The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Early Wednesday morning, Daffodil began making calls within the tiny infraculture of persons who lived in the Enclave without _being_ exiles. He got hold of Pinwheel Matfeyev, who was more than willing to assume leadership of Equalityball activities in South Dakota Sector; this, after all, would earn him something of the same "adjunct faculty" status as Daffodil had earned at the Boston Tolerance House. The next call was to Winnie Drucker of Aero-Aquatics, the general manager of Earth's Treasures a.k.a. Gaia's Guts. Pleased to be consulted about something of political significance, Winnie gave Daffodil a recommendation of someone who could run Equalityball for Nebraska Sector. This was a girl named Omnipotence Cortez, the fatherless daughter of a woman working for the Agriculture Department; Omnipotence had her claim to fame in a perfect attendance record with the Diversity Pioneers at her former middle school. Having no doubt that the selection would please the Party, Daffodil thanked Ms. Drucker with more outward enthusiasm than he felt inwardly.

The next call was to roust Bailey and Moonrose out of bed, notifying them that henceforth both of them would be working North Dakota Sector. This done, Daffodil phoned Fidel North's Pinkshirt office, to say: "I'm going to be heading back for Wyoming Sector. Would you please keep in touch with me about any prospects for more concerts by my stun-jazz ensemble?" Then he used his dataphone to access a Transport Police database which would let him know what were the soonest ways he could travel to other locations inside the Enclave.

With his commuting plans made, the boy jogged on foot to Sioux San Hospital, having in mind to speak with hospital personnel face to face and ask if there was progress in getting approval to give Miguel De Soto the sonic anti-cancer treatment.

He was unprepared for whom he would meet when he was barely inside the front door.

Samantha Ford was casually dressed-- meaning the calculatedly sensual kind of casual dress she had favored since high school. She came into her neglected son's field of sight as she entered the lobby from within the hospital's interior. When she noticed him, she projected a startlingly ordinary smile, as if she had NOT been both ignoring him and ignoring the duties for which the State Department had sent her to the Enclave. "Why, hello, Daffodil! Is the collective still all?"

As he stood rooted to one spot, she swished up to him and gave him a sort of air-hug... which, indeed, he privately preferred over any more demonstrative gesture of insincere affection. Then she stepped back, rotating her shoulders a bit and tossing her light-brown hair, as if she were still in the afterglow of some pleasant experience. But since they were not in Zimmo Garland's holo-movie studio right now, Daffodil couldn't have said what pleasant experience his mother might have had here. So he simply spoke in a way that was logical for an encounter at a hospital:

"My own part of the collective is okay. But what brings you here? Did you get sick somehow?"

She reached up to muss his hair. "No, not at all. I just needed a dose of Wonderflexin before I begin the next three days of shooting."

Daffodil blinked. He had heard of Wonderflexin before, though it had never been of any importance to him personally. It was a sort of combined stimulant and muscle relaxant, which temporarily made people physically more limber. It had first been invented, so Daffodil understood, as a means to help restore some degree of mobility to elderly people; but with so many elderly Americans being euthanized instead, the drug had became a resource for....

Certain athletic activities....

And certain specialties in the performing arts.

Daffodil didn't want to think about what he knew to be his mother's reason for taking Wonderflexin. For her part, Samantha was feeling so euphoric from the treatment, that she appeared ready to film one of her "adult" movie scenes right there in the lobby. But she herself provided the digression that spared her son from having to think about her new preoccupation:

"I've been meaning to congratulate you, Daffodil. Come on, let's sit down... I've seen the video of your Blue Moon Concert; it was awesome! And it IS going to get wide exposure outside the Enclave. Makes me feel justified for all the thought and effort I put into getting you started on the path to success."

Until Samantha said those last sixteen words, Daffodil had never in his life conceived of the idea of wishing actually to do bodily violence to her; but now his mind flickered with a vision, still not of seriously injuring her, but maybe of tossing her into a very large mud puddle face first. Maintaining a bland smile, he replied obliquely: "It seems you're on a successful path of your own. But tell me, what am I supposed to say to the State Department if they ask me what you're contributing to the internal-diplomacy mission?"

Samantha blinked. "What...? Oh, pardon me, that's right, I didn't tell you. I already spoke with Meg about my acting." (She was referring to Secretary of State Megavolt Atkinson.) "Meg was thrilled; she said that with you breaking the ground by your music promotions, it shouldn't be long before a significant number of exiles are willing to watch the movies we're making with Timmo. Some exiles might even ACT IN the movies; isn't that kinky?"

Daffodil's jaw sagged, then firmed up again. "Mother, I'm not so sure that their willingly listening to stun jazz means they'll be equally receptive to ALL other areas of the popular arts." He didn't bother pointing out to his mother that HE was supposed to be HER supervisor, so she ought not to have gone over his head.

Samantha leaned in to kiss him --indeed a rare action on her part-- and said, "Maybe not. But listen, we need to think about _your_ progress and success. Have you taken any steps to earn your eligibility for unrestricted Party advancement?"

He knew exactly what she had in mind. Going back to its earliest beginnings as a product of W.A.L.N.U.T. community organizers, the Fairness Party had _always_ had a policy which was recommended for women, but absolutely compulsory for men--since of course it was men who had to atone for the ickiness of being male. No man could _ever_ be promoted to a senior position in the Fairness Party.... until, in the presence of witnesses or with video proof, he had performed some physical action to prove his acceptance and approval of "alternate lifestyles." A refusal to do this could be construed as a "hate crime."

"No, Mother, I _haven't_ taken any steps in that direction. I've been busy doing the actual job I was sent here to do."

Anything in Daffodil's words that could signify a rebuke to her, went sailing over Samantha's vacuous head. She went on: "Well, it would be a shame if you let yourself get stalled when you're showing so much promise. Don't forget, relational diversity is _called_ relational diversity because --it's diverse! There's more than one way for you to meet the requirement. I'll be glad to help you review the options; I just want you to be successful."

Feeling as if by his response he could spit a bad taste out of his mouth, Daffodil said, "I'll make my own decisions, Mother, in that and in other things. Universe knows, the Party says often enough that parents mustn't impose their paradigms on their bioproducts. And speaking of parents: will you please _tell_ me, here and now, _who_ is my male chromosome source?"

Samantha ran fingers down her son's arm. "Why does it matter? There's no way you would ever meet him. But you're right that I can't make your choices for you. Maybe I should head back to the studio now."

"Sure, you do that, Mother." Daffodil just wanted her to go away.

 
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Daffodil had his talk with hospital management, learning that the question of Mr. De Soto remained undecided, though the Energy Undersecretary was said to be in favor of allowing the new cancer therapy. From there, the boy made his way to hitch a ride with government worker Ernestine Clawson, who was going to drive an honest-to-goodness automobile along what was left of Interstate 90, running an errand to the government offices in the lately-rebuilt town of Kaycee, Wyoming Sector. It would be easy for her to let him off at Sussex.

As they drove with the sun at their backs, Daffodil intently watched every move Ernestine made, until, as they passed the abandoned town of Spearfish, she said to him, "Are my hands that fascinating?"

Fortunately for Daffodil, he had by now spent enough time among normal people, that he _didn't_ go into a panic at the very first hint that a female _might_ be displeased by something he had done. He simply replied, "What's fascinating is the procedure of driving a vehicle. I've just been thinking, as I've watched you, that it must have complications which a non-driver wouldn't think of at first."

"That's true. And some people never did get it right; that's why there used to be so _many_ fatal collisions. One more reason why it's better to keep the proletariat in mass transit."

"Well, of course, that's what I was always taught. My mother never drove a car, at least not that I ever heard of. And yet.... What if there were some kind of situation in which the mass transit system itself was disabled, but people still _needed_ to be able to get to places, and they _couldn't_ get there because they didn't even _have_ the knowledge of how to drive themselves?"

"They'd ride their bicycles, what else?"

"But I mean if they needed to travel a distance that wasn't practical for bicycles."

"Proletarians _don't_ need to travel that far; this country's well enough organized that they can serve the Party in their own districts."

Daffodil fell silent, reflecting on the fact that this daughter of the bureaucracy seemed unable even to _conceive_ of the notion that people could have a moral _right_ to be allowed to travel where _they_ wanted to.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Far to the southwest of Daffodil and Ernestine, at the Gas Hills uranium mining and refining complex west of Casper, the liberated Salwa Jalalu was to encounter someone who would almost make her wish to be back in the Great Lakes Cantonment. Almost, not quite.

Aretha Shabazz, the professional complainer and grievance-inflater, had by this time succeeded in alienating _everybody_ at four successive power-station assignments, including fellow females and fellow African-Americans. Energy Ombudsman Bill Shao had found a new position for her, doing office work at the uranium complex. The workers there all agreed that, if they must have Aretha in their midst, it was better for her job to be _elsewhere_ than close to radioactive materials.

Salwa, assigned to the kitchen which served both miners and refinery personnel, found her direct co-workers to be welcoming and patient, _even_ the male ones. Back in Detroit, Hassan Tamir had been almost the only local male ever to behave kindly toward her; now, _everyone_ was being astonishingly gentle and helpful as she learned the workings of the large cafeteria.

As people started coming in for lunch, the woman in charge of the kitchen brought Salwa out into the dining area to meet some of them. Salwa had been forewarned that almost all the internal exiles were some form of Christians or Jews, but nobody showed signs of hostility toward her although she still wore a hijab. The only person to behave rudely toward Salwa, ironically, was one who had lived among Muslims until just last year. On being introduced to Salwa, Aretha asked her, "Can you make halal pork chops?"

Baffled, Salwa told her truthfully that there was no such thing as halal pork, any more than there could be kosher pork. That was when she learned how Aretha Shabazz took to being corrected on any subject ever. Fortunately, as Aretha launched her irrational temper tantrum, Salwa soon also learned that this was not typical of the place, as a dozen other persons told Aretha to calm down and leave the new cook alone.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Back in Rapid City, meanwhile, Samantha Ford had not yet even arrived at the studio to start the day's filming with Osmawani and other actors, when she had another dramatic encounter. Coming along the sidewalk toward her, one hand carrying a cloth shopping bag, was a fair-haired man only a few centimeters taller than herself, though far stronger by the look of him; and his face _was_ the very face of her son Daffodil, if Daffodil had been over forty years of age.

The man halted, looked at Samantha, and did not at first say anything. Samantha halted, looked at the man, and exclaimed, "What in Gaia's name are YOU doing here?" Her voice was not so strident and hostile as it might have been if not for the Wonderflexin coursing through her bloodstream; but it still was clear that she had not been expecting to meet Josiah Redfern.

 
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"Most recently, Miss Ford, I've been buying ecologically-sound men's toiletries," Josiah declared, lifting the bag in front of him. "Later today, Barney and Ursula Jamison, the second married couple of doctors I've met in the past week or so, will be coming down from North Dakota Sector, bringing along every other healthcare professional from there who was free to join them; Professor Siermaala and I will be demonstrating the new ultrasound scanner to them. Anything else you want to know?"

In an inside-out sort of way, Samantha was at once startled to meet the man whose male gamete had been the only one ever to enter her body, and surprised at herself for not being _more_ startled. For she had not even heard that Josiah Redfern was on the North American continent, being too absorbed in her own pleasures; but the Wonderflexin was preventing her from feeling alarmed. Occasionally in the past, she had suffered nightmares about this fierce, cruel barbarian (for so he had to be, according to the dogma she followed) taking violent revenge on her for the theft of his genes; but now that he was in front of her, he just did not seem at all threatening.

Still, she did have another question for him: "How do you know who I am?" He _should_ not know, after all, that he ever _had_ been made a reproductive donor. DID HE KNOW?

"We have news media in Uganda," Josiah answered matter-of-factly, "and unlike yours, ours mostly tell the truth. You're Samantha Ford. You used to be the Diversity States Ambassador-At-Large. I'm Josiah Redfern, United States Army veteran, but your folks can't arrest me because now I'm a citizen of the African Union."

At this, the failed ambassador found a bit of harrumph she could muster up. "Are you so paranoid that you think we arrest _everyone_ who served the old corporate-fascist regime?"

"No, only the ones who still wish their lives _weren't_ micro-managed by a one-party system. But I know you've grown accustomed to belonging to a pampered aristocracy that no one's allowed to contradict; so be my guest, have the last word, so you _won't_ die of a stroke from _not_ having it." He gave her a gentlemanly nod, then cocked his head in expectation.

The Wonderflexin still would not allow Samantha to be very angry, but she could feel a desire to mock, to act superior--and along those lines, she felt no inhibition or need for caution. Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, "If I didn't _know_ that my son had your genes, I'd never believe--!" Then, so comically that Josiah almost laughed, she broke off the sentence and clamped both hands over her own mouth.

This was exactly what Josiah had prayed for: some circumstance which would permit him to appear to be discovering the truth about his son for the first time, while preserving the secrecy of the way he had _actually_ learned it already. When Denise Heathcock had startled him in the auditorium and he had thought for an instant that _she_ was Samantha, such a good outcome was the hope his brain had felt for one quarter of a second. This time it was the right woman, and he was almost home free... but now he needed to act stupefied with amazement, as _would_ be the case for him right now had it not been for the secret army's intelligence collection against the D.S.A.'s foreign service.

He bent his knees, letting himself sink down as he dropped his cloth bag to the pavement. "Miss Ford, are you sure you don't mean some other man?" He straightened up again. "I've only ever slept with one woman in my life, and she's back in Uganda with our children." He said this AS IF it had not occurred to him that what Samantha was talking about could be artificial fertilization.

But she said nothing more. Instead, the street having no traffic that would endanger her life, she sprinted into the street, bypassing him obliquely, eager to put him out of her sight, eager to get back to her own kind of people.

Josiah watched Samantha running away. He could have overtaken her easily, but it would look bad for him to be pursuing her. And there was no need. What _was_ needful was for him to get with some of the better sort of authorities hereabouts, the Texas Rangers maybe--and have them immediately perform brainwave lie-detection on him. He would say for their databases that Samantha Ford had declared him to be the father of her son, and it would be a matter of record that the brain-scan showed him to be telling the truth to the best of his knowledge.

The heterophobic bimbo was too far off to hear Josiah, but he said in her direction: "That's pretty good flying for not having your broomstick. Thanks for letting the cat out. Even if you say later that I didn't hear you correctly, I can still act now in the sincere _belief_ that I've been told I'm Daffodil's genetic father. And so I shall."
 
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So Daffy's mother knows who the genes were taken from? I guess I assumed that she wouldn't have been told; or at least that she wouldn't have assumed kinship just because Josiah and Daffy look alike. Especially with her, er, drug-induced state of mind. Anyway, I'm glad to see Josiah making progress. :)
 
Yes, very early in this novel I wrote something to indicate that Samantha had formed a definite opinion about her son's father as an individual, though she never spoke to him before this chapter. She has known from the start what Josiah's name is, along with some of his biography; the neo-communist conspirators who stole Josiah's you-know-what provided Samantha with information on him.

For months, I've been wondering how MUCH interaction to have between these two "co-parents." There's got to be some, but I'm still pondering in what circumstances. Of this you may be sure: Josiah WON'T leave Melody Redfern to run away with Samantha and be in dirty movies with her. :p
 
Chapter 105: Easier Than Pulling Teeth

The Alipang Havens residence was enjoying a rare day with no dental patients-- which allowed some attention to be focussed on Kimberly Havens as an obstetric patient. The family was being visited by a middle-aged Arapahoe woman who was known to, and recommended by, John and Lynne Wisebadger. She was a midwife, named Melissa Sleeps-On-Hill. (The surname had nothing to do with herself, but stemmed from the life of a nearly forgotten tribal ancestor.) Her time and services being paid for by the Wisebadgers, Melissa would be staying here until Kim gave birth. She had already interviewed the pregnant woman, and had passed information by telephone to Irina Stepanova.

Not very long before the fall of the United States, Alipang himself had been Kim's only midwife in the birth of Little Brendan; for health care had already fallen under tight rationing, and large families had already become politically incorrect, even before the Fairness Party takeover. Contrary to male-bashing stereotypes, Alipang had neither fainted nor panicked, and the birthing had gone as well as he and Kim could have asked for under the circumstances. As a Grange volunteer also, he had helped to deliver the baby daughter of a couple who lived on Teapot Creek near the Montefioris. But he was more than contented _not_ to have to assume that duty again for Kim.

On the other hand, on this morning when Ernestine Clawson was bringing Daffodil back to Sussex, Alipang was handed the opportunity to perform some _spiritual_ midwifing.

Forest Ranger Mark Terrell, minus Dana Pickering and Whiplash, came unannounced to the Havens house, asking to speak privately with Alipang; and since Alipang both had been praying for Mark, and was in fact available, the two men walked over to the currently-idle dental office for their talk. It opened with Mark sitting in a chair and saying, "Doctor Havens, I want you to tell me, please, just what IS it about love that requires the formality of marriage?"

Alipang knew that Kim, who had given substantial Christian instruction to Dana last year, would be supporting him with prayer now; this boosted his confidence. Perching on his own dental chair, he counter-questioned: "What is it about marriage that makes you feel uneasy about the formality?"

"You know that I'm _far_ from being a blind yes-man to everything the Party does and says. But I can't help feeling that they've got a point about women being demeaned and subordinated by marriage."

"What, and they _can't_ be demeaned by NON-marital attachments? Surely you haven't forgotten about Nash Dockerty's charming way with women. And isn't Dana herself in favor of marriage?"

"Uh, yeah. But, well, isn't it smothering a woman's own identity when she has to, you know, get rid of her own last name and use the husband's last name? Isn't that like slapping on a tag of ownership?"

"If you feel that way, it's perfectly possible for you to have an actual official wedding, _without_ changing Dana's last name. The Chinese _don't_ change a woman's surname when she marries, I'm pretty sure they never have, though the children do carry the father's surname. But you've been around us exiles; wives among us do conform to the tradition for last names, but do any of them seem oppressed or depersonalized to you? Does Kim? Does my mother?"

"No," Mark admitted.

"Did you see when my father and Emilio were interviewed on In The Enclave Today? They talked about the meaning of marriage then."

"I saw a replay, about a week after they did the show. Yes, they did make sense."

"Then we need to go further on, deeper down, don't we, to get at the real problem that bothers you? Isn't it really about whether you accept the authority of the _God_ Who ordains Biblical marriage?"

"You're right, Doctor Havens. You have a way of being right a lot--which, of course, is why I came to you. Let's say that I'm confused. You Biblicals are here in the Enclave because you wanted _less_ government authority piled on top of you, and I can sympathize with that; yet at the same time, you want _more_ authority in religion."

"Ranger Terrell, that would not be confusing at all, if American society had not spent so many decades infecting everyone's thinking with over-simplification. Political and moral issues _aren't_ merely a one-dimensional graph line of whether there's more or less authority, or whether there's more or less individual autonomy. Before you even can say 'how much authority' is good, it makes a vital difference what _kind_ of authority is offered. In your own work leading the Forest Rangers for the Enclave, you're not evaluated by how often you issue orders, but by how _competent_ your orders are. If you knew nothing about plants, animals, and outdoor safety, then a single ignorant suggestion you made, if accepted by your subordinates, would be more likely to cause harm than _fifty_ orders that you give with your _actual_ high level of knowledge.

"As in the natural environment, so it is in the spiritual environment. God's right to command us is not to be measured by how strict or how lenient He seems to us, but by His correct knowledge of conditions, coupled with His motivation of love and grace. When this is understood, we see that His design for marriage _must_ have been conceived with humanity's well-being in mind..."

From here, Alipang launched into a meticulous exposition of Old and New Testament passages regarding marriage. Much of this material was new to Mark, because the only Bibles he had looked at anytime lately were the toothless, "approved" abridged versions which the Indoctrination Department allowed to circulate freely. But Alipang could tell that the Forest Ranger was wide open today, willing to be enlightened by the Holy Spirit; so he pressed forward.

Within three hours after he had shown up at the house, Mark Terrell was on his knees, receiving his admission rights to the Heavenly Father's house, by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.

And he no longer felt as if there would be anything oppressive to Dana about their getting married.

Alipang was joyfully praying over his new brother in faith, hands laid on the taller-but-kneeling man's head in a virtually apostolic manner... when Daffodil Ford knocked on the dental clinic's door.

 
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Copperfox said:
Political and moral issues _aren't_ merely a one-dimensional graph line of whether there's more or less authority, or whether there's more or less individual autonomy. Before you even can say 'how much authority' is good, it makes a vital difference what _kind_ of authority is offered.
Click to expand...

That's a good way of wording it.
 
"Doctor Havens? It's Daffy; may I come in?"

"Sure, come ahead.... that is, provided you flossed at least seven times this morning, otherwise you're going to hear some dental hate speech."

Daffodil entered the office with a smile, but noticed to his bafflement that the Forest Ranger supervisor, with whom he was already acquainted, looked nervous at seeing him.

"Oh, hello, Citizen Ford."

"Ranger Terrell, hello. Please, call me Daffy."

"It's all right," Alipang told Mark. "Daffy is _ever_ so much not an Overseer. You remember how little cause he has to be fond of them. So there's nothing to feel awkward about with him. Daffy, Mark here has just arrived at some answers."

"What kind of answers?" Daffy asked.

"Life answers," Mark replied. "The kind that tell me not to re-invent the wheel when it comes to love relationships. You can be _almost_ the first to know that I'm going to marry Dana."

Daffodil broke into a grin. "Congratulations, Ranger Mark! And if that's the kind of thing you and Dr. Havens have been discussing, it's a sign for me that I've come at the right time."

"Shall I leave?"

"No, I'm going to have to face people on this issue sometime; I might as well start with a friend of Dr. Havens."

Alipang waved a hand at a second available seat. "Then start."

Sitting, Daffodil announced, "It's about Party membership; more accurately, about _advancement_ in the Party."

"Oh my," Mark sighed. "Now I know what you're here about. You see, I _already_ have clearance for Party promotion, though so far I don't actually _hold_ any office. You're thinking about... the requirement, aren't you?" When the boy only nodded, Mark went on: "When the Forestry Service first got reorganized by the new regime, annexing the Park Service and the Fish and Wildlife Service, Party spokeswomen lectured us about the 'alternatives;' how anyone who wanted to rise above the footsoldier level in the Party, would have to perform one of six possible acts..." and he described them.

"Great fluking entropy!" Daffodil exclaimed at the end. "I didn't even _know_ about that last one! My mother _only_ named the first five options for me."

"Well, number six was the one I did for Party approval."

Now Daffodil and Mark both silently turned their eyes toward Alipang, looking at him the way schoolboys in a past generation might have looked at a principal who had caught them smoking in the boys' room. Silence reigned for a very long quarter-minute, while the warrior-dentist pondered what to say....

"Contrary to the opinions of President Trevette and her flatterers, a man _doesn't_ have to wade chin-deep in sewage to know of the _existence_ of sewage. The desire to color outside the lines... the desire to seek love and-or pleasure outside of God's recommendations... that can suggest itself to _anyone's_ mind, what with the world being the way it is. The fact that such thoughts cross a person's mind -- that they can cross MY mind -- by itself, does not make the person guilty of depravity. I can tell you that, in the past, my own mind entertained the abstract concept of doing one of those items Mark listed. I never quite positively _wanted_ to do it, let alone _actually_ did it; but we're all capable of such thoughts. And, with the world being the way it is, most non-Biblical persons _don't_ perceive any convincing _reason_ to abstain from the actions, any more than a mouse perceives any reason to avoid the tempting bait that's right there in the trap. So in the absence of any motivation to abstain, who _wouldn't_ follow their immediate impulse, their short-term appetite?"

Mark sighed. "I came here with my token 'alternate' action already behind me, to ask you about the particulars of a biologically normal relationship; and you gave me both my particular answer, and the _ultimate_ answer for the universe. But this young man still has his alternatives _ahead_ of him, and he's had the less-normal approaches crammed into his face."

"Yes, I have," Daffodil affirmed. "And until recently, I was even _helping_ to validate my own emasculation, as an assistant teacher in the Tolerance House. Instructing kids to _reject_ conformity in the relational sphere, at the same time as I pushed _absolute_ conformity in all _other_ areas of life."

"Extrapolating from all that I know about you," said Alipang, "you already understand perfectly well that _here,_ among the so-called God-fascists, is where you've been met with genuine friendship and kindness. Therefore, you would like to be able to share this understanding with the larger society outside the fence. But you can't work effectively _inside_ the system unless you obtain the license to rise in Fairness Party rank. Isn't that it?"

"Of course it is, sir. So I need to hear you tell me: is it worth it? Would my achieving a greater degree of the beneficial influence I've already wielded a little of, justify my doing... one of the six options?"

 
"I'm probably not qualified to give advice," Mark volunteered, "but wouldn't his doing one of those relational alternates just be an _external_ thing? I mean, my own initiation didn't change my real preference, as you can see by my relationship with Dana. Daffy would still be the same person inside, wouldn't he?" He looked at the teenager. "You could even purposely choose whichever option was the _most_ revolting to you, so as to make sure you _wouldn't_ enjoy it and want to repeat it."

Then both learners looked at the teacher again.

"I'm afraid most Christians have done a pathetically weak job of explaining this subject to people," said Alipang. "The secular world believes that what we object to in sexual immorality is the specific fact that _pleasure_ occurs. That's why there have been so many movies in which 'the religious people' were lined up on one side, and the people who knew how to enjoy life were on the other side. But the point _isn't_ a choice between fun and boredom. If Daffy were to accept the Party requirement and perform one of their PREEE-versions..." (even as he said the distorted word, Alipang realized that neither of his hearers recognized the Doctor Strangelove joke) "...it would make no difference whether he enjoyed it or not. Well, it would make a difference if he were being coerced at gunpoint, but that isn't the same as what we're discussing.

"The significance of the act --and you can be sure that the Party's founders _intended_ this very signficance-- would be that Daffy _wasn't_ giving an absolute priority to _God's_ will. Does either of you know what the Tokugawa Shogunate did with Catholic icons?" They didn't know, so Alipang continued: "Around the year 1635, when Spain and its Catholic clergy enjoyed great favor and influence with the Japanese, one Spanish officer made the champion-idiot mistake of being _heard_ bragging that Spain would soon be _ruling_ Japan outright. Amazingly enough, the Japanese weren't overjoyed at that prospect; so they threw the Spaniards out of the country. And because by then there were numerous Japanese Catholics, the Shogun introduced a loyalty test. Anyone who wanted to serve in any position of importance was required to _trample_ on a Catholic icon. What the Fairness Party demands of would-be leaders today, is in the same spirit as that icon-trampling."

"You're not saying that the Party is _right_ to accuse modern Christians of having wanted to enslave everyone else, are you?" asked Mark.

"Of course not; but since the Party stands by that lying claim, it's appropriate, in their own reasoning, to require a loyalty ritual which repudiates the Biblical way of life."

Daffodil shifted uneasily where he sat. "I follow you, Dr. Havens. But I also follow Ranger Mark's point. Wouldn't the superficial physical act --not that I _would_ enjoy it, yuck! --remain separate from my actual inner self?"

Alipang looked away before speaking again. "I have a friend from school days, a woman named Summer. Kim and I received word that Summer and her family were just settled in the Enclave, in the new Yellowstone Sector. For some time before that, she was imprisoned in a Self-Esteem Center. There, she was physically violated several times, by force. The fact that this _was_ done forcibly, that there was _nothing_ Summer could do to prevent it, absolves her from any and all guilt; _she_ is as morally clean as if it had never happened. You can see the same thing in the Bible, of course I mean the unedited Bible. When King David grew corrupt and used the woman Bathsheba, she likewise was powerless to refuse; he was the King, able to take what he wanted. That's why the prophet Nathan, in his rebuke to David, likened Bathsheba to an innocent lamb; she was a victim, not a perpetrator.

"But _your_ position, Daffy, is not like that of Summer Rand or that of Bathsheba. The Fairness Party has not broken down your door and shouted that you _must_ imitate their depravity or be executed; it's just that they won't let you share in their _privileges_ unless you do as they do. So if you acquiesce, you'll know that it wasn't under threat of death; you'll know that you agreed to do an 'alternate' in order to _gain_ something for yourself. That would be an initial compromise; and compromises grow larger."

"Then, sir, do you mean that God doesn't want _anyone_ even to try to have any earthly influence, to make things better?'

"Not at the cost of impairing your conscience, because that would end up making it less likely for you TO make things better. But don't despair, son; there are still avenues by which God can let us make a difference."

"Like when you shielded me from that mob with your body, and gained respect for all exiles?"

"Well, yes; but also some ways that _won't_ necessitate your getting beaten to a pulp. Maybe you don't realize this, but Chilena and Dan _aren't_ eligible for Party leadership either; they have only minimal membership, since they _wouldn't_ consent to the six options. But by God's providence, they still got to be big movie stars; and it was _because_ of their prestige that Dan was able to restore the rights of Summer and her husband Evan to custody of their children. As for you, if your promoting of concerts gains momentum, this could lead to similar chances for you to help someone."

"Parents with children," Daffodil muttered; "yes, that's a good thing. Sir, you don't know how ironic it was that you addressed me as 'son' just then. Believe me, I could never have asked for any better man than you to BE a father to me; but--that leads to the _other_ subject I came to talk about."

"At this point, I _will_ excuse myself," Mark said abruptly, rising to his feet. "Dr. Havens, I'm in your debt. We'll talk again soon. Daffy, see you later."

 
As soon as the Forest Ranger was out of hearing, Alipang remarked, "Just so you'll know, Mr. Terrell there has just met a very different requirement, one which leads to a far more desirable promotion than the Fairness Party can confer."

"Do you mean he became a Christian?"

"Exactly. His original concern was for his relationship with Miss Pickering, but by God's grace I was able to lead him from seeing trees to seeing the whole forest. Now, what's your other problem?"

"It involves one of the men who came into the Enclave with your friend Brendan: the medical technologist Josiah Redfern."

Alipang nodded. "I haven't met him yet, but Brendan seems to regard him highly. So what's his importance for you?"

Daffodil reflexively glanced left and right before saying, "I think he's my biological father."

Alipang was taken aback. "On what grounds?"

"Well, he hasn't said he was; but everything that happens around him _feels_ like what you and Mrs. Havens like to talk about-- God _arranging_ events in a meaningful pattern. On the night of the Blue Moon Concert, Mr. Redfern and Professor Siermaala came onstage at the end, to compliment us on the show. Denise Heathcock was there too, and as soon as she laid eyes on Mr. Redfern she cried out that she recognized him, only she seemed astounded that he was there. Then she hurried him away to talk about something. What makes this even more startling is the fact that Ms. Heathcock had previously had a dream in which there was a man who looked like me if I were an adult.

"Not long after that, everybody and their sister started talking about how much I look like Mr. Redfern, and even dropping hints about what if my real father were to show up."

"Yet nothing from Mr. Redfern himself?"

"Nothing from him; but it was an _intriguing_ sort of nothing. I had an uncanny hunch that he _wanted_ to tell me something; so I remarked in his hearing that if my missing father had a reason why he _couldn't_ tell me the truth, I wouldn't hold it against him."

"As I recall, you've told us before that your mother adamantly refuses to identify your male parent."

"Correct. But she _does_ tell me that he had beliefs and convictions contrary to hers. And a Christian military veteran like Mr. Redfern sure fits into that data-cloud."

"So, do you want my opinion on whether you should ask Mr. Redfern point-blank if he's your father?"

"That, and a related question. You know that my dataphone _could_ scan his DNA and give me a near-certain answer, _without_ his consent; but I hate to invade his privacy like that, since as I understand he _wasn't_ an absent father by intention, his genes were used without his knowing I'd been conceived. Still, he might have come here _because_ he finally learned of my connection to him. So, _should_ I ask him?"

"If you understand that this is shooting from the hip on very short notice, I'd say DO ask him. Anybody my pal Brendan approves of, is worth knowing. But what's the other question?"

"The other question is: if Mr. Redfern proves to be my father, and if he wants to take me out of the Enclave so I can join his family in Uganda, should I agree to it?"

"Hmmm, tough question. I know my whole family and I would miss you if you left here for good; but since we were just now talking about the limitations you might have to accept with regard to being able to do any good in America, maybe this is a sign from God. Maybe He does want you to move away to freedom." Alipang lowered his voice. "I know you'd find it small loss to be away from your mother."

"But a big loss to be away from you and Mrs. Havens and the rest."

"Nice of you to say so. Let me pray over the next few days, that God _will_ communicate clearly to you what He wants you to do--and, of course, that you'll find out whether that's your father you've met."

"Thank you, Dr. Havens. You know, whether Josiah Redfern is my chromosome source or not, it was in meeting _you_ that I found my _spiritual_ father."
 
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Very sweet. :) And I'm looking forward to the meeting between Daffy and Josiah. (And hoping that Daffy gets a new name soon.... ;))
 
On Thursday, June 4th, the Yang family arrived in Sussex by train -- to be met at the platform by Sylvia Lathrop, whom Sung-Kuo was pleased to introduce to his wife and three daughters. But Sylvia had news to report: "Alipang and Kim have to beg off having you over to visit; Kim went into labor this morning. But Peter and Lucinda will have you over at their house."

Promising to pray for a safe delivery, the Yangs went to the Tomisaburo house. Peter was finishing up a small duct-repair job on which Victor was assisting him; so Lucinda took charge of hospitality, joined in praying for Kim Havens, and then served up an early lunch. Her daughter Adrienne was delighted to be played with by with the Yang girls.

Peter Tomisaburo had not yet returned home when Wilson Havens knocked at the door. Admitted to the house, he cheerfully declared: "Everything's okay! Mom delivered safely, and I have a new sister now!"

"Congratulations!" Tupsim exclaimed. "Have your parents named her?"

"Yes, ma'am. Papa had charge of baby-naming from me through Brendan, because Mom knew that Aunt Baeline, Aunt Susan and Aunt Sharon up in Canada would give _their_ children the namesake names for the Tisdale side of the family. But this time, Papa told Mom that the naming was for her to do. She chose the name Peggy, her friend's name in Smoky Lake, then Baeline as a middle name."

"So the midwife worked out well?" asked Yang Sung-Kuo.

"Yes, sir. Sumerico Bivar was there to help as needed, but Melissa -- and Mom, of course -- did most of the work."

"Will we get to see Peggy Baeline Havens today?" asked Lucinda.

"I think so. Papa won't let visitors in _right_ away, but Mom says to start letting them in after she's had two or three hours to recover. Of course, Daffy Ford was _already_ at the house; but he's made himself useful by keeping Essie and Brendan occupied."

Presently Peter and Victor came home, rejoiced in the good news about Kim, and sat down to eat. Lieutenant-Colonel Yang kept them company, while the others went as far as Alipang's front yard, where Sumerico gave them an account of the mercifully easy childbirth. "Don't bother saying that I can't say anything because I'm a man," Sumerico told them; "I'm repeating what _Kim_ said: she said that this birthing was _easier_ than some of the improvised oral surgeries she had to help Alipang with, when they were first getting their dental practice underway in Sussex."

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

At the Tomisaburo house, once Victor had eaten, Peter sent him out to do some chores -- enabling Peter to be alone with Sung-Kuo. Peter had worked into the lunch conversation the numbers-and-colors code which was to alert Sung-Kuo that there was information to be passed. Yang Sung-Kuo, informed of the worsening condition of Miguel De Soto, had contacted Beijing with a request that Beijing press the Diversity States into ceasing the absurd obstruction of soundwave therapy for the cancer victim. Now, Sung-Kuo guessed that a reply might have been sent by way of radio-blink messages visible to Peter's enhanced eyes.

So it proved; but the reply was not what Yang Sung-Kuo had hoped for.

Peter handed his guest a note which read: Beijing says it already squeezed important concessions from the Rainbow House. Now they are too busy to bother with pushing the Americans further. Besides investigating Triad weapon-smuggling in the Pacific, they've learned of trouble at the Lunar Orchard; would not specify it to me.

Sung-Kuo read the note carefully, then destroyed it. He could probably contribute some of his own money to the expenses of treatment for Mr. De Soto; but he was disappointed in his government for not intervening when intervention would have been so easy and painless.

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

Brendan Hyland, now back in Rapid City with Matti and Josiah, received good news, more good news, and bad news, in swift succession. Josiah told Brendan about Samantha Ford's helpful disclosure, which he had gotten verified with a brainwave scan by Commerce Inspectors as the first cops he could get to for that purpose. Then Daffodil, not yet aware of what was going on with Josiah, phoned Brendan to report the birth of Peggy Havens.

The downbeat part was when Brendan received an encrypted text message from Texas Ranger Commandant Brittany Pierce: Jessica Trevette herself wants Miguel De Soto to die. He knows too much dirt on her. She said in the Party Presidium that she's been generous enough by releasing the concentration-camp inmates; she doesn't want the exiles thinking they run things. Therefore she prohibits the sound therapy for De Soto.

Seething, Brendan allowed his two comrades to read this message before he wiped it. Then he wrote an encrypted message that would go to Commandant Pierce, to Emilio Vasquez here in the Enclave, to Dunak Okigbo in Nigeria, to Setyabulleh Mawejje in Uganda, to Juan Riquelme in Mexico, and to Tiberiu Parnescu in Poland:

President Trevette has gone too far. We've held back the big gun long enough. I recommend we send someone to Washington, and tell her that unless she okays treatment for De Soto, AND makes other concessions including a university for the exiles, the United Nations will find out that she joined in the Aztlano human sacrifices, besides having two Party rivals assassinated just before she became President.

Colonel Parnescu, receiving this, cancelled going to bed in order to confer online with colleagues in the secret army. Not much time was needed for the Colonel to be authorized to place a call to the Rainbow House on a satellite frequency reserved for diplomatic traffic....

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

It was evening in Wyoming, and Kim was nursing her healthy new baby, whom by now the Yangs and many others had had their chance to see. Daffodil shyly knocked on the bedroom doorframe, though the door stood open. "Come on in, Daffy," said Kim; but the boy didn't come into the room till he was assured by Alipang that he would not see more of Kim than he felt he ought to see.

"Brendan Hyland called me," Daffodil informed them. "He's learned from somebody he knows outside that President Trevette _personally_ issued orders to allow Mr. De Soto to be treated, _and_ told the Party Presidium that she wanted the Enclave to have the medical university that Dr. Havens has been asking for!"

Kim sighed, kissed the top of her baby's head, and closed her eyes, murmuring, "It's nice when _good_ things come in bunches for a change!"

 
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Chapter 106: Digging Up Dirt


The Indian-flagged cargo vessel headed for Hawaii was not the rusty steamer of old seagoing stories. It was an ekranoplan, something first invented in Russia: a craft shaped like an airplane, but designed for its lift only to raise it enough above water so that it could run along on surface effect. Thus, a faster counterpart of a hovercraft, now used for transportation rather than for the naval-combat purposes of the first ekranoplans.

The semi-submersible patrol craft of the Pacific Federation Navy did not have the speed to overtake an ekranoplan in a stern chase; but they didn't need that much speed. They were _ahead_ of the suspicious merchant vessel. When the order was given, they surfaced in an interdicting arc, deploying their hydrofoils and readying their missiles for instant launch; and Captain Sanjuro Takashima, in command of the squadron, called on the ekranoplan to settle on the water and prepare to be boarded.

Standing beside Captain Sanjuro in his control room was another man also wearing Pacific Federation uniform. This man asked the Japanese officer: "Are you _sure_ this is the most likely ship? They spent a long time trading in Tonga, Samoa and Fiji before turning northeast."

"That's _why_ I consider them the most suspicious," replied Sanjuro. "All four of the current ships of interest have loaded cargo in settings that obstructed satellite imaging; but only _this_ one followed such a roundabout itinerary before making toward Hawaii. Like someone trying too hard to seem as if they _didn't_ have urgent business in Hawaii."

"Well, when I talk with them and search their ship, I'll have a better idea of whether your instincts are correct." This man was a citizen, not of the Pacific Federation, but of India: Commander Ainesh Makhuda of the Indian Navy -- though for this operation he wore a Pacific Federation uniform.

It was the Federation's offer to let Indian officers be part of the operation (on top of the promise that no _Chinese_ personnel would be boarding any Indian ship) which had persuaded the Indian government to agree to permit its nation's merchant vessels to be searched. Commander Makhuda's suitability for this mission was enhanced by the fact that, having served for twenty-six years in a navy which had long used Russian-built ships and airplanes, he knew all about Russian hardware. His knowledge of design took in ekranoplans, and he could guide the boarding party in finding any spaces where contraband might be hidden. Posing as a man of South Pacific ethnicity, he would be the real leader of the boarders for everything except combat, in the unlikely event of their meeting armed resistance.

Two of the semi-submersibles launched armed helicopter drones, like robot snipers, which had thermal-imaging sensors that could see through the cargo vessel's airplane-like fuselage. They assumed guarding positions above the target. If necessary, these drones could hit the hull with binary chemical ordnance which would eat holes in the sides (above the waterline), enabling them to fire non-lethal suppression weapons into the ship's interior.

Each of three patrol vessels came alongside in turn, sending an armed party climbing up the gangway that was submissively lowered for them by the ekranoplan's crew; the first of these groups included the ranking Pacific Federation officer in the boarding operation. Finally, Commander Makhuda led his own team from Captain Sanjuro's vessel aboard the suspect merchant, and the contraband search was on in earnest. Awaiting the outcome of the search (whose progress was being video-monitored by his executive officer), Captain Sanjuro called to his side the civilian observer who was also on board his ship.

"Mr. Randall, do you believe I'm right about this target?"

"Absolutely," replied Bert. "Their acting casual by going here and there is part of it; but I also set store by the data we've gathered about some of this merchant's officers."

"Friends of friends of friends," remarked Sanjuro, "leading back to the Triads."

"Guilt by association is an evil device of tyrants, if used in deciding actual criminal trials. But it's not evil to use it as an investigative clue, provided you don't claim a phony certainty based _only_ on the associations."

They waited, and waited. At last, Ainesh Makhuda transmitted on an encrypted frequency: "Sanjuro, you were right! We have positively identified rail-gun components, carried in a hidden compartment which had sophisticated shielding against thermal imaging. If I _hadn't_ studied these designs for so long, I would have overlooked the hiding place. But your government is vindicated now, and my government will continue to cooperate with you against these weapon smugglers."

"Glad to hear it," said the Japanese captain. "Have the arrests been made?"

"The most urgent arrests will _never_ be made. Five men on board, who may have been Chinese, activated nanotechnic suicide devices. At least that IS a sort of admission of guilt. We'll jointly question everyone else on this ekranoplan, but my own intuition is that the living ones _didn't_ know about the contraband."

"Probably not; and I'm sure that you'll be assuring them that the innocent have nothing to fear."

"Unlike what might happen to them in _Chinese_ custody," huffed Makhuda.

Sanjuro let this pass without comment, and said to Bert Randall, "This is a good day's work. We score favorable points with China AND with India, while plugging our own security leak AND making the world safer for our American friends."

"Right. I wish I could tell Ma'at about it."

"I understand; but she'll be happy just to have you safely at home again."

"Yes, once I have my wrap-up meeting with Colonel Hsiao. After that, I'll be just as happy if I _never_ again have to travel one kilometer away from my wife and kids as long as I live."

 
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At their house in Casper, Miguel and Tilly De Soto received three visitors, one man and two women. The man, and one woman, wore Texas Ranger badges.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. De Soto," said the female Ranger; "my name is Brianna Wallace. I'm a pilot with the aviation detachment; I fly fixed-wing, and that's the kind of aircraft we have most immediately available to transport you to Sioux San Hospital. This is Quincy Forsythe, one of our mechanics, who's also learning a bit about flying; and this is his wife, Abby."

"Pleased to meet you all," Tilly replied. "I'd rather that the triumvirate had agreed to the sonic therapy being done at the hospital here in Casper, as the gill implantation was done; but Miguel insists that he can handle the flight, and we sure don't want to be looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"We'll fly at as low an altitude as we safely can," Quincy told her, "in order to minimize any distress to Mr. De Soto from changes in air pressure."

"I have confidence in you," said Tilly. "Miguel still can walk short distances; he intends to walk to your ground car to be taken to the plane."

At this point, Miguel completed a hurried note, which he passed via Tilly to Mrs. Forsythe. Abby Forsythe read it aloud for the benefit of her husband and Brianna: "It says, 'Heard you were robbed of rightful credentials.' That's correct, Mr. De Soto. I used to be an oncological nurse, and my credentials were revoked, even before the national turnover, because I wouldn't go along with mass euthanasia of cancer patients."

Tilly had not yet shaken Abby's hand, but she did so now. "That only makes us _more_ pleased to have you monitoring Miguel's condition during the flight."

"Thanks. Do you have everything packed that you wanted to bring on the trip?"

"Yes, we do. Everything important is in our luggage, or otherwise disposed of as we intended." Tilly's last phrase was really for her husband's benefit: reminding him that she shared in his gladness that his long-crafted autobiography and political expose was in the possession of someone who could make others aware of its information.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

At that moment, the man entrusted with Miguel's manuscript was with Josiah Redfern at Sioux San Hospital. Matti Siermaala was busy briefing several doctors and nurses who would be observing the sonic therapy on Mr. De Soto, which gave the Professor's comrades a chance to go to a conference room for a talk of their own.

This talk proceeded with the use of the speech-security masks they had brought along on the mission to America.

"If you're worried that I'm so worked up with wanting to see my son that I'll fluke something out, have no fear," said Josiah. "We Army guys aren't so impulse-driven as you crazy jarheads."

"Yeah, I know, you soldiers are like Mr. Spock, minus the ears and the mind-meld," Brendan joked back. "I had a different reason for wanting to talk in the secure mode. It's about your friend the Imam in Detroit."

"Al-Farag? What did he do now?"

"I'm afraid all he did was die."

Brendan allowed those words to sink in. Josiah sat in silence for almost half a minute. He was not a bit ashamed of having opposed the evil that Bassem ibn-Rashid al-Farag had stood for; but he wished he could have seen the _Imam_ becoming ashamed of _doing_ that evil. When Brendan spoke again, it was very much to the point of Josiah's thoughts: "Unfortunately, some unrepentant wrongdoers _remain_ unrepentant until it's too late."

Josiah sighed. "What did he die of?"

"The official report I picked up said natural causes. Our own intel people will be investigating to find out just _how_ natural those causes were."

A short while after this conversation, Josiah had his mood brightened by a phone call from Daffodil. Though Daffodil and Josiah had not yet had the chance for their crucial talk about the boy's paternity, the chance now looked imminent -- because Daffodil, as one who had lobbied for Miguel De Soto to be helped, was to be back in Rapid City within the day, or tomorrow at the latest. With him would be two members of the Havens family. Harmony Havens, because she had been the one to suggest the gill implantation last year; and Harmony's nephew Wilson, coming in the place of his father, since Alipang Havens could not right now be expected to leave the side of his wife and their new daughter.

 
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Secretary of State Megavolt Atkinson had once considered changing her last name to Atkinsdaughter; but even a Fairness Party disciple could grasp how silly that would sound in any country other than Iceland, where "-dottir" endings were found routinely in women's names. Besides, a Nordic affectation might seem odd in an African-American woman. So she had kept Atkinson; and right now, she was in the company of a male who shared only two things in common with her: a self-interested attachment to Neo-Marxist politics, and the syllable "-son" in a surname.

She was with Secretary of Distribution Reed Harrison, who normally would no more want to socialize with any woman than Megavolt would want to socialize with any man.

They went to an all-male club known as Dashing Dukes. Megavolt was disguised as a man -- which was easier for her than it would have been for, say, Samantha Ford, Carlota Ruiz, Nalani Hahona or Cassandra Jefferson. Reed and Megavolt were going to this nightspot as part of concealing the fact that they had palace politics to discuss. Built inconspicuously into the conspicuously garish clothing they wore were speech-security devices not unlike what Professor Siermaala's party in the Enclave had with them.

Soon, over food and drinks, Reed Harrison -- whose idea this camouflage had been -- felt safe to broach his subject.

"You know that the Imam-Governor of the Great Lakes Cantonment has died, right?"

"Yes, it was in the news on my data cloud this morning. I didn't say anything to anyone, but it smelled awfully stinky for him to die so quickly after he had complained about the Campaign Against Hate wanting him to join in perpetuating that ridiculous Ku Klux Quaker fantasy."

"Stinky as gutflak, for sure. Now, you know that my job gives me lines on all sorts of transfers and allocations of any kind of material objects. It so happens that, more than a month ago, Vitaly Khloponin secretly requisitioned a trank pistol with a load, not of trank darts, but of dissolving heart-attack darts. And you know what Bassem al-Farag _supposedly_ died of."

Megavolt ate some soy-mignon, trying to look unconcerned, then finally said, "With almost any _other_ law-enforcement body, I would be _less_ alarmed by the issuing of such a weapon. But of course, and I'm sure this is your point, the Campaign Against Hate already has wide discretion in _openly_ arresting people, even killing them; so why would Commander Khloponin order a weapon of _covert_ killing for his use? He doesn't _need_ it for his duties!"

"Exactly! He would only need it if he wanted to kill someone who _wasn't_ a legitimate subject for his usual attentions. I'm as certain as I can be that Khloponin murdered the Imam-Governor, so that someone friendlier to Khloponin would succeed to Al-Farag's office."

"So is Chakib ibn-Ali al-Hamid friendly to Khloponin?"

"Definitely. They've been friends since they first met in Tatarstan, long ago. They used to vandalize Jewish synagogues together for fun. And Al-Hamid would go along with Khloponin on the Ku Klux Quaker scam."

"So why are you telling me about this?" asked Megavolt. "Mine must be the very _least_ law-enforcement-related of all the Cabinet Departments. Haven't you approached the President and Vice-President about it?"

"Not much percentage in trying that," Reed replied. "Trevette and Anselmo both heard of Al-Farag's complaint, and did nothing. You, on the other hand, might find you had incentive to join me in doing something about _their_ negligence, as well as Commander Khloponin's probable guilt. And even if your people don't carry guns, you DO carry a significant block of votes in the Party Presidium." Now it was he who took some time to eat.

Megavolt took a deep drink before asking, "Votes to vote for what?"

"At the very least, vote to break up the Department of Indoctrination altogether. Their malfeasance in office clearly _didn't_ end with Nash Dockerty's death; and what has Arista Penfield ever done to stop such malfeasance? That whole Department is dead weight at best; killing Al-Farag just because he didn't agree to help them _fabricate_ more caseload, hardly argues for their continuance."

"But... I can see penalizing Khloponin, even maybe Secretary Penfield, as individuals. But how _can_ we do without any Indoctrination Department?"

Reed smiled with a warmth he rarely accorded to anyone female. "I can answer you with two words: Daffodil Ford. That is to say, his 'internal diplomacy' project with the internal exiles is already _fulfilling_ some of the goals that were _supposed_ to be Indoctrination's territory. Biblicals have died with smiling faces rather than give up their superstitions, when Overseers tried to _bully_ them into renunciation; but Citizen Ford has been catching flies with sugar instead of vinegar. Although the cultural concessions he has coaxed out of the exiles are admittedly superficial, they still represent _more_ progress made in half a year, than the Indoctrination Department achieved in all their Enclave tenure.

"Don't you see where this leads? Just increase the scope of 'internal diplomacy,' and you can make the Indoctrination Department redundant! The State Department could _absorb_ Indoctrination's portfolio! Which would raise your personal prestige, and most likely give you control over more Presidium votes. If you feel bad about Arista, you could allow her to continue managing the media as before, only now under _your_ supervision."

The mingling of ambition, fear and liquor had Megavolt Atkinson trembling. "You said 'very least.' What _else_ do you think we could accomplish by dismantling the Indoctrination Department?"

Reed held her gaze theatrically, then said, "The President and the Vice-President were both negligent, to a degree that could be said to have contributed to Imam Al-Farag's death. And, with no such thing as Congress anymore... it can be persuasively argued that YOU, Meg, would be the logical successor to the _Presidency,_ if Trevette and Anselmo both were disgraced beyond recovery."

Megavolt swallowed more liquor at this than she had the whole time up to now. Regaining composure -- and checking a secret voiceprint-sensor in her secure-talk device, which indicated to her that Reed meant what he was saying -- she chose to cast the dice. Chose to believe that the Distribution Secretary _wasn't_ entrapping her in order to gain status by then denouncing her.

"What would you gain by this?" she asked.

"The top-dog position in law enforcement, nationwide. My Department would appropriate all remaining assets of the Campaign Against Hate. And in alliance with you, I could eventually have the Marshals' Service, Transport Police, District Police, even Forest Rangers answering to me!"

They talked on for two more hours along these lines; and what they were sharing, including the thrill of a great risk, had an unexpected emotional effect on both of them. So much so that when they left Dashing Dukes, in a profound break with the habits of each, Megavolt Atkinson and Reed Harrison surprised themselves.... and willingly spent the night together.

 
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