The First Love Of Alipang Havens
- Thread starter Copperfox
- Start date
Copperfox
Well-known member
Another woman who didn't mind working with men, and who worked for the Diversity States Ambassador to the Hemispheric Union, was a young African-American woman named Vonetta Ashford.
Having lost her whole family at the time of the overthrow of the United States, Vonetta had found a protector and father-substitute in Vibol Ritisak, whom she had met by way of knowing his daughter Kolab at college. Now she was an all-purpose messenger for him; and as such, seated beside him in the Bi-Continental Assembly, she got to see and hear something of interest which occurred after the Aztlan affair had been dropped for the day. An unusual visitor was introduced--unusual because he was a United Nations diplomat whose country was not in the Western Hemisphere: Hatim Abdul-Samad, assistant to the U.N. Ambassador of the European Caliphate. Abdul-Samad was introduced by the Venezuelan Ambassador to the H.U., Venezuela being the friendliest Western Hemisphere country to the Caliphates.
The visitor glowered at all women within sight, but soon got down to his business. "Allah Akbar!! I speak to you on behalf of the true forces of peace and morality. An outrage has been committed in my country, specifically in that part of my country known to the unenlightened as France. In the cities of Paris, Nice, Toulon and Orleans, just yesterday morning, minutes after morning prayers were concluded, persons unknown perpetrated a heinous disturbance of the peace. We are still investigating how it was done, but in all of those cities, some kind of outdoor sound speakers were positioned, and set into operation all at once. They all played an orchestral melody which, as we eventually determined, was an instrumental version of 'Barcarolle' from 'The Tales of Hoffmann,' by the pre-Caliphate French composer Jacques Offenbach. Research reveals that, as a vocal piece, this song was traditionally performed by WOMEN!!!!
"Thus, on top of the scandalous implication that Europe could have any interest in a culture other than Islamic culture, this unauthorized playing of music subtly declared that women ought to be HEARD in public! This is an undeniable act of cultural genocide and bigotry.
"My immediate superior, by this time, has already made the same complaint in Beijing. We have clues concerning which nations are most likely to have had a hand in the socio-cultural aggression: Israel, Poland, Nigeria and Uganda are among those we suspect. But we do not rule out more distant adversaries--which is why I am here today. I am here to call upon all Western Hemisphere governments to condemn this act of hatred and prejudice, and to cooperate with my government's hunt for the culprits.
"Although none of you have yet had the enlightenment to embrace a Caliphate for the Americas, I give due credit to Venezuela, and to the Diversity States and Canada, for having taken the vital step of creating Cantonments for the flourishing of Sharia law. So from you three nations especially, I anticipate cooperation. Regions of the world so blessed as to have been taken into the House of Peace, must not be defiled by the immoral music of the House of War!"
While Abdul-Samad continued, Vonetta noticed Ambassador Ritisak pulling out his dataphone...glancing at what seemed to be a text message...and smiling. Ritisak then silently placed the device where Vonetta could see what he had just seen, a message from some contact of his:
This evening by European time, in the Spanish cities of Madrid, Toledo and Valencia, immediately after evening prayers had ended, by the unexplained use of some kind of loudspeaker system, the public was able to hear clearly the sound of a classical-guitar composition by Francisco Tarrega, titled "Recuerdos de la Alhambra." Authorities are investigating.
Vonetta whispered into her employer's ear, "Looks as if our visitor will have still more to be furious about."
Having lost her whole family at the time of the overthrow of the United States, Vonetta had found a protector and father-substitute in Vibol Ritisak, whom she had met by way of knowing his daughter Kolab at college. Now she was an all-purpose messenger for him; and as such, seated beside him in the Bi-Continental Assembly, she got to see and hear something of interest which occurred after the Aztlan affair had been dropped for the day. An unusual visitor was introduced--unusual because he was a United Nations diplomat whose country was not in the Western Hemisphere: Hatim Abdul-Samad, assistant to the U.N. Ambassador of the European Caliphate. Abdul-Samad was introduced by the Venezuelan Ambassador to the H.U., Venezuela being the friendliest Western Hemisphere country to the Caliphates.
The visitor glowered at all women within sight, but soon got down to his business. "Allah Akbar!! I speak to you on behalf of the true forces of peace and morality. An outrage has been committed in my country, specifically in that part of my country known to the unenlightened as France. In the cities of Paris, Nice, Toulon and Orleans, just yesterday morning, minutes after morning prayers were concluded, persons unknown perpetrated a heinous disturbance of the peace. We are still investigating how it was done, but in all of those cities, some kind of outdoor sound speakers were positioned, and set into operation all at once. They all played an orchestral melody which, as we eventually determined, was an instrumental version of 'Barcarolle' from 'The Tales of Hoffmann,' by the pre-Caliphate French composer Jacques Offenbach. Research reveals that, as a vocal piece, this song was traditionally performed by WOMEN!!!!
"Thus, on top of the scandalous implication that Europe could have any interest in a culture other than Islamic culture, this unauthorized playing of music subtly declared that women ought to be HEARD in public! This is an undeniable act of cultural genocide and bigotry.
"My immediate superior, by this time, has already made the same complaint in Beijing. We have clues concerning which nations are most likely to have had a hand in the socio-cultural aggression: Israel, Poland, Nigeria and Uganda are among those we suspect. But we do not rule out more distant adversaries--which is why I am here today. I am here to call upon all Western Hemisphere governments to condemn this act of hatred and prejudice, and to cooperate with my government's hunt for the culprits.
"Although none of you have yet had the enlightenment to embrace a Caliphate for the Americas, I give due credit to Venezuela, and to the Diversity States and Canada, for having taken the vital step of creating Cantonments for the flourishing of Sharia law. So from you three nations especially, I anticipate cooperation. Regions of the world so blessed as to have been taken into the House of Peace, must not be defiled by the immoral music of the House of War!"
While Abdul-Samad continued, Vonetta noticed Ambassador Ritisak pulling out his dataphone...glancing at what seemed to be a text message...and smiling. Ritisak then silently placed the device where Vonetta could see what he had just seen, a message from some contact of his:
This evening by European time, in the Spanish cities of Madrid, Toledo and Valencia, immediately after evening prayers had ended, by the unexplained use of some kind of loudspeaker system, the public was able to hear clearly the sound of a classical-guitar composition by Francisco Tarrega, titled "Recuerdos de la Alhambra." Authorities are investigating.
Vonetta whispered into her employer's ear, "Looks as if our visitor will have still more to be furious about."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Some thirty hours later, in the Baltic Sea near Germany....
"Being here makes me miss eating fish," remarked Kathy Templeton. She was one of the Sky Rangers who had supposedly died on the Texas Tupolev bomber that had been shot down by the Aztlanos. She had volunteered to feign death because she had no one really close who would be devastated by losing her. Now she was enjoying a comfortable "afterlife": co-pilot once again to another supposed corpse, the Polish-born Stan Lewandowski. But in a very different vehicle: a submersible hovercraft, accommodating only three persons, with no offensive armament. It relied for survival on stealth, and on having no one expect its coming in the first place.
"Me too," replied the Captain. "Manya and I used to eat once a week at a great seafood restaurant in Gdynia, back when you could eat fish out of the Baltic." He was referring to his late wife, who had perished in a terrorist attack several years ago. "And then the radioactive material came pouring out of that Russian submarine." Here he referred to a Soviet-era submarine which had sunk in the ocean off Norway, too deep to be raised to the surface. A sealing dome built in place on the bottom had contained the nuclear contamination for many years--but had not been renewed when it needed to be. So at last the contents of the wrecked early-generation reactor had escaped, rendering a wide swath of the ocean unsafe to life; and some of the radioactive pollution had spread as far as the Baltic Sea. Unless science devised a means of decontaminating whole bodies of water, the affected areas would remain off-limits to fishing until the Second Coming of Christ, even if that did not occur for another four or five centuries.
Gaia-worshipping vegan fanatics had pompously declared that the destruction of Northern European ocean fishing was a sign that the Spirit of Oneness had never wanted human beings to eat fish. But not one of the politicians allied to them, in any nation, had ever accepted responsibility for not having simply restored the shielding on the sunken submarine before it was too late.
From the rear of the crew compartment, the third and youngest member of the crew spoke up. "I was at Oliver Stone High School when the submarine burst," said African-American Jackson Alyard, the electronic-warfare specialist. "On one of the few times that it was mentioned in a class, a teacher told us that the damage done by a _Soviet_ submarine was proof of how bad _capitalism_ was."
Lewandowski glanced over his shoulder at the college-aged American expatriate, who had been recruited in Ireland. "All the time you were a kid, the academic establishment was harping away on the theme that human policies were the determining factor in climate change; yet all that time, they did _nothing_ to push for action on an environmental threat which really _could_ have been averted by human actions."
"Tell me about it," Jackson snorted. "My Dad made himself old before his time, trying to fight against that kind of nonsense in high places." Jackson did not mean his biological father, who had died in a gang battle more than a decade ago. He meant the white New York policeman who had become his stepfather, and whose last name he was proud to carry. Patrolman Danny Alyard, later Detective Alyard, had married Jackson's never-before-married mother Tashonda Warner, and so Jackson and his elder sister Latisha had gained the fatherly love and guidance they would never have known otherwise.
"If our nameless army prospers," Kathy told the young man, "perhaps we can get your father a job as an instructor, or even an intelligence analyst."
"Having been a big-city detective certainly would be relevant experience for that," agreed Captain Lewandowski.
Moments later, conversation was suspended as Jackson had to turn to comms duty. Their vessel, currently running at a sixty-meter depth, was trailing a wire antenna, which could receive low-frequency radio signals that penetrated the water; by this means, though not able to talk back, they could receive information and orders without showing anything above the surface. What Jackson's console now picked up and decrypted was a weather report.
"We've got the weather we need!" exclaimed the specialist.
"Prepare to surface," Lewandowski told his two companions.
"Being here makes me miss eating fish," remarked Kathy Templeton. She was one of the Sky Rangers who had supposedly died on the Texas Tupolev bomber that had been shot down by the Aztlanos. She had volunteered to feign death because she had no one really close who would be devastated by losing her. Now she was enjoying a comfortable "afterlife": co-pilot once again to another supposed corpse, the Polish-born Stan Lewandowski. But in a very different vehicle: a submersible hovercraft, accommodating only three persons, with no offensive armament. It relied for survival on stealth, and on having no one expect its coming in the first place.
"Me too," replied the Captain. "Manya and I used to eat once a week at a great seafood restaurant in Gdynia, back when you could eat fish out of the Baltic." He was referring to his late wife, who had perished in a terrorist attack several years ago. "And then the radioactive material came pouring out of that Russian submarine." Here he referred to a Soviet-era submarine which had sunk in the ocean off Norway, too deep to be raised to the surface. A sealing dome built in place on the bottom had contained the nuclear contamination for many years--but had not been renewed when it needed to be. So at last the contents of the wrecked early-generation reactor had escaped, rendering a wide swath of the ocean unsafe to life; and some of the radioactive pollution had spread as far as the Baltic Sea. Unless science devised a means of decontaminating whole bodies of water, the affected areas would remain off-limits to fishing until the Second Coming of Christ, even if that did not occur for another four or five centuries.
Gaia-worshipping vegan fanatics had pompously declared that the destruction of Northern European ocean fishing was a sign that the Spirit of Oneness had never wanted human beings to eat fish. But not one of the politicians allied to them, in any nation, had ever accepted responsibility for not having simply restored the shielding on the sunken submarine before it was too late.
From the rear of the crew compartment, the third and youngest member of the crew spoke up. "I was at Oliver Stone High School when the submarine burst," said African-American Jackson Alyard, the electronic-warfare specialist. "On one of the few times that it was mentioned in a class, a teacher told us that the damage done by a _Soviet_ submarine was proof of how bad _capitalism_ was."
Lewandowski glanced over his shoulder at the college-aged American expatriate, who had been recruited in Ireland. "All the time you were a kid, the academic establishment was harping away on the theme that human policies were the determining factor in climate change; yet all that time, they did _nothing_ to push for action on an environmental threat which really _could_ have been averted by human actions."
"Tell me about it," Jackson snorted. "My Dad made himself old before his time, trying to fight against that kind of nonsense in high places." Jackson did not mean his biological father, who had died in a gang battle more than a decade ago. He meant the white New York policeman who had become his stepfather, and whose last name he was proud to carry. Patrolman Danny Alyard, later Detective Alyard, had married Jackson's never-before-married mother Tashonda Warner, and so Jackson and his elder sister Latisha had gained the fatherly love and guidance they would never have known otherwise.
"If our nameless army prospers," Kathy told the young man, "perhaps we can get your father a job as an instructor, or even an intelligence analyst."
"Having been a big-city detective certainly would be relevant experience for that," agreed Captain Lewandowski.
Moments later, conversation was suspended as Jackson had to turn to comms duty. Their vessel, currently running at a sixty-meter depth, was trailing a wire antenna, which could receive low-frequency radio signals that penetrated the water; by this means, though not able to talk back, they could receive information and orders without showing anything above the surface. What Jackson's console now picked up and decrypted was a weather report.
"We've got the weather we need!" exclaimed the specialist.
"Prepare to surface," Lewandowski told his two companions.
Copperfox
Well-known member
The trailing wire antenna was retracted. Ballast was quietly blown. The submersible hovercraft's holographic blur-projectors were active before broaching the surface. On a bright, clear day, the masking effect from these devices would not have been able to conceal the _presence_ of the craft, though making it hard for an onlooker to get much of an idea _what_ it was. But in the rain, before dawn, the intruder vehicle enjoyed nearly perfect invisibility. Jackson Alyard was silent now; besides monitoring the blur-projectors, he had their small ship's payload to manage.
They made landfall on Boltenhagen Beach. No one was fishing or hunting for Baltic amber; the poisoned sea worked for the infiltrators in that respect. Ahead were the centuries-old, gable-roofed buildings of Wismar.
"Didn't this town belong to the Hanseatic League?" whispered Kathy. Stan Lewandowski, native to this part of the world, was well versed in its history. He particularly liked talking about the great alliance of merchants which had been the leading power in the Baltic basin for much of the Middle Ages. Right now, he allowed himself only a brief acknowledgement of Kathy's question: "Sure did--a major center of Germany's lumber industry."
Kathy remembered other times, when Stan had talked with more emotion about the Hanseatic merchant-lords. They had been as capable of cruelty as other medieval rulers, but not _more_ cruel than the others; and the League had at least proven to the world that it was _possible_ for secular society to be led by something besides tribal warlords or hereditary monarchs.
The advanced hovercraft not needing to hug the ground, they followed a course over the roofs of some of the lower buildings. Every stage of this pass through the city had been planned on the basis of satellite imagery. Now Jackson went to work.
The transit of Wismar was a bombing run without bombs. Jackson was dropping dozens of compact sound-emitting devices, which attached themselves to the roofs they fell on. After the loudspeakers had done their job, nanobots inside them would thoroughly disassemble them, into pieces so small that no one who didn't know what to look for would take any notice of them. When all the devices were away, Stan Lewandowski changed course. But not straight back to the sea. It was not impossible that the Caliphate forces possessed submerged sensor arrays which could have picked up traces of the hovercraft, quiet and non-magnetic though it was. Thus there might be hostiles on alert in that direction. Instead, still in stealth mode, the vehicle would zigzag overland, eastward, to reach friendly territory.
It was not a prohibitively long route to take, because friendly territory would begin before Poland proper did. Upon the Islamofascist conquest of most of continental Europe, a segment of Germany that bordered Poland--a segment which included Berlin--had asked to be annexed by Poland. And since it would be the Poles and not the Germans calling the shots in this merger, the Poles had agreed. (India, some African countries, and the Russian Federation had sided with the Poles when a ruckus was raised about this in the United Nations, while China had remained neutral on the subject.) So it was that a part of Germany remained in which women did not have to trundle around looking like half-inflated tractor tires. Captain Lewandowski's crew should be able to reach _that_ border soon enough, before enemies figured out what had happened and got a fix on them. And the Polish defenses would recognize the hovercraft as a friendly and let it through.
When they had covered enough ground without signs of being spotted, Stan relaxed enough--though never ceasing to watch out for danger--to say to Jackson: "I wasn't in on the music selection, and I kept forgetting to ask you during the quieter parts of the submerged run when I _could_ have asked. So what _will_ Germany's Muslims and dhimmi be hearing after this morning's ritual prayers?"
Jackson, who owed his appreciation of classical music to his stepfather, said, "Recordings from about twenty years back, of Anne-Sophie Mutter playing two Mozart sonatas."
Kathy brightened up. "I remember her! When my parents were still living, they played classical-music videos for me. Anne-Sophie Mutter was the queen of the violin, as far as I'm concerned. I don't know if she's alive today, but I like it that she's fighting on our side!"
They made landfall on Boltenhagen Beach. No one was fishing or hunting for Baltic amber; the poisoned sea worked for the infiltrators in that respect. Ahead were the centuries-old, gable-roofed buildings of Wismar.
"Didn't this town belong to the Hanseatic League?" whispered Kathy. Stan Lewandowski, native to this part of the world, was well versed in its history. He particularly liked talking about the great alliance of merchants which had been the leading power in the Baltic basin for much of the Middle Ages. Right now, he allowed himself only a brief acknowledgement of Kathy's question: "Sure did--a major center of Germany's lumber industry."
Kathy remembered other times, when Stan had talked with more emotion about the Hanseatic merchant-lords. They had been as capable of cruelty as other medieval rulers, but not _more_ cruel than the others; and the League had at least proven to the world that it was _possible_ for secular society to be led by something besides tribal warlords or hereditary monarchs.
The advanced hovercraft not needing to hug the ground, they followed a course over the roofs of some of the lower buildings. Every stage of this pass through the city had been planned on the basis of satellite imagery. Now Jackson went to work.
The transit of Wismar was a bombing run without bombs. Jackson was dropping dozens of compact sound-emitting devices, which attached themselves to the roofs they fell on. After the loudspeakers had done their job, nanobots inside them would thoroughly disassemble them, into pieces so small that no one who didn't know what to look for would take any notice of them. When all the devices were away, Stan Lewandowski changed course. But not straight back to the sea. It was not impossible that the Caliphate forces possessed submerged sensor arrays which could have picked up traces of the hovercraft, quiet and non-magnetic though it was. Thus there might be hostiles on alert in that direction. Instead, still in stealth mode, the vehicle would zigzag overland, eastward, to reach friendly territory.
It was not a prohibitively long route to take, because friendly territory would begin before Poland proper did. Upon the Islamofascist conquest of most of continental Europe, a segment of Germany that bordered Poland--a segment which included Berlin--had asked to be annexed by Poland. And since it would be the Poles and not the Germans calling the shots in this merger, the Poles had agreed. (India, some African countries, and the Russian Federation had sided with the Poles when a ruckus was raised about this in the United Nations, while China had remained neutral on the subject.) So it was that a part of Germany remained in which women did not have to trundle around looking like half-inflated tractor tires. Captain Lewandowski's crew should be able to reach _that_ border soon enough, before enemies figured out what had happened and got a fix on them. And the Polish defenses would recognize the hovercraft as a friendly and let it through.
When they had covered enough ground without signs of being spotted, Stan relaxed enough--though never ceasing to watch out for danger--to say to Jackson: "I wasn't in on the music selection, and I kept forgetting to ask you during the quieter parts of the submerged run when I _could_ have asked. So what _will_ Germany's Muslims and dhimmi be hearing after this morning's ritual prayers?"
Jackson, who owed his appreciation of classical music to his stepfather, said, "Recordings from about twenty years back, of Anne-Sophie Mutter playing two Mozart sonatas."
Kathy brightened up. "I remember her! When my parents were still living, they played classical-music videos for me. Anne-Sophie Mutter was the queen of the violin, as far as I'm concerned. I don't know if she's alive today, but I like it that she's fighting on our side!"
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
They made it across the border, and were admitted to a defense outpost. Inside the most spyproof room available on the premises, the three cultural raiders were welcomed by a German officer they had met before--a Major Helmut Karlen--and a tall, handsome American they didn't know. The latter was wearing camouflage fatigues, but no insignia of any kind.
"Guten morgen! I'm glad you're safely home," said Major Karlen. "We're already getting word that the muezzins really 'enjoyed' their taste of Mozart. Allow me to introduce my friend, who is also your friend. Stan Lewandowski... Katherine Templeton...Jackson Alyard... meet a United States emigrant who for now shall be known as Captain Lacrosse."
Brendan Hyland, veteran of the United States Marines, alias Captain Lacrosse, shook hands all around. He gave a Yes to Jackson's question of whether he had ever played the actual sport lacrosse; then he got to business:
"Since you three have avoided capture, and will not be operating in Germany again anytime soon, I can tell you now that today's musical raid was truly stereophonic. While you carried out your drop via cross-border penetration, deep-cover agents on the ground succeeded in musical assaults much farther inland, on Frankfurt and Stuttgart. Both of those raids played Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy.' Yours would have been the same, except that Colonel Parnescu wouldn't hear of Mozart being left out of the fun."
"My thanks to the Colonel," said Kathy. "Those violin sonatas have sentimental meaning for me."
"And as events in which no seagoing assets could have played any part," Lewandowski observed, "those concurrent operations in the southern cities will hopefully have obscured our having come from the sea in the Wismar mission."
"That's right," replied Captain Lacrosse. "Which is also why we hit France and Spain _before_ going after the closer targets in Germany. Force the enemy to wonder _where_ the threat is coming from; prevent a total focus on Poland."
"We would like to hear," put in Major Karlen, "what you three think is the greatest gain that the free lands will achieve by our stunt of making a lot of mullahs and imams listen to infidel music. Lewandowski?"
"Sir, I believe that it serves most of all to keep our adversaries in doubt, as Captain Lacrosse mentioned. We _haven't_ used any weapons that would kill people or damage property; but the very fact of our _getting_ to all those places shows that we could have done something more violent. Like when the Chinese shot off those missiles right next to America's coastlines--letting us know what they _could_ have done, yet without killing anyone."
"How about you, Templeton?"
"Sir, my guess is the world-opinion effect. The European Caliphate, since its inception, has been dominated by its most extreme elements, except in Italy. Colonel Parnescu, or whoever HE takes orders from, doubtless knew that the Caliphate's diplomats are diplomats in name only, and could be counted on to scream bloody murder in the United Nations. Then they would make themselves look ridiculous to the rest of the world, by treating as an act of war something which no non-Islamic nation would sweat about for an instant."
"Alyard, what do you think?"
"Sir, as we were egressing, Captain Lewandowski made a reference to the dhimmi--all the non-Muslims IN a Caliphate who have to accept being treated as inferior. Obvously, my own ancestors are among those who have experienced that kind of treatment in history. If you sympathize with an oppressed population, you'll want to give them hope that liberation is possible. Something like the old 'spirituals' that slaves in the American South used to sing: some of those songs really carried secret signals to facilitate escapes on the Underground Railroad. I like to think that we can give such hope to the Europeans who are enslaved, just as I wish to give hope to Americans who are enduring a different brand of tyranny."
Captain Lacrosse shook Jackson Alyard's hand a second time. "Bullseye! All three answers do represent considerations which have entered into our thinking; but yours, about giving hope, is the foremost. As long as the world continues, as long as the very Apocalypse of Scripture has not yet undeniably started, we must and shall keep on hoping to increase freedom for humanity. And if those currently in chains can be given hope of our success... then more of them are likely to be recruitable as an indigenous resistance."
"Guten morgen! I'm glad you're safely home," said Major Karlen. "We're already getting word that the muezzins really 'enjoyed' their taste of Mozart. Allow me to introduce my friend, who is also your friend. Stan Lewandowski... Katherine Templeton...Jackson Alyard... meet a United States emigrant who for now shall be known as Captain Lacrosse."
Brendan Hyland, veteran of the United States Marines, alias Captain Lacrosse, shook hands all around. He gave a Yes to Jackson's question of whether he had ever played the actual sport lacrosse; then he got to business:
"Since you three have avoided capture, and will not be operating in Germany again anytime soon, I can tell you now that today's musical raid was truly stereophonic. While you carried out your drop via cross-border penetration, deep-cover agents on the ground succeeded in musical assaults much farther inland, on Frankfurt and Stuttgart. Both of those raids played Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy.' Yours would have been the same, except that Colonel Parnescu wouldn't hear of Mozart being left out of the fun."
"My thanks to the Colonel," said Kathy. "Those violin sonatas have sentimental meaning for me."
"And as events in which no seagoing assets could have played any part," Lewandowski observed, "those concurrent operations in the southern cities will hopefully have obscured our having come from the sea in the Wismar mission."
"That's right," replied Captain Lacrosse. "Which is also why we hit France and Spain _before_ going after the closer targets in Germany. Force the enemy to wonder _where_ the threat is coming from; prevent a total focus on Poland."
"We would like to hear," put in Major Karlen, "what you three think is the greatest gain that the free lands will achieve by our stunt of making a lot of mullahs and imams listen to infidel music. Lewandowski?"
"Sir, I believe that it serves most of all to keep our adversaries in doubt, as Captain Lacrosse mentioned. We _haven't_ used any weapons that would kill people or damage property; but the very fact of our _getting_ to all those places shows that we could have done something more violent. Like when the Chinese shot off those missiles right next to America's coastlines--letting us know what they _could_ have done, yet without killing anyone."
"How about you, Templeton?"
"Sir, my guess is the world-opinion effect. The European Caliphate, since its inception, has been dominated by its most extreme elements, except in Italy. Colonel Parnescu, or whoever HE takes orders from, doubtless knew that the Caliphate's diplomats are diplomats in name only, and could be counted on to scream bloody murder in the United Nations. Then they would make themselves look ridiculous to the rest of the world, by treating as an act of war something which no non-Islamic nation would sweat about for an instant."
"Alyard, what do you think?"
"Sir, as we were egressing, Captain Lewandowski made a reference to the dhimmi--all the non-Muslims IN a Caliphate who have to accept being treated as inferior. Obvously, my own ancestors are among those who have experienced that kind of treatment in history. If you sympathize with an oppressed population, you'll want to give them hope that liberation is possible. Something like the old 'spirituals' that slaves in the American South used to sing: some of those songs really carried secret signals to facilitate escapes on the Underground Railroad. I like to think that we can give such hope to the Europeans who are enslaved, just as I wish to give hope to Americans who are enduring a different brand of tyranny."
Captain Lacrosse shook Jackson Alyard's hand a second time. "Bullseye! All three answers do represent considerations which have entered into our thinking; but yours, about giving hope, is the foremost. As long as the world continues, as long as the very Apocalypse of Scripture has not yet undeniably started, we must and shall keep on hoping to increase freedom for humanity. And if those currently in chains can be given hope of our success... then more of them are likely to be recruitable as an indigenous resistance."
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
On the day after the day of the musical strikes in Germany, Brendan Hyland was back in the Polish city where his wife and children were installed in a safe house. They were not in such peril that they had literally to be _confined_ to one guarded house; but the house given to them for use enjoyed access to secret tunnels which had up-to-date countermeasures against earth-probing sensors. By this means, they could prevent anyone unfriendly from knowing exactly when they left home and returned: all part of that avoidance of predictability which went so far to promote safety.
Brendan had the chance to catch up on where all his children were in online schooling, using the same educational network they used in Nigeria. And they all had the chance to attend an orchestra concert in the city--though secrecy forbade Brendan to tell his family how ironic he found it for them to listen to classical music, in view of the covert operation he had been involved with.
Not least of the satisfactions of having free time was that the kids were old enough to keep themselves constructively occupied some of the time--so that Brendan and his wife Jennifer could catch up somewhat on time alone with each other.
After a long, delicious time of loving:
"Jen, do you wonder a lot about all the old friends we _haven't_ heard from in so long? Like, say, Jason Katon, or Gilberto Costamesa?"
"Sure, all the time. Even when we do get news of some of them, like the Havens family, it always seems to be only hints, only scraps of information." Jennifer paused to pull her husband into another extended kiss, before adding, "I know you miss your old school buddy Alipang."
"Smart lady. Wouldn't be so bad if I could communicate with Al directly--or even if the Pinkshirts would just leave off the censorship on the e-mails we get from Al's sisters who are on the outside."
Jennifer sighed. "Plenty of people today are worse off than we are, when it comes to finding out what's happened to people they care about. Where Al is concerned, at least we know he did get to become a dentist."
"Yeah, that counts for something. But I _know_ that a part of Al would like to have a hand in the fight we're fighting now."
"That, Bren darling, is in God's hands. As things are, YOU have the ball in YOUR hands; so run with it. You know how Al would cheer for you, if he could know."
Brendan took them back to more lovemaking after this. Although he believed unreservedly in his cause, he was trying for a little while not to think about the fact that he would soon be in preparations for a mission much less elegantly cultural than Stan Lewandowski's crew had lately carried out.
Brendan had the chance to catch up on where all his children were in online schooling, using the same educational network they used in Nigeria. And they all had the chance to attend an orchestra concert in the city--though secrecy forbade Brendan to tell his family how ironic he found it for them to listen to classical music, in view of the covert operation he had been involved with.
Not least of the satisfactions of having free time was that the kids were old enough to keep themselves constructively occupied some of the time--so that Brendan and his wife Jennifer could catch up somewhat on time alone with each other.
After a long, delicious time of loving:
"Jen, do you wonder a lot about all the old friends we _haven't_ heard from in so long? Like, say, Jason Katon, or Gilberto Costamesa?"
"Sure, all the time. Even when we do get news of some of them, like the Havens family, it always seems to be only hints, only scraps of information." Jennifer paused to pull her husband into another extended kiss, before adding, "I know you miss your old school buddy Alipang."
"Smart lady. Wouldn't be so bad if I could communicate with Al directly--or even if the Pinkshirts would just leave off the censorship on the e-mails we get from Al's sisters who are on the outside."
Jennifer sighed. "Plenty of people today are worse off than we are, when it comes to finding out what's happened to people they care about. Where Al is concerned, at least we know he did get to become a dentist."
"Yeah, that counts for something. But I _know_ that a part of Al would like to have a hand in the fight we're fighting now."
"That, Bren darling, is in God's hands. As things are, YOU have the ball in YOUR hands; so run with it. You know how Al would cheer for you, if he could know."
Brendan took them back to more lovemaking after this. Although he believed unreservedly in his cause, he was trying for a little while not to think about the fact that he would soon be in preparations for a mission much less elegantly cultural than Stan Lewandowski's crew had lately carried out.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 49: Thankless Giving
The full moon had come during the short honeymoon that Bill Shao had bargained for with his powerplant co-workers. On that night, sitting outdoors on a log with a bearskin rug wrapped around both of them against the chill, he had recited Chinese poems about the moon to Lorraine. This had been in Sussex, where there was little worry of live bears showing up. Their honeymoon hotel was a vacant house which Raoul Rochefort and other locals had fixed up for their use, and which would thereafter be given to whatever new exile family next moved into town.
As for the _indoor_ activities of their honeymoon, it never even crossed Bill's mind to regret that he had married a woman older than himself. Everything Lorraine knew that he didn't, was at his service, as she strove to make him happy, and succeeded. He had never imagined that anything this side of Heaven could be so good; and he never asked Lorraine how she had become so skillful at giving pleasure. It was not that he resented the late Wilson Kramer having had Lorraine before; it was that he didn't want to distress her by forcing her to remember that some of her experience had been acquired _outside_ the bounds of that honorable former marriage. All of that guilt had been dealt with by the blood of Christ, so now it was enough that God was causing good to come from it for Bill.
And then came the day--or rather evening--when Bill went back to work at Power Station 27; part of the work-swapping deal with others there had been that he would do all night shifts for the rest of this calendar year. Arriving early, he encountered his friend Purvis Kroll, who revealed to him the news which Alipang and others in Sussex had been keeping from him:
"Bill, did you hear about the power failure to the ultrasonic barrier that protects that recreational trail the government workers have along the foothills?"
"Not a thing," Bill admitted. "I've been otherwise occupied."
"So I hear, and pardon me for not saying congratulations first thing. But what happened concerns someone we know."
Bill's eyes narrowed. "Say, that's right, I did notice that Odette's name was completely absent from the duty schedule for the month. Is it her that something happened to?"
"Yes. She was badly hurt, so badly that she was flown out to a hospital in Omaha. She was mauled by a bear, one that got onto the trail because the ultrasonic fence wasn't working. And when workers from Power Station 4 investigated, they said it was sabotage."
"By whom, and why?"
Purvis lowered his voice. "I find it hard to believe, but they say it was done by a Grange volunteer: Henry Spafford."
"What?? I know who that is, he's a friend of Alipang's! Even if he were a skilled electrician and knew just where to do the damage, why would he _want_ to sabotage the barrier?"
"The Overseers say it was jealousy. Odette was seeing an Overseer named Kurt Langford, and supposedly Spafford went crazy because he had been trying for months to get her for himself. So he unleashed a bear on her and Langford."
Bill uttered an even louder "WHAT????" Then he added, "That's ridiculous! I've heard about that business: it was _Odette_ who was chasing _Henry,_ not the other way around! He didn't want her any more than--"
From behind Bill came the interrupting voice of Ralph Durgan: "Are you accusing the Overseers of lying, Bill? I'd be really careful about that if I were you."
Bill turned toward Ralph. "And how much do you know about this, Ralph? I know what I was told before now about Odette, but this is the first I've heard about her being hurt."
There was an odd, weaselly expression on Ralph's face. "I don't know much more than you do about the bear attack. The first I heard about it was nearly twenty-four hours after it happened. I do know that Citizen Spafford is said to be in custody, undergoing some kind of psychiatric treatment."
Bill scowled. "And if Henry did wish harm to Odette, have they figured out how he could _make_ a bear wander onto the recreational trail just at the time she was nearby?"
"That sort of thing is for the authorities to figure out," said Ralph dismissively. "Now, let me give you the pass-down on the condition of all the boilers..."
The full moon had come during the short honeymoon that Bill Shao had bargained for with his powerplant co-workers. On that night, sitting outdoors on a log with a bearskin rug wrapped around both of them against the chill, he had recited Chinese poems about the moon to Lorraine. This had been in Sussex, where there was little worry of live bears showing up. Their honeymoon hotel was a vacant house which Raoul Rochefort and other locals had fixed up for their use, and which would thereafter be given to whatever new exile family next moved into town.
As for the _indoor_ activities of their honeymoon, it never even crossed Bill's mind to regret that he had married a woman older than himself. Everything Lorraine knew that he didn't, was at his service, as she strove to make him happy, and succeeded. He had never imagined that anything this side of Heaven could be so good; and he never asked Lorraine how she had become so skillful at giving pleasure. It was not that he resented the late Wilson Kramer having had Lorraine before; it was that he didn't want to distress her by forcing her to remember that some of her experience had been acquired _outside_ the bounds of that honorable former marriage. All of that guilt had been dealt with by the blood of Christ, so now it was enough that God was causing good to come from it for Bill.
And then came the day--or rather evening--when Bill went back to work at Power Station 27; part of the work-swapping deal with others there had been that he would do all night shifts for the rest of this calendar year. Arriving early, he encountered his friend Purvis Kroll, who revealed to him the news which Alipang and others in Sussex had been keeping from him:
"Bill, did you hear about the power failure to the ultrasonic barrier that protects that recreational trail the government workers have along the foothills?"
"Not a thing," Bill admitted. "I've been otherwise occupied."
"So I hear, and pardon me for not saying congratulations first thing. But what happened concerns someone we know."
Bill's eyes narrowed. "Say, that's right, I did notice that Odette's name was completely absent from the duty schedule for the month. Is it her that something happened to?"
"Yes. She was badly hurt, so badly that she was flown out to a hospital in Omaha. She was mauled by a bear, one that got onto the trail because the ultrasonic fence wasn't working. And when workers from Power Station 4 investigated, they said it was sabotage."
"By whom, and why?"
Purvis lowered his voice. "I find it hard to believe, but they say it was done by a Grange volunteer: Henry Spafford."
"What?? I know who that is, he's a friend of Alipang's! Even if he were a skilled electrician and knew just where to do the damage, why would he _want_ to sabotage the barrier?"
"The Overseers say it was jealousy. Odette was seeing an Overseer named Kurt Langford, and supposedly Spafford went crazy because he had been trying for months to get her for himself. So he unleashed a bear on her and Langford."
Bill uttered an even louder "WHAT????" Then he added, "That's ridiculous! I've heard about that business: it was _Odette_ who was chasing _Henry,_ not the other way around! He didn't want her any more than--"
From behind Bill came the interrupting voice of Ralph Durgan: "Are you accusing the Overseers of lying, Bill? I'd be really careful about that if I were you."
Bill turned toward Ralph. "And how much do you know about this, Ralph? I know what I was told before now about Odette, but this is the first I've heard about her being hurt."
There was an odd, weaselly expression on Ralph's face. "I don't know much more than you do about the bear attack. The first I heard about it was nearly twenty-four hours after it happened. I do know that Citizen Spafford is said to be in custody, undergoing some kind of psychiatric treatment."
Bill scowled. "And if Henry did wish harm to Odette, have they figured out how he could _make_ a bear wander onto the recreational trail just at the time she was nearby?"
"That sort of thing is for the authorities to figure out," said Ralph dismissively. "Now, let me give you the pass-down on the condition of all the boilers..."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Henry Spafford had neither clocks nor a sight of the sky to help him, but he guessed that he was into his fourth day in this room. There wasn't even the act of going to the bathroom to mark time's passage; he was catheterized, so that sanitary necessities were taken care of right in this--
Hospital bed? It was like the one where he had lain for a shorter time last July, in the infirmary of Overseer Base 14. He believed that this was also an Overseer outpost, the one to which--
Had he been _brought_ here, or had he come of his own accord? There had been the woman, injured by the grizzly. Henry had contrived to use her cellphone to call for help. The man who answered the phone, however, had seemed to believe it was a practical joke. So then--
Yes, there had been Overseers. At the cabin, was it? Had he carried the injured woman to the trailside cabin when the cellphone call yielded no results? He might have used the cabin's landline phone--
But however the Overseers came to be there, they had tasered him. Or was it later, at their base, that they had tasered him? Time was confused for the Apache, in order of events as well as in duration. Who was it--?
Besides armored Overseers, there had been Pinkshirts: ones who seemed to have medical training. Henry was almost certain that those were the ones who had catheterized him, and--
Was he really confined to this bed? He couldn't see any straps or shackles; but he couldn't move his legs. The grizzly--? No, the grizzly had never laid a claw on him. Perhaps a motor-nerve block had been administered to prevent him from getting up. Meanwhile, the only nourishment he had received the whole time here had been in liquid form. It tasted like the well-known Joy Nectar, with something else mixed in, maybe protein powder. Was this beverage the reason why he felt--?
How was he feeling? An emotion was there inside his head, but he was unsure _what_ emotion it was, because he could not remember any events that should be _causing_ such an emotion. Stop and think, stop and think: was it fear, or sadness? Anger, maybe; that would be understandable, when he was being kept prisoner without explanation. But it _wasn't_ anger--
Guilt! That was it! But guilt for what? Had he done something wrong? Sure, in a general way he was a sinner, as all men were sinners in a general way. But the shed blood of Jesus Christ had released him from the burden of Adam's fall. Of course, being still human, he might have committed some particular misdeed, of which he needed to repent--
Attempted murder? That idea jumped into his brain unbidden. Had someone accused him of that? But whom would he have tried to murder? Henry tried to remember faces and voices of persons who had spoken to him while he had been in this room. None of them had been familiar to him, except--
Yes. One of the medical Pinkshirts, a woman, had sounded like one of those who had looked after him in that other infirmary, after the night of the plane crash. And one male Overseer's voice had sounded more definitely familiar, like one whom Henry must have met many times. But the name--?
Having remembered the July Fourth plane crash, the Grange volunteer now also remembered his more recent sighting of an Overseer airplane, that day when he had gone on patrol with Sumerico Bivar. The plane had been doing something, and Henry remembered feeling indignation about what it was doing. And with the indignation--
The feeling of triumph, that he had thwarted something which was trying to interfere with his mind. All right, if he had fought off one attack on his personality, maybe he could fight off another. That night of July Fourth, he had had no chance to resist whatever had overpowered him; but he was conscious now, and had his free will to use--
Or did he?
He must have.
God could hear thoughts. Therefore, Henry's mind asked God to let him shake off whatever was filling his head with fog. There had to be a reason why he was confined here; and if any clue to the reason was contained in his own brain, then by God's grace he intended to dig it out and bring it to light.
Hospital bed? It was like the one where he had lain for a shorter time last July, in the infirmary of Overseer Base 14. He believed that this was also an Overseer outpost, the one to which--
Had he been _brought_ here, or had he come of his own accord? There had been the woman, injured by the grizzly. Henry had contrived to use her cellphone to call for help. The man who answered the phone, however, had seemed to believe it was a practical joke. So then--
Yes, there had been Overseers. At the cabin, was it? Had he carried the injured woman to the trailside cabin when the cellphone call yielded no results? He might have used the cabin's landline phone--
But however the Overseers came to be there, they had tasered him. Or was it later, at their base, that they had tasered him? Time was confused for the Apache, in order of events as well as in duration. Who was it--?
Besides armored Overseers, there had been Pinkshirts: ones who seemed to have medical training. Henry was almost certain that those were the ones who had catheterized him, and--
Was he really confined to this bed? He couldn't see any straps or shackles; but he couldn't move his legs. The grizzly--? No, the grizzly had never laid a claw on him. Perhaps a motor-nerve block had been administered to prevent him from getting up. Meanwhile, the only nourishment he had received the whole time here had been in liquid form. It tasted like the well-known Joy Nectar, with something else mixed in, maybe protein powder. Was this beverage the reason why he felt--?
How was he feeling? An emotion was there inside his head, but he was unsure _what_ emotion it was, because he could not remember any events that should be _causing_ such an emotion. Stop and think, stop and think: was it fear, or sadness? Anger, maybe; that would be understandable, when he was being kept prisoner without explanation. But it _wasn't_ anger--
Guilt! That was it! But guilt for what? Had he done something wrong? Sure, in a general way he was a sinner, as all men were sinners in a general way. But the shed blood of Jesus Christ had released him from the burden of Adam's fall. Of course, being still human, he might have committed some particular misdeed, of which he needed to repent--
Attempted murder? That idea jumped into his brain unbidden. Had someone accused him of that? But whom would he have tried to murder? Henry tried to remember faces and voices of persons who had spoken to him while he had been in this room. None of them had been familiar to him, except--
Yes. One of the medical Pinkshirts, a woman, had sounded like one of those who had looked after him in that other infirmary, after the night of the plane crash. And one male Overseer's voice had sounded more definitely familiar, like one whom Henry must have met many times. But the name--?
Having remembered the July Fourth plane crash, the Grange volunteer now also remembered his more recent sighting of an Overseer airplane, that day when he had gone on patrol with Sumerico Bivar. The plane had been doing something, and Henry remembered feeling indignation about what it was doing. And with the indignation--
The feeling of triumph, that he had thwarted something which was trying to interfere with his mind. All right, if he had fought off one attack on his personality, maybe he could fight off another. That night of July Fourth, he had had no chance to resist whatever had overpowered him; but he was conscious now, and had his free will to use--
Or did he?
He must have.
God could hear thoughts. Therefore, Henry's mind asked God to let him shake off whatever was filling his head with fog. There had to be a reason why he was confined here; and if any clue to the reason was contained in his own brain, then by God's grace he intended to dig it out and bring it to light.
Copperfox
Well-known member
More hours passed, with nothing happening and no one entering the room. Henry had heard of sensory-deprivation torture, but this was the closest he had ever come to being a victim of it. All the same, like following a trail over difficult ground, he forced his mind to work on the mystery of why he was here in the first place.
His brain's immediate workings could not be what his keepers were concerned with, since there were no electrodes attached to his head; nor was his hair shaved off, as it would have been for such a purpose. Unless, of course, they had planted sensors _inside_ his head. But there was nothing he could do about implanted sensors if there were any; so he concentrated on a line of thought which _might_ help him.
The one familiar voice, coming from a man in an Overseer's reflective body armor.
The two male Overseers whom Henry had most often seen in the northeast quarter of the Wyoming Sector were Tuck Faraday and Kasim Rasulala. Rasulala had been transferred to Nebraska Sector, and anyway he had a deeper voice than what Henry had been hearing. So Tuck Faraday must have been the familiar voice.
Henry himself had been outside of his usual area of Grange activity, and now here was Overseer Faraday _also_ outside his usual area. Had Faraday been summoned westward _because_ he knew Henry? To assist in some kind of questioning? But questioning about what? Given modern brainwave-monitoring technology, _anyone_ should be able to interrogate Henry Spafford and infallibly know if he lied about anything. Besides, there had to be satellite imagery of what had happened on the recreational trail, not to mention whatever information could be provided by that man who had been running away from the grizzly.
So it was not likely that the authorities urgently needed to learn anything _from_ Henry. They must be wanting to do something _with_ him. Had the whole bear-attack emergency been some kind of setup, carefully planned in advance? That hardly seemed possible--getting a grizzly bear to be in just the right place, behaving with just the right aggressiveness, all in order to cause Henry to come to the rescue, so that then they could accuse him of something.
Henry knew himself to be too minor a figure in Enclave events for the rulers to spin elaborate schemes around him. Simply accusing him of a crime and then putting him to death, he could imagine; but this apparent manipulation, this tampering with his mind--what for?
Instead of all this being part of a pre-existing plot, it must be in _reaction_ to unforeseen events. The failure of the ultrasonic animal barrier must have been just that, a chance failure. So, someone was responding after the fact, making it up as they went along. Maybe some of the Energy Department workers were embarrassed at the power failure which could have cost the life of that woman, so they wanted a scapegoat? They would be off the hook if Henry could be charged with somehow _causing_ the incident. But thanks to that same lie-detection technology, Henry could be _proven_ to be telling the truth when he said he _hadn't_ done anything to cause the barrier failure OR the grizzly's attack on the woman.
If it had been an exile who came close to dying under the grizzly's claws, the government personnel doubtless would have closed ranks, and found Henry guilty of whatever they wanted him to be guilty of, regardless of evidence. But since it had been a _government_ worker who got hurt, government people would be looking at each other; someone would want to avoid being blamed by someone else. Therefore, Henry's truthfulness about the incident _would_ be an issue....
And if they wanted to get past the brainwave reading that would prove his honesty...
They needed him to _believe_ himself guilty of some crime; then his "confession" _would_ be believed.
Which gave Henry a clear agenda. He knew that he had acted to _save_ the woman from the grizzly; he must resist any trick or influence which tried to make him doubt his own memory of the occurrence. Like the apparently reinforced Joy Nectar they were feeding him; perhaps the Overseers were borrowing a page from holistic medicine, using some purely organic formula to make his mind more pliable without leaving suspicious chemical traces in his blood.
Being on his guard was half the battle. Probably they would not let him refuse his liquid nourishment, but he could watch his own thoughts, and resist any growing notion that he might really be guilty of some wrongdoing.
Henry Spafford knew that he had done his duty, as a man and as a Christian.
Even if _this_ treatment was all the reward he got for it.
His brain's immediate workings could not be what his keepers were concerned with, since there were no electrodes attached to his head; nor was his hair shaved off, as it would have been for such a purpose. Unless, of course, they had planted sensors _inside_ his head. But there was nothing he could do about implanted sensors if there were any; so he concentrated on a line of thought which _might_ help him.
The one familiar voice, coming from a man in an Overseer's reflective body armor.
The two male Overseers whom Henry had most often seen in the northeast quarter of the Wyoming Sector were Tuck Faraday and Kasim Rasulala. Rasulala had been transferred to Nebraska Sector, and anyway he had a deeper voice than what Henry had been hearing. So Tuck Faraday must have been the familiar voice.
Henry himself had been outside of his usual area of Grange activity, and now here was Overseer Faraday _also_ outside his usual area. Had Faraday been summoned westward _because_ he knew Henry? To assist in some kind of questioning? But questioning about what? Given modern brainwave-monitoring technology, _anyone_ should be able to interrogate Henry Spafford and infallibly know if he lied about anything. Besides, there had to be satellite imagery of what had happened on the recreational trail, not to mention whatever information could be provided by that man who had been running away from the grizzly.
So it was not likely that the authorities urgently needed to learn anything _from_ Henry. They must be wanting to do something _with_ him. Had the whole bear-attack emergency been some kind of setup, carefully planned in advance? That hardly seemed possible--getting a grizzly bear to be in just the right place, behaving with just the right aggressiveness, all in order to cause Henry to come to the rescue, so that then they could accuse him of something.
Henry knew himself to be too minor a figure in Enclave events for the rulers to spin elaborate schemes around him. Simply accusing him of a crime and then putting him to death, he could imagine; but this apparent manipulation, this tampering with his mind--what for?
Instead of all this being part of a pre-existing plot, it must be in _reaction_ to unforeseen events. The failure of the ultrasonic animal barrier must have been just that, a chance failure. So, someone was responding after the fact, making it up as they went along. Maybe some of the Energy Department workers were embarrassed at the power failure which could have cost the life of that woman, so they wanted a scapegoat? They would be off the hook if Henry could be charged with somehow _causing_ the incident. But thanks to that same lie-detection technology, Henry could be _proven_ to be telling the truth when he said he _hadn't_ done anything to cause the barrier failure OR the grizzly's attack on the woman.
If it had been an exile who came close to dying under the grizzly's claws, the government personnel doubtless would have closed ranks, and found Henry guilty of whatever they wanted him to be guilty of, regardless of evidence. But since it had been a _government_ worker who got hurt, government people would be looking at each other; someone would want to avoid being blamed by someone else. Therefore, Henry's truthfulness about the incident _would_ be an issue....
And if they wanted to get past the brainwave reading that would prove his honesty...
They needed him to _believe_ himself guilty of some crime; then his "confession" _would_ be believed.
Which gave Henry a clear agenda. He knew that he had acted to _save_ the woman from the grizzly; he must resist any trick or influence which tried to make him doubt his own memory of the occurrence. Like the apparently reinforced Joy Nectar they were feeding him; perhaps the Overseers were borrowing a page from holistic medicine, using some purely organic formula to make his mind more pliable without leaving suspicious chemical traces in his blood.
Being on his guard was half the battle. Probably they would not let him refuse his liquid nourishment, but he could watch his own thoughts, and resist any growing notion that he might really be guilty of some wrongdoing.
Henry Spafford knew that he had done his duty, as a man and as a Christian.
Even if _this_ treatment was all the reward he got for it.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Grange volunteers, such as Gabe Ellison and Ruby Vincent, had turned out as soon as word reached them that Henry Spafford was missing, and had begun searching for clues to his disappearance--operating on an ostensible assumption that no _human_ foul play had befallen him, since the only source of human foul play inside the Enclave was the very administration that pretended to be _preventing_ foul play. The Spafford family's homestead near Crazy Woman Creek became an informal nerve center, to which the searchers could bring the regretful news that they weren't finding Henry.
The Overseers were conspicuous by their absence from the search. Energy Department personnel might have helped by means of the aircraft at their disposal, but they made the excuse of needing to conserve fuel.
Alipang, as soon as he could get away from his dental patients, was among those out searching. Kim formed a plan of her own, but kept it secret at first. She would reveal it if Henry was not found soon.
John Wisebadger formed a plan which was not at all secret. In his capacity as Agriculture Ombudsman for the Wyoming Sector, he persuaded Okokeso Vekeseha, the Cheyenne woman in charge of Agriculture Department affairs in the sector, to accompany him straight to Rapid City. In fact, she so strongly appreciated his arguments for this measure, that for this purpose she commandeered the one airplane at her disposal, and they flew to the interior-travel airfield at the Enclave capital.
Soon they were welcomed into the office of the Undersecretary of Eco-Sensitive Agriculture; her first words to them were, "Sit down. Of the three triumvirate members, I have the least control over surveillance activity; but thanks to friends in certain labor unions, I have at least been able to ensure that _this_ room is not spied on."
"How much do you know about Citizen Spafford's disappearance?" asked Ms. Vekeseha.
"I know that I had the good luck to see some satellite imagery _before_ the Deputy Commander sequestered it," replied the Undersecretary. "His justification was that he was investigating possible criminal activity along the foothills; but the only crime I saw was against a grizzly bear."
John sat up straighter. "You mean Henry? Did he come up against a grizzly?"
"If that was he in the pictures, he did, and killed it quite skillfully. A woman on the recreational trail had been attacked and injured by the animal, while a man identified as an off-duty Overseer was running away. Citizen Spafford--most likely it _was_ he, since the man photographed had a bow, and no other male Grangers in Wyoming have such long hair--rendered first aid, then did something else that wasn't clear."
"I was told nothing about this," grumbled Ms. Vekeseha, "even though Agriculture is responsible for trail upkeep. Did you get to see who was next to come to the scene, and how long it took for them to show up?"
"No, I didn't see that far along in the sequence. I just know that Citizen Spafford was there at a certain time, and that he did the things I have described."
"So there is approximately _zero_ possibility that the Overseers _don't_ know exactly what happened to Henry after that," John declared. "And the woman who had been attacked by the grizzly had to have had government ties, to have been allowed on that trail. So Henry saved the life of someone employed by _your_ triumvirate, and yet the Campaign Against Hate won't let the rest of us know what became of him. Tell me, is Energy involved in the investigation?"
"I haven't yet been able to ask their Undersecretary; but since there was a power failure in the trail's protective system, they must be."
"So two thirds of the triumvirate should be in a position to pressure the third component for transparency," said John.
Ms. Vekeseha looked sidelong at him. "It would be nice if our pressure had more teeth. I'm not saying this, and you two aren't hearing me say it; but almost all _firearms_ inside the Enclave are owned by the Campaign Against Hate. Energy has a few Transport Police under its operational authority, no more; and as for us in Agriculture--you Grangers are the closest thing WE have to an armed police force."
"But even Dockerty has to answer to higher-ups," the Agriculture Undersecretary assured her visitors; "and he can hardly prevent us from being heard on this subject. Energy and I will apply all influence we can in this; and I don't see why the Overseers _shouldn't_ eventually disclose whatever they know about this."
"In case it helps," John offered, "I can provide one small bargaining chip. As Consultant Vekeseha knows, I have been pursuing a request for permission to equip some exiles with limited-power firearms to improve protection against wild animals. If it seems appropriate at any point, you can tell the Deputy Commander that you will reject this petition. If the Deputy Commander sees the exile population being suppressed in that way, he may feel a bit better about showing consideration to us in a different area: the area of letting us know where Henry Spafford is."
The Overseers were conspicuous by their absence from the search. Energy Department personnel might have helped by means of the aircraft at their disposal, but they made the excuse of needing to conserve fuel.
Alipang, as soon as he could get away from his dental patients, was among those out searching. Kim formed a plan of her own, but kept it secret at first. She would reveal it if Henry was not found soon.
John Wisebadger formed a plan which was not at all secret. In his capacity as Agriculture Ombudsman for the Wyoming Sector, he persuaded Okokeso Vekeseha, the Cheyenne woman in charge of Agriculture Department affairs in the sector, to accompany him straight to Rapid City. In fact, she so strongly appreciated his arguments for this measure, that for this purpose she commandeered the one airplane at her disposal, and they flew to the interior-travel airfield at the Enclave capital.
Soon they were welcomed into the office of the Undersecretary of Eco-Sensitive Agriculture; her first words to them were, "Sit down. Of the three triumvirate members, I have the least control over surveillance activity; but thanks to friends in certain labor unions, I have at least been able to ensure that _this_ room is not spied on."
"How much do you know about Citizen Spafford's disappearance?" asked Ms. Vekeseha.
"I know that I had the good luck to see some satellite imagery _before_ the Deputy Commander sequestered it," replied the Undersecretary. "His justification was that he was investigating possible criminal activity along the foothills; but the only crime I saw was against a grizzly bear."
John sat up straighter. "You mean Henry? Did he come up against a grizzly?"
"If that was he in the pictures, he did, and killed it quite skillfully. A woman on the recreational trail had been attacked and injured by the animal, while a man identified as an off-duty Overseer was running away. Citizen Spafford--most likely it _was_ he, since the man photographed had a bow, and no other male Grangers in Wyoming have such long hair--rendered first aid, then did something else that wasn't clear."
"I was told nothing about this," grumbled Ms. Vekeseha, "even though Agriculture is responsible for trail upkeep. Did you get to see who was next to come to the scene, and how long it took for them to show up?"
"No, I didn't see that far along in the sequence. I just know that Citizen Spafford was there at a certain time, and that he did the things I have described."
"So there is approximately _zero_ possibility that the Overseers _don't_ know exactly what happened to Henry after that," John declared. "And the woman who had been attacked by the grizzly had to have had government ties, to have been allowed on that trail. So Henry saved the life of someone employed by _your_ triumvirate, and yet the Campaign Against Hate won't let the rest of us know what became of him. Tell me, is Energy involved in the investigation?"
"I haven't yet been able to ask their Undersecretary; but since there was a power failure in the trail's protective system, they must be."
"So two thirds of the triumvirate should be in a position to pressure the third component for transparency," said John.
Ms. Vekeseha looked sidelong at him. "It would be nice if our pressure had more teeth. I'm not saying this, and you two aren't hearing me say it; but almost all _firearms_ inside the Enclave are owned by the Campaign Against Hate. Energy has a few Transport Police under its operational authority, no more; and as for us in Agriculture--you Grangers are the closest thing WE have to an armed police force."
"But even Dockerty has to answer to higher-ups," the Agriculture Undersecretary assured her visitors; "and he can hardly prevent us from being heard on this subject. Energy and I will apply all influence we can in this; and I don't see why the Overseers _shouldn't_ eventually disclose whatever they know about this."
"In case it helps," John offered, "I can provide one small bargaining chip. As Consultant Vekeseha knows, I have been pursuing a request for permission to equip some exiles with limited-power firearms to improve protection against wild animals. If it seems appropriate at any point, you can tell the Deputy Commander that you will reject this petition. If the Deputy Commander sees the exile population being suppressed in that way, he may feel a bit better about showing consideration to us in a different area: the area of letting us know where Henry Spafford is."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Alipang had tried to be systematic about the search for Henry. Since there was telephone service in the Enclave, he had begun making calls to other towns even before he was able to get away from Sussex. In this way he had learned that phone lines to anyplace near the foothills recreational trail were "temporarily out of service." But a few places just outside the cut-off area had seen Henry carrying letters.
A call to Bill and Lorraine's living quarters had revealed that Odette Galloway was no longer at Power Station 27; she had in fact been injured by a grizzly bear at the time and location of Henry's disappearance. Until speaking with Lorraine, Alipang had not known that the promiscuous Ms. Galloway was in any way involved in the current situation; yet her having been hurt was no secret for the electrical workers. Much of an exile's experience of being in the dark was not a matter of the authorities militantly hiding facts, but of their simply NOT going to any trouble to make facts widely known.
Since the scene of the mystery was farther west than Alipang would normally venture, he discarded the idea of crossing Wyoming on horseback. Instead, when he could get away, he caught a night train--and borrowed Ransom's mountain bicycle to bring along with him. The train would carry him to the pre-Enclave town of Meeteetse, almost as far west as the newer town of Frontier Plaza. Kim waited till morning, then phoned the Meeteetse Grange Hall--the one establishment of importance remaining in that shrunken town--letting them know Alipang was coming.
On the same day as John Wisebadger flew to Rapid City, Alipang was met in the morning by Gabe Ellison, and Gabe's Irish setter. "Are you Dr. Havens? Henry never mentioned your beard."
"I only grew it fairly recently," replied Alipang as they shook hands. Noticing Gabe's own beard, he added, "But it looks as if you have the same shortage of razors here as we have in eastern Wyoming. So, what's the scan on Henry?"
Gabe ran his eyes back and forth over the train platform. Alipang's eyes, following, could see the Overseer surveillance cameras without the other Grange man having to say anything about them. What Gabe did say was, "Clementine here would have been able to follow Henry's scent if we had been able to pick up a recent trail; but there was rain in these parts the day after his disappearance. All the Overseers will say is that their investigation of the incident is classified; but they never said we _couldn't_ look for Henry, so we're casting this way and that for any clue that might turn up. Have you got a horse lined up for yourself?"
"No, but what I do have is a mountain bike, on which I promise you I can keep up with any pace your horse is likely to go in the long term for an outing like this."
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Alipang's leg muscles were able to back up his words. They made for the vicinity of the disappearance, southwest of Meeteetse a day's travel at their speed. Their path meandered a little, so that they could speak with farmers and herders, including one Yitzhak Rosenbaum. Some of these people had been questioned by other Grangers already, some had not, but none could tell anything useful.
Before dark, they came within sight of a stretch of the north-to-south recreational trail on which the mysterious incident had occurred. Here they were as near as exiles could get to Yellowstone Park and its ominous buried supervolcano; in between lay the old Shoshone National Forest. They were beginning to discuss where to camp, when Alipang remembered that one of his Native American patients, Kuruk Niteesh, had mentioned having a brother living in this very neighborhood. A little comparing with Gabe's knowledge of the area enabled them to find Randy Niteesh, and a place to spend the night.
Mr. Niteesh was able to add one piece to the puzzle: he had met Energy Department workers who told him that they were tracing a break in power lines that affected government facilities, and they had not seemed to think that either sabotage or anything else dramatic had caused that break.
Before sunrise, Alipang and Gabe were in the saddle again, continuing to talk to people and look at things, hoping for some serendipitous discovery. No discovery was granted to them...but before the day's end, they _were_ discovered by an imagery satellite, which guided a helicopter to find them:
A helicopter in which rode John Wisebadger, who had had better luck in his hunting.
A call to Bill and Lorraine's living quarters had revealed that Odette Galloway was no longer at Power Station 27; she had in fact been injured by a grizzly bear at the time and location of Henry's disappearance. Until speaking with Lorraine, Alipang had not known that the promiscuous Ms. Galloway was in any way involved in the current situation; yet her having been hurt was no secret for the electrical workers. Much of an exile's experience of being in the dark was not a matter of the authorities militantly hiding facts, but of their simply NOT going to any trouble to make facts widely known.
Since the scene of the mystery was farther west than Alipang would normally venture, he discarded the idea of crossing Wyoming on horseback. Instead, when he could get away, he caught a night train--and borrowed Ransom's mountain bicycle to bring along with him. The train would carry him to the pre-Enclave town of Meeteetse, almost as far west as the newer town of Frontier Plaza. Kim waited till morning, then phoned the Meeteetse Grange Hall--the one establishment of importance remaining in that shrunken town--letting them know Alipang was coming.
On the same day as John Wisebadger flew to Rapid City, Alipang was met in the morning by Gabe Ellison, and Gabe's Irish setter. "Are you Dr. Havens? Henry never mentioned your beard."
"I only grew it fairly recently," replied Alipang as they shook hands. Noticing Gabe's own beard, he added, "But it looks as if you have the same shortage of razors here as we have in eastern Wyoming. So, what's the scan on Henry?"
Gabe ran his eyes back and forth over the train platform. Alipang's eyes, following, could see the Overseer surveillance cameras without the other Grange man having to say anything about them. What Gabe did say was, "Clementine here would have been able to follow Henry's scent if we had been able to pick up a recent trail; but there was rain in these parts the day after his disappearance. All the Overseers will say is that their investigation of the incident is classified; but they never said we _couldn't_ look for Henry, so we're casting this way and that for any clue that might turn up. Have you got a horse lined up for yourself?"
"No, but what I do have is a mountain bike, on which I promise you I can keep up with any pace your horse is likely to go in the long term for an outing like this."
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Alipang's leg muscles were able to back up his words. They made for the vicinity of the disappearance, southwest of Meeteetse a day's travel at their speed. Their path meandered a little, so that they could speak with farmers and herders, including one Yitzhak Rosenbaum. Some of these people had been questioned by other Grangers already, some had not, but none could tell anything useful.
Before dark, they came within sight of a stretch of the north-to-south recreational trail on which the mysterious incident had occurred. Here they were as near as exiles could get to Yellowstone Park and its ominous buried supervolcano; in between lay the old Shoshone National Forest. They were beginning to discuss where to camp, when Alipang remembered that one of his Native American patients, Kuruk Niteesh, had mentioned having a brother living in this very neighborhood. A little comparing with Gabe's knowledge of the area enabled them to find Randy Niteesh, and a place to spend the night.
Mr. Niteesh was able to add one piece to the puzzle: he had met Energy Department workers who told him that they were tracing a break in power lines that affected government facilities, and they had not seemed to think that either sabotage or anything else dramatic had caused that break.
Before sunrise, Alipang and Gabe were in the saddle again, continuing to talk to people and look at things, hoping for some serendipitous discovery. No discovery was granted to them...but before the day's end, they _were_ discovered by an imagery satellite, which guided a helicopter to find them:
A helicopter in which rode John Wisebadger, who had had better luck in his hunting.
Zella
New member
Yes, I had forgotten that. And no, I didn't realize Vonetta Ashford had been in it before.
How ridiculous.
Poor Henry.
Copperfox
Well-known member
"No society can survive adversities...and even in easy times, no society can come anywhere near its positive potential... without those who do more than the minimum, those who give more than is asked of them. Since the Western Enclave was organized, the volunteers of the Grange Association have been living, visible confirmation of this truth. Operating entirely within the law, yet giving more than the law demands of them, the patrol riders and the farming advisors, along with those who coordinate their efforts, have been as much a vital part of this community as are the miners and the powerplant workers, and this without receiving any pay for their efforts."
These words, the words of Miguel De Soto, were being read out loud by the female Overseer Phosphorus Andrews, holding a handwritten draft before her eyes as she stood in the cluttered newspaper office at the De Soto residence in Casper. For many editions, the Wyoming Observer had been allowed to publish without prior restraint, the authorities trusting Miguel to know how far he was allowed to go. Now, however, with public anxiety growing as word spread that a well-liked Grange volunteer was missing, the Campaign Against Hate had decreed that an Overseer must be allowed to check in advance all copy that would go into the next few editions.
"I don't see anything here that looks seditious," Andrews told Miguel. "In fact, I don't even see anything that looks specific." Saying this, she then discovered that Miguel had anticipated some such remark by her. While she had been reading, the cancer-stricken editor-publisher had been writing a note in pencil, which he now handed to her. Even though she knew that cancer was not contagious, the Overseer had to suppress a shudder when his fingers touched hers. There was something spooky to her about a man who would already be dead by now, if willful neglect on the part of her own regime had not been amended by the intervention of two foreigners.
Miguel's note said: What you see is what I can prepare ahead of time. It will be bookended by specific statements before and after it, once we have any specific statements to make. Whether Henry Spafford is alive or dead, these lines about the Grange are true and relevant, and they will become part of either celebration or solemn remembrance.
Andrews nodded. "I see. But what if a week or more passes without news of Citizen Spafford? Will you postpone publishing until he is accounted for?"
Miguel took back the same piece of paper, since he had to be frugal with paper, and added: No, I'll just save the Grange feature for a later edition, and go to press on time with whatever other news we have.
"Logical enough," said Andrews. "But if there is an interim edition as you suggest, I hope you'll keep it neutral and bland. You've done well so far at not affronting the administration and the Fairness Party; but if those above me grow uneasy about exile attitudes, you might find yourself enjoying less leeway."
Miguel reached for his pencil again..but his wife stopped that hand, lifted that hand, kissed that hand, and then spoke for her husband:
"Overseer Andrews, you can tell your superiors that what my husband is doing _promotes_ the peace of the Enclave. Your Fairness Party has staked its success on the belief that everyone has to be _told_ what to do; but when people can only do what they're told, they never have the satisfaction of being able to say 'I _chose_ to do this for my neighbor, because I _wanted_ to help him!' The Grange, and the churches, are outlets through which exiles can do good for their neighbors by _their_ own free will; and your administration has not suffered any harm from this. Whatever is found to have happened to Henry Spafford, you can be certain that the Enclave population will be better able to accept it if there still is some kind of _acknowledgement_ of his worth, and of the worth of those like him. Henry, and all the volunteers, have given and sacrificed without asking for a reward, and have applied their energy to constructive activities which _don't_ entail any disobedience to your Fairness Party. It isn't a lot to ask, that they should get a little respect for that."
Now it was Miguel who kissed Tilly's hand.
Overseer Andrews averted her eyes for a moment, then faced the elderly couple once more, keeping her tone businesslike. "I'll inform Captain Butello that everything is in order with the Observer for the present. Just notify me when you intend to print the next edition, with or without news of Citizen Spafford, and I'll swing by for one more perusal."
When she had left, the De Sotos put in some time praying--though of course Tilly was the only one who could pray aloud.
These words, the words of Miguel De Soto, were being read out loud by the female Overseer Phosphorus Andrews, holding a handwritten draft before her eyes as she stood in the cluttered newspaper office at the De Soto residence in Casper. For many editions, the Wyoming Observer had been allowed to publish without prior restraint, the authorities trusting Miguel to know how far he was allowed to go. Now, however, with public anxiety growing as word spread that a well-liked Grange volunteer was missing, the Campaign Against Hate had decreed that an Overseer must be allowed to check in advance all copy that would go into the next few editions.
"I don't see anything here that looks seditious," Andrews told Miguel. "In fact, I don't even see anything that looks specific." Saying this, she then discovered that Miguel had anticipated some such remark by her. While she had been reading, the cancer-stricken editor-publisher had been writing a note in pencil, which he now handed to her. Even though she knew that cancer was not contagious, the Overseer had to suppress a shudder when his fingers touched hers. There was something spooky to her about a man who would already be dead by now, if willful neglect on the part of her own regime had not been amended by the intervention of two foreigners.
Miguel's note said: What you see is what I can prepare ahead of time. It will be bookended by specific statements before and after it, once we have any specific statements to make. Whether Henry Spafford is alive or dead, these lines about the Grange are true and relevant, and they will become part of either celebration or solemn remembrance.
Andrews nodded. "I see. But what if a week or more passes without news of Citizen Spafford? Will you postpone publishing until he is accounted for?"
Miguel took back the same piece of paper, since he had to be frugal with paper, and added: No, I'll just save the Grange feature for a later edition, and go to press on time with whatever other news we have.
"Logical enough," said Andrews. "But if there is an interim edition as you suggest, I hope you'll keep it neutral and bland. You've done well so far at not affronting the administration and the Fairness Party; but if those above me grow uneasy about exile attitudes, you might find yourself enjoying less leeway."
Miguel reached for his pencil again..but his wife stopped that hand, lifted that hand, kissed that hand, and then spoke for her husband:
"Overseer Andrews, you can tell your superiors that what my husband is doing _promotes_ the peace of the Enclave. Your Fairness Party has staked its success on the belief that everyone has to be _told_ what to do; but when people can only do what they're told, they never have the satisfaction of being able to say 'I _chose_ to do this for my neighbor, because I _wanted_ to help him!' The Grange, and the churches, are outlets through which exiles can do good for their neighbors by _their_ own free will; and your administration has not suffered any harm from this. Whatever is found to have happened to Henry Spafford, you can be certain that the Enclave population will be better able to accept it if there still is some kind of _acknowledgement_ of his worth, and of the worth of those like him. Henry, and all the volunteers, have given and sacrificed without asking for a reward, and have applied their energy to constructive activities which _don't_ entail any disobedience to your Fairness Party. It isn't a lot to ask, that they should get a little respect for that."
Now it was Miguel who kissed Tilly's hand.
Overseer Andrews averted her eyes for a moment, then faced the elderly couple once more, keeping her tone businesslike. "I'll inform Captain Butello that everything is in order with the Observer for the present. Just notify me when you intend to print the next edition, with or without news of Citizen Spafford, and I'll swing by for one more perusal."
When she had left, the De Sotos put in some time praying--though of course Tilly was the only one who could pray aloud.
Zella
New member
I like that.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Do my readers remember the scene I wrote of Yang Sung-Kuo visiting the Smithsonian Institution? Did you wonder why I would depict that "respectable" museum complex in an unfavorable light? Well, just look at the _current_ real-world news about the Smithsonian. As part of a so-called Christmas-themed exhibit, they are displaying a picture of Jesus Christ.... with _ants_ crawling all over His body. And that's one of the _politer_ features.
Every bizarre social development I am imagining in "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens" is rooted in _actual_ trends of the present.
Every bizarre social development I am imagining in "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens" is rooted in _actual_ trends of the present.
Pitchike12
Member
Copperfox
Well-known member
In case anyone still thinks that the tyranny I describe in this novel "can't happen in America," take a look at the following real-world information.
A piece of legislation called the Livable Communities Act of 2009, Senate Bill 1619, has been approved by the United States Senate Banking Committee, so that now it can come under consideration by the full Senate. The counterpart bill in the House of Representatives is HR4690. Mods, do you see me naming any specific person or party? No, you don't. But I can tell you that this legislation is intended to curtail people's ability to own homes outside of metropolitan areas. It would be accompanied by a "corridor system," sharply limiting the routes by which anyone could travel anywhere within the United States. The excuse would be to protect nature and conserve energy. When combined with increased identification requirements, the actual EFFECT of this on you and me would be--well, just review the history of the Soviet Union.
The Livable Communities Act is a reflection of the United Nations' Agenda 21, adopted at the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992.
If my fictional character Eric Havens were here in the flesh--well, he is, he's me--he would ask, "Is there ANY point at which we are prepared to say that government is claiming MORE power over our lives than it is morally entitled to possess?"
A piece of legislation called the Livable Communities Act of 2009, Senate Bill 1619, has been approved by the United States Senate Banking Committee, so that now it can come under consideration by the full Senate. The counterpart bill in the House of Representatives is HR4690. Mods, do you see me naming any specific person or party? No, you don't. But I can tell you that this legislation is intended to curtail people's ability to own homes outside of metropolitan areas. It would be accompanied by a "corridor system," sharply limiting the routes by which anyone could travel anywhere within the United States. The excuse would be to protect nature and conserve energy. When combined with increased identification requirements, the actual EFFECT of this on you and me would be--well, just review the history of the Soviet Union.
The Livable Communities Act is a reflection of the United Nations' Agenda 21, adopted at the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992.
If my fictional character Eric Havens were here in the flesh--well, he is, he's me--he would ask, "Is there ANY point at which we are prepared to say that government is claiming MORE power over our lives than it is morally entitled to possess?"
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 50: Reality As Ordered
The Attachment and Trauma Center of Nebraska, on Augusta Avenue in Omaha, had been one of the most important hospitals in the Great Plains Federal District since long before the federal districts had superseded the states. There had been just one interruption in its status: three years prior to the overturn of the United States, this trauma center had joined the ranks of American hospitals driven to literal bankruptcy by thousands of illegal aliens helping themselves to its services without paying. But even before the overturn of the United States, the socialist movement which was to become the Fairness Party had succeeded in making more taxpayer money available to reopen the trauma center. The movement had successfully promoted legislation to accelerate celebrating the completion of the lives of non-productive senior citizens in retirement homes, and the money thus saved had been redirected to the reopening of several hospitals for the benefit of younger people.
In a room in the Attachment and Trauma Center, Odette Galloway emerged sufficiently from her sedated condition to become aware of a visitor whom she recognized: a woman young and sexy like herself, one with whom she had enjoyed some recreation in the past, but whose main relationship with Odette was work-related, through their labor union. "Fawn? Where am I?"
"At the trauma hospital in Omaha," replied Fawn Seavers in a soothing voice. "Don't worry, all your parts are in working order." As a low-level union official, Fawn had unsuccessfully interceded for Odette when a supervisor-cum-boyfriend had fulfilled a personal grudge by having Odette assigned to Enclave work. And that same creamy voice of hers had softened the blow for Odette when Fawn had had to break the news of her transfer.
"Please, can I see a mirror?" Odette begged. Fawn found one for her, and Odette sighed with relief upon seeing that she was not bald. One thing she remembered with painful clarity was her scalp having been ripped loose.
Fawn, as vain of her blonde hair as Odette of her brown hair, understood her friend's concern. "That repair, and all of the repairs, went very well. After all, you're not strictly an exile, so the full resources were available on your med-ration account. They did have to remove a _little_ of your hair for the scalp-reattachment procedure, but growth-stim is already bringing it back." Looking more closely in the mirror, Odette now could see where a portion of the hair on her head was shorter than the rest; but this was already inconspicuous. Putting down the mirror, she reached weakly to grasp Fawn's hand.
"Sounds like you know what happened to me. A grizzly bear the size of Montana was eating me alive; and then it went away somehow, and one of the Grange volunteers--"
"Stop there!" Fawn's voice turned anxious, and her fingertips caressed Odette's lips in the friendliest shut-up gesture the patient had experienced anytime recently. "You have to hold off talking about what happened next! That, in fact, more than anything, is why I came here today. I wasn't able to prevent you from being moved to the Enclave station; but I can help you to handle _this_ situation to your best advantage."
"What do you mean? I _know_ who rendered first aid on me; even through the pain and shock, I knew his voice when he spoke. He was--"
"I said stop!" snapped Fawn, but then became gentle again as soon as the puzzled Odette fell silent. "Darling, you need to keep all of that to yourself, until we are instructed what to say about your incident. No one is to hear you uttering any recollections or opinions until we know what they want you to recollect."
"About a bear attack? What could be political, or secret, about a bear attack?"
"What is sensitive is what others _besides_ the bear were doing."
"Well, Kurt, that is Overseer Langford, was running--"
"You don't know that yet. For your own good, wait until you are told what you know and don't know."
"And how will I be told?"
Fawn lightly stroked Odette's arm. "With a little karma, I'll be the one telling you, so I can coach you further. I can't promise anything, but if you play your part well, the union might agree to let you return to working at an urban power station. Maybe you and I will even get to work together again."
"I'd like that," murmured Odette, and meant it. Fawn had been one of the few people at her old place of employment who, as far as Odette knew, had never stabbed anyone in the back. Still, a thought now took form and promised to nag her for a long time.
She was _certain_ that none other than Henry Spafford had not only done the first aid on her, but also slain the grizzly. If someone in authority was denying the Apache huntsman credit for these actions, what did that mean? For months, Odette had wished to use young Citizen Spafford for her own gratification. But now, all she wanted to do was thank him for saving her life; and this desire was already looking as unattainable as the former desire had proven to be.
"Don't forget," Fawn persisted, in a tone that sounded genuinely affectionate, "that truth is whatever the Party finds advantageous to say. Only those who hang on to this practical insight will advance in their careers."
The Attachment and Trauma Center of Nebraska, on Augusta Avenue in Omaha, had been one of the most important hospitals in the Great Plains Federal District since long before the federal districts had superseded the states. There had been just one interruption in its status: three years prior to the overturn of the United States, this trauma center had joined the ranks of American hospitals driven to literal bankruptcy by thousands of illegal aliens helping themselves to its services without paying. But even before the overturn of the United States, the socialist movement which was to become the Fairness Party had succeeded in making more taxpayer money available to reopen the trauma center. The movement had successfully promoted legislation to accelerate celebrating the completion of the lives of non-productive senior citizens in retirement homes, and the money thus saved had been redirected to the reopening of several hospitals for the benefit of younger people.
In a room in the Attachment and Trauma Center, Odette Galloway emerged sufficiently from her sedated condition to become aware of a visitor whom she recognized: a woman young and sexy like herself, one with whom she had enjoyed some recreation in the past, but whose main relationship with Odette was work-related, through their labor union. "Fawn? Where am I?"
"At the trauma hospital in Omaha," replied Fawn Seavers in a soothing voice. "Don't worry, all your parts are in working order." As a low-level union official, Fawn had unsuccessfully interceded for Odette when a supervisor-cum-boyfriend had fulfilled a personal grudge by having Odette assigned to Enclave work. And that same creamy voice of hers had softened the blow for Odette when Fawn had had to break the news of her transfer.
"Please, can I see a mirror?" Odette begged. Fawn found one for her, and Odette sighed with relief upon seeing that she was not bald. One thing she remembered with painful clarity was her scalp having been ripped loose.
Fawn, as vain of her blonde hair as Odette of her brown hair, understood her friend's concern. "That repair, and all of the repairs, went very well. After all, you're not strictly an exile, so the full resources were available on your med-ration account. They did have to remove a _little_ of your hair for the scalp-reattachment procedure, but growth-stim is already bringing it back." Looking more closely in the mirror, Odette now could see where a portion of the hair on her head was shorter than the rest; but this was already inconspicuous. Putting down the mirror, she reached weakly to grasp Fawn's hand.
"Sounds like you know what happened to me. A grizzly bear the size of Montana was eating me alive; and then it went away somehow, and one of the Grange volunteers--"
"Stop there!" Fawn's voice turned anxious, and her fingertips caressed Odette's lips in the friendliest shut-up gesture the patient had experienced anytime recently. "You have to hold off talking about what happened next! That, in fact, more than anything, is why I came here today. I wasn't able to prevent you from being moved to the Enclave station; but I can help you to handle _this_ situation to your best advantage."
"What do you mean? I _know_ who rendered first aid on me; even through the pain and shock, I knew his voice when he spoke. He was--"
"I said stop!" snapped Fawn, but then became gentle again as soon as the puzzled Odette fell silent. "Darling, you need to keep all of that to yourself, until we are instructed what to say about your incident. No one is to hear you uttering any recollections or opinions until we know what they want you to recollect."
"About a bear attack? What could be political, or secret, about a bear attack?"
"What is sensitive is what others _besides_ the bear were doing."
"Well, Kurt, that is Overseer Langford, was running--"
"You don't know that yet. For your own good, wait until you are told what you know and don't know."
"And how will I be told?"
Fawn lightly stroked Odette's arm. "With a little karma, I'll be the one telling you, so I can coach you further. I can't promise anything, but if you play your part well, the union might agree to let you return to working at an urban power station. Maybe you and I will even get to work together again."
"I'd like that," murmured Odette, and meant it. Fawn had been one of the few people at her old place of employment who, as far as Odette knew, had never stabbed anyone in the back. Still, a thought now took form and promised to nag her for a long time.
She was _certain_ that none other than Henry Spafford had not only done the first aid on her, but also slain the grizzly. If someone in authority was denying the Apache huntsman credit for these actions, what did that mean? For months, Odette had wished to use young Citizen Spafford for her own gratification. But now, all she wanted to do was thank him for saving her life; and this desire was already looking as unattainable as the former desire had proven to be.
"Don't forget," Fawn persisted, in a tone that sounded genuinely affectionate, "that truth is whatever the Party finds advantageous to say. Only those who hang on to this practical insight will advance in their careers."