The First Love Of Alipang Havens

The Ranger frowned, aiming it off to the side as if his frown were a gun that he didn't want to point at the old woman. "Yep, I also know about the Health Rationing Service doing seniors the 'favor' of shortening their lives. But lately they _have_ been leaning more toward moving old folks here where able-bodied exiles will try to take care of them, instead of moving them into cadaver processors. That's partly because the rulers realized it makes them look better to the rest of the world, and partly because the Enclave's getting more prosperous, which makes the exiles more _able_ to take care of the elderly."

Estelle gazed intently into his eyes. "Do they realize that at least some of us older people are still capable of doing some kind of work for ourselves?"

"Oh, they always realized that, ma'am. And one of the main job creators inside the Enclave, the big recycling plant down in the Nebraska Sector, has already begun hiring seniors for jobs within their strength, sorting mainly. Do you have some particular skill?"

"In a manner of speaking. It was one that I tried to offer on the outside, but I was turned down repeatedly. You see, from nearly two decades of absorbing lesson material, I have perfectly memorized the whole content of two pre-med courses that my husband created himself. That is, he created the media storage for the courses. His teacher, Charles Upton, called them Body Processes 101 and Body Processes 102. Just what it sounds like, they were comprehensive overviews of how the human body functions. Josiah Redfern kept these over the years. I could teach those courses myself now; but I wasn't a union member, and my disagreements with the Fairness Party ruled out my ever _becoming_ a union member, so I stayed stranded in a low-end Collective Dormitory. Dirty place."

The tall Cherokee smiled. "Ma'am, you didn't mention this teaching possibility when I asked you about your reasons for voluntarily coming here. Could it be you don't _know_ about the new university in progress?"

"I don't know about _any_ new university. The TV screens at the Winnie Mandela Collective Dormitory were _always_ tuned to mindless entertainments, never to any news." She added in a whisper, "Not that I would have _trusted_ their news if I _had_ been able to watch it."

Dave patted her shoulder. "Well, it so happens that the Party has recognized the work ethic of Christians and suchlike folks enough, that it's decided to let them have higher education _inside_ the Enclave. In _this_ very city, a specifically _medical_ university is being organized right now!" Here he emulated her dropping to a whisper: "And you _won't_ have to belong to a politicized labor union to teach there."

Estelle's face lit up. "Do you think they _would_ let me teach my husband's courses as part of a pre-med curriculum?"

Dave exuberantly clasped her hands. "I think they'll _salivate_ with eagerness to get you on the faculty! Right now, although things are improving for Enclave residents, they still have a lot of manpower problems in health care. For instance, among all current exiles who are M.D.'s, there's only one gastroenterologist and only one nephrologist -- yet those two ladies were stuck doing _general_ practice until just a couple of days ago, when some nurse-practicioners were found to fill in for them at general caregiving. Those two specialists are finally being allowed to get back to their specialties, with patients lining up to see them; but that's simply typical of the doctor-availability hassle in the Enclave. Which means that every person like you, who _isn't_ a medical professional yet who _could_ teach classes, will free up an actual care-provider to treat patients."

Estelle was beaming. "How do I make my application?"

"Easy. I'll introduce you to some Commerce Inspectors I know -- some who are a lot nicer than the one you met -- and they'll introduce you to Larry Glass, who's more or less running the university admin offices right now. I'll also tell Professor Siermaala, Josiah Redfern's friend, about my meeting you; and Siermaala should be able to relay news of you to Josiah in Africa."
 
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Estelle Upton was destined to receive more friendly attention from NON-exiles than she had been expecting to receive even from like-minded exiles. Larry Glass did indeed meet with her that day; and when she told him some of the obscure facts in her late husband's pre-med courses, he hired her on the spot. Matti Siermaala, for the sake of her friendship with Josiah, helped her move out of her temporary lodgings and into the campus apartment that was being assigned to her as a new faculty member of Western Enclave Medical University. As he was doing this, he answered her questions about Enclave life as well as he could from a visitor's perspective.

Before Matti took his leave of Estelle at the entrance to the apartment building, a strikingly gorgeous, long-haired Asian woman approached them, addressing the Professor, with whom she clearly was already acquainted. Estelle was a bit baffled by the words the other two exchanged about somebody named Daffodil. The young woman was eager for news of this Daffodil, but the Finnish scientist had nothing new to tell her. Soon, though, Matti remembered his manners and introduced Osmawani Jalil -- though Estelle was not sure that she could have repeated this name correctly if her life depended on it.

Matti needed to get back to the hospital for something, but Osmawani proved willing to linger once Estelle said to her, "Did I hear you mention Josiah Redfern just now? That's a man I knew personally, back in the day."

Osmawani brightened up. "You know Mister Redfern? That's marvelous! I don't suppose you ever met his son Daffodil? He changed it to David, but that was only very recently."

"No, it's been years since I last saw Josiah; and I didn't know until today that he had a son by that name, though I know other children of his." (Now that she understood that "Daffodil" was a young man's first name, Estelle felt no need to remark on its oddity. Over a period beginning some three years before the Fairness Party had openly seized power, she had encountered boys burdened with such names as Tulip, Daintykins, Perfume, Lacewing, Babypie and Frillypuff.)

"Not your fault -- Estelle, was it?" The older woman nodded, and the gorgeous one continued: "Daffy, that's a nickname for him, was a test-tube child, fertilized by Mister Redfern's seed without his knowledge. The two of them only just met a matter of weeks ago, here in the Enclave. I've known Daffy, now David, for much longer. He and I have worked together on cultural events. But now he and his father are both away in other countries. I do miss David's company, which was why I was putting questions to Professor Siermaala, who knows them both."

Estelle was better at reading personalities than at pronouncing obscure Oriental names. She was already convinced that Osmawani had stronger feelings for Daffodil-alias-David than she was admitting. Sounding as casual as she could, Estelle asked, "And how old is David?"

"Almost seventeen, I believe." The Asian woman's tone of voice hinted that she might suspect that Estelle suspected something. But their dancing around the delicate subject did not prevent Osmawani from offering to buy supper for Estelle at the Rushmore Inn. Over this meal, Osmawani spoke about David, and about her new job managing the exiles' orchestra; she omitted any mention of Zimmo Garland's movies. Estelle spoke about her late husband, their friendship with Josiah Redfern, and her fortuitous new position at the university.

Well before their supper was finished, Osmawani was dead certain that Estelle felt a strong non-romantic fondness for Josiah, while Estelle was dead certain that Osmawani's feelings for David were ANYTHING BUT non-romantic. After everything Estelle had seen right inside the Collective Dormitory, she found that she was unable to feel very disgusted by Osmawani's feelings -- which, despite the age difference, were almost ordinary by comparison.

Yet even this was not the end of Estelle's adventures for her first day in Rapid City. Having heard that a friend of Josiah Redfern had come to town, Denise Heathcock, with Freya Vanaheim in tow, came to the restaurant to introduce herself to the elderly widow. The resultant new conversation lasted far past the time when Osmawani excused herself.

"I'll wager you already know exactly why Josiah emigrated from America," Denise commented at one point. "I can appreciate his reasons myself. But we won't speak about that for now; I don't want you to be afraid that I'm setting you up to incriminate yourself. What I do want, sometime in the next two or three days, is for Freya to videocord you and me talking about your plans for teaching at the new university. Nothing you don't feel comfortable discussing; it's for the news-magazine program we produce here. And sometime OFF the record, I'd love to hear any anecdotes you have about Mister Redfern."

Estelle's intuition was that Miss Heathcock did not feel any such passionate desire for Josiah as Miss Jalil felt for David, but that Miss Heathcock definitely DID feel for Josiah an esteem verging upon hero-worshipping reverence.

With characters around like those Estelle had already met, Enclave life at least would not be boring.
 
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Government propagandist Trip Conklin was in Rapid City also, but was oblivious to all the interesting encounters Estelle Upton had enjoyed. Production of the movie Geothermal Plants of the Heart was nearly completed, and his own part in making it was entirely completed. Now he was in his apartment, sitting at his DNA-activated private computer, working on ideas for more politically-correct novels. "The Churchbusters of the Galaxy" series was about played out, so he was running his own program for starting a new series, this one probably to lean toward pagan supernatural fantasy.

The screen presented him with a decision point, expressed like this:

Magic-User // Sexy Vampire // Werewolf // Mutant // Assassin // Cyborg // Fairy-Elf Type // Research Scientist // Cosmonaut // Space Alien // Head Of Some Nation // Inhibited Bureaucrat // Uninhibited Artist // Person Who Discovers They're Somebody Else's Reincarnation

-- IS ALL CONFLICTED OVER BEING IN LOVE WITH:

Mutant // Assassin // Cyborg // Fairy-Elf Type // Research Scientist // Cosmonaut // Space Alien // Head Of Some Nation // Inhibited Bureaucrat // Uninhibited Artist // Person Who Discovers They're Somebody Else's Reincarnation // Magic-User // Sexy Vampire // Werewolf

Trip chose the first three combinations that appealed to him on impulse, coming up with: (1) head of a nation with fairy-elf type, (2) werewolf with inhibited bureaucrat, and (3) cosmonaut in a triangle with a mutant and a space alien. One of these options, or perhaps all three, would be featured in the new book. Saving the combinations, he moved on to the next vital decision point--

LEADING FEMALE CHARACTER IS VASTLY SUPERIOR TO ANYONE MALE WHO WAS EVER BORN IN:

Plain Physical Stength // Speed, Agility // Combat Skill (hand-to-hand) // Combat Skill (technological) // Magic Spells, Arcane Lore // Telepathy, Clairvoyance // Longevity // Scientific Knowledge // Realistic Special Abilities (flying aircraft, computer programming, learning languages, etc.) // Artistic Talents

The writer decided on magic, longevity, and hand-to-hand combat. He then allowed his computer to do a random assignment of these attributes to the three chosen lover-matchups. The result was that the plotline with a head of state loving a fairy-elf type would make the female lead an unbeatable hand-to-hand fighter, though the genders of lead characters remained to be assigned; the plotline with a werewolf loving an inhibited bureaucrat would feature longevity in whichever lover was the female lead; and for the cosmonaut in a triangle with a mutant and a space alien, one of these three would be a sorceress.

This much, Trip decided, was enough plot preparation for tonight. Later, he would decide if the leading villain would be a Christian racist, a Jewish racist, a Christian capitalist, a Jewish capitalist, or a Jewish Christian racist capitalist. That could wait. He was leaving tomorrow to spend a few days in the Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment, to pick up some local color. He expected that to be fun.
 
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Chapter 122: Diverse Detours

Four days after the day when his father's old acquaintance Mrs. Upton had arrived in South Dakota, David Redfern woke up in a bed shared with Vonetta Ashford -- and not even for the first time. He still wasn't sure how things had moved so fast. He had assumed his affair with Osmawani was a pleasant accident, not likely to be repeated soon; thus, the way Vonetta had taken to him here in Caracas was even _more_ surprising than being seduced by Osmawani, since in Osmawani's case there had at least been some time for them to get to know each other pretty well before the clothes fell off.

The young man passed one arm around his new lover -- who had proven to be little if any inferior to Osmawani in skill --with the intention of waking her up and starting an overdue conversation about just _what_ kind of relationship they were embarking on. Vonetta woke up, all right; but as soon as she had reached for a water bottle and taken a drink, she compelled him to do something other than talking for the next half-hour. Not that he was unwilling.

At last, though, with her dark head resting close to his blond one, David finally could ask: "Why do you like me so much, Vonetta? All we started out with was both of us knowing the Havens family. Even if we're only going to be involved for a short time, what did you see in me that made you want _even_ that much with me?"

Prefacing her answer with a lengthy kiss, she then told him: "It's because you avoid _both_ kinds of poison. What I mean is that, ever since the 'liberation' of America by the Fairness Party, almost all American men of any age with any decency seem to be either dead, like my father and my brother Sammy, or in some kind of prison, like Alipang and his father, or already taken, like my boss Vibol. The men who are still alive and available fall into two types, neither of which is appealing. One type is men who have given in to the indoctrination, to the point where they're ashamed to be male at all, and go around meekly crawling, positively _begging_ to be treated like dirt...."

"That's what my mother wanted me to be," David put in.

"Then _less_ power to her! The other type is men who can work the system to their advantage: men who figured out that if they say what the Party wants to hear, and get in good with their district presidium or their labor union, then they can still get away with doing the same kind of sexist exploiting that the Party claims to have gotten rid of."

"Now, that," remarked David, "sounds like the late Nash Dockerty -- and, judging by things I've heard, also the late Carlos Anselmo."

"I'm sure. Anyway, those are the two kinds of poison; and you, Citizen Redfern--" (she was using this term of address teasingly) "--have the rare virtue of _not_ being either of them. Which is why...." and she resumed kissing him.

When they eventually relaxed once more, David whispered in her ear, "I don't mind telling you, this is more wonderful than _anything_ I was expecting when I received my assignment here. But please don't be annoyed if I ask: how long do you think we _will_ continue like this?" He knew that everyone on Vibol Ritisak's staff knew by now that he and Vonetta had hooked up; no one showed any disapproval, but this was no indicator of what Vonetta herself had in mind for the future.

She caressed him tenderly. "That's a fair question. I'm honestly not sure. I've had six boyfriends before you, and every one of them had had at least two girlfriends before me. You're the first lover I ever had who's younger than I am. Not that your age is the only thing unique about you! We both need to think about where we're going with this.... but I'd say don't think so hard that we fail to enjoy ourselves along the way. I do know that you balked at passing the relational-diversity test for higher Party rank; but I've also avoided that test so far."

The matter of "alternatives" had been a subject David had been reluctant to ask her about. He was now answered on that score; but he didn't know if he could _ever_ bring himself to pose the other sensitive unspoken question: how did Vonetta feel about living a lifestyle which, though not so degenerate as what the Fairness Party advocated, was at odds with the Biblical morals of her murdered family?

David realized that he was not in any position to throw stones. But part of him felt as if, in what first Osmawani and now Vonetta had given him, he was receiving no more than the compensation that the world _owed_ to him for all the emasculating humiliations he had borne in his life before now. And if somehow this new affair could progress into marriage, then he and Vonetta surely could _gradually_ work their way back to those higher standards....
 
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The gender doctrines of the Fairness Party had eliminated all reasoning in favor of separating the sexes in penal institutions. Thus Juanita Porres, formerly the Principal of Leon Trotsky Middle School in the Mid-Atlantic Federal District, was surrounded by guards of both sexes, and fellow prisoners of both sexes, for her stay at the Attica Self-Esteem Center.

Based on what her education union had always told its personnel about the Self-Esteem Centers, Juanita had come to Attica expecting to undergo a well-organized reprogramming process, using psychotropic drugs and whatever else might be required to cause her to repudiate publicly everything she had said against the regime. But by the time she had been the victim of sixteen successive obscene physical assaults -- mostly by guards, of both sexes -- Juanita grew convinced that the government must have resorted to having a computer-generated image of her do the repudiating. So the only use they had for Juanita was.... entertainment.

A sympathetic fellow prisoner, a strongly-built fiftyish black man named Rick Marquette, had helped her to eat on the day after one of these assaults. He was one of the "clockwork oranges," programmed to be unable to resist. While patiently feeding her, he had said, "Back when I was in the Occupy movement, before I got my head straight, we used to enjoy _pretending_ we were being persecuted 'just for our opinions' -- like we never actually _did_ anything to provoke trouble for ourselves. And now that I finally _have_ two brain cells to rub together, the successors of my own old movement are doing the _real_ persecuting. Could say I'm reaping what I sowed, though I confess I feel like I'm reaping _more_ of it than the share I sowed myself."

Something about Mister Marquette's wording had prompted Juanita to ask him, "Are you a Biblical?"

"By upbringing," he had told her; "and stumbling my way back to it -- since the 'hope and change' worked out mighty lousy for me. I had a -- but no, I shouldn't tell you about that. You don't want to make others here think of you as being _too_ closely connected to me." Here he had lowered his voice to the faintest of whispers: "If at a later time, I seem to be cursing and hating you, understand that I don't mean it. But here's something I do mean: try not to lose hope. Someday God will bring you out of this place." More than this he would not explain.

And now, on a day that she believed to be in late July, Juanita was in the dirty exercise courtyard, still slowed by past injuries, when three guards, two men and a woman, came toward her with the look on their faces of wanting to administer assault number seventeen. It was no use trying to get away; she stood resignedly, trying to look neither too defiant nor completely broken in spirit.

Suddenly, Mister Marquette was between the guards and their favorite victim, though not with any overt appearance of wanting to protect her. Speaking in the whimpering tone common to persons programmed as he had been, he addressed the man who was the senior of the three guards, while gesturing back toward Juanita: "Excuse me, Boss, I can't help thinking, what's the use of just beating and scragging that rotten krin there, if she doesn't change on the _inside?_ Why don't you run her through the process like with me? Then she'll be _eager_ to please you, even _help_ you to humiliate her like she deserves to be humiliated."

The second male guard, standing obliquely behind the other two with a DNA-controlled taser at the ready, said with a smirk: "You're right about that, Rickety Rick; I've sure seen _your_ willingness to bend over since you got the treatment. Maybe after today, we _will_ put Citizen Porres through the process. Then she'll be like you. You still talk your God talk, but you shut up whenever I tell you I'm tired of hearing it."

"Oh, that's truly true, sir," murmured the prisoner. "That process _always_ works, can't be beat. Not as if people had any such thing as free will...."

Without his tone of voice changing from downtrodden meekness to anything more threatening, without any warning at all, Rick Marquette swung a sledgehammer fist into the senior guard's head, so hard that the man's neck was broken at once. The corpse didn't have time to fall to the pavement before Marquette had shoved it against the second man; and the second man didn't have time to be knocked onto his back before Marquette had pounced upon the female guard. Merely dashing away her gun and breaking her arm, the prisoner told her, "Be grateful I'm a _caveman_ who doesn't kill women!"

Letting the screaming woman drop, Marquette seized the second male guard, slapping the taser out of his grasp, then held him upright with a hand clamped on his throat. Alarms were sounding, but Marquette's voice could be heard:

"Yes, Cavendish, I talked God talk to you for more than a year. I was giving you a chance to repent and be forgiven for killing my daughter. _This_ is the _date_ when you killed her -- and your time just ran out!"

The female guard had slowly, awkwardly retrieved her pistol with her left hand, then lurched around to where she could get a line of fire. Now she fired four bullets into Marquette; but she couldn't save the murderer of ten-year-old Sabrina Marquette. The avenging father's iron fingers sank into the throat of the terrified murderer, tearing a gory fistful of larynx and esophagus right out even as the bullets hit.

Two more dead men hit the pavement. Juanita Porres remained on her feet, realizing that Marquette had in fact protected her without _seeming_ to care about her at all. So no reprisals would befall her, not _even_ from the vermin who ran this place. A brainwave-scan would confirm her truthfulness when she told the guards that she had had no way of knowing what was going to happen. She, after all, had believed as firmly as those guards had believed, that the mind-control technology was infallible.

Juanita would live. Someday she _would_ get out of Attica, to have a life again. And she would remember the message that Rick Marquette had left her in his death.

Free will is more powerful than any tyrant understands.
 
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Chilena Salisbury was unable to leave Yellowstone Sector to witness Pastor Wayne Schell's arrival in Casper. She had to stay on the movie location that contained the new Spirit Smoke Power Station, to be in one last extra scene being shot for Geothermal Plants of the Heart. The scene featured Okokeso Vekeseha, the Cheyenne woman who was an Energy Ombusdsman, dressed in an ultra-ornate version of tribal regalia, giving a long-winded speech. This speech contained a lecture to the backward Biblicals -- portrayed as backward, but still not being regarded as morally bad, for which little concession Chilena tried to keep on feeling grateful -- admonishing them to realize at last how silly they had been to feel superstitious fears of science. It also contained a flowery invocation to Mother Universe, asking her to bless the geothermal plant that the evil bourgeois corporate fascists had tried to prevent from opening.

Someone from the cast had to be seen standing with the Ombudsman to give continuity. Chilena, as the token smart Christian in the script, was the chosen someone; in post-production, a computer image of the still-recuperating Pulverizer Clarendon would be added, standing next to Chilena.

While Chilena was enduring this drivel, her husband and children _were_ in Casper with Chilena's parents, and with other believers including the trombone girl and the clarinet girl from The Church of the Faithful. When they saw Pastor Schell's train pulling up to the station where they waited, a happy surprise was soon forthcoming, something of which no word had reached them up to now. Transplanted to the Enclave in addition to Pastor Schell were all the members of the long-suffering Desmond family from Georgetown: Vance and Polly, their pre-adolescent daughter Reagan, their younger daughter Sheri, and their little son Lambert. Vance was helping the weary minister to walk steadily.

Dan was the quickest to react to the presence of the Desmonds. Rushing to them, he gave Polly a brotherly hug, then shook hands with each of the Desmond children. Frodo Von Spock, who happened to be on a rare vacation from his recycling job in Nebraska, demonstrated the spirit of helpfulness he had acquired since becoming a Christian: hurrying to Vance and Pastor Schell, he took over supporting the latter so that Vance could enjoy his share of the joyful welcome. Sarbar Pitafi, also in the crowd, joined Frodo in this, and they soon had the new pastor seated on a bench to await the pedicab which would take him to what had been Abraham Zondei's parsonage.

Cecilia Salisbury hugged Reagan, then gestured toward her grandparents, whom Reagan had never met because the Desmonds had not known the Havens prior to the revolution. "Reagan, there's my grandmother that I'm named after. Isn't she beautiful?"

"She sure is," replied Reagan, advancing to shake hands with the elder Cecilia and then with Eric. "Mrs. Havens, Dr. Havens, pleased to meet you. Cecilia and her mother have always praised you to the skies, and it'll be great to be your neighbor."

"Your reputation precedes you," said the elder Cecilia; "or anyway, the reputation of what God did for you when you caught that mutated virus. The whole time we've lived in the Enclave, I've heard of no more than half a dozen clearly miraculous healings among believers here. Every added instance of God working visibly is an encouragement for us."

"As for God working visibly," interjected Polly Desmond, coming up just then to meet Eric and Cecilia for herself, "we're all intrigued by things we've heard about His working in the life of that reporter, Dynamo Earthquake."

"Yes, that was and is a great thing," Eric affirmed. "She's around, so sometime you'll most likely get a chance to meet her."

The crowd now got moving to install Wayne Schell in his new home, and the Desmonds in the closest available quarters to there. When a suitable moment came, Tommy Salisbury recited the poem he had written in the pastor's honor:

"The last shall be first, and the humble shall rise!
You've been through the worst, and before my own eyes,
You've lived by God's Word, and inspired kids like me;
Though you're a caged bird, in your spirit you're free!"

= = = = = = = = = =

An hour or so later, unnoticed by others, Reagan Desmond contrived to be alone with Cecilia the Younger, and said to her, "Cecilia, the Holy Spirit has told me that you are in love, and that the love you feel is not morally wrong, but that you're afraid to tell anyone about it. You can tell me, and it won't go any farther. Maybe God will give me some guidance for you."

Cecilia stared at the other girl in disbelief. "Don't be shy," Reagan prompted. "I've stood on the edge of death, and God showed me His nearness. He's close to you too, and He's for you, not against you. For your own peace of mind, please tell me about your love."

After double-checking that no one else was near, Cecilia drew herself up and began: "My mother the actress comes from a big adopting family. My Uncle Terrance -- he looks hardly older than me, but he's my uncle -- is the only one of my Mom's generation in the family who was physically _born_ to Grandma and Grandpa Havens. This means that _none_ of my cousins is a _blood_ relative to me.

"Now, Cousin Wilson, Uncle Alipang's son, was one of my best pals when we were kids. Then he and I were separated by the forming of the Enclave, since my Mom and Dad got an exemption and we stayed free. But we received enough news in letters from Uncle Al and Aunt Kim, that I knew Cousin Wilson was growing up into a brave and good and wise man just like his Dad. So when we got permission to enter the Enclave, I was already thinking that because Wilson _wasn't_ blood-related to me.... he and I could be _more_ than cousins to each other."

Reagan nodded. "So does your cousin feel the same way?"

"Based on the bashful way he behaved when we met, and his being anxious not to offend me, I felt real hope that he loved me too. He tried to hide from his feelings by urging me to date some other boys. Those others were nice guys, but not really interesting to me. At last, Wilson did come out and admit that he loves me too. So yes, we _both_ want to get married."

"You don't mean _now,_ do you?"

Cecilia laughed nervously. "With him fourteen and me thirteen? Of course not! But we figure we could be like Amish boys and girls courting; let the adults do all the watching and chaperoning they want, just so Wilson and I can be together in _some_ way until we're old enough. I can be happy just being with him and talking with him."

"Only, you don't know how to _start_ explaining this to your parents."

"That's right. We've got no clue how to talk about it."

Reagan hugged the other girl. "This is my word for you from God. In the Book of Judges, long after all the stuff in Genesis, the chieftain Caleb gave his daughter Achsah in marriage to her cousin, Caleb's nephew Othniel. And Caleb was a great man of God. Cousins marrying a potential _medical_ risk, but it is not _morally_ evil-- especially not evil if you compare it to the kind of lifestyle our _government_ supports now! And you don't _even_ have the medical issues to worry about, since as you say, Wilson _isn't_ your cousin by blood. You and Wilson should pray about choosing a _time_ for it, but then go ahead and _tell_ his parents and yours about your feelings. The courtship idea is the right thing; be accountable to your parents, keep everything above board, and nobody will be able to say that you went blindly running after a childish infatuation. Have faith now; it _will_ work out for you."

Reagan Desmond was no older than Cecilia; yet Cecilia found herself weeping on Reagan's shoulder as if on the shoulder of a wise old aunt.
 
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Besides his projected fantasy works, Trip Conklin was also contemplating a supposedly realistic novel, a revisionist portrayal of recent history. It would be about the role the city of Chicago had played in the rise of the Fairness Party. He would show progressive heroines of the previous decade -- one of them based upon his on-and-off lover, Supreme Court Justice Wanda Shang -- combatting the evil racist right-wing fascists who opposed the spirit of creativity in the election process.

This was part of the reason why Trip was staying in one of the few apartment buildings in Chicago that remained under the direct control of the Party. He was making short excursions to various parts of the Chicago area, all of which were now part of the Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment, to form in his mind the place-descriptions for the action in his novel. The service employees in his temporary residence building were good at their jobs, providing for his every comfort.....

Until they provided him with something different.

The author was dictating into his tablet computer when it went blank. Also de-activated at the same time was the security system for his apartment. The locked door opened, and three men he recognized from the staff came in. All of them were carrying guns of some kind.

"What's the meaning of this?" Trip demanded, with great originality.

The evident leader of the trio replied, "It is the hour of Allah's judgment for you, scoffer. This is the hour of your death."

Trip sputtered something incoherent, half disbelieving indignation and half just plain fright. As the two subordinates pulled him from his chair and dumped him onto his bed, he managed to say more clearly: "But, but I've _never_ scoffed at Islam! I've always targetted Christianity and Judaism!"

"And you think thus to appease us?" growled the leader. "Know that Allah is not impressed by _partial_ concessions. Do you suppose us to be so stupid that we do not perceive the implied denial of Allah in all of your writings which ridicule the existence of _any_ Supreme Being at all? And are we blind to the fact that you worked for the same Cabinet Department which, in the person of Overseer Commander Vitaly Khloponin, murdered Imam Al-Farag? Or the fact that you took a woman born to Islam and turned her into a pornographic actress?"

Trip now realized that the weapon held by one of the lesser thugs looked like a trank pistol. Clutching at a straw of hope in the inference of a non-lethal option, he babbled, "But you _know_ the Party is reasonable! Can't we reason this out? I can write something to satisfy you, I promise!"

"It shall be for a more sincere soul to write that which pleases Allah. You are an insect to be crushed."

"But, but I'll be missed! There'll be reprisals!"

"Not if you die by a dissolving heart-attack dart, and seem to have died naturally. Our open uprising is to be aimed at the Canadians. With your death seeming to be natural, the infidels will accept the appearance that all of our anger is directed against Canada. And indeed, we do have cause to concentrate on that enemy.... but we can also rid the world of you."

Trip Conklin's pleading and screaming were in vain. The virtually indetectable infarction poison was shot into his bloodstream, and he died like the feeble coward he was.

Officials of the Cantonment later expressed sorrow at his death, pretending that they had considered him a friend.
 
Chief Justice Tim Govinda was out for a morning walk with the woman he knew as Indira Payam, the woman who had become a valued advisor to him despite her functions not being very clearly defined. Prevailing social mores being not exactly puritanical, no one had even raised an eyebrow when Indira had begun living in Tim's Washington apartment suite. Actually, had anyone observed them indoors, he would have witnessed nothing sordid at all; the young woman's personal agenda was entirely political.

Today's walk was less bizarre than some of them had been lately. Deciding that he was a horse this morning, Tim had improvised a set of reins out of detached electrical cords to put on himself. Indira was walking behind him as they went, holding the cords; and in the boy's deranged imagination, she was actually seated on his back. The Chief Justice of the Diversity States Supreme Court was well enough known that nobody they met on the jogging trail dared to laugh at the pair as they play-galloped along. Definitely not laughing were four district police officers whom they passed at one point.

Less than a minute later, Indira herself was even less inclined to laugh -- as she belatedly realized that those four cops were one end of a trail section being blocked off. They had allowed her to pass them, so that she would now meet those who were awaiting her with no uninvited onlookers to see what happened.

Awaiting Tim and Indira were Operations Marshal Rodney Camberville and six of his deputies, accompanied by Justice Wanda Shang. Indira had the time to guess, correctly, that Justice Shang had been brought along because Tim appreciated her having protected him from harm on the day of the shootout at the Presidium; Tim would thus be that much less likely to protest against whatever action the D.S. Marshals had in mind. Indira was sharp enough to guess this; but there was no time for her to act on the realization in any way that would do her any good.

At a sign from Camberville, a uniformed woman fired a trank dart into Indira. It was a very mild dose; she neither lost consciousness nor fell down, she merely found herself suddenly feeling apathetic. Dropping the make-believe reins of her make-believe steed, she stood waiting for what would come next.

Wanda Shang drew near the confused boy, telling him, "Don't be alarmed, Tim; the Marshals have to do something which is for your own good; but everything's going to be all right." Seeing no signs of terror on the insane boy's face, she nodded in Camberville's direction.

"Your Honor," said the Operations Marshal, coming up alongside Justice Shang, "the Marshals' Service is under your command; but sometimes, ensuring your safety and your ability to do your job requires us to act even before you know to give the orders. What I am doing now has the authorization both of Continental Marshal Gorshkovskaya, and of President Atkinson herself."

Wanda Shang patted the boy's shoulder soothingly. "The government has discovered the identities of several members of the Indian mafia who have been operating in America. Listen to Marshal Camberville, his information is very important."

Camberville continued: "I regret to report that your personal assistant here is not who she claims to be. Unknown to you, she is actually a blood relative of yours, an older cousin whose true name is Chida Govinda. That much would not matter by itself.... but she is also an Indian mafia agent of some importance."

Tim uttered a realistic-sounding whinny, then turned to hug his cousin, exclaiming, "But Indira wouldn't kill anyone!"

"I'm sure she wouldn't. But killing people is not the only thing that organized crime does. They also do a lot of stealing and playing tricks. While Chida lived with Carlos Anselmo, she was passing information about Fairness Party proceedings to her gang leadership. When Anselmo died and she attached herself to you, her new assignment was to gain such influence over you as to be able to sway your vote in court cases that might in some way affect the interests of her gang. She was holding off telling you that you and she were related, waiting for a moment when this would make the most favorable difference.

"The Greater Chinese intelligence service recently determined the identities of numerous Indian mafia members who were active in this country, including some employed by the perfectly-legitimate Indian company that's been helping to build the new geothermal plants in Yellowstone Sector. The Chinese shared this information both with Indian authorities and with us, since Beijing, New Delhi and Washington all have an interest in weakening the Rajput Racketeers. We are thus making arrests; and I'm sorry to say that your cousin has to be one of those arrested."

"NO!!" Tim cried, leaping at Camberville and flailing ineffectual fists at him. "I'll turn into a tiger and eat you! ROWWRRR!!"

Justice Shang gently restrained the young psychotic. "Easy, Your Honor. Indira won't be killed! The Indians are enlightened Easterners, not Biblical Nazis; they'll show clemency to her."

"As a matter of fact, they will," Camberville assured Tim. "We'll be extraditing her, and if she cooperates with Indian authorities, she'll receive a very light sentence. You'll probably be able to meet her again someday. But you need to say goodbye to her now."

Tim's farewell to the dazed Chida consisted of rubbing his face against her arm while meowing. Four of the six deputies then escorted the prisoner to a waiting car.

"Now, Tim, listen to the Operations Marshal again," said Justice Shang -- who, as it happened, had not yet received the news that her boyfriend Trip Conklin was dead.

Camberville held the boy's eyes. "Gorshkovskaya and I realize that you didn't know who Chida really was. But if the truth about her were to spread around, some people might think you were purposely helping the Indian mafia. So for your own good, Wanda and I think that you should try to draw LESS attention to yourself from now on. Sit on the bench and hear cases; but don't do so many outside activities. For instance, you were going to give a talk at Jane Fonda College; I think you should cancel that.

"If you must make public appearances, let them be connected to the post you held before in the Northwest District." Camberville was referring to the All-Species Council. "If you visit back there and give them publicity, that won't be so startling to people. They know your stand on animal rights. You could, for instance, give a speech condemning bullfighting."

Camberville had a reason for this particular suggestion. His reason was that he was one of the VERY few persons in the D.S.A. who knew Jessica Trevette was alive; and she had gotten word to him, asking him to grab any opportunity to induce some Diversity States official to say something which the Aztlanos could pounce on as a perceived insult to their culture....
 
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>>> Some of what's been going on.....

In the country of Ni-GER (soft G like in French, with sound "zh"), which neighbors Niger-IA, Brendan Hyland played a role in rescuing some hostages held by the Neo-Marxist terrorists. Among those rescued was Molly Zondei, daughter of Pastor Abraham Zondei who's been held for years in America's Western Enclave. With Abraham finally being allowed to return to his native Ghana and a reunion with his daughter, the Christians in Casper, Wyoming needed a new pastor. Dan and Chilena facilitated the transfer of their own pastor from Delaware to take over in Casper. Coming with him were Reagan Desmond, the girl who was miraculously healed earlier in the novel, and her whole family. Meanwhile, production of the second Enclave-based movie (not counting Zimmo Garland's porno productions) was completed.

Samantha Ford kept on pressuring her son to agree to something Freudian as his way of gaining Fairness Party approval for high rank. Wanting no part of this, David was glad to obtain an embassy job AWAY from his mother, even though the post was not the one he had wanted, the one that would have let him be with his father in Uganda. Before he left the Enclave, David managed a successful second concert of his stun-jazz orchestra. He advocated the selection of Osmawani Jalil to take over his concert-producing job. Her appreciation of this favor intensified the feelings for David which Osmawani had long been hiding.... and before he flew away, she, um, cough cough, had her way with him. The young fellow was to find himself leaving one "cougar" only to meet another. His new assignment being with the Diversity States delegation to the Hemispheric Union's Bi-Continental Assembly, he met Vonetta Ashford, who had been acquainted with the Havens family when she was a child. Vonetta eagerly picked up with David where Osmawani had left off.

Alipang's services to the Enclave administration in Yellowstone Sector brought not one but two rewards, though the second was perhaps a little dubious. Openly pleasing was the unprecedented opportunity for Kim to "get out on parole" from the Enclave, taking all four of her children to Canada to visit her mother and other family members from the Tisdale side. What was dubious was a "generous" offer to use Alipang (who stayed behind) as a bio-research subject. In view of actress Pulverizer Clarendon having almost died because of a flaw in her enhancements, the government's scientific establishment needed to improve its procedures. The enhancements to Alipang's body consisted in portions of his skin surface being rendered unusually resistant to physical damage. When we last left our Filipino Fireball, he was being kept unconscious while this transformation was being accomplished.

ENEMIES of our hero were also trying out bio-science assets. In Aztlan, we saw that Emilio Formentera and Jessica Trevette were developing super-strong fighters of their own. The first two of their "Frankensteins" were Vitaly Khloponin and Fidel North, both of whom were thought by D.S. residents to have been put to death. Besides these new henchmen for our villains, there also turned up a more ordinary Aztlano evildoer -- but one with a personal grudge against Alipang Havens. For this gangster was a younger brother of one of the gangsters whom Alipang had killed in self-defense back in "the restaurant incident" in the first novel. Aztlan is planning an eventual invasion of the Western Enclave, in order to possess ALL of the energy resources there, including of course the new geothermal plants.

In coordination with the Aztlanos, and getting started before the Aztlano invasion was ready to begin, Muslim extremists prepared to launch an attack against Canada -- both for their own purposes, and to distract the nations of North America from what else was in the works. (Remember that the Great Lakes Muslim Cantonment comprises portions of Diversity States AND Canadian land.) As a little "sidebar" to their operation, some of the insurgents assassinated the government-employed writer Trip Conklin.
 
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Chapter 123: Alipang, Awake and Agitated

Apart from Integer Swift, whose original first name turned out to have been Imogene, the project scientist who had been most prone to talk with Alipang during preparations had been a considerably older woman by the name of Noreen Verble -- not, as far as Alipang knew, any relation to the Craig Verble who had seduced and later abandoned Lorraine back in Virginia. On the day Alipang was brought back to consciousness, Doctor Verble was the first person he saw.

Alipang's first question was, "Are Kim and the children back from Canada yet?"

"Not yet, but there's no cause for alarm. You'll hear about how they're doing in a few minutes, but right now the technicians and I need to try a few tests on your new skin. We've already determined its resistance to penetration while you were still sedated; but we want to observe your _conscious_ experience of having it resist penetration."

Alipang obligingly submitted to having needles and razors applied to various locations on his enhanced skin sections. Cuts and jabs which would certainly have drawn blood before, made no impression on him now -- though Dr. Verble chose to remind him that his new skin still was not bullet-proof. Even some kind of electrode, producing dramatic sparks, had no effect. "We're showing you this part for your own psychological reassurance," Doctor Verble told him. "Our previous electrical-resistance tests on your improved skin went as far as one thousand volts at one-half of an ampere, with no damage. But did you _feel_ anything from the electrode?"

"A _very_ slight tingle, maybe. No distress. I suppose it works so well because I was born in the same part of the world that natural rubber comes from."

The scientist looked blank at the joke, but continued: "We also tried heat on you while you slept. Your new skin can be exposed to boiling water without being scalded, but we can't say how much hotter it can get and _still_ protect you."

"Boiling point's good enough," Alipang replied. "If something _even_ hotter were near me, it would probably kill me anyway by superheated air cooking my lungs."

"Probably so. By the way, we made one spur-of-the-moment change in the plan after we put you under. Given the number of skin areas to treat, we judged it would be easier to keep quality control over the process if we had one _fewer_ place to start on simultaneously. Therefore, we delayed starting the enhancement for your right hand, the same side as your foot that we postponed. So both your extremities on the right will share the same offset timing in their molting."

Alipang shrugged. "Whatever works. Now, can I hear the news about my family?"

"Certainly, and from a _member_ of your family." She turned to look toward the door of Alipang's room. "Lieutenant Vasquez, you may come in and talk to Doctor Havens now."

As Emilio entered, Alipang imediately saw, and didn't feel good about, the solemn look on his face. Only an awareness that he still had some tubes attached to him prevented him from leaping off the bed. "Emilio, what's wrong?"

"Something wrong with a whole _country,_ Al, but not with Kim and your kids. Islamist fanatics from the Great Lakes Cantonment have launched an offensive into Canada. Maurice and Zahid and the others made sure Kim and your kids were moved to safety, well away from any of the fighting; but there are threats to transportation, so your family won't be leaving Canada for awhile yet."

"If they're safe, then that's good news. But tell me more about what's going on up there."
 
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"All right," Emilio resumed. "You already know that we 'Sky Rangers' have good contacts with the Canadian military, which were solidified a bit further when those Canadian jets landed here. It was through these contacts that I was able to get confirmation that your family was safe. And here's the unclassified portion of what they've made known to me about the extremist offensive:

"Three days ago, in the evening, a coordinated wave of bombings, arson fires, and assassinations hit practically every province of Canada. Those terrorist acts were clearly performed by men who had not been residing in the Cantonment -- which argues that at least one of the Caliphates is behind the operation, since Muslims who are regular Canadian citizens have been very peaceful for years before this. In fact, none of the strikes occurred anyplace closer to the Canadian side of the Cantonment than about eighty kilometers away, so that for a little while the Canadian government thought that no one IN the Cantonment even had anything to do with it.

"The next morning, however, squads of gunmen, ranging in number from three to ten per group, began emerging from the Cantonment -- you'll remember that it ISN'T walled off the way the Enclave is -- and shooting at anyone they saw, seemingly at random. Well, almost random; they did show a preference for firing on police stations and interfaith centers. After several hours of this, the squads merged into larger teams, which assaulted transportation assets and media outlets. Having seized the former, they were able to hack transit computers and gain control of mag-lev trains, thus being able to spread out farther across Canada."

Alipang looked puzzled. "You sound as if they weren't meeting any opposition. But isn't Canada supposed to have a lot MORE defense capability than the D.S.A.?"

"They do; but until this, they didn't think they needed it in the center of their country. Virtually all of their armed forces are based along their Pacific and Arctic coasts; and civilian police are equipped almost exclusively with non-lethal weapons, like the various types of sonic stunners. They tried overflying the attackers with chemtrail planes, pouring out an increased dose of tranquilizing gas... but it didn't work."

Alipang snorted. "They should have realized FROM THE START that something had failed with their chemical safeguard, when so many Cantonment residents turned violent all at once."

Emilio shrugged. "People do have a way of assuming, often quite foolishly, that an accepted system will perpetuate itself. Anyway, two of the chemtrail planes were shot down by portable missile launchers. All the same, the police were able to slow the invaders down some; non-lethal weapons aren't COMPLETELY useless. By now, the regular Canadian military is in action; but their lag time in reacting has allowed many of the guerrillas to lose themselves at least temporarily in urban areas."

"That sounds bad," said Alipang. "Are you SURE Kim and our kids are safe?"

"Yes. Being there in Winnipeg, they were near to the Canadian Air Force training center that still exists there. Some guys with REAL weapons are stationed there; and the invaders must be aware of it, because they're avoiding that location. Your family, and many other civilians, have been given refuge there."

"If this isn't classified, can you tell me WHY the Islamists are attacking, after being satisfied for years with the arrangement they had?"

"One unclassified speculation is that the attacks are a reaction against the Canadian Parliament refusing to give Muslims exclusive control of ALL Canadian-side ports along the entire Saint Lawrence Seaway. But let me tell you the closest thing to a funny part of the situation. You recall that the Mounties were disbanded around the same time as our Fairness Revolution happened?"

"Yes, that's why we could acquire Mounted Police horses for Grange work."

"Well, some discharged Mounties won the first real victory against the Islamists.... with muzzle-loading muskets."

"MUSKETS??"

"Yep. There was some kind of warehouse containing functional muskets and other gear that were kept for Canadian-history re-enactments. Twenty or so ex-Mounties broke into that warehouse, armed themselves with two or more muskets apiece, and set up sniping positions along routes the enemy seemed to be following. A musket ball can still kill, if it hits flesh that isn't well enough armored. Killing some of the hostiles enabled the ex-Mounties to capture modern weapons, after which they killed still more of their adversaries.

"Now it's a matter of high-tech hunting... and of trying to determine for sure what the fanatics hoped to accomplish."

"Hmmph, is anyone in Washington saying it's really the Ku Klux Quakers?"

"Not that I've heard."
 
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At this point, they were joined by Integer Swift, who addressed her patient: "Doctor Havens, we'll ask you to do one more thing before we turn you loose. If you would get dressed and come outside, please?"

Once outside the hospital, Alipang saw that a large quantity of chopped-up cactus had been spread over a section of sidewalk. Noreen Verble, who obviously was also in on this, explained: "We need you to take off your shoes and socks, and walk the length of this bed of cactus several times, while picking up a piece in each hand and squeezing it."

He smiled, unworried, for he could already tell that -- though not altered in color -- his skin was different in all the treated areas. "Will this qualify me as an apprentice fakir? Here goes, then;" and he did exactly as the two women wanted. His bare feet could tell that they were stepping on something resilient yet squishy; his hands could tell that they gripped something of irregular texture; but he felt neither any pain, nor any sensation that might suggest penetration of his epidermis. Though not instructed to do so, he also tapped some cactus against his armored neck, while taking care not to let it touch his unprotected chin. Still no pain.

When he was done, he sat on a bench to offer the soles of his feet for Swift and Verble to inspect. They found no spines, not even the irritating tiny hairlike ones which are the secret weapons of a cactus plant, sticking in any part of his flesh.

"Now, ladies, can you give me exact dates on which to expect my new skin to shed?"

"Our current projection," replied Swift, "is that all sections on your left side, plus your neck and right thigh, will molt on August 19. Those places will have regrown their enhanced skin by August 22, the day on which your right hand and foot will molt. You will then be back to maximum protection by no later than August 26."

Alipang laughed. "Sounds like an old-time deodorant commercial!"

"Or dandruff shampoo," Emilio suggested, then turned serious. "If his degree of skin toughness meets your expectations, may I take him home now?"

"Yes, you may," said Verble. "Doctor Havens, we'll be following your case closely. An orderly will fetch your personal items in a moment."

Alipang thanked her, but said nothing about his own inference that her words meant he now did have a tracking beacon planted inside his body.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


Being a passenger in Texas Ranger Aircraft Number 343 made Alipang feel as if he were part of the adventures his brother-in-law had experienced in this little piston-powered helicopter. But he was reminded that the adventures were not ended, when Emilio consulted instruments on the control panel -- instruments whose labelling showed them to be g.p.s. peripherals -- then turned toward Alipang and mouthed the words: Yes, you do have one in you now.

Alipang said nothing; no words of his could change what had been done. But Emilio supplied a left-handedly optimistic remark: "You were under surveillance anyway, like any exile. And maybe someday I'll need to find you for some good reason."

"Maybe so. Are you going to fly me home now?"

"You don't sound enthusiastic about it. I don't blame you. But news from Kim can still get to you in Sussex. Meanwhile, the neighbors who've been looking after your horses for you deserve to be relieved; and you must have some fresh dental patients needing you now."

"That's cool," Alipang sighed, "as long as they don't need acupuncture."
 
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Emilio's onboard g.p.s. was assuring him that no other aircraft were flying close enough to Sussex to pose any hazard as he came in. Still, he made a courtesy call to the small government office building in Alipang's hometown, to let them know he was bringing back the town dentist. The man operating the groundside radio told him, "Doctor Havens will find he's acquired a lot of domestic help while he was away. Some Sussex residents, and some Grange personnel, have been doing all they could to make his return as easy on him as possible, in the absence of his kinship collective."

Knowing that his brother-in-law would be awash in helpfulness enabled Emilio to cut ceremony short when he landed. As soon as Alipang and his suitcase were on the ground, Emilio, never having stopped his rotors, took Number 343 aloft again. He had his duties to get back to.

Having been set down as close to his home as possible, Alipang scarcely needed to stir before his reception committee appeared. Ahead of them all were Henry and Huldah Spafford, with Huldah's teenage brother Yakov Rosenbaum. Following these were numerous locals, including members of the Tomisaburo, Rochefort and Forrester families. Also visible were some Amish friends from the farms to the west, and two elderly ladies also from out of town: Tessie and Soledad, volunteers at the Crazy Woman Creek Grange Hall.

"Good to see you, big brother!" exclaimed the tall Apache -- saying "big" in a sense of age and maturity -- as he embraced the shorter man. Huldah, who was pregnant but not yet conspicuously showing, pressed close and remarked, "We've all taken shameless advantage of your house having full-time electricity; your refrigerator is filled with meals for you. Besides that, your pantry is loaded with non-perishables, and items in mason jars."

Various other friends, talking over each other, assured Alipang that all was well with the horses in his stable, that there were new patients for him to see, that NO new dentist had moved in anywhere nearby, that Amish wagons had transported the majority of those coming from outside Sussex, and that they would pray for Kim and the kids to return eventually in safety. When he had a chance, Alipang beckoned Tessie and Soledad to him and asked, "Who's minding the Grange Hall while you're down here?"

"None other than Jerry Sunderberg," replied Soledad.

Alipang gawked. "GERBIL?? Not all by himself, surely?"

"No, Sumerico is there too, getting him oriented," Tessie explained. "Poor Jerry, or Gerbil, is still a bit afraid of people, and he feels more secure being out of town while at the same time serving a useful purpose. If he does well, Agriculture will start paying him a salary to keep on doing office work for the Grange."

"I guess that makes sense." Now Alipang extended his bare, brawny arms in front of him. "So, does anyone want to know about my super-powers?" Affirmative answers to this came simultaneously from Jillian Forrester, Victor Tomisaburo, Gustave Rochefort, eight-year-old Ethan Reinhart, and several others.

"Try not to be too disappointed," Alipang went on. "I can't fly or turn invisible. They only treated the skin on parts of my body, including my hands here, to be more resistant to damage. The strengthening seems to work best against electrical shock and burning. So I can pull baking potatoes out of hot coals with my bare hands, and be useful at certain accident sites; but of course, the Party wouldn't want ANY exile to become an invincible super-mutant."

Greta Reinhart, Ethan's mother and an aunt to Ransom Kramer's sweetheart Lydia, asked him, "Is this change permanent?"

"From what they tell me, it's exactly as permanent as I am. When, God willing, you folks have a barn-raising for Lydia and Ransom one day, I might be able to come drive nails with my fists.... excuse me, I'm forgetting, you use pegs in drilled holes. I don't think my fingers will work as drills."
 
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Inside the Havens house, everyone found places to sit and eat -- or if they had already eaten, they helped serve, and added to the buzz of conversation. Alipang suspected that they were trying to prevent him from feeling the emptiness of the house; he loved them for this, but said nothing about it one way or another. Instead, he asked Henry: "So what have you been doing all these weeks up there by Crazy Woman Creek?"

Henry shrugged. "Raising the sheep; hunting and fishing; growing more vegetables and medicinal herbs; and joining Dorcas and Blake Hanley for worship on Sundays."

"Is the Everstrain bow working out for you?"

"So well that hunting is hardly a challenge anymore! The other day, I took down a pronghorn a kilometer off."

"Did you and Huldah ever catch a showing of Dan and Chilena's movie?"

"You mean Sectors of the Heart?"

"Yeah. In my first phone conversation with Chilena after I came out of sedation, she told me that Geothermal Sites of the Heart won't open for at least a few more days."

"Well, we haven't seen the first one yet. Did your sister say if the movies will be put onto old-style videotape?"

"They probably will eventually."

At this point, Jillian Forrester gently interrupted: "Doctor Havens, I heard from Terrance that YOU got to be in the second movie. A fight scene, was it?"

"A friendly fight," Alipang told her; "a match with my friend Yang Sung-Kuo."

"Then is there any chance that you would be allowed to go outside the Enclave along with your sister and brother-in-law, to appear at the big premieres?"

"Not likely. My part in the new movie amounts to a walk-on; and with my wife and children already outside the fence, the Party won't want to take ANY chance that I might try to skip the country, when they've invested bio-research money in me." Privately, Alipang felt sure that the authorities would never have any more worries about him escaping, now that they had him bugged for tracking. He did not mention this, however, because he didn't want his friends to feel bad for him because of it.

Conversation beyond this point remained mostly trivial. At one point, Alipang asked the Spaffords whether they had chosen baby names. Huldah fielded this question: "If it's a girl, we'll name her Eudora in honor of my mother. If a boy, we'll call him Quicksnake, a condensation of Henry's ancestor Quicker-Than-Snake who became the first Christian in his family."

As the dishes were being washed, Alipang had a sudden inspiration, and turned to Ulrich Reinhart. "Say, Ulrich, don't you have a neighbor who repairs shoes?"

The Amish farmer nodded. "My neighbor to the south, Jotham. He's taught both his sons and his daughters to repair shoes as well, since there DO seem to be awfully few cobblers in Wyoming Sector."

"Excellent! EVERY pair of shoes or boots I own is currently in need of some repair; and with my newly-armored feet, I literally DON'T NEED shoes at all, anytime before mid-August when I'll molt. When you go back to your farm, let me send my boots and shoes with you for Jotham to fix. I can send money along with you to pay him in advance; the scientists paid me a stipend for my participation in the experiment."

So it was agreed; and Huldah's brother Yakov cracked a joke about Alipang becoming a hobbit.

It was not until after eleven at night that the last friends departed, and there came for Alipang the inevitable moment of seeing an empty house around him. It was not pleasant. He chided himself for indulging in self-pity; after all, he knew that Kim, Wilson, Esperanza, Brendan and Baby Peggy were being protected from the violence occurring in Canada. Things could have been far worse. All the same, the house did feel terribly empty.

So, for that night, Alipang went to the stable and slept near the horses. They seemed to like having him there.

 
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Apart from attending church on the last Sunday in July, Alipang's days were mostly occupied with catching up on his dental practice. Besides his usual supply of patients in northeast Wyoming Sector, he found that the supervisors of the geothermal project in Yellowstone Sector were sending patients down to him when it was feasible to do so; he had acquired that good a reputation while he and Kim had worked in Yellowstone.

Dan and Chilena obtained permission through Isadora Cruller to bring video gear to Sussex and show Geothermal Sites of the Heart to Alipang and other locals. The new movie gave Alipang a few grim laughs -- especially since he knew enough about the cinema of the old Soviet Union to recognize the similarities in style.

More positively pleasing was what happened the day after the movie viewing. A man from the Agriculture Department, passing through Sussex enroute to Kaycee, dropped off a letter -- from Kim! Though the small war in Canada was interfering with physical mail, and Kim was not allowed internet communication even while in a foreign country, the letter had made its way from one helpful person to another, finally reaching the Western Enclave after days of travel. The envelope had obviously been opened and reclosed by censors, but none of its content had been blacked out; the Havens family had long since learned how to avoid inviting deletions. Kim had written:

My Most Darling And Beloved Filipino Fireball,

All of us are perfectly safe so far, not knowing how soon transportation will be equally safe again, but looking forward to seeing you. When the kids and I are able to return, we'll have plenty of hard-copy photos to show you of my side of the family. Mom's son Javier, my little brother, is especially remarkable to me. His very existence reminds me of a certain book you might remember, a book that mentioned restoring the years the locusts had eaten. Mom deserves that happiness.

Wilson has taught many of his cousins the basics of playing with sticks. Esperanza has learned some Arabic from Zahid. Brendan is progressing nicely in arithmetic. And Peggy has doubled the amount of hair on her head in just the time since we came to Winnipeg. Stories of YOUR exploits are popular on evenings when we don't have much to do or anyplace to go. They say that as soon as Canada restores peace, Canadian audiences will be able to see the new movie that contains your kung-fu scene with Mr. Yang.

Find constructive uses for your time, and don't worry about us.

Countless kisses to you,
Kimberly

This letter lifted Alipang's spirits immensely... just in time to brace him for something which, albeit unrelated to Kim and the children, still was unsettling.

On the first Thursday in August, Emilio's little helicopter landed in Sussex once more. The Texas Ranger lieutenant found Alipang in his dental clinic, and waited while he finished a cleaning for Lucinda Tomisaburo; then Emilio revealed the reason for this visit.

"I've got a surprise for you, Al, one which I hope won't prove to be such bad news as it might be. President Atkinson, with concurrence of the Party Presidium, has issued new orders for all Texas Ranger aviation assets. Everyone and everything in my detachment is to be transferred, with the exception of myself, three or four other Rangers, my Number 343, the medevac helo, and the large cargo plane we recently put back in service. A few Transport Police will be detailed to help us with remaining functions inside the Enclave. My Great Condor, the old-style gunship, and all our fixed-wing aircraft besides the big transport, will now be under Colt Finnegan's command."

"Is this because of new aggression by Aztlan?" Alipang asked.

"No. It's all part of preventing a frightful new rash of hate crimes."

"What? Please don't tell me someone's imagining a 'Ku Klux Quaker' threat AGAIN!"

"It's almost that. The Rainbow House has decided that the campaign waged by Islamic extremists in Canada might cause Christians in all unfenced parts of the Diversity States to launch their own campaign of Islamophobic violence."

"Really? And what will these horrible Christian bigots use as weapons?"

"That wasn't made clear. But the ORDERS are clear. Except for the remnant of my detachment staying inside the Enclave, absolutely ALL Ranger aircraft, and I mean including what routinely patrols Texan airspace, must patrol around the Great Lakes Cantonment until further notice, to prevent large-scale mob violence against the Muslim residents."

"Did the Muslim administration within the Cantonment request this protection?"

"Not that I know of. But it's what the President commands. She's been on all the streamcast channels, direly warning against the danger of new Crusades and Inquisitions."

Alipang frowned. "What happened to her greater friendliness toward Christians?"

"It hasn't completely vanished. She does at least say that no one should think ALL Christians are bloodthirsty Nazis. But let me get to where YOU come into the picture."

"All right, I'm listening."

"You remember the Muslim woman Salwa Jalalu, whose relocation to the Enclave was facilitated by Brendan Hyland's team when they had gone to Detroit. The Fairness Party also imagines that SHE could be a target of Islamophobic violence -- you know, in contrast to all the tenderness and love she always enjoyed in the Cantonment. Her presence in the uranium mining region is the only reason ANY Texan personnel are to remain inside the Enclave. Hai-Sheng and I, and the others who stay, are supposed to park ourselves over there and protect Miss Jalalu from Islamophobes."

"Protect ONE woman, who ISN'T in any danger? While ignoring any other threat in or around the Enclave? The government must be awfully confident that Aztlan will NEVER try to invade us here."

"More confident than I am. Which is why, when I was in Rapid City receiving my orders through the triumvirate, I asked them if it might not be possible for the GRANGE to assume the duty of guarding Miss Jalalu. I pointed out that this effort could be placed under the on-scene command of a certain dentist who has already been known to assist the authorities."

"And they went for it?"

"They did. So I'm here to fly you to the Thermopolis Grange Hall, to chair a conference of senior Grange volunteers, which will plan duty rotations for the safeguarding of one kitchen worker at a refinery complex. Neighbors can resume looking after your horses while you're away. And you're caught up on your dental patients by now, aren't you?"

"I suppose. But those other Grangers had better be prepared to accept the sight of me arriving barefoot, just like a hobbit."
 
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Chapter 124: Plentiful Provocations


Above the waters that separated the Upper and Lower Peninsulas of what had formerly been the state of Michigan, a Texas Bear aircraft was flying southward. Being Captain Colt Finnegan's ship, this plane bore the designation Texas Ranger Aircraft Number 10. All two-digit numbers in the Texan aviation inventory belonged either to these Tu-95 air-defense upgrades, or to special emergency-service planes. Single-digit numbers were reserved for V.I.P. transport craft, including the one Tu-95 airplane which had been configured for passenger use -- the same one in which Emilio Vasquez had once accompanied Jessica Trevette into Aztlan. All other fixed-wing airplanes of whatever size, including ultralights, had numbers in the 100's. Gliders, hovercraft, and lighter-than-air ships were in the 200's. All helicopters came in the 300's. Counting absolutely everything that could in any sense fly, the Texas Rangers currently possessed a total of 113 aircraft.

And almost all of them were now being compelled to burn fuel and flight-hours on a completely meaningless mission.

But a good Christian, and a good Texas Ranger -- of which Colt Finnegan was both -- could identify the possibility of something good even in a frustrating situation. Since he had to pretend that there was danger of Christian or perhaps Jewish mobs charging into the Cantonment for "kinetic negotiations," the Ranger Aviation Commander had suggested to the Party bureaucracy that his force ought to practice integrating its efforts with the Cantonment's own emergency-management capabilities. Gaining approval for the idea, Finnegan could thus invite onto his ship the same physician couple who had cooperated with that ultrasound-scanning team in the case of Salwa Jalalu.

Doctors Hassan and Gazbiyya Tamir -- the latter protected from pious criticism by the fact that she both wore a burka and was escorted by her husband -- now sat in the cabin of Texas Aircraft Number 10. Gazbiyya sat in the co-pilot's seat, and Hassan in the flight engineer's place, allowing both to see outside. The plane's safety was not compromised, because it, like the Great Condor helicopters, had alternate control positions. The actual co-pilot and flight engineer were seated at secondary consoles farther aft; if Captain Finnegan had suddenly been killed and all cockpit controls disabled, even the main onboard computer wiped out, these two men would have been able to get the ship home on autonomous instruments from where they sat.

Having this degree of backup, and not being in a combat situation, Colt Finnegan could afford to give much of his attention to his guests. Up to now, all talk had been innocent, covering such reasonable subjects as how much help each aircraft type in the Texan inventory could provide in medical evacuation if some disaster caused numerous casualties, or how many female physicians and medics the Rangers had at their call to ensure female casualties being treated only by women. Hassan had recorded copious notes in his tablet computer to reflect these legitimate discussions; anyone questioning him should easily be satisfied that he and his wife had made good use of their airborne time.

But now, Hassan stopped entering notes for a moment, and leaned forward in his seat, so that his head was less directly behind Finnegan's. "Captain, let me tell you now: I am as sure as I can be that our current Imam-Governor has not played any part, not even by mere negligence, in the offensive launched into Canada from the Muslim Cantonment." Hassan was referring to that Imam who had replaced the Imam who had replaced the deceased Imam-Governor Bassem Al-Farag, the middle Imam having been ousted as a confederate of Commander Vitaly Khloponin, former head of the Campaign Against Hate. "I grant you, my reasons are somewhat subjective, but they are convincing to me. For one thing, I have some experience in studying speech patterns; and the anonymous messages that have been streamed by the unseen leaders of the terrorist campaign are very different in wording from what we usually find being said by the latest Imam-Governor. Meanwhile, Gazbiyya has picked up clues hinting at outside influence upon the incursion into Canada."

Finnegan accordingly turned his gaze toward the other Doctor Tamir, or toward her burka; and a voice emerged from that burka.

"In the course of examining seven female patients at Harun Fuad, I discovered that each of them had some already-killed viruses of an unfamiliar strain in her bloodstream. These viruses were identical to each other, but were not any species, natural or engineered, known to exist on the North American continent. As you know, we are under some restrictions on internet use, which means I can't track down the origin of those viruses. But I find it significant that these patients all came from families which do not have any man who works in any segment of the maritime cargo business. My husband isn't the only one who likes to play detective. I believe that those seven women all had -- some sort of contact -- with men from overseas, EVEN THOUGH their family circumstances should have made it highly unlikely for them ever to meet such men at all. Which suggests that the foreign men had SECRET dealings with local families, and that those local families have something to hide."

"In a logical world," remarked Finnegan, "a law-enforcement figure like myself should be easy for someone like you to approach with clues like these."

"But in the here and now," replied Hassan, "our Cantonment authorities do not consider you Texans as having any need to know."

Gazbiyya released a half-laugh. "They expect you to fly your airplanes, and leave all investigations on the ground to them. These airplanes are your burkas with propellors."

"Well, Doctor Tamir and Doctor Tamir, I appreciate the heads-up. Maybe your clues WON'T prove to have any bearing on my people's patrolling assignment; but I'll discreetly pass the information to other Rangers, just in case it might be relevant to us. At least it gives us something to think about, while we soar through the heavens protecting your folks from a lynch mob which DOESN'T exist and ISN'T going to attack you."

Finnegan almost reciprocated the disclosures by telling Hassan and Gazbiyya about his own efforts to modify the air mission; but he decided that, nice folks though they were, they really DIDN'T need to know.

 
Around the same time as Colt Finnegan was conversing with the Tamirs, it was night in Beijing, and the Yang family was gathered in the modest living room of its apartment for prayers before putting the three girls to bed. One of the girls, Yang Ting-Ba, was saying, "And bless our Australian friends..."

...when the father of the household felt an impulse to look out the balcony window. For the rest of his mortal days, Yang Sung-Kuo would thank and praise Jesus for giving him this impulse at this moment.

Lieutenant-Colonel Yang's first actions were twofold. Lunging with a hand outstretched, he hit a switch that was routinely installed in the living quarters of high-ranking Chinese law-enforcement officers. The switch activated a magnetic repulsion field, which gave the apartment at least some protection against laser beams, rockets and bullets fired from outside, and very good protection against particle beams. At the same time, Yang shouted to his wife and daughters, "On the floor, NOW!!"

Helping Tupsim to force the bewildered girls down to the floor, Yang was the last one down himself. The weakened laser beam coming in through the window, half its energy stopped by the magnetic field, just barely grazed the top of his head, setting his hair on fire. As he extinguished himself, they could all hear and feel the shuddering of their apartment as rockets or bombs hit nearby parts of the building. Hustling his family out of the apartment and into the corridor, Yang grabbed his dataphone, thumbing a button which would link the device to all electronic media in the building. "Air attack!" he shouted. "Everyone get to the stairways and down to the street!"

There was confusion, even panic, among many of the Yangs' neighbors in the building; but fortunately for everyone, the latest generation of Chinese architecture was extremely durable and fire-resistant. Many residential structures of older design would have collapsed into charred rubble under the assault of the flying machine Lieutenant-Colonel Yang had glimpsed flying toward him.

He had seen a Monkey Cloud, a robot fighter jet of China's own Aerospace Force. And the big drone's nose-mounted laser had been aimed precisely at the Yang apartment.

There was no followup attack, however, as the building's occupants hurried outdoors in case the building might collapse after all. The Yang family emerged unhurt, apart from the scorched head of the head of the scorched household. Mercifully, only a very few residents had been killed, and a few more injured. Yang Sung-Kuo ignored his own burn trauma as he rendered first aid to a boy who had been gashed by flying pieces of glass.

Only later did he even find out what had become of the attacking robot plane: it had self-destructed before other Monkey Clouds could be scrambled to stop it.

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

"The self-destruct signal did not originate from our Aerospace Force, any more than the order to attack Beijing did," said General Po, the female internal-security officer who had been promoted to replace the downfallen General Shuei. She was briefing as many officers of the Ministry of Internal Affairs as had been able to get to this secure auditorium, while Beijing reeled from a surprise attack that was shocking despite the smallness of the loss of life. "We are certain that whatever adversary gained control of Monkey Cloud 32-775 destroyed it in order to prevent us from obtaining clues to the system-hacker's identity."

A medic had applied restorative nanobots to Lieutenant-Colonel Yang's burned scalp as he arrived. No one else in the room was hurt; but the question of whether Yang had been targetted on purpose did not immediately come up.

A Colonel Meng, who was not personally known to Yang Sung-Kuo but who was next in seniority to Po among officers present, raised his hand and interjected, "All senior intelligence analysts concur that India could not have been responsible for this act of sabotage and terrorism. The Indian government has no reason to do such a thing, being on good terms with us at this time. It is conceivable that the Rajput Racketeers are involved, but this is not the most likely explanation."

General Po now ordered a holographic world globe to be projected, with the Eastern Hemisphere toward the people in the seats. A section of western China was highlighted. "Records show that, over the preceding ten days, Uighir separatists have spoken among themselves in hints, to the effect that they expected a reversal, a turnabout -- a change of conditions, in which the strong would find their own strength turned against them. This may indicate that some of them had cause to expect just such an action as someone taking control of a Chinese fighter robot to strike at Beijing. If Uighir fanatics are involved, there is the further possibility that they received help from the Central Asian Caliphate -- probably rogue elements rather than the actual government of that Caliphate.

"But because the damage done tonight was so small; because the sabotaged Monkey Cloud did not even try to strike any government offices or military assets; we do not believe that the unidentified adversary was any part of a plan to overthrow our government, or to detach any territory from Greater China. Instead, we speculate that the attacker wanted us to be worried about whether we could still control our automated warfighting machinery. If we are afraid that our own weapons might cease to obey us, we will be inhibited from taking any military action that is not absolutely necessary. Thus, tonight's raid might have been intended to cause us to assume a more passive posture in world affairs generally, to hold back from projecting power. Unfortunately, even if correct, this hypothesis does little to narrow down the list of suspects. China's interests extend everywhere, so almost anyone might have something to gain by causing us to be hesitant in foreign policy."

Yang Sung-Kuo now raised his own hand for permission to speak. When recognized, he stood and said, "General, you will recall that I witnessed some events connected with the effort by the Triad gangs to fortify themselves in Hawaii and Aztlan. The Venezuelan Alliance was selling armaments to Aztlan, though we did not deem Venezuela's role in the Triad business to be substantial enough to warrant reprisals against that bloc of nations. Now, however, with Aztlan weakened and anxious to regain strength, my hunch is that the Venezuelans -- confident of NOT being seriously under suspicion from us -- might well be pleased to see us becoming hesitant to intervene in events of the Western Hemisphere. Then they could profit by selling Aztlan weapons of a higher quality than anything we have so far permitted them to sell."

General Po nodded. "That is a realistic possibility, Lieutenant-Colonel Yang. Although the Ministry of Internal Affairs is technically not concerned with foreign policy, I recommend that you instruct all security personnel under your command at the United Nations to keep a close eye on the delegates from the Venezuelan Alliance."

"As you direct, General." Yang sat down, inwardly beginning to pray that the friends he had made in the Diversity States would not be endangered by anything that Venezuela and Aztlan might be cooking up. Of course, he also prayed for protection for his OWN people.

 
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Several hours after General Po's meeting, a submarine of the Indian Navy was prowling in the eastern Pacific Ocean, about halfway between the Hawaiian Islands and the Aleutian Islands. The Pacific Federation had never expected it could interdict all sea traffic passing by its widely scattered territories, and particularly had no objection to naval activity by the friendly Indian government; but Commander Ainesh Makhuda nonetheless was proceeding with maximum stealth. He had parties less friendly than the Pacific Federation to think about.

"Sound transient at forty-three degrees relative bearing, sir," announced the sonar chief. "It matches the sound of the previous module drops."

The sonar chief was referring to the fact that, on four occasions in the seventeen days the Indian submarine had been patrolling this sector, merchant ships from Peru -- a Venezuelan Alliance member nation -- had dropped submersible watertight cargo modules out of airlocks in their lower hulls. Each module had later been retrieved and taken in tow by what seemed (going by acoustic signatures) to be a specialized Russian submarine equipped with external robot arms. Each time, the retrieving vessel had moved off in a direction which might have led to the Aztlano coastline, though farther north was also possible. The Indian sub had mission-defined limits to how far it might follow, so the destination remained uncertain.

But the inference was obvious enough that the Venezuelan Alliance was out to provide somebody with something, while avoiding detection.

"Chief of the watch, prepare to dive to maximum safe depth," Makhuda ordered. "This time, we're going to deploy our bottom-search robot to study that module ultrasonically _before_ the recipient comes and hauls it away."

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

In Seattle, Northwest Federal District, Diversity States, Chief Justice Tim Govinda stood in a spot he remembered nostalgically: on the podium of the chamber of the All-Species Council. He waved fondly to the honorable giraffe and the honorable Galapagos tortoise, before turning toward his new adult advisor, Felipe Contreras.

"Pee-pee-pa-dee, diddly-doo," the boy declared, in his best imitation of a meadowlark.

"An excellent point, Your Honor," said Felipe with an admirable straight face. "But I urge you to remember that most of the humans watching the streamcast of your speech will not be so enlightened as you are where the oneness of all life is concerned. In order to allow for their inferior spirituality and help them along in their evolution, please confine yourself to human language."

The delusional boy grinned mischievously. "Arf, arf! Just kidding. Yes, I'll speak English." Satisfied, Felipe retreated, and Tim began his address:

"Fellow biological manifestations of Mother Universe! I am honored to be with you again -- although, of course, everything is _always_ with everything else anyway in the circle of existence. In the time since I assumed my place on the Supreme Court, great progress has been made in the upholding of nature. For instance, the creation of geothermal power stations inside the Western Enclave, which proves that no one ever needed to unleash the plagues of radioactive materials and fossil fuels. But more work lies ahead of us.

"Outposts of anti-evolutionary superstition and prejudice remain, displaying their true character in the form of cruelty to animals. I have in mind especially the primitive practice of bullfighting...."

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

Meanwhile, a solitary Texas Tu-95 was flying west along the D.S.-Canadian border, piloted by Ranger Lieutenant Greg Jessup, with Ranger Zorah Lodge as co-pilot. The fact that this multi-role warplane was operating _anyplace_ other than around the Great Lakes Cantonment, was thanks to Colt Finnegan's finagling talents. Finnegan had told Party officials that there was always a possibility that crazed racist Christians might attempt direct border crossings into Canada, bypassing the Cantonment in order to launch Islamophobic attacks on innocent Muslims from a different direction. Since Finnegan had refrained from adding, "It's about as possible as my flapping my arms and flying to Nepal," he had won his point, and so at least _one_ of his top-line aircraft was free to work where it might actually serve a purpose. Jessup's patrol route ran from the western tip of Lake Superior to Puget Sound and back.

"Sir, I'm hearing something peculiar from one of the satellite channels," remarked Zorah, as they passed over what had once been the north end of Idaho. "A newscast, but -- weird!"

"All right, tune me in," said Greg. Soon he was hearing a childish voice speaking about how killing a bull reflected the madness of war. "That's the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court!" he laughed.

Zorah lifted an eyebrow. "Justice Govinda? I never paid much attention to him. I knew he was young, but here he sounds like he's five years old!"

"He might as well be, for all the use he is to anyone...." Greg's voice trailed off as Tim Govinda's voice chirped on. Then he called Sally Pitt, who was manning the cyber-warfare technician's position. "Sally, I want you to trace the streamcast audio Zorah picked up. I want you to try to determine if it's being relayed to the Libertad de Aztlan network."

Less than two minutes later, Sally reported back: "Yes, sir, it's going to Aztlan. In fact, every media system Aztlan has that is set up to accept broadcasting from the D.S., is receiving this speech."

"Thanks. Keep an eye on it." Greg looked at Zorah. "He's telling the _Aztlanos_ that bullfighting is all wrong. Not that I ever cared for bullfighting myself, but.... I have a bad feeling about this."
 
Using all her remaining secret contacts in the Diversity States to manipulate events there from afar, Jessica Trevette had had several reasons to maneuver the Fairness Party regime into wasting Texas Ranger forces on meaningless busywork. One reason concerned the population of the Texas Federal District itself. Not being anywhere near as close to being Deity as she imagined she was, Jessica was decidedly not omniscient; thus, she did not know that the Texas Rangers had a plan on hold to secede from the D.S.A. and join the Mexican Alliance. But she knew the nature of Texans generally, which was why she and other Party leaders had agreed that Texas must never have a Governor who had been _born_ in Texas. Governor Steven Jiang was a native of Chicago, who despised everything Texans stood for.

And today, Governor Jiang had his chance to pull off an insulting gesture that should either help to break the will of Texans to resist the Party, or prod some into raising such protest as would give him an excuse to make arrests. Right now, there were barely enough Rangers actually inside Texas to man their offices minimally... and a surfeit of D.S. Marshals had been "helpfully" brought in, with the concurrence of the Supreme Court and Continental Marshal Gorshkovskaya. Today, the majority of these "substitutes" were clustered protectively around Jiang and his chief male aide and companion, Sugarstar Hamilton, as they watched a remarkable ceremony.

This was taking place in Austin, the one large Texan city where socialists and heterophobes felt at ease.

The only Texas Rangers present were Commandant Brittany Pierce and Vice-Commandant Jed Brickhouse. Martha Pollock was holding down headquarters duty, while Wade Sampson was with the Commerce Inspectors currently guarding the Texan-Aztlano border, trying to keep them on task.

"Show no feelings, no matter what," Brittany had told Jed just before their train arrived in Austin. "We're powerless to interfere, _this_ time." She knew that many guns would be ready to target them if they tried anything. But they were both silently praying for the victims of the coming demonstration of "enlightenment."

When his audience was complete -- including, naturally, representatives of the Oneness Channel and the Collective Network -- Steven Jiang sent out his amplified voice across the wide plaza which fronted the largest Oneness Temple in Texas: "Fellow citizens, the collective is all! I welcome you to this joyous occasion, in which we celebrate the correction of an unfortunate oversight in the workings of the Genetic Health Service.

"Certain G.H.S. workers in this district were lax in enforcing our standards for procreative perfection. Four women of this district, pressured and coerced by their patriarchalist domestic partners, were allowed, or better to say forced, to conceive embryos with a risk of defects. One of the women, for example, had a great-grandfather who had died of a heart attack, indicating clear danger to her offspring. But never fear, friends in the collective: the danger in all four cases has been averted!" At this point, Sugarstar gave the cue for the Marshals and other bystanding government employees to raise the pre-planned spontaneous applause.

"The under-performing G.H.S. workers, and the selfish, un-mutual male partners of the women in question, are being sent to Self-Esteem Centers for non-punitive reprogramming," Jiang continued. "The improperly-timed embryos are about to be released into the embrace of Mother Gaia. It remains for us only to rejoice that four women are now liberated from the slavery of traditional tribalism; they will receive all the help they could possibly require to learn the _progressive_ ways which had been kept hidden from them. Citizen Priestesses, please proceed."

A colorfully-clad swarm of women, all the Oneness Priestesses currently in Texas, now advanced front and center. Among them was the one who had presented an interpretive dance at the memorial ceremony for the late Pablo Sotero. The Priestesses led four pregnant women, all of whom were very obviously so heavily drugged that they could hardly think. Flower crowns were placed on the heads of these four women; then the Priestesses began a song in three-part harmony.

The music of this a capella number was from Beethoven's Ode to Joy. The singing women, most of them young, did indeed look improbably joyful as they sang: smiling brightly, tossing their hair, making bird-like gestures with their hands, a few of them even flinging confetti at high points in the song. The words they sang had been written, at the Governor's request, by Sugarstar Hamilton:

"Come, potential humans, leave these bodies you in-VAAYY-ded;
It was not your turn yet, but you'll be reincar-NAAYY-ted!
Choice removes you, Gaia soothes you,
Karma proves you don't belong;
Someday when your turn does come, you'll know the wisdom of our song!"

On the second verse, they transposed up one key for effect.

"Come, exploited sisters, prove you are not weak and FRAAAIL things!
Mother Universe now frees you from disgusting MAAALE things!
Down with breeding! You're not needing
Cavemen leading you astray;
Now embrace diversity, and celebrate the oneness way!"

Sugarstar had borrowed the phrase "oneness way" from the ending-credits song in the recent and highly-popular movie Sectors of the Heart. Its application here would not have delighted lyricist Tommy Salisbury. The four most attractive-looking Priestesses in the choir now drew close to the mothers whose babies were about to be killed; each Priestess embraced and kissed one of the drugged women, then led her to the Oneness Temple, which contained all necessary facilities for the performance of compulsory "choice."

Governor Jiang offered a simple conclusion: "Those four female citizens now rescued from reproductive bondage will be mentored in relational diversity by our worthy Priestesses. Henceforth, no God-fascist will be able to use them as captive, subservient breeders. Thank you for joining us, friends; the collective is all!"

Brittany Pierce and Jed Brickhouse endured witnessing this travesty in mute helplessness, knowing they were being closely watched. Not until they were safely back at Ranger Headquarters, hours later, did Jed say to Brittany: "By God, our secession is no longer an if, it's a how-soon."

"Right," replied Brittany. "But I want to time it so as to give me the best chance of putting a bullet through Jiang's head first."

"I favor aiming one meter lower."
 
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