The First Love Of Alipang Havens

"Have they shown you a map of the new sector's final boundary?" Alipang asked the Taiwanese-born Energy Ombudsman.

"Yes, they have," Bill told him, gesturing at the tabletop with a pointing finger. "Think of a musical note on a sheet of staff paper: the tail sticks out one way at the top, and the round part sticks out the other way at the bottom. Tip the note over to the right, while also twisting it around on its long axis, and the line between its ends is a west-to-east strip of Montana. The round part, now sticking down toward the south, is that part of Wyoming, both inside and outside the original Enclave perimeter, which is being taken into the new sector. The top-tail part, butting up against the Dakotas, gets wider, swelling up more to the north as it reaches east, so that it'll reach high enough to _have_ a border with _North_ Dakota."

Alipang thought back to the days when people could drive where they wanted to. "Sounds as if you're saying the new perimeter follows the course of Interstate 94."

"It does, only the highway is being kept _outside_ the fence, till it reaches the point where it turns to the southeast. The city of Billings, Montana, will also be outside. There won't be much need for in-Enclave ground traffic from North Dakota Sector into Yellowstone Sector; most surface movement into and out of Yellowstone Sector will come from and return to Wyoming Sector. I suppose they'll add a few secret gates in the new Montana perimeter, as they presumably already had in the old perimeter. But that won't affect us. Anyway, shaping the boundary this way means shaping the _airspace_ of the Enclave, so that planes can fly straight between those two sectors without leaving the Enclave. The _land_ over that way, I mean east of where the actual Yellowstone Park is, will be used for logging and farming where possible."

"That's where the Crow Reservation and the Northern Cheyenne Reservation are, isn't it? Are those tribes staying there to do that logging and farming?"

"I think the reservations will still exist, maybe downsized some; probably split half-and-half as to how many stay and how many move out. One of the geothermal-development managers told me that since the Crow and Cheyenne weren't considered subversive, it should be possible to arrange a biometric-identification system to allow certified members of the tribes to go in and out at will once the new fence is up."

Everyone had been treating Gerbil courteously, so now he found the boldness to contribute to the discussion. "I heard something in the Self-Esteem Center before I came to the Enclave, while it was being decided what prisoners would be relocated where. They were saying that part of the Cheyenne territory, someplace with buildings, would be used as a processing center for new laborers destined for the geothermal-plant work. Not sure what-all _kind_ of processing."

Bill turned in his seat to face the ex-convict. "What you heard must be connected with something else I've heard. I got to meet a physician out of North Dakota Sector being assigned to the Yellowstone project: a woman named Onita Paniagua, she's worked with Ursula Jamison. Onita specializes in gastroenterology, only exile gastroenterologist in the Enclave if I'm not mistaken, with cross-training as a dietician. And going by hints I've heard, she may be doing the medical screening at the processing center you mentioned."

"Je prie votre pardon," interjected the Rocheforts' son Gustave, "but is there a reason why you're telling him that physician's specialty?"

"There is," Bill replied, while holding up a piece of cornbread in front of the boy's eyes. "Corn is the reason. Only, not this excellent Nebraska Sector corn we're eating in the form of cornbread. I hear that large numbers of the inmates at the concentration camps were fed corn as a main staple of their diet; but the corn _they_ got was a surplus supply of genetically-modified corn which had been mutated for the purpose of making ethanol fuels."

"That would mean more corn sugar in it, and less protein," observed Alipang.

"Virtually NO protein," Bill amended. "The stuff was nearly worthless as food for people or animals, but they fed it to those prisoners. Which means that the processing center for the Yellowstone workforce may see _hundreds_ of malnutrition cases, and that'll be the ones _least_ affected by their empty-calories diet."

"Will there be any effort made to restore those poor unfortunates to health before expecting them to construct power stations?" asked Lois Reinhart, clearly feeling sorry for those prisoners regardless of whether they had committed any crimes.

"I would think so," said Alipang. "Reminds me of a line in an old Biblical movie: Cities are made of bricks. The strong make many; the starving make few. The dead make none."

Raoul nodded; he also had once seen Charlton Heston as Moses. "Surely they'll do _something_ to make the incoming workers more able to work."

Alipang suddenly brightened. "Say, maybe they'll assign Evan Rand there. You know, rehab. Then he'd be sure of having the employment he was trained for."

From that point, the supper conversation wound down into more casual subjects. Only when Lydia and the other young females had cleared away the last of the dishes did Lorraine announce, "Now for Mr. North's little surprise," and open the envelope.

 
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The spirit of Wilson Kramer, seeing and hearing all that was happening in and around the Rochefort house, prayed: "God, please let them figure it out."

"Amen," added Quinn Kramer. "And give my brother peace in his heart."

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

"Dear Lorraine,

"It is well known that you and those dear to you subscribe to the idea that your version of the Universal Spirit manages events for your good. If a speculative Deity can be credited with such attentiveness and foresight, surely the earthly leadership structure which embraces every vision of the Ultimate can be relied on to be that way also. Did we not remove Nash Dockerty when he abused his office? And now, we are doing what we can do to make amends for a tragedy which was never intended by us, but which happened because we underestimated the residual strength of the reactionary elements.

"In the tense early months of 2021, the Party was bravely standing against the racist corporate reactionary forces. The urgency of taking America back was so great, that it must sadly be admitted that some individuals could not be rescued from unexpected moments of primitive backlash.

"You will recall that your domestic partner Wilson Kramer, and your first bioproduct Quinn, were detained for questioning in connection with their disproportionate response to citizen volunteers who had entered your residential unit. They should, like many other detainees, have soon been allowed to return to you, once their erroneous perceptions of social justice had been corrected. But they completed their lives in the Self-Esteem Center to which they were assigned. Only lately have the details of this tragedy come to light; and since they have come to light, you and those with you are being granted the privilege of confronting the truth in a particularly tangible form.

"During an unrestrained-movement period, six inmates, who have now been unmasked as deep-cover agents of the fascist business corporations, laid a trap for Citizens Wilson and Quinn Kramer. Five of these pretended to be beating the sixth to death, while the sixth man screamed for help. The guards had been bribed by capitalist infiltrators to allow the simulated assault to continue, in order to lure Wilson Kramer into intervening. The six men performing the deception required no bribing; their crude right-wing hatred for all entities of government extended to their target, since he was a military veteran.

"Wilson Kramer told his bioproduct to stay back, then attacked the five seeming assailants. It was all they could do, even having expected his onslaught, to protect themselves from suffering major injuries; but they achieved their aim of putting him off guard where the sixth man was concerned. This man, who had seemed already disabled, suddenly jumped up and pulled a concealed knife, which he plunged into--"

Lorraine's listeners no longer included Annette and little Ondine, the former having hurried out of the dining room with the latter as soon as she heard the "some individuals could not be rescued" part, so that Ondine would not hear anything grim. Alipang, meanwhile, had scarcely been looking at Lorraine while she read, but mostly at Ransom, and then at Gerbil. A suspicion had started growing in Alipang as of the fourth sentence; and once the note's description of the prison ambush began, he saw that Gerbil had progressed from his usual timidity to outright fear. By the time it was said that Wilson Kramer had been put off guard, Gerbil --seemingly unnoticed by anyone but Alipang -- was unconsciously uttering a faint whine of despair and helpless terror.

When Lorraine, her own voice cracking with grief as she found herself narrating her first love's death, was thus in the midst of reporting the horrid moment of betrayal... Alipang leaped up from his chair and flung himself toward the mournful woman, whose face and head he touched with fingers that were as gentle as his movement otherwise had been furious.

"Aunt Lorraine, wait! Don't say any more! Wait! Something's going on. Everyone, listen to me! If you ever trusted me, trust me now! Don't say or do anything till I'm out of the room!"

Fast as his movement to Lorraine's side had been, his movement to reach the trembling ex-convict was even swifter. Grasping Gerbil firmly but not violently, Alipang lifted him upright. "Gerbil! I won't harm you, but you must also trust me. We both have to get outdoors at once! You others, read the rest when I'm out the door -- but remember what Our Lord said from the Cross about His own slayers!"

Gerbil was now sobbing with terror, incoherently begging for his life. Alipang practically carried him outside, saying to him, "I know! I know why they were brought here -- but I promise you, I will neither kill you myself, nor let you be killed if I can prevent it. This way, now; I need to be clear of trees, to be where the satellites can see us!"
 
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When he made mention of being seen by satellites, Alipang spoke aloud in the _expectation_ of being heard by some form of sound pickup. What he _didn't_ say aloud was that he was not hauling Gerbil to the _very_ nearest place outside the Rochefort house that had a good clear overhead view. For the nearest such open space was also on that side of the house where the exterior wall was nearest to the dining room within. If the Pinkshirts _were_ using penetrative thermal imaging, as he felt sure they were, and given that they _could_ potentially watch from any of several spots, he guessed that they would (all other things being equal) prefer to be situated on that side of the house where they would have the _least_ amount of solid substance between their sensors and the people in the dining room, for the best image quality.

So Alipang took a different course once he was out the door. Still with Gerbil in tow, he rounded the house to what he believed would be the side _away_ from Fidel North's team; then he dashed into the back yard of the property behind the Rocheforts. The scarcity of home fences in the Enclave was due to the regime's dislike of privacy for the proletariat, but now it helped Alipang's purpose. On the street behind the street where the Rocheforts lived, he hustled Gerbil half a block farther away; then, in the middle of a street without automobiles, he halted and looked straight up, waving.

"Hello again, monitor operators! Your Party's written a new play for us to act in, but we're ad-libbing! Come on, use that light-enhancement and read my lips; I'll talk slowly for you. Are you with me? If not, I trust your automatic recordings are. I might have to move a bit farther south, however; I hear some noise from the stage I was _supposed_ to stay on." Dragging Gerbil down the block and around a corner, he resumed:

"In case you individual underlings don't know this, the man with me is the murderer of two dear friends of mine. His name is Jerry Sunderberg. He's been given the clockwork-orange treatment, so he _can't_ defend himself. (Wave to the nice people, Jerry!) Someone, allegedly Carlos Anselmo, arranged for me and others to find out what Jerry did, in order to see if we would forgive him like true Christians." Another break now for further evasive action...

"The setup was meant to put us in a lose-lose dilemma. If we killed or hurt Jerry, then your friends would say we were hypocrites and haters. But if we _forgave_ him, they would just say that we did so because we feared being punished if we hurt him; so they would _still_ call us hypocrites. I'm afraid, though, that if Campaign Against Hate is running this show, they'll want to weight the scales on the side of _more_ blame for us. Jerry, I hope I'm wrong, but you may have a termination device planted in your body, to _make_ you drop dead, so we _could_ be accused of killing you. So I'm going to stand back from you. Monitor people, are you watching? I'm stepping away from Jerry, and at the moment he's still breathing. No way am *I* doing anything to kill him, and the others back in the house can hardly be killing him, can they? Gerbil, how do you feel?"

"I'm scared," Jerry alias Gerbil whimpered. "Please, I swear, they said they'd kill my family if I _didn't_ help to kill that man and his son..."

"You might be telling the truth," Alipang conceded. "But even if you _loved_ murdering my friends, I can feel sorry for you now. Excuse me while I continue;" and he looked up into the sky again. "After the turnover when your Chief Justice got fired, it was no longer any secret to us inside the fence that you guys have internal rivalries just like the old Soviet Union. So maybe not _everybody_ in the Party likes having your technical resources wasted on pulling our chains, just when we exiles are _more_ valued as a workforce because Yellowstone's being developed for energy. Be that as it may, there's no way I'm letting any of you pin Jerry's death on my family or friends, if in fact he does fall down dead."

"I don't want to die!" Gerbil yelped.

"I don't want you to die either, you poor thing. If you _don't_ die in the next few minutes, that _probably_ will mean you don't have a destruct implant. Give it a minute, now..."

Gerbil still was breathing when Philippe, one of the Rochefort sons, came running up. "Doctor Havens? Are you all right?"

"You don't _sound_ as if you just came from seeing the others getting arrested, so I suppose I'm all right. Have Pinkshirts or anybody even _come_ back to the house?"

"No, sir, it's all quiet, except some of us heard what might be a motor vehicle driving away. When you ran outside, Ransom told us you must have decided we were being watched; he's told us before now about how his father used to talk about surveillance and tailing. Did anything happen out here?"

"I just had a talk with either Diversity States personnel monitoring the satellite channels the Chinese let them use, or some actual Chinese watchers. I'm convinced that the Party, someone in the Party anyway, wished for us to kill Gerbil or beat him up, so they could say that we never meant anything we said about Christian forgiveness."

"Ransom thinks the same, and Lydia and her mother agree."

"Please don't kill me," Gerbil pleaded, as if he hadn't heard Alipang's previous assurances.

Alipang stepped up to him and patted him on the shoulder. "Gerbil, if I'd been _there_ at the time of the murder, I would have been happy to kill you to _prevent_ Wilson and Quinn Kramer from dying. Under more normal circumstances, I would have been plenty indignant if you didn't have to bear _some_ kind of penalty for what you did. But the rulers must not have realized that by conditioning you, they made it _easier_ for us to forgive you, because now you're a victim yourself." Now Alipang faced Philippe again. "I'm not going to have to stop Ransom from attacking Gerbil if we go back to the house, am I?"

"I think not, sir. Nor Lorraine."

"How is Lorraine taking it?"

"Very hard. She can't help feeling the grief of her loss again; but that must make Monsieur Shao feel inferior."

"I think Bill Shao's a bigger man than to turn jealous in these circumstances. But we should get back to the house. Come on, Gerbil, you have my word for your safety already. Perhaps we'll have you sleep at my house tonight."
 
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"Couldn't we just go there now?" Gerbil begged. "And I can ask for a different assignment..."

Alipang surprised himself. Kim had hugged this man _before_ his crime was revealed; now, _knowing_ Gerbil's guilt, Alipang also hugged him nonetheless. "Listen, Jerry Sunderberg. Much of your free will has been stolen from you by reprogramming; but _here_ is an opportunity for you to do something which will really be _your_ action. With society being what it is, this may be completely new to you; it's called facing responsibility."

Gerbil trembled afresh. "Then you ARE going to punish me!"

Alipang patted the criminal's back as he might pat a child. "You don't understand. Maybe in all your life before now, you never _wanted_ to understand; but you _still_ have an opportunity now. I'm not talking about punishment. There would be some degree of earthly penalty for you if we had a sane civilization, but a much _worse_ penalty for those who put you up to killing the Kramers. As it is, we can skip straight to the part that matters most: salvaging your soul."

"But, but, my feet are all right...."

This took Alipang by surprise, but Philippe stepped in with a reply: "Monsieur Sunderberg, Alipang does not mean the ess-oh-ell-ee-ess on your feet. He means your ess-oh-you-ell, as in your mind and spirit."

"That, I, well, uh, but, um, you see, I'm sorry, but.... they tell me I'm not supposed to follow, you know, superstitions."

Alipang stepped clear, giving Gerbil one more kindly pat as he did so. "No doubt the Pinkshirts told you that following 'superstitions' is the cause of hate. But you _didn't_ hate Wilson and Quinn when you killed them, did you?"

"No, honest, I didn't. I was forced to do it!"

"Which proves that there can be _other_ motives for evil deeds besides hate. The Campaign Against Hate has _always_ obscured this truth; but we're going to _tell_ you the truth. So listen. What we loosely call 'the soul' -- and men have long tried to understand its nature and its outlines -- is more than biochemistry and appetites. It exists in each of us, and makes us able to think _outside_ the little circle of our own self-interest. My own soul, or spirit -- time enough later for you to learn hair-splitting distinctions -- is prompting me right now to forgive you. And the fact that I _have_ such a thing, and that other human beings also do, is a sign that we are not _only_ biological units in a meaningless universe. We are the creations of a personal God, Who is decidedly not a superstition."

"Doctor Havens, can we go back to the house now?" interjected Philippe. "Madame Havens seemed to understand why you ran outside with Gerbil, but she will want you back beside her to face whatever comes next."

"You're right, Philippe, we'll go back. Gerbil, one thing I'm sure you DO already know, is that the government has NO qualms about murdering any of us at any time, if our death serves the convenience of the rulers. But although they can kill our bodies, they _can't_ kill our humanity if we don't let them. Kim can think of her love for me _even_ when it's possible that my refusal to play the expected game could bring trouble on us. Not that I _think_ it will; I do have a certain prestige by now; but that can always change. Anyway, Kim and I are not just two animals that mated; we are _spiritual_ beings who love each other. That's part of what I hope to make you understand..."

Alipang continued witnessing for his Lord as they coaxed Gerbil back toward the Rochefort house. The first additional person from that house to meet them was Lorraine. She came alone; and though there was nothing like anger on her handsome face, Gerbil shrank from her as if she were an avenging executioner.

"Don't be afraid of me, Jerry Sunderberg," she said hoarsely. "I can guess what Al has been talking about, and I approve of whatever he told you. Something Al _won't_ have told you, because he's a gentleman, is this: years ago, I _also_ did a great wrong to the same two men you later murdered. What I did was to _abandon_ them for the sake of my own pleasure and fun. But I was forgiven, and the wrong was set right. In your case, what you did can't be undone; but you still can be forgiven. I forgive you right now. It's my human weakness that I won't be able to bear looking at you for long; but I really do want you to be saved. Your being saved, _will_ be the destruction of the evil in you. I leave you to others now, but I leave you with my wishes for your eternal well-being." She turned then, gesturing toward the man who was now visible at a little distance. "Bill! Thank you for being so understanding! Let's go now; Sylvia will let us stay over with her tonight."

And as if she had done all she could, Lorraine ran to her living husband's arms without looking at Gerbil again.

Alipang led the ex-convict onward. Next, they were met by Ransom.

"Gerbil, you don't realize how blessed you are to have Alipang with you. In the absence of my father, Alipang did more than any other one person to direct me on the path of Christ. I want to stay close and listen while he continues telling you the gospel, because I _know_ he must have been doing that. If I keep quiet, it'll be because I'm not as eloquent a talker as Alipang is; but understand that I forgive you, just like my mother."

After talking briefly with Kim and the Rocheforts, Alipang and Ransom sat out in front with Gerbil for a long time. Alipang explained, as far as mortals could ever explain it, the Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ, and His actions for the salvation of sinners. Alipang wanted this to occur outdoors, not so much for Gerbil's ease as in order that any police officers who showed up would be encouraged to focus their attentions on Alipang.

But no one did show up to arrest him, least of all Fidel North.

 
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In case anyone wonders what I've been doing lately (besides trying to help the straight-faced Narnian roleplay to continue, and attending real-world Easter-week events at several churches), I have been writing my _expanded_ scenes for the _original_ Alipang Havens novel. The end product will be maybe ten percent longer than the original, including more back-story about Alipang's Filipino origins, and (as somebody requested) more scenes with Eric and Cecilia. I will try to get this expanded version published for sale on Kindle.
 
Friday the 13th was a _good_ day for me; my income tax debt proved to be _less_ than last year's. The check's been sent in by now. Between that being taken care of, and my _not_ having a RenFest anymore to prepare for, I should soon be able to write more of The Possible Future of Alipang Havens.

In the hope of getting some people interested in _paying_ for a Kindle copy of the expanded original novel, allow me to mention that it will contain more scenes involving Eric, Cecilia, Melody and Harmony, along with something near the end which sets the reader up for the sequel.
 
Chapter 109: Life Support, in Various Forms


Victoria Tabor, the young Mormon woman in South Dakota Sector, had been flattered but surprised when the recently-married Forest Ranger, Dana Pickering Terrell, approached her about joining the exile-intake rehabilitation team lately organized for the new Yellowstone Sector. "As it happens," Dana had told her, "among all of our internal exiles who have professional healthcare backgrounds, _none_ of them is officially a dietician or nutritional specialist. Yet malnutrition is the foremost health problem among the people being transferred to us from prisons and labor camps. One doctor named Onita Paniagua, from North Dakota Sector, does have reasonable nutritional knowledge; but she can't be everyplace. The Agriculture Undersecretary brought up at a triumvirate session the fact that many exiles have extensive knowledge of dietary health from independent experience; and you Mormons are said to have such knowledge. It's a paid job, and I'm told you would be working under the supervision of a physician who's at least acquainted with holistic medicine and organic foods, a new lady brought in to supplement Dr. Paniagua's efforts."

"Sounds promising," Victoria had replied. "Would there by any chance be any Grange volunteers going up to Yellowstone for this?"

"Not that I know of -- although, as the Grange Association sets up operations in the new sector, members _there_ might play some part in the rehab work, if only by providing fresh meat for the patients to eat, if the patients can still digest it after years of mandatory veganism. But as for that, it was a Grange man who _recommended_ you for this job. I think you know him: Porter Hennepin."

This had been enough to induce Victoria to take Porter's hint, swallow regrets, and accept the employment opportunity up in Yellowstone. Thus it was that she now sat on board the fair-sized twin-engined airplane leaving Rapid City, sharing space with seven other newly-hired nutritionists, and a shipment of canisters of some kind of protein powder, intended of course to combat protein deficiency.

Resigned though she was to never catching Mr. Hennepin, Victoria was by no means out of the market -- not when her theology, which some Latter-Day Saints had repudiated but which her family retained, offered her the hope of becoming a goddess who would give birth to new gods. The awareness of Dana having found a good husband was a further motivation for her not to give up. There was no time like the present to start over; so Victoria had contrived to sit as close as possible to the two male pilots flying the plane. Both were from the Texas Rangers Aviation Detachment. Once getting a good look at them, she had noticed that Uriel Morales wore a wedding ring; but the Native American-looking one, David Swimmer, did not. Thus, Victoria struck up a conversation with this one as soon as was possible without seeming ridiculously aggressive.

"Ranger Swimmer, is your last name a revision of something else? A Native American name?"

"Yes, miss, I'm a Cherokee. My Cherokee family name translates as 'Swims In Flood;' one of my ancestors survived a flash flood when he was eight years old. But 'Swimmer' fits easier on a nametag. And you would be Victoria Tabor, wouldn't you? Not hard to figure, since you were the only _young_ woman on the passenger manifest."

"Yes, I'm Victoria. And if you know that much, no doubt you also know that I'm with the Latter-Day Saints, and that we take an interest in American Indian history. My family got hustled into the Enclave pretty early in its existence, and since then we hardly ever hear anything about the indigenous peoples _outside_ the fence. Tell me, has the Cherokee Nation changed much since the Fairness Revolution?"

"Very little change, actually -- apart from the closing down of all churches that existed there. Conditions are no worse materially there than elsewhere; and Cherokees, like many native peoples, are given favorable consideration for Party membership. That goes for the Cheyenne people too. I assume you were informed that the new inprocessing operation is located on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation?"

"Yes, I was told."

Uriel Morales now made his only contribution to this discussion. "That choice of place wasn't really _about_ the Cheyennes, one way or another. Just that they themselves don't feel as much need anymore to stay there, and it's a place with usable buildings, in a Montana countryside which never did have a great many buildings."

"And at least one of the forced-labor camps was IN Montana anyway," Dave added; "not far outside what is now the new Enclave perimeter. So it made a short hop to bring them in there: by ground transport, I'm told, before the new perimeter was sealed off."

Victoria wanted to ask whether ANY permanent openings for ground traffic existed in the Enclave perimeter; but even though the Texas Rangers were said to be the _least_ pro-government police officers in the Diversity States, she still was afraid to be heard asking that question. Instead, she asked, "Is there some reason why law-enforcement personnel are flying us up there? I would have expected the flight to be provided by either Agriculture or Distribution."

"That was a logical expectation," Dave replied. "But there is a police-type justification for Uriel and me making the trip. Lieutenant Vasquez is detailing us to _stay_ up in Yellowstone for two months minimum, where we'll assist the small contingents of other police bodies which have been assigned for the new sector. _Counting_ the two of us, there'll only BE eighteen police officers of any type whatsoever in all of Yellowstone Sector, for the foreseeable future. Well, that isn't counting Grange volunteers, we'll have some of those."

Victoria didn't remark on the short-handedness of the law in the new sector. Like all exiles, she knew that they were always watched by technological means; and like many exiles, she also knew that any dangerous criminals among the newest arrivals were supposed to have been mentally conditioned against violence. The authorities must be confident that no larger law-enforcement manning was needed.

And just ONE man would be enough for me, she mused. If this Ranger Swimmer's going to be around for awhile, I'll have to see if I can get him interested. If nothing else, I have this going for me: the majority of Texas Rangers are said to _dislike_ the loose morals that are commonplace in America now. And I can demonstrate that I'm the genuine article in clean living, looking for _marriage_ rather than empty hookups.
 
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The Saint Labre Catholic Indian School on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation still stood; only, it no longer had any Catholics. At the founding of the Western Enclave, the Indoctrination Department had persuaded the Party Presidium to remove all the Catholic personnel from there, along with all Cheyenne students who had a strong profession of Catholic belief. The students had been placed in Tolerance Houses, in order to learn conformity to the collective -- with Pinkshirts harping on how perfectly the Party's collectivism fitted with Native American communal traditions. The adult Catholics had been divided into those who held fast their beliefs, and those who were prepared to buy into the Oneness faith. All of the former had gone to the forced-labor camps being set up at that time, except for a few elderly individuals who were simply terminated; the latter were enlisted to help run the new Oneness Temples.

The buildings and infrastructure of the historic reservation school remained.... but the Campaign Against Hate, before its loss of status, had made sure as far as possible to destroy all records of the fact that the school and its humanitarian efforts had come into being because of A WHITE SOLDIER who felt compassion for the plight of the defeated and impoverished Cheyenne people. (The Fairness Party required that ALL white soldiers of nineteenth-century America _must_ be demons and fiends.) School buildings had now been transformed into a sort of sanatorium for concentration-camp survivors (and a few Self-Esteem Center inmates like Jerry Sunderberg) arriving in the Enclave.

Onita Paniagua had initially been the physician in charge here; but her gastroenterology specialty had soon caused her to be relocated to the actual geothermal-plant construction area, because a number of the new laborers there turned out to have digestive-tract ailments which had not been detected at first. Taking over at the Cheyenne Reservation facility was Felicia Robles, the first new medical doctor to be exiled in this calendar year, and the _only_ exile yet settled here who had the specialty of nephrology. Every sector of the Enclave had at least one citizen who needed help with kidney trouble; but none of them would have the chance to see Doctor Robles for some time yet, because with so few doctors of _any_ kind inside the fence, the triumvirate had assigned her to head the medical screening of the new Enclave residents here in what had been Montana. Working with her at present were three other women and one man. The man, exiled therapist Evan Rand, was responsible for helping patients regain proper use of their muscles and limbs. One of the women, an elderly Cheyenne widow named Sarah Highbranch, had been a nurse practicioner on the Cheyenne Reservation, and had now been called back to her old career. The other two women had their own history of dealings with Indians; they were Freda Weckerling and Myra Brooks, the physician's assistants who, as Pinkshirts, had been accomplices in the unlawful confinement of the Apache huntsman Henry Spafford.

"Freda, you were just in the communications room, weren't you?" the physician asked. "Did you hear how soon the plane with our nutritionists and the protein supplements is due?"

"Rusty says their E.T.A. is in forty-five minutes." Freda was referring to a young man from the Energy Department, who was technically an employee at the geothermal-plant construction site, but who had been temporarily detailed to assist the Saint Labre team with communications and electrical work.

"And what about that airship coming in with more convicts?"

"He heard that they've got favorable winds, and expect to land right outside our door in six or seven minutes."

"Then we'll have our hands full before the reinforcements get here. All right, Myra, you prepare to meet the Rangers' plane at the airstrip when it lands. Choose two or three of our healthiest and best-behaved patients to help unload the supplies; canisters of powder shouldn't be too heavy for them to manage. Sarah, Freda, Evan, you're with me; I don't know how badly off the latest patients will be, so round up the available wheelchairs."

Presently, they beheld the approach of a dirigible much larger than the one lighter-than-air flying craft stationed full-time inside the Enclave. It descended as close as it safely could to the building used as a reception point. Four crewmembers, aided by machinery made for the purpose, sank temporary anchoring stakes in the ground, to which they tethered their airship. Then three Transport Police officers escorted the docile prisoners emerging from the spacious gondola. There were two men already provided with crutches; but only one person proved to need a wheelchair. This was a frail old woman who looked ninety if she was a day, being carried out by two male prisoners. The very sight of her stunned Evan in particular... causing him to recall the _reason_ why such elderly persons were seldom seen in the Diversity States now.

Most of them, except for individuals with elite status, had long since been euthanized.

Evan hurried to receive the old woman in a wheelchair. To the men who had carried her, he said, "Welcome to the Yellowstone Sector, friends! I can guess what you've been through, because I've met others like you already. But here, as long as you keep your noses clean, you'll find life a thousand percent better than in those camps!"

"Escaping Hell to reach Purgatory isn't bad," wheezed the woman. "Thank you, boys, for carrying me out; and thank you, young man, for the chariot. But let me have a look.... Why, praise the Blessed Virgin! The school still stands!"

"I send my praises higher up, ma'am, direct line with no relays needed," remarked Evan as he began wheeling her to the reception building. "But am I to take it that you used to _work_ here?"

"Sure did, son! I was a nun, right up until they tore off my habit. Still a nun at heart. I'm Sister Arabella Whitman; used to teach math here."

"Then welcome back, Sister. You probably haven't heard yet, but the government's talking about restoring something like normal education within the Enclave. If that includes reactivating Saint Labre as a school, I bet you'll be an unopposed candidate for Principal!"
 
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Sister Arabella, and the two men who had carried her, were almost the only persons in the new group to show any sign of initiative and independent thinking. Doctor Robles had it confirmed for her by one of the Transport Police that the majority of these latest passengers were violent criminals, not prisoners of conscience. "But not to worry," he assured her, "they've had the clockwork-orange treatment."

"Thank you, but what about the treatment they _will_ need?" She had not spoken with this particular officer before, so she reiterated the basic situation. "We're getting scores of malnourishment cases here, and the Marshals' Service has not been forthcoming with data about their previous living conditions. Do you have any way of knowing what _food_ they received in their camp? Many of our patients turn out to have been fed for months or years on mostly two items: genetically-modified corn which was nearly all sugar, and genetically-modified soy which was nearly all oil. The one was mutated to make more ethanol, the other for soy-based biodiesel. But a human body is neither an internal-combustion motor, nor a diesel motor."

"Doctor, I honestly don't know if they were eating G.M.O. foods; but I wouldn't be surprised. The Agriculture Department had a lot of that stuff to unload, what with it losing popularity worldwide. But I thought that the sluggishness of these citizens was just from the mental programming. Physically, some of them actually appear fat!"

"Officer, have you ever heard of Kwashiorkor's Disease?"

"Maybe; isn't that a mental disorder?"

"Only insofar as it upsets my mind. It's a ruthlessly simple protein deficiency, which causes the belly to swell up. The victims aren't fat; it's more like sagging before a collapse. Kwashiorkor's used to be seen chiefly in Third World countries; but of course, we're a Third World country now."

Sarah Highbranch, meanwhile, had the inspiration to question Sister Arabella about the general medical condition of the new group. The old nun was able to confirm the use of G.M.O.'s in the diet at their former place of confinement; and the effect of this miserable diet was attested by the revelation that Arabella, who looked ninety, was really not yet even seventy.

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

The eagerly-awaited Texas Ranger plane landed on the rough airstrip which had been cleared as close to the school campus as was feasible. Dave and Uriel had already known that nothing motorized, nor even horse-drawn, would currently be available to transfer their nutrient cargo the short distance from their parked plane to where it would be kept for use; so they had brought several hand dollies along. Ambulatory patients who had come out with Myra Brooks used these to carry loads of a weight they could handle; the two Texans also carried a few canisters by hand. Victoria Tabor emulated them, carrying one canister with each arm; and Myra Brooks emulated Victoria.

As Victoria had done, Myra took note of Ranger Morales being a married man. Then she took note of the fact that the blonde woman and the Native American man, if not outright together, were at least prone to converse with each other. Myra fell into a legitimate work-related conversation with Uriel Morales, while still surreptitiously observing David and Victoria. Those two both were attractive persons, and both seemed as if they might be worth getting to know. So Myra had a private decision to make: not something she would permit to impair her job performance, since she still was living down the disgrace she and Freda had suffered as Pinkshirts, but nonetheless a matter of interest to herself.

The question was: should she try to divert David's attention from Victoria, or divert Victoria's attention from David?
 
Meanwhile, back in Rapid City....

Josiah Redfern had never gambled for any significant amount of money; but he had learned poker in the Army, playing only for penny stakes or joke bets. Having discovered that Miguel De Soto knew the game in all its variants, Josiah obtained playing cards during a break from the sonic therapy. Then he persuaded Brendan to join him, Tilly and Miguel in a four-handed game, just to give the patient something to relieve boredom. Daffodil and Wilson scrounged bottle caps and used EKG electrodes to serve as chips, then hovered to watch the game.

Also looking on was Matti Siermaala, who wisecracked, "Josiah, this doesn't look fair. Tilly and Miguel might start playing as a team; and you've got a son here to pass you signals. Brendan's likely to get cleaned out."

With mock solemnity, Josiah replied, "Very well, to preserve good order, we'll make Brendan the dealer. Brendan, you can shuffle AND make your own cut. I do have one suggestion: in honor of your past injury in Afghanistan, I propose that we make one-eyed jacks wild."

Brendan, whose history with card games was similar to Josiah's, made an endless production out of shuffling the deck. As this went on, and then during the dealing, Professor Siermaala spoke more seriously to the De Sotos:

"Miguel, Tilly-- as you know, by now we have destroyed, by our best estimate, thirty-one percent of all cancer cells in your body. Miguel has confirmed that he _feels_ less of the physical pressure inside from the cancerous masses. Additional good news is that his normal tissues are absorbing nutrients well-- and, _very_ importantly, new cancer cells _aren't_ metastasizing back into the cleared areas at anything like a rate which would offset our gains. What's more, our friends in India, as a goodwill gesture to the D.S.A., have transferred to the Trevette administration enough money to cover our _whole_ expenditure of electrical power so far, _plus_ our probable future power use through the completion of Miguel's treatment."

Tilly told him, "I know Miguel wants to ask you if there's any BAD news."

"Not bad news; at worst, cautionary news. When we first began to search Miguel's body for new growth of the carcinoma, the comeback rate was only about one new cancer cell for every fifty destroyed. As of half an hour ago -- that's what I was discussing with the Chief of Internal Medicine -- the replacement rate is estimated at one new cancer cell for every forty-six destroyed. Still good, but _less_ good."

Miguel mouthed something to Tilly, who understood and relayed her husband's question: "Could that be because you've come to difficult areas, where you can't kill cancer cells as quickly as at first, because you need to be more careful to avoid killing good cells?"

"No, our kill rate has remained consistent enough to rule out variations large enough to account for that change in proportion of new metastasis."

Miguel gestured for a pause while he studied his hand. Brendan (who had not been at Matti's latest strategy conference with the hospital management) then addressed the Professor: "We've told the De Sotos that, in view of the exhaustion Miguel suffers from even perfectly successful therapy, we might give him a break when we've reached fifty percent killoff on the cancer. Let him rest at home for a week or more before bringing him back here to continue. Is your point now that the off-time could cause us to lose too much ground inside his body? That we need to take our chances continuing the therapy, so as to increase our lead against the disease?"

"In substance, yes," Matti sighed. Miguel nodded, but gestured that he wanted to get an actual poker hand _played_ before talking further about his treatment. They played two hands, as it developed; and Miguel lost both times. Then he took paper and pencil, and wrote a note for the Professor to read. It said: Unlucky at cards, lucky in love, they say. For me, lucky in love means I get to stay with Tilly longer before Jesus calls me home. So I take this card game to mean that I can endure a longer time of continuous treatment.

Once Tilly heard Matti reading this out loud, she objected: "See here, I believe in signs from God, but I can't see a _poker_ game deciding this by itself! No offense, Professor Siermaala, but I want to discuss the choice with the physician staff before this treatment series is made longer OR shorter than you originally projected!"

"Should be no problem," said Brendan. "It isn't five o'clock yet, so they should still be in their offices."

Miguel wrote another note; this time, his wife was the first one to see it. I feel confident, whatever others judge best. I'll trust your judgment after you consult physicians. Let me rest now. Intravenous feeding means no sit-down meals, so no formalities. I'm confident but tired.

Josiah leaned over to pat the patient's shoulder. "All right, you rest. Professor, you and Brendan can take Tilly to meet with the staff in the offices. I'm going to allot a few minutes to send some encrypted text messages back to Uganda, to my family and to Ssetyabulleh Mawejje. Daffy, Wilson, let's all give Mr. De Soto some peace and quiet." Tilly kissed Miguel, after which everyone got up to leave the old journalist in peace. They walked along corridors to reach the desired elevators; Josiah, for his part, sought privacy by turning aside into a stairwell, where he went up half a flight of steps before sitting down with his dataphone.

Continuing with the others, Wilson Havens half-noticed an African-American man wearing hospital scrubs, appearing to look up something on a tablet computer. He felt no instinctive alarms from the sight at first; there were plenty of black persons working at Sioux San, just as they were also well represented in the Grange Association. But as Brendan, Tilly and Matti were boarding the elevator.... there was _something_ about that particular man. Unclear, unspecific, yet something.

"What're you doing?" asked Daffodil, as the younger boy stepped back from the elevator door.

Wilson felt silly to be having any misgivings; and yet....

"I just want, uh, to check on something. You folks go ahead." Brendan, Tilly and Matti, unaware of any cause for alarm, did go ahead and ride the elevator down, but Daffodil caught his friend's impulse and started back with him toward Miguel's room....

 
Part of the martial training Alipang Havens had provided for his firstborn was the discipline of paying attention to one's surroundings. On visits with Henry Spafford's family, Henry's father Jay had more than once reinforced this by giving all of the Havens children, alongside his own, exercises at honing their senses in prairie and woodland settings.

Now, hastening back to Miguel's room at a pace just short of running, with Daffodil trailing him, Wilson realized that when his group had left that room, no fewer than five hospital employees had been standing or sitting near the room, doing this or that. But now, no one was near the room. Also, the black man Wilson had seen while heading for the elevators was no longer in sight.

Wilson had heard the tales of how his father had used a picture-taking cellphone to incriminate wrongdoers in high school. Wilson of course was now barred from owning any such thing; but-- "Your phone, get it out, take pictures!" he barked to Daffodil. He had scarcely said this before he was in a position to see that the door to Miguel's room, open when they had left it, was closed now. Nothing wrong with that.... IF Wilson had not been feeling a dreadful premonition. And the premonition was reinforced when a part of his mind, considering the briefly-seen face of the black man with the tablet computer, plucked a matching image out of memory--

Overseer Second Class Kasim Rasulala, the man who had formerly made a habit of harassing the Havens family in Sussex.

All Overseers remaining inside the Enclave after Nash Dockerty's downfall had undergone changes in occupation; but as far as anyone in Wilson's family knew, Rasulala had never had any healthcare training to make him likely to be employed at a hospital....

"As we go in," Wilson hissed to the older boy, trusting Daffodil to need no more instruction than that. Short of stature and broad of shoulders, like his father, Wilson didn't have to stoop much to enable Daffodil to shoot a picture over his head as he opened the door.

Kasim Rasulala's back was to the dataphone in the first shot; but it could be seen that he was using quite a low-tech means of murdering Miguel De Soto, a pillow over the face. The pillow's ends were wrapped down around the victim's neck, for the gill implants were where suffocation had to take place for _this_ victim; but by also covering Miguel's face, Rasulala was muffling any attempt by the feeble old man to make a noise with vocal cords that might attract a rescue.

Having given Daffodil one half of one second to snap that first and especially incriminating photograph, and finding that half a second wasn't enough time for the former Overseer to detect a threat from the rear, Wilson sprang. Not directly onto the assassin's back; that was a kind of attack Rasulala probably was trained to react to, and besides, Wilson didn't want the man falling forward onto Miguel. So he leaped in a vector passing close to the assassin's left side, his feet landing on the hospital bed but not on its occupant. Simultaneously with the leap, Wilson did two other things: he coiled his right arm around Rasulala's left arm, and he added to the startlement effect by shouting, "LOCK CHECK!"

Before the final consonant sound of that outcry had left Wilson's mouth, he pushed with all the strength in his legs to do a reverse of his leap, dragging the black man's left arm with him. He weighed less than Rasulala, but with all his weight hanging on one arm of his enemy, Wilson threw him off balance. Daffodil took one more photo, then pocketed his dataphone, lest it be damaged and the evidence lost.

Kasim Rasulala brought his right fist around and smashed it into Wilson's face; the impact was a traumatic reminder to the young Escrimador that he still was only fourteen years old, and had not yet grown to the full measure of his father's strength. But he didn't black out, and he didn't entirely lose hold of the arm he had trapped.

Wilson could hear Daffodil shouting, "Staff! Security! Help!" No one seemed to be answering the call; or maybe it was only that in the disorientation of a hard head punch, a long time only _seemed_ to Wilson to be passing, when actually not enough time had passed for anyone to come before a second blow came at his solar plexus. Wilson was able to twist his torso enough so that there was only a glancing impact. A third blow landed on his collarbone; this one did make him lose hold of the assassin's arm and slump to the tiled floor.

But now Daffodil found the nerve, for the first time in his life, to attempt to _fight_ someone. His debut effort amounted to no more than clumsily trying to encumber the ex-Overseer with something like a bearhug. Stronger than he himself realized, the junior diplomat actually did succeed in pinioning Rasulala's arms for six crucial seconds. Then a head-butt to his nose broke both the nose and Daffodil's grip, freeing Rasulala to hurl the boy away from him.

The ex-Overseer looked for the first boy -- two seconds too late. In the time Daffodil had bought for him, Wilson had caught his breath -- and sighted a _cane_ lying on the windowsill. Yes, that was the cane Tilly had brought from Casper, anticipating her husband's efforts to resume walking after this bedridden time. Now the cane would have a different user, and a different use.

In his days as an Enclave Overseer, Kasim Rasulala had wanted to believe that Filipino Escrima was just a sport, with no fighting value. Now, however, with something like a hailstorm suddenly striking him all over, he was convinced otherwise. But any solemn reflections on the humbling experience would have to wait until he regained consciousness; thirteen blows of the cane, taking no more than seven seconds, put Rasulala decisively on the floor, with _his_ nose also fractured.

Able now to look at Miguel, Wilson realized, almost too late, that the patient was unconscious and gray-faced. Of course! The _pillowcase_ must have soaked up the water in his gills; he's _still_ suffocating! To think was to act; the boy snatched the bedside water pitcher, then more slowly and carefully trickled water into the gill slits. God, please make this work, let him live!

He had done what he could for Miguel's asphyxiation; something else had to be done. Pulling Daffodil to his feet, with no time even to remark on the taller boy's broken nose, he stage-whispered, "Room cameras! Had to be someone watching but not _doing_ anything! Don't trust the staff, move quickly, get your Dad or Brendan, tell them! I'll try to guard Mr. De Soto here!"

 
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The incident in Mr. De Soto's room had happened so quickly that Josiah, up in the stairwell, had not even had time to finish his texting before he heard shouting from the same corridor he had quitted. Putting away his phone, he descended to the stairway door, his right hand dropping to his holstered flechette pistol. He didn't draw it, but made sure that the safety was off, and that the dart-dispersal setting was minimum. If he had cause to shoot anyone, he wanted only his target to be hit.

As he re-emerged into the corridor, he nearly collided with two persons: his son, and a young black Sioux San staff nurse named Zamoria Carter, of whom he had formed a good impression while working on this floor. Zamoria was trying to restrain Daffodil, saying something about holding still and letting her look at -- the boy's broken, bleeding nose, to which she was trying to apply a gauze compress.

"What happened???" Josiah demanded, of either and both of them.

"Wilson Havens assaulted a man in Citizen De Soto's room," said Zamoria, "and now he's barricaded himself inside."

Daffodil gestured impatiently for her to be quiet, as he offered his own answer, less clearly enunciated but better informed: "Dat man try da kill Misher De Hoto! No one ess hehp!" This much said, he now accepted the compress for his nose.

Josiah instantly hated the tactical situation he had just walked into. Thinking as fast as he had thought when meeting hostiles in Iraq, he assessed his options. He could pretend he _didn't_ realize how serious a situation this was (with so few known friendlies inside the hospital), and _walk_ to the floor desk to ask what had happened. He could call for Brendan and Matti, while heading for Mr. De Soto's room. He could call _outside_ the hospital, to the Commerce Inspectors with whom his party seemed to be on good terms. Or he could _sprint_ to Miguel's room immediately, hauling his son _and_ the nurse with him, get Wilson to let him in there, and hold that position to ensure that both Miguel and Wilson, as well as Daffy, were safe until some form of help arrived.

The last option prevailed -- because Josiah, with Brendan, had assumed responsibility for Wilson Havens during that boy's extended stay away from home. Josiah didn't wish his first actual meeting with Dr. Havens to have to entail reporting that Wilson had come to harm. With one hand now resting on his gun-butt, he used the other hand to tow Daffodil back toward the special patient's room, counting on a nurse's duty to draw Zamoria after Daffodil. Seeing that she did indeed follow, Josiah said to her, "Please have Professor Siermaala and Mister Hyland paged to come up." If paging occurred, he would feel semi-sure that at least this nurse had no part in whatever treachery was afoot.

The black woman spoke into a wrist device, and the page did indeed sound out from the p.a. system. At the same time, Josiah was sweeping his gaze across all the employees within view. None seemed malicious; all seemed bewildered, and some afraid. His son managed to add: "We hink som'un wazzhin' securihy cammaz didden hehp!" Josiah's thoughts picked up from there: Would have been good to _catch_ that accomplice in the security-monitoring room. Now, whoever was covering for the killer will be trying to cover his own trail. But maybe we can still find out who was in there at the time. First things first.

"Wilson, it's Josiah! Let me in there with you!" The war veteran's words resulted in the dentist's son dragging away the pieces of furniture with which he had blocked the door. Followed by his two companions, Josiah entered the room, his eyes turning to Miguel De Soto. "Miguel! Can you hear me?"

The old newsman slowly nodded, pointing at Wilson and giving a thumbs-up. Wilson, for his part, explained: "This guy on the floor was choking Mr. De Soto by covering his gills; but Daffy and I stopped him."

"YOU stobb him," Daffodil corrected him.

"But you helped me," Wilson insisted. "Mr. Redfern, your son was terrific, jumped in just when I needed him. It took _both_ of us to stop this creep."

Zamoria, meanwhile, examined Miguel, who seemed to be out of danger. As she then turned back to Daffodil and resumed looking at his injury, Kasim Rasulala stirred where he lay, called back to consciousness by the increased noise. His face came into sight, and the nurse recognized him. "Kasim!"

"You know him?" asked Josiah. "Quick, tell me, does he _work_ here?"

"Him? No, he's the security guard for the government families' elementary school. Asked me out a couple of times. I don't know why he's -- Daffy, did you say Kasim tried to _kill_ Miguel?"

"Yesh, we _saw_ him doin' id. Godda phodo ob him."

Josiah gripped the tall boy's shoulder. "Good work, son, but sit down and keep still now, let Zamoria help you."

"Kasim Rasulala was an Overseer until the Campaign Against Hate had that setback that Daffy was part of," Wilson volunteered.

"I see." Keeping an eye on the door, Josiah crouched beside the man who had both hurt his son and menaced his patient; right now, it would not have taken much to induce Josiah to complete the demolition job that Wilson Havens had started on the scragger. "Ex-Overseer, are you? Then you had a license to kill; did you come in here because you missed having that privilege?"

Since Kasim had never seen what Josiah Redfern was capable of, he might have tried to fight Josiah under more favorable circumstances. As it was, he contented himself with growling, "You _________ white supremacist!"

"That's gutflak!" Zamoria suddenly snapped at the failed assassin. "You just tried to murder a man with _darker_ skin than yours, and you want to complain about _white_ people? Holy Entropy, am I ever glad that I never partnered YOU!"

Josiah gave the nurse an approving nod... then finally got around to drawing his sidearm. Placing the muzzle near Kasim's head, he asked, "Who sent you to kill my patient?" Kasim replied only with obscenities, calling Josiah's bluff. Or what he thought was a bluff. But being already dealt into this game, the erstwhile soldier was up to raising the stakes. Shifting his aim, he fired a shot into the muscle of Kasim's left calf. The ex-Overseer's shriek of pain was louder than the gunshot. Now much more babbling became audible from the corridor; but to his relief, Josiah could hear Brendan's voice cutting through the noise.

He tapped the gun muzzle against Kasim's buttock. "NOW -- who sent you to murder my patient?"

Gasping with fear and pain, Kasim Rasulala managed to reply: "Fidel North."

 
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Chapter 110: An Abundance of Skeletons

About an hour before the attempt on Miguel De Soto's life, Yang Sung-Kuo stepped off a train at the platform in Sussex. He was met by Peter Tomisaburo... who was greatly relieved when he learned that Yang had brought along a pair of secure-speech masks, like the ones Matti Siermaala's party possessed. But first, as camouflage, the two men allowed bystanders to hear them speaking of something ordinary:

"My son Victor has a new potential girlfriend, right out of the extended Havens family: Alipang's niece, who's named after Alipang's mother."

"Oh? How serious is it?"

Peter grinned. "As serious as a daylight bicycle ride. Cecilia Salisbury came into Sussex on the train just before yours. She and Victor are on their bicycle expedition right now; but that's all she promised him. She's staying at her uncle's house, of course. Her cousin Wilson has helped her to meet well-behaved Enclave boys."

Once the two men were alone in the basement of the Tomisaburo household, with the masks on their faces and the minimum-power transmitters activated, the spy hurried to give his news to the security officer:

"I know you've been kept informed on much of what's happening in Beijing; but my superiors tell me that you _won't_ have heard a couple of items which are being kept quiet. Although the nationwide sweep for Triad members is going very well, they're striking back as they go down. Mutated pathogens have been stolen from laboratories and released in several cities; the medical service acted fast enough to prevent a pandemic, but more than two thousand Chinese citizens died before they halted the spread.

"That accounts for the largest loss of life suffered in cleansing Greater China; but my other piece of classified news affects YOU more closely. Disease organisms weren't the only thing stolen; infiltrators have also stolen sixteen mini- and micro-drones. Because of this, the communication I received instructed me to warn you that one or more of these might be sent _here_ to assassinate you. Since the intelligence service has been able to slip drones in here to record my reports, enemies can also slip one in carrying a launcher with heart-attack darts. I am ordered, until further notice, to assume that ANY drone I see is one of the stolen ones."

Lieutenant-Colonel Yang showed no fear, but he was not ignorant of how a tiny drone could sneak past many forms of surveillance; and it didn't need to be large to be armed with poison darts. "Is Beijing alerting the Americans about this?" he asked.

"No, because they don't want the Indians making a stink in the United Nations about our having operated spy drones here. They say that since they don't _know_ you are targeted, putting you on alert will have to be enough. They say for you to start wearing the body armor you brought on the trip here, and to be ready to use the control-jamming function in your dataphone."

Yang faintly grunted. "I'm flattered that they have such confidence in my ability to protect myself; but have they taken any thought for my wife and daughters? Triad men wouldn't hesitate to murder _them_ as a means of revenge on me."

"They've thought about that," said Peter. "But based on all available intelligence, they still judge that you're safer here at present. After all, a hostile mini-drone could just as easily be sent against you _outside_ the Enclave as in it; and outside the Enclave, Triad men on the ground would have _more_ freedom to get at you. But I can offer you something on my own account. Since MY family is not anyone's chosen target... I want to give you something which might help you in some emergencies."

With that, Peter Tomisaburo gave his long-concealed micro-whip to Yang Sung-Kuo.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lieutenant-Colonel Yang had not seen as much of Alipang Havens as he would have liked, since he did have to do _some_ academic activity. He had conducted many meetings and interviews in Rapid City with persons likely to become part of the faculty and administration of the proposed Western Enclave Medical University, whose location would be an unused college campus there in the Enclave capital. Now that he _was_ back in Sussex, he did wish to see his fondly-remembered sparring partner. Such a visit would, furthermore, help to conceal the fact that speaking with Agent Tomisaburo had been his compelling reason to come over to Wyoming Sector.

First, he sent an encrypted text message to Tupsim. Besides giving her some idea of the danger she must watch out for, he also let her know about a particular channel she could access with her own dataphone, through which the Ministry of Internal Affairs _might_ choose to pass her any data it picked up on the whereabouts of the dangerous drones.

With this done, Yang found out how soon he could catch a train back to South Dakota Sector, and went to pass the intervening time at the Havens house. Besides the usual occupants, he found Alipang's brother-in-law Dan visiting, with Dan's daughters Cecilia and Irene, the former still being out on the bike trail with Victor Tomisaburo. Although secrets of a more serious nature were affecting him right now, the Chinese lawman allowed himself a mental smile at the realization that Dan Salisbury would never know (in this life) how he himself, an American movie star, had been the instrument by which Peter Tomisaburo had received his ability to see radio beams as if they were visible-spectrum light. Thanks to the nanobots which had hitched a ride in Dan's body, Peter had a means of receiving information which remained unknown to Triad infiltrators in the Chinese government; and by this means, the Yang family at least had warning of the peril that might pursue them into their Western refuge.

 
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The circumstances of internal exiles being what they were, Yang Sung-Kuo could expect many open-media news items to be as new to his exile friends as if they had been military secrets. Yang's audience consisted of Alipang with his immediate nuclear family (minus the still-absent Wilson), plus Uncle Dan, Cousin Irene -- and the ex-convict Jerry "Gerbil" Sunderberg, whom Alipang had taken under his wing until the unfortunate "clockwork orange" could feel more assured that no one was going to kill him in revenge.

"I understand," Yang commenced, "that thanks to Mr. Salisbury here, all of you already were aware that your former Virginian acquaintance, Ms. Lori Purdue, had been accepted as a colonist at the Lunar Orchard."

Kim Havens grinned in Dan's direction. "Yes, and Chilena's fond of saying that the Moon is only barely far _enough_ away for Lori to be from Dan."

"Mommy says Lori Purdue is something called Evil Incarnate," Irene informed the visitor.

"Don't be alarmed, but right now Ms. Purdue is on Earth again. It isn't a social call; she and another Moon colonist are testifying this week before the U.N. Security Council. The other colonist, an Israeli named Yael Meyerling, uncovered not one, but _two_ hostile-takeover attempts at the Lunar Orchard; you might even say it was three. The Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates both tried to threaten the colony with disease carriers; after that, agents of the Triad, with help from Aztlan, conducted a subtler attack involving mind control. Yael Meyerling thwarted all the attempts; she's a former Mossad agent. Lori Purdue helped her against the last attack."

"Bless us, you mean Lori Purdue did something _useful?_" Dan marvelled.

"So she did. She has thus come in for a share of the awards and commendations Beijing is heaping on Ms. Meyerling."

"That's fine, as long as your government doesn't try to give ME to her!"

"You can be at ease on that score. Both Ms. Purdue and Ms. Meyerling are carrying the children of a Professor Chun, one of the Lunar Orchard leaders."

"Emilio told me some before now about your government deposing the President of Aztlan," Alipang put in. "I imagine that whatever part Aztlan played in the last invasion of your Moon colony was the provocation?"

"That, combined with other Aztlano involvement in troublemaking." Yang lowered his voice. "Concerning Lori Purdue receiving a hero's treatment: some in Beijing feel that, having done more than enough to remove any threat to us from the old United States, it's a nice gesture for us to praise and honor someone who was a U.S. citizen. That feeling is strong enough, that the favorable regard shown for Ms. Purdue is outweighing Beijing's annoyance against two _other_ American women."

"Other American women?" Kim echoed. "Was one of them named Yvonne Delany? Never mind, that's an inside joke for Al and me."

"Is it? Well, I never heard of an Yvonne Delany. But the American women guilty of working for the Aztlanos in support of the Triad's Lunar operation might _also_ count as an inside joke for you and Dr. Havens. They are none other than ex-Overseers Faye Miller and Luminessa Tigobo."

Alipang's beady eyes widened as much as they could. "The women from the plane crash last year?"

"That's right. It looks to me as if the Campaign Against Hate never learned its lesson from Nash Dockerty's death; its people still insist on throwing rocks through windowpanes."

Yang had another half hour to wait before it would be time for him to head for the train station. He went on sharing news of the world with his friends; almost everything he could tell was a novelty to them. Then, five minutes before he would have said his goodbyes--

An urgent phone call came from Brendan Hyland in Rapid City. Answering the telephone, Alipang found his old highschool buddy trying to explain everything at once: that there had been an attempt to murder Miguel De Soto in his hospital room, that Wilson and Daffodil had foiled it, that Miguel was alive, that the two boys had taken some knocks but were all right... and that the triumvirate was ordering a freeze on all non-essential travel inside the Enclave, and still more any departures from it, while they tried to determine who all the culprits were.

Gerbil had to be reassured that none of this was about him.

Alipang was explaining to Yang what had just been reported to him, when Cecilia Ruth came in with Victor. "Mister Salisbury," the boy babbled, "thank you so much for permitting me to go biking with your daughter! I wonder if--"

"Excuse me, son," Dan told him; "I was pleased to allow Cecilia to have some clean fun with a decent boy like you, but something urgent has just come up, nothing about you, but it affects our family. Doctor Havens will explain." So Alipang had to start over; but he was not allowed to get even AS far telling the young people as he had gotten telling his Chinese friend.

"NO! NO! Please, no, he CAN'T be hurt, oh, Daddy!" Stricken with horror as soon as she heard that Wilson had been in a life-and-death fight, Cecilia completely forgot Victor's presence, as she hurled herself into her father's arms with tears already starting from her eyes.

"Listen, baby," Dan soothed, "Wilson was NOT seriously hurt, he's going to be fine."

Kim touched her niece's shoulder. "The danger was past before Mister Hyland even called us. And even if Wilson were badly hurt, he's IN a hospital, so he'll be all right."

Alipang turned toward the dismayed Victor. "I'm sorry you had to have this come at you just as you were finishing a good time. Nothing's changed about our attitude toward you; I know that Cecilia's Dad will approve of you seeing her again."

"Thank you for saying so, Doctor Havens. I'd better go now. If you say it's okay, I'll ask some others to pray for Wilson."

"Yes, please do that. You're a good kid, Victor. Say goodbye to Cecilia before you leave."

Cecilia retained enough good manners to thank Victor for a pleasant excursion. Victor had enough good sense not to milk it. As soon as he went out the door -- and before he was out of earshot of the interior of the Havens house -- Cecilia wailed, "Uncle Al! We have to call Mister Hyland back! I have to talk to Wilson! I have to go to him!"

"Sweetie, Wilson will call US when he can. And you already know he's safe."

"But Uncle Al, WILSON doesn't know that I know he's safe. I need to see him!" Cecilia then faced Yang Sung-Kuo, with whom she was only very slightly acquainted. "Colonel Yang! Can you get to Rapid City? Can you take me there with you, please, please?"

"Young lady," replied Yang, "under other circumstances, I would be glad to transport you, WITH one or more members of your family, to see your cousin. But for reasons I am not free to discuss, it is not a good idea for civilians to travel anywhere with me right now."

 
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Samantha Ford, Osmawani Jalil, and other "avant-garde" movie actors, along with director Zimmo Garland and the studio crew, did not at once hear about the sudden uproar whose epicenter was Sioux San Hospital. They were in the middle of holocording a particularly elaborate and lurid scene, involving the whole cast (and the computer-generated image of Josiah Redfern was going to be worked into it); and of course, no one in the entertainment studio was considered vital to the preservation of civic order.

What passed for a journalistic community in Rapid City, however, was about to find itself involved. Denise Heathcock and Martina Caldwell, with Freya Vanaheim running the camera, had been conducting an interview for In The Enclave Today, with aging dentist Avery Glass. The subject had been the anticipated new medical university, in whose administration Dr. Glass was expected to be given a position. The program was two-thirds recorded when a blinking light signalled the participants that someone in authority wanted to interrupt. Martina finished the sentence she was saying, then they stopped the videocording.

Waiting right outside the little television studio stood the Energy Undersecretary... wearing body armor and carrying a weapon for the first time since she had assisted in the overthrow of her ex-colleague the Deputy Commander. Flanking her were two female Commerce Inspectors; behind these hovered pedicab driver Ignacio Balubal, who had brought Avery Glass for the interview.

"Undersecretary, what's going on?" Denise asked.

"Not another firefight, SO FAR. First tell me: how much of your interview did you finish? Let me put it this way: did you get far enough with it that you could wrap it up in another four or five sentences, and have it make sense?"

Denise tried to appear unconcerned. "Yes, if you give me a minute to think, I'm sure we can condense it that way. Is there something urgent you want us to record for the public?"

"There _will_ be explanations that we'll need to put out, and your program will be a useful platform to do it. But I'm sorry to say, Citizen Earthquake, or Heathcock, that you and Citizen Vanaheim won't be producing those special editions. As you wrap up this installment, say something at the end about how you've enjoyed making the show, but now you're moving on to other things, and Citizen Caldwell will be the sole host henceforth."

Only now did fear enter Denise's mind. Guessing this to be so, Martina spoke for her: "Is Denise in trouble for something?"

"Only a little bit of guilt by association," replied the Undersecretary. "An unprecedented purge of the Indoctrination Department has been ordered by the Party Presidium. It seems that almost their _whole_ basket, at upper levels, has been bad apples."

Dr. Glass kept silent, not wishing to draw any attention to himself right now. But Freya found her own voice: "What does that mean, Undersecretary?"

"It means that Nash Dockerty wasn't the only Indoctrination official willing to order needless deaths. Within the past two hours, Fidel North sent a former Overseer to try to murder Citizen De Soto in the hospital. Fortunately, Daffodil Ford and an Enclave resident thwarted the attempt. But that isn't all. As North has been 'persuaded' to verify, the trouble is also _outside_ the fence. Commander Vitaly Khloponin was revealed as having had the Imam-Governor of the Islamic Cantonment assassinated, when that Imam refused to place his Purity Warriors at Khloponin's disposal."

"What could the Campaign Against Hate have wanted Islamic policemen for," asked Martina, who was herself part of a police entity, "so urgently that they would _kill_ someone who denied them that cooperation?"

"Believe it or not, Khloponin was trying to revive the fiction of the Ku Klux Quakers, as a readymade excuse to get rid of _anybody_ his department disliked in the general population; and he figured that Muslims would be glad to join in. Obviously, not all of them were. Some of the Texas Ranger aviators outside the Enclave helped round up the evidence to convict Khloponin. His crimes out there, Pinkshirt Supervisor North's crime in here, and still more evidence of Indoctrination personnel having tampered with Enclave infrastructure... all this is adding up to the first dissolution of an entire Cabinet department to have occurred since the Diversity States was formed."

Denise gaped at this. "You mean, no more Department of Indoctrination.... AT ALL?"

"Looks that way. Even Arista Penfield is being frowned at by the Party, for having failed to detect the Campaign Commander's abuses of office. She'll most likely be demoted to some trivial desk job, the way Samantha Ford was upon losing her ambassadorship. Two other Cabinet secretaries, Distribution and State, seem to be leading the charge to abolish Indoctrination. What I hear is that they're saying that Indoctrination's functions can mostly be absorbed by the State Department. Citizen Ford, that is Daffodil Ford, has given them a successful example to point to; and his helping to save an intended assassination victim will reinforce both his prestige and the State Department's claim to be able to manage Enclave relations."

"Will the _whole_ media apparatus belong to the State Department now?"

"No; most assets of the Oneness Channel, of the Collective Network, and of the educational-media outlets, will simply go more fully under the authority of your labor unions, answerable to the Party Presidium through the Labor Relations Board. State will, however, have an increased media presence, probably a channel of its own; and media operations in the Enclave will definitely be under State Department oversight. Which is why you, Citizen Heathcock, are out of the picture here."

The part about resubordinating the television networks triggered a thought in Denise's mind: If our networks are no longer under _any_ Cabinet department, that will also mean that the President and Vice-President lose direct command of them! Does this mean that a faction of the Presidium wants to weaken executive authority? But what she next said aloud was relating purely to her own situation: "What's going to happen to me, then?"

"Nothing too bad, I _hope;_ I don't see how anyone can blame you for any of this turmoil. _Everyone_ who works or has worked for Indoctrination, with only a couple of exceptions like Forest Ranger Dana Terrell, is to be removed from the Enclave; but as far as I know, persons like you who had NO part in the wrongdoing will just be reassigned, not punished."

"Undersecretary, you mentioned turmoil," put in Martina. "Is there... violence going on outside the Enclave?"

The triumvirate member looked quite solemn. "Yes, there is. But I believe we'll be able to keep a tight lid on things _inside_ the fence. Therefore, please complete your interview with Dr. Glass as I said; hopefully, there won't be any reason why it can't still be used later. When you're done, these Commerce Inspectors will see that Citizens Heathcock and Vanaheim get safely to their living quarters. Doctor Glass is not affected by these events, so he can just catch his ride home with Citizen Balubal --though this will probably be the last pedicab ride _anyone_ gets for the next two or three days."
 
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In the Texas Rangers' office building at Old Natrona Airport, Mrs. Donna Morales, whose husband Uriel was up in Yellowstone Sector with Dave Swimmer, was hovering beside Rosa Cantu, as the older woman watched her computer screen for any fresh information on the renewed national crisis.

The collective society from coast to coast had already been seriously agitated before Vitaly Khloponin had been revealed to be as corrupt as his treasonous underling Nash Dockerty. It appeared that persons working for the Commander of Overseers and Pinkshirts had been busy for weeks in many residential blocks of the urban complexes, telling citizens here that Ku Klux Quakers were lurking there, and telling citizens there that Ku Klux Quakers were lurking here. The rioting which had caused the Secondary Healthcare Workers' Union to evacuate the Rands from Georgetown was part and parcel of this agitation, all evidently intended to enable Khloponin to convince the Party that the Campaign Against Hate was as urgently needed as ever. But just as evidently, the Campaign had gone to the well once too often.

Rosa now said to Donna, "Almost all the public pronouncements seem to be coming from Reed Harrison and Megavolt Atkinson. Law-enforcement nets have more to tell..."

"Any of it affecting us here inside the fence?" Donna asked.

"Yes." Rosa scrolled up and pointed. "Here's the one directive I've seen so far from President Trevette herself. She says that the established exile population is not to be regarded as a threat -- very kind of her -- but that enemies of the Party might be slipping in among the new laborers assigned to the geothermal project."

"What, malnourished wretches who hardly have the strength to pick up a shovel?"

"I don't know the reasoning, but I'm grateful that at least folks like Melody's family aren't being scapegoated. Anyway, the President has ordered the triumvirate to have Transport Police and Commerce Inspectors mount stationary guard on important government assets. District Police, and both types of Rangers, are to be the only law-enforcement officers moving from place to place until further notice."

"Saying that about the Transport Police must mean that _all_ rail and air traffic is going to remain frozen."

"Yes, I also saw that all Atmosfleet planes currently hangared in the Enclave are to have their controls disabled, and no civilian aircraft are to come in."

The office door opened, and both women looked up as Lieutenant Vasquez entered. He was carrying two Texas Ranger badges in one hand, and a cloth sack in the other hand. "Ladies, hold up your right hands." For an instant, Donna and Rosa only stared at him; so he placed everything he was carrying on the desk, then reached inside the sack. Out came two empty ten-millimeter semi-automatic pistols, with slides locked open... followed by three loaded magazines for each weapon. "Both you ladies are qualified shooters. These pistols are from my little discretionary arms locker; they won't need a DNA recognition input for you to be able to fire them. Now I repeat, raise your right hands -- and swear to do your duty as deputized Rangers."

A gleam came into Rosa's eyes. "I so swear!" Donna lifted her hand, but still with a confused look, asking, "Which duty?"

"Hopefully not any live shooting," replied Emilio. "Just guard Headquarters. The whole detachment's just been ordered up to Yellowstone, to help make sure there's no threat impending against the geothermal worksites. After all, the former traitors _were_ out to seize control of the electrical grid. Jared will be the only regular Ranger staying in Casper; God willing, you two will only have to keep watch here enough of the time to let Jared eat, sleep and go to the bathroom. But the three of you _are_ our security for home base, until Colt Finnegan arrives."

Donna uttered a faint "Oh;" then, more strongly, "I swear to perform the duties of a Texas Ranger, so help me God."

"Will we have a Sky Bear stationed _inside_ the Enclave now?" asked Rosa.

"Yes, according to Commandant Pierce. Finnegan and his crew will fly independent ops; he'll assert his senior rank over me only in an emergency. So our own structure won't change, except by growing a little. Finnegan's ship will be flying in five extra Rangers for on-the-ground work; those will be under my command. Jared will help to orient them. Inspector Lincoln, and Forest Ranger Bender, will both stay in touch, in case you need assistance. Oh, and I almost forgot: we're to receive still more reinforcements, in the form of a few D.S. Marshals!"

Donna raised her eyebrows. "Why them?"

"According to Operations Marshal Camberville, with whom I spoke not long ago, the Party recognizes that the Marshals' Service was only sucked into the Dockerty plot because of Aztlano infiltrators; therefore, the Presidium regards the _real_ Marshals as clean, and safe to call upon. I don't know yet exactly what role they're to play, but Rodney Camberville said his team would be taking orders from the triumvirate.

"Something Camberville _didn't_ say, but which I believe to be true, is that the Justices of the Supreme Court -- that is, the ones who DO have brains -- pressured the Party heavily to allow the Marshals, who are under the Court's command, to become part of the latest national housecleaning. The Justices wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to restore their own moral authority, after Sherman Lake embarrassed them so badly.

"But I have to run. Hai-Sheng's waiting for me in old Number 343. Melody will swing by here tonight or in the morning. See you later; hold the fort!"
 
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That evening in Washington, D.C., Vice-President Carlos Anselmo and his current girlfriend were watching and editing the day's collection of amusing scenes from satellite and terrestrial cameras viewing the Western Enclave. Anselmo had not yet even heard about Fidel North's attempt to have the publisher of the Wyoming Observer slain; he had been keeping his eye on six of the latest arrivals in the Enclave's new Yellowstone Sector. These were two women and four men -- who, apart from some who had escaped from the country as Jessica Trevette grabbed power, were the _only_ remaining survivors of those members of the old United States Congress (including the Senate) who had opposed the neo-Marxist takeover of America. These defeated patriots had been, if anything, even more harshly treated in the concentration camps than faithful Catholics had been. Anselmo knew them all personally, and had had a voice in getting them sentenced to forced labor; now he was interested to see whether, in an environment with some freedom, they would return to their oppositional-defiant behaviors.

By the look of them, they all would need to get some nourishing food inside them before they recovered enough strength to defy anyone, even though they had not been given the clockwork-orange treatment.

But a video call, routed through his entertainment console, required him to suspend his amusement. The face of Continental Marshal Yelena Gorshkovskaya appeared, and she didn't look friendly.

"Comrade Vice-President, why did I have to use a fourth-level override to get your console to accept my call? Do you or don't you know what happened in the Western Enclave capital today?"

Anselmo's first mental response was the thought that, with that Mormon woman unable any more to pursue Grange volunteer Porter Hennepin, and with his spying assets unable to see inside the studio making Zimmo Garland's erotic movie starring Samantha Ford, Rapid City was deadly dull at present. But all he said aloud was, "The three Undersecretaries running the Enclave are all competent, and in conformity with Party doctrine. The President and I aren't in the habit of constantly micro-managing them."

"Well, some closer management is needed now. You _surely_ are at least aware that Vitaly Khloponin tried to leave the country after it was revealed that _his_ agents assassinated Imam Bassem Al-Farag in the Great Lakes Cantonment? Now there's _more_ to feed him to a particle beam: his henchman Fidel North ordered the murder of the exile journalist who enjoys the _approval_ of the administration!"

Being aware that Anselmo didn't care whether an antique newspaperman lived or died, the girlfriend said what would have been proper for her lover to say at this point: "Was the attempt successful?"

"No, thanks to good karma, the killer was stopped. But Comrade Vice-President, what have you been _doing_ all this time? If a proper watch had been kept on government personnel in Rapid City, the assassin would never have come so _close_ to succeeding!"

Anselmo chose to bluster and bluff. "But we have law-enforcement personnel there on the scene; _they're_ supposed to prevent violent crimes. My job is to survey the big picture, to help guide policy."

The Russian lady cop's face grew colder. "I should think... and I daresay the _Party_ thinks... that good _policy_ dictates tracking the conduct of major figures like the Commander of the Campaign Against Hate! Have you yet even joined in the Party Presidium's deliberations about whether to _eliminate_ not only the Campaign, but the whole Indoctrination Department as well?"

"I, I'll be there in time for any voting," Anselmo lamely replied.

Gorshkovskaya snorted with contempt. "And I'll provide a couple of Deputy Marshals to make sure you _live_ to cast a vote. Khloponin's been caught, but he may have operatives assigned to commit a reprisal against you. He hasn't forgotten your approval of the destruction of his man Dockerty. So it's time you thought of bigger things than your own scragging _entertainment,_ Comrade Vice-President!"

Carlos Anselmo was left to think about how he might best fend off accusations that he was neglecting his duties. But his girlfriend had still more to think about.

Unknown even to a Vice-President fond of snooping, her name was not what he thought it was. Her true name was Chida Govinda, and she was an older cousin of Tim Govinda, the deranged boy who had been placed at the head of the Supreme Court after the death of the treasonous Chief Justice Sherman Lake. Other Justices of the Supreme Court had enlisted her help in persuading her cousin to support the call for the court-commanded Marshals' Service to be let in on the final dismantling of the Campaign Against Hate, the better to renew the prestige of the judicial branch.

What Chida wanted in return was simple: for Justices and Marshals to cut some slack for Chida's relatives from India to do more business in America. Their business was organized crime; and the Diversity States was only one of several areas where the "Rajput Racketeers" anticipated growth for themselves, now that China's Triads were on the decline.

Whether Vice-President Anselmo survived the Party scrutiny he was in for, or whether she was going to need a new boyfriend in high places, Chida expected a prosperous future for herself. After all, she had been trained for covert work by the Dacoits themselves.

 
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