The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Chapter 74: New Year, Same Old Weirdness


In Casper, Wyoming Sector, the day after Christmas had been a pleasant winding down; at the same time, it had featured its own rejoicing, as the matriarch of the Havens family began walking unassisted for more than four or five paces at a time. But Cecilia still was barred from anything resembling work; the girl Jillian Forrester from Sussex came over early that morning from the Pressman house, and did almost everything domestic that day. Terrance Havens was duly impressed by her handiness; and when word got around that a frozen pond in the vicinity had been smoothed over enough to allow good ice-skating, Terrance, with the aid of his nephews and niece, tracked down properly-sized skates that he could borrow for himself and Jillian, and took her skating. She was ecstatic over this, as now she could say truthfully that she had had her first date with her crush, indeed her first date with any boy, and his with any girl.

After the skating excursion, cheerful debates arose in the Havens family over the question of whether Jillian _really_ was that clumsy a skater, that she _needed_ to be asking Terrance to hold her and steady her so _much_ of the time.

Eric and Alipang, meanwhile, took some of the money paid to them by Daffodil in proportion to the time he had roomed in their respective houses, and hired local workers to install new grab-rails in various parts of Eric and Cecilia's house, to make moving around safer for Cecilia. Eric and Cecilia also conferred about whether to relocate their master bedroom on the main floor, so that Cecilia would not need to go up and down stairs anymore; but she considered this an unnecessary measure.

Daffodil was as much a part of these goings-on as if he were one of Cecilia's own children; but while not feeling any less warmth for the Havens family, his mind was now straying beyond this city, to his hope of making things better for that injured surgeon at the hospital in the Enclave capital. He sent out several messages on December 26th; and while Terrance and Jillian were skating, he visited the same government bureaucrat whose son had stolen the girl Skydazzle from him. That gentleman, glad to see that Daffodil was holding no grudge there, allowed the boy to use his carefully-guarded internet-connected computer.

What Daffodil Ford wanted to look up, after all, was nothing that the ever-spying authorities would have any objection to his knowing about. He was looking for corroboration of things he had heard about the Society of Friends, which was what Quakers officially called themselves. His search was even more productive than he had hoped. Soon, he was able to compose a message with links, which he sent to the offices of all three members of the Enclave's governing triumvirate, and to the administration of Sioux San Hospital in Rapid City. The body of the message read thus:

Being encouraged by Vice-President Anselmo to foster goodwill with the internal exiles, I believe that I can do this with benign effect by a modest intervention on behalf of one exile who has a certain amount of personal history to his credit. I refer to the surgeon Barney Jamison from North Dakota Sector, who was the victim of a criminal assault at his own residence, and who still is in limited-technology rehabilitation at Sioux San. The accompanying data links, for information in our own country's sociological database, will verify that Doctor Jamison, Biblical though he is, can boast of actions which affirm and support the very ideals of the Fairness Party, dating back long before the Party as we know it was founded.

Doctor Jamison is old enough that, if it had not been his karma to obtain extensive rejuvenation treatments while these were available to him in 2014, he would be too old now to be active at all. But his age means that he was already old enough to be politically active in the old United States during the Vietnam War era. As was typical for members of the Society of Friends, he vociferously opposed all American involvement in that war, or any other war, for any reason, ever. He focussed exclusively on condemning American military actions wherever they occurred, regarding military action by any other country as insignificant by comparison. This displayed an instinctive agreement with the Party's own mission of condemning the United States first, last and always. In addition, though he himself practiced traditional marriage, he was an aggressive advocate of normalizing alternative domestic structures.

This being so, despite retaining Biblical superstitions, Doctor Jamison deserves to be regarded, marginally at least, as a pioneer of the progressive movement which overthrew the despised capitalistic establishment on this continent. Thus he is worthy of proactively favorable treatment. You have heard the saying that extremes move the center; but here you have a man who could be the moderate who moves the extremes. I therefore earnestly request that Barney Jamison be approved to receive tissue regeneration. The reporting of this action by national and hemispheric media would uphold the Party's fame for compassion and enlightenment.

The message received automatic acknowledgements from all destination offices. Then, still in the company of the family he was coming to love, Daffodil waited. Around the time when Gloria Cervantes executed the mass murderer in Bolivia, a less impressive murderer, Nash Dockerty, sent a reply:

Your request was well thought out. I passed it up my own chain of command, and it was also seen by officials at the Department of Distribution. I am pleased to inform you that tissue regeneration is now approved for Barney Jamison. I invite you to come up to Rapid City soon, so Doctor Jamison can thank you in person. Then you can stay here until your new assistants arrive. Were you told their identities? They are Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace, both known to your chromosome source. You are privileged: as effectively senior in this specific undertaking, you will be giving orders to them.

Even without knowing yet about the brawl in Beijing, Daffodil was less than enthusiastic about being around two more man-haters like his mother. On the other hand, though, the prospect of _commanding_ them was intriguing.

 
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The intelligence directorate in Beijing only very occasionally transmitted instructions to the passive receiver implanted in Peter Tomisaburo's skull; frequent use would have been hazardous to the agent's health. And they had left him alone entirely during the time when he was working on building renovations in the area west of Sussex. But on the Monday after Christmas, Peter now being finished with that work for the near future, and a satellite being able to see him walking outdoors with no one watching him closely, a superior officer sent him a voice message. This would have been audible to anyone else only if that person had been using a keen sound-pickup device, or had an ear pressed against Peter's head. What Peter heard was:

"Agent Tomisaburo! We have waited to contact you at a time with minimal complications for you. Earlier this month, overhead imagery, when combined with other intelligence, revealed activity which might be related to your suspicions of internal conflict among Diversity States authority figures. Two government workers, one of them formerly an Overseer, the other formerly a power-plant shift supervisor, were going from one to another of the substations which are the last stage in sending out electrical current before it passes beyond the Enclave to be used by the nation at large. They may have physically tampered with components of the substations. These persons ought not to have been meddling with those important sites at all, since both of them were among the several individuals disgraced in November for misconduct affecting another energy-industry manager and an agricultural-support volunteer.

"The Undersecretary of Sustainable Energy in Rapid City seems also to have thought the action of those workers irregular; for within days after their visits to those substations, she set in motion an investigation of all sites of this type. Judging from available data, she said as little as possible to any law-enforcement officers about her fact-finding, though she may have said something about it to the Forest Rangers who are lately being brought into the Enclave.

"It is our belief that the Energy Undersecretary, though she is a keen-minded and capable woman, is not privy to any of the high-level power struggles which may be in progress. She was a first-generation member of the Fairness Party, seems to be a true believer in its aims, and at the same time seems to want to treat the internal exiles as leniently as her duties allow. Accordingly, you are instructed to take advantage of any discreet opportunity to find out more of what she knows or suspects about improper manipulation of America's power grid.

"Sometime after mid-January, we will attempt to slip a micro-drone into the Enclave to seek you out; it can then record a report from you on anything you will have learned. You did well in making use of Major Yang as your courier before; but the way this situation is developing warrants our government accepting the risk of being embarrassed if our drone spy is detected, for the sake of your being able to report in a full and timely manner. There may not be any further direct transmissions to you before the drone comes. When it does appear, to confirm that it is from us and not another government, it will utter a series of musical notes...." And the notes sounded in Peter's head.

When the transmission ended, the agent's head felt so warm that he took off his cap in the winter air. This had been by far the longest single message he had ever received in his cranial antenna array; he hoped they would not need to send such a long one again.

His thoughts ran to the question of what lines of contact he had that might help with feeling out the Energy Undersecretary's thoughts. Energy Department personnel had been present some of the time when he had been working on upgrading buildings; but his acquaintance with them was so limited that he could hardly seem natural if asking them what the Undersecretary was thinking about political power struggles.

No, it would be better to see what could be learned with the help of some persons who really were his friends, so that his talking to them would not seem out of the ordinary. That mainly came down to Bill Shao who was now an Energy Ombudsman, and Alipang Havens who had earned some respect from several segments of the regional authority structure....
 
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Avery Glass and his daughter were able to stay in Casper through New Year's Day, and Lenore did spend some time talking privately with a now greatly-improved Cecilia about how they both missed their absent grown children. Cecilia, who at least had been receiving letters from Chilena and Melody for the whole duration of her exile, had to yield sadness-honors to Lenore, who had heard nothing from any of her children. But she was able to honor God for His making it possible this year to improve the family contact across the fence; Lenore was especially impressed with the way the other woman's Texas Ranger son-in-law had gotten away with coming right _into_ the Enclave. And above all, psychological stereotypes of women were vindicated by this conversation, inasmuch as both Cecilia and Lenore were comforted even by merely _talking_ about the whole situation, powerless though they both were to change their basic circumstances.

On New Year's Eve, while her father settled for going to bed and Eric and Alipang were being attentive to their wives and to the younger children, Lenore accepted an invitation to come with Harmony, Terrance, Wilson and Daffodil to the Church of the Faithful for a prayer vigil. The Pressman family was there too, bringing Jillian with them; Jillian latched onto Terrance for the duration. With Harmony likewise having a magnetic influence on Daffodil, Wilson courteously undertook to stay close to Lenore and make her feel welcome.

Lenore did not pray, nor indeed say much at all in church; but she listened to everything that was being said around her. She was perceptive enough to realize that Pastor Zondei, and all who prayed out loud, walked a verbal tightrope, asking God to be gracious to the authority figures in the Enclave and in the Diversity States as a whole... but never wording any prayer in a way that _approved_ of the policies of these authorities.

On the second of January, Daffodil took his hopefully temporary leave of the Havens family; the timing was handy for him to ride to Rapid City on the same train as Avery and Lenore. Under his coat, Daffodil was wearing his Churchbuster costume--which he had not put on since his baggage had caught up with him when he moved into Eric and Cecilia's house after the last performance of Trip Conklin's play. Avery, who had not seen the show, drew the boy into casual conversation about it. Chortling over Daffodil's encounters with Osmawani and Skydazzle, the old dentist proclaimed the boy to be a ladies' man. Daffodil almost confided to Avery how he felt about Harmony; but in light of how friendly Avery and Lenore had become with the Havens family, he decided it was better not to bring that up.

Later, when they were close to crossing into South Dakota Sector, Lenore--still pondering the Christians' attitude toward authority--asked Daffodil: "Meaning no offense, do you think that your theatrical project accomplished anything in the way of making exiles feel better about being exiled?"

He surprised her with his frank answer: "No, I don't think it accomplished anything except to make them feel their intelligence had been insulted. But you do understand that it wasn't my idea, don't you?"

"Yes. Agreeing to act in the show ensured that your permission to _enter_ the Enclave wouldn't be revoked. Karma knows, if it would mean Dad and me being allowed to _leave_ the Enclave, I would act in a play that portrayed all my ancestors as cannibals."

"Well, I can't pass any judgments on that," said Daffodil uneasily. "But _you_ can probably judge for yourselves how much better an effect I've had just by _living_ with exiles, being a friend to them."

Avery, who was sitting behind Daffodil and Lenore, patted the boy's shoulder, the most personal gesture he had made toward Daffodil so far. "Quite a good friend, I'd say. That was really something, you persuading the triumvirate to allow Dr. Jamison to receive tissue regeneration after all."

"Thanks. I like to think I helped. But maybe the triumvirate members just aren't as cold-hearted as people think." Daffodil wasn't sure he meant that; but it seemed like the sort of attitude he needed to be practicing, now that he was going to be in the Enclave capital for awhile. Not to mention his impending work-relationship with Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace.

Neither Avery nor Lenore said anything about the notion that the triumvirate wasn't bad.
 
When the train pulled into the Rapid City station that evening, the lighted platform--better lighted than at lesser stations within the Enclave--allowed Avery Glass to see that there were both two Transport Police officers and several Pinkshirts on the platform. Though it was not uncommon to see law enforcement on display in the Enclave capital, Avery was prompted to whisper to Daffodil, "It was good riding with you, but it's probably better for YOU if you don't seem too buddy-buddy with us as we get off. You go ahead first."

"But thank you for helping Dr. Jamison," added Lenore, patting Daffodil's shoulder. So Daffodil said a hasty goodbye, gathered his luggage, and exited the coach alone.

Standing among the cops, inconspicuous at first because she wore dark civilian clothing, was Osmawani Jalil. Once noticed, however, she had a way of imprisoning any male eyes, even with a long coat on. Reflexively nervous at the very sight of her (although the sight was not at all eroding his feelings for Harmony Havens), Daffodil stammered, "Hello New Year, I mean Happy New Year, Citizen Jalil."

"Thank you, Captain Turgenev," the Malaysian woman beamed in reply.

"Um, is there something wrong, to bring police personnel here?"

"No, not at all; the Transport Police will simply be giving the train a routine looking over, nothing special. The Pinkshirts are to escort you and me back to the Deputy Commander's office." Her smile grew slightly wicked. "If you're worried about Avery and Lenore Glass, don't be. I know that _they_ see themselves as repressed dissidents, but the Campaign Against Hate isn't worried about them; they can be about their business. It's _your_ business that Nash wants to talk with you about."

Soon, Daffodil and Osmawani were being admitted to Nash Dockerty's private office, the same one where the boy had been briefed by the Deputy Commander when he was a new arrival. This time, there was no smell of disinfectants in the room.

"Welcome back to Rapid City, Citizen Ford!" exclaimed the Deputy Commander in his most jovial tones. "Take off your coat and relax; I'll have one of my men take your belongings to your temporary quarters. Yes, you heard me, I said temporary; I know you've been enjoying living with the Biblicals, and you've gained a good reputation with them, so why spoil it? You'll be able to rejoin them in a week or less."

When Daffodil removed his coat, revealing the purple, orange and green Churchbuster costume, Osmawani laughed, "Great minds run in common channels!" Then she took off her own coat, revealing that she was also wearing her own costume. "I decided I liked it. Have a seat, Daffy."

When they were all seated with refreshments at hand--not Joy Nectar for Daffodil, of course--Nash Dockerty told him: "I have no criticisms of your activity among the God-fascists to date. You're fostering goodwill, without encouraging disobedience to authority, so that's fine. What I want to talk about is the arrival of your new help. Citizens Melville and Quickpace were allowed to enjoy New Year celebrations before heading for their new assignments; but now, they'll be landing at the main airport tomorrow afternoon. The two of them think you _don't_ know the reason why they were demoted from their former diplomatic jobs..."

"But a superior should always be better informed than his or her subordinates," Osmawani interjected, reaching a shapely hand over to caress one arm of her boss and lover.

"Right. So I'll tell you what happened in Beijing. Osmawani finds it especially amusing." The Deputy Commander narrated how Bailey Melville had wanted to keep the attention of Carlota Ruiz for herself, while Moonrose Quickpace had wanted to keep the attention of Daffodil's mother for herself, all of which had resulted in a physical fight between Samantha Ford and Bailey Melville, plus a concurrent fight between Moonrose Quickpace and Carlota Ruiz. When he had finished, the beefy man looked for the tall teenager's reaction.

"Well, sir, I guess I'm not so surprised after all. I take it my caregiver and Ambassador Ruiz were not held as culpable as the other two?"

"EX-Ambassador Ruiz was held least culpable," said the Deputy Commander. "EX-Ambassador Ford was allowed to remain with Ruiz both because Ruiz wished it so, and because assigning Ford also to this project with you would have made you too uncomfortable about giving the orders to her."

"As it is," Osmawani smirked, "Ms. Melville and Ms. Quickpace have been made keenly aware that unless they win _your_ approval for their help to you in this internal-diplomacy experiment, their careers will never again rise above the level of a toilet seat. So unless by some circumstance they find a risk-free way to look good at your expense, you can depend on them to grovel at your feet as if you were, well..."

"As if you were ME!" Dockerty guffawed. "Now, if either of those women _does_ take a notion to sabotage you--and my gut feeling is that Quickpace is the more likely of the two to try it--it will probably be by claiming that you've gone Biblical, that you've let the barbarians convert you. So be careful on that front."

Daffodil was now the most uneasy he had been in this conversation. "Um, right, thank you, sir."

"But it's perfectly okay if you want to visit Dr. Jamison at Sioux San in the morning. Then with that loose end tied up, you can be ready to break those diplomats to the saddle. I recommend that you leave them uncertain for as long as possible about whether you do know the cause for their demotion. Keeping people in doubt is almost as good as keeping them in mortal terror."

Just as _you're_ keeping me in doubt about how closely you've been following my actions, Daffodil reflected. Aloud, he said, "Thank you for the advice, Deputy Commander. Now, may I see about supper?"

"No problem; Osmawani will get you taken care of in our own cafeteria. I'm looking forward to seeing those other women fidgeting with anxiety when they meet you tomorrow."
 
On Monday morning, Daffodil did in fact visit Barney Jamison, who was already almost completely back to normal--if anything, even rejuvenated some by the tissue regeneration. Trying to put the convalescent surgeon at his ease, Daffodil spoke in the most glowing terms about how he respected Dr. Jamison for having long campaigned to eliminate the military power of the old United States. It did not even occur to the former Equalityball captain to imagine that Jamison might be reviewing his own past positions in this regard. It did not occur to Daffodil that Jamison might now be remembering how the United States had allowed him to protest at will, without ever punishing him for it...whereas the dictatorship which later HAD punished Jamison for non-conformity, owed its very existence to the long-term subversion in which the Quaker surgeon had been an eager participant.

Leaving the hospital after this visit, Daffodil came away wondering why Dr. Jamison had not looked happier.

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

Having never been enemies to each other, Moonrose Quickpace and Bailey Melville had been drawn closer to each other by this latest period of career upheaval and an unclear future. They had taken to sharing living quarters on the last few nights before being flown to the Enclave. Now, as the propellor-driven airplane which had taken off with them from Washington D.C. before dawn made its approach to Rapid City, they were unconsciously clasping hands with nervousness. Both of them were attractive women, as was equally true of the other two fighters from the disgraceful incident in Beijing. Now they were both dressed and groomed as appealingly as they could manage; this was partly to show off to each other, but mostly it was a forlorn effort to put their best foot forward with their unlikely new supervisor.

Naturally, neither woman dared to SAY that it felt strange to be supervised by a teenage boy; the last thing either of them needed now was to be reprimanded for age bigotry.

"We're going to circle the airfield," announced the woman piloting the plane, "so you can get an overview of the area." Bailey, Moonrose, and the assorted other passengers who had some business inside the Enclave, looked out the windows, or if not well positioned for this, watched the ground view on cabin television screens. The sights were not so much unlike other airports--though the two diplomats did notice a parked helicopter which was armed with a rotary cannon.

Then Bailey saw something which caused her to gasp and squeeze Moonrose's hand in horrified surprise. Moonrose crowded against her companion to see out the same down-tilted window; and what she saw caused her to go from the handclasp to winding her arms around the other woman in alarm.

In a space behind one of the airport buildings, where they would not have seen it if the plane had made a plain, straight approach to the runway, a squad of mirror-armored Overseers had five persons, three men and two women as they appeared from a distance, lined up against a wall. Just before the scene was lost to view, the Overseers shot the five prisoners, whose blood could be seen even from this distance.

Bailey and Moonrose clung to each other for almost half a minute. Other passengers also seemed to have seen the execution; but neither the diplomat women, nor anyone else, dared to speculate out loud on whether they had been _meant_ to see this as they came in for a landing.

Bailey and Moonrose were in a most subdued state of mind as they entered the terminal. Two female Overseers, one of them black and the other white, were first to greet them. They had sidearms; and the newcomers could not be sure whether they only imagined a gunpowdery smell on these women.

"Citizen Melville? Citizen Quickpace?" said the white woman. "Welcome to the Western Enclave, and to the one civilized community IN the Enclave. My name is Faye."

"And my name is Luminessa," the black woman informed them. "We will show you to the residential suite that's been prepared for the two of you." Drawing closer to the nervous travellers, she added more quietly, "We were assigned to greet you, so you at least wouldn't have to have ALL your dealings with males. Although Faye and I both happen to like men, we've both known enough pigs that we can sympathize with your not liking them. You do have to meet Daffodil Ford, but he isn't so bad."

"Here he comes now," said Faye, more loudly. "Citizen Ford, meet Citizen Quickpace and Citizen Melville."

Since Daffodil was almost as intimidated right now as the two arriving women were, all of them were on their best behavior toward each other, and all of them emerged from the initial introductions feeling hopeful that their imposed association might prove tolerable after all.
 
Chapter 75: Having Epiphanies During Epiphany Season

Lieutenant Walter Ayodele of the Nigerian Army smiled charmingly as he remarked to the three passengers sharing the airplane ride with him: "You know what, I'm the only living person on board this transport. The man and woman flying the plane are as theoretically dead as you three." He meant Stan Lewandowski and Kathy Templeton, formerly members of the Texan air-defense force; but he was purposely not telling their names.

"I suppose we dead passengers aren't allowed to ask how our dead aviators died?" said ex-firefighter Darcie Beale, who was growing accustomed to compartmentalized secrecy.

"Not for the present at least," the Lieutenant affirmed. "They're farther along in the process of solidifying their new lives. Later, when you three corpses have satisfied us of the reliable quality of your deadness, maybe they'll invite you to join them at a dead-people-only barbecue in Gdansk or Onitsha."

Morton Tannenburg displayed a contented smile, then kissed the hair of Gloria Cervantes Tannenburg, who could allow herself to lean her head on him now that his tissue regeneration was mostly complete. "I may be a problem without meaning to be. With Gloria beside me, I just can't feel any other way but a thousand percent alive."

The happily-retired and ecstatically-married spy lifted her head closer to his. "And the sooner we add some NEW life to this world, the better I'll like it--even if we and our children do have to carry a made-up last name." Then she was kissing him with fierce intentness, which left the two black persons in the compartment on their own, conversation-wise.

"I understand about the fictional identities your network has kept on hold, waiting for someone supposedly dead to assume them," said Darcie to Lieutenant Ayodele. "But flying us around to different places so that we'll be seen there AS our new selves: is that really necessary? Is anyone paying that much attention to the ordinary folks we're supposed to be?"

"It is in part an internal preparation for yourselves," Ayodele told her. "What I mean by this, is that by visiting these places, YOU will have memories of being there--memories which are not connected with the covert operations you have been, or will be, part of. When we have created enough of these neutral memories in your brains, the three of you--as also happened with our pilot and co-pilot after their pretended deaths--will undergo mental conditioning centered on those memories. Under certain conditions, large portions of your long-term and short-term memories will be shut down; but the prepared neutral memories, filtered to delete anything secret, will be diverse enough, and sufficiently tied to your fundamental character, that your true personalities will still exist. Morton and Gloria, thus, would keep their same feelings for each other; and you, Darcie, would retain your sense of humor."

"Yet we WON'T remember being spies, I take it; so if we're captured, our captors won't be able to extract from our minds any info about what we were up to."

"Hopefully it will be still better than that. It's a more urgent consideration for you, Darcie, since you'll be in the Swiss project and our newlyweds won't. If the Swiss-bank penetration is handled well, then in the event of Caliphate forces capturing any of you there, THEY won't even think you ARE anything but victims of a near-disaster with a spacecraft. We're doing all we can to ensure that you all do come back alive. We don't view life as being lightly expendable, the way some other players view it."

Five or so minutes later, Darcie was looking out a window and suddenly exclaimed, "Lieutenant! Is that the Mogadishu Crater?"

Morton Tannenburg, who was just coming up for air from a two-minute kiss with his bride, echoed, "Mogadishu CRATER? What's that?"

"Something that happened months after you would have been cut off from all world news," Ayodele told him. "I mentioned it to Darcie before we took off out of Kampala, since--" (the officer maintained a fine straight face here) "--she was more in the mood for casual chat than you and Gloria. Of course, Gloria knows all about it. Gloria, do you want to tell your husband?"

Gloria nodded; giving dry factual briefings was the shape of her professional future, so she might as well stay in practice. To Morton, then, she said, "First look for yourself; probably a better view over on Darcie's side of the plane."

Morton looked; and where the seaside capital of Somalia had once existed, he beheld a crater many kilometers wide, and seemingly more than a hundred meters deep. The seaward edge of the crater was far enough from the beach that the vast hole had not simply become a sea inlet, though it looked as if seepage had brought some water into the crater. "And we're just flying nonchalantly over it?" he asked slowly. "Isn't that radioactive?"

"Not at all, darling. The Indians used their most up-to-date NON-nuclear explosives, in a large enough quantity to wipe Mogadishu out of existence without inflicting radiation damage on the environment."

"India did this? Was it because of Somali piracy?"

"Exactly. Once there was no more United States Navy to worry about, the pirates grew more confident than ever, the African Union had no jurisdiction there anymore because of the Egyptian Caliphate...and many of the ships that Somali pirates preyed on were sailing out of India. So at last the Indians decided, no more Guru Nice Guy."

"But they did let the people evacuate, right?" put in Darcie.

"Yes, Darcie, just as I told you," replied Lieutenant Ayodele. "They gave the Somalians two days' warning, and even TOLD them that the seaward escape route would be left open to the last minute."

"Which is why they spared the waterfront," Gloria resumed. "And at the same time as showing mercy, the Indian Navy could inspect the escaping boats, to confiscate any weapons being brought out and arrest known pirate leaders."

"They killed two birds with that stone, didn't they?" Morton guessed. "Let the Caliphates know that piracy with impunity was over and gone; AND, without opposing Chinese interests, served notice to Beijing that India was not to be pushed around."

Gloria kissed him again. "You still have your intel-analyst mind, sweetheart. By 2021 it was too late for the United States to learn the lesson about appeasing thugs; but the Indians sure did show they understood it."
 
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Back in the country from which the airplane of the secret network had last taken off, other secret business was also being discussed. This business personally affected a man who normally was only on the fringes of the covert army's activity: Josiah Redfern, the American-born medical technologist and former combat infantryman. Setyabuleh Mawejje asked Josiah to meet with him in the same shielded office which was used whenever secret matters needed to be talked about inside their hospital. At a loss to guess why he in particular should be made privy to some new development, the sturdy blond man took a seat and looked at the hospital administrator expectantly.

"Mr. Redfern, you recall that we were looking forward to gaining intelligence breakthroughs because of having our own tracking device planted inside Reltseotu Smith."

"Yes, sir, and the more so now that she's confirmed as the new Diversity States Ambassador-At-Large. So am I to understand that something juicy has come our way?"

"It has. And as I describe it, you will discover why it is uniquely of interest to you."

"Word before God, I have no advance idea what it could be about--unless it has to do with the G.Y.P." Josiah was referring to a pro-terrorist front group he had run afoul of in the United States in 2008, while there still had been a United States. Fraudulently calling itself "God's Youth for Peace," this radical-Islamist gang had sent goons to assault a moderate Muslim student for not being fundamentalist enough. Coming to the young man's rescue and opening a can of kick-butt on the thugs, Josiah had found himself being framed for an "Islamophobic hate crime." Though quickly exonerated from the lying accusation, the Iraqi Freedom veteran had remained on G.Y.P.'s enemies list for years afterward.

"No, nothing about them," Dr. Mawejje assured him. "Yet it is about you. How much do you know about the parents of President Jessica Trevette?"

"Only that they were obsessed with eugenics; conceived their daughter late in life, but were confident that she would contribute to building a better model of the human race--without reference to God, naturally."

"Yes. Both of them were in healthcare careers...and both of them worked at military hospitals, even though they despised the United States Armed Forces. The hospitals in question didn't worry about their politics, being grateful for their work output. And, with some accomplices, they carried out an agenda of their own while helping to treated sick and injured servicemembers."

Josiah straightened up in his chair and leaned forward, eyes widening. "What, were they around when I was flown home as a casualty? Did they tamper with ME some way?"

Dr. Mawejje sighed. "So they did--but not in any way that did you any damage. Keep listening. They wanted genetic samples from good specimens in a wide variety of social groups and professions, to build a chromosome bank for their breeding program; and since persons like you were highly unlikely to marry persons of their political stripe, they acquired your genes by theft, during the surgeries you underwent. The Trevettes were big fans of the Dune science-fiction novels, which have eugenics as a major theme in the stories."

A lightbulb went on in Josiah's brain. "Oh! Of course! That would be why they named their daughter Jessica--because the superhero's mother in the Dune books is named Jessica!"

"Score one for you. Anyway, now that Reltseotu Smith holds a position giving her classified-information access, she has been busy educating herself on subjects the Fairness Party wants her to know about, including the eugenics program. The Chinese effectively disarmed America militarily, but they did not prohibit the continuation of so-called population improvement, now administered by the Genetic Health Service."

"So Miss Smith's been studying the super-people industry, the better to act in support of it?"

"Correct. And because we can track her, we have known the exact times when she visited an isolated facility where she could study related files that are not available online. Using our best remote computer-penetration technology, the same kind of equipment which is to be used in the Swiss operation, we were able to determine exactly what Reltseotu Smith was reading."

"Is this the part where I find out what it all has to do with me?"

The hospital administrator nodded. "Your genes have been used, Josiah. They were used after only a few years in storage. The Trevettes had a young female friend who despised men--not because any man had done her any real harm, but just because she liked feeling superior to them. She consented to become part of their breeding program, because they flattered her that she was a superwoman whose chromosomes were urgently needed. And when they described you in detail as the prospective male parent of a child she would bear, her acute animosity for military men was disarmed, no pun intended, by their pointing out that a child of hers would only be receiving your physical strength and intellectual sharpness, not your Christian faith and American patriotism."

"So the woman had a baby who was biologically my child, even though I never met the mother or knew anything about the procedure?"

"That's right. She bore a son, who is now sixteen or seventeen years old. Ambassador Smith spent quite awhile reading up on that boy's conception, birth and early life."

Josiah's agitation only intensified. "Well, who IS that woman? And who IS my biological son?"

"The woman is Reltseotu Smith's predecessor in the at-large ambassadorship, Samantha Ford. Your long-lost son, I'm sorry to tell you, is named Daffodil."
 
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On another day when everyone else was at work or at school, Summer Heron Rand was in the Salisburys' kitchen, trying to figure how best to make a tofu casserole taste like something other than a tofu casserole....when the front door swung open.

Summer's dislike for the Fairness Party's denial of privacy still was fresh in her mind; but upon seeing who was barging in on her, she was relieved that it was at least an apparent civilian, rather than anyone in law enforcement. Then came the double-take, as she realized _which_ civilian was approaching her: the famous Dynamo Earthquake, who had spun the government-ordered lies about the healing of young Reagan Desmond. But since this was the woman for whose conversion Summer had been praying fervently, she dared to hope that Ms. Earthquake's unannounced visit was within God's plan to answer the prayers.

"Citizen Summer Heron? I'm Dynamo Earthquake, with the Collective Network."

Summer forced a minimal smile. "I prefer the surname Rand, but yes, I'm Summer. And I recognize you."

The streamcast journalist, as the housewife now noticed, did not look nearly so smug as she usually did on her programs. "Citizen Rand, then. I've just come from speaking with Wayne Schell at the Collective Dormitory." Summer already knew that the government poorhouse was where her pastor lived--because, being forbidden to receive any form of payment for preaching the gospel of Christ, he was on the welfare rolls, and most of his neighbors in the dormitory were indoctrinated to view him with contempt.

"A followup on the Reagan Desmond story?" Summer asked, which was a non-confrontational way to give Ms. Earthquake an easy opening, if by any chance the heavy, mannish woman felt like discussing eternal truth rather than the latest propaganda.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. May I have a seat?" Ms. Earthquake was being meeker than Summer would have expected: a good sign. Summer gestured toward a comfortable chair. The gesture was made with her damaged left hand, and only as she made this gesture did the younger woman realize that the reporter's eyes were fixed on that hand. Sitting, Ms. Earthquake went on: "I had a--I saw a visual presentation of sorts, which--well, I received certain information to the effect that a woman with an injured left hand was taking a special interest in, um, in my career. In my conversation with Citizen Schell, I asked him if his local cult included any such woman. He identified you."

Summer could feel, could almost taste, the presence of the Holy Spirit in the room, and her own spirit quivered with excitement at the possibility that a dent was about to be made in the kingdom of lies. Yet there were ten other persons who lived in this house, and all of them could come under fire from the Campaign Against Hate if Summer said something politically incorrect here. Her thoughts begged God for guidance.

And what happened in response to that prayer was that Dynamo Earthquake did some giving of an opening herself.

"Citizen Rand, I have an ear-mounted sound recorder transcribing everything we say." This much was no surprise; nor was it a surprise that this totalitarian talking head would make a recording without asking permission; but what came next was unexpected. "I know that you and your partner Evan both served terms in Self-Esteem Centers. On the assumption that this re-education took effect for you, I wish to avoid causing you needless distress now. Therefore, as is also true of the talk I had with Wayne Schell, if I use anything you say on my program, it will be only as a voice-over accompanying some suitable visual, and all reference to your name and place of residence will be deleted."

"Thank you," said Summer, meaning it. She had not expected this much courtesy, EVEN IF the reporter was experiencing the conviction of the Holy Spirit. "What do you want me to talk about?"

"Call it a hypothetical case. While you and Evan Rand, OF COURSE, are now happily conformed to the collective, you still have insight into the way Biblicals think. So, speaking in an academic sense, giving a non-judgmental exposition of a certain worldview, not necessarily asserting that view as your own...tell me something about praying for people."

"I can do that," replied Summer in a guarded tone. "You already know how our fellowship was praying for the Desmond girl to recover from that virus; and whatever may be said about cause and effect, the desired result occurred."

Ms. Earthquake looked still more thoughtful; she, after all, knew that she had lied when claiming that government intervention had been what cured Reagan. "So it did. But let's look at the concept of, uh, what your friends would call praying for someone's salvation. As you know, such a prayer can be considered hate speech, since it alleges that the person prayed for has a fault which needs to be remedied. But reporters are taught objectivity, so I can understand that those who utter such a prayer perceive themselves as requesting something.... which would be FOR THE GOOD of the person they have in mind."

"That's a fair way of putting it," Summer agreed. "When one accepts the premise of personal, individual existence after death, it does follow that it's better for anyone to spend that eternal existence in happiness rather than in misery and horror."

"Which leads to my real question. For those who subscribe to this Biblical tradition... someone who opposes and contradicts the tradition, even uses the forces of law and the media to limit its dissemination... is guilty of wrongdoing. So how is it that you, I mean they, would wish for something _good_ to happen to an enemy?"

Summer, who up till now had been standing up without thinking about it, seated herself near the reporter. "That shouldn't be so hard to understand. Your Party set up the Tolerance Houses and Self-Esteem Centers on the supposition that wrong attitudes could be corrected. Those who hold the Biblical worldview have been teaching the correction of wrong attitudes for much longer than the Fairness Party has existed. In what's called the Book of Ezekiel--"

"Do you mean that old Denzel Washington movie?"

"No; but Ezekiel was PART OF the book that the hero in the movie was guarding. Anyway, in Ezekiel, God says that He takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that the wicked should turn away from evil..."

And so, gaining Spirit-given confidence as she went along, Summer the ex-convict shared the gospel of Christ with the ignorant but teachable Denise Heathcock. By the time they parted, Denise alias Dynamo had not yet made a profession of faith--but was at least capable now of realizing that there WAS such a thing as a coherent faith in a living God.

 
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Zella, you have performed a valuable service in the crusade against typos. Your quote brought a typo to my attention: my having said "But the time," when I meant to say "By the time." That is now corrected.

As you probably already realize, this puts the two D's, Daffodil and Dynamo, in a shared boat. Both are feeling God calling to their hearts, but both are still afraid of the consequences. The Lord Jesus did say to count the cost.

Let's see, I think it's time for us to get back to Melody and Emilio....
 
Still in hiding at the Riquelme house in Mexico, Melody knew that Tessa Claremont could trigger her son's birth any time now without even needing incubation, with no adverse effects on the baby at all. But she wanted so much for Emilio to be present at the birth; and her prayers in that connection were granted.

Since it was no longer totally secret that Jed Brickhouse had been flying around with Emilio, the foremost reason for that arrangement was gone. Therefore, after a little more in-flight work with the new Great Condor crews, Emilio flew Jed back to Texas Ranger Headquarters. Even before arriving in Texas, he was able to send ahead of him a message that would be relayed to his wife: a message telling her what her mother had proposed as the baby's name, and affirming that he liked the choice.

In Jed Brickhouse's absence, Commandant Pierce had completed the task of instructing the next two captains in line to succeed as Ranger Commandant. It was high time, therefore, that she herself be given some time away from the center of the unseen enemy's bullseye. Accordingly, as soon as all immediate unfinished business at Headquarters was dealt with, Vice-Commandant Brickhouse took over acting command of all Texas Rangers; and Brittany Pierce rode over the Mexican border in Emilio's trusty old chopper. Commandant Pierce was also interested in seeing her best helo pilot's new child.

The day after their arrival in the Riquelmes' hometown (done circuitously, to avoid attracting unfriendly scrutiny), Tessa Claremont called in a Mexican midwife, and together they brought a heartily-crying Douglas Eric Vasquez into the world. Emilio furiously videocorded everything, while wondering if his in-laws would ever get to see the video. Once Melody was recovering from labor and nursing her tiny son, Mrs. Riquelme took over on the camera so that Emilio could get into the scene with his family.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, he's perfect, he's perfect!" sobbed Melody, near to exploding with joy. And she was not long in giving some attention to her baby's father: "Kiss me, you high-flying Hispanic hunk!"

Emilio kissed her delicately, taking care not to interrupt his son's first drink of milk, then said through his own happy tears: "You know, querida, you broke the rules: you were supposed to spend the whole birth yelling that you hated me."

"Well, maybe I would have, if I hadn't been dosed with Wonderflexin for birthpang alleviation; but if so, I would be apologizing to you by now. I wouldn't want your Commandant to think that I couldn't take..." Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to be only now noticing Brittany Pierce for the first time. She remained silent for almost a full minute, still nursing her newborn, but no longer loudly enthusing.

"Is something wrong, Senora Vasquez?" the midwife asked.

"No, nothing wrong, thank you. But I think we've shot enough video." Mrs. Riquelme nodded, stopped the camera and handed it to Emilio. Melody closed one hand very lightly around one of her husband's arms, and spoke to him: "Emilio, you and I must be the most blessed parents alive! God alone could make our baby so perfect! With Commandant Pierce here to see Douglas, He's made it a perfect show! To tell the truth, I'm sure it isn't a secret to her what an answer to prayer all this is."

She was using their private system, pressing fingertips into his arm at the utterance of _some_ of her words. In this way, Emilio picked up her true meaning: "Emilio, you and I must be... alone... with Commandant Pierce... to tell... a secret to her." He looked her in the eye and nodded. Then, after some unrelated small talk and baby talk to obscure any connection with Melody's message, he asked if Dr. Claremont, Mrs. Riquelme and the midwife could leave them alone for awhile, "--because we want to say something private to a woman who's known us for a long time." The doctor and the two Mexican women obligingly exited.

Emilio knew, and knew that Melody knew, that Juan Riquelme kept his house--both as a whole, and room by room--well shielded against any kind of spying. "All right, sweetheart, you can say whatever it is. I can't begin to guess."

"Neither can I," added the Ranger Commandant, who noticed that Melody's eyes were fixed on her. "So tell me fast, and then turn your attention back to being a happy mother."

Melody drew a breath which seemed to shudder. "Commandant, I've just emerged from a memory-block; the sight of you triggered recollection of what I was told, and who told me. I was visited right in this house by no less than President Andreas Garcia. He planted a message in my brain--one that you could get the chance to hear in circumstances that wouldn't _look_ like a secret-message situation..."

Then, still facing Commandant Pierce, she recited the exact words of the head of the Mexican Alliance: his invitation to Texas to secede from the Diversity States, becoming an independent nation allied with Mexico. Pierce was even more dumbstruck by hearing this message than Melody had been by remembering to deliver it. The new parents waited for her to respond.

At last: "Lieutenant Vasquez, obviously the Riquelmes would already know about Garcia's visit to Melody. The Mexicans have to have given this a lot of planning. I know the Garcia administration well enough that I have no fear of adverse action by _them_ if we refuse this proposal; but you both know that the Rainbow House won't be thrilled if we _accept_ it."

"Neither will Governor Jiang," muttered Emilio. "But who cares what he thinks...if Texas could be _free_ from the rotten system he stands for!"

Brittany Pierce became all business. "Emilio, Melody, not one more word about this. You must say _nothing_ about it to _anyone!_ I'll tell the Vice-Commandant as soon as I safely can, and we'll consult with the right covert operatives. You leave the decisions to us. Be a mother and father, enjoy it while you can." She did not mention Gloria Cervantes, for Brittany Pierce herself believed Gloria to be dead, and did not want to insert a needless note of sadness when there was so much else to be at once hopeful and fearful about.

The last thing spoken between the Vasquezes even obliquely about this dangerous topic was when Melody whispered to her husband: "Chilena." Emilio understood perfectly: even if a secession could be pulled off without any loss of life, it still might render inaccessible the one sibling Melody had been able to see in person since the internal exile of the rest of the Havens family.

Commandant Pierce was not insensitive to the way her friends might be affected; but in her mind, a vision was already unfolding of _millions_ of Texans, including Douglas Eric Vasquez, living in freedom.
 
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Brittany Pierce had been around the block enough to realize that the secret army of liberty, in which Poles, Nigerians, Ugandans, Israelis, Mexicans and others played their parts, would already be aware of Mexico's offer to Texas. Therefore, upon returning to Dallas while the Vasquezes enjoyed some off-time in Mexico, she did not trouble herself to contact agents of that army; she counted on those to contact her. While waiting, she revealed the potent secret to Jed Brickhouse...and, on an unusually reckless impulse, to Monica Sotero, the widow of Pablo Sotero. Both Jed and Monica were unreservedly in favor of secession, Monica pointing out: "This act of secession would be seceding _from_ a slave system." But they respected Brittany's leadership, and promised they would not oppose her in front of others if she finally judged that the risks were just too great.

Eventually, on a day filled with the freezing rain of a Texas winter, the agents came. There were three of them to meet with the Commandant and the Vice-Commandant: Yirimyahu Kohen, the Israeli Mossad veteran...the Argentinian writer Santiago Sanchez, whose business was mostly done in the open but who was privy to many secrets...and the supposedly-dead Hopi Indian clown, Sunki Pavatea. They met in the place currently judged safest for secret conferences.

After Commandant Pierce had expressed her tentative approval of the secession proposal, and Vice-Commandant Brickhouse had allowed himself to sound just _slightly_ more enthusiastic for it, Santiago began talking:

"The envious parties in the Western Hemisphere, and the Chinese who encouraged their envy of the old United States, made their own bed when they all supported the slicing off of eight states from that nation. They have to lie in their bed now; there _isn't_ any convincing argument they can raise _against_ one more state breaking away, when they themselves _wanted_ to see the United States broken up. Even the Diversity States Ambassador to the Hemispheric Union, if I can believe the hints he's dropped to me, would be glad to see Texas claiming independence--though his reason is that he understands the military change it implies. He's been giving me all sorts of positive feedback on my speeches about letting Texas have more combat aircraft; and the way he words things convinces me that he's really signalling his hope that Texas will break free, acquire more armaments--and do _more,_ not less, to save the remainder of the Diversity States from whatever Aztlan is really up to."

"And is there any minus you see?" asked Jed.

Yirimyahu fielded this question. "National governments, and the Bi-Continental Assembly, have no strong justification for opposing a secession by Texas. But we, who are in a transnational movement ourselves, can't discount the threat which might be posed by _other_ transnational organizations."

"The Chinese Triads, for instance?" offered Brittany.

The Israeli nodded. "Among others. We will not ask you Texans to commit yourselves to the big move before we have dug deeper into the question of what secret groups might want to stop you. Most obviously including whatever officials of your own country are covering for your local enemies."

"AND there's the question of just what the evildoers will be doing this year if they are left to do as they please," interjected Sunki. "That they are up to _something_ is evidenced by what I saw the day I faked my death. More correctly, evidenced by _whom_ I saw that day..."

The sometime jester to a tyrant revealed his secret, a secret next to which the fortuitous rescue of Commander Tannenburg became trivial. When he had told it, Brittany and Jed were left _absolutely_ certain that Texas ought to secede. It would need more Texans than the two of them to decide on it formally, but they knew their minds on the subject now.
 
A lot has happened since the last summary....

Dan and Chilena, starting on a new movie, were introduced to younger co-stars who want to shove them aside at the top level of show-business fame: a man called Velvet and a woman called Strontium. Bert Randall met with the Argentinian speechmaker Santiago Sanchez to discuss the political situation in the Western Hemisphere. Peter Tomisaburo received orders from Beijing to try to find out more about the same thing Henry Spafford witnessed: unexplained tampering with the Enclave's electrical power grid by Nash Dockerty's minions. Darcie Beale, the former firefighter liberated from a concentration camp, was seen in the course of preparations for her part in the secret army's upcoming Switzerland operation.

Dynamo Earthquake, having been warned in a dream that she is in danger of damnation, went to work trying to devise a way to obtain spiritual instruction without getting her superiors angry at her. Vitaly Khloponin, Commander of the Campaign Against Hate, was tracking Dynamo's actions but not seeming to have anything against her. Dynamo finally got to meet Summer, who explained the gospel of Jesus to her.

Emilio Vasquez, keeping Jed Brickhouse out of sight of potential assassins, was participating in training operations for the Texan air force, when he had the inspiration to create a pretext to fly INTO the Enclave. This put him in a position to assist Doctor Torvill in treating Cecilia (Emilio's mother-in-law, remember) when she had her near-fatal heart attack. Cecilia survived, and a loving family get-together ensued. Avery Glass and his grown daughter Lenore got into it, benefitting by the company of the Havens family. Also benefitting was Jillian Forrester, the girl from Sussex with the crush on Alipang's younger brother; involving herself in helping the Havens family, she finally succeeded in getting Terrance interested in her.

Daffodil had the satisfaction of hearing a performance by the two female musicians whose destroyed instruments he had replaced; he also got to explain to Alipang's family what "stun jazz" was. Everything was going well for the boy with the Christian exiles; but he feared that if he openly converted to Christianity, his action would bring punishment on them. So he was glad, for their sakes, that his "internal diplomacy" activity led him away from the Havens family for awhile. Daffodil successfully petitioned for better medical care for Barney Jamison, the Quaker surgeon who had been beaten almost to death by supposed "Ku Klux Quakers;" and he met Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace, the two disgraced diplomats who were being demoted to work as his subordinates. Alipang, meanwhile, was determined to find out more about the whole "Ku Klux Quaker" fraud. But neither Alipang nor Daffodil knew that, over in Uganda, the American emigrant Josiah Redfern was determined to have been Daffodil's male chromosome source (this having been brought about with technology by sneaky bad guys, without Josiah's knowledge, when Josiah had been a soldier).

In Aztlan, both the dictator Tonio Formentera and his son Emilio Formentera (yes, it CAN happen that two characters in a novel have the same first name; deal with it!) were conducting human sacrifices. But at long last, ONE intended sacrifice victim was rescued. The rescuer was the Hopi Indian clown Sunki Pavatea, who had been spying on the Formenteras for years, and who managed to combine the rescue with his own fake death which got him away from Aztlan without the dictator ever knowing the clown had been a spy.

Gloria Cervantes also faked her own death; as with Sunki, this enabled her to get out of espionage work in the field. The timing of this retirement proved to be a blessing for her--because the man whose life Sunki saved turned out to be the one true love of Gloria's life: Morton Tannenburg, U.S. Navy veteran, who had been a captive in Aztlan without Gloria knowing he was even still alive. Now reunited, Gloria and Morton could and did get married--stat!

Finally, as has just been related, Melody Vasquez delivered her son, and on the same day was able to deliver the Mexican President's message to the Texas Rangers, which set in motion the cautious process of planning to break Texas free from the Fairness Party's tyranny.
 
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Thank you, Zella; I was beginning to wonder if _anyone_ was noticing that I was dangling another mystery in front of my readers. In appreciation for that, the Zella in my story will be given another onstage appearance. :)
 
Copperfox said:
Thank you, Zella; I was beginning to wonder if _anyone_ was noticing that I was dangling another mystery in front of my readers. In appreciation for that, the Zella in my story will be given another onstage appearance. :)
Click to expand...

Oh, good. I'll look forward to it.:)
 
Chapter 76: The Moro of the Story


When Cecilia Havens was recovered enough that everyone around her could breathe easily, Alipang took his household back to Sussex. There, the post office was holding a small parcel for him to pick up. This proved to be a book, sent as a Christmas gift by Oscar Magpatoc over in Lance Creek. An accompanying note said: "I got this in barter with somebody. Haven't had time to read it myself, so I can't swear by its accuracy, but since it's about the Moros, I thought it would interest you." Alipang and Oscar were both Filipinos, but Oscar had no Moro blood. The book was a recently-written history of the Moros on Mindanao Island, authored by some woman Alipang had never heard of. (Though Alipang had been born on Luzon, his father's ancestors had lived on Mindanao for as far back as their knowledge went.)

On a day when Alipang was doing dental checkups which did not need Kim's involvement, Kim spent much of the day reading this book out loud to her children, which of course had the advantage that she could omit anything she considered too lurid or gruesome for little Brendan to hear. But all three children got to hear how the author played a one-note theme all the way through: that the wonderful, noble Moros, led by the wonderful, noble Sultans of Jolo, were wonderful and noble precisely because they were against those horrible Christians and those horrible Americans. Kim, echoing their friend Oscar, had said from the outset that she did not guarantee the book to be perfectly truthful. She had not gone far into the campaigns of the United States 22nd Infantry after the Spanish-American War, before her firstborn remarked:

"This woman sounds like she could have been one of the anti-Christian highschool teachers you and Papa came up against at Smoky Lake East."

Pausing, Kim nodded. "Or some of the faculty at Doverwood Community College. Yes, this author may very well have a respected university position today; she parrots the Fairness Party line, even though the book was written--let's see--in 2016, well before the takeover. Anyway, Wilson, comparing what you know about your Filipino heritage from your Papa, what would you say is the biggest flaw in this book?"

"One-sidedness, Mom." Wilson had never changed from addressing his father as Papa, but had changed his Mama to Mom at some point since they had been exiled. Before he could continue, his little brother sprang up and leaned in close to Kim.

"Wilson, I don't think it's one-sided, it's got front and back covers." Getting a reader's-eye view, Brendan added, "And the words are on both sides of the pages."

Esperanza offered big-sister pedantry: "Brendan, Wilson means sides like the way people think about things, like people being for something or against it."

"That's right," Wilson resumed. "The author only wants you to know about anything bad that Christian countries did, and wants you to think that the Moros were always good and always right about everything."

"But Papa's a Moro," replied Brendan, "and he's really almost right about everything."

Kim bathed all of her children in an affectionate smile. "Yes, your Papa IS right about things almost all the time; but the Moros who lived before him were not all as good as he is. In fact, hardly any of them were. The woman who wrote this book wants you to think that those Moros were all heroes, because she wants you to be specially mad at Christian people and white people."

Wilson resumed yet again: "She wants us to think that it was ONLY Europeans who ever had things like slavery. But in real life, the Moros themselves did a LOT of taking other Filipino people as slaves."

"Well, if the Moros were bad," asked Brendan, "why did God make them so strong?" He looked as if this worried him; he had been sufficiently protected from full realization of the tyranny surrounding them here and now, that he was more disturbed by evildoers of a past generation enjoying undeserved advantages.

Kim beckoned him to her side on the sofa: not onto her lap for the present, since her unborn fourth child was beginning to bulge her enough that she preferred to avoid anyone jolting against her bulge. "Sweetheart, Jesus told us that God sends rain for both good people and bad people. When He gives people something that helps them, like the strength of the Moros, they have a chance to decide HOW they want to use it. Many of the Moros long ago used their strength to be mean; but God did not MAKE them do that--it was up to them to decide. You know how strong your Papa is; but he uses HIS strength for good things."

Brendan brightened up suddenly. "Yeah, like when he lets Essie and me both ride on his shoulders at the same time."

"Yes, dear, like that. And you know what? There's a true story about your Papa that I don't think we ever told you kids. I think I want to tell you now. It was when we were in high school together, before I even knew that he was the man I would marry. I had made a mistake about him; I thought that he WAS like the mean Moros, that he liked to fight and hurt people. So your Papa did something to show me I was mistaken about him. And for what he did, he used some of his Moro strength--his Moro ability to ignore pain."

So Kim told her eagerly-listening children the true tale of how a sixteen-year-old Alipang Havens had voluntarily absorbed a fearsome beating from a hulking juvenile delinquent, someone whom Alipang could have defeated easily--absorbed the blows without retaliating, for the sole purpose of proving his true self-disciplined character to the girl of his dreams, to his future wife.
 
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