The First Love Of Alipang Havens

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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Chapter 111: The Enclave Holds Its Breath

Sincerely though he liked the hospitality of the Alipang Havens household, Yang Sung-Kuo was almost frantic to get back to Rapid City where his wife and children were. Nocturnal dataphone calls to various governmental figures inside the Enclave led at last to his being told he could hitch a ride with Forest Rangers who would be driving overland from Wyoming Sector to South Dakota Sector in the morning.

No such convenience was being offered to Dr. Irina Stepanova. She had come from her combination house and clinic over near Kaycee, to follow up on Kim as promised, and had given checkups to other persons in Sussex while she was around. But the current arbitrary travel freeze had caught her here, and even though she had come on horseback, she was not for the moment permitted to return home. Sylvia Lathrop was putting her up for the interim.

Lieutenant-Colonel Yang himself, and his host Alipang, were the first ones up at Alipang's house in the morning. While he made a bear-meat sandwich for Yang to take with him on his ride, Alipang muttered, "I believe you have some _additional_ cause for worry right now, _besides_ the tension that's going on for all of us with our government in a power struggle. But I suppose you're not allowed to talk about it."

The Chinese officer smiled briefly at his American friend. "Let's say that at least the second thing might be true. But unlike last year, now I have the advantage that I know to ask you to pray for me and my family."

"So I shall."

"Thank you. And I promise to look in on your son when I'm back in Rapid City."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Around the time the rest of the Havens family, with Dan and his daughter Irene Jasmine, were sitting down to breakfast, the Forest Rangers' all-terrain wagon pulled up to the front door. Saying hasty goodbyes, Yang snatched up his luggage and sandwich, and piled into the vehicle. He found himself sharing it with one male and two female Forest Rangers. The man was Ranger Iago Carrasco; the women were Rangers Jewel Pressman and Fastrada Bowdrie, of whom the latter was driving. (Jewel Pressman was no relation to the Pressman family in Casper.)

The first thing Yang said, after thanking the Rangers for letting him ride with them, was: "Do you people have any more news on the political situation in Washington?"

"Only hints," replied Jewel. "All the news programs have been pulled off of streamcast; the air time's being filled with music videos and cartoons. The _absence_ of news is news of a sort in itself; I imagine that, with the Indoctrination Department being vivisected, the Party doesn't want any journalists trying to get revenge by issuing unscheduled calls for the proletariat to rise up in revolt."

"One journalist who _was_ allowed to say something, late last night, was Rhoda Gardner," said Iago. "She reported that all of the few currently-prominent male streamcasting reporters, including Fluttery Madsen, were being transferred to non-reporting jobs. Then she announced that she herself was retiring from the Oneness Channel."

Yang did not say that he happened to know that Rhoda Gardner had worked resolutely for decades to clear the way for a Marxist takeover of the United States. The apparent lack of gratitude on the part of the Fairness Party reminded him of what had happened to many faithful Communists in recent generations in his own country. His next question was closer to home for his companions: "What exactly are you American police expected to DO right now? Are you being ordered to side with someone against someone else?"

"Doesn't look that way," said Fastrada. "Except for the Texan detachment's reinforcements, no one is being allowed _into_ the Enclave now, any more than out of it. The triumvirate seems to be trying to isolate us in perfect neutrality; and I think they can pull it off, since they can raise the valid point of their being responsible to keep Yellowstone, and the existing electrical grid, safe and secure, no matter _who_ is on top of the heap in Washington after today."

"The three of us were detached by Ranger Bender to go and strengthen the Rapid City police presence a little," Jewel added.

"And to help watch those current and former Indoctrination personnel who are under 'non-punitive detention' until they can be shipped back to Washington for further action," said Iago.

"It seems to me as if your Indoctrination Department was already greatly weakened after the Dockerty business," Yang remarked. "How can they have the strength left to offer any such resistance to disbanding, that any state of emergency would have to last more than a few hours?" His own words drove his thoughts back to modern Chinese and Communist history once more; a dictatorship _didn't_ need to be facing any real emergency, to maintain a _fictitious_ emergency for its own convenience.

"Even if every Pinkshirt and Overseer in America were locked up in a Self-Esteem Center," Iago told him, "the Trevette administration, and the district-level Party organizations, would still have to suppress the rioting that Vitaly Khloponin's agents touched off in the big cities. But our own part, the job of _every_ law-enforcement person in the Enclave now, is to keep the lid on _our_ kettle, whatever happens outside the perimeter."

This conversation rambled on, broken by Sung-Kuo eating his sandwich, as they drove along the best available old highway leading toward South Dakota. And then, at one of his many rearward glances....

Yang Sung-Kuo spotted what seemed like a bird, following the vehicle and gaining.

 
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A recognized threat can be better than an inhibiting state of uncertainty. Lieutenant-Colonel Yang did not need to give any consideration to a possibility that this drone could be on a legitimate errand to contact Agent Tomisaburo. Nor did the Diversity States possess ANY drones for its part, having been forbidden the use of them by Yang's own government.

"Friends, please listen quickly! A mini-drone is following us! I believe it's after me, and up to no good. Ranger Bowdrie, please pull off the road close to those trees on the right." Fastrada was already starting to do as requested, when Yang added, "I'm going to jump out. It will chase me. You three try to shoot it down, but be careful, it can shoot back!"

Fastrada came to a halt on a section of the shoulder from which Yang would only need to cover three meters to get behind the nearest sheltering tree. As the Chinese flung himself out of the utility wagon, the drone came closer. It was designed to look like one of the black and white magpies common to nearby Colorado.

An unimpressive tap sounded on the vehicle's roof. Such a small flying machine, after all, could not carry much payload; so dissolvable heart-attack darts, or something similarly light in weight, would be its operator's anti-personnel weapon of choice. A second dart shot through empty air, just missing the fast-moving Yang, and a third struck the tree behind which he ducked. He tried sending a jamming signal from his dataphone, but those who had stolen the robot magpie must have done something to secure its artificial intelligence against jamming. It kept on coming.

Fastrada Bowdrie, not waiting for anyone to close the door their passenger had jumped out of, got the vehicle in motion again: not to abandon Yang, but to give the drone a moving target in case it turned its attention to the Forest Rangers. Jewel Pressman and Iago Carrasco opened fire from the wagon's windows with their sidearms; the drone maneuvered to evade their bullets, which gave Yang time to retreat farther into the trees. The fact that the artificial magpie did not return fire at the Forest Rangers confirmed who was its target.

"Let us out, and you call it!" shouted Iago. Fastrada accordingly stopped again, just long enough for Iago and Jewel to bail out; then she moved the overlander a bit farther, and used its radio to send out an emergency call on a frequency which would be heard by ALL the separate, redundant police forces represented in the Western Enclave.

Iago and Jewel now carried shotguns, which might have more chance of hitting the airborne robot assassin. As they pursued the drone into the trees, they could hear Yang firing his own pistol at it. They themselves did not immediately have an opening for a good shot -- either by chance, or maybe because whoever was remotely guiding the drone ALSO knew that shotguns were a greater threat to it and was making it hide from the Rangers.

Yang Sung-Kuo, dashing from tree to tree, had to give the drone's designers credit for giving it such fine agility to dodge a target's defensive fire. But he had something the drone's controller didn't know he had.... and the micro-wire of a micro-whip was as nearly invisible to electronic sensors as it was to the human eye. The Chinese cop was wielding his pistol with his left hand, freeing his right hand to play his hole card. He had never handled a micro-whip in deadly earnest, indeed in his whole career he had only had a few occasions to touch one at all; but he had considerable experience in using the several whip-like weapons in the traditional arsenal of Chinese kung-fu.

And he had no intention of dying before he saw his family again.

At an instant when the lethal mini-drone was close enough, and when the Forest Rangers were not in a direct line of sight, Yang played his card. The micro-whip sliced the air -- and sliced off one of the drone's wings, dropping it to the ground. The lashing return of the micro-wire casually took a branch off a tree; but hopefully, this would not be noticed. Almost simultaneously with his successful counterattack, Yang fired one more shot from his pistol into the air; this, while he put another tree between himself and the fallen menace. Though unable now to fly, it might still be able to shoot.

"It's grounded!" Yang called out to his friends, being aware that they had followed him into the trees. "Keep to cover, but come in and finish it!" This was not merely a kindly gesture to let Iago and Jewel think they had helped. Yang was considering pragmatically that the drone would still try to kill HIM in particular if it could, and he didn't want to die anticlimactically just when he seemed to have won. Yes... the thing was crawling along the ground, trying weakly to get a line of fire on him again... so Yang kept a tree between him and it. The two Rangers, not being assigned victims, could close in more safely than Yang could; and of course, Yang was not about to use the micro-whip to finish it off when the Rangers might see what he did.

Sure enough, Iago and Jewel spotted the drone; both fired their shotguns point-blank, and the robot magpie was conclusively retired from service.

Crouching over the wreckage of the little murder-machine as Yang came into view, Jewel remarked, "I see you shot one of its wings off on the fly; that was good marksmanship!"

"Thanks. And thanks for taking the risk of helping me."

She shrugged. "Comes with the badge. I would invite you to thank me more intimately, but I know you're into that marriage thing."

"I'm not," said Iago, tapping Jewel on the shoulder. "You know MY invitation stands."

Not particularly interested in this kind of conversation, Yang interrupted: "Please help me collect the pieces of the drone. We'll turn it over to your authorities, and let them find out anything they can by examining it. After all, the mere fact that drones EXIST is no secret being held back from Americans; so let your people play with this one. But be on your guard as we go, in case there's another like it somewhere near."

 
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The first unit to show up in answer to Fastrada Bowdrie's distress call was a good-sized civilian-type helicopter, bearing the markings of the Agriculture Department, but commandeered for surveillance purposes. It was being rumored that the Chinese had temporarily cut back on the access they allowed American law enforcement to have to Chinese satellite cameras -- possibly because the Chinese weren't certain that overhead imagery wasn't being used to the advantage of traitors in one or both countries. Thus, aircraft patrols were being stepped up, to make sure that internal exiles didn't leave their assigned areas as long as the travel restriction was in effect.

Yet suspicion between one police entity and another was also still in effect. The helicopter which arrived at the scene of the drone attack was carrying both Transport Police and Commerce Inspectors, plus one man from Leroy Lincoln's Great Plains District Police detachment -- all of them evidently keeping eyes on each other. When Yang and his Forest Ranger companions presented the remains of the robot magpie, the Commerce Inspectors insisted that they, more than the others, were the proper officials to investigate this piece of "contraband." The others conceded the point.

But Yang Sung-Kuo secretly withheld one piece of the wrecked mini-drone: one of its control chips, which he had succeeded in palming without Jewel, Fastrada or Iago noticing. He would, when possible, get this into the hands of computer analysts back at home, to see what they could learn from it.

The responders passed a recommendation to the patchwork police network across the five sectors, that every available means should be used to detect any other drones that might be on the loose inside the fence. When the posse's helicopter had lifted off again, Fastrada posed a question to Yang as they were getting back into their cross-country vehicle:

"If you don't mind my asking, do you think our government will protest to the United Nations about this incursion on our airspace? Or will they be too intimidated by _your_ government?"

"I don't know; but since _this_ incursion was not ordered BY my government, it shouldn't be hard to protest about it in a way that won't anger Beijing at all. On the other hand, relative to the respective strength of the two nations, the D.S.A. right now is undergoing at least as much intramural strife as Greater China is. As a result, it may be that no one will find the _time_ to squawk much to the U.N. about an aerial-intrusion incident in which no one died."

Before nightfall they reached Rapid City, where they learned that Yang's family was still safe, and that no signs of additional drones had been discovered. Relieved from immediate worry in these areas, Yang then phoned Sioux San Hospital to ask about Miguel De Soto. Taking the call, Matti Siermaala reported that Miguel had been able, despite his recent close call, to tolerate a nice long session of "carcino-suction" today. So all was looking well there, too. The conversation led to the Yangs inviting the Professor's party to eat supper at the lodgings the Chinese family was using, this invitation extending to Daffodil Ford and Wilson Havens.

Matti, Brendan and Josiah were unwilling to leave their patient unprotected, so the first two told the third to go with the two boys and keep _them_ safe, while the Professor and the Marine (helped by Zamoria the nurse) kept watch over Miguel and Tilly.

An exception was made to the traffic freeze, allowing the Yangs' guests to board a light-rail train which otherwise was carrying only persons performing duties for the Enclave administration. On the way to the dignitary-apartment building, Josiah got a cellphone call through to Alipang's house in Sussex. Learning that Lieutenant-Colonel Yang had made his own call there just previously and related his own adventure with the drone in a carefully-edited form, Josiah moved along to letting Wilson speak with his parents and siblings.

Wilson's mother was on the line at the Sussex end. She had just enough time to ask Wilson if he was well, to hear that he was, and then to tell Wilson, "Someone else is going to explode if she doesn't hear your voice this instant!"

The next thing Wilson heard was so shrill that he wondered if something had happened to the phone connection. "Wilson! It's me! I love you! PLEASE tell me that you're okay! I love you!"

"And I love you, Sizzle. All I got was punched a couple of times; Dad, your uncle, can't even count how many times HE'S been hit, and he's still with us. Poor Daffy got hit harder, but we beat that thug together. Daffy's okay, too. So how was your bike ride with Victor?"

"It was good, he's a good guy, and so is Gustave. But I barely know either of them, and I'm worried about YOU. Where were you hit?"

"Head and body, no big deal. All my parts are still in place. Come on, Sizzle, I'm glad I got to talk to you, but now let Dad, Uncle Dan, Essie, Little Brendan and Irene have a turn. I'm borrowing Daffy's father's phone."

"But-- I have to tell you--"

"Sizzle, honey, I understand. In person will be better for us to have more talk about -- what seems to be on your mind. Let me talk with the others now; but yes, I love you."

Cecilia reluctantly handed the phone to Little Brendan, and others followed in their turns. When this was ended, Wilson returned the cellphone to Josiah, telling both of his companions, "Papa said that he's proud of me for yesterday, and that Daffy did a great job too."

"Well, I feel the same about both you boys," replied Josiah.

Daffodil's nose, being the nose of a member of the elite, had by now received surgical repair and a dash of partial tissue regeneration. He thus could already speak more normally. He did his share of conversing with the Yangs during the meal... and as dessert was served, he made an announcement.

"Mr. and Mrs. Yang, and everybody: my father has let me know that he would like to facilitate my emigration to Uganda, to live as one of his family; and that his wife and his other children are unanimously in favor of this. Let me say now that in purely selfish terms, I can't think of anything I'd _rather_ do than move to a place where I can live in a _Christian_ home, and be free to _practice_ the faith myself without government interference. But I need to consult God about it. Having so recently submitted my heart to Him, I mustn't neglect to try to know His will for me. Still, there's one thing I can do in any case, to pay honor to the man from whom I clearly received ALL positive qualities which could come to me by heredity."

"You're going to take his last name!" Wilson burst out excitedly.

"All right, you shortened my speech," Daffodil replied. "But you've hit the essence of it. Dad, you know that the Fairness Party is very accepting of people changing their own names; that's how we come to have so _many_ women called Nuclear Sledgehammer or Cosmic Awesomeness. Whether I stay in America or join you in Africa, you deserve to have me bear your surname _infinitely_ more than my ovum-source deserves it. And if I'm changing my last name, I might as well make a clean sweep."

"Does that mean we're looking our last upon Daffodil Ford?" asked Tupsim Yang.

"It does, Mrs. Yang." The tall boy suddenly laughed. "All these years, I've managed to keep my _middle_ name a secret from most people. I'll say it once now, for your amusement, and to deepen your understanding of what I'm leaving behind. The actual middle name that my mother gave me, no joke, is... Snugglypooh."

Rather than laughing, the others all stared in silent astonishment.

"That's right, that's who I've been all these years. I believe that Mom knew long in advance what was planned for the takeover of America; and she wanted me to have the initials D.S. to match 'Diversity States.' But tonight, in spirit and intention, I forever _cease_ to be Daffodil Snugglypooh Ford. As soon as I can process the name change with the Party through my State Department chain of command, I shall have a _normal_ first name! Dad, since your other sons and you yourself have Biblical names, it'll fit nicely for me to assume the name of David. And it'll sound good when combined with _your_ last name."

Josiah nodded. "David Redfern. Yes, I like that."


 
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"And are you adding a new middle name?" asked Yang Sung-Kuo.

"Yes, I am, in honor of the very _first_ man who began encouraging me to be male and self-confident. I'll be David Randall Redfern."

"Ah, yes, our Australian friend. But why not use his first name?"

"Because I never thought to ask him whether 'Bert' was short for Albert, Bertram, Bertrond, or something else. Using the 'Randall' is a sort of evasion tactic."

"I see -- avoiding embarrassment. You're a true diplomat, Mr. David Randall Redfern."

"Yet also at least a bit of a fighter at need," said Josiah. "Son, you're going to be a well-rounded man."

Wilson fell silent as new thoughts crossed his mind: Daffy could have used my Papa's first name as a middle name. "David Alipang Redfern" would have sounded good, too; and my Papa sure did plenty to boost Daffy toward manliness. But of course, he can't take _everybody's_ name. And I know Papa won't get jealous and resentful.

Having had these thoughts, Wilson was startled at the next thing to be said by the former Daffodil Ford: "And if I get to have children, I can extend recognition farther, like maybe by naming a son of mine Alipang."

"That should work," remarked Yang; "especially if your son's _mother_ should happen to be Harmony Havens."

At this, the newly-proclaimed David Randall Redfern blushed redder than an actual red fern.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Before first light the next morning, up at the Saint Labre School, Summer Heron Rand emerged from the dormitory rooms which had been allotted to her family as living space. Her daughter Anne-Marie was remaining there to look after her twin siblings Grant and Grace. Summer's husband Evan was actually sleeping for two more hours -- not because he was lazy, but because physical-therapy work was keeping him up far into the nights. Michael, the Rands' eldest child, accompanied his mother to the school kitchen, where they would join Victoria Tabor and the other food-service recruits in feeding the numerous physically weakened ex-prisoners who had been deposited on the North Cheyenne Reservation.

Oatmeal, reinforced with protein powder, was the main item on the breakfast menu: both because the harried workers could prepare it quickly, and because they could count on their "guests" to be able to digest it. The effects of compulsory veganism would not go away overnight; only the earliest arrivals at this facility had yet reached the point of cautiously re-introducing meat to their digestive tracts.

The technician they knew as Rusty had found his place doing much of the cooking, having grown familiar with the aging stoves in the kitchen by having brought them into working order himself. Sister Arabella had not yet regained enough strength to stand on her feet; but she willingly did any kitchen job she could do from her wheelchair. Doctor Felicia Robles, Freda Weckerling and Myra Brooks the physician's assistants, and Sarah Highbranch the nurse, kept the seating and serving orderly, helped by the fact that the people they were seating and serving were too beaten down mentally to make trouble -- even those who _hadn't_ undergone "clockwork orange" reprogramming.

When breakfast and its cleanup were finished, Summer and her son, with the rest of the nutrition staff, would stay on to do what could be done ahead of time for lunch. In the routine they had worked out, lunch would be that meal in which the greatest variety of foods would be offered to the inprocessed people; this would include any foods that workers knew to harvest directly from the surrounding environment. Meanwhile, Evan would be up then, to take charge for long morning sessions of easy-paced group exercise, assisted by one or more of the healthcare workers.

In a lull before lunchtime, Summer, Evan and Michael received a pleasant surprise: Emilio Vasquez, whom they had met a few times back before the Fairness Revolution, dropped in to visit. Greeting him, the Rands begged him for news, news about practically anybody who wasn't an enfeebled famine survivor.

The handsome Texican sighed. "I'll get my one definitely SAD piece of news out of the way first. Evan... your friend from the labor union, Dobie Marsalis... is dead."

Evan gaped. He had felt as if the oddly-refined bully-boy was indestructible. "How did it happen?"

"In one of the riots back in Mid-Atlantic District. He was defending his, I should say _your_ union superior, Carolyn Biao, against some rioters who had caught her out in the open. She survived, anyway, thanks to him."

Evan stood in silence a moment; murmured, "I'm sorry I never got to hear him playing in his jazz band;" then fell quiet again. His son stepped into the silence by asking, "What were they rioting _about?_"

"An entitlement riot. People impatient with the Health Rationing Agency and the associated unions. The same citizens who eagerly voted for the advocates of government monopoly, now angry at the healthcare professions for having suffered the very deterioration that the voters' own policy preferences made inevitable."

"Did that 'Ku Klux Quaker' fantasy contribute to the riot Mr. Marsalis died in?" Summer asked.

"Not that particular riot on that particular day, as far as I know; but other outbreaks _have_ been connected with that nonsense. Absurd accusations are slow to fade."

"Emilio, do you know if any of our _Christian_ friends back in Georgetown were harmed?"

"They're safe as far as I can ascertain. After all, the made-up Ku Klux Quakers have no connection with your old fellowship. At least your pastor, Wayne Schell, was recently reported still active."

"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Evan.

Summer tapped the "Sky Ranger" on the arm. "Can you stay to eat lunch with us?"

"Sorry, I'm afraid not. We're being kept busy. I could only even come here today because there was business to do. I'm going to be speaking to your inmates, or patients, whatever, just before _they_ eat."
 
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One thing that all the clients of this rehabilitation facility had learned well was to behave meekly in the presence of anyone wearing insignia of authority and carrying a gun. Thus, when Emilio called out, "May I have your attention, please," everyone, whether standing in line or already seated, gave him the most servile attention.

"I'm Lieutenant Vasquez, commander of the Texas Ranger detachment based in the Wyoming Sector. We are part of the combined law-enforcement presence in the Western Enclave. Some of you may already have heard hints that authority structures _outside_ the Enclave are being shaken up right now. It's true, they are. But for the present, no major factional conflict is occurring _inside_ the Enclave. My colleagues and I hope to keep it that way; and _every_ one of you can and must _help_ to keep the peace, for your own good.

"Many of you have been hypnotically conditioned so that you _cannot_ commit a violent act; those of whom this is true may imagine that because of this passive state, there is no _positive_ action required of them where keeping the peace is concerned. But there IS a need for observable productive behavior from all of you.... because the lenient conditions you are already experiencing, _depend_ on the internal-exile population proving itself to be _beneficial_ to--" (Emilio almost choked on the next words) "--the Diversity States."

Doctor Robles saw an opening to interject something that supported Emilio's purpose: "As a physician, I'm aware of how _very_ little health care was allotted to those of you who were in the Self-Esteem Centers, and that it was even worse in the concentration camps. All of you are already enjoying an immense improvement in _that_ area. So unless you would rather find yourselves back in the conditions you suffered before, pay _close_ attention to what the Lieutenant is telling you."

"Thank you, Doctor. That's right, living conditions here are FAR better than what you people came from; but those better conditions _could_ be taken away. The lenient treatment is a necessary part of an experiment: an attempt to recover something that was lost. I would call it re-inventing the wheel; but if a whole nation is _missing_ all of its wheels, then someone has to re-invent the wheel.

"One way or another, all of you have had the idea hammered into you that 'The collective is all,' that society cannot endure without conformity to a ruling party. But _here_ in the Enclave, even the very Party which enforces that conformity is allowing _actual_ diversity. It is, in fact, allowing people to exercise a certain degree of independence and self-rule. The Party is allowing this BECAUSE IT WORKS. They need a stronger industrial base, to maintain _even_ the humble position America now holds in the world; and free people, working because they have _positive_ incentives to work, will perform better at building important things... like the geothermal plants which most of you will be helping to construct.

"The first job for all of you, besides regaining your physical health, is to learn to _understand_ the opportunity that is being offered to you. Although you still have to obey the government, as I also have to, you nonetheless have _much_ more freedom here than in ANY other place on Diversity States soil. As proof of which, listen to how freely I can say _this:_ I am a Christian, a believer in the Holy Bible, a follower of Jesus Christ; and the Christ I follow IS NOT just a community organizer in charge of redistributing wealth, He is God Incarnate, the _only_ Incarnation of God there will ever be. Did you hear what I just said? And I didn't have to be inside a Oneness Temple on a Thursday; as long as I am not trying to raise rebellion against the rulers, I am _permitted_ to speak about my faith _publicly_ in the Enclave. Every one of you is permitted to do the same, whatever faith you might belong to.

"When the Enclave was first formed, the Campaign Against Hate stationed the majority of its armored Overseers here. They held life-and-death power over all exiles, and indeed some exiles _were_ killed. But even then, an arrested person had a far higher chance of surviving in the Enclave than in any other type of prison any of you have seen. And even then, freedom of speech and freedom of religion existed to a meaningful extent. As the Campaign Against Hate has gradually lost its power, the individual freedoms in the Enclave have improved further.

"I'm not aiming a particle beam at you to terrify you into doing as I say; rather, I am _asking_ all of you to use your opportunity to convince the government-- no matter who is running it next week --that the Enclave experiment is a good thing. Become part of this large community, a community which still has a good deal of sharing and cooperating, but which leaves you room for free choice as to HOW you contribute to society. Show the Party Presidium that you are _needed_ for the greater good; that you can actually provide stability when the nation is disrupted by political clashes. You will not simply be _given_ everything here; but you can _earn_ prosperity.

"In the middle of the nineteenth century, a Congressman called Robert Winthrop said these words: 'All societies of men must be governed in some way or other. The less they may have of stringent state government, the more they must have of individual self-government. The less they rely on public law or physical force, the more they must rely on private moral restraint. Men, in a word, must necessarily be controlled, either by a power within them, or by a power without them; either by the Word of God, or by the strong arm of man; either by the Bible, or by the bayonet.' Any of you now listening to me who _don't_ believe the Bible to be the specific source of moral guidance, nonetheless can see the essence of Mr. Winthrop's argument: that moral responsibility must be _internalized_ in a citizen, if that citizen is to be worthy of liberty. So learn from those who will teach you here, learn to make wise individual decisions, and you have as good a chance for a good life as anyone in America has. Thank you for listening."

 
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I have a long way to go. I'm on page 3 but I just wanted you to know that I AM reading it like I said I would and so far I really like it!
I'm a foster parent so it's interesting to see your take on children who have been given up or neglected.
Plus my brother was in the Navy and stationed in Norfolk Virginia for a while.
Good story, but at this rate if you keep writing while I keep reading it may take me a very long time to get caught up. LOL
And man Al and his sister must be like super kids because I've never met an 11 year old with that kind of understanding and vocabulary and I have a very mature 8 yr old in my care right now. He's Vietnamese! =)
 
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