The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Polly Desmond was waiting in the sanctuary with her children. Besides the afflicted Reagan, these were ten-year-old Sheri and five-year-old Lambert. Only after Vance had led the Salisburys and the Rands to where they sat, did Chilena, Dan, Summer and Evan realize how different things were on the platform.

Pastor Schell was sitting in the pews, not welcoming the flock. On the platform, like a mockery of an altar, was a portable diagnostic table, half canopied by what looked like tomographic and ultrasound gear. Officiating at this quasi-altar were two rather mannish women: one a Oneness Priestess, the other--a medical technologist whom Evan had seen the day he and Dobie Marsalis had pretended to be dissenters at the scripted union meeting. And behind them...

Overseers in their reflective body armor, with lethal weapons, were not often seen by Diversity States citizens _outside_ of the Western Enclave and the less-known concentration camps. If any were seen in the "normal" areas, it was almost always only one at a time. But _four_ armored Overseers, all male and all holding automatic rifles, were standing on alert behind the women at the diagnostic table.

One of the armed men spoke into a wrist communicator: "Corbett, we've waited long enough for more arrivals. The Salisbury household is prominent enough. Shut off all further access until further notice."

Reagan, a beautiful girl with dark straight hair, looked past her mother at Chilena. "The celebrities...have arrived," she groaned feebly--though not as feebly as Chilena had heard her on a visit at the beginning of December. "But it's my show. I'm...the main attraction."

"Your attention, citizens!" barked the politically-correct priestess of the Inexpressible Ultimate. "All of you know that, in the name of diversity, the Party has generously allowed you to go on practicing an un-mutual religion in a public building, consuming public energy resources. You are allowed to convince yourselves that a big bearded man sitting in a chair on top of the galaxy listens to your self-centered, non-collectivist requests. President Trevette and all of our praiseworthy leaders maintain this freedom for you, little though you show your gratitude." At this point she looked at the other dumpy woman.

The technologist took over: "But whatever you convince _yourselves_ of, the Party cannot allow you to convince _others_ of un-mutual beliefs on a basis of cheap deception. If the reported improvement in the health of Citizen Reagan Desmond is the result of chance, amid the flowing karma of Mother Universe, well and good; in that case, we will not penalize anyone for placing superstitious interpretations on it. But if there has been unauthorized use of any _technology_ to change Reagan's condition, with an intention to _fabricate_ a so-called miracle, the Departments of Distribution AND Indoctrination will be questioning ALL members of this congregation.... quite extensively."

"If anyone wishes to confess having played a part in such a fraud, _before_ the scanning procedure begins," declared the priestess, "that person will both win complete amnesty as an individual, and cause the authorities to be more inclined to be lenient with _everyone_ here."

A moment of deathly silence passed (silence, because every member of this fellowship knew that God could hear prayers in the form of thoughts). Then, thoroughly fed up, Wayne Schell rose to his feet and half-shouted, "You already know how carefully ALL use of medical technology is monitored! And you know that none of us here has any _access_ to medical resources advanced enough to have cured Reagan's infection!"

"If that is the case, if none of you has conspired with corporate interests to regain ground for Biblical Nazi capitalistic patriarchalism, then you have nothing to fear." The priestess glanced at her companion.

"Let Reagan Desmond be brought up here now," ordered the technologist. Vance would have carried his own ailing daughter up to the platform, but it happened that Sheri was clinging to him for reassurance, just as her little brother was clinging to their mother. So, rather than provoke the Overseers by even the slightest appearance of hesitation to obey, Evan took over, lifting Reagan in his sturdy arms, carrying her to where the diagnostic table was set up, kissing her forehead with a whisper of "No fear," gently laying her down on the slablike surface that awaited her, then giving the equipment a hasty glance before he got out of the way.

As far as he could tell, all the components and their displays seemed to be just as they should be. Rejoining Summer and the others, he whispered to the Desmonds, "Not by might, nor by power, but by the Holy Spirit."

The technologist went to work; Evan was the only Christian present here tonight with enough healthcare knowledge to form any judgment of what she was doing with her apparatus, and to him her actions did seem correct. Prayers remained silent--except that after some six minutes, Michael, who was Evan and Summer's eldest child, let out an audible whisper: "God, please let her be safe, AND prove that nothing was faked!" The boy, not much younger than Reagan, had formed a strong liking for her, and it showed in his prayer.

Something about the posture of the watchful Overseers, despite visors hiding their faces, bespoke a readiness, even an eagerness, to arrest people just because they _could_ arrest people. But after more than half an hour of suspense, the technologist stepped back from the table and announced:

"All indications are that NO unauthorized therapies have been performed on this patient since the last recorded authorized treatment. It is my official finding that no fraud has occurred."

"Then you are free to call the girl's recovery a supernatural event AMONG YOURSELVES," the priestess told Wayne Schell directly. "Just remember the conventional restrictions."

Polly Desmond was on the platform and at her daughter's side almost before the priestess finished her anticlimactic words. The Overseers moved the diagnostic table out of the sanctuary, not looking now as if they cared one way or the other. The two mannish women followed them. Vance now being available to carry Reagan back to the pews, Evan stayed where he was, being hugged by Summer much as Dan was being hugged by Chilena.

And it wasn't long before everyone had gotten hold of themselves enough that they could follow Pastor Schell in singing "Joy to the World."
 
I got infected by a virus in my biology class? Ironically I'm homeschooled:p
I looooved the chapter and now I'm hooked! I MUST READ MORE!!!!


To the other readers: Reagan is me:)
 
Narniamoondust said:
To the other readers: Reagan is me:)
Click to expand...

That is, Reagan Desmond is Reagan from TDL if our Reagan were not even born until the year 2012, and she saw America fall under a more or less Marxist dictatorship when she was nine years old. Thus, Reagan-of-TDL, your other self does not yet exist during the events of the ORIGINAL Alipang story; but I hope you still read the first story all through.
 
Copperfox said:
That is, Reagan Desmond is Reagan from TDL if our Reagan were not even born until the year 2012, and she saw America fall under a more or less Marxist dictatorship when she was nine years old. Thus, Reagan-of-TDL, your other self does not yet exist during the events of the ORIGINAL Alipang story; but I hope you still read the first story all through.
Click to expand...

Not me....ME! just,based off my likeness.
Yes I will. I'm going to print it all out and see if I can get through it in a day like previous books.
 
Copperfox said:
"All indications are that NO unauthorized therapies have been performed on this patient since the last recorded authorized treatment. It is my official finding that no fraud has occurred."
Click to expand...

Hooray!!!:D

That was sweet to make a character based on Reagan.
 
At the Riquelme house, Melody Vasquez was not finished receiving distinguished visitors; and today, there was no reason for her to be programmed to forget the visit, quite the contrary.

Tessa Claremont, Melody's current physician, brought a familiar person into the room they shared: Monica Sotero, the widow of the late Vice-Commandant of the Texas Rangers. The instant Melody laid eyes on this acquaintance, her involuntary reflexive thought was: They chose a woman who knows bereavement to tell me something! Springing up from her chair as fast as if she _didn't_ have over three kilograms of baby plus the fluid ballasting her, she wildly cried out, "Emilio! No!"

The mind in moments of distress can work both rapidly and erratically. It took less than one second for Melody's mind to reflect that "Emilio! No!" would be exactly the same in both English and Spanish, and that she didn't know if she had been _thinking_ of herself saying it in English or Spanish. And since she would have understood equally in either tongue, she also was unsure which tongue Monica was using when swiftly answering her: "He's safe! He isn't hurt! It's all right! Nothing bad happened!"

Melody nonetheless threw her arms around the older woman and clung to her, sobbing as piteously as if Emilio _had_ perished. Words finally emerged from her weeping: "I'm so afraid, I'm always afraid! I'm afraid he's going to die, just like--oh, Monica, I'm sorry!"

Monica kissed her, and held her closer. "Don't feel guilty, dear. I knew that fear for years; and much too soon I'll be feeling it for my son. But Miguel won't let me stop him from carrying on his father's fight. Our enduring the fear is the gift we must give them. I don't know if it feels any different for men married to female Rangers, but I sure know how it is for US. You'll soldier on through it, Melody, I know you're strong."

"But Mrs. Sotero is here on happier business today," Tessa interjected over the brave widow's shoulder.

Melody sniffed, then leaned back just a little in Monica's embrace. "Did you come to find out how my son is doing?" She knew she was speaking in English now. "Tessa was just telling me today that he's far enough along that she could do a live removal to incubation with no detriment to his health. They wouldn't allow it in the D.S.A., but Tessa says she and Sergeant Riquelme can finagle it for me here in Mexico. What do you think?"

Monica exchanged a glance with Tessa, then replied, "I think you should take the opportunity, so you can start recovering sooner. No, I don't mean that I know any particular emergency that you need to be strong for, I just mean on general principles. I already heard that you're carrying a boy. Doctor Claremont predicts that he's going to be pretty large at full term, and you're not a very large woman. Since your son would NOT be hurt now by a transfer to incubation, you should go for it."

"Thank you. I need to pray more about it first."

"By all means, pray. If only to spite Governor Jiang and his stupid dancing priestess!" Monica released Melody from her arms. "But there's another matter I haven't mentioned yet; not a casual matter, but not a bad one either. In fact, the point of it is to assure you that something _isn't_ bad."

A mellow female voice now floated in from the next room: "Is that our cue to enter?" Upon receiving a yes from the first visitor, the next visitor came in. And as soon as she came in, the other three women already in the bedroom seemed to shrink, to become frumpy. The newest arrival, though recognizably older than Melody, was probably the most gorgeous woman of the Hispanic type whom the expecting mother had ever seen. She was dressed in an average fashion, but seemed as if she would have been stunning even in a burka. Accompanying her were three female Texas Rangers, one of whom was carrying some electronic apparatus.

"Hello, Senora Vasquez, and God bless you," said the eye-catching stranger, in Spanish. "My name is Gloria Cervantes. That is my real name, though I have used other names. It's wonderful to see you at last, since I already know about you. I wish I could really socialize with you, and let you tell me more about your whole family; but this visit has to be short, since I have duties ahead of me. I wanted to tell you something important;" and she looked at the device now being set up on a dresser top; "because if I should for any reason have no chance to tell you later, I would--just let me tell you. Zella, go ahead and connect me."

Monica touched the baffled Melody's shoulder. "This needs to be done in the presence of someone you can trust, namely me. I have monitored the preparations for this moment, and you have my word that this is a genuine, working brainwave lie detector. So when you hear Senorita Cervantes speak, you will _know_ that she speaks the truth."

"Truth? But, but about what?" stammered Melody.

"Sit down and listen," Gloria Cervantes told her. "It isn't bad news, but it could be bad someday if you _didn't_ know it. Let me get it said now; I have a flight to catch soon.

"I am a covert agent, who has come into contact with Texas Rangers in the line of duty. I am trusting you NOT to speak about me to anyone. My superiors aren't happy about my telling you anything, but they understand that I'll do my coming work better if I have wrapped up what for me is a major loose end.

"On more than one occasion, I have met your husband Emilio in a professional context. He has assisted me in some work. What you _need_ to know is that the _only_ reason why he never told you about me, was because of _operational_ security. There has been nothing for him to be ashamed of. Nothing improper ever happened between him and me, nor did either of us _wish_ to do anything improper. He praises you in the most passionate terms; you are life itself to him. You must remember this, in case the subject of me ever comes up for any reason in the future. I will admit to having a very high opinion of your husband, and I would hate myself if I failed to make sure that I would never be the cause of you doubting his faithfulness to you. Emilio is as true-hearted as they come. So always try to be worthy of him, for he tries hard to be worthy of you."

The lie detector proclaimed Gloria's words to be unchallengeable gospel truth. Once she was disconnected, the secret agent stood up gracefully, stepped close to the astonished Ranger wife, caressed Melody's bulging abdomen, then gently framed Melody's face with her hands. "Be happy, good lady. Enjoy all the pure, normal blessings God provides. Enjoy them for yourself, and for me." Then she kissed Melody, and immediately turned to go.

"Wait!" Melody exclaimed. "Whatever you're about to go into, I want you to know that I believe what you said, both about yourself and about my husband. I'll pray for you."

Gloria looked back at her. "Thank you. Go with God, Senora Vasquez;" and she strode out the door.
 
It was late Friday afternoon in Uganda. The other Melody, the Caucasian one in her mid-thirties, married to U.S. Army veteran Josiah Redfern, was enjoying a far more worry-free Christmas season than her Chinese-American namesake. Her fortyish husband, having done his share of dodging bullets long ago in Iraq, was making his contribution to the war against evil in the healthcare sphere, and NOT as a battlefield medic. So Josiah and Melody could relish having their family gathered at their home near Gazaya Road, north of the capital of Uganda.

Both boys had their mother's black hair, while both girls had their father's blond hair. The fraternal-twin sons, Elijah Roy and Isaiah Nick, were on break from classes at Kampala's Makarere University. It had just been established that together they could wrestle their father to the floor, but he could still pin either of them singly. Teenage daughter Holly Rose was likewise on break from an experimental school run by other American emigrants in Mukono; the spirit and intent of its experiments, of course, were utterly different from the spirit and intent of the Tolerance Houses in the Diversity States. Younger-teenage daughter Alyssa Maria, still living full-time at home while attending a local high school, was playing hostess to her elder siblings.

"You boys get cleaned up for supper," the mother of the household commanded her husband and sons. "Then we can watch your comedy show." She was referring to Dynamo Earthquake's news-magazine program on the Collective Network; American emigrants often watched this and the Oneness Channel, to laugh harshly at the lies.

They ate appetizers, consisting of peanuts and little cakes made with cassava flour and honey. To drink, everyone had a low-alcohol version of pombe, the banana beer common in Uganda. Tonight's main course would be beef stew, pretty much the same thing for Ugandans as for meat-eating Americans. Everyone had taken seats near their modest two-dee television--except for Alyssa, who was watching the stew to give her mother a rest--as Dynamo Earthquake opened her show by talking about the reassigned American diplomats Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace. Josiah's interest rose sharply, since he knew the story of these women disgracing themselves in Beijing. Nothing was said about the nightclub catfight, even though news of it HAD gotten out to the media of other countries.

"The visionary project of internal diplomacy, conceived by Vice-President Anselmo, is ramping up with the assignment of these talented women of the State Department to Rapid City. Not only will Ms. Melville and Ms. Quickpace be mediating between the overall exile population and the civilized population; they will also be mediating, as occasion warrants, between competing sub-groups of Biblicals. As has been reported more than once on this program, our Overseers have their hands full with the savage, even psychotic rivalries that persist among the God-fascists. All mutually-minded citizens naturally wish Melville and Quickpace good karma in their work, making the work of the Overseers easier.

"If they prosper _inside_ the Western Enclave, there may be similar work for them _outside_ it." Views of the two women being discussed now gave way to a view inside what looked like an auditorium. On the stage was an intricate table-like affair; upon seeing it, Josiah told Holly, "That's a diagnostic table." Two women, about as feminine as the reporter, were seen standing by the table; the view of them was a side view, and Josiah had the oddest feeling that the camera operator had been instructed not to include in the picture anything that might be upstage of those women.

Citizen Earthquake went on: "This was the scene last night, at a Oneness Temple in Mid-Atlantic District, with Christians at their usual hatemongering, in this case making up wild accusations against the school system and the Health Rationing Agency. An adolescent woman in the congregation, a Ms. Reagan Desmond, had contracted a disease because of her own refusal to follow correct procedures during a virology lesson at school." (A file picture of the girl was displayed.) "This was a clear example of the Biblicals' anti-intellectualism; but Reagan's fanatical chromosome sources, taking advantage of the generous freedom of speech long granted to them by the Fairness Party, slanderously charged the school with neglecting safeguards for virus handling.

"Despite this hate speech, the very same Health Rationing Agency which they accused of making no attempt to help Reagan, went to the trouble to bring a portable treatment unit, seen here, to the Temple, in order to expedite a cure for the stricken adolescent." An instant later, the camera looked more directly into the seating; a man about Melody's age could be seen carrying the girl Reagan down an aisle and up onto the stage, to place her on the table.

"A cure?" muttered Melody Redfern into her husband's left ear, the good ear. "Didn't you say that was a diagnostic table?"

"That's what it is," Josiah affirmed. "Not one bit of anything _curative_ on it; and--yes, everything they're doing is more or less what I do at work."

"So this is all made up," said Holly, "as usual."

"Did you expect anything else?" asked her father.

Dynamo Earthquake lied her way through a long speech about the scandalous ingratitude of those Christians who had been allowed to go on living in the normal community. Josiah's muscles tightened when she started insinuating that the sexist racist religious fanatics might need to be _taught_ proper appreciation for the leniency shown to them by President Trevette. Using the remote to freeze Ms. Earthquake, he addressed his loved ones.

"You know what, everyone? Since they're bragging about curing that girl, I imagine she really was cured of whatever infected her; if she hadn't been cured, there was no need to mention her on the news in the first place. But the actions by _their_ people, supposedly treating the girl, _weren't_ treating her at all, only analyzing. What do you think of that? Why would Ms. Earthquake be instructed to _claim_ that therapy was happening?"

Alyssa had heard enough, and seen enough in glimpses, that now she could put her own word in from the kitchen: "The whole thing could have been a movie set, the situation acted out, for the purpose of reminding the peasants what looshes we Christians are."

"Could be. Anyone else?"

"If they were going to videocord a totally fake scene along these lines," offered Isaiah, "I would expect them to make the setting a hospital. I don't see what advantage they get by making us think this happened in a Oneness Temple."

"Then why DO they claim that a cure was carried out in a Temple?" Holly asked her brother.

It was her other brother, Elijah, who picked up from there. "I think there was a cure--done by God. I think the Party goons only found out about it after the sick girl got better, so _then_ they staged what we're seeing, to rob God of the credit."

Josiah let them hear him sighing. Where traditional families still existed, as here in Africa, wives and children sometimes had to watch out for warning signs of anger in the patriarch; but Josiah's wife and children, accustomed to loving and reasonable behavior from _their_ patriarch, had learned instead to be alert for the signs of his encouraging them to travel a trail of thought with him. Now they knew he was coming to a conclusion.

"Elijah, it _must_ have been something like what you say. I'm reminded of what the corrupt leaders in Judea did, after Lazarus was raised from the dead."

"They plotted to kill poor Lazarus all over again," groaned Holly.

"John's Gospel doesn't tell us if they followed through on that," remarked Isaiah.

"But the fact that those leaders even _thought_ of killing Lazarus," Josiah told his family, "shows their depravity. Because a miracle made them look inferior to Jesus, they preferred to _murder_ an innocent man rather than have to admit they had been wrong about Jesus. Of course, they went from there to plotting the death of THE Innocent Man."

"Dad!" Alyssa half-gasped from the kitchen. "Do you mean you think those krins in America would _kill_ that girl who was sick, just to keep God from getting credit for her being healed? She's no older than I am!"

"They have as little mercy as they have courage," said Josiah. "But if they're counting on their audience not understanding about the diagnostic table, then _hopefully_ they'll be satisfied with having taken credit for a cure, and feel no need to murder this Desmond girl."

"We need to pray that she'll be safe, along with her parents," declared Melody. And pray the Redferns did, all of them, delaying supper as they fought with the weapons of the Holy Spirit against wickedness in high places. They even prayed that Dynamo Earthquake herself would come to salvation.

The thought of a girl much like her own youngest child being murdered, in order to avoid embarrassment to a dictatorship, was upsetting to Melody. She expressed this all evening, not by direct words, but by lavishing even more tender affection than usual on her children, all of whom returned her affection wholeheartedly. They would exchange gifts next week; but _having_ her family was the gift Melody treasured.

That night, regardless of Elijah, Isaiah, Holly and Alyssa all sleeping in the same house, Melody would not be deterred from pulling her husband into the fiercest, most urgent lovemaking they had shared in weeks.
 
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Comedy is about all that show is good for.:rolleyes:

Copperfox said:
"But if they're counting on their audience not understanding about the diagnostic table, then _hopefully_ they'll be satisfied with having taken credit for a cure, and feel no need to murder this Desmond girl."
Click to expand...

I hope so!
 
In America's Eastern time zone, the first showing of Dynamo Earthquake's program came on at a time when most working people would be at work, and schoolchildren would be at school. (Much of the audience she played to, as far as first showing was concerned, consisted of the welfare recipients in the Collective Dormitories.) Thus, at the Salisbury house in Georgetown, Summer was the only person at home to see the original streaming of the program that lied about Reagan Desmond. Evan had work now, providing physical therapy to the worst-injured of those workers who had fought in the kinetic negotiation which had been going on the day he gained admittance to the Secondary Healthcare Workers' Union.

Summer was in a position to appreciate the grand scale of Ms. Earthquake's lies; but the portion of the streamcast which affected Summer the most came after the portion which had prompted the Redferns in Uganda to pray. Still in connection with the "internal diplomacy," the holographic image-space showed a snow-covered town, which a caption identified as Casper, Wyoming.

Inside the fence! And Casper was where Chilena's parents and her two youngest siblings lived! Summer double-checked that the holovision's recording function was on; it was. And good thing, in view of what accompanied the change of scene....

"Our viewers should not think that all the conditions in the Enclave are nothing but adverse for the work of civilizing primitives. Here in the Wyoming Sector, during the visit of popular author Trip Conklin to the Enclave, something happened which is an encouragement to everyone in the Campaign Against Hate." Now there was a view of someplace like a plaza or parking lot, on which men were working to remove snow, assisted by a horse-drawn snowplow. One of the men...was ALIPANG HAVENS. The picture froze him in the act of tossing a big shovelful of snow.

"Some of you viewers may recall this particular exile, a practicing dentist and an agricultural support volunteer," the propagandist continued, as Alipang's name came up in captioning. "Last summer, he and one of his colleagues in the Grange Association commendably attempted to render medical aid to two Overseers injured in an accident." In one section of the image-space, still pictures now appeared of Alipang, and some fellow who looked like a Native American, as patients in hospital beds. "I interviewed Doctor Havens on that occasion; and I now have the pleasure of reporting that he has clearly evolved in the direction of conforming to the collective. The activity seen here took place when Citizen Conklin was directing his live-theater adaptation of the Churchbusters of the Galaxy; and Alipang Havens was one of several exiles who voluntarily assisted in preparations for the presentation in Casper. So trust in karma, citizens; even the worst cases of Oppositional Defiant Disorder can be remedied. We at the Collective Network look forward to reporting the future successes of Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace in bringing more exiles like Doctor Havens to their senses."

Summer stared as Ms. Earthquake blathered on. It was not to be believed for one instant that Alipang, her surrogate brother from the old days in Smoky Lake, would _ever_ deny his Lord and side with the Pinkshirts and their lot. Summer, and the Salisburys, had already heard from Daffodil Ford about Alipang, with his brother and son, doing this very same snow-removal work; but there was no way that their doing so could have been meant by them as an _endorsement_ of anti-Christian propaganda. The news program had just gotten done lying flagrantly about Reagan Desmond; Ms. Earthquake would hardly hesitate to lie about events inside the Enclave, which were _less_ subject to verification by regular citizens. Alipang shovelling snow proved nothing about his spiritual condition. If any future broadcast should hold him up as a model of de-Christianizing, Summer would know that either this was being made up...or Alipang had been drugged out of his mind.

Chilena wasn't going to like this. She, any more than Summer, would never believe that Alipang would sell out; but she, as much as Summer, would worry that there could be technological tampering with Alipang's personality and free will. And even without that, it would be distressing not to be able to _tell_ all the newscast audience that Alipang _hadn't_ let himself be "remedied" from following Christ.

Clasping her intact right hand around her three-digited left hand, Summer prayed hard for her dear friend in exile, and for all of that friend's loved ones. She also prayed for the conversion of that lying reporter.

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

That night, unlike some nights, Dynamo Earthquake slept alone.

But not as alone as she thought.

She seemed to be standing inside a featureless, high-walled enclosure--featureless, except that the walls bore some kind of graffiti, saying things like "Marriage is only enslavement," "Fathers are all abusers," and "Preachers are all swindlers." The air around her was bitterly cold, yet at the same time the ground under her feet was uncomfortably warm, and growing hotter. "Someone, help!" she cried. "Let me out of here!"

In response, a blazing light appeared atop one of the walls. Out of the light spoke a voice deeper and stronger than Dynamo could ever have imagined: "But you built this prison for yourself; you built it with lies, which you _always_ knew to be lies. You _wanted_ your lies to be true, so you intentionally walled yourself off from the actual truth. Mere months ago, I gave you an opportunity to escape to freedom; you felt My call in your heart; you began correctly to doubt the path you were walking; but you turned away again, and resumed your lying. Now, perish in the prison you chose."

Running up against one of the walls and pounding her fists on it ineffectually, Dynamo pleaded, "Let me out, please let me out! I didn't understand, I didn't know it was You calling me! Please, I'll do anything You say, _please_ have mercy!"

The voice in the light grew a little less severe. "Look atop the wall to your right. There stand some who have been hounded and persecuted by the very same unjust authorities you praise and support. Do you think _they_ owe you any goodwill? Do they owe you thanks for your letting them be abused?"

Standing on the wall to which Dynamo's attention had been directed were three fully-adult persons, one man and two women, with four seeming adolescents, two of each sex. One woman stood a little apart from the rest. The other woman stood close to the man, and the young ones all bore a resemblance to one or the other of these two. It was given to Dynamo in the dream to understand that these seven persons were all Christians. Looking at them, she dared not speak.

Now the man pointed at her, and she dreaded hearing some dreadful condemnation pronounced. But his eyes were turned toward the radiant light; and what he said was, "Lord, please give her another chance." Then the black-haired woman with him also pointed at Dynamo, and also said, "Lord, please give her another chance." Their four children did the same in turn. Last of all, the other woman held up her left hand, which was maimed and bleeding, and said, "Lord, I will be better healed by her salvation, than by her damnation."

The light shone more brightly and beautifully upon the seven Christians. "My good sons and daughters, your intercession is absorbed into the ministry of the True Intercessor." Then He addressed the propagandist by her almost-forgotten real name, not the one she had made up for herself. "Denise Heathcock, one more chance is given to you, given as a gift. Do not squander it; this is your last opportunity to escape from judgment."

The walls around her crumbled into gravel, and some kind of narrow path came into view, inviting her to walk on it. Then she woke up in darkness, coldly sweating; but the image of a path to follow stayed in her mind.
 
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Looking forward to more about Dynamo--or, that is, Denise. If she turns to God, though, she will have to make some pretty big adjustments.
 
The Overseers might give her a nine-millimeter adjustment in the back of her head. By now, the readers won't be too surprised if I say that she WILL be saved; but I'm still pondering what will happen to her temporally.
 
A Hasty Review Of Recent Events

** Henry Spafford, on his spontaneous vision quest, helped Dr. Stepanova treat patients, uncovered evidence of Nash Dockerty's accomplices being up to mischief, and saved Yitzhak Rosenbaum from a wild boar.

** Daffodil Ford had another convulsion fit, caused by fear that Alipang and Kim would think he was trying to corrupt their little son Brendan.

** Mark and Dana, the two Forest Rangers, made the acquaintance of a South Dakota Grange volunteer named Porter Hennepin, who is anxious to explode the fiction of "the Ku Klux Quaker menace."

** Avery Glass, the unhappy elderly dentist in the Enclave capital, along with his divorced daughter Lenore, accepted a Christmas invitation from Alipang.

** Melody Vasquez, now enjoying safe refuge in Mexico, was drawn into the Mexican government's effort to persuade the Texas Rangers to reject Fairness Party rule, making Texas an independent nation that would be allied with Mexico. Nor was that all that was going on for Melody; she was also visited by the sexy secret agent Gloria Cervantes, who for the sake of her friendship with Emilio took pains to prove to Melody that it was ONLY friendship.

** The secret army, still prepping for the Switzerland mission, arranged for the two superpowers, India and China, to reach an agreement that avoided either stepping on the other's toes as both had some involvement with the plan.

** The church which the Salisburys and the Rands attend prayed for a girl in their congregation, Reagan Desmond, to be healed of a serious illness. The prayers were answered, and Reagan began to get well; but meddlesome government officials insisted on faking evidence that it was really government intervention that had saved the girl's life.
 
Сhapter 69: May None Of Your Christmases Be Trite


As the chosen way to keep the new Vice-Commandant of the Texas Rangers out of sight, Emilio Vasquez and Jed Brickhouse (alias Bruce, and getting accustomed to a closed helmet visor) were logging a great many flying hours, most of them outside of Texas. With increased awareness of the importance of the Texas-based air-defense effort, non-Ranger aviators such as Colt Finnegan had been approved for formal induction into the Rangers, and "Sky Ranger" aircraft were becoming an expected sight throughout more and more of Diversity States airspace.

Right now, the two men were in Emilio's old patrol helicopter, the same one in which he and Juan had flown along the Stegosaurus as live bait for Aztlano bandits. Emilio was not yet certified on the Great Condor attack helicopters; a few military veterans had been found who were getting first dibs there. But there was a Great Condor flying near them, sharing in their current mission over the lightly snow-dusted Inland Southern Federal District.

The official story for the public was that the new gunships were involved in training flights to develop methods of working together with the Texas Tu-95's to counter hostile aircraft of all possible types. This was not altogether untrue; only, in some cases, the Texas Tu-95's were holograms.

Which was where Emilio's chopper came in at present.

The surviving actual Bears were being kept flying wherever the sky was cloudless. Where there was enough cloud cover to assist a deception, holograms of the big planes went slipping through the clouds, looking real enough both to people on the ground and to satellites overhead. Their pretended existence was falsely confirmed by g.p.s. deception, using the improved deception units that had been smuggled to the Rangers by Juan Riquelme. Right now, Emilio and Jed were operating both components of this illusion, as their chopper had been fitted with an advanced holographic projector based on the old Blue Light project from the United States era.

The Great Condor accompanying them was doing its bit, making pretended calls to the imaginary bomber to coordinate mock-combat maneuvers. The calls, of course, were audible to Emilio and Jed, who caused the hologram to change direction, speed or altitude accordingly. Ostensibly, they were along as observers. The men crewing the gunship were unknown to Emilio, though Jed said he had met them once.

A weather-data link advised Emilio that on their present course they would soon exit the region of cloud cover. The hologram would still exist in clear air, but would be less convincing to any beholders--if only because it would not cast a shadow on the ground. So, casually, as if on a mere whim, Emilio called the other chopper on unencrypted voice, telling them to turn south and head for a different operations area.

"You were first to notice the cloud border coming up," remarked Jed as they flew on their new heading. "I admire your presence of mind, when you must be thinking about Mrs. Vasquez all the time."

Emilio smiled. "I think about my Yellow Rose MORE THAN all the time." Since Chinese people had in the past been commonly spoken of as "yellow" (in the days before it became "hate speech" to say _anything_ about physical characteristics of ethnic groups), Melody had been dubbed "the _real_ Yellow Rose of Texas" as soon as Emilio's Ranger friends had been introduced to her. "Even if she doesn't get an early live removal, she could give birth to our child almost any time now."

Jed nodded. "And then you'll be a father. Of course, you've _been_ a father since your baby was conceived, but I mean a _practicing_ father." The Vice-Commandant looked out a side window at the Tennessee hill country passing below them, then looked straight at his companion. "Emilio, I know that all your brothers and sisters cleared out for Mexico as soon as the Fairness Party took over. I understand what you're trying to do by sticking with the Rangers; but with a child to think of....Emilio, you could get an equivalent job in Mexico for the asking, and there you wouldn't have to keep your Christian faith shut inside a windowless room. No one could threaten you with--" He hesitated.

"Threaten me with what?" asked Emilio. Both were silent for a moment, until Emilio continued. "Every time we pass near one of the wilderness areas that are listed for no flyovers, you get a strange look. Have you got a theory about what the Campaign Against Hate _really_ uses its reserved areas for?"

"Yeah, I do. But until I can prove it, I'm not saying a word to _anyone_ about what I suspect. I'll only say that if you joined your beautiful wife in Mexico, and never came back north, you would never have to worry about finding out what's in those Pinkshirt-controlled areas."

"I would feel like a cowardly deserter. Yes, I have a Spanish name, I love mariachi music, and I eat jalapenos like candy. But it was the United States, NOT Mexico, that developed the ideals I live by where earthly society is concerned. As long as there's anything left of Texas, there's something left of the United States; and as long as there's a Texas, I am a Texas Ranger."

Jed shook his head admiringly. "Dang, Emilio, I wish we still had Chuck Norris! He would _love_ to meet you."

Emilio glanced up toward Heaven. "And one day, he will."
 
Copperfox said:
"I would feel like a cowardly deserter. Yes, I have a Spanish name, I love mariachi music, and I eat jalapenos like candy. But it was the United States, NOT Mexico, that developed the ideals I live by where earthly society is concerned. As long as there's anything left of Texas, there's something left of the United States; and as long as there's a Texas, I am a Texas Ranger."
Click to expand...

Very noble.:)
 
Denise Heathcock, alias Dynamo Earthquake, had received her crucial dream while sleeping, not at her luxury apartment in New York City, but at the Journalists' Union hostel next to the Seattle-Tacoma Airport. This chain of lodging facilities provided by her union had a distinctive meaning in the hulking woman's personal history: the question of whether her union should be allowed to do its own hiring of guest-service workers had provoked one of the very first union-versus-union kinetic negotiations. This battle, in fact, had happened in 2019, before the Diversity States had even been established; but by that time the process of national transformation had already been far along in its destined course. The journalists had been crushingly defeated by the hotel housekeepers--had even been coerced into broadcasting the high praises of the very persons who had pounded them.

But Ms. Earthquake had not been humiliated as an individual. As far as she had been able to see during the battle, she herself had been the _only_ journalist who was able singlehandedly to beat any hotel worker. Her wimpy male colleagues had been utterly useless, which naturally had solidified her contempt for men. She had thereafter played a significant role in persuading union heads to agree, as an equalizing measure, to assign some physically formidable persons to join unions whose nature caused them to contain many weaklings.

All of this history, however, and all of her self-congratulation about it, had shrunk to the size of a trivia note since she had that dream of her self-made spiritual prison. When she sat up, after a minute's thought, she looked at the ceiling of her dark bedroom, and whispered: "Please don't think I'm putting You off. I do want to act on this last chance You're giving me, I just need the time to figure out _what_ I'm going to do."

She had a job commitment today, at the deliberation chamber of the All-Species Council. This was why she was in the Northwest Federal District. She had the plum assignment of covering the action the Council would be taking in honor of the Winter Solstice.

After more thought, she turned on a light and fetched her dataphone. On the device, she composed a text message that would go simultaneously to her whole chain of command, as high as Secretary of Indoctrination Arista Penfield. It said:

"Perpetually grateful as I am for the prominent position the Party has allowed me to have, I owe it to the collective to help others rise in responsibility as I have been privileged to rise. This is in the interests of media democracy. Therefore, I submit a proposal concerning my daily program.

"I have a backlog of potential interviews I have wanted to do, with persons of interest in all sorts of departments and unions. The interviews could be conducted in such a way as not to be time-perishable, remaining relevant for months to come. If starting to do them at last, and if keeping each interview under ten minutes in length or serializing them, I could build up, in less than two weeks' time, enough of these interviews to spread over two months or longer. Then we could arrange to have each one of these interviews be the only participation by me in one segment of my program; and the remainder of each such segment would spotlight some young journalist as a reporter of real-time news. I would not even ask to have authority over what persons were given this opportunity; all of you, my superiors, doubtless know up-and-coming loyal Party members to whom you would like to give such a privilege. Call this my way of giving back to the Party.

"In the off-time I would gain for myself, I would be seeking to develop new projects, and following up on any intriguing story. I would, of course, remain available if the Department should want me to make special appearances, for instance on The Glance. If my superiors approve of this idea, I could begin on my string of special features while I am still in Seattle, by interviewing human members of the All-Species Council for sidebar insights on the same doings of theirs to which I am giving real-time coverage today."

The big event for today was to be the installation of a new Chairbeing of the Council: someone who embodied the inter-species ideal by insisting that he _belonged_ to several different species at once. Having recently turned eleven years old, the free-spirited boy Tim Govinda could be, and had been, adjudged a legal adult at the discretion of the Fairness Party Presidium. By publicizing Citizen Govinda's accession to political office, the Collective Network would be striking a blow simultaneously against age bigotry and species bigotry.

After playing her part in glorifying this triumph of progressive statecraft, Ms. Earthquake hoped that by her proposal to Indoctrination she would obtain the latitude to pursue her own goal. Though it must be kept from her superiors, her _true_ goal was now quite a simple one. She must create for herself an opportunity to question one or more Biblicals about what they _really_ believed, and why they believed it. If the seven persons who had interceded for her in her dream were actual mortal individuals in the real world, then so much the better if she could talk with one or more of them. But she had to get together with _someone_ Biblical.

She most decidedly did not want to miss out on her last chance for salvation.
 
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At the Lunar Orchard, Lori Purdue and Yael Meyerling had both become the property of the third most important man in that Chinese colony. The first and second most important men had not felt a need for the two round-eye women, because their prestige (like that of the two most important of the female pioneers) allowed them to _leave_ the Moon once every four months at staggered timing, to sample home pleasures back on Earth. Meanwhile, two married couples, all four persons Chinese, had arrived just this week to enlarge the colony's workforce.

Professor Chun, the man who now had the use of Lori and Yael, had been quick to tell them that he _respected_ them too much to let them be _only_ toys for his pleasure. Thus, with great respect, he had required them both to work part-time in the primary and secondary organic recycling modules. But Greater China had come far enough since the Cultural Revolution, that Chun was not slave-driving them just for the sake of slave-driving; the work they were made to do was of real value to the survival of everyone in the Moon colony. This had made sense to Yael from the beginning; and Lori, to her own surprise, had decided it wasn't so bad after the first three weeks. Even the ditzy actress could tell that the Chinese personnel thought better of her for contributing meaningful work, than if she had been a useless ornament.

Both Caucasian women were on free time, together with their quasi-husband, when the colony's antenna array picked up Dynamo Earthquake's coverage of the ceremony at the All-Species Council. Stupid Americans were a great source of amusement to the Chinese--Lori having worked her way up to being viewed with less contempt than other Americans--so everyone who was awake and at leisure gathered to watch the broadcast.

"Did you ever meet this Earthquake woman?" Yael asked Lori, who answered no. "Then what about this animal-boy?" Same answer.

Led by the honorable giraffe, the legislative animals and their human colleagues marched around the interior of the spacious Council building, while several day workers from a Collective Dormitory cleaned up after them. Tim Govinda was in the center, play-acting his claimed animal identities at random. This was how he responded to the series of supposed speeches in his honor by the legislative beasts, which were "interpreted" by their "colleagues."

When the boy in his enthusiasm added a skunk to his repertoire of identities, Professor Chun laughed, "Aristotle was right: man IS a political animal!"

Lori had conflicting emotions as she listened to the aging-tomboy reporter extolling the "magnificent achievement" of the All-Species Council in "embodying the oneness of all life." On one hand, the prejudice that some of the Chinese pioneers still felt against her was more of a reality than Ms. Earthquake's claptrap about "species bigotry;" this made part of Lori's mind miss her native country. On the other hand, no one had actually abused her or Yael here, unless one counted being used in the way they had consented to in coming here; and there _were_ positives about being part of this human adventure in the cosmos.

She kept on listening to Ms. Earthquake's narrative. At some point, though she had not been called on to do anything theatrical at the Lunar Orchard, her actor's instincts raised a mental flag.

"She's acting!" Lori suddenly exclaimed aloud. "She doesn't believe _anything_ she's saying!"

"Of course she doesn't," replied Professor Chun indulgently. "She's a propagandist. What makes it funny is that her society gives her so _very_ little of anything admirable to report on, yet she bravely works at admiring it."

"But Professor, what I mean is that in the past, she DID seem to believe the things she would say on her programs. Now she has a different note in her voice."

"You may have something there," said Yael. "People do change, after all. You and I sure have changed in our time on the Moon."

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

Dynamo Earthquake certainly could feel herself changing. Just after her scheduled work was finished, she received a return message approving her proposition to give helpful exposure to new journalists; so she lined up five of the planned "sidebar" interviews with local figures including Tim Govinda, and had them all videocorded before Saturday was past. This was all in keeping with her true desires; but she was still happy to be _done_ with it for the day. She was growing tired of idiots, while at the same time ashamed of herself for having helped to _make_ them idiots.

In the last light of a winter sunset over Puget Sound, she saw what she wanted to believe was a Heavenly sign of encouragement. Indeed, the absence of rain, making the aerial portent visible, seemed itself miraculous. Two clouds, backlit by the dropping Sun, hovered close to each other in such a way that the space between them looked remarkably like a perspective view of a receding path. Like the path she had seen before her in the final instant of her dream about judgment and redemption.

Hopefully, this meant that her intended search for spiritual instruction was _exactly_ what she was supposed to be doing.
 
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(I finally make explicit the year I've hinted)

Unlike Denise Heathcock, Daffodil Ford had not needed to be terrorized into seeking instruction; and by now, he had no doubt that this WAS what he was supposed to do, even if he still was not altogether sure how deep the rabbit-hole went.

The Sunday before Christmas of 2025 was not the boy's first time attending church with Alipang and Kim, but it was his most gratifying visit so far. Before worship commenced, he found himself greeted with grateful hugs by the two female musicians to whom he had given back their music. "We planned this trip to Sussex _specifically_ to show our appreciation to you," the clarinet player informed him. "Our arranger has risen to the occasion, and devised a two-instrument arrangement of Bach."

"Music about beer?" Daffodil asked, baffled. He had heard of bock beer, but never of Johannes Sebastian Bach.

Alipang intervened: "B-A-guttural-C-H, Bach. Dead white male. German composer. These ladies will be doing his most famous piece, 'Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.' And to spare you asking, the 'Desire' in the title has nothing at all to do with fleshly desire."

"It's more like the desire of the human heart for a meaning to life," added the trombone player. "Jesus _makes_ our lives have meaning."

After this, everyone took their seats. The church tape recorder played Mannheim Steamroller's rendition of "Deck the Halls," followed by live congregational singing of "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear." Then Pastor Ionesco introduced the guest musicians.

Their arranger had given most of Bach's arpeggiated melody line to the clarinet, because rapid notes could more easily be hit by fingering keys than by working the slide of a trombone. But since the clarinet girl had to inhale sometime, several short portions of that main line were taken over by the trombone girl, her part subtly simplified just enough that her slide could keep up. And of course, the slower passage that came partway through the piece belonged to the trombone.

It seemed both to Alipang and to Kim that their boarder, though generally open to the things of God, was not being affected as profoundly by Bach as he ought to have been. The phrase "pearls before swine" occurred to the minds of both spouses; but they realized that this was too cruel a thought. More appropriate to think, "Pearls before someone raised _among_ swine." Anyway, Daffodil did applaud with everyone else when the young ladies finished.

Peter Ionesco, who of course had known in advance what the special music would be, preached about the human spirit's hunger for the joy of the Lord. Alipang and Kim had the impression that at least the sermon was having some impact on Daffodil.

Worship was followed by a casual lunch, at which the lady musicians were guests of honor. Fishing for something to say about the music as he conversed with them, Daffodil remarked, "The way the arrangement cut back and forth between the two of you reminded me a bit of stun jazz."

"Um, thank you," replied the clarinet girl, with a faintly blank expression. But the trombone girl stepped in by saying, "Then this is my chance to ask someone: exactly what IS stun jazz?"

"A style of playing, more than of composing," Daffodil told them. "It can be done with old jazz standards from past generations, like from Dave Brubeck or Chick Corea; in fact, not many new pieces are composed now AS stun jazz. It's all about the way it's rendered: always a transition in mid-song, that's the 'stun.' At some point, just one point in any song, the performers make some change in what they're doing. Either they change the instruments used, from acoustic ones to electronic ones, or the other way around; or they change the tempo, from slow to fast or the other way around; or with singers, one person suddenly stops singing, often in mid-line, and another takes over singing."

"I see, thanks."

Kim whispered into Alipang's ear, "I guess there's no harm in letting the kid have the dignity of _doing_ the teaching for a moment, not _always_ being the ignorant one who needs to be taught."
 
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