The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Matti Siermaala was still attached to Sioux San Hospital in Rapid City, finding an ever-increasing variety of traumas and ailments in whose treatment his ultrasonic imager could play a role. In the absence of Brendan Hyland and Josiah Redfern, the black nurse named Zamoria had become an assistant to him, while his preference in security options was accommodated by having law officers working for either Emilio Vasquez or Leroy Lincoln looking in on him frequently, besides the inevitable Commerce Inspectors.

When the news came that Pulverizer Clarendon was being flown to the hospital, Matti looked forward not only to facilitating her therapy, but also to seeing if his device would be able to distinguish any difference in density between her enhanced muscle tissue and that of unaltered human beings. Whatever he found out would be added to the secret army's database on the state of life sciences in different nations.

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

Back in Yellowstone Sector, while sheepish camera operators were thanking Alipang and Kostas for helping Pulverizer while they had stood gawking, Hydrogen Forbes phoned her director to report the incident. Once assured that the macho-girl star was expected to live, Isadora Cruller could allow her mind to return to movie business.

"Is the wrestling sequence complete enough to use as is?"

"Yes, it is. Just delete her falling down, and good editing will make the action smooth. Dan's last line is what closes the scene anyway."

"Good. Then we can concentrate the computer-graphic efforts on visually inserting her in, let's see, the courtroom scene, the mountain-trail patrol scene, the first and third chase scenes, and of course the climactic fight. When she's able to talk steadily, we'll have her dub her voice into some radio calls with your character; then when she's able to stand up safely and put on her uniform, we'll shoot a non-strenuous dialogue scene between her and somebody, for close to the end. That will give her enough overall presence in the movie that her fans won't be disappointed. We'll have you speak the lines she was going to say in scenes 83 and 161; and no one will even know that there were any mishaps in production."

"Does this mean you don't want the public to know that she had a heart attack?" Hydrogen asked.

"It means that I know the Bioscience Management Bureau and the Health Rationing Agency won't want it reported that a bio-enhancement went south. I'll ask Rhoda Gardner to get to work on faking a streamcast interview with a supposedly healthy Pulverizer. You start telling the people where you are that the State Department wants this hushed up. And while I'm thinking of it, you didn't tell me exactly who were the men who did C.P.R. on Pulverizer."

"They were Forest Ranger Diplodocus, and the exile dentist, Allen Pang."

The dataphones being on voice-only, Isadora's face-palm gesture went unseen by Hydrogen. What the director said out loud was: "As a policeman, the Ranger will obey authority with no squawks. The dentist is another matter. He's one whose karma has dropped him into the laps of quite a few situations that could make him look good. The triumvirate members favor him already, and this incident will only increase his good standing with them. We can't have him killed or threatened with death, so we'll need to think about some positive reinforcement to induce him to stay quiet willingly."

"I can offer to pleasure him," Hydrogen suggested in a cheerful tone.

Isadora slapped her own forehead once more, but replied quite mildly to the actress on the other end: "That might work, if only the dentist were not a Biblical marriage bigot. But he is one. We'll have to come up with something else."
 
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On the same day, David Redfern, Samantha Ford and Omnipotence Cortez came together to record an installment of In The Enclave Today with Martina Caldwell. The foremost purpose of the interview was to promote David's impending Bastille Day Concert by what had begun to be called the Blue Moon Orchestra. As the girl Omnipotence was a vocalist for the new show, and was also an Equalityball organizer, she received a sufficient share of attention simply by talking about these things. David, besides also speaking about the concert, was asked questions about the experience of getting to know his father -- and had been reminded ahead of time to keep his answers bland. Samantha was asked questions about her new career in erotic movies -- and she was under NO restrictions in what she said about it, which made her son uneasy but didn't bother Omnipotence in the least. The former Ambassador At Large declared that she was thrilled over David having changed his name, because this proved "his internalizing of the Party's principle of the autonomy of each bioproduct." She also took it on herself to claim that her son was equally thrilled with her "artistic success."

When they left the television studio, Omnipotence went her way, and Samantha called up a new message on her dataphone. It had been sent by one of Isadora's assistants. Thus did Samantha learn of Pulverizer's heart attack. The chief impact of this news for Samantha personally was that the production company was cancelling a scene in which Samantha would have acted with Pulverizer. As if anticipating attempts at bargaining, the sender added that no equivalent scene was to be done with Hydrogen, either. Nor would they put her in a scene with computer-generated images, despite the fact that her simulation of making love to Josiah Redfern had worked very satisfactorily. Samantha was of course disappointed at losing on-camera time; but an extra item of information proved interesting....

"Why, look at this, Daffy, I mean David."

"You can still say Daffy if you like," said the youth, who was still trying to be nice to his mother. "But what is it?"

"The last paragraph says that emergency care was rendered to Pulverizer by your unevolved friend, Dr. Havens! That man's reputation just keeps growing. When I came here, I admit I never would have thought that an _exile_ could be so prestigious that a full _citizen_ might benefit socially by _his_ friendship. Yet it's looking more that way all the time."

"Mother, I've benefitted plenty from Alipang and his whole family, _without_ needing to think of how I might use them specifically for my _career_ advancement."

Samantha suddenly embraced her son, in one of her recent spurts of unusually aggressive affection that rang so false in his mind. "But, Daffy, I'm not urging you to do anything that would _injure_ them! I'm only suggesting that you make use of any opportunity to imply, for the media, that _their_ good progress in being reconciled to progressive society is due to _your_ helpful influence." Then she tugged his head down to her and kissed him.

After enduring her kiss, David replied, "I don't like taking credit for other people's achievements." If his mother detected in this a rebuke to _her_ willingness to steal credit for achievements, she did not acknowledge it.

"No worries, you can bask in reflected glory a bit without diminishing their good name. But you know.... the degree of advancement you may accomplish in this way _still_ is limited, as long as you _don't_ meet the Party's relational-diversity requirement."

David stiffened. "Please, Mother, I'd rather not discuss this, least of all with you."

"But who else cares about you more than I do? I want you to be free to fulfill your superior talents! And earning unlimited promotion clearance isn't that difficult, unless you _make_ it difficult for yourself. Don't forget how many options there are; and I'll gladly do _anything_ I can that will help you...."

Samantha's review of the choices came to, and lingered on, an "alternative" which was recorded in Greek mythology. And this was when David had the first new shaking fit he had suffered in a long time, a violent one that dropped him onto the pavement in convulsions.

As his alarmed mother was holding him, trying to make sure he didn't injure himself, an athletic-looking black man came by: no less a person than Police Inspector Leroy Lincoln, who happened to be in Rapid City for meetings with his counterpart Eileen O'Hennessy and with the Distribution Undersecretary. Reacting promptly, the tall detective took over immobilizing the tall teenager, checking his heart rate and then asking Samantha if David had any serious disease.

"No, Inspector, no physical disease; he's just very high-strung. He's a compassionate boy, and it stresses him terribly to see all the Enclave residents being so slow to reach enlightenment, subjecting themselves to needless inconveniences."

Fortunately, David's convulsions soon subsided, but the Inspector still drew forth his dataphone and called for assistance. Leroy's presence inhibited Samantha from telling her son about a brilliant new idea which had just occurred to her. What she _wanted_ to say to David was: I know how we might be able to work around your lack of openness to mating variations. A coupling between you and that young Biblical woman, Harmony Havens, would not in itself be properly diverse; but if I can get the right Party officials on board, we could obtain a ruling that your taking of her counts as diversity -- IF IT IS MADE TO APPEAR TO BE DONE BY VIOLENT FORCE. Of course, violence against any woman who was loyal to the collective would _end_ your political career; but since this woman's a barbarian, we could spin the encounter as relational diversity. And you wouldn't _really_ be doing her any violence, just pretending to, maybe with the help of appropriate pharmaceuticals to keep her from feeling any distress. We could borrow some suggestive props from Zimmo, even some fake blood. Perception is reality, after all. Because she's an un-mutual God-fascist, what you appeared to be doing wouldn't be a crime; and afterwards, as you rose in Party rank, there would be plenty that you could do to reward her for her part in getting you qualified.

This was what Samantha wanted to say to her son. It would have to wait, but she felt quite hopeful that he would see the merits of the suggestion.

 
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Chapter 118: Civilian, Combatant, and In Between

It had always seemed awfully silly to Brendan Hyland that old-time European colonialists had bestowed the names Niger and Nigeria on two neighboring African countries. The more so when the first of those names was likely to be confused with the infamous and long-banned racial slur. Nonetheless, Niger-IA was his home now.... whereas Niger, with its northern border fronting AL-geria, was the natural thoroughfare for anyone coming into NI-geria from the Egyptian Caliphate. Thus it had come to pass that the Nigeri-AN security forces to which Brendan belonged were up north, on loan to assist the Niger-IEN military against the current Neo-Marxist threat.

This was not only to assist a fellow African Union member state, but also to gain more evidence concerning whether any Egyptian Caliphate personnel (or Babylonian, for that matter) were taking part in actual fighting on the Neo-Marxist side. Niger was not a contributor to the secret army, so the Niger-IANS felt the need to investigate for themselves.

The Niger-IENS had unmasked a covert infiltration force in their town of Tanout, in the Zinder Region. Some of the guerrillas were believed to be veterans of past Tuareg separatist uprisings; but the likelihood of Caliphate involvement was pointed to by a higher level of technology than the Neo-Marxists were thought to have been given for independent use by their Islamist allies. When the guerrillas realized that they had been detected, and took civilian hostages to shield themselves, the local police had tried mortar-launched gas bombs with a non-lethal subdual gas; but the Neo-Marxists proved to have immunization against it. So drone aircraft had been sent against the stronghold, to pick off sentries and enable a hostage rescue; but in a disclosure of capability more alarming than the gas immunity, the guerrillas had used hacking signals to TAKE OVER CONTROL of the drones, causing them to turn and open fire on the good guys instead.

Worse, two male hostages had then been tossed out.... in pieces.

Fortunately for the surviving captives, the secret army had assets the Neo-Marxists WEREN'T prepared for. Since it had to be assumed that the terrorists knew outside reinforcements had arrived, an open approach was made at first light on the fourth day of the siege. The terrorists were allowed to speak with Captain Raphael Udofia from the New Vatican Security Forces. Captain Udofia began fresh attempts at negotiations.... which was quite an impressive achievement, for those who knew that he was only a holographic image, complete with an infra-red component to simulate body heat.

While the illusionary Captain Udofia spoke to the Neo-Marxists from one side of their barricades, the actual Udofia was on the opposite side with Brendan. Each of them was leading a squad of the secret army, which contained both men and women. The one medic accompanying them was a woman. Concealed in the dim light by blur-projectors, they crept as close as they could, with interference transmitters of their own jamming the enemy's electronic warning devices. When they were ready, they cut loose with infrasonic stunning weapons; if the terrorists were able to HEAR the voice of Udofia's image, they obviously were not shielded against a soundwave assault.

The two squads had the satisfaction of taking EVERY hostile fighter alive, with no further loss of life among the hostages. "Female troops, see to the female captives," Udofia ordered. The women and girls among the hostages did indeed need the comfort of having fellow females minister to their needs... for the terrorists had had their own idea of passing the time while waiting to see if their leaders could bargain them out to safety. One of the abused girls was no older than Brendan's daughter Bridget.

It took self-command for Brendan to refrain from simply killing all the terrorists without mercy. But these men, or anyway these two-legged creatures, were to be given the chance to buy their lives with information. And as the mopping up continued, an unexpected bright spot was added to the picture.

"Molly! Molly Zondei!" Brendan heard his fellow officer exclaiming. "It's me, Raphael Udofia! Do you recognize me?" When Brendan drew near Captain Udofia, he saw that the young black woman Udofia was addressing did not seem badly hurt. Leaning against the female trooper who had been checking on her, Molly Zondei half-groaned a reply: "Why, yes.... back home, at that, at that party on Republic Day.... with the dance performance on the.... But how did you get here?"

"Superior technology, Molly. Take it easy now, you're going to be fine."

She smiled faintly. "Yes, I believe so. Who's your white friend?"

"Lieutenant Brendan Hyland," Brendan introduced himself. "Did I hear that your last name was ZONDEI?"

"So you did. Born in Ghana.... in Niger on a post-graduate scholarship.... Most grateful for your help, to be sure.... but how does my name interest you? You never sat at a dinner table with me."

Brendan perceived that, perhaps because Udofia was someone she knew, Molly did not seem to be feeling a victim's indiscriminate fear of all males. Accordingly, he continued: "I may have met someone in your family. If you don't mind my asking, what's your father's name and where is he?"

Molly peered at Brendan more intently, and Captain Udofia now also looked curious. "My father was a minister, named Abraham Zondei. He was evangelizing in the United States right when the Fairness Party declared martial law because of what THEY called neo-fascist race riots. Father was reported killed by the white supremacists."

Brendan's face was commandeered by a happy grin, despite the painful scene surrounding them. "Tell me, Miss Zondei, do you remember your father having one thumb shorter than the other?"

Her eyes went wide. "Yes, he did!"

"Make that, he DOES. Not only did the Fairness Party lie about the causes of disturbance in 2021, they also lied about your father. HE IS ALIVE right now, in what used to be the state of Wyoming! I know, because I was in Wyoming recently, and MET him there; he said he had a daughter named Molly!"

"This is going to be quite a story," remarked Udofia, as Molly was grabbing at his arm with joyful astonishment.
 
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In a secure underground chamber beneath Mexico City, President Andreas Garcia met with two representatives of the same secret army to which Brendan Hyland belonged. The representatives were in fact a newly-married couple: the long-widowed Stan Lewandowski, and his fellow aviator Kathy Templeton Lewandowski. They were among those network members who were concealed by fake deaths. Much of their discussion with President Garcia involved updating him on the renewed conflict in Africa; but other subject matter was furnished by the fourth participant in the secret meeting -- Monica Sotero, the prospective President of the prospective Republic of Texas. Precisely because she still was a civilian with no publicly-known special status, it had been easier for Monica to come here unremarked than it would have been for Texas Ranger Commandant Brittany Pierce.

One of the first questions that President Garcia asked Monica was: "In the event that Texas does break away and join the Mexican Alliance, will the Rangers be able to provide pilots of their own who can quickly learn to operate the advanced aircraft we would be able to supply to you?"

"Of course," she replied confidently. "But much quicker, of course, if our expatriates who helped you to _design_ those aircraft come back up to train the pilots."

Garcia smiled. "Of course."

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

There was another secret room beneath the private rural residence of Bert Randall in Australia. In this room, Bert had his own meeting with Hsiao Luo-Sher of the Greater Chinese Aerospace Force. Since these two men had gotten on well in their first experiences together, their governments had decided to continue using this relationship for secret contacts between Beijing and the Pacific Federation.

Colonel Hsaio's American-born bride Quasar was outdoors with Ma'at, Meretseger, Montu and Baby Allen, demonstrating her juggling talents. Carrying on this demonstration in full view of any watching satellites was quite intentional; it reinforced the plausibility of Quasar and Luo-Sher's visit to the Randalls being purely social.

Bert and his colleague exchanged information about biological-weapon attacks which had been occurring both in Greater China and in the Pacific Federation. The few surviving members of the downfallen Chinese Triads appeared to have a hand in those attacks which occurred on Pacific Federation soil. Medical science was able so far to prevent each new outbreak from claiming more than a few lives; but the persistent attacks were keeping both governments jumping. Combining their intelligence data, Bert and the Colonel became firmly convinced, and would argue to their respective superiors, that of the four Islamic Caliphates, _both_ of the more aggressive two, namely the Babylonian and Egyptian Caliphates, were guilty of these actions, but that each was mostly operating independently of the other.

Chinese and Pacific leaders were going to have to decide if they should retaliate with open military force against the offending Caliphates. There were two main arguments _against_ retaliating anytime soon. Firstly, they did not yet know if the Egyptian and Babylonian regimes were prepared to launch much heavier biological offensives; and secondly, they did not want to undo the recent tendency of the European and Central Asian Caliphates to behave more peacefully and reasonably.

Bert and his guest spent more than two hours formulating their tentative recommendations on this issue. When at last they felt they could take a break, Bert suddenly asked Colonel Hsiao: "So, are you getting as much satisfaction with an American wife as I'm getting with an Egyptian one?"

"Very great satisfaction, as it happens," the Colonel replied. "You know that every nation looks to its own interests, and it was in China's interests to make an end of the United States as a political force; but it would have been a loss to the world if that American spirit of spontaneity had completely perished. It lives on in Quasar, I assure you; and I love her for it."

Bert nodded, though he would never be positively _glad_ that the United States was gone. "I know others who maintain that spirit. I got a letter the other day from Daffodil Ford; you remember my telling you about him. He's finding his way step by step. He changed his name to David Redfern, and he's now a concert promoter, of all things."

"You've collected plenty of interesting friends in your adventures, haven't you?"

"So I have. It makes me a bit sorry to be curtailing my travels now. But I have the responsibilities of a husband and father, _plus_ those of an intelligence analyst; and I haven't ceased to be a linguistic researcher. So, as a general thing, I'll be tending my own garden more from now on."
 
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Yael Meyerling and Lori Purdue, with their shared more-or-less husband Professor Chun, were enjoying a vacation away from their duties in The Lunar Orchard. It was their first time on board The Orbital Palace as vacationers; and it was _their_ service to the space colony, not any achievement of Chun's, which had earned them the privilege.

Besides enjoying the attractions inherent to a space station, they had gotten the chance to watch Isadora Cruller's movie Sectors of the Heart -- which all the Chinese in the audience regarded as a farcical comedy. Lori had pointed out Dan Salisbury to Yael, but had said nothing about her past pursuit of Dan, lest Chun be annoyed.

Right now, Yael was chatting with Nyunt Zeyar the safety guard, picking his brain for all technical information about the orbiting hotel that he was allowed to disclose to customers. They were near a public intercom station on the innermost level of the rotating wheel -- thus, enjoying gravity a little firmer than that on the Moon -- when a Saudi Arabian gentleman and his harem strolled past them along the passageway with its gently curving floor. The women, wearing outfits resembling spacesuits which served in place of burkas in an environment with variable gravity, reflexively crowded away from the big Burmese man -- as if they feared that Nyunt had been waiting here for the very purpose of wickedly grabbing away their face coverings.

After this group had passed out of hearing, the Israeli woman whispered into her companion's ear: "That man had what looked like a fake fingernail on one of his fingers; and he made an odd gesture with that hand as he passed by one of those switch panels on the right."

Having heard the rumors that Yael was a former Mossad agent, Nyunt took her seriously, and whispered back: "Releasing nanobots for something, do you think?"

"That's my opinion."

Nyunt frowned. "The Saudis aren't hostile to us, but of course one may spy on friends as well as on foes. With four Caliphates all wishing to take possession of Mecca, Saudi Arabia no doubt feels it needs to keep up good intelligence collection on _every_ possible front, as part of its effort to remain independent." If speaking the word "independent" caused the Burmese man to have any regretful thoughts about his own country having been annexed by Greater China, he gave no sign of this that even the cunning Yael could recognize.

"Do you have nanoscopic scanning capability here?" she asked.

"Of course. He's already under basic surveillance like any guest; once I pass your warning up the chain of command, our technicians will sniff out any and all unauthorized technology he may have smuggled on board. I would give him points for having gotten anything past the initial entry screening."

"It can happen," remarked Yael. "Faye and Luminessa slipped _their_ secret devices past their original screening." She had another thought: "If that man is proven to have planted a snooping device, I hope that his wives won't be made to share in any penalty that may be imposed on him."

"I hope the same. But unless he is found to have been plotting actual _harm_ to us, I expect that the General will settle for interrogating him, and then barring him from any future visits here."

More than twenty-four hours were to pass before Yael would learn that the Saudi man had indeed been planting non-lethal surveillance nanobots, and that he would indeed be barred henceforth from the space station _and_ from riding on any Chinese-owned spacecraft. The most significant result to come from this abortive spy mission was that Yael would return to her home in the Moon colony with even more prestige among her fellows.
 
It was late afternoon on the day before Bastille Day: thus, the day before the second concert by the Blue Moon Stun Jazz Orchestra and Chorus. David Redfern had obtained the triumvirate's okay to hold this show at an auditorium in Casper, improving the chances that Alipang Havens would be able to attend it in person. Thanks in great part to the help of Tamara the upright-bass player, the rehearsals had worked out splendidly. The only catch, and it was being fixed, was with Omnipotence Cortez as a vocal soloist. In a mostly empty rehearsal hall, she was getting special attention today while the rest of the musicians were on supper break.

The girl could sing beautifully.... for eight or ten bars at a time. After that, if she didn't get a drink of water, her voice would break like a falling icicle. But the very nature of stun jazz, with its abrupt changes in the middle of songs, had come to the concert producer's aid. He had changed her part from singing one song all the way through, to having fragmentary solos in five numbers spaced throughout the program. This came to about as much total singing as she would have had if she could have kept going for one whole song; and after uncounted failures in front of the other performers, Omnipotence was grateful for David's solution.

Ransom Kramer and Lydia Reinhart were watching from one side as David gave the singer some coaching: "Yes, Tensie, I know it's incorrect grammar." (You had to have _some_ kind of nickname with a first name like "Omnipotence.") "In literature, the sentence _should_ say 'you and I;' but jazz songs, as well as rock, blues, hip-hop and country songs, have always allowed themselves license with grammar. And in this case, 'you and me' is what _rhymes_ with 'living free.' So no one will question your education if you sing this the way it's written."

"I've even known some hymns to be sloppy with grammar, both in English and in German," Lydia whispered to her sweetheart. The two of them had come to Casper with the majority of the Reinhart clan, as the last visit Ransom would pay to the Eric Havens household and other local friends _before_ he was officially baptized into the Amish faith. Not that Ransom would thereafter be unable to visit non-Amish friends; but on _this_ visit he could still be photographed, whereas once baptized he would have to ask people not to shoot pictures of him.

"I really appreciate your working with me this way, Daffy," Omnipotence purred -- and suddenly, without regard for the two onlookers, extended a hand to caress him in a place where he had NOT been prepared to be touched. That much forwardness by a male to a (non-exile) female could get a Diversity States male in big trouble in the year 2026; but if a girl chose to do it to a boy, any objection on HIS part could be construed as "hate." So, while stepping back from Omnipotence, he limited his protest to saying, "Please, it's David now. How about you sing this part twice more, then we'll move on to the last number."

"He handled that smoothly," Ransom whispered to Lydia, who was wincing at what she had just beheld.

But the former Daffodil Ford was about to have something trickier to handle.

Omnipotence was practicing her last song for the concert, when the rehearsal hall doors banged open, and in rushed David's biological mother, the famous diplomat and filthy-movie star. She never had found a favorable occasion to suggest to her son that he take part in a simulated criminal assault upon Harmony Havens; and now a new development had compelled her to discard that idea. Running headlong to David, she flung her arms around him and exclaimed:

"Daffy! I just learned something important, that affects you!"

Omnipotence did not remark on the fact that David did not correct his mother about the name; even in a society which held parenting in such contempt as the Fairness Party system did, the girl felt that David could give his caregiver more leeway if he chose to.

"I received a message from the State Department," Samantha continued. Actually, Bailey Melville and Moonrose Quickpace had also received it, but they had no part in Samantha's present concern. "The African Union found out that one of its citizens was being kept in the Enclave: the superstition teacher, you know him, Abraham Sunday or whatever. Now they're demanding his release!"

"Well, good news for him," Ransom spoke up, then was silenced by a sharp glare from Samantha.

"Yes, it is good news for Pastor Zondei," David echoed. "But how does it affect me?"

Samantha's face, her voice, and the grip of her arms around her son grew more impatient. "Politically, of course! The new administration is perfectly safe, with a black President in office, and with the white President who was to blame for Citizen Zondei's detention already dead. But this will still mean renewed pressure to root out white supremacists.... meaning that some lower-level personnel may get thrown under the pedicab."

To his own surprise, David now felt amused. "What, Mother, are you _admitting_ that the Party's accusations of 'white supremacist' activity have been made up out of nothing?"

"Never mind that!" Samantha snapped, reaching up to run the fingers of both hands through his hair. "Whatever you think of Party policy, you're _vulnerable_ right now, because you've never taken the step of demonstrating relational diversity to prove your progressive convictions! I don't know how much time you have before someone starts questioning you about exactly that! But you can _easily_ disarm that threat...."

Samantha brought up once again the same "relational diversity" option which had sent David into convulsions the other day; and now, she accentuated her words by behaving startlingly like Omnipotence Cortez. David was more on guard this time against his own reaction, worse though the treatment was when coming from his own mother; but the nearby Lydia Reinhart made up what he lacked in explosive unconcealed horror. As soon as she understood what Samantha was urging her son to do, the Amish girl's eyes bugged out; her jaw dropped; her hands flew to her mouth; and she bolted from the rehearsal hall, knocking over half a dozen music stands as she fled. Ransom followed Lydia; she was his priority now, though he regretted not staying to offer David such moral support as he could. But Omnipotence found the whole scene entertaining.

Prying his mother loose from him, David took a deep breath and told her, "Actually, there's _another_ way I can protect myself against a white-supremacist label. I can offer to _accompany_ Abraham Zondei on his flight back to Ghana; and I can ask to be allowed to go from there to Uganda, to work at our embassy there. My _father_ lives among black people, and takes orders from black people at his job; so no one can call HIM a white supremacist. I'll pick up innocence by association."

Samantha seemed to deflate. "So you really want to leave America?"

"Why not? _America_ has already left America."

"But who'll run the concert?" Omnipotence interjected.

"Oh, I won't leave before we present the show," David assured her. "And I think I can get someone to take over as producer for future concerts."

Samantha brightened. "You mean me?"

"Um, no. Don't forget, you have your _edgy_ movie career to think of now. I have someone in mind who isn't so _completely_ committed to the movie business...."

Thus it was that, when the rehearsal ended for the night, David sought out the lodgings of someone who, fortuitously, was in Casper to be one of the celebrity walk-ons at the concert: Osmawani Jalil.
 
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The formerly privately-owned apartment complex which was now providing temporary quarters for many members of the big stun-jazz ensemble had outdoor benches. Having gotten rid of his mother for tonight, and being still just a bit reluctant to be alone _indoors_ with the Malaysian temptress, David persuaded Osmawani to sit on a bench with him while he gave his reasons for inviting her to succeed him as manager of the exiles' musical organization -- which inescapably meant revealing to her what had made him want to leave. No one else was very close to them at the time; but at least the _place_ was not one to be chosen for seduction, even at night. Or David didn't think so, anyway. This being still summer, and Osmawani being Osmawani, she was dressed quite revealingly. But he had seen her that way before, and right now, the mere _sight_ of her personal contours was nothing at all compared to the shudders he still felt because of the _action_ recently recommended to him. It further helped his peace of mind that, at least in the early part of the interview, Osmawani tactfully avoided physically _touching_ him.

"Have you heard from anyone _other_ than Samantha that there was a danger of your being slandered as a white supremacist?" she asked at one point.

"Well, I did ask Mr. Musgrave about it, you remember him. He hadn't heard any such thing, but of course he's not high up the ladder himself, so the danger still _could_ be real." From there, David proceeded to relate the differing reactions of Lydia, Ransom and Omnipotence; then he launched into the reasons why he thought Osmawani would be a success in her own right as a concert producer.

"You've done both live-stage and cinematic acting." He attempted a conspiratorial grin. "This gives you name recognition, as your being tagged for the walk-on tomorrow night proves. Of course, the live acting didn't have the most inspired material."

She grinned back. "Neither did the two movies I've done so far with Zimmo; but you're being kind by not saying that."

"Well, I will say this: the _timing_ of my offer comes when you _haven't_ yet been irrevocably typecast as someone _only_ suitable for Mr. Garland's productions. You have a certain aura, yet you can still ride that aura in a new direction. Besides, having been a government office worker in the Pinkshirts, you know you can do organizational work. You're well r-- well qualified for producing and promoting the orchestra."

Osmawani was laughing melodiously now. "You sweet boy! You were _embarrassed_ to say I was well _rounded!_ I'm really going to miss you if you fly off to Uganda."

"But you understand why I want to go there, don't you?"

"Of course. Even if you didn't have Samantha rocking your canoe here, having a family like the Redferns to live with sounds like Paradise. You already know that _I've_ never been granted anything like that. By all means, if the State Department lets you go, you go for it."

The words "--you go for it" were coming at the young man from a face which somehow had gotten much closer to his own face. David had no idea how it had happened, but the exquisite woman who had begun this meeting sitting three handspans away from him was now firmly pressed against him from the side -- her right foot against his left foot, calf against calf, knee against knee, thigh against thigh, hip against hip, side against side. Her right arm had snaked around him somehow, and her left hand had reached far enough across him to catch hold of his right hand.

"You know, you could have had people fighting each other for the chance to occupy the spotlight you're vacating; and there's nothing you intended or expected to gain for yourself by offering it to me immediately, other than maybe figuring that the triumvirate would approve of me and ease your escape to Africa. But I've never forgotten what you said to me about my trying to get ahead in life. You're offering me a _gift:_ the chance to take a direction in show business that will offer me more dignity than Zimmo Garland offers. And that has to be one of the three or four kindest things anyone's ever done for me. The Energy Undersecretary shooting Nash Dockerty still holds first place, of course; but somehow I get this feeling that thanking you is more fun than thanking her."

Her right foot now moved behind his left foot; her whole body swivelled to face more directly toward him; her left hand slid lightly up his right arm, while her right elbow deftly levered against his left arm to urge that arm to reach around her. As had been true of other times Osmawani had touched him, David was a _thousand_ times more stimulated by the bodily contact than by any amount of merely _seeing_ her or any girl or woman. He struggled to speak coherently:

"Uh, uh, it's, uh, you've been a good friend to me.... You've tried to make, make me feel confident, and you haven't, uh, made me.... well, you _usually_ haven't made me too uncomfortable." (To be sure, even now, nothing that Osmawani was doing was so upsetting to David as the recent unwanted fondling from two sources had been.)

The Asian beauty laughed again. "God, but you're cute! Only, 'cute' sounds condescending. David, I know you feel yourself still to be scarcely more than a child. But not only are you past the age of consent by law; you also have more _qualities_ of manhood than you begin to suspect you have." The way she was looking at him, David suddenly realized, was exactly the way he had once wished Thundercrash Bellingham would look at him, or more recently, the way he had wished Harmony Havens would look at him. But they _hadn't_ looked at him that way, though Harmony had come within hailing distance of it a time or two. And Osmawani---

Osmawani, not to be denied, tugged his head down to meet her face. She kissed him. She went on kissing him. And she did not let up until she had gotten him kissing back -- awkwardly, deliriously, but consciously returning her kiss.

When she allowed him to come up for air, he was gasping more dramatically than the length of the kiss would account for. Osmawani quickly told him, "I know that I'm not your ideal mate for a lifetime, and that you very rightly _want_ a mate for a lifetime. Even if we didn't have the age difference, my personality and my view of the world wouldn't make me the daughter-in-law that Josiah Redfern would prefer. But you're special to me, David; your plain, upright _goodness_ is special to me. I hope it _does_ work out for you to get away to Uganda and live with your soldier father; but I can't let you leave without letting you know just how _terrific_ I think you are."

David gulped. "Um, you can always, um, _say_ it to me." But he made no attempt to pull away from her -- even as she drew his right hand down to place it on her bare left knee.

"I am saying it to you," she replied, and hauled him into another kiss. Actually, several kisses. Between the longest kiss yet, and an even longer one to follow, she murmured, "I know you _weren't_ trying to get me to do this, and you're the more terrific _because_ you weren't looking for any such reward. There are so few like you, David, and like the old joke about good men and parking spaces, most of them are taken. Well, for just one night, I plan to take _you_ for myself."

David had made a Christian commitment, and he had some understanding of purity. But he was very young in grace; no one like Alipang was there to dissuade him from doing what his body now demanded; he was being offered, by the woman's free will, something that might boost his self-confidence; and what Osmawani intended _still_ was far more normal and clean than what the Fairness Party wished him to do. Thus, much as Osmawani had slid up against him on the bench without his knowing how it happened, she soon had him inside her temporary apartment with almost as little idea how it happened.

Little idea how it happened, and even less idea what exactly he was supposed to do now. But when she embraced him again, and said "I love you, David; I'll _always_ love you," he found it easy to believe that she would patiently and expertly help him along in the procedure.

He was right about that.
 
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Osmawani awoke David early enough that he could dress and sneak out of there before the sun came up; she seemed to consider it a grand joke. But her last several kisses given to him before he departed were no joke at all, and seemed to him like a woman kissing a man whom she really _would_ always love. It was only as he was about to leave that he remembered with shock that it was the ERIC HAVENS house he had to return to. But his hostess dispelled his panic by informing him: "I took care of it last night. Had a _male_ acquaintance let them know that you'd been busy with people involved in the concert, and a room was found in this building for you to stay in overnight. All perfectly true. Eric and Cecilia will never guess that you were caught in the lair of a cougar."

"Of a what?"

"Never mind. You won't want to lie if they ask you directly, so _don't_ lie. Just don't _volunteer_ the facts of what happened between us, and I'll bet you pesos to centavos that they won't even _imagine_ it could have happened, and thus they won't ask you about it. I promise you that I'll never brag about it to anyone; but I'll _remember_ it until I die. And my wish for you is that someday you'll find a girl who's _almost_ as good a lover as I am."

Osmawani proved to have known what she was talking about. Eric and Cecilia, to whom David still did seem like a boy rather than a man, did not suspect what he had been up to. Neither did Alipang and Kim, who had been able to get away from Yellowstone Sector and would be attending the concert. David found genuinely interesting all the anecdotes Alipang and Kim could tell of their experiences at the inprocessing center and the geothermal construction area. When, for his part, he recounted a toned-down version of his last repugnant encounter with his mother, the obvious revulsion he felt over it left his listeners with the impression that he had made the most dramatic disclosure he could possibly have up his sleeve today. So the secret he shared with Osmawani remained a secret that was theirs alone.

Well, theirs and God's. A faint guilt over losing his innocence began taking shape after lunch; but he knew how often his Christian friends talked about God's forgiveness. He resolved that he would at least not _repeat_ the ecstatic night of lovemaking he and the _relatively_ older woman -- the "cougar?" -- had shared.

The night of the Bastille Day concert arrived, and the Havens family was there in force. Even Terrance Havens was in the audience. Harmony wasn't. Harmony was reported to be needed on the job at Earth's Treasures; but David irrationally imagined that she knew about him and Osmawani by magic, and that she was keeping away because of disgust, jealousy or both.

When Osmawani, now beautifully but modestly gowned, had her walk-on and thus was onstage close to David for a minute or so, no one watching them would have guessed what had passed between them less than twenty-four hours earlier. She didn't even toss any special glances his way, only her usual pert and friendly look. David did not say anything to the audience about her succeeding him as promoter, because this was not yet certain, though he believed it would work out.

Samantha Ford couldn't leave her son in peace. During one of the livelier songs, she climbed onto the stage uninvited, and performed her idea of an exotic dance. It actually was not badly done -- provided the onlooker was not her embarrassed teenage son; and everyone tacitly agreed to let her get it out of her system, rather than cause a painful scene by ejecting her forcibly from the stage.

When the show ended to encores and standing ovations, David found that he overwhelmingly _wanted_ to return to Osmawani's bedroom for _that_ sort of encore; but there was the official ensemble party to attend, and then the post-party party with the Havens family. Once the peak of his animal desire had passed, he was able again to be glad that he was with the friends who had done so much for his _spiritual_ happiness. Thus he did not miss the chance of hearing, nor did he fail to feel interest in, the news Alipang had been saving up to tell him:

"You remember they'd been talking about rewarding workers who made major contributions to the powerplant building work. Well, my helping that peculiar woman Pulverizer Clarendon, and that _hag_ Rhoda Gardner, seems to have counted for something with the triumvirate."

"What my brother means," Terrance put in teasingly, "is that he's won the privilege of having Ms. Clarendon beat him up _twice_ in her next Enclave-located movie."

"Don't listen to Terrance," Alipang laughed; "he's just trying to hide his own boundless love and desire for Pulverizer."

"I have to hide it," said the younger brother, "or else Jillian would beat _her_ up."

"Enough!" Kim half-shouted to them, then addressed David: "The Enclave administration came up with a reward based on what they know about our family. We've got Chilena and Melody here now with their husbands and children, which is wonderful; but I still haven't seen my mother and sisters, nor even received mail from them, in the whole time since we were planted in the Enclave. Dan was able to get news of them on the outside, so I would know they were all right, including my sisters' husbands and kids; but I've had no _direct_ contact in over four years."

David raised his eyebrows. "They live in Canada now, don't they?"

"That's correct. And in appreciation for Al helping to save the actress' life, besides his general usefulness as a dentist, the triumvirate is offering to let me _meet_ my Mom, and Baeline, Sharon and Susan!"

"You mean fly them in here?"

Kim's face, while it had never seemed otherwise than beautiful to David, appeared miraculously _younger_ as she spoke. "Even crazier: let me see them on the _outside!_ That is, if Alipang will stay inside the fence as a hostage, I can fly with Wilson, Essie, Brendan and Peggy TO CANADA for maybe a week!"

Thinking of what this must mean for Kim, David listened eagerly to everything she would say about the prospect. He was honestly happy for his friends; and this was helping him NOT to be consumed with wanting more of Osmawani's fabulous loving.
 
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Chapter 119: Escrimador Enhanced

Miguel De Soto was strong enough by now to be almost as active as a man his age who _hadn't_ suffered from Adenoid-Cystic Carcinoma. He had singlehandedly edited the last two editions of the Wyoming Observer; he and Tilly had appeared with Matti Siermaala on a two-part installment of In The Enclave Today, telling a temporarily-returned Denise Heathcock about the successful ultrasonic treatment; and the couple had attended the Bastille Day stun-jazz concert with Eric and Cecilia Havens.

Accordingly, at a triumvirate meeting, the Undersecretaries of Sustainable Energy and Eco-Sensitive Agriculture had outvoted the Undersecretary of Distribution. The result was that Miguel De Soto _would_ be allowed to listen in when Doctor Alipang Havens was briefed on a special reward he was going to receive in _addition_ to his dependents being allowed a trip outside the fence.

On Thursday, July 16, 2026, Texas Ranger pilot Darya Sinkiewicz flew a passenger helicopter to deliver Alipang, his son Wilson, and Miguel to Rapid City. She then went about other business. The exiles' meeting with the Distribution Undersecretary took place in the mountainside cave-headquarters which had formerly belonged to the Overseers.

Even though the Undersecretary knew perfectly well that none of these visitors posed any threat at all to her, and though the point of the meeting was to do Alipang Havens a _favor_ of sorts, it still suited her to keep eight armed Commerce Inspectors in the conference room, just to make herself feel more important after the slight ego-deflation her colleagues had inflicted on her. "Doctor Havens, Citizen De Soto, Pioneer Havens, be seated, and help yourselves to the drinking water." She addressed Wilson as if he were a Diversity Pioneer as a way to hint that she was defining the terms of the conversation, though she knew that the strong-spirited boy would sooner die than subscribe to the tenets of the Pioneers and the Party.

"May I take notes?" asked Miguel -- using his _voice_ again, after all these months. Tissue regeneration had brought him that far by now, though his voice was weaker than it had been before his cancer. Phasing his lungs back into use, while his gill implants continued to oxygenate his blood, had been the most interesting part of his convalescence.

"Yes, you may take notes. But understand that this does not change the order for you to wait for clearance before you publish this in your newspaper."

"Understood, ma'am."

"And I'm still allowed to ask questions, right?" said Alipang.

"Of course; Doctor Havens, as is your bioproduct." She knew that Wilson would not like being called a bioproduct; but in her own perception, this added bit of putting him in his place did not contradict her overall goodwill and benevolent intentions toward the undeniably respectable Havens family.

"Then I ask, what exactly _does_ the administration, or else the Department of Distribution, plan to give me in return for my services in Yellowstone Sector?"

"It really will be the Distribution Department giving you your gift, by way of the Bioscience Management Bureau, with input from the Health Rationing Agency, the Genetic Health Service, the Research Scientists' Union, the Physicians' Union, and the Secondary Healthcare Workers' Union."

Alipang smiled. "S.H.W.U. -- that's my friend Evan Rand's union!"

"So I hear. But to continue. You surely realize that repercussions went rippling out across these communities when Pulverizer Clarendon had her near-fatal heart attack. The blame-placing went on for many days. She had supposedly been modified in _every_ way needed to support her body's use of its enhanced strength; but that exile nephrologist confirmed your speculation, that Ms. Clarendon's _kidneys_ had been unprepared to handle the change in waste proteins that ensued from protein alterations in her muscles.

"Because of this incident -- and, Citizen De Soto, there's no harm in adding that _your_ experience had an effect on the discussion, because you were an example of an internal exile coming through a medical experiment with flying colors -- the organizations concerned have reconsidered many bio-enhancement research projects. Rather than risk losing a promising movie star, in a time when movies are America's chief export to the rest of the world -- they want to use an _exile_ subject for the next enhancement project."

Alipang raised his eyebrows. "I take it you mean me."

"So I do. What the life-science community envisions in your case is not a boost of raw muscular strength such as Ms. Clarendon received..."

Wilson indulged in a slightly impudent interruption: "...because my Papa's _already_ stronger than most people who aren't more than three times his size."

Distribution smiled for the first time in this interview. "That's near enough to true by all accounts, young man; but there's also the consideration that, although you Enclave residents are known to be highly law-abiding, the higher-ups aren't _eager_ to give any dissident an enhancement that would so _obviously_ increase his power to do violence." (She didn't bother mentioning the fact that, even in the general population, it was Party policy to give increased muscle strength only to women -- by way of "proving" that women were _inherently_ stronger than men, at the same time as they still maintained that women were the unfortunate _victims_ of men.)

"So will it be a sensory improvement?" asked Miguel. "Or maybe a boost to his disease resistance?"

"That last is closer. What we plan to give Doctor Havens is a certain enhancement to his body's ability to resist injury. It seems fitting, after the way he _subjected_ himself to injury to protect Daffodil Ford of the State Department."

"I believe you mean David Redfern of the State Department," Alipang corrected her.

"Whatever. We're not going to make you strictly bulletproof, or enable you to grow back lost body parts without a regeneration treatment, but -- well, just let me continue."
 
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At a sign from the Undersecretary, one of the Commerce Inspectors activated a large two-dimensional television screen. He took it on himself to remark to the three exiles: "This is a video presentation on the growth and functions of human skin. It's been prepared as an analog-videotape resource for the new university, and thus was conveniently available for the Undersecretary's use today."

The Undersecretary picked up from there: "Just relax and watch this for a few minutes. Pioneer Havens may find it helpful in thinking about whether he'll want to attend the medical university in the near future." So Alipang, Wilson and Miguel watched the genuinely interesting lesson about skin cells. One part spoke of the fact that a person's hair and fingernails were made of the same kind of cells as the skin. When this part was done, the television was abruptly turned off.

"There, Doctor Havens, is the takeoff point for our plan. Numerous bio-researchers have long been debating over the possibilities of giving a human body some kind of organic _armor_ to take the place of armored garments. Awhile back, in your capacity as a law-enforcement auxiliary with the Grange, you took down a union facilitator who was committing an act of sexist bullying. That man was one who had received certain bone and cartilage reinforcement procedures; while this obviously didn't enable him to beat you in a fight, his attending physician said afterward that she believed his enhancement had saved him from _dying_ by the force of your blows to his midsection.

"Would I be right, Doctor Havens, in supposing that on the occasion I describe, you hit the man as hard as you did _because_ you had guessed that he had some defensive enhancement of that nature?" When Alipang simply nodded, she continued, "All the more cause to regard you as a good subject for a new enhancement experiment, since you have the intelligence to speculate about the benefits it could impart. Studies of what causes the difference in texture between skin and fingernails have led to devising a procedure to make skin FAR stronger, FAR harder to penetrate or damage."

Alipang raised his hand for permission to speak. "Yes, I like to think that I am smart enough to worry about the implications of alleged improvements to the body. Miss Clarendon almost died finding out that adverse effects on her kidneys had not been foreseen when her muscle tissues were altered. And I see a problem that's _easier_ to anticipate. If you change my skin into some kind of leather armor, what if it suffocates me? I'm old enough to have seen the movie Goldfinger before the whole James Bond series was banned for patriarchalism. Although this never made sense to me when it's the _lungs_ that are supposed to aerate the body, it nonetheless is a fact that you can asphyxiate if enough of your skin pores are blocked."

"That," said the Undersecretary, "is where Citizen Clarendon's narrow escape works in your favor. It made the researchers less sure of themselves. The hazard of skin suffocation was brought up at the very start of the skin-hardening project, but all the most eager advocates insisted that the hardened skin would still be able to let air through the pores. Now, they're not so blindly optimistic. Therefore, what we propose for you is to strengthen only a _portion_ of your skin surface, much _less_ than half of the total area."

"Do I get to choose the parts?"

"You are allowed to refuse or consent to _have_ the procedure; but if you consent -- and it will be informed consent -- you must then accept the scientists' judgment."

"So, please give me the information to _make_ it informed consent."

"Of course. They contemplate hardening your skin in places where it's likely to make a real difference to your safety. For instance, people often get hurt in their _hands_ by touching hot or sharp objects; it thus is perfectly reasonable to fortify your hands, enabling you to handle items you normally would have to avoid touching."

"That could certainly have its advantages. But what about the trade-off? Would the sense of touch in my hands be deadened? Would they be less flexible? Remember, I need a _dexterous_ pair of hands to practice dentistry more than I need an _indestructible_ pair. No patient has ever yet tried to bite my fingers off."

"According to all computer simulations, in the very worst case, your hands would not lose more than ten percent of their flexibility, and not more than twenty percent of tactile sensitivity. One special detail: they would _purposely_ reduce the sensitivity to _heat_ in your hardened skin. This, because being heat-resistant in reality wouldn't help you much, if the false _feeling_ of being burned caused you to panic and drop a hot object that wasn't actually damaging your hands at all."

"That makes a sort of sense. What about fingernails? I'd rather not lose the ability to scratch an itch."

"I'm told that you would still have nails. That's toenails as well as fingernails; for your _feet_ are another logical place to reinforce."

"In case I want to walk on burning coals? But seriously, yes, I can see how armored feet could also help me in some emergencies...."

The meeting went on for another hour and a quarter. Prominent in Alipang's mind was the truth which had always been with him since his family had been relocated: the authorities didn't _need_ to do anything subtle if they simply wanted to put him to death, so he didn't have to assume that any action of theirs was based on a _secret_ wish to eliminate him. And as long as there was no _accidental_ hazard such as the matter of the kidneys in Pulverizer's case, Alipang could well believe that he _might_ benefit overall from this experiment. But what finally decided him to consent was not the notion of his becoming some kind of bionic superhero.

It was an intuition of God's will in events.

Throughout the four years and change that he had been an internal exile, Alipang had felt himself to be in the same situation as the prophet Daniel in Babylon. If he remained faithful, then despite his vulnerable position, God would grant him opportunities to accomplish good. This had been happening visibly, especially over the last year and a half: most dramatically, through his being instrumental in ridding the Enclave of the cruel Overseers. He had been so blessed as to be able to gain some favor with persons in power, yet _without_ betraying his faith.

He would have preferred, as a courtesy, to ask for Kim's opinion before he agreed to be experimented on; but the Undersecretary was making it a hard sell. In fact, she hinted strongly that if he _didn't_ agree, Kim and the children would be denied their already-promised chance to visit the Tisdale side of the family in Canada.

So Alipang Havens decided to accept this new adventure. Only after he gave his recorded consent did an amusing thought come to him: if he became able to handle burning objects without injury, this would fit with his joking teenage identity as "The Filipino Fireball."
 
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Meanwhile, with the aftermath of the Bastille Day concert all wrapped up, David Redfern was riding a train back to Rapid City, hoping that upon his arrival he could get confirmation of his request for a new assignment was approved. No one in authority had replied to his texted queries on the subject.

The particular passenger car in which the youth sat contained exclusively male riders, all of them having some connection with government-supervised entertainment. One was a federal office worker who could play the trumpet, and who had thus obtained a slot in the stun-jazz orchestra which desperately needed more brass players. Several others, David knew, had worked in some capacity on filming Geothermal Sites of the Heart. And one was no less than cinema director Zimmo Garland, who had been in the audience at David's concert. Zimmo was the one who had contrived to reserve an all-male car for this run to the Enclave capital -- and likewise the all-female car directly in front of the men's car.

David did not need to see the antics of some fellow passengers to understand that the _last_ thing Zimmo had had in mind when segregating the genders was any gesture of respect for Biblical customs and morals. But he was making it clear to anyone who looked his way that he just wanted to be left alone, and to arrive in Rapid City.

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

Riding in the women's car, Osmawani Jalil was also eager to find out if she would be allowed to succeed her -- boyfriend? -- whatever he was, as manager of the exiles' orchestra. But she did not feel nearly such a keen desire to be left unbothered as David felt. This was just as well for her, since she _wasn't_ being left unbothered. Samantha Ford, occupying the aisle seat to Osmawani's window seat, was physically crowded close to her and verbally talking her ear off. The Malaysian woman bore it calmly; after all, she and Samantha had seen each other undressed, to put it delicately, so she would have felt like a hypocrite if she had objected to her sometime co-star merely leaning close to her on board a train while they were both fully clothed.

"You remember what I told you about Daffy's male gamete-source: the very _distillation_ of scragging, fluking caveman crudeness! The living, grunting _reason_ why the Party is so anxious to stimulate evolution with a progressive redefinition of masculinity! And you know what hopes I've had for Daffy: he could be a standard-bearer, leading a whole generation in an escape from the poisonous vestiges of God-fascist bourgeois tribalism. His involvement in the arts was at worst neutral in that regard, and it _could_ be a positive help in achieving his rightful karma. But if he goes to _Uganda_ and actually lives _with_ his male parent, _everything_ I've accomplished with him will be deleted!" Samantha's arms slid pleadingly around the other woman's neck. "Please, Osmawani, for the sake of all we've done together in the cause of social enlightenment, please, _help_ me! Help me to get my bioproduct back on the evolutionary track!"

We catch more flies with sugar than with vinegar, Osmawani thought, and so she reacted very gently to Samantha's begging. Passing one or her own arms around Samantha's waist, she let their heads rest firmly together as she replied, "I'm sure you know that I do want what's good for David. But isn't the Party _always_ saying that children have to assert their independence from the will of their caregivers?"

"I know, I know, and you're right to remind me. But even if I shouldn't let my Gaia-given maternal devotion play a part here, Daffy and I are still both in the service of the State Department; so surely I'm at least allowed to worry about him as a _colleague?_ His best possibilities are all _here,_ all available to him right where he is, if he would only realize it, and stay here, and if he would only choose a relational initiation and receive his full Party status!"

Pretending not to know about the Freudian suggestion which had recently been made to David, Osmawani said innocently, "But what can I do to help him?"

Samantha gave a profound sigh. "Osmawani, dear, you _can't_ be unaware that my bioproduct finds you attractive. With all the effort I've invested in guiding him toward Party-approved socializing, he _still_ hasn't rid himself of the primitive urges. But if he had the right partner _within_ that paradigm, she could at least buy time for him: time in which he would be kept away longer from that loosh of a _soldier_ in Uganda, time in which karma still might bring along something that would help him over the line to enlightenment. Osmawani, darling, YOU are that partner! I'm asking you to work with Daffy's feelings for you, draw him into a relationship. Then at least he would be with someone _loyal_ to the Party, not some horrid Biblical twit like that sister of Alipang Havens!"

Osmawani placed her mouth next to Samantha's ear. "Let me be sure I understand you, dear. You say that you _want_ me to seduce your son?"

Samantha tightened her arms around Osmawani's neck. "If that will keep him in America and away from Josiah Redfern, then yes, yes, yes! And even though the pleasure you gave him wouldn't meet the requirements for his diversity certification, it _might_ redirect his mind into real-world satisfactions, and make him forget all that _religious_ gutflak!"

Osmawani wanted very much, right now, to reveal that she had _already_ seduced the boy -- and that she had intended this as an act of tenderness, not of manipulation. But she would never willingly do anything that might create new difficulties for the boy who she fervently wished were even a mere five or six years older. So what she said was: "I won't deny that the thought of spending a night with David is delicious to me. But let me try to explain something to you. There's an old saying, 'If you love something, set it free.' I want David to be able to choose his _own_ path. If I used my, uh, skills to attach him to myself, he might one day resent me for slowing him down...."

The two actresses continued this debate at close range for the rest of the railway trip, with inconclusive results -- unless it would count as a "result" that the rumor would start spreading of Osmawani becoming a full-time companion to Samantha. But Osmawani did not encourage this rumor by her actions when they disembarked in Rapid City: she fled immediately from Samantha, joined David, and went with him in search of news about his request.

 
Having the promise of a free return flight with Ranger Sinkiewicz if they could wait until morning, Alipang received a generous overnight invitation for himself, Wilson and Miguel at the home of his family's friend, the pedicab driver Ignacio Balubal. From the Balubal apartment, after supper, they were able to make landline phone calls to both Havens residences, and to the De Soto residence, to tell what they could of the day's events.

It was in speaking to Kim that Alipang came the closest to a total disclosure of what was really going on, telling her: "I feel almost pampered now. You remember that when I got injured protecting David, the administration approved a higher level of medical care for me than an exile would usually get. Well, now that I've helped keep an important macho-girl actress alive, they plan to afford me still more privileged status where my health is concerned."

Kim replied, "That would be part of the _same_ duly-earned goodwill that's allowing me to visit Mom in Canada." She was thereby signalling her husband that she understood that something was being _required_ of him as a condition for the favor to his family of letting Kim and the children travel.

"Right. I won't let _anything_ spoil that for you; and I know that if any journalist in Canada questions you, you won't fail to express our gratitude for the indulgence shown to us." Alipang was acknowledging Kim's acknowledgement.

Kim's telephone voice grew huskier. "Al, did I tell you anytime recently that I love you more than I ever imagined I _could_ love a man?"

"Actually, I sensed that by telepathy," he joked. "I am a superhero, after all." In view of their awareness of bio-enhancement technology, he hoped his joke would give his wife a further clue about what was going to happen to him in her absence.

After this conversation ended, Wilson -- whose own turn on the line with trivial news of the trip for his mother had concluded the phone call -- turned to his father and said, "I just thought of something, Papa. Could we step outside, please?" When father and son were out of hearing of the Balubals, Wilson continued: "I just realized that, according to the promise made to us, I'm going to be given a vacation outside even though I do know what's going to be done to you. Are they just counting on me to keep silent about it for _your_ safety?"

"I believe so, son. And for the safety of your mother and siblings. Anyway, things are in motion now that we can't really control; so we have no choice but to trust God to keep on protecting us from -- well, from _whatever_ might go wrong."

"Yes, Papa, we're fighting with the weapons of the Holy Spirit;" and the sturdy boy fiercely hugged his loved and revered father.

They were back inside the apartment, and an exhausted Miguel had already gone to bed, when an unexpected though not unwelcome visitor showed up: the former Daffodil Ford. "Have I ever got a surprise for you, Dr. Havens!" he declared to Alipang once he was let inside.

"And what would that be?" asked Ignacio, who had opened the door to begin with.

"I'm getting a diplomatic-service transfer!"

"To Uganda?" Wilson asked his friend.

"Unfortunately, no; but it still is for a job that they'll give me _without_ requiring 'proof of relational diversity.' I'm to become an intern with our delegation to the Hemispheric Union."

Alipang smiled. "Well, if God's providence allowed you and your father to see each other even _while_ you were inside the fence, it must also be possible that you'll have some contact with him when you're in South America."

"That's my hope, sir. And there's more: a secretary for the triumvirate looked up that mission's personnel files in her database, and told me that Ambassador Ritisak has an aide whom you know!"

At one instant, Alipang and Wilson respectively blurted "What?" and "Who?"

"The last survivor of an African-American family--" (David's tone conveyed an irony that he knew Alipang would catch) "--that was otherwise _officially_ recorded as wiped out by white-supremacist rioters in 2021."

Alipang's beady eyes went still wider. "You mean Vonetta Ashford? The baby sister of my school friend Sammy?"

"The very same. I'm going to be working with her! So if you hurry up writing a letter to her, one that will pass the usual inspection by the postal censors, I'll be able to place it directly into her hands."

"Why the hurry?"

"Because I'm boarding a plane for Mexico, to catch a faster flight from there to Venezuela, _tomorrow_ afternoon."

"As suddenly as that? What's going to happen to your stun-jazz orchestra?"

"It will continue; they've already chosen my replacement: my fellow Churchbuster of the Galaxy, Osmawani Jalil."

"Have you already said goodbye to your mother?" asked Wilson... to which David replied in a whisper, "More like good riddance. I think she had some hand in my _not_ being assigned to Uganda; but I still believe my new posting is a change for the better."

David's hasty goodbyes with Alipang and Wilson -- after the suggested letter to Vonetta was written -- were as fond and affectionate as his goodbyes with Samantha had been uncomfortable. He entrusted Alipang with a farewell message to Harmony Havens: "Tell her that I'll always treasure the blessing of having been acquainted with her at all, and that I hope she'll have an absolutely awesome life."
 
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When he left the Balubal apartment, although his optimism about the transfer was genuine, David's mental focus was on something else. Alipang leading the others in prayer for him had made him terribly uneasy.... since he couldn't bear to admit to his Christian friends just what he was going to be doing on what would be his last night in the Diversity States for an unknown length of time.

Osmawani, not because of what Samantha wanted but because of her gladness at being given the orchestra-management job, had broken her own resolution to let the one time with David be the only time. She had accordingly _begged_ him to come to her regular living quarters tonight and "celebrate" the good news they had each received. Still inwardly reeling with the intoxication of his first all-the-way experience with a woman, David could no more decline Osmawani's invitation to a repeat performance than a drug addict could refuse his drug.

He had scarcely managed to get inside her door before she was throwing herself into his arms, deluging him with kisses, and leading him back into her universe of impossible delight.

The next morning, as on the first occasion, Osmawani was first to wake up. This time, however, she did not awaken David to let him sneak away in a hurry, but rather to share with him still _more_ of what they had shared for most of the night. Only after this did she consent to speak about anything in the future beyond their insanely delicious tryst.

"Don't worry about the time, darling. The administration already _knows_ you're with me."

"They _know?_" the tall boy gawked.

"Of course! You have an assignment to fly to, after all! Relax, none of them have _any_ objections to you and me grabbing one more night of love. They know I'll make sure you don't miss your plane. So come here, you young earthquake...."

A close clinch with Osmawani disrupted the sense of time; yet their goodbyes had to come at last. When David was packed and ready to embark, Osmawani actually accompanied him to the airport where his propellor-driven Atmosfleet airliner awaited him. At the farthest point she was allowed to come to, she threw her arms around him once again, and there were genuine tears in her eyes.

"Osmawani," the boy murmured into her jet-black hair, "you may think I did you a favor, but what you've given me -- I don't have words for it."

She kissed him hard, then said, "I have words. The system, or anyway the most radical part of the system where human relationships are concerned, tried to make you feel guilty for wanting to be a man with a woman."

"You're right." He kissed her in turn. "And they say _Christians_ deal in guilt!" By saying this much in defense of Biblicals, David could feel that he was making some amends to them for straying a little bit from their standards.

"Well, I sure don't want you to feel guilty. I'm not just flattering you when I say you're the _best_ lover I've ever had; no one else comes close!" They kissed once more. "And the reason is simple: you have a heart. Not many men do anymore. Nor women, to be truthful."

"I'll write to you," he offered hesitantly.

"And I'll cherish any message I do get from you. But now listen, David Redfern, listen carefully. Although you're taking a piece of my soul with you as you leave, it _remains_ true that I'm just not the one to hold a permanent office in your life. It's just karma, or kismet. So the best way I can love you now is to set you free." Another long kiss, with neither of them caring how many bypassers could see them. "You owe me no commitment, no fidelity. Don't assume that I'm waiting for you, either -- though I doubt I'll _ever_ again attract the interest of any guy half as nice as you are. Live your _own_ life; and if you meet a woman closer to your age -- even, say, anywhere in her twenties -- don't _ever_ feel that you're betraying me if you take a chance with her. I'll miss you like anything; but I'll be _happy_ for you if you find a love that can actually work out for you."

If agitated emotions had been airplane fuel, David Redfern could have powered the Mexico-bound airplane by himself.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The flight on Atmosfleet consumed by far the greatest portion of travel time. Though shifting only one time zone eastward, the relatively slow hybrid aircraft would not reach Mexico City until after dark. Along the way, passing close to the New Mexico border and thus to Aztlano airspace, they sighted one of the Texas Bear air-defense planes west of them. David realized that this big plane was on patrol specifically to guard against Aztlano attacks on Diversity States aviation. The fact that the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic was _permitted_ to go on being a regional threat, even though several Western Hemisphere powers were _stronger_ than the renegade nation, prompted the young diplomat to ponder whether diplomacy was doing any good at all.

In Mexico City he transferred to a state-of-the-art Brazilian jet, which took him to Caracas in much less time than the shorter first leg had consumed. It was still night when he walked off his plane in Caracas; but as he had been advised, an aide to Vibol Ritisak was right there to meet him.

In fact, it was _the_ aide: Vonetta Ashford, Alipang's long-lost friend, about whom David had been told. Darker of skin than the flirty girl Skydazzle, Vonetta was also better-looking than Skydazzle, although for the present David was not ready to think of any other woman as equalling Osmawani's beauty. Still, during the flight, he had thought about the reported age difference between Vonetta and Alipang--

A difference which meant that Vonetta was "only" in her twenties. As if, somehow, Osmawani had spoken of women in that age range _intending_ to suggest possibilities for David with Vonetta, of whose existence Osmawani was aware. Harmony Havens was also in her twenties, and had seemed utterly unattainable; but the definition of "unattainable" seemed to have morphed a bit since those two ecstatic nights with Osmawani. Not that David was going to make an idiot of himself; but if possibilities did arise with this not-quite-so-much-older woman, he would be receptive to them.

"Welcome to Venezuela and the Bi-Continental Assembly, Mister Redfern!" It was not lost on David that Vonetta didn't bother calling him Citizen. "I'm Vonetta Ashford, and I've got ground transportation ready for you."

Returning her smile, he fished the letter from a pocket as soon as they had shaken hands. "I'm David Randall Redfern, and what I've got for _you_ is a letter from Alipang Havens."

Her jaw dropped as she accepted the letter from him. "Havens! Alipang! Then you _have_ been with them! I knew they were alive, because I would get occasional news of Chilena and her husband; but that's all I knew. And a _letter_ from good old Al -- this is too good to be true! My friend, I hope you won't mind spending some of your off-duty time with me, because I'll want you to tell me _everything_ you can about the Havens family!"

"That will be my pleasure, Miss Ashford."

"Please, call me Vonetta."

 
Since David was not going to Africa, he could not after all be an escort for Abraham Zondei. But this did not mean that the brave Ghanaian-born pastor didn't receive plenty of attention before he departed from Casper. The Wyoming Observer was not allowed to publish anything about this, because the exposure of Abraham's illegal detention was an embarrassment to the Rainbow House, even though the injustice had been done by a previous President. But all sorts of people who cared about him went to great pains to make sure they spoke with him once more before he was repatriated. Among these were John and Felicity Waddell, Bill and Lorraine Shao, Sarbar and Dalbir Pitafi, Reuben Torvill, Frodo Von Spock, and of course everyone in the extended Havens family.

In the last conversation he had with Eric Havens, Abraham Zondei remarked, "Since the sanctity of the family is one of the issues for which you exiles _got_ exiled in the first place, I shouldn't feel guilty in front of _you_ for putting family first. But I do feel as if I'm betraying you, bailing out to freedom while the rest of you _can't_ bail out."

Eric lovingly grasped his friend's strong arms. "Well, _don't_ feel guilty! Your daughter needs you, and you deserve the satisfaction of being with her again. Think of what a blessing it's been for Avery Glass to have his son with him in addition to his daughter! Although we _will_ miss your anointed sermons, my own daughter is arranging for another good man of God to fill our pulpit here." Eric was referring to the initiative Chilena was taking to enable her own former pastor, Wayne Schell, to move away from the often-violent community of Georgetown and assume the leadership of the Church of the Faithful. Something he _didn't_ refer to was the possibility that, after being reunited with Molly, Abraham would very possibly find meaningful opportunities to speak to people in the outside world about just how irrational and unfair the Fairness Party regime truly was. Eric didn't want to jinx this possibility by speaking about it in a city full of surveillance gear.

Still, all went well with Pastor Zondei's leave-taking. And Lieutenant Emilio Vasquez undertook to _guarantee_ that it went well. On his own authority, he caused Abraham to be transported out of the Western Enclave by Texas Ranger flyers; and the Rangers didn't let Abraham out of their sight until, at the Philadelphia airport, they placed him on board a spaceplane belonging to an African airline.

The Rangers also were concerned that the minister's liberation should not be jinxed in any way. After all, his being free to tell the truth about the D.S.A. was coming at the same time as the secret army was beginning to disseminate the indictments of that regime recorded by Miguel De Soto.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Kim Havens had one more Sunday to enjoy worship at the Sussex Gospel Church with Peter Ionesco preaching, before she and her children would set out on the first excursion of its kind to be granted to any internal exiles since the Enclave had been founded. (The former Ma'at Wazir, of course, had been allowed to _leave_ the Enclave, but she had not been placed on her honor to _return_ to the Enclave.)

Before the last hymn was sung, Pastor Ionesco called Alipang, Kim, Wilson, Esperanza, Brendan, and Baby Peggy up to the front. He led a congregational prayer of sending, then began to offer individual blessings:

"Kimberly Havens, you are a Proverbs 31 woman, and a role model for the younger women around you, blending strength with kindness and wisdom. God has used you here; He will use you in Canada; and He will use you after you come back to us. May His providence ensure that you not only travel safely, but enjoy fabulous blessings.

"Wilson Havens, you have your father's courage and integrity. May our _Heavenly_ Father guide you in everything you do while you are away from us, so that your _earthly_ Papa will be able to continue being as proud of you as he already is.

"Esperanza Havens, you combine sweetness with a keen intelligence. May the Holy Spirit gift you with all the insight and attentiveness necessary to make this journey profitable to you, so that you will continue to develop the virtues of the Biblical Abigail.

"Brendan Havens, you bear the name of a friend of your father, a friend who is brave and strong _like_ your father. May God continue to increase your own strength and bravery -- while also permitting you to _enjoy_ your childhood. Tell your Grandmother Tisdale, and your aunts and uncles and cousins, hello from all of us here.

"Peggy Havens, though you are too young to understand a blessing, you yourself _are_ a blessing. May Our Lord, Who always welcomed children, keep you in His tender care by day and night, protecting you from all harm and evil, as you grow up to know Him. The love of your parents for you is a reflection of _God's_ love; and may nothing prevent you from quickly learning to appreciate this.

"Finally, Alipang Havens, my warrior brother! You are one who _has_ resisted unto the shedding of your own blood. You are a father and husband so true to the duties of love, that your presence here is enough to draw your wife, daughters and sons to return to you when their privileged excursion ends. May God cause you _always_ to maintain that faithful righteousness which makes prisoners willing to return to prison rather than forsake you. Like the prophet Daniel who is your inspiration, may you keep your commitment to God whether you are alone or with others. And may your joy be doubled and tripled when your wife and children return to you safely. I speak all this in the name of our Savior Jesus Christ."

That night, Alipang and Kim had no chance at all for intimacy, because the children wanted to stay close to their Papa on this last night before the trip to Canada. So a sort of indoor campout ensued, reminding Alipang of old times in Smoky Lake. But by a few secret, silent touches exchanged after the children fell asleep, Alipang and Kim promised each other that there _would_ be new sessions of marital passion after the vacation was over.

And, within his mind, Alipang prayed that the alterations to be done on him would not in any way impair his conjugal relations with Kim. There was not _supposed_ to be any adverse effect in that area; but then, Pulverizer Clarendon wasn't _supposed_ to suffer kidney failure either.
 
Chapter 120: Peace, the Pause to Reload

Five men, representing the five largest gangs in the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic, came to a mansion in San Francisco to meet with President Emilio Formentera and the two most important women in his life: his sister and sounding board Lupita Formentera, and his lover Jessica Trevette, whom he addressed as Jacinta when persons not in on the secret were around. The five gang leaders were among the small handful of persons allowed to know who Jessica really was. (The fact that she had always had her broadcast image altered while she was President of the Diversity States was helpful to Jessica in moving around now that she was supposed to be dead.) And such signs of trust from the side of El Presidente de Aztlan helped assuage the feelings of the gang bosses over the fact that they weren't allowed to have their own bodyguards at meetings like this one.

The gangs represented were:

Los Flechadores ("Archers"), who controlled those military combat aircraft which were not under the direct control of the Aztec-Maoist Party. They felt they had a score to settle with the Texas Rangers for killing Flechadores in aerial combat; the fact that the Rangers had been defending against unprovoked aggression didn't matter in the gangsters' minds.

Los Malignos ("Demons"), who handled all such heavy ground-combat ordnance as was available to Aztlano gangsters. The Chinese, upon the formation of Aztlan, had confiscated all U.S. Army main-battle tanks and heavy artillery that had been based or mothballed within Aztlano territory; but the Aztlanos had been permitted to keep the armored infantry fighting vehicles and some lighter artillery.

Los Bucaneros ("Buccaneers"), who operated maritime patrol and rescue aircraft, along with former Coast Guard surface vessels. They also had a part in espionage and secret diplomacy, which was how Bucanero member Felipe Contreras had come to be the courier who met with Samantha Ford in Canada the year before.

Los Picadores (from the term for a bullfighter's assistants), who handled much of what would be called outright criminal activity if this activity had not been lifeblood for the Aztec-Maoist Republic. Apart from what was directly handled by Formentera's government, they were in charge of the low-life amusements offered to low-life tourists. The fact that these tourists might blab useful information while being wined and dined, without needing to be forced in any way, gave Los Picadores a role of their own in intelligence collection.

Los Lagartos ("Lizards" or "Alligators"), who supervised the workers in the potash mines, as well as supervising many of the skilled professionals who had been kidnapped from the Diversity States (or had never gotten out of Aztlan in the first place). They were the only one of the Aztlano gangs who had within their own ranks a significant number of persons with engineeering skills; accordingly, they had always contributed to the work of making breaches in the D.S.-Aztlano border fence.

Each of these major gangs had three or more lesser gangs subordinated to it, the sub-gangs being divided either by job specialty or by the location of its operations. But naturally, the Party kept enough total manpower and hardware under its own control that, when combined with rivalry between gangs, there was very little chance that any one gang would ever be able to overthrow the Formentera dynasty. Not that they wanted to at present; the Formenteras had given them the successful-thug lifestyle they cherished.

When Emilio Formentera's bodyguards ushered the five kingpins into the conference room, they saw Formentera seated with Lupita on his right and Jessica on his left. Also present were El Presidente's trusted man Vinu Dandekar, and the Indian mafia leader Swapnil Vamsa -- the latter having two bodyguards of his own on hand by Formentera's consent.

"Buenas dias, compadres!" Formentera exclaimed cordially. "Please take your seats. When you're all comfortable, Vinu is going to brief all of us on what our mini-drones have been able to find out about the state of affairs in the gringos' Western Enclave."

"Especially, of course, in Yellowstone Sector, where they have been so kindly building a new electrical power complex for our benefit," remarked Lupita.

Rising from his seat, Vinu switched on a large video screen; holographic equipment was rare enough in Aztlan that it was only used where it was really needed, and two-dimensional imagery would suffice for this briefing. The gang leaders beheld a computer-generated aerial view, as if seen from a very low-flying airplane. "This is the geyser area of the Yellowstone Caldera. While our enemies intend to establish no fewer than four interconnected geothermal power plants, our little robot spies confirmed that they are hurrying to get ONE plant into actual use as soon as possible, without waiting to do them all concurrently. Their Energy Department is anxious to convince the Fairness Party that the whole geothermal project is worthwhile."

"Of course, WE know that it IS worthwhile," smirked Formentera, patting Jessica on the shoulder, "or we wouldn't be planning to take it away from them."

"The first power plant to go online," Vinu continued, "is not to be simply given a number like the existing Enclave generating stations. It will have the dignity of an actual name: the Spirit Smoke Station. This, deriving from a Native American term for the geysers. We are still working on estimates of how long it will take for them to have ALL the planned stations up and putting out current."

"Is this process of estimating the basis for deciding how soon we attack?" asked the chief of Los Lagartos.

"That is part of it. There will be other considerations: the rate at which our need for power increases, plus practical factors like the weather."

"Speaking of weather, we've got the armored vehicles for the strike from Colorado hidden in Thompson Canyon," put in the chief of Los Malignos. "If the attack has to be put off until after winter, we'll need to take measures to protect them from weather damage while they're waiting."

"All that will be discussed," Formentera assured him. "Vinu, continue."
 
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Vinu put up a view of Old Natrona Airport, which was now the home base of the Texas Ranger Enclave Aviation Detachment. "This facility in Casper, as some of you already know, is where the gringos keep those modest air-combat assets, all rotary-wing, that they are holding full time in the Enclave. Just two armed helicopters: one state-of-the-art Great Condor, and one much older and simpler gunship; and a scout helicopter with a targetting laser. Not to say that they can't carry some form of weaponry on other aircraft besides; and they now have the capability to service the repurposed Tu-95 airplanes there."

Jessica now interjected: "The circumstances which led to my being forced to allow some re-armament in the Diversity States were such as to put all the eggs in the aviation basket. They have no corresponding improvements in ground forces, to say nothing of restoring their Navy." She spoke up knowing that no one in the room was going to direct a vendetta against her for the Aztlano aviators who had gotten a taste of their own homicidal medicine. If she had not made _some_ little pretense of defending her own country while she was President there, it would have been harder for her to stay in office long enough to shape events in a way that favored her _true_ loyalty -- to the Aztec-Maoist Party. As it was, the Diversity States was now more than ever placing its reliance on the Enclave workforce to rebuild its industrial base; and the Enclave was vulnerable to attack.

Emilio Formentera picked up Jessica's thread of thought: "Thus, you Malignos should be able to punch through the Enclave easily, seizing Yellowstone and the rest of the electrical-power network, provided that you have enough air-defense capability to stop the Texas Rangers."

"And they _will_ have it," said Mr. Vamsa. "My people are handling the multi-step re-purchasing of the railgun ammunition that originated in the Enclave's own recycling complex and was sold to the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates. And you have seen that I was right about manufacturing railguns of a _modest_ caliber, scarcely any bigger than the man-portable variety. The Triads were too ambitious, wanting strategic-level arms based here. Small railguns, without a more sophisticated firecontrol suite than is really necessary, won't attract nearly so much interest from Beijing; yet they will still be good enough to bring down airborne targets that are so poor in evasive maneuverability as those Tu-95's are."

Formentera now looked at the chief of Los Bucaneros. "Are you on schedule with your part in the provocation plan?"

"Yes, we are. Felipe has the gringos thinking he's their best friend; and he's established a working relationship with Swapnil's agent Chida Govinda." The Bucanero leader allowed his tone to suggest that Felipe and Chida had a working relationship the way Formentera and Jessica Trevette had a working relationship. Swapnil Vamsa took no offense, because he knew that Felipe and Chida actually did have the same kind of relationship now. Swapnil did, however, change the subject, just to move things along: "Vinu, what is the status of our spy drones now?"

"Unfortunately, after the attempt the Triads made against that Chinese officer who was in the Enclave, the Rangers and other police entities went on the alert against mini-drones. As of today, we have just one left. The rest either were destroyed by the Rangers, or had to self-destruct to avoid capture."

"So we'll hold that last one in reserve," said Formentera to Swapnil. "I realize that your syndicate is hesitant to try slipping any more mini-drones to us, lest your own government crack down on you for it. But I'm confident that we have enough intelligence gathered by now that our plans can proceed. Vinu, would you please ask Mr. Asif to come in? And all of you, I remind you that Mr. Asif is not cleared to know all aspects of our strategy; so let him say his piece, and let me decide what facts can be told to him."

 
The man whom Vinu Dandekar now admitted to the secure conference room, Jabir Asif, was an Arab ethnically, but a citizen of Turkmenistan in the Central Asian Caliphate. Outwardly, he was a merchant; actually, he was more of a mercenary. While never shy about murdering any infidels who _weren't_ on his side at a given time, he was not so fanatical as to show any annoyance at Jessica and Lupita being unveiled and allowed to speak with men. He knew which side his bread was buttered on.

The Central Asian Caliphate as a whole had its bread buttered on the side of good behavior. Since, of the four Caliphates, it was farthest removed geographically from Saudi Arabia, it had the least hope of ever seizing control of Mecca. At the same time, it was the only Caliphate that actually bordered Greater China, and so felt the most immediate pressure from Beijing to behave itself. The Chinese had previously taken military action to halt Central Asian support to Muslim separatists in China's western regions, and the Central Asians had not forgotten the lesson. But this didn't mean that some enterprising individual in this Caliphate couldn't take advantage of the very fact that his government was minding its manners, to remain unsuspected as he ran his own mercenary game.

Emilio Formentera rose to greet his guest in the Turkmen language, then invited him to give his report. Jabir did so in proficient Spanish:

"The faithful in the Great Lakes Cantonment have not ceased to be furious over the murder of their Imam-Governor. There are multiple interpretations among them of the _cause_ for their outrage. Some -- the ones most inclined to live and let live with unbelievers -- admire the late Imam's refusal to join in a hunt for non-existent 'Ku Klux Quakers.' These are angry at everyone who ever worked for the Campaign Against Hate, but are not extending this anger to all outsiders indiscriminately. Many others, possibly a majority, are as wildly agitated as we could ever have wished, blaming _every_ non-Muslim everywhere for the assassination. A few are angry only at the man who succeeded Al-Farag in the position of Imam-Governor; and a few say that it was Al-Farag's own fault that he died, because he was not pure enough spiritually.

"What matters most of all is that they _are_ boiling with rage. And, while I have long agreed with your judgment that we should avoid using chemical or virological weapons in this operation, my agents _have_ been slipping people the antidote for the lithium formula the D.S.A. uses to keep them calm." Jabir Asif was just sexist enough not to want to give credit openly to Jessica Trevette for providing that antidote to him.

"Good so far," said Lupita, who was aware of Jessica's contribution in that area, and was not going to let Mr. Asif get by without ever having to speak directly to a woman. "What's the status of weapon shipments?"

With Lupita's brother looking straight at him, Jabir was not going to reply in any other way than courteously. "My computer experts back home have successfully tampered with records of old armaments consigned to scrapping, so no one in authority realizes that we helped ourselves to some perfectly workable weapons. My shipping company workers have by now smuggled enough weapon components up the Saint Lawrence Seaway for our agents in place to assemble into a total of six hundred conventional assault rifles, seven hundred flechette pistols, twenty 75-millimeter mortars and thirty 55-millimeter mortars, one hundred infrasonic-shock satchel charges, and ten anti-aircraft launchers with five missiles apiece. The shipments were divided about evenly between Duluth and Chicago."

Jessica smiled at Lupita, then put her own oar in: "Sounds like enough to open the dance. How soon can your men be ready to start the insurrection?"

"Within three days of my returning to Chicago to oversee the final preparations, though they won't start shooting till I get clear. _That_ part hasn't changed, has it?"

"Of course not," Formentera assured him. "Now, do you have any recommendations beyond those you've made so far?"

"Yes, my friend, I do. In view of the existence of the Cantonment faction I mentioned which _isn't_ categorically angry at the _whole_ D.S. population, I recommend that we minimize offensive action on the D.S. side of the Cantonment, and aim all our serious assaults against the Canadians. This should make it easier for the hesitant faction to let itself be drawn into the regional jihad along with everyone else."

Swapnil nodded, and turned toward Formentera. "I think he's right. After all, Canada is far more of a military threat to us, and would intervene against _any_ Cantonment uprising; so we might as well do our damage to Canadian targets, in the hope of keeping them too busy to intervene when we launch the _real_ mission against the Western Enclave and the Yellowstone Caldera. I can offer several assassination and sabotage teams to enhance the effectiveness of our incursions onto Canadian soil."

Discussion of tactics and timing went on for another hour, with the gang chiefs now taking part. When Jabir Asif took his leave, it was with instructions to see to his men's readiness, but not to let them start the uprising until he received a definite go-ahead.

Only when the smuggler-agitator was gone did the chief of Los Picadores bring up a small, anticlimactic piece of business. "Por favor, mi Presidente, there is a man of my following who has a special request. May I have him brought in?"

 
Standing in a waiting room, too worked up to sit, was the man to whom the Picador chief had referred. Raul Pasquale was no relation to the Sergeant Pasquale in the Western Enclave's contingent of Transport Police; but he had lived much of his childhood in the old United States. Specifically, in the state of Maryland, whose government had given a blank check to illegal aliens. His whole extended family had been associated with a criminal gang that had preyed upon law-abiding fellow Hispanics without a qualm; but now that he was in the service of the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic, it was in his best interests to pretend that he had always held sacred the mighty solidarity of The Race.

His direct membership was in a small gang called Los Coyotes Gordos. The "Fat Coyotes" handled vice operations for Los Picadores in the former state of Utah, catering to the appetites both of local big shots and of gangsters from South America or Asia. Raul enjoyed toying with Mormon women whose families had not managed to escape from Utah before the Aztec-Maoist Liberation. He would tell them that they ought to regard their current enslavement as a step up in the world. Mormon men in the past had been allowed more than one woman; but now, by the kindness of the Formentera regime, this inequality was reversed, and today's Mormon women could have more than one man!

A Picador, an aide to that gang's boss, brought Raul the welcome news that his audience was granted. Nothing was said to Raul, or would be said, about the just-finished visit by Mr. Asif; Aztlan did have the concept of need to know. But what Raul cared about was now within his reach. After profusely thanking both El Presidente and the Picador chief, he began explaining himself.

"As you may know, I grew up loyally serving The Race on the Atlantic coast, as did my father, my brothers and other relatives. In the year 2008, my big brother Clemente was part of an operation in northern Virginia. They had recruited a gringo named Garth Bollinger, a trucking dispatcher, to assist in diverting valuable freight shipments under the cover of staged highway accidents. It was a lucrative procedure, and less of an obvious target for the police than drug smuggling. But Senor Bollinger got careless, and was found out. Not being of The Race, he had no loyalty to us that would prevent him from testifying against our people to save himself; and the dirty gringos had him well protected. So it was necessary to obtain a lever to control him and keep him quiet.

"My brother Clemente was my hero; I was only nine years old at the time. When he was assigned to help kidnap Senor Bollinger's girlfriend, I _knew_ he would succeed. But his going out on that job was to be the last time I ever saw him alive. All because of a maldito Flip!"

Emilio Formentera, quietly listening, found this intriguing. He had heard that many of the Coyotes Gordos cherished a hatred for Filipinos. He had supposed that this was due to regarding the Filipinos as a sort of imperfect imitation of Hispanics. But now the real explanation seemed to be forthcoming, for several of Raul Pasquale's relatives were in the same gang as he, and they would naturally share any ethnic hatred that Raul felt.

Raul's narrative slid more into obscenity as he continued: "Two others went with my brother to a ________ Flip restaurant in a little town called Smoky Lake, searching for the girl to be taken. If she was there, Clemente and one of the others were to make the grab, while the third man kept the getaway car running. She _was_ there, and so was her own younger sister. That younger sister was the __________ of a Flip working at the restaurant. _His_ name was -- IS -- Alipang Havens.

"All accounts I've ever been able to obtain of what happened then, seem ________ impossible. They say that, even though my brother and his friends were all carrying, this Havens _______ took them all down by himself! Only one of the three even survived to tell of it, but he didn't really see what happened, because the ________ Flip sprayed something into his eyes and temporarily blinded him.

"What others reported was that Havens got hold of one of the guns and shot the getaway driver, then actually _beat_ Clemente Pasquale in a _knife_ fight! That's the most unbelievable part. My brother was ________ magic with a blade!"

At this point, something about the silence of his exalted listeners shook Raul's confidence a little. The vehemence dropped out of his voice. "Senor Presidente, ladies, gentlemen, you do believe me, don't you?"

What Jessica Trevette chose to do to put the petty thug at ease had mixed results where his being at ease was concerned. Rising from her seat, and showing a serene certainty that her lover would not be offended by what she was doing, she went gliding up to Raul, kissed him sensuously, and caressed him even more sensuously, before telling him: "We do believe you, amigo. I happen to have heard of the very same Filipino man you are describing. He resides in the Western Enclave, Wyoming Sector."

"Si, Senorita, I too have learned this, from a video of a gringo news program that came into my hands." Raul was trying simultaneously to avoid offending Jessica by seeming _not_ to have enjoyed her attention, _and_ to avoid offending Formentera by seeming to have enjoyed it _too_ much. Not that Raul was in on the secret of who El Presidente's mistress actually was; but he did know how cautious a man had to be in the presence of the ruling class.

As Jessica was returning to her chair, Formentera -- who did not in fact hold it against Raul that Jessica had played with him a bit -- said, "Alipang Havens first got himself into the news by helping survivors of a plane crash inside the Enclave. I assume that's the video you saw." (Raul nodded.) "Next, he gained some favor with the previous Diversity States administration by helping to expose the treacherous actions of Chief Justice Sherman Lake. But all the same, he is a Christian, and a man sold out to the white supremacists. Therefore I'm not surprised that a faithful man of The Race might have a score to settle with him. Did you have more to tell us?"

"Gracias, mi Presidente, so I do. I believe that Havens was part of a plan by gringo police, or maybe by white-supremacist death squads, to assassinate members of our association. Probably, if my brother's surviving friend had been _able_ to see, he would have seen the _______ white hit men running in to help Havens kill Clemente and the driver. That was how my relatives saw it, anyway. So, after a period of lying low, two of my older cousins got the okay to take revenge on Havens for our losses. It was to be done on that _______'s wedding night with his ________ girlfriend. But again, the _______ Flip was helped by someone, doubtless more white supremacists; and my cousins were _also_ killed!"

The Picador chief, sympathetic to Raul but wondering if Raul might not be overdoing the details, interjected: "In short, Senor Formentera, my friend here desires to be included in the forces that will invade Wyoming from Colorado, and to be allowed if possible to avenge his family's losses."

Formentera smiled. "That's only reasonable. Raul, pay attention to what I say. I _will_ assign you to some role in the liberation of Wyoming and Yellowstone from the racist capitalists; but understand that operational necessities have to determine what _any_ individual in our forces is able to do. If it is realistically possible, I promise that you will be permitted to kill Alipang Havens, and some or all of his relatives besides."

Raul's ugly face brightened. "Muchas gracias, mi jefe, that is all I could ask of you!"
 
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