays which would identify him as a programmer with her corporation (Mexico, unlike the Diversity States, being still a hospitable home to privately-owned corporations). Once the database was satisfied, so was Emilio Formentera; now he shook hands with Emilio Vasquez, whose assumed name was announced by Gloria. The Texan Emilio's own hands were heavily bedecked with rings, mainly to disguise the impression on the third finger of his left hand where his wedding ring usually would be.

"Pleased to meet you, senor," said the Texas Ranger, shaking hands with a man who had played a role in the murders of Rangers by airstrike earlier this year. It didn't seem very Christian to pray for a chance to kill this man personally; but Sergeant Vasquez reflected that if by God's will the chance did come, he would trust God to forgive him for plugging this vermin. "I hope to be of service to you."

"I'm sure you will be," smirked the young oligarch. "But information-technology business can wait until we land in Tularosa." Since the founding of Aztlan, the New Mexico town of Tularosa had become the location of one of only four pleasure resorts in all of Aztlan over which the various gangs, like Los Flechadores and Los Bucaneros, had no control or influence at all. (The other three were all in California.) In Tularosa, the Aztec-Maoist Party could conduct business as it pleased, without input or interference by the gangs.

During the flight, Emilio Vasquez did not yet have to place his hands on any part of Gloria that he would prefer in conscience not to touch...but she let HER hands be plainly seen roaming over HIM. This was not only to keep up the girlfriend-boyfriend pretense, but also to give onlookers a different reason for why the Mexican software specialist looked agitated. Gloria knew that her partner wished to kill Emilio Formentera; Gloria also wished to kill Emilio Formentera. But that wasn't their assignment.
 
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Emilio Vasquez at least could dance a fine salsa; dancing with Gloria at the party in Tularosa, coming after swimming with her in the resort's pool, did much to reinforce their appearance as lovers without his having to outrage his married man's conscience greatly. He kept reminding himself that this would be his _only_ time undercover inside Aztlan; Gloria needed a succession of boyfriends covertly provided by the good-guy side, in order to to keep up her character _without_ needing to give her body to any of the bad guys. Too many things could happen in such intimacies, including someone planting tracking nanobots in her body without her knowledge.

The food was good, and there was magnificent entertainment by Aztlano standards, including an actual bullfight in a lighted arena. Not until about three a.m. did Emilio Vasquez have to clench his teeth and face the worst part for him: pretending that he _wanted_ to go to bed with a woman other than his darling Melody. But Gloria was already enough of an insider with the Aztlanos that she could coax the son of El Presidente into giving them a bedroom not watched by security cameras: "Poor Ernando just won't be _himself_ if he's being watched, and then what good will he be?"

Formentera's leering reply to that was, "I only need him to be good at the demonstration tomorrow; but for you, chiquita, I'll arrange no cameras or sound pickups."

Gloria, an uncommon expert at catching nuances of people's voices, could tell that the suave thug meant it; so her partner was able to have his wish: to sleep on the floor of the room he was compelled to share with the glamorous lady spy. Before she got in bed, Gloria crouched beside Emilio Vasquez and kissed his forehead.

"My gallant caballero, or rather another woman's caballero," she whispered, "what I can and do give you--is my respect. I hope that other woman realizes what a wonderful husband she has."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The next day, on the golf course, their host led them to an outdoor workstation, equipped with all the computer gear he had been told the Mexican specialist would need. Nearby, on the fairway, stood the jump-jet.

The evil Emilio looked the good Emilio in the eye. "Ernando, compadre, Amalita says that you can duplicate the technique by which the gringos made their planes invisible to our planes."

"Strictly speaking, invisible to global positioning," the good Emilio clarified. "Like masking techniques on the internet." He opened a briefcase. "I have two copies of the needed program. One will be installed here, at your ground terminal; the other on any aircraft you may choose for the demonstration. Am I to understand that you wish to use your personal jet for the purpose?"

"Yes; it would have the side benefit of giving me stealthy travel."

"As you like, senor. But now is a good time to remind you of the limitations of what I can offer you. I don't want to be killed some evening because I allowed you to expect more advantages than I could really deliver. The Texans may already have anticipated the likelihood that, since the air battle over Kansas, you have guessed that they used g.p.s. deception to spring their ambush on your pilots. Thus, _they_ will not trust only to g.p.s. to watch for future air attacks from Aztlan. They have enough radar assets to spot a sortie, even if your planes enjoy g.p.s. deception; indeed, any radar contact which _doesn't_ have a corresponding satellite track might be instantly classed as a hostile. And before long, they'll probably have network countermeasures against the deception; the Chinese might _already_ have such countermeasures."

"Then what use IS this program to us?" demanded a programmer on Formentera's own staff, a middle-aged woman who was not happy about outside help having been brought in.

Formentera raised a placating hand in the woman's direction. "It's _always_ to our advantage to get more exact information about the capabilities of our adversaries. And even if we dare not rely on this for new airstrike purposes, there may be other uses for it."

The demonstration proceeded, and the vertical-takeoff passenger jet flew to and fro in the vicinity of the elite resort, _without_ showing up in g.p.s. Emilio accepted his client's congratulations, while dropping hints that the jealous local software person could probably take it from there. As agreed, money was deposited for "Amalita Cortez" and "Ernando Robles" in a Venezuelan bank. Emilio Vasquez, Texas Ranger, began counting the minutes until he could hightail it back into Mexico, be seen partying with Gloria down there to maintain the fiction, and then sneak home to Fort Stockton and _never_ as long as he lived even _think_ of doing undercover work inside Aztlan again.

He was sorry not to have been able to take a direct part in solving the riddle of D.S. Marshals possibly helping Aztlano infiltrators penetrate the border of Texas. But he had helped preserve Gloria's credibility in the false identity which gave her freedom of action in Aztlan; so, God willing, _she_ would eventually solve the border mystery.

And although Sergeant Vasquez would not know it for sure until later, he and Gloria had _succeeded_ in manipulating Emilio Formentera into making the recommendation to his father that they _wanted_ him to make, but had not dared to suggest themselves. The suggestion that was made to El Presidente that very day, via encrypted phone call, was to try to shoot down some of the Texas Tu-95's _immediately,_ while the Texans still believed themselves to be safe. The Aztlanos would use alternate means of determining where the air-defense planes were, so that even before perfecting network countermeasures, they could defeat that deception defense.

Those who had sent Gloria Cervantes and Emilio Vasquez on this mission to Tularosa already knew that the secret of deceiving g.p.s. could not be kept secret; but they were counting on keeping a step ahead of the Aztlanos in the question of what to do about the secret getting out. Already, plans were in place to send a remote-controlled Tu-95 up on patrol, so the Aztlanos could shoot it down without any Texans dying. This "victory" should convincingly maintain the Formentera clan's belief that "Amalita Cortez" was a valuable operative on their side.

Such delicate strategies were nothing new in the history of espionage.
 
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It was, as always, annoying not to be permitted the use of welding equipment when reconstructing the air vents of a large empty building slated for new use before year's end. But the air-system technician, none other than Peter Tomisaburo, had at least been provided by the bureaucrats with metal-bonding adhesives which would serve. Not for the first time in such a working situation, the spy thought about how many opportunities his profession would give him to plant listening devices, if only he had possessed any listening devices TO plant, and any means to monitor them once operational.

But then, spies for most of history had been obliged to rely on their brains.

Unlike New Mexico, October was frequently cold in Wyoming. Therefore, business was picking up for furnace repairmen among the exiles. They had no natural-gas furnaces to work on, since the output of the gas wells (except for a modest amount used to power machines like propane-powered tractors) was all pumped outside the fence; but the electric heating systems, a few full-size coal furnaces, many smaller heating stoves, and even the old-fashioned job of chimney sweeping, came within the sphere of air-system technicians. No exiles had air conditioning for summer; so, apart from occasional jobs in the government buildings, men like Mr. Tomisaburo had to find other useful things to do in warm weather. Twice, in his first summer as an internal exile, he had even been enlisted to help work on the ventilation systems for coal mines. Wherever he went, he kept his eyes and ears open for anything of relevance that he might learn.

The Greater Chinese foreign-intelligence network had already been meaning to plant Agent Tomisaburo in the Enclave even before the Enclave had been fenced off. His first American wife had facilitated things by leaving him for another man of her own accord, leaving him with custody of their son Victor. Victor Tomisaburo, absorbing sincerely the Christian beliefs that his father had affected as a way to get exiled, had entered the reservation with his father in the very first wave, though their original placement had been in the North Dakota Sector. Peter Tomisaburo had had plenty of work during his first months, as part of a "residential environment patrol," helping to salvage what was useful from the numerous houses and churches which the Department of Sustainable Energy had condemned for being substandard, and then maximizing the energy efficiency of the houses left standing for exile occupancy.

After the second winter of the Enclave's existence, increased energy-industry activity in Wyoming Sector had meant an increase in the proportion of new exiles being settled there; so Mr. Tomisaburo had been relocated and put to work with others like him, working on vacant houses held in reserve for new exiles, bringing them up to standards. With him had come Lucinda, the new bride he had acquired in North Dakota--she having been deserted by a husband before exile-assignment as he had been by a wife. Lucinda, not authorized for childbearing before her forced relocation, had made up for lost time by bearing her new man a daughter, Adrienne, a month before they had moved into an available house in Sussex. Lorraine Kramer helping Lucinda with Adrienne had been, second to marrying Lucinda and having Adrienne in the first place, the biggest factor in the process of Agent Tomisaburo coming to identify with the Americans among whom he had been planted. The deep-cover operative was grateful every day that there seemed to be no conceivable circumstance that could ever cause Beijing to order him to do anything harmful to the Christians of Wyoming.

The building on which Tomisaburo was currently working--singlehandedly at the current stage, since this job was not of top urgency, and there were only so many persons in the Enclave with his particular civilian skills--was in the town of Kaycee, west of Sussex. The building had been some kind of warehouse with office space, back when the United States had existed; probably it would now serve some terribly dull purpose for the sector administration. The repairman-spy just wanted to get this job over with and return to Sussex.

A section of steel framework which had supported the old exposed airducts on the ceiling of the main storage space was badly rusted, and was going to need to be replaced. Being unobserved, and heartily tired of this dreary job, Tomisaburo allowed himself to cheat a little bit. Out of a pocket he drew forth an object shaped like a small flashlight...an object about whose existence he had never allowed even his family to know. This object had been passed to him by a fellow agent before he went into exile, for it was the one high-technology device (besides his skull-inlaid passive radio receiver grid) he could bring into the Enclave with him, without the Overseers having any chance of detecting it.

It was one of the first twenty micro-whips ever manufactured, one of probably no more than a hundred existing anywhere.

The other agent (who had been a plant among the Pinkshirts processing the dissidents designated for exile) had not had time to train Tomisaburo in its use, only to brief him on its characteristics and the hazards of wielding it. The deep-cover spy had been forced to work over time on developing his technique with it, and had experienced a few close calls with the danger of slicing off a piece of himself with the nearly-invisible wire. But he had the knack of it now; and its potential for self-defense had been much on his mind ever since he had become convinced that new troubles were coming. So now he could rationalize keeping in practice with the weapon--while also using it, with barely half a meter of its length extruded, to cut up the rusted steel sections like a katana sword cutting tofu.

When one large piece fell with a mighty clang, Tomisaburo indulged himself in shouting, "TIM-BERRRRRR!!"

He would have no qualms about slicing men apart with his micro-whip if it were in the line of duty--and by now, he would include protecting Lucinda, Victor and Adrienne as duty. But he was SO glad that no foreseeable emergency could call upon him to raise this weapon, or any weapon, against persons like those of the Alipang Havens household.
 
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The President of Aztlan, Chairman of the Aztec-Maoist Party, accepted his son's advice, and made sure that only fighter pilots directly subordinate to the Party would get the credit. Aztlan sorely needed a victory, after the failure of the air raid on Kansas; and Tonio Formentera was not about to let Los Flechadores collect the glory.

The very next time that a Texas Tu-95 went aloft, two upgraded French Mirage fighter jets violated Texan airspace to attack it. The upgraded Russian bomber fired four of its miniature air-to-air missiles, two at each incoming fighter; but knowing what to expect, and not having particle beams to look out for at the same time, the Aztlano fliers evaded the missiles. Their own larger missiles bore down on the Tu-95, which did open fire with its chain guns in an apparent effort to shoot down those missiles...but not for long, before the propellor-driven behemoth of the air disintegrated in a double explosion.

The aerial assassins in the service of El Presidente were so gleeful at shooting down one of the Texan air-defense planes, that they never did trouble their minds about why their victim had never fired the particle beams which the visiting Mexican programmer had confirmed as part of its weapon suite. Meanwhile, El Presidente himself was composing his next televised speech, in which he would pretend to believe that the D.S.A. had been planning to use this very airplane as part of a biological-warfare offensive, launching missiles into Aztlano territory carrying deadly pathogens. The Chinese would know this was nonsense, but Formentera hoped to make some believers within the Hemispheric Union.

In reality, the only biological warfare happening along the Texas border was the measures taken to simulate charred corpses at the crash site, just as the earlier Mexican-Texan joint operation had simulated the deaths of the enemy fliers who were actually taken alive.

Emilio Vasquez, glad to be home and glad that Melody knew him to be innocent of any infidelity, now could thank God further that he was not one of the listed crew of the downed plane; thus, he would not have to play dead, and Melody would not have to play widowed. Meanwhile, someone who WAS playing dead had a secret meeting with Texas Ranger Commandant Brittany Pierce.

"Captain Lewandowski, you Poles are tougher than I realized; you sure don't LOOK like a man who was just incinerated in mid-air."

"That remote control does wonders for our health, Commandant."

"We've got your transportation to Puerto Rico arranged. Are you allowed to tell me what your next mission will be?"

Stan Lewandowski smiled. "I can tell you this much, Commandant: be on the lookout for news of a classical music concert happening in a MOST unlikely place."
 
Two days after the shooting down of a Texas Tu-95, Daffodil Ford had a visitor who was more startling, if less enjoyable, than Bert Randall: Carlos Anselmo, Vice President of the Diversity States and First Deputy Chairperson of the Fairness Party.

"Comrade Vice President!" the teenager yelped. "How do I rate such an honor?"

"Consider it a birthday present," replied the somewhat obese politician. "I'm aware that you're turning sixteen soon, and your caregiver won't be able to celebrate it with you."

"Yes, sir, she did call me; she's going to be in Caracas for more than a week, submitting proof that we didn't attempt to wage biological warfare on Aztlan."

Anselmo nodded gravely. "Yes, it's a believable accusation, insomuch as warlike elements in our country, their bloodlust frustrated by strict armaments limitations, would like to compensate by reviving pathogenic offensive tactics. I understand that your caregiver will stress, in her speeches to the Hemispheric Assembly, that removing the Biblicals from all federal positions of authority has already removed the old fascistic American tendencies."

"My caregiver is nothing if not an eloquent speaker." Daffodil still wondered why the Vice President would visit him; he was merely filling in time with a trivial statement, while waiting to be enlightened. He had to wait some more, while Anselmo asked him a question as if they were equals.

"Tell me, Citizen Ford, since you have had such an advantage in learning geopolitics: what do you make of the reasons for this tension between our country and Aztlan?"

Since the tension had been going on for months, Daffodil had in fact had plenty of time to wonder about it....and also time to ponder what he might say if he were ever drawn into a discussion of it, with persons who (like nearly every member of the Fairness Party) did not want to hear one word that was not in harmony with groupthink. So he said:

"Sir, I'm reminded of the Korean Peninsula in the previous century. The racist capitalist barbarians of South Korea were stuck in a geographical position which offered them hardly any outlet for their imperialistic wishes. They had several stronger nations in their vicinity, and only ONE adjoining nation which they could have any hope of conquering: the refined, happy and peace-loving collective of North Korea. So all that South Korea could do was to continue provoking the North Koreans again and again, right up until Greater China imposed peace."

The Vice President smiled. "I think I see where you're going. Despite much greater land area, there is now another situation like the old Korean standoff. The Diversity States and Aztlan have, besides each other, only two other nations that border them by land. Canada is strong, and Mexico is strong; so the selection of safe targets for aggression is terribly small."

"Sir, I notice that you haven't even said WHO is the aggressor."

Anselmo's smile grew broader. "Diplomatic habit. I like it that you caught me at it. And since you DO have such a sharp mind...it's time for me to tell you about your other birthday present!"

"What would that be, Comrade Vice President?"

"See if you can figure it out. When Yang Sung-Kuo and your friend Bert Randall desired permission to tour the Western Enclave, did you hear who it was that intervened to facilitate granting the request?"

"Why, it was you, sir. It wasn't classified, although--Oh! Sir! Oh! Wow! Are you telling me that--??"

Carlos Anselmo clapped the tall boy on the shoulders. "I think you've just figured it out. YOU are going to see the inside of the Enclave!"

"Yow! Yikes!" The boy leaped straight up in the air, his head almost bumping the ceiling of the hospital room. "Thank you, sir, thank you! Is my mo-- is my caregiver aware of this?"

"She is, and she considers it good timing. She expects to spend plenty of time in the Southern Hemisphere between now and February, and she feels that this will be a chance for you to cultivate your skills on your own."

Daffodil's enthusiasm was just slightly diminished by puzzlement. "Begging your pardon, sir, but which skills? Although I do want to see the Enclave, I'm not sure what you mean here. It isn't as if I were an accredited ambassador visiting a foreign capital."

"Ah, Citizen Ford, but you should know from your Australian friend that not all the work of a government is performed by the accredited officials. Although the internal exiles are not a sovereign nation, they ARE alien to our way of life. So this visit, however long or short its duration turns out to be, will be superb training for you in crossing cultural barriers to seek understanding. And if you happen to find out anything of interest to the Rainbow House, well, so much the better."

"Find out...? Sir, I'll be delighted to be useful, but are you saying that I should consider myself to be doing research, as Mr. Randall was?"

The Vice President stepped one pace closer to Daffodil. "In a manner of speaking, yes. The Party has its eye on you; and now that you seem to be getting over your unfortunate stresses, we look for great things from you. Please regard this tour, therefore, as also being experience for you in confidential work. I will arrange means by which you can communicate with ME from inside the Enclave. Don't tell anyone else that I'm doing so; it will permit me to guide you in your training, without your being stressed again by having too many persons to answer to...."
 
The Texas Rangers sure have a difficult job right now.

Copperfox said:
"Captain Lewandowski, you Poles are tougher than I realized; you sure don't LOOK like a man who was just incinerated in mid-air."

"That remote control does wonders for our health, Commandant."
Click to expand...

He, he.:D

I'm glad Daffy's getting to go the the Enclave, and I hope the officials won't make it too difficult for him.
 
Hasty Instant Poll:

In the timestream of this story, it is now late October: about eight days before Lorraine Kramer is to get married to Bill Shao. As my readers will have noticed, I usually write a chapter happening all inside the Enclave, or all outside it. So, would you folks rather that my next chapter go back inside the Enclave and move along to that wedding, or stay outside and let you know what good guys like Brendan Hyland and Chilena Salisbury are up to?
 
Zella, Timbalionguy expressed the same preference. That's how it will be. I'll just assume that it takes some days for procedures to happen to get Daffodil into the Enclave.
 
Chapter 46: A Cure for Complacency

On the last Sunday in October, which was also the last Sunday before the date set for Lorraine Kramer to marry Bill Shao, The Church of the Faithful in Casper was well attended. Pastor Zondei was planning at a later time to preach on the same theme of evildoers divided among themselves as Alipang had been urging--and Abraham Zondei had had the idea independently of Alipang, which served as a confirmation; but today he was preaching about something the exiles had left behind when relocated, and had never missed. The two girl musicians, with their trombone and clarinet, had set the mood by leading the congregation in the hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God;" Eric Havens had recited relevant portions of the second and sixth chapters of Ephesians, about spiritual evil and the fight against it; and now the sermon was in progress.

"It was not until I came to what was then the United States, that I gained any real familiarity with Halloween. Those American Christians with whom I mostly had fellowship were dead set against it, considering it to be purely Satanic with no redeeming elements at all. I would not go so far as to say that every person who ever wore a costume at Halloween was intentionally worshipping demons and insulting God; but certainly the custom is a vain and shallow thing, which diverts people from things more profitable to their souls. As you know, carbon dioxide is not, strictly speaking, poisonous; but in an atmosphere where carbon dioxide has _displaced_ oxygen, we would die of asphyxiation.

"Prior to being caught up in the great relocation, I did happen to see three or four horror movies, on some pretext or other. The ones I saw were all old ones, from before 1960; all of them at least led the audience to sympathize with the monster's intended victims, rather than to admire the monster; indeed, one of the films I saw actually acknowledged God, and gave Him credit for evil being defeated in the end. The friend who showed me that one made sure to let me know that horror cinema had gone downhill after the Sixties, until it became the _conventional_ approach to deny God and to deny all power of goodness, letting demons and ghosts and zombies do whatever they wanted to humans who had no way to defend themselves.

"No wonder that, by the time I came to America, Christians would have cause to dislike Halloween. Monsters had become role models in popular culture! They were admired for being lawless and amoral; they were envied for their imagined invincibility. But Psalm 37 and Proverbs 24 both tell us not to envy the wicked. It's better to be mortal and vulnerable, than to have superhuman powers--and be cut off from the love and joy which _only_ the true God can provide."

As the pastor continued contrasting God's benevolent character and reliable promises with the morbid attitudes of degraded fantasy, the main entrance door of the large storefront church swung open. In stepped someone known to many of the worshippers: Captain Maria Butello, commander of the Overseers for the Wyoming Sector, wearing her reflective uniform. Since she had never been given to wanton cruelty herself, and she did not appear threatening now, Abraham Zondei did not halt his sermon. Eric Havens rose from his seat and silently walked toward Captain Butello, to ask her in a whisper what she wanted; she gestured to him to wait.

"...Some of those who are fascinated with monsters and ghosts, are not so morally perverted as to wish to be predators. Rather, because the prevailing social climate offers them no spiritual hopes, they are like starving men eating grass or garbage--desperate for _something_ to nourish their hungry spirits. To them, even an imaginary demon or walking mummy is an improvement over a totally mechanical, impersonal cosmos which has no feelings and no divine purpose."

At this point, Captain Butello lowered her helmet visor over her face, bringing its miniature loudspeaker into play. "Silence now, citizens! Dr. Havens, return to your seat! Everyone stay where you are! Do not move without permission!"

A moment later, two Overseer motorcycles pushed their way in through the doorway, and moved in tandem right up the aisle to the platform. The riders had their visors up, revealing that they were male, and unknown to the churchgoers: either new to Enclave duty, or brought over from a different sector. Up front, they turned around to aim their particle beams menacingly at the congregation. Two more Overseers, with visors down and thus fully covered against any discharge of their comrades' beam weapons, came halfway along the aisle on foot, with automatic pistols in their hands.

"There will be a change in your morning ritual," declared Captain Butello's amplified voice.

 
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Cecilia Havens clung to her husband's arm, while the color drained from her face. Beside them, Terrance and Harmony also stared in suspense at the intruders. John and Felicity Waddell, seated on the other side of the sanctuary, exchanged a glance, as if silently telling each other that they were ready to depart this world if this was their time. Abraham Zondei was silently praying for the eternal salvation of the five Overseers (of whom the two in the aisle with guns appeared by their physiques to be male also).

But no one opened fire. Captain Butello said, still by loudspeaker, "The Deputy Commander of Overseers, representative of the Department of Indoctrination for the Western Enclave, instructs me to inform you all that a modest lesson must be taught to you. The administrative triumvirate has been extremely lenient to you Biblicals this year, granting privileges and concessions which were not envisioned when you were originally exiled. Approval of an exile newspaper; the creation of ombudsman positions to be held by exiles; permission for exiles to be interviewed by a major outside journalist; permission for foreign researchers to tour the Enclave; even clearance for three exiles to depart! The Deputy Commander, in his wisdom, is apprehensive that so much indulgence could foster a sense of entitlement among you, leading to possible future acts of disobedience. Therefore, as preventive medicine, I am instructed to remind you all of your place in the social order."

Suddenly, Pastor Zondei spoke up, his voice carrying as well without amplification as the Captain's with amplification: "If it is thought necessary to celebrate the completion of someone's life, please take me." An instant later, the Waddells rose from their seats as one, and Felicity spoke for them both: "Or take us--together!" On their very heels, Terrance Havens also rose and volunteered to be murdered, followed by several more including Dr. Torvill.

The Overseers on the motorcycles looked at each other with bewildered expressions, as if they had expected the Biblicals to be paralyzed with the fear of death, and were startled to find it otherwise. They were still more taken aback when Tilly De Soto, with an arm around her husband, loudly recited, "Do not fear those who kill the body, but after that are not able to do any more!"

"Enough!" exclaimed the Overseers' leader, who clearly was the only one of the five intruders NOT flabbergasted by the defenseless people's bravery. "I am not under orders to terminate anyone. But I must order all of you to sit down, in fact to lower your heads." A moment later she gave a hand signal to the Overseers with the pistols. Turning to face opposite side walls, these two men abruptly fired above the heads of the worshippers, damaging the walls and smashing most of the side windows. Children screamed in fright, but not one adult in the sanctuary showed panic. Any shivering was more than sufficiently explained by the frigid wind entering through the shattered windows.

"Now," Butello resumed, "for one more instructive gesture. You two musicians, come toward me and lay your instruments on the floor of the center aisle, then get out of the way." What ensued had clearly been planned in advance, for no command was needed by the Overseers on the motorcycles. They slowly drove their vehicles back down the aisle, crushing the trombone and the clarinet into useless junk as they went. The pistol carriers followed the motorcyclists outside. Last to exit, Captain Butello concluded the "lesson" with the words: "You may now continue your superstition as you please. It is, however, for your own good to have been reminded not to contemplate rebellious actions." Then she also left, and subsequent sounds indicated that she and the two gunmen were departing in a larger motor vehicle, accompanied by the silent electric motorcycles.

With the danger past, everyone in the sanctuary looked either at Pastor Zondei, or at the two young women robbed of their music. The Pastor beckoned these two women to his side. First he said to the congregation: "It's a good enough conclusion to my sermon to remind you: do not be envious of the wicked. Our coal stove can't keep the building warm now; parents, get your children to where they can be out of the chill. Tomorrow, I'll ask for volunteers to help me get those gaps covered with something." Then he said to the young women in everyone's hearing, "Sisters, I thank you on everyone's behalf for the blessing you have been to us these many months. Between now and next Sunday, please be in thought and prayer about whether you could help us to organize an a capella choir."
 
On that same Sunday morning, Sussex Gospel Church also experienced an interruption. This interruption didn't even wait for Peter Ionesco to begin his sermon, and gunshots were the _start_ of the interruption.

At least these shots, like those fired inside the church in Casper, were not fired _into_ any people. They were fired from the outside through the upper portion of the entrance doors. Being more completely taken by surprise than the believers in Abraham Zondei's flock, the adults might be pardoned for yelping in startled alarm and stopping a worship chorus in mid-repetition. But Alipang and Kim Havens, seated in the front row, did not lose their self-control; they both had experience with being shot at.

As at The Church of the Faithful, five Overseers came in, but these all came on foot. The first two were the ominous team of Huddleston and Vargas--holding the guns which had presumably riddled the doors. Behind them came two female Overseers, armed only with the regulation tasers. Behind these women, wearing Overseer armor instead of his usual pink suit, and armed with a magnetic rail-rifle which appeared to be more weight than he was accustomed to carrying, came Nash Dockerty, the man who mostly preferred being called simply the Deputy Commander. The two gunmen took possession of the front of the sanctuary, much as Captain Butello's motorcyclists had done. The two women took their helmets off entirely, having no particle-beam hazard to shield against in this case; they were not bad looking, one white and one black, but no one in the congregation was sure who they were.

Dockerty kept the tensely-watching exiles waiting to find out what this was all about, as he strolled here and there, pointing his lethal weapon at various persons randomly. Peter Tomisaburo was in a side-aisle seat; at the moment the Deputy Commander passed near him, he had an impulse to take out his micro-whip and slice the fat man's feet out from under him. Vargas and Huddleston would have no idea what was causing their chief to fall down; they would almost certainly come running to his aid, and then Agent Tomisaburo could kill both of them before they knew what the threat was. From what he knew of them (and he knew more than Miguel De Soto knew), Vargas and Huddleston deserved to die. But no, that was not what Beijing had stationed him here for; and besides, it might endanger Lucinda, who for the moment was out of immediate peril, being in the basement on childcare duty.

Finally the Deputy Commander came to a halt at the rear of the church, so that all the worshippers would be forced to twist around in their seats when he shouted, "Look at me!" He didn't need voice amplification to be heard, this sanctuary being much smaller than the one in Casper.

When everyone was looking back at him, Dockerty continued: "Most of you were witnesses to the impromptu sporting event that involved your town dentist, Alipang Havens. Although this martial-arts exhibition was authorized and harmless, a person of responsibility such as I must always be thinking about the cumulative influence that such spectacles may have upon a volatile population like you people. Citizen Alipang Havens, get up and come toward me....You know, that beard looks appropriate on you: nice and primitive."

Kim snatched the fleeting opportunity to kiss her husband's hand as he rose to his feet. Then Alipang was walking unintimidated straight toward the aimed muzzle of the magnetic weapon which could send a projectile through him, through the building wall behind him, through the next two buildings in that direction, and on through any three or four trees that might be in the line of fire. When Alipang was not quite close enough to reach the petty tyrant with a lunge, the petty tyrant told him, "That's far enough."

"What can we do for you, Deputy Commander?" Alipang asked.

"There is something you need to do for your whole community, Citizen Havens. Your biography is known to us; you have injured or killed more persons than the average Overseer has ever done since the success of the Diversity Revolution."

"But sir, if you know my life story so well, you also know that every person I ever harmed or slew had _first_ offered unprovoked violence to me or to some innocent person."

"Be careful, Citizen Havens; you are coming dangerously close to uttering words of moral judgment. Clearly a symptom of your never-cured, religion-based Oppositional Defiant Disorder--which is why I'm here today. If your kung-fu match with Yang Sung-Kuo had been a thing in isolation, I would not concern myself with it any further. But because you have a _history_ of combativeness, I'm worried that your being allowed this recent venting of your aggressions might prove only to have _increased_ such tendencies in you."

Alipang wondered if all this was _really_ only happening because Dockerty had been too cowardly to oppose Bert Randall in the matter of liberating that Egyptian woman and her children, so now he had to reassure himself of his machismo by holding a gun on an unarmed man. What he said aloud was, "Is there a way I can prove to your satisfaction that I am not a threat to public order?"

That brought forth a piggish smile on Dockerty's jowly face. "Why, yes, so there is!"
 
As if by a plan, the black one of the two female Overseers now came up alongside her superior, which put her near Alipang yet not in the rail-rifle's line of fire. "The collective is all," she declared, as if this by itself were an answer. "You don't know me by sight, Dr. Havens, or rather you don't _remember_ seeing me; but I was the pilot in the airplane crash that you responded to on July fourth. My name is Luminessa Tigobo; and my friend is Faye Miller, who was my co-pilot that night."

Alipang nodded, first at the woman speaking, then at the rusty-haired co-pilot. "All right, I remember your names being mentioned to me at some point while Henry and I were at your infirmary. So are you going to tell me what will convince your leader that I'm not about to crumble the very foundations of society?"

"Yes, we'll tell you," Luminessa assured him, with a bright smile on her dark face.

"It isn't as if it were anything that would _hurt_ you," Faye added, also coming closer.

Dockerty lowered his weapon. "Call it an act of conformity to the collective, Citizen Havens. You could even call it participating in a sacrament, in the name of oneness; and after all, what other goal _could_ there be in religion but to achieve oneness?"

Wilson Havens had taken the risk of leaving his seat, coming up behind his father. It was he, then, who answered the Deputy Commander's rhetorical question, with the words: "There's the goal of knowing truth."

"There is no truth except what the Party finds to be expedient! Now return to your seat, young citizen; showing special solidarity with your chromosome source is not in the mutual spirit."

Alipang turned to look at his son with eyes full of love and pride. "It's all right, Wilson, thanks." And the teenager went back to his mother and siblings.

"Now, consider this, Dr. Havens," the Deputy Commander resumed. "What if the only way for you to save everyone in this congregation from summary termination were to make a small, easy exception to your tribal taboos? What if, by a simple and purely natural action, you could _prevent_ me from suspecting that this church is a nest of seditionists whose existence menaces the collective?"

"Meaning what?" Although he didn't want to be the one to say it, Alipang already had a guess of what was brewing; he was alerted by the expressions of Overseers Luminessa Tigobo and Faye Miller, who were looking at him in very much the way Dana Pickering had formerly looked at him.

"An act of joining our civilization," purred Faye.

"It can take any of several forms," Dockerty expounded. "You could engage in biologically-normal interaction with Overseer Miller, OR with Overseer Tigobo, or even with both of them. They would be pleased to accommodate you, they've told me as much. This need not alter your primary partnering arrangement; merely a single night of mutual enjoyment will be enough to satisfy me that you are not a seditionist." He was enjoying the sight of Dr. Havens trying to appear unperturbed; now he upped the ante. "There is even another option, just to show that I'm reasonable and flexible. You could be excused from this interaction....if your partner Kimberly Havens would rather that SHE did the proving of collective acceptance....with ME. She could even do it with Huddleston or Vargas if she prefers; I'm not greedy, and I believe in freedom of choice."

Alipang remembered the day when he had told his elder son that they had to do their fighting with the weapons of the Holy Spirit. He had prayed, times beyond counting, that the Third Person of the Trinity _would_ in fact equip them. So.... when words began to take shape in his mind, he had to assume that they were being put there BY the Spirit. He let those words escape, trusting God not to let him be shot before they were all uttered.

"Deputy Commander, you already knew before you came in here that neither Kim and I, nor any of the others here, are plotting any armed uprisings or sabotage. You know that your true motive in this visit to us is to display your power; and that _every_ possible outcome of this test you're giving me will serve your intent.

"If I simply defy you, and you murder all of us in cold blood, you will feel your own sense of power confirmed--not so much by the physical murder of us, as by the knowledge that the Campaign Against Hate will blindly and automatically justify your actions, pretending to believe _whatever_ explanation you offer. If I consent to my wife being violated, you'll dismiss me in your mind as a coward and a hypocrite, ready to let her suffer for me; and if I violate myself by immoral contact with Overseer Tigobo or Overseer Miller, you'll convince yourself that I really wanted to do such a thing all along, and I was only waiting for an opportunity when I would have an excuse for it."

There was something in the air, becoming noticeable by degrees as Alipang was talking. Sylvia Lathrop was the first to detect it: a delicate scent, as from a combination of new flowers in springtime. Kim, Lorraine, Bill Shao, Raoul and Annette Rochefort, Pastor Ionesco, and many others began to be aware of it; even Lucinda Tomisaburo, trembling in the basement with the small children, sensed it. If God could be imagined as talking to the olfactory sense, it seemed to these persons that He was telling them all would be well.

"The bedrock premise of the Diversity States Peace Code," Alipang continued, "is that persuasion is mightier than violence. Admittedly, one might question what purposes the regime seeks to persuade people FOR; all the same, persuasion is your trumpeted ideal. When you menace us with firearms, are you demonstrating confidence in the Peace Code? And are you so sure that you could not gain _more_ prestige by leaving us unmolested, than by a gratuitous act of childish spite? Remember that the authorization for the tour by the Chinese and Australian researchers came from far above your head. Would the Vice President have approved the tour if he thought it would encourage rebellion among us exiles? It may be that your practicing _actual_ tolerance will be the very thing that raises you in the estimation of your superiors, as you grant this infraculture the chance to develop in the constructive ways it's capable of. So kindly be on your way, Deputy Commander; you can always murder us another day if there's need, but you can't bring us back if you murder us this morning. Either way, by whatever means and on whatever day we may die, we exiles know where we're going _after_ death. And on those few occasions when you allow yourself to think of it, in between times of taking refuge in empty pleasure, you wish that you knew as much."

Silence fell tangibly. Not even conscious of doing so, Dockerty flipped the safety switch on his rail-rifle. The female Overseers were gazing at Alipang with something like reverence; even the hardened killers Vargas and Huddleston appeared to be thinking soberly. Then Luminessa Tigobo said softly, "I think you win, Dr. Havens. I'll be sorry not to have enjoyed you, but you win."

Almost as if deprived of the power of speech, Dockerty merely gestured to his gunmen, and all five Overseers departed the church amid a strange quiet. As they took to their vehicles out on the street, everyone inside the church exhaled.
 
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