The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Zella, Pitchike, thanks for the friendly comments. I do have to give SOME of my attention to this being Christmas Eve... ;) But next on the agenda, long waited for, is Daffodil Ford's ARRIVAL in the Enclave! I want to make sure I do this right.
 
Samantha Ford did not bother showing up for her son's bon-voyage party in Boston; she was too busy having two-person parties with Moonrose Quickpace. She didn't even send a message, after the one she sent him the day before his party. But the kids at the Tolerance House made it a lively evening, especially kids from his Equalityball team. Thundercrash Bellingham was there and wished him well; but she did so in a noticeably detached way. Daffodil could see that she was resigning herself to the social pressures which would have kept them apart even if he hadn't been going away indefinitely. So he enjoyed himself as best he could, and tried to be optimistic about his new adventure. A text message reached him from the Vice President, informing him that he would have a travelling companion on his flight the next morning, one who would then explain his reason for going along.

Because the Diversity States had been without the use of jet planes for internal air travel for the approximately four years of its existence, people had learned to adjust to the longer time taken by Atmosfleet aircraft--when they didn't simply take mag-lev trains, which for some trips were faster. (Of course, there only were so many mag-levs available for citizens to use.) In Daffodil's case, his surprise companion filled in some of the time by making the promised explanation. The man, balding and unimpressive, bore a name which Daffodil at least had heard: he was Trip Conklin, the chief author of government-sponsored science fiction in the Diversity States. "I'm going to add to your novelty with the exiles, by making you the face and voice of a sort of government lottery," Conklin told the boy as they boarded the plane.

"Does it have some connection with your novels?" Daffodil asked. He had read portions of some of Mr. Conklin's books in reader devices. The novelist was best known for his long-running space-adventure series called "Churchbusters of the Galaxy" (already in existence before the turnover of the United States), in which daring atheistic heroes defied evil religious hierarchies in one solar system after another. It was these novels which had gained Conklin a secure job with the Department of Indoctrination almost the very week that this department was formed. Titles which Daffodil recalled seeing were Heretics of Procyon, Freethinkers of Rigel, Skeptics of Arcturus, and Iconoclasts of Deneb.

"Yes, it does. Concurrent with your arrival in Rapid City, old-style hard copies of my books will begin to be stocked at the stores in that city, followed by availability in the rest of the Enclave. You will play a part in letting people know the special offer that comes with the book sales. For each of my titles, there will be three random copies in which one page--a different-numbered page for each copy--is permeated with my DNA. The first person to have his or her hand in direct contact with the printed surface of that DNA-bearing page for longer than fifteen seconds will set off a nanotechnic reaction, causing a code number to appear on the book's back cover. Each lucky reader can then show the code number at any Overseer station... and thus become eligible to compete in an essay contest. The writer of the best essay on 'Why I Appreciate the Fairness Party' will be awarded a free half-hour holographic conference with a person of their choosing on the outside!"

Daffodil had seen nothing wrong with Trip Conklin's fiction when he had skimmed it; but he had enough imagination to guess that _some_ beholders would regard "Churchbusters of the Galaxy" differently. So he cautiously asked, "What happens if exiles _don't_ buy the books?"

"Let's have no negative thinking, citizen. My works are some of the best literature being produced anywhere in the Diversity States. And with such limited access to any form of entertainment in the Enclave, the exiles will be absolutely _starving_ for new reading material! Promoting my masterpieces to them will make you the most popular new resident the Enclave ever saw!"

"Um, the Vice President left it to you to explain why you were coming along, which means there's a lot he _didn't_ tell me. First, am I _ordered_ to promote your books? And second, will you be _inside_ the Enclave with me?"

Conklin gave him a blank stare. "You know what, I've just been _assuming_ that our time in the Enclave was going to be dedicated to selling my books; after all, what _better_ means do we have of teaching them the spirit of collective realism? But maybe we should contact the Vice President and get that point clarified."
 
Last edited:
A past generation's safety restrictions on cellphone use by airplane passengers were bygone history now. The Fairness Party's political restrictions on airwave use had left huge swaths of the radio spectrum unused, so that authorized cellular communications could proceed in flight and be nowhere near interfering with any frequency that was used in any way by aviation. Accordingly, this being still daylight, Conklin was free to place a call straight to the Vice-President's office. It was answered on visual by a male secretary whom Daffodil had met in the course of his travel clearance being processed. Conklin allowed the boy to ask his own questions from there.

"I was only just told about this promotion plan for Citizen Conklin's books. Am I _required_ to spend my time advertising them to the exiles?"

"Vice-President Anselmo thought you were a natural; you've had so much early experience coaching people in oneness thinking."

"Does that mean yes? Does my _whole_ visit have to be about persuading the Biblicals to read books advocating atheism?"

"Not the whole visit; only about a week. You'll be part of the startup event in Rapid City, then also make appearances in character in one population center of each sector. After that, you can operate more independently."

"All right...but what do you mean, in character?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? Citizen Conklin has a costume that you'll wear at the book-promotion events: you'll be acting as young Captain Turgenev, one of the most popular characters in the Churchbuster series. Conklin told us you were born for that role, and he's the author."

"Well, okay; but I won't have to _continue_ playing that character _after_ the five appearances you described, will I?"

"No, those five times will make enough of a splash. Girls will be fighting over you."

Daffodil had never been encouraged to think it conceivable that any girl could want him so urgently as to have even a verbal argument with another girl over him; but he kept his peace, and wondered privately if Mr. Anselmo's assistant were merely blowing chaff.

"We owe something to the Indoctrination Department," the vice-presidential secretary added. "They had to swallow a couple of setbacks recently, so the administration is showing solidarity with Campaign Against Hate in this way. It'll be fun."

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

Nash Dockerty had had far more notice of the business with Trip Conklin than Daffodil Ford had had. The Deputy Commander's latest mistress, a Malaysian-born beauty, would also be involved in the book promotion. Osmawani Jalil was about the same age as the Egyptian-American Ma'at Randall--but without the same stresses to age her; for Osmawani was an Indoctrination employee rather than an exile, and she was a willing mistress to Dockerty, rather than being under compulsion as Ma'at had been. Smiles thus came readily to Osmawani, and even without having received telomere preservation she could easily pass as barely over twenty years old. She was currently with the welcoming party that would meet the Ambassador's son as the airliner made its early-evening touchdown, and she had Dockerty's permission to charm the socks off the inexperienced boy.

But the Deputy Commander himself needed to hurry up with some loose ends before he could introduce himself to Daffodil Ford.

Before him in his office stood Halberd Meteor, Tuck Faraday, Kurt Langford and Ralph Durgan. Langford's half-regenerated broken arm was in a sling. All bore the signs of demotion: the first three wore Pinkshirt semi-uniforms instead of Overseer armor, while Durgan wore the coverall of a janitor. Dockerty had just reviewed for the disgraced persons the reasons for their disgrace, which they already knew themselves: Durgan had failed to help a colleague in need, while the others had been involved in pressing a blatantly false accusation in order to cover up the bad conduct of one of them. Now came the Deputy Commander's hasty conclusion...

"You understand, Langford, that the reputations of exiles matter no more than their very lives do; but the _reason_ you lied about Citizen Spafford was to cover up your disregard for the life of someone who _wasn't_ an exile."

"I understand that, sir," Langford ventured to say--almost the only words he had spoken during this interview. "But Odette is a _civilian_ employee, and we're always told that Overseer lives matter more than any civilian lives."

Dockerty frowned. "Rules of that kind are a page on which you have to learn to read between the lines. You still embarrassed the Campaign Against Hate; all four of you did. Energy and Agriculture haven't suffered at all--which is why you, Durgan, have been handed over to me although I would not normally be the one disciplining you. But let me get to the good news.

"Your demotions were necessary, to maintain the ethical authority of this Enclave administration. But not all status is defined by one's nominal paygrade. It is possible to have more status, to be more important, than one's technical paygrade would indicate. There are special assignments, classified missions, whose importance can make up for what the outside world thinks is a loss of standing with the Party. Soon you will know exactly what kind of compensation I'm offering you. That is, three of you will know; one of you is not suitable."

And just like that, while still sitting, the Deputy Commander lifted the gun he had been hiding under the edge of his desk, and coldly shot Kurt Langford through the head. The other three froze in horror as the corpse thumped against the wall behind it and slid to the floor.

"A helpful reminder about professional responsibility," Dockerty told the survivors. "Langford was too preoccupied with his own egocentric desires, to the detriment of his contribution to the collective. I look for better things from the rest of you, including you, Durgan. Right now, I want you to go to the conference room. Vargas and Huddleston will brief the three of you further on what your new duties will be. I need to attend to other business now."
 
Last edited:
The Deputy Commander does not care squat about the moral wrongness of Langford's actions; he shot Langford because Langford had caused the Overseers to lose face. Also to keep Meteor, Faraday and Durgan on their toes--if they don't please Dockerty and Dockerty's superiors in their future service, they could be next. My villains have much the same kind of boss-to-employee relationships as the villains in James Bond movies.
 
Trip Conklin asked Daffodil to let all the other passengers off ahead of him, because they would be going to a different part of the terminal complex. So, when the four-engined hybrid propellor plane made its landing at the former U.S. Air Force base outside Rapid City, Daffodil had an extra space of time in which to ask about the roleplaying that was expected of him. "This will be a refinement on street performance art," the author told him. "There'll be some characters made to look like extraterrestrials by holographic means, and you'll appear to change them to near-human forms--a metaphor of reaffirming humanity by getting rid of superstition."

"Will this be understandable for persons who haven't read your books?"

"Most of them are sure to have seen one of the movie adaptations, at least. And we'll make it simple for them. Simple for you, too. Nash Dockerty informed me that he has a woman available who has theatrical experience; she can be in our shows as Commodore Shang."

"She's the leading character of the series, right?"

"Yes--have to have a woman to defy the caveman patriarchalism of the Biblicals. But your own part will still be front and center in these presentations. You don't mind sharing the stage, do you?"

"Not a bit! I'd be scared silly if I had to carry the whole act by myself."

Daffodil and Mr. Conklin were let out a door on the other side of the plane from where the rest of the passengers had disembarked, going down a movable stairway of their own, which placed them close to a large propane-fuelled bus or van. Conklin handed the boy a garment bag. "I'm going to retrieve your luggage for you now. You get in the shuttle and put on your costume; someone in there will assist you." So Daffodil took the costume and hoisted himself up into the spacious bus....

...where he saw an Asian-looking woman waiting for him. She was clad in what he recognized from past movie trailers and comicbook covers as a Churchbusters uniform: a sort of body suit, most of which was dark purple. The right sleeve, and the right leg from the knee down, along with the shoe on that side, were bright orange; the same parts on the left were pale green. On the chest of the uniform were the symbols of a Christian cross and a Star of David broken apart. This was presumably the same outfit which Daffodil was going to put on. "Hello, Citizen Ford. My name's Osmawani Jalil. Let me help you with your costume."

Of course, Daffodil would not look nearly so striking in it as this Asian woman looked in hers. Her beauty only became still more overwhelming as she did something NO adult or near-adult female had EVER done to him in his life: she came softly stalking up to him, passed her arms around his neck (she was a head shorter than he was), pulled him down to her, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. When she drew back from this, her eyes were sparkling as if to suggest that there was more where that came from.

This by itself was so astonishing to the sixteen-year-old Daffodil, that he had hardly any capacity left to be further astonished by her stripping his outer garments off of him, to help him put on his own Churchbuster uniform. In doing so, Osmawani allowed her hands to rest caressingly on various parts of his person--again, something contrary to the nearly monastic manner of life which had been imposed on him where contact with females was concerned. This was nothing like the way he had imagined his arrival in the Enclave. He almost had another of his shaking fits, but he succeeded in resisting it.

He was relieved when the futuristic uniform was on him, and her hands were off him for the present. The driver of the vehicle then took him and Osmawani to a private entrance of a building other than the one other passengers had entered. The exotic enchantress in the guise of a sci-fi heroine told him, "You're about to meet the most powerful man inside this reservation."

"The Deputy Commander of the Campaign Against Hate?"

"That's right: Nash Dockerty. A quick tip: until further notice, always address him ONLY as Deputy Commander, nothing else."
 
Last edited:
C.S. Lewis often remarked on the principle that "the higher can understand the lower better than the lower can understand the higher." Ignorant and untaught though he is, Daffy Ford still is a better person than ANY of the Campaign Against Hate personnel, or their hangers-on like Trip Conklin. So they keep constantly NOT understanding what a normal boy like Daffy needs and wants in life. He wants normal human relationships; and everyone around him, all his life, has been stupidly offering him everything BUT normal relationships.

If anyone here has read Dostoyevskiy's "The Idiot," poor Daffy is a bit like Prince Myshkin: a passive target for the various weird notions and ambitions of the people around him.

But take heart. Dostoyevskiy did not have an Alipang Havens in his novel.
 
Daffodil put his hooded winter coat back on sooner than he needed to, armoring himself somewhat against more unsolicited caresses from the intoxicating Miss Jalil. At the last instant before they quitted the shuttle bus, she also put a coat on, making even this prosaic action seem seductive.

The bus had brought them to a separate building from where other passengers from Daffodil's flight had gone. An honor detail of Pinkshirts--with pink ski jackets to retain their color scheme while keeping warm--stood by the airfield-level entrance to salute him, the woman in charge of them saying, "Welcome, future ambassador!" Daffodil paused to shake each one's hand, more at ease with them than with his appointed co-star.

Inside the government building, Osmawani took his hand in hers to lead him to an elevator; if she had made this her _first_ physical touch to him, he would have found it much easier to deal with. Trip Conklin joined them just before the elevator door opened for them; he was breathing hard as he wrestled the boy's suitcase along with both hands. Daffodil welcomed the pretext to withdraw his hand from Osmawani's without seeming to snub her, as he accepted the suitcase from the unathletic author with a word of thanks. All three then boarded the elevator, Daffodil holding his suitcase between himself and Osmawani as if by chance.

When they got off on the top floor, the alluring Malaysian sneaked in a pat on Daffodil's hindquarters, telling him, "Later, probably tomorrow morning, you and I will go over our lines as galactic heroes." Daffodil was relieved that she had not suggested holding this meeting tonight in his sleeping quarters; though always denied physical intimacy himself, he was perfectly aware that there was plenty of intimacy happening every day among people not lodged in Tolerance Houses. Then Osmawani pointed the way to Nash Dockerty's office, and let the other two go on without her.

As soon as they were admitted to the Deputy Commander's office, Daffodil's nose reported a faint bitter scent to his brain--as if the interior of this room had been scrubbed and disinfected within the last half hour or less. But his attention was then turned to the heavy-set man at the sizeable desk. The Deputy Commander stood up, but let his visitors come to him to shake hands. "Citizen Ford! Citizen Conklin! It's good to meet you! Have a seat. Your triumphs in literature always inspire me, Citizen Conklin; and you, Citizen Ford, are noteworthy for being adjunct faculty at a Tolerance House at such a young age. Can I offer you some Joy Nectar?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Conklin; but Daffodil hastened to say, "I'd rather just have some water, please." After his experiences with healthcare workers refusing to believe that _anyone_ could have an adverse reaction to the soothing beverage, Daffodil doubted that this Indoctrination official would accept without argument the fact that Daffodil did have such a reaction. At the same time, Dockerty even _suggesting_ Joy Nectar attested that he had not made a _thorough_ study of Daffodil's history.

Soon each visitor had what he wanted to drink; and after downing half of his water immediately (for his throat was dry after the encounter with Osmawani), Daffodil opened conversation. "Deputy Commander, I'm honored to be given the chance to be a theatrical propagandist; but do you understand that I've never _done_ any form of theater before now?"

"Don't worry, young man, the vignette will be extremely simple, played for visual effect more than anything else."

"I'll be close by," Conklin put in, "to explain things to the audience."

"That's reassuring," Daffodil said to the author, then faced the Deputy Commander again. "If I may say so, that woman Osmawani by herself has enough of a visual effect for fifty people."

"I'll tell her you said so when we go to bed tonight!" laughed the Overseer leader. Hearing this, Daffodil was privately glad for the confirmation that his own bedroom would not be invaded by the sultry lady. Dockerty continued: "After breakfast tomorrow, you'll have a rehearsal in one of the aircraft hangars. Right now, tell me-- what do you think we hope to achieve by this book-promotion campaign, both your part and the book sales that will follow?"

"I suppose, the same thing as Indoctrination hopes to achieve by the very fact of Citizen Conklin writing the books in the first place: giving Americans a fresh appreciation for the progressiveness of the collective."

"I like that: good State Department generic say-nothing talk. Your caregiver has coached you excellently. Of course you don't know details of the conditions here in the Enclave. I owe it to you to tell you that we Overseers are sitting on a nest of creatures who are potentially as deadly as...the Flesh-Melters of Zilragoz." He glanced at Conklin when he said the last phrase, it being a reference to one of Conklin's books outside the Churchbuster series.

"Begging your pardon, Deputy Commander," Conklin objected faintly, "but the Flesh-Melters were on the planet Bebnusk; Zilragoz was the home planet of the Bone-Bursters."

"That's right; sorry, Citizen Conklin. I've had many duties to occupy my mind since I read that book." Dockerty faced the boy once more. "Most recently, up in the North Dakota Sector, we've been contending with acts of horrible violence committed by the Ku Klux Quakers."
 
Last edited:
Daffodil was so taken aback by the oxymoronic term that he forgot to be noncommittal. "Excuse me, sir, I've heard of Quakers, and I've heard of the Ku Klux Klan; but I've _never_ heard of Ku Klux Quakers."

Dockerty seemed unperturbed by the boy's bafflement. "Oh, the labels change. Salvation Army, Boy Scouts, Women Aglow, Knights of Columbus: call it what you like, it's always the same old religious hatred."

"Religion IS hatred," Conklin offered.

The Deputy Commander gave him a comradely nod. "Exactly. Why, everyone knows that Hitler started his career as a Baptist evangelist." (This was indeed something Daffodil had been taught in third grade.) "And we have _thousands_ of male and female Hitlers penned up here in the Enclave. Earth-Goddess help us if they ever obtain the means to use modern weapons! They would start a bloodbath worse than the Wesleyan Revival!"

"But what exactly did the Ku Klux Quakers do in North Dakota?" Daffodil inquired.

The Deputy Commander shut off the haranguing mode, and went on in a tone like a military briefing: "Since they _don't_ have the armaments to kill wantonly as they would like to, the exiles vent their primitive rage on targets of opportunity. I know that you're acquainted with the Pacific Federation researcher Bert Randall. While he and his Chinese colleague were visiting the Wyoming Sector, they took an interest in observing how medical procedures were carried out in the Enclave. Doctor Barney Jamison, an exile surgeon, allowed them to follow the planning of an interesting operation he was to perform on a fellow exile. But since Randall and Yang were educated men, and therefore NOT Biblicals, the Ku Klux Quakers became furious at Jamison for being friendly to them. So, scarcely three days ago, Jamison having returned to his North Dakota home, several Ku Klux Quakers broke in and beat him nearly to death. He's in Sioux San right now--that's the civilian hospital here in Rapid City--and it'll be more than a month before he regains normal use of his hands. That's just the latest crime by those Nazis."

"A month to recover? Even with tissue regeneration?"

"Exiles don't rate tissue regeneration. As it is, he's receiving more sophisticated care than most exiles would ever get, since we don't want those God-fascists to have the satisfaction of disabling him permanently."

Daffodil wanted to ask how the Ku Klux Quakers dared to commit such a crime, when modern technology would guarantee the guilty parties being exposed; but some instinct warned him not to ask that question. So he drank the rest of his water while the Deputy Commander went on talking.

"We have the guns, which is why we can guarantee your physical safety while visiting us; but there is an _intellectual_ war going on here, one in which you can play a valuable role, Citizen Ford. You will help Citizen Conklin to dramatize the profound contrast between the mutual collective spirit and the Nazi Christian spirit. Make them see how unnatural, how non-evolutionary, their tribal bigotry is. Citizen Conklin, can you recite Commodore Shang's speech to the asteroid-patrol pilots in your first Churchbuster novel?"

Conklin beamed self-importantly. "She was only a Prime Captain in the first volume. She rose to succeed the previous Commodore in the second volume, after he was assassinated by the Nebula Nuns. But yes, here's how it went:

"Everyone who chooses to assert the existence of a law-giving personal deity, as opposed to a reasonable belief in the karmic waves of the Mother Universe, is always prompted by one or more of these four motives: the desire for money and luxury, the desire for power and influence over other people, the frivolous enjoyment of colorful stories, and a blazing hatred of all diversity, peace and progress. Hatred is the most powerful motive, and the most commonly occurring. The very notion of an infallible cosmic judge serves to make all real flesh-and-blood people seem hopelessly inferior, which gives the believers _permission_ to hate those flesh-and-blood people. That's why, throughout human history, every advance in representative government has always been made by atheists. God-fantasies choke the evolution of civilization; realism is what brings justice and equality. Let us therefore never tire of proclaiming the truth--that science and collectivism, not creeds and prayers, must lead humankind onward to self-actualization!"

The Deputy Commander was virtually in ecstasy. "Thank you, Citizen Conklin; that's _real_ literature! Citizen Ford, are you ready to make your stand for collective realism?"

"Absolutely, sir!" Daffodil managed to sound halfway enthusiastic; but for some reason his mind flew back to the day when that little girl in New Haven had almost drowned in the crush of swimmers playing Aquatic Oneness, and he had been rebuked rather than thanked when he saved her. Then he remembered his holographic introduction to the domestic partner Bert Randall had brought out of the Enclave. In both of those cases, what had been good in the situation had not been to the credit of the collective spirit.
 
Last edited:
The last summary-update was on Page 118, so I guess it's time for another one:


Because Tonio Formentera, dictator of the People's Republic of Aztlan, had ludicrously accused the Diversity States of plotting biological warfare against Aztlan, Ambassador-At-Large Samantha Ford flew to Caracas, to lend her voice of rebuttal in the Bi-Continental Assembly of the Hemispheric Union. Typically for her, she did the very least amount of work she could get away with, and got back down to partying with her new sidekick Moonrose Quickpace. Almost as an afterthought, she gave her consent for Daffodil to have his tour of the Enclave. Someone who WAS working conscientiously at the Bi-Continental Assembly was Vonetta Ashford, a staffer for the D.S. delegation. Vonetta was a little girl in the first Alipang Havens novel, the sister of Alipang's school buddy Sammy who later married Lacey Paulson. Sammy and Lacey were among the many Christians martyred in the purge which followed the Fairness Party taking power--which is why Alipang and Kim named their Enclave horses in their friends' honor.

The "secret army" took on its most unusual project so far, using various covert and high-tech methods to cause pieces of classical music to be heard in French, Spanish and German cities, in that order. Since all European countries except Iceland, Ireland, Scotland, Poland and the former Soviet Union are now ruled by Islamic fundamentalists, the defiant playing of non-Islamic music was designed to raise the hope of liberation among the repressed "dhimmis" in the European Caliphate. Brendan Hyland had a role in organizing the "music raids," and Stan Lewandowski, who previously piloted one of the Texas Rangers' air-defense planes, was among the personnel actually executing the raids.

Back in the Enclave, Bill Shao enjoyed a short honeymoon with Lorraine, unaware at the time that Henry Spafford had been sequestered by Overseers after his rescue of Odette Galloway. Odette herself was in no position to tell what she knew to anyone in Wyoming, as she had been flown to a trauma hospital in Omaha, outside the fence. Her friend and confidante Fawn Seavers, a labor-union official, successfully pulled strings to enable Odette, once fully recovered, to work with her, at a powerplant job in the southernmost strip of Wyoming, which separates the Enclave from Aztlan. Nevertheless, with the help of blue-collar worker Purvis Kroll, Bill uncovered the fact that Ralph Durgan had refused to act upon Henry's call for help at the time of Odette being injured. This was part of the developing picture which was to lead to Henry's rescue; John Wisebadger had a great deal to do with fitting the pieces together.

Kurt Langford, the Overseer who had "thrown" Odette to the grizzly to save himself, enlisted friends among government personnel, including fellow Overseer Tuck Faraday, to try to brainwash Henry into believing that he, Henry, had intentionally CAUSED the bear attack upon Odette, because he was jealous of Odette's affair with Langford. But Henry's force of will held out against being made to believe this lie, so that when help came he would be able to pass a lie-detector test stating that he had SAVED Odette rather than caused her to be attacked.

The arriving help included the Enclave's Undersecretaries of Sustainable Energy and Eco-Sensitive Agriculture. These two women DO have names like anyone else; the reason why I have never named them is simply because my readers have been given scores of character names to remember, and these two are more easily remembered by their titles. Alipang was with this party, and good thing! When Overseer Langford saw that Henry was NOT brainwashed, and that the whole deception was falling in ruins, he tried to shoot Henry ("Dead men tell no tales"). The four other Campaign Against Hate members who were present and armed made no attempt to prevent this murder; so they, as well as Langford, became fair game for Alipang. Taking advantage of close quarters, and of the Overseers' complacent belief that no exile would EVER dare to assault them, Alipang jumped all five of his unwary enemies, disabling them all before one shot could be fired. Henry thus was safe; so was Alipang, because he was authorized to act on behalf of the administrative triumvirate in the persons of the Energy and Agriculture Undersecretaries.

Deputy Commander Nash Dockerty (the "Deputy" part is his national standing; he is the TOP law-enforcement officer within the Enclave) did not care one bit that Kurt Langford had done morally wrong deeds; but he did care that Langford had caused embarrassment to the Campaign Against Hate. Accordingly, Dockerty put Langford to death without trial. To Faraday and other guilty persons in the situation he assigned no real punishment, but rather made them part of the secret scheme (not yet revealed to you readers) which he's had in the works for a long time now.

Meanwhile, Vice-President Carlos Anselmo devised a way for Daffodil's visit to the Enclave to become a propaganda project. Trip Conklin, a science-fiction author in the direct employ of the Indoctrination Department, was sent to the Enclave with Daffodil. Daffodil, and an Enclave-stationed female Indoctrination worker named Osmawani (current mistress to Dockerty), are supposed to perform in something comparable to a Star Trek live-stage show, only it's based on books written by Trip Conklin. Conklin's fiction series "Churchbusters of the Galaxy" is EVEN more militantly atheistic than the Star Trek shows were; but Conklin himself, and Vice-President Anselmo, have the fatuous conceit that a public entertainment based on these novels will actually induce exiles willingly to BUY the novels, which supposedly will produce conversions to atheism.

Even Daffodil, with no spiritual knowledge at all, has the sense to doubt whether this will work. But in his interview with the Deputy Commander which concluded the latest chapter, he kept his doubts to himself. He might have been still more hesitant to speak if he had known that his chair in Dockerty's office was standing almost exactly where Overseer Langford had been standing just before being shot dead by Dockerty.
 
Chapter 52: Bootlickers In Delaware

"When you're parted from loved ones for a long time, you clutch at any straw that can suggest a connection continuing," Evan Rand was remarking to his benefactor Dan Salisbury, as they rode a bus through Georgetown. "When I would lie down to sleep in my cell at the Self-Esteem Center, I would put out a hand and imagine I was touching Summer. What made this meaningful was that I chose to believe she was also pretending to touch me as she went to sleep in HER Self-Esteem Center. And after you reunited us, I found out, sure enough, Summer HAD been doing the same thing."

"I know just how it is," Dan replied. "Chilena still misses Alipang terribly. More than a year ago, reaching for any comfort to offer her, I pointed out that Al and Kim now live in a town called Sussex, while Chil and I here in Delaware live in what used to be called Sussex County. I told her that this name-coincidence was proof that the Ultimate Source respected the bond of love between her and her brother."

Dan was using a socially-acceptable euphemism for God, because not only were the two friends among strangers riding the bus, but they were on their way to an activity sponsored by members of the God-denying Fairness Party.

"If I get accepted into the union and can work again," said Evan, "I hope someday I can render some service for your friends who helped you obtain this chance for me. Do any of them work out, so as maybe to need massages or something?"

Dan laughed--while NOT mentioning that Evan had more than once massaged him and Chilena at the house, for even this might be pounced on by labor authorities as unauthorized work. "Massages maybe, but not in any context of exercising! Those guys, bless them, are so out of shape, and so unwilling to GET in shape, that they make ME look like a combination track star and weight lifter. But one step at a time. Remember your speech."

"I will, and thanks for the coaching. I wouldn't have thought of--hey, what are those Marshals doing?"

Evan, looking ahead, had just sighted a ground vehicle of the Diversity States Marshals' Service, placing itself in the path of the slow-moving bus. At least three Marshals were in it; one, a woman, emerged from the car and boarded the halted bus. Dan and Evan were both relieved to see that she didn't look as if she were out to arrest anyone.

"Excuse me, citizens, were any of you intending to participate in the membership-request proceedings for the Secondary Healthcare Workers Union?"

"I was, officer," said Evan, the only passenger so answering.

"The event has been forced to change locations," the Marshal explained. "The Collective Dormitory where it was to have taken place has unexpectedly become the scene of a spontaneous kinetic negotiation between two other unions, electricians and plumbers."

"Kinetic negotiation?" echoed a puzzled Evan.

"She means a violent brawl," Dan said.

The Marshal nodded, almost smiling. "That's right; some argument over precedence when their respective union leaders will next give speeches at the Party Presidium. Anyway, the health workers' union intake has been shifted to the old county courthouse, and the starting time is one hour later than the original time."

"Will we have time to walk there?" Evan asked his friend, the Marshal having already turned her attention to answering the questions of other citizens. When Dan assured him they could easily make it, Evan added, "Good. A brisk walk in this cold air may help me relax once I'm at the meeting."

Dan rose to his feet, followed by Evan, to get off the bus before it resumed moving. Once they were away from likely snoopers, Dan muttered, "And while we walk, as long as we're not obvious about it, we can get away with praying for your success."
 
The former Sussex County Courthouse was no longer used for trials, now that there was no longer any such thing as a judiciary which _wasn't_ federal. It was now a propaganda museum, devoted to convincing the ignorant that the judicial branch of the federal government had always deserved the credit for anything that was ever _good_ about the old sexist racist fascist capitalist United States of America. One display claimed that the Supreme Court's 1857 Dred Scott decision had _favored_ the runaway slave; another claimed that the Kelo versus New London decision had thwarted evil schemes of bourgeois Christian businessmen.

Dan and Evan took their places in what had been the spectator seating, as did other would-be union members with any helpers they had. The modified judge's bench accommodated a panel consisting of five union officials; only one of these was a woman, but she sat in the center and held the gavel.

"First applicant! Identify yourself, give your specialty, and tell us why you deserve to be admitted to the Secondary Health Workers Union."

A tall woman of mixed race came front and center. "Success to the Party! The collective is all! Nora Carrick, tissue-regeneration technologist. If granted membership, I pledge to be always ready and alert to expose and combat the antisocial plotting of the counterrevolutionary American oil companies."

The man immediately to the right of the panel chairwoman leaned forward, his eyes stabbing Ms. Carrick. "You are obviously not sincere. There _aren't_ any more American oil companies; there's only the Department of Sustainable Energy!"

Ms. Carrick's face and voice grew desperate. "But when I applied last year," she protested, "you told me I was rejected because I _didn't_ condemn the American oil companies!"

The chairwoman scowled. "To contradict the representatives of the people's workforce is to contradict the people. You are clearly incorrigible, citizen. Let the database show that Nora Carrick is permanently disallowed from further applications to this union. Next!" A hefty man standing by to one side, obviously a union enforcer, physically ejected the still-protesting woman from the room.

Ignoring Ms. Carrick's fate, a slovenly-looking man stood up for his turn. "If it please the intake panel, I prefer to be known by my Citizenship Number, because that's more collective. I am 00063-BWL-7149. I was a hospital nutritionist, but that isn't the point. My distinction is that I _don't_ have a distinction. I don't boast at the expense of the collective.

"I've been a counsellor of Diversity Pioneers, and I always reminded the young citizens to love themselves, yet never stand out from the collective. If admitted to the union, I promise to blend in, to work at an exactly average effort level, and to promote oneness and sameness."

The woman heading the panel actually smiled. "00063-BWL-7149, you are approved! Go to the inprocessing room, and we'll set you up with apprentice membership."

The next seventeen applicants tried to copy 00063-BWL-7149's fawning tactic. Six of these were accepted. It was unclear to Dan and Evan why the others were rejected--except in one case. A man who had been an M.D., evidently already unwanted by the Physicians' Union, announced his old specialty to have been geriatric medicine, and asked to be allowed into this union as a physician's assistant. A man on the panel told him, "Gerontology is being phased out of the healthcare field, since the Party has manifested the wisdom to advance the greater good by celebrating the completion of lives no longer useful to the state. We will refer you to a vocational office, where you can inquire about retraining for a specialty that is relevant. Next!"

The string of identical pitches was broken by a gorgeous young woman, freshly graduated from a DNA-tracing laboratory curriculum, who, in addition to dressing attractively and shooting seductive glances at panel members, played the Christian-bashing card. She promised to help unmask any evil hate-filled fundamentalist Christians who might be present in her workplace, and (more seductive glances) to join in the rejection of primitive tribal moral codes. She was approved instantly.

Evan had been a prisoner for most of the brief history of the Diversity States; now he could see that organized labor had grown even more politicized than it had been at the time it made the transition to the Fairness Party regime. Anxious though he was to regain employment, he was increasingly wondering which would be worse: to be rejected by this union, or to be accepted.
 
Zella said:
I can't imagine having to remember a number like that instead of a name.
Click to expand...


Oh, he has a name, all right; his tactic with the identity number was just a way of sucking up to the union officials, who are part of the Big Government structure in the Diversity States. And it worked.
 
"Don't be jittery," Dan whispered into his friend's ear. "If this doesn't work out, I can endorse you to the Theatrical Support Union as a physical trainer of actors. Actors, meaning me and Chilena first of all. That will at least be _close_ to the work you did in the past."

Then it was Evan's turn to speak. He forced himself to think about Summer and their children, rather than about how much he despised these toadies of the totalitarian system.

"My name is Evan Rand, identity number 00100-ZDG-4943. Specialty, physical therapist, rehabilitation. If you will look in my records, you will see that while I was being re-educated in a Self-Esteem Center, I was recognized for good behavior, and was allowed to serve as a masseur for the guards." Evan paused in his speech when he noticed that the chairwoman and one of her male colleagues appeared to be consulting data devices. I may be taking Dan up on his offer, he thought; but it isn't as if I could have _concealed_ the fact of my imprisonment.

The chairwoman looked at Evan again. "Yes, we confirm the truth of what you say. Please continue."

"And perhaps you could add for our benefit a few words about what you learned in the Self-Esteem Center," said one of the male panel members.

"I've learned many things," Evan told the union officials. He was not actually _saying_ that political imprisonment was _where_ he had learned anything, so he was not lying when he steered his speech back to what he had already intended to say. "I have learned to be disgusted at the evils which have been done under the pretext of religion.

"For instance, I find it atrocious that there were greedy rich men in ancient Palestine who used a technicality to avoid redistribution of their wealth." (Evan said "Palestine" because he knew that the Fairness Party insisted on calling the nation of Israel an "outside invader" in its own land.) "Under an arrangement called 'Corban,' they would nominally give up a great part of their money to their temple as a donation; but that money was used as principal...and when it generated interest, _that_ money went back into the pockets of the donors. This enabled them to weasel out of their obligations to others."

Evan didn't tell the panel members that the Corban strategy was one which had been denounced by Jesus Christ; neither did he mention that the persons who were deprived of support by this arrangement had been the _parents_ of the hypocritical donors. Neither Jesus, nor parents, were particularly esteemed by the labor unions. He went on to condemn other historic wrongs that no Christian would ever make excuses for, such as the fact (supplied to him by Dan) that the saying "Kill 'em all, and let God sort 'em out" had originated in the 13th-century intra-European crusade which had exterminated the Cathars. He would not utter the lie that Adolf Hitler was a Christian; but he had enough truthful material for his little presentation. The very fact that the panel allowed him to finish his speech was a hopeful sign, since no other applicant had spoken at such length as he was doing.

When he finished, the panel members held a quick whispered conference. Then the chairwoman told him, "Citizen Rand, you are accepted. Go to the inprocessing room to be registered as an apprentice."

Dan would not be allowed to enter the room which was being used as an inprocessing room; he would have to wait for Evan to finish receiving his union credentials. But Evan made a detour on his way to the room, so as to high-five his friend.
 
Back
Top