The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Next, Vice-President Harrison asked Leroy, "In your opinion, and the Texas Rangers' opinion, how much likelihood is there of Aztlan responding militarily to the shocking racism of Citizen Govinda? And of such response being directed against the Western Enclave in particular?"

Leroy looked Harrison's image right in the eye. "Sir, you know that Aztlan is terribly limited in their options for someone to rob. Mexico, or even Canada, could kick their butts at need; and Aztlan has no serious navy to allow them to forage farther abroad. So, if they hope to compensate for the major ordnance that China confiscated from them when Tonio Formentera was deposed, they have exactly two choices: WORK HONESTLY to improve their industrial infrastructure -- or plunder the Diversity States again. I can't say I _know_ that they would hit the Enclave; but _they_ know that the Enclave is becoming more of an industrial center for our country. Anyway, _wherever_ they might hit, it remains true that disarming the Sky Rangers leaves us hardly anything to fight back with."

" 'Fighting back' is _such_ a primitive concept," Harrison sniffed. "Our delegations to both the United Nations and the Western Hemisphere Union are working right now to pre-empt the very prospect of a border clash."

Leroy was losing patience, and losing caution with it. "Citizen Vice-President, you will not have forgotten that while Jessica Trevette was President, she actually went to Aztlan, to stroke them and fawn on them. But this did not stop them from continuing to behave belligerently. Nobody loves peace more than a cop does; but I'm telling you, no diplomacy will deter Emilio Formentera from emulating his father's piracy if he's convinced he doesn't have to pay any price for it! I'm not asking for the means to _invade_ Aztlan; but we've GOT to be able at least to defend ourselves!"

"Citizen Lincoln! Remember whom you're talking to!" the Continental Marshal suddenly snapped.

Leroy was not in the mood now to cringe. "I haven't forgotten who he is. But neither have I forgotten the day I _watched_ Aztlano fighter-bombers flying into Kansas airspace! And as far as I know, jets of that kind were not among the items confiscated by China; Aztlan still has some of them! What do we have?"

Harrison's image seemed to grow larger as he glared at Leroy. "Citizen Inspector... you _will_ now listen to me. The official record is going to show that you are reprimanded, with a twenty percent pay decrease for three months, because of your insubordinate manner of speaking. That is what the _official_ record will show. Now, keep on listening.

"Off the record, the reduction of your salary will be offset by additional healthcare and personal-travel credits being given over time to you and your close family members. And while we _officially_ reprimand you for wanting some armaments to use in case of an Aztlano attack... unofficially, we are going to provide you with what we can. The Energy Undersecretary is aware of an option she and I discussed as soon as the Party decided to lend our fighting aircraft to China. Undersecretary, please tell him."

With a nod, Energy turned to face Leroy as he turned to face her. "Inspector Lincoln, you have labored under the impression that when the Overseers were pulled out of the Enclave, all of the particle-beam weapons they used to mount on their motorcycles were also pulled out."

Leroy's eyebrows rose. "You mean they weren't?"

"Two complete beam-carrying motorcycles were secretly retained here in Harney's Peak. Those are ordered to be kept within the Rapid City area, in Commerce Inspector custody, as part of triumvirate security. But there are another five detached particle-beam weapons also stored here. A procedure exists by which these beams can be recharged at any nuclear power plant. The small size which limits these weapons to three shots per charging, also means they are light enough to be mounted on practically _every_ sort of aircraft. The little patrol helo that Lieutenant Vasquez customarily flies could manage one; the large fixed-wing plane he has at his command could mount the other four."

"We'll work out a plan for deployment of those five beams," the Vice-President put in. "The fewer _Americans_ know the weapons are in the Enclave, the better our chances of keeping them a secret from Aztlan."

Leroy sighed with relief. "Thank you, sir. A total of fifteen particle-beam shots before having to reload is a _whole_ lot better than nothing; and if it comes to combat, the Aztlanos might even be afraid that we have more beams on hand than we really have."

"You have one more hole card besides," Energy told him, "though strictly speaking, it isn't located _inside_ the Enclave. You remember the infra-red projectors used as part of the weather-control system, to heat up air masses and alter their movement?"

Leroy looked intrigued. "Are you about to say that those projectors can be weaponized?"

"Not as the most efficient of artillery, but yes. Their wide beams can be concentrated enough to become heat-rays of a sort: able at least to cause heat stroke for unshielded humans, and able to inflict damage on vehicles. This would somewhat slow down an invasion force entering any border sector where the projectors are installed, including the south strip of Wyoming."

"Hmmm, and you never used them against any previous Aztlano aggressor force, air or land, because--?"

"Because Trevette never permitted it," Harrison answered. "But for the current President, in this situation, it has become an option."

"Okay, sir, that also is better than nothing. Are you going to notify Lieutenant Vasquez that he isn't entirely forsaken after all?"

"We'll allow you to do that yourself -- going in person to Natrona Airport, and using Vasquez's secure office to tell him about it. Once you've done this, have him call us, encrypted, to begin arrangements. A few rail rifles may also become available, besides the stationary railgun emplacement at Frontier Plaza."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir." And Leroy felt better.
 
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One single-engine fixed-wing airplane was at Leroy's disposal, piloted by a female Transport Police officer because there were no qualified pilots in the police contingent from the Great Plains Federal District. This woman, a fair-haired Caucasian, had been flirting with Leroy since she was first assigned as his pilot; but though he was single, the Inspector paid no heed to her overtures. As had been the case with Leroy's fellow African-American, Porter Hennepin, dealing with Victoria Tabor, Leroy's non-interest in Transport Police Corporal Georgette Ware was not a matter of her color, but a matter of her having incompatible beliefs. Leroy had even less interest in joining the Gaian Cosmic Hedonist Visionary Society than the Grange volunteer had in joining the Mormons.

Regardless of romantic disappointment, Corporal Ware delivered Leroy promptly to Natrona Airport west of Casper in Wyoming Sector. Texas Ranger Sergeant Saul O'Keefe, grounded by the loss of his Great Condor helicopter, was manning the aviation detachment's headquarters. He was able to get in contact with Emilio Vasquez in short order. The Lieutenant flew in as fast as he could from coordinating reconnaissance patrols, and received the welcome news from Leroy before supper. Emilio immediately transmitted his requests to all appropriate persons for assistance in getting those particle beams ready for his detachment's use.

The requests, however, came up against the wall of bureaucracy.

The Commerce Inspectors would not make a move toward handing over the weapons until they had an official statement from Inspector O'Hennessy of whether or not she wanted any of the weapons assigned for her group's use -- even though they had to have known that O'Hennessy had already said she wanted nothing to do with them. (It was rumored that someone among the Enclave's Commerce Inspectors was seeing Eileen O'Hennessy socially; but no one had time to investigate this possible conflict of interests.) Energy Department personnel would not make a move toward charging the beam weapons until all issues of labor-union involvement had been resolved. The union for non-exiled power-plant workers, and the union for ordnance handlers, began arguing over which was to have authority over the process of energizing the weapons; they were coming close to having kinetic negotiations about this.

Because of these delays, Emilio and his Rangers were no closer to possessing particle beams on the day after Leroy's visit to Natrona than before. And on the _next_ day, Emilio was given cause to hate bureaucracy still more than he already did, if possible.

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

Texas Ranger Darya Sinkiewicz, also deprived of the use of a Great Condor, was at least getting the chance to use her skill with electronics. A multi-mission sensor suite -- borrowing components from the security systems used to observe the internal exiles -- had been assembled on board Cassie Magruder's airship. Cassie and Darya were flying a long, slow patrol right along the southern edge of Wyoming Sector. On board the dirigible besides the two women was a Grange volunteer who happened to be a native of southern Wyoming, a sixtyish man named Jorge Navarro. Jorge was doing naked-eye surveillance of the terrain below them to the south, terrain familiar to him, in order to compare his impressions with Darya's sensor readings.

They had been aloft for almost five hours -- endurance on station being one of the great virtues of lighter-than-air vehicles --when Darya detected a heat source, appearing to be a large ground vehicle barely half a kilometer from the Aztlan-Wyoming border. She also noted, and Cassie's instruments confirmed, that this ground vehicle was emitting a radar pulse in their direction.

"Cassie, emergency dive!" Darya shouted. "That's lock-on for a missile!"

The dirigible pilot had never been in any situation remotely like this; but she kept her composure, and threw the switch that would empty out most of the airship's gas-containment cells. Enough buoyancy was instantly lost that the dirigible would fall to earth at the fastest speed its occupants could survive unhurt with the benefit of impact-foam. As she did this, Cassie also called out by radio, "Mayday! Mayday! Airship Warden-One under missile attack, two klicks south of Sinclair! Mayday! Warden-One making crash dive, south of Sinclair--!"

The Aztlano self-propelled anti-aircraft missile mount was carrying a missile with a short range, but greater speed and more sophisticated guidance than any S.A.M. ever included before in the arsenal of the gang called Los Malignos. Emilio Formentera had acquired a limited shipment of these missiles from his Venezuelan friends. The missile crossed the whole non-Enclave strip of Wyoming that lay between launcher and target in scarcely more time than Cassie took to make her emergency dive.

The impact foam filled the cabin: a highly clever formula, which would shrink back from the extra carbon dioxide of human exhalation, so that after first impact the pilot and passengers would be able to breathe. Cassie, Darya and Jorge should have been able to get out alive... but the missile followed them down.

Jorge was trying to help Darya and Cassie push their way through the impact foam to get out the hatch, while simultaneously uttering a prayer. Before the three flyers were reduced to atoms, he had time to say this much:

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of--"
 
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Chapter 127: Turning Up The Heat

On the morning after the deaths of Cassie Magruder and her companions, just after breakfast at the mansion in Winnipeg, Kim and her younger two children were playing with Kim's little half-brother Javier. More accurately, Kim, Brendan and Javier were all trying to amuse Baby Peggy by waving various toys before her face -- while Brendan privately continued marvelling at the fact that he had an uncle who was _younger_ than he was.

But then Baeline, Betsy to her sister, admitted a visitor to the house, one who wanted to speak with Kim privately. It was the same detective who had presided over Kim's brain scan. Insisting that her sister be present for moral support and as a witness to whatever was said, Kim deputized Esperanza to look after the smaller children, and Baeline led the way to a suitable room for talk.

The detective, looking none too happy, got right to business. "Ms. Havens, my station has received information which is not being released in the Diversity States media, but which technically is not classified either. I believe I owe it to you to tell you what's going on, and to provide follow-up information as it comes in."

This much, and the tone with which the man said it, was enough to set Kim and Baeline catching hold of each other in worry.

"Yesterday, in the same Enclave sector you come from," the policeman continued, "the one lighter-than-air ship stationed full-time in the Enclave was performing reconnaissance on the Enclave's southwest border. One of the persons on board was a male Grange volunteer who has not been identified. The others were a female Texas Ranger, and the woman who normally piloted the dirigible. Suddenly, paramilitary forces of the Republic of Aztlan fired a surface-to-air missile from their territory, right across the non-Enclave buffer zone, and into Enclave airspace, destroying the airship and killing all three persons on board."

"But you don't know _which_ Grange volunteer was on the airship?" Kim demanded.

"That was not relayed to us."

Kim seemed almost like a horse about to start bucking and bolting. Her sister hugged her half encouragingly, half restrainingly. "Kim, it _couldn't_ have been Alipang! He's too well known to be anonymous; if he'd been the one killed, we'd hear about it."

Though clasping her sister with equal tension, Kim did not take her eyes off the detective. "When _will_ you know who was killed?"

"We've already sent a request for that information, since there can't be any reason for the D.S. authorities to hide the Grange man's name from us. I hope to find out no later than tomorrow."

Baeline supplied the courtesy now. "Thank you, sir. We appreciate your thoughtfulness. When you--" But here, Kim supplied the impatient interruption.

"I need to get back to Wyoming! Me and my children! Can you help expedite that? The terrorists within Canada have been suppressed enough to allow air travel, haven't they?"

"I'll inquire about the status of airline flights for D.S. nationals...."

"Or trains! Please, we _have_ to get back!"

"He'll do what he can," Baeline assured Kim, then said goodbye to the detective, wanting him out and gone.

When the man had left, Kim impulsively tugged free from her sister's embrace, only to change her mind and fling her own arms around Baeline more tightly than before. "Betsy, I can't stand it! We _have_ to go back _now!_ What if it _was_ Al who got--?" she choked on saying the word "killed."

"Kim, it _can't_ have been Al. If they wanted an exile just to be looking around from the air, they wouldn't waste a healthcare professional on that!" Both sisters tightened their arms around each other still further, as if this were a form of arguing their points.

"Oh God, Betsy, I _want_ you to be right; but even if Al is okay, maybe one of his _friends_ was killed, like Henry Spafford! Al needs me, he needs me back there with him right away!" Baeline happened to be between Kim and the door of the room; now Kim leaned her weight against her equal-sized sibling, trying to push toward the door as if she could instantly obtain a flight reservation just like that.

But Baeline pushed back. "No, Kim, you _mustn't_ go back now! The Enclave might be about to turn into a war zone! Listen to me, Kim darling, Al _himself_ wouldn't want you and your kids to come back now and be flying right into danger! You have to stay here longer, where it's safe!"

This was the closest Kimberly and Baeline had ever come in their lives to having a physical fight with each other, yet there was no anger or animosity in it at all -- only an urgency of conflicting priorities. Baeline had always thought highly of her Filipino brother-in-law; but even if there were no danger whatsoever awaiting Kim and her children in Wyoming, Baeline (and this was also true of Susan, Sharon and their mother Elizabeth) was not in any hurry to end what might be the last visit they would ever have with Kim. For her part, Kim would have liked to extend this visit by a few more days, if there had not been any bad news from Wyoming; but now, she felt as if it would be a monstrous betrayal against Alipang if she did not return to his (hopefully living) side immediately.

The scuffle, what there was of it, did not inflict any damage on either sister, and soon dissolved into weeping, kissing -- and an agreement at least to wait until the Winnipeg police had more information to share.

 
Fortunately for the peace of mind of Eric and Cecilia Havens in Casper, there was no uncertainty _within_ the Western Enclave about which Grange member had perished. Well before Kim heard anything in Canada, mere hours after Cassie, Darya and Jorge were slain, Eric and Cecilia were visited at their house by Sergeant Pasquale of the Transport Police -- no relation to the Aztlano gangster named Pasquale who belonged to the "Fat Coyotes" gang. The Sergeant informed the couple of what had occurred, which brought an immediate question from Eric:

"Do you think this means they're going to launch a ground invasion?"

"I wish I knew," replied Pasquale. "I hope not. Right now, higher-ups are trying to find out more. But since you're a praying man, I'll give you one piece of information to help direct your prayers. Up in the north end of Colorado, thus not far from the Diversity States border, there's a long, deep canyon called Thompson Canyon. It's deep enough and big enough that, if you can't look down from straight overhead, you wouldn't be able to see a whole regiment of armored military ground vehicles hidden in there. No aircraft of ours can get close enough to see down into Thompson Canyon, and the Chinese _don't_ provide us with satellite surveillance of Aztlano territory."

Now Cecilia asked, "Has anyone here begun forming civil-defense plans?"

Sergeant Pasquale lowered his voice. "As far as I know, nobody in authority has taken any thought for evacuating, or in any way protecting, anyone except non-exile government personnel. But neither has there been any order specifically _prohibiting_ measures for the safety of internal exiles. Listen: come to the federal office building at seven in the morning. I'll try to get some persons with government status together; I'm pretty sure Mr. Musgrave will help, for one. You alert some of the more prominent locals, like Reuben Torvill and the De Sotos. We'll have a meeting where we can at least figure what _might_ be done for civil defense. In case I get pulled for emergency duty, I'll make sure there's _somebody_ left suitable to chair the meeting."

"The Pitafis!" Eric suddenly exclaimed. "They're technically not exiles, and Mrs. Pitafi is a Distribution Ombudsman."

"That's right," said Cecilia; "and Dalbir just got back from an inspection tour of the federal merchandise centers. She could chair the meeting." Even amid the signs of a new emergency, Cecilia was cheered by the thought of Dalbir Pitafi. The young South Asian woman had been sent roaming the sector because Fairness Party hacks imagined she might be induced to cheat on her husband while travelling, which would destroy her Christian testimony. But Dalbir's love for her husband Sarbar was like Cecilia's for Eric: not to be shaken by the shallow schemes of spiritually-blind cynics.

Sergeant Pasquale had scarcely left the Havens house before Eric was telephoning Wayne Schell, the new pastor of The Church of the Faithful, to start the ball rolling for tomorrow's meeting.

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

About halfway between the time one policeman visited the Eric Havens residence, and the time another policeman visited the Maurice LeGrand residence where Kim was, a small messenger robot visited the living quarters of diplomatic aide Vonetta Ashford in Caracas. Any form of electronic call to the apartment _might_ be intercepted and decrypted; but the robot simply coming in and speaking a codeword would cause the pair in the bedroom to get up knowing what they had to do, while anyone spying on them would not know their business until they began doing it. This would at least _postpone_ unfriendly delegations knowing what they were up to. The more so since the robot was programmed to create uncertainty by also going to _other_ people with dummy codewords, causing those people to commence other activities which were not really important.

This use of the robot had been Ambassador Ritisak's own idea. No one back at the State Department had had the imagination to think of it; they were all too busy still wringing their hands and apologizing retroactively for the supposed wickedness of a United States which no longer existed.

The affair between Vonetta Ashford and David Redfern, far from losing steam, had only been growing ever more passionate and mutually satisfying, and seeming more likely to become permanent; thus, when the summons to duty called them out of bed, the two lovers were thinking of themselves not as two co-workers both having to come to the office before sunrise, but as truly a _couple_ sharing an exciting situation together.

The situation was that they had to take passdown from the midnight shift in the communications room set aside for the Diversity States delegation to the Hemispheric Union. Seeing all available information about what was going on in North America, they were to form an initial assessment for Vibol Ritisak's benefit, refining it with new data till the last minute.

As they monitored events, David began to be afraid: afraid that he was in over his depth, being called on to help his government understand a crisis which involved actual death and hostility. But the fear of seeming incompetent in Vonetta's eyes kept him working, kept him focussing his mind as best he could. There was plenty to focus on here: not only evidence of the Venezuelan Alliance rebuilding Aztlan's military capability, but also of the Venezuelan, Peruvian and Bolivian national governments working to influence other Hemispheric Union members politically.

When Ambassador Ritisak showed up and received his briefing from Vonetta, he complimented her and her lover for good work. David was relieved and happy to know that he genuinely had contributed to composing the assessment; but then he felt ashamed of himself, for worrying more about his own prestige than about a possible deadly peril to all his friends in the Western Enclave.

Four hours after the Winnipeg detective had visited Kim, the D.S. delegation in the Bi-Continental Assembly witnessed the fruit borne by the maneuvering of the Venezuelan Alliance.

The Mexican Ambassador, condemning the latest Aztlano aggression, announced that his government wanted to provide the Texas Rangers with replacements for the combat aircraft which had been lent out to Greater China. But the Aztlano Ambassador claimed that the D.S. airship had been an electronic-warfare platform, conducting cyber-sabotage against Aztlan's vital communications networks. And a surprising swell of support emerged for the Aztlano position. The Venezuelan Alliance, whatever the inducements used, had prevailed upon Brazil and the whole Caribbean Union to claim to believe what the Aztlanos were alleging.

Vibol Ritisak, and his Canadian counterpart, both were dismayed to receive orders from their governments _not_ to vote in favor of any resolution to re-arm the Texas Rangers. With Canada and the Diversity States abstaining, the Venezuelan-Aztlano faction was easily able to pass a resolution _against_ any military aid to the D.S.A.

That evening, David and Vonetta were with Vibol and his wife Imelda when a visitor called. Santiago Sanchez of Argentina was already a frequent visitor to the D.S. Ambassador, so his dropping by would not stir any undue interest; but once in the house, he gestured for them to go to the spy-proof room. There, he offered a piece of information that the Ambassador had not received up to now:

"You know how dependent your country has chosen to be upon soybeans as a food source. The Venezuelan government sent a secret threat to the Rainbow House, that if the Texas Rangers were given replacement aircraft, Venezuelan agents would release a mutated strain of the soybean-rust blight all over your country, threatening your people with famine."

David was the first to react audibly, saying only, "Oh, God, no!" Imelda Ritisak was able to say somewhat more: "And is there any hope of getting this threat condemned as illegal bio-warfare?"

"I doubt it," replied Santiago, "since if it's exposed, the Venezuelans can argue that it isn't 'really' bio-warfare, because the blight won't _directly_ harm humans. BUT.... there may be certain friends of mine who can do something about this."

The Argentinian semi-spy had already gotten word to the secret army.

"I can see now why my own government would back down," said Vibol; "but what made Canada decide to abstain on that vote?"

"We're not sure." Santiago did not specify who "we" were. "But it's likely that the Canadian government is afraid that Venezuela is working with whoever touched off the Islamist guerrilla offensive on Canadian soil, and that crossing Venezuela in the Assembly might cause a new round of terrorism against Canada."

That night, David prayed for the people of the Diversity States. He did so silently, for he still was tortured by the ambiguity of hovering between his profession of Christian faith, and his not-exactly-Biblical co-habitation with Vonetta.

Had he known it, Vonetta also prayed silently that night, with identical conflicted emotions. Neither of them was quite sure how God would view their prayers. It would have been easy enough to tell themselves that the Party was right, and any restraint upon carnal pleasure was "hate;" but both of them knew too much about genuine Christians to swallow that facile propaganda. So they doubted the value of their prayers, and doubted the legitimacy of their sleeping arrangement, yet could not give up either thing.

 
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That same day, Lenore Glass and her recently-arrived brother Larry were working in his office on what was now designated the campus of the Western Enclave Medical University. Both siblings, as well as their father Avery, had heard about yesterday's act of war by Aztlan, the first time Aztlanos had fired any weapon into the Enclave. They were aware of the fear that was boiling and circulating all around the five sectors. But Lenore and Larry both remembered how their father in the past had repeated stories to them that his grandmother had told him: stories of how Americans had reacted when America had been attacked by Japan. (These stories could no longer be told openly in America, since revised history now declared that World War Two had involved America SIDING WITH NAZI GERMANY in racist aggression against Japan, China, and other nonwhite nations.) Avery's grandmother had told how Americans in 1941 had roused themselves to fight, but at the same time had striven to keep some aspects of ordinary life going as before.

Lenore and Larry were not in a position to defeat Aztlano thugs in battle, if battle there was; instead, it was their duty to attend to the ordinary-life part. Almost a hundred students had applied by now to study medical specialties; the Glass family could only hope that the campus, and Rapid City as a whole, would still exist a month from now, to _let_ them study.

So it was that, after lunch, they went from Larry's office to the office of one Whipstrike Diamond, a woman who worked for the Undersecretary of Distribution. Since the Indoctrination Department no longer existed, there was no one who could effectively compete with the Distribution Department for control of W.E.M.U.; and Ms. Diamond had been entrusted with vetting all curriculum proposals from the exiles who would mostly be doing the actual work at the new university.

Contrary to the implications of the first name she had invented for herself, Whipstrike was fat and sluggish; but happily, she had so far proven reasonably cooperative in facilitating the accumulation of educational materials and supplies. Now, however, the two siblings were going to have to confront her over a matter of some sensitivity.

When dealing with Fairness Party functionaries, it was good policy for the opening words to be uttered by a woman, the better to be heeded. Lenore placed a pile of papers on Whipstrike's desk (use of a dataphone or tablet computer being off limits to her) and said, "Citizen Diamond, thank you for agreeing to see us. I'm afraid we have a little problem with this aptitude test for new entrants."

Whipstrike looked at several pages, then showed the exiles an expression of sincere bafflement. "I don't understand, this is a perfectly normal aptitude exam, such as is used for all colleges outside the fence."

Choosing her words carefully, Lenore explained, "A teenager outside the fence has enjoyed the _advantages_ of regular schooling and the Diversity Pioneers, to make sure she understands the Party's guidance. But adolescent exiles may not understand the _value_ of the questions on this test."

Larry recited one example: "If you were studying a case of a genetic flaw causing albinism, what insights would this give you into the way that white male tribalists have historically oppressed other groups and hated everyone who was different?"

Whipstrike spread her hands, looking even more baffled. "But that's a perfectly orthodox question, integral to a curriculum that promotes the oneness of the collective."

"However," Lenore persisted, "the President herself has made it clear that she doesn't want to seem to deny credit to exiles for as much enlightenment as they have managed up to now. This aptitude test, if used in its present form, could seem to be denying that recognition."

Larry added, "And we believe that, if graduates of the new university get the chance to go into regular practice, then while they work at their new professions, they _will_ grow to understand more about society." He had managed to avoid saying that the new healthcare workers would actually come to _agree_ with the doctrines of the Party.

"First things first," said Lenore. "Allow us to concentrate on teaching the skills of DOING healthcare, and political orthodoxy can be addressed later. It isn't as if any exile can get out into the general population without the government's permission, after all."

Whipstrike uttered a thoughtful grunt, then handed the papers back to Lenore. "I see your point. Since you have daily contact with several doctors and medical technicians, you have my approval to ask them to compose new aptitude questions."

"Thank you, Citizen Diamond. If we hurry, we can get a few technological questions out of Matti Siermaala before he leaves the country."

Whipstrike blinked, again uncomprehending. "Leaves?"

"Yes, remember, he's a foreigner, and his company wants him out of harm's way, in case Aztlan invades here."

"Invades? That's ridiculous! Once our own government apologizes for its racism as usual, and increases the electrical output for Aztlan, things will quiet down."

"Professor Siermaala himself doesn't seem to think so," Larry observed. "I guess he isn't as enlightened as President Atkinson."

When Lenore and Larry went to Sioux San Hospital and met Matti Siermaala, he surprised them with how quickly he jotted down a dozen appropriate exam questions about the basics of medical-diagnosis technology. Then, speaking in a secure office, he surprised them still more with a revelation that no gossip had prepared them for. It concerned the attractive African-American nurse who had helped keep Miguel De Soto alive when Kasim Rasulala had tried to murder him; the nurse who had subsequently begun learning the operations of Siermaala's ultrasound array.

"You folks must remember Zamoria Carter, the nurse who started assisting me at scanning sessions after Brendan and Josiah left? I always appreciated her work ethic, and she always behaved cordially toward me; but lately, she's been acting more than cordial. Believe it or not, and I scarcely believe it myself, she's been _throwing_ herself at me! And let me add, she started coming on to me _before_ the new Aztlano scare occurred."

"Sounds like an old man's dream," said Larry; "and modern medicine should make you perfectly capable of satisfying her. Life is short. Is there any reason why you _shouldn't_ take her up on it?"

Lenore slapped her brother's arm. "Stop that! The Professor is leaving the country soon, and he _isn't_ a man who would want a meaningless temporary fling!"

"My leaving the country surely has some bearing on this," the Finnish scientist told them. "She has hinted about wishing she could see my birthplace in Finland, and the African home I have now. I know about the case of that Egyptian-American woman who persuaded the Australian researcher to marry her and take her away to Australia with her children. As far as I've heard, things turned out happily for her. But Zamoria _isn't_ an exile; she's a member in good standing of the Secondary Healthcare Workers' Union. She could get out of the Enclave if she wants, _without_ needing to saddle herself with an old widower."

"Then maybe she wants to get _completely_ out of the Diversity States," Larry ventured; "and that, while not impossible, is difficult. Marrying you -- the Party wouldn't _call_ it marriage, but you get my meaning -- could open the door for her. I can't answer for whether she would _stay_ with you for life."

Lenore leaned closer to Professor Siermaala. "Well, I believe that Zamoria loves you for yourself!" she said, a bit irritated with her brother. "If I weren't burned on relationships, you're the kind of man I would want: smart, good-natured, honest and courteous. I admit I don't know Zamoria closely, but my gut feeling is that she does love you, and you should go for it. Just because I'm not happily married, doesn't mean that _someone_ shouldn't be."

Matti Siermaala sat in silence for half a minute. Then he stood up and announced: "Miss Glass, I believe you've convinced me. Finnish men are stereotyped as cold-blooded; but if there's any truth in that, Zamoria can thaw me out. And I'm going to give her the chance!"

Lenore couldn't resist following Siermaala as he marched out into the corridor and headed for the nursing desk where Zamoria could be found. Larry tagged along. If the siblings were hoping for a joyful scene, they were not disappointed: the scientist proposed marriage to the nurse then and there, and Zamoria flung herself into his arms with a fervor to rival the passion that the former Ma'at Wazir had for her Australian cavalier.
 
Two days after Matti Siermaala hastily but lawfully married Zamoria Carter and took her away from all this, Grange reinforcements arrived at the Gas Hills uranium refinery complex. Led by Gabe Ellison, this party comprised all readily available Grange volunteers from the northwest corner of Wyoming Sector. With their coming, all members of the first Grange security force were free to go home. Only two stayed: Ladira Garvey, because of the friendship she had formed with Salwa Jalalu, and Alipang Havens, because there still was nobody in Sussex for him to go home for.

But at least some word of his family was to be forthcoming. On the day after Gabe's arrival, several Forest Rangers flew in by fixed-wing plane, led by Lyra Bender who was in charge of the sector's Forestry Service contingent. As soon as she found Alipang, Lyra told him, "Mark Terrell asked me to pass this news to you; he received it via international law-enforcement channels. Your wife up in Winnipeg heard that _someone_ from the Grange had been killed in the airship shoot-down, but the report she received didn't say _which_ Granger died. Poor Mrs. Havens feared the worst, of course; but by now, Mark will have sent word to her that _you're_ unhurt."

"Then God bless Ranger Terrell," sighed Alipang. "I hope that knowing I'm alive will be enough to prevent Kim from hurrying back here when we might be facing an invasion."

Lyra was aware that the five "spare" particle-beam projectors were finally being mounted on some of the otherwise noncombatant aircraft remaining to the Texas Rangers Enclave Aviation Detachment. But this was a need-to-know matter, and no civilian was regarded as needing to know, not even the brother-in-law of the Texan commander. There was, however, another aspect of defensive preparations which Alipang could be part of:

The building of low-tech defense works.

The reason why Lyra Bender had come to Gas Hills was not because a Muslim-raised kitchen worker needed still _more_ protection against imaginary Islamophobic rioters; it was because Lyra's party was responsible for preparations along a segment of the Enclave's southwestern perimeter which began due south of Gas Hills and ran west from there. Because of the increased electrical power supply being sent into Aztlan as appeasement, energy use inside the Enclave was having to be tightly budgeted (in fact, cooking at the dining hall for the miners and refinery workers was now being done over wood fires as much as possible); so the modest military-engineering project would now be carried out entirely with muscle power. At least the muscle power would include the muscles of draft horses where applicable.

Alipang, still barefoot since his reinforced feet were holding up very well, became a noble and exalted ditch-digger. Pits were being dug as rudimentary tank traps to catch any armored vehicles that might penetrate the fence; and there was also digging involved in the preparation of protected firing positions for marksmen. Alipang's toughened hands exempted him from any need for work gloves; he grasped the most jagged-edged rocks without suffering any harm, and his own inborn strength enabled him to handle easily the weight of rocks that most of his co-workers could not even have lifted. These unearthed rocks became building material for the redoubts the work party was building.

At a short rest break in the excavation work, Ranger Bender decided to make conversation with her top laborer. "Doctor Havens, I've heard from Emilio Vasquez that you like to read science fiction."

"So I do," replied Alipang, "apart from the Churchbuster trash written by the late Mr. Conklin. Not too long ago, my friend Mr. Tomisaburo gave me a sci-fi book he turned up someplace: There Will Be Dragons, by John Ringo.* It was one of those novels in which an advanced civilization suddenly loses its technical infrastructure, and suffers chaos in which only those with primitive skills can help anyone."

"Hmm, that's a little bit like our country sending less computer-dependent aircraft for China's use, with China being hit by cyber-warfare."

Alipang gazed to the south, the direction from which enemies might come. "A little bit like. Though the Chinese, even _with_ their current problem, could afford to be without those aircraft better than _America_ can afford to be without them right now."

"Have faith, Dr. Havens. There might be some resource for us that you don't know about."

"Faith itself is a resource our _government_ doesn't know about. But yes, I'll keep my chin up."

"Do you have a favorite sci-fi author?"

"Not one single favorite; I like many of them, if I can overlook the epidemic tendency for them to assume that future societies are bound to be nonstop orgies. But having read that John Ringo novel reminded me of an older and more widely-known work: Frank Herbert's Dune series. It also had to do with the fear of losing vital infrastructure. In that series, the infrastructure was all about the magic spice, which Herbert called 'spice' because he didn't want to _say_ 'drug.' But the analogies to our own more prosaic energy needs are plain enough. Ranger Bender, this Enclave we are standing in, this place we are trying to defend with nothing, IS OUR PLANET DUNE. Take this away from the Diversity States, and the Fairness Party won't be able to maintain _even_ the pauperish living standard the proletariat now enjoys."

Lyra frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think the Aztlanos have that in mind?"

"Can you seriously believe that they _don't?_ For these first five years of the partition of the former United States, the Aztlanos have been content to live as parasites, drinking up a portion of our country's energy output and giving nothing in return, while being allowed to make up transparent lies about us being anti-Hispanic bigots. But with Yellowstone standing up soon as an enlarged power source, and China seeming no longer interested in what happens to North America, why _wouldn't_ Aztlan get ambitious to grab the whole package? And there's something else. Have _you_ read the Dune series?"

"Well, I saw the old movie with Patrick Stewart in it."

"Close enough. You remember that the Galactic Emperor and the Harkonnen clan both wanted to get rid of the Atreides clan who were the good guys. So the Emperor pretended to do the Atreides clan a _favor_ by letting them take possession of the vital planet Dune; but he arranged for their defenses on Dune to be sabotaged, so they could be attacked by surprise and wiped out.

"Now, here on our Earthbound planet Dune, we have the key infrastructure in our possession, just as the Atreides clan on the fictional planet had possession of the source of the magic spice. And we Biblicals have been offered the _apparent_ benefits of greater freedom and employment opportunity, even higher education at the university that's getting started. It's become such a favorable deal that additional Biblicals coming into the Enclave no longer think of it as a _punishment_ at all -- rather, it's an _improvement_ in our lives all around.

"Only, it _isn't_ an improvement if it's really a trap."

Lyra now had the look of unpleasant ideas dawning on her. "But if you remember, no offense, that you Biblicals are _already_ in a powerless position, why would anybody _need_ to 'trap' you?"

"It might have to do with being afraid that we'll realize we're _not_ so completely powerless. If all exiles acted in one accord, we could seize control of all the Enclave power plants, and threaten to cut off the power ourselves, regardless of what Aztlan may do. I trust that you have the brains to understand that I wouldn't mention this notion to you if I _wanted_ to try any such stunt. But someone might want to kill a bunch of us -- the most aggressive and strong-willed ones -- all in one stroke, to make sure we _don't_ ever play that card. This is only speculation; but _you_ are affected by it as well."

"Affected how?"

"By your own _friendliness_ to us God-fascists. Consider this: just like the Harkonnens being removed from Dune to make way for the Atreides, the Campaign Against Hate was removed from the Enclave, and police entities much more friendly to Biblicals were assigned instead. Just look at my brother-in-law! If somebody someplace IS plotting a giant ambush, why not expand the plan to eliminate law-enforcement officers who are sympathetic to the Christians and Jews? We're all sitting neatly on top of a red-ringed target right now, and our ability to defend ourselves has been hamstrung."

Lyra glanced around to see if anyone else was listening, before she said to Alipang, "If there really is such a conspiracy, what do _you_ suggest we do about it?"

Alipang shrugged. "Those of us who believe in prayer, will keep on praying. And at this moment, we keep on digging these tank traps and rifle pits. If I get any new inspirations, I'll mention them to Emilio."


* An actual book; overly pornographic, but otherwise pretty good.
 
Around the time when Matti Siermaala married a black woman and left America, an already long-married couple with the same racial combination was _returning_ to America. The latter two people were American emigrants who had found asylum in Ireland, since Ireland had managed to avoid being swallowed by the Islamic Realm of Europe.

One thing both couples had in common, besides the white man-black woman match, was the fact that the woman in each case had actively pursued the man because of the kind of person he was.

The white husband in the couple coming back from Ireland, pushing sixty but still fairly fit in spite of never getting telomere preservation, was Danny Alyard, formerly a patrolman and then a detective with the New York City Police Department. His African-American wife Tashonda was about twenty years his junior, with a full figure and a pleasant face. When she had been younger, some had compared her appearance to the then-popular singer Mandisa.

Danny, long a bachelor after his first love deserted him, had found love unexpectedly -- on the night of a shootout with gangsters in Manhattan. Two black children, a small girl and a smaller boy, had strayed into the crossfire; Danny, still a patrolman at the time, had made a frantic dash to haul them to safety. He had succeeded in rescuing the children, at the price of getting hit himself. With a third of his small intestine shot away, Danny had lain in a coma for many days; and Tashonda, the single mother of the children he had saved, had kept a vigil at the hospital, begging God to keep her newfound knight in shining armor alive. When Danny recovered, Tashonda had made every overture to him she could think of; and fellow cops, forming a good impression of the young woman's sincerity, had encouraged the relationship.

Eventually, Danny had married Tashonda, becoming a father to the fatherless children he had saved. Of these, the boy had grown up to be the technician Jackson Alyard who was part of the "music raid" operation in Wismar on the Baltic Sea. Tashonda had borne other children to Danny besides. Except for Jackson who continued to work with the secret army, all of Danny and Tashonda's children were safe in Ireland right now, together with Tashonda's mother. But the parents, to all appearances merely tourists, were visiting their old stamping grounds in Manhattan.

"Remember Teresa's Hacienda?" Danny asked at one point. "I never tasted better quesadillas than theirs."

"And for Italian food, it was The Rooftop Gondola -- the two or three times we were able to afford it," replied his wife.

"Yeah. I wish I knew what became of Rodrigo Arabelli." Danny was referring to the owner of that Italian restaurant. "For that matter, I wish I knew just what happened to Jack and Sarah." Now Danny was referring to the policeman he used to patrol a beat with, and the policewoman whom the partner had married. Sarah had contracted AIDS due to a relationship occurring before she had met Jack, but she had been supernaturally cured. Unable to find out anything about them since the year 2020, Danny supposed that they had been done away with by the Fairness Party, which did not like to have Christians around who could bear witness to undeniable miracles.

"They're in God's hands," Tashonda murmured. "Let's go see a place with a happy association for you. Let's see if Lowell Sanders' old apartment building is still standing; then you can remember the night you and Jack saved that girl Tanya from committing suicide in front of it...."

The apartment building where the skirt-chasing Professor Lowell Sanders had once lived was there; but the private college that had been on the edge of Danny's old beat, the college at which the troubled girl Tanya had been a student, was gone. This was the college where Josiah Redfern had once worked and studied; Josiah and Danny had met now and then back in those days. "You can't go home again," the ex-cop remarked, recollecting how Josiah and his wife Melody had been forced by scheming enemies to move out of their Manhattan residence long before the Fairness Revolution.

Danny and Tashonda continued reliving old times, recalling incidents and acquaintances which are not a vital part of this narrative. But what they were doing _while_ seeing the old neighborhoods, _was_ something vital.

It so happened that, before leaving Ireland, both spouses had undergone an injection of highly sophisticated nanobots. Their function was an impressive one -- but would not be obvious to anyone who scanned either spouse for nanotechnology separately. Only when _both_ sets of nanobots were active did they perform their task; for these nanobots were designed to create a gestalt, a virtual antenna array that extended across two host bodies. The technology was very similar to what the late Etienne LaClede and his companions had used in the information-raid against the Islamic bank in Zurich.

As Danny and Tashonda Alyard strolled around New York City together, finding all changes to be for the worse, they were really doing a signal-search sweep. The virtual antenna array shared between them was looking for any radio transmissions which _didn't_ match some communications channel known to the secret army. For if there was an unexplained signal here, in a society that so tightly controlled communications, it could indicate the presence of hidden operatives.

And any such operatives might turn out to be the Venezuelan agents who were threatening to unleash a botanical plague against the soy supply of the Diversity States.

The secret army had many agents in America right now, doing the same thing the Alyards were doing. And other intelligence-collecting assets were at work besides. They wanted to stop the bio-warfare threat, not because the D.S. _government_ deserved help or sympathy, but because of all the innocent citizens who were menaced with famine. And because, if the Venezuelan threat were disarmed, then _even_ the spineless Atkinson administration ought to be willing to make more of an effort to equip the defenders of the Western Enclave.

 
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Chapter 128: The Fire Spreads In New Directions

By mid-August, Hsiao Luo-Sher of Greater China's Aerospace Force Intelligence had succeeded in helping his blonde American bride Quasar to make friends with open-minded Chinese families of his acquaintance. Thus, Quasar was assured of company and moral support when Luo-Sher had to go on a secret errand that she was not allowed to know anything about.

It was a trip to India.

Colonel Hsiao had met with members of the Dacoits before, so he was a natural to attend the proposed meeting. Another non-Indian also familiar with India's covert services was coming: the Israeli-born Yirimyahu Kohen, who had been part of the multi-purpose winter operation in Zurich.

When Agent Kohen and Colonel Hsiao presented themselves at the assigned meeting place, both men were exhaustively scanned for any unauthorized hardware or substances anywhere on or inside their persons. Only then were they admitted, to find that a Russian-looking man had been screened just ahead of them. Standing beside this man was an Indian whose identity Hsiao and Kohen already knew: Naval Commander Ainesh Makhuda. "Welcome, gentlemen," said Commander Makhuda to the latest arrivals. "This is Boris Tasyomkin,* here to represent the interests of the Republic of Alchatka. You will find that my government also invited representatives from Canada and the Central Asian Caliphate. Everyone else you will see is Indian."

The first order of business was for Commander Makhuda to share information obtained by the Dacoits and by India's regular armed forces, showing that India had suffered some of the same hacking of automated combat systems as Greater China had suffered. Colonel Hsiao was able to assure his hosts that Beijing had not believed India to be responsible for the sabotage; now the latest intelligence reinforced the likelihood that the culprits were extremists within the Central Asian Caliphate, acting without their government's approval. So there was less danger than ever of hostilities breaking out between China and India; but at the same time, it was going to be more difficult now for either superpower to intervene in crises outside its territory.

Which led to the second item on the agenda. Boris Tasyomkin stood and addressed the others:

"Colleagues, all of you have already received my downloads for your data clouds, with details of my country's predicament. Let me give a short gist.

"As you know, the Republic of Alchatka came into existence only last year. One reason why it _could_ come into existence was that when the United States no longer existed, Alaska by reason of its geographical separation was given a decision period by the United Nations to choose if it wanted to belong to the Diversity States, to Aztlan, to Canada, or none of those. Meanwhile, because of the multiple factors that had severely weakened the Russian Federation, Moscow decided to relinquish Kamchatka and most of Chukhotka. It was to the advantage of these castaway Russian and American populations to join into a single new political entity, so that they would control the Bering Strait and play an important role in the exploitation of Arctic Basin resources.

"For our first year of independence, we Alchatkans thought we saw a bright future. But during that same year, the Russian Federation began to recover some of its drained strength. _Also_ during that same year, the pitiful weakness of the Diversity States was made ever more apparent. Add to that the lackluster response of Canada to the insurgent threat it has faced this summer, and the fact that Aztlan's essentially Marxist system is highly compatible with the views of Russian Stalinists, and Russia could see that there was _nobody_ on the North American continent north of Mexico who would be likely to offer serious aid to MY country if Russia decided to renege on its agreements and seize all of Alchatka.

"I trust that the Chinese officer in this room will take no offense when I say that neither the Alchatkans, nor the Russians, believe that China would exert itself to protect Alchatka, even if this current cyber-sabotage problem were not occurring. And the Pacific Federation has so many scattered islands to safeguard, that it simply cannot do much to help anyone militarily _outside_ its claimed oceanic zones. Accordingly, while we certainly would not _refuse_ assistance from either China or India, we are not positively requesting it. What we _are_ requesting, is that the superpowers _not_ become indignant if we seek such aid as we _can_ get. This will be, above all, aid from the nameless network which Agent Kohen represents. I now ask Ainesh Makhuda to speak again, as he and I discussed before the meeting."

Makhuda stood once more, and presented further data: the facts his own submarine had recorded about Russian submersibles picking up unknown cargoes dropped off by ships of the Venezuelan Alliance. This information was provided as evidence that the Russian Federation was covertly preparing for some surprise military action.

When the Indian officer was finished, the Mossad veteran rose to his feet. "Everyone here is welcome to brain-scan me for truthfulness on my statement that my organization is not planning anything hostile to the lawful government of any nation represented at this meeting. But if Russia invades Alchatka, we plan to make them regret it."

* That name is NOT properly pronounced "BOR-is Ta-SIGH-om-kin," but rather, "Buh-REES Tas-YOHM-kin."
 
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Thanks to sympathetic law-enforcement officers on both sides of the D.S.-Canadian border, a fresh exchange of messages became possible for Alipang and Kim at almost the speed of e-mail, for as long as Alipang had easy access to Lyra Bender who could handle the Enclave terminus of the exchange. Not only Kim Havens, but Wilson, Esperanza and Brendan Havens as well, were able to pass various news and endearments to the husband and father of their household; and Alipang was able to make it official that, miss them though he did, he _would_ prefer that they be in a safe place while the Aztlano situation was in doubt.

One added message that surprised Alipang came from the husband of his mother-in-law:

"Dear Doctor Havens the Younger,

The few times I got to speak to you before your family's relocation to Wyoming were enough to convince me that you are a man of great integrity and honor. You would have made a good gaucho. The things that Kim and your children say about you reinforce my impression. Without even saying anything about the immediate international circumstances, I admire your willingness to approve of your dependents enjoying a vacation in which you cannot share -- your wish for them to receive some blessing, regardless of your sacrifice of being without them.

Please do not resent Elizabeth, and indeed I am confident that you do not resent her, for her particularly strong desire to keep Kim here longer even if there had been no crisis in Canada or the Diversity States. You surely understand how hard it was for Elizabeth not to see or embrace her youngest daughter for years on end; and now, for awhile, Elizabeth can enjoy watching Kim play with Javier.

Maybe someday the world will change, and you will be free to come and go as you please. Until then, you have my esteem and respect.

Wishing you all good things,
Esteban"

Reading the printout of this letter that Ranger Bender had given to him, Alipang smiled at the part about the world changing. He knew that this part would have been censored if Esteban had been sending a letter through the physical postal system which was usually an exile's only link to the outside world.

By Sunday, August 16, enough pits and foxholes had been dug in the area Lyra Bender was responsible for, that Alipang and the other Grangers helping in this work were released. Gabe Ellison had a handle on the job of pretending that Salwa Jalalu needed to be protected from her own exile friends; so Alipang decided he would head for Casper and his parents' house. First, though, he attended a worship service at Shinar House, the church which had sprung up for the benefit of workers at Gas Hills. Its pastor was a Chinese-American woman by name of Karla Yan; happily, she was nothing like the Oneness Priestesses in the Oneness Temples.

Pastor Yan preached about the time in the Book of Acts when the Apostles Paul and Barnabas had been mistaken for Greek gods. The take-away message of the sermon was: "No Christian should need to be told that you must never knowingly steal the glory which belongs to Jesus. But I _will_ tell you that, as you work to _uphold_ the glory of Jesus, you should try to be so authentic that people who see your light shining won't be too far off if they decide you're something out of the ordinary."

After saying his goodbyes at Shinar House and at the uranium complex, Alipang caught a train for Casper. Since the shoes he had left with Jotham the Amish cobbler for repair had not caught up with him, he was going to need to buy a new pair at the merchandise center in the city; for his left foot was due for its first shedding of the toughened skin on Wednesday.

Once his train reached Casper, he had the pleasant surprise of seeing his siblings Harmony and Terrance awaiting him on the platform. As he group-hugged with them, he asked, "Did you two ask for time off work just so you could cheer me up? If so, the cheering up is working!"

"No," Terrance replied. "We've been transferred."

"Gaia's Guts is so successful," Harmony elaborated, "that Aero-Aquatics is opening a _second_ Gaia's Guts in Casper. In a rare spurt of logical management, workers at the Nebraska plant whose real homes are in Wyoming are the ones assigned to open the new location."

"It'll be smaller, at least to begin with," said Terrance; "so we're calling it Gaia's Gizzard."

"Now, let's get back to the house!" exclaimed Harmony. "Mom needs help eating her cooking."

Only later, inside the home of Eric and Cecilia Havens, did Terrance silently hand a written note to his elder brother. It read:

"On our next to last day working at the original plant, I chanced to see a bunch of tubs containing hundreds of little aluminum slugs, a size that could be ammo for small-caliber rail guns. I wouldn't have thought it odd, since authorities in this country do have rail rifles; but Winnie Drucker had a fit, telling me those tubs were none of my business. That MADE them seem suspicious. So far, no one's arrested me. But brothers are supposed to share things, so I'm letting you share my puzzlement about that ammo, if that's what it was."

When Alipang had read the note through, he nodded to Terrance, then slipped the piece of paper into the flames in their parents' wood stove. Of course, the reason why a wood stove was burning in August was for cooking. The appeasement to Aztlan was causing electricity cutbacks for all exiles. Eric and Cecilia had just enough current allotted now to run their refrigerator and freezer, and one light fixture on each floor; and their freezer was jam-packed, preserving perishable foods on behalf of neighbors who didn't even have _that_ much electricity now.
 
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The pressure to allot more and more electrical power to buy off the Aztlanos was so great, that even members of the ruling class in the Diversity States were having to make minor adjustments to their use of electricity. So it was that, in Georgetown where the Salisburys and Rands had formerly lived, labor-union official Carolyn Biao was not using her desktop holo-projector while giving a briefing. Instead, she was using a paper map to refer to, a map showing her area of concern in the Mid-Atlantic Federal District, an area that included what had been the state of Delaware and part of Maryland.

All of the union facilitators at Carolyn's command were now assembled before her. She missed Dobie Marsalis, who had died protecting her against mob violence. It occurred to her that, if she believed in life after death, she would be wondering how Dobie would feel about the orders she had received from the District Party Presidium. The orders called for preparations to _cause_ more mob violence.

"All right, citizens, listen up. The Party advises me that there is a danger to food production on our collective farms."

One female facilitator, who had strength enhancement, but not of so radical a sort as to create the health hazard which had almost killed Pulverizer Clarendon, spoke up eagerly, like a schoolgirl courting the teacher's favor: "Is it sabotage by racist bourgeois God-fascists?"

"I honestly don't know who or what is behind the threat," replied Carolyn, though she privately knew it was highly unlikely that Biblicals were the cause of the unexplained peril the Party had mentioned in its memorandum. "This is a need-to-know situation, and even I am not considered to have a need to know. All that concerns us at this moment is being ready in case food production _does_ take a severe hit.

"In such an eventuality, the most important objective will be to preserve the leadership structure. A body can survive a lot better with a finger or toe cut off, than it can survive without its brain and spinal column. Accordingly, we will require proactive measures to prevent the national collective from being stampeded into unwarranted antagonism toward the Party and the unions. It is deemed most efficient to use a tactic which will simultaneously protect authority, and reduce the number of consumers in famine conditions.

"If the prospective agricultural emergency materializes, the call to action will be identified as General Order 591. Repeat that to me."

"General Order 591," the facilitators chorused, with two of them adding the words "agricultural emergency."

"Very good. If and when General Order 591 is issued, each of you will be responsible for promulgating provocative disinformation to an assigned community in our area. Party officials will already know it isn't true; your job will be fooling the masses." Carolyn began pointing to individuals. "You will tell proletarians in Seaford that there are un-mutual Nazi capitalists hoarding food in Bridgeville. You will tell proletarians in Dagsboro that there are un-mutual Nazi capitalists hoarding food in Selbyville. You will tell proletarians in Felton that there are un-mutual Nazi capitalists hoarding food in Woodside. You will tell proletarians in Centreville that there are un-mutual Nazi capitalists hoarding food in Ridgely. You will tell proletarians in Hurlock that there are un-mutual Nazi capitalists hoarding food in Vienna...."
 
Ni-geria was under attack.

Forces of the Babylonian Caliphate had been keeping submersible combat vehicles hidden on the bottom of Lake Chad, intending to stage an attack similar to the attack which had been made against Uganda. But thanks to information extracted from the enemy troops previously captured in Ni-ger, the Nigerian Army had known about this threat in advance, and had destroyed the hidden vehicles where they rested. The Islamists, however, were not in a mood to give up. The destruction of their underwater force had scarcely been completed before Babylonian airborne troops came flying low over the Mandara Mountains, coming as close as they could get to the Nigerian capital of Abuja before setting down. By the morning of August 18, they were within twenty kilometers of their objective.

The United Nations, as had frequently happened in its history, did nothing useful.

But the invaders made a mistake. One of their surface-to-surface missiles made a direct hit upon the National Mosque of Nigeria. The Muslim survivors of the explosion suddenly discovered a new appreciation for the fact that Nigeria's increased Christian presence had not caused any persecution of Muslims in the capital or anywhere, in contrast to FELLOW MUSLIMS now bombarding them at prayers. Hundreds of National Mosque members hastened to volunteer their help in the defense of Abuja.

By the time Nigerian reinforcements from Onitsha entered the battle, the invaders were starting to lose ground; but there still was work for Brendan Hyland to do. Now serving as the gunner on a self-propelled railgun mount, he was firing his medium-weight rail gun at both surface and aerial targets, according as his combat computer received its target priorities from regimental command and control. This was his largest pitched battle since Afghanistan. It was made a little simpler by the complete absence of friendly aircraft overhead. Owing to the impressive number of anti-aircraft lasers the Babylonians possessed, Nigerian planes were keeping out of the melee, except that some were firing stand-off weapons from places west of Abuja. So any aircraft Brendan and his targetting system could see, was a bogey.

Brendan had shot three enemy drones out of the air, and knocked out two armored ground vehicles, when one of the invaders' own rail guns scored a glancing hit on his "sparty." Even a glancing impact from a railgun projectile was enough to annihilate the left-side treads, a "mobility kill." Shouting to his driver to run for cover, Brendan returned fire at the enemy tank that had made the mobility kill; then he saw that his driver couldn't get away, being wounded by metal fragments which had splattered from the enemy projectile's impact. Putting another shot into the opposing tank to neutralize its menace, Brendan sprang to the side of his driver and rendered first aid.

Just when he was confident that the driver would live, Brendan himself nearly died, as a burst of "ordinary" armor-piercing bullets riddled his battle armor. Providentially for him, a medic was close enough to help him in turn.

At some point Brendan passed out, and at some point he regained consciousness. He saw that he was in an aid station; but his first thought was neither for his own medical condition, nor for that of his driver. As the medic had put him under, he had experienced a delirious vision of the night he and Etienne LaClede, with Stan Lewandowski and others, had glided into Zurich -- having bailed out of a descending spaceplane.

When a doctor bent over him, it seemed perfectly logical to Brendan to croak out: "Spacecraft, inbound spacecraft, got to tell them!"

"Relax, Lieutenant Hyland," said the doctor. "We're not under orbital-weapon attack. Just a plain ground engagement, and our side is winning."

"Ground assault's a diversion!" cried Brendan. "Or anyway, not the whole thing. They'll come from space. You've got to learn to get used to a three-dimensional battlefield!"

Brendan went on demanding to be heard, until a Nigerian senior officer, who was checking on some of his men in the aid station, took notice of his exclamations and approached him. "You're with the New Vatican force, aren't you? What's this about a spaceborne attack?"

The numbing effect of nanotechnic pain blockers caused Brendan's brain to forget the classified nature of his experience in Switzerland, though fortunately he did not spell out what that mission had been. "Colonel? I was on a raid before. We bailed out of a _civilian_ spaceplane on descent, with folding gliders and stealth suits. Carried out our mission, and the locals never guessed that we were there. I'm telling you, Caliphate will send a spaceborne jump team... probably land in Abuja by night... got to intercept them!"

Soon a field nurse renewed Brendan's sedation; but on a hunch, the officer to whom he had spoken decided to mention the hypothetical space threat to his own superior. That superior in turn told _his_ superior, and sky-search sensors were placed on a higher alert status.

Not until days later would a recuperating Brendan learn that, on the evening after his injury, a commercial passenger spaceplane, belonging to a carrier firm in the Egyptian Caliphate, had taken off out of Madrid with a supposed destination in Madagascar -- but had sent a distress call enroute, claiming that engine trouble was forcing it to attempt an emergency landing in Nigeria. And there had been armed Egyptian Caliphate special-forces men on board the spaceplane.

Whether by coincidence, or because someone on the Islamist side had found out something about the Zurich operation, these raiders had bailed out over Abuja in precisely the same fashion as Brendan's party had done on that winter night. But they had not after all enjoyed such a successful secrecy as Brendan and his friends had enjoyed. Every one of these Egyptian infiltrators had been killed or captured. Those taken alive were quick to activate their suicide devices, so none could be interrogated; but those who had brought them from Spain could be and were arrested and questioned under brain-scan. Thus the new threat to Nigeria's capital was thwarted, and more information for the benefit of the good guys was extracted from the spaceplane crew.

Besides his own family and the driver he had helped, Brendan was visited in the hospital by Pastor Abraham Zondei, Abraham's daughter Molly, and Captain Raphael Udofia who had been with Brendan during the mission into Niger. Molly and Raphael were now engaged; and the happy chatter about an expected wedding spared Brendan from being asked about what had made him think of a spaceborne threat to Abuja. His speaking out in the aid station had saved the city, which was probably the reason why nobody was getting on Brendan's case about compromising classified information; but the Marine Corps veteran was still embarrassed about the slip-up.

Further cheering up for "Captain Lacrosse" was to be provided the next day, when Matti Siermaala placed a videophone call to him and revealed his own marriage with Zamoria.
 
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Russians (along with former-Soviet minorities) who lived in Alchatka, on either side of the Bering Strait, knew enough about Russian Communists and the repackaged versions of the same, that they would have sprung to arms if they had realized how close an invasion was. But for many Alchatkans who had been United States citizens while the United States had still existed, the evils of the Soviet regime were only a fairytale, to be dismissed with a condescending laugh.

It was mostly the latter sort of Alchatkans, together with Diversity States citizens enjoying Fairness Party membership, who were on board a luxury cruise ship, attending a party in the recreational sense. The recent violence in Canada, and the latest attack on the Diversity States by the Aztec-Maoists, were as little regarded here as was the Russian-Venezuelan threat they did not yet know about. The guest of honor at the "Gaian Gala" was movie director Isadora Cruller, and she was giving a relatively short pre-banquet speech....

"My dear sisters and brothers in global oneness, it warms my heart to be reminded of how much respect the performing arts receive. And I'll be so bold as to say that we deserve it. It is movies, broadcasting, live theater, and other media which have led personkind as far along the evolutionary path as we have come. But more work is ahead of us. The Fairness Revolution must press forward, as long as there are patriarchalist reactionaries resisting the karma of the collective!"

(Since she was outside the Enclave now, and not assigned to any project that would be videocording inside the Enclave, Isadora didn't have to pretend that she had any respect for Christians or Jews.)

"I trust you will be pleased to know that my team will be starting production less than a month from now on a new movie. Titled The Different Make The Difference, this will be a bold, edgy, risk-taking story, one that blazes new paths in cinema. In this movie, we will take our chances, launch for high orbit, and _dare_ to defy the racist Christian corporate system! Our script, written by Neutron Invincible in a new career move for her, backs down from nobody; it calls a sonic drill a sonic drill, and sheds a relentless light on corrupt capitalistic businessmen!"

While the selected gathering was applauding this pretense of innovation, and streamcast crews were transmitting it to the whole hemisphere, a man who was unknown to any of the partygoers was doing something which actually mattered.

Agent Yirimyahu Kohen, in the guise of a common crew member on the ocean liner, was consulting his shielded dataphone for g.p.s. readings... and using it at intervals to send signals to objects which were limpeted on the ship's hull, beneath the waterline. The objects were state-of-the-art swim-drones: robots disguised as assorted species of fish, and even sea lions. Some of these had the task of scouting for hostile submarines or semi-submersibles; others, possessing data links to the first sort, were weapons that would home in on anything waterborne that was identified as unfriendly. If attacking a target, they would not explode, since the noise would warn other hostiles who might be near. Instead, the offensive swim drones would use binary corrosive chemicals to eat holes in the targets' hulls.

The chemicals were formulated to have an extremely short effective life, changing afterwards into much less harmful substances; but this would be scant consolation to enemy naval crews who were drowned or forced to abandon ship.

Not that Yirimyahu felt much sympathy for any such aggressors. He had to all intents lost his own homeland as a sovereign state, so he was glad to strike back against the same sort of tyranny that had long harassed the Israeli people. He hoped that measures against aerospace attacks on Alchatka were proceeding as well as his own job seemed to be.

At intervals of one and a half nautical miles, he signalled the swim-drones (by alternating types) to detach themselves from the cruise ship and begin patrolling. If they needed to remain on station for longer than a day, they could surface and use fold-out solar panels to recharge themselves; the big ones were also programmed to siphon electrical current from sea-bottom power cables whose locations had been downloaded to their artificial intelligence.

Only when he had deployed the last of the swim-drones did the Mossad veteran allow himself to eavesdrop on the show-business celebration, laughing contemptuously to himself over the puffed-up conceit of today's actors and directors.

 
Chapter 129: The Dubious Fosterling

Dan and Chilena were outside the Enclave doing promotional appearances for the debut of Geothermal Plants of the Heart; but Young Cecilia, Tommy and Irene had remained with their grandparents. Alipang thus got to enjoy a short spell of relaxation in the company of his nieces and nephew, in addition to his parents and his youngest two siblings. The most strenuous thing he did was to spar with Terrance a couple of times, for fun and exercise. He was to ride a train up to Sussex on Wednesday; there, besides seeing anyone who needed dental attention, he would be assessing the town's readiness for an emergency evacuation.

Eric and Cecilia the Elder, for their part, already had parcels of necessities packed up for such an eventuality. Two of these parcels were in the form of well-filled backpacks; Eric and Cecilia figured that they could wear these backpacks while riding their tandem bicycle, if this means of transportation should prove to be their best option in an escape. (After all, there still were paved roads in Wyoming, even if there were hardly any motor vehicles.)

On Wednesday morning, Alipang woke up at first light in a room he was sharing with his nephew. Throwing off his covers with his left hand, he felt an odd sensation, as if the top sheet had wrapped itself around his wrist. Not immediately realizing what the sensation meant, he went ahead and stood up -- only to find his left foot slipping on the polished wooden floor, as if he had stepped on a small rug that was not attached to anything. Catching himself with his right hand, he shook his head -- and felt as if some kind of scarf were flapping around his neck.

Then he remembered. This was the nineteenth of August.

"Uncle Al, are you okay?" Tommy asked, sitting up in the other bed.

"Yes, I'm okay. Today is my skin-shedding day." Alipang held up his left hand where both he and Tommy could look at it. The modified skin was raggedly coming off of there, like a glove chewed by a dog. And it was, of course, the same loosening of outer skin which had caused his left foot to slide out from under him.

"That was quick," Tommy observed. "When we went to sleep, the special skin hadn't changed at all."

"It must have begun working loose _while_ I slept." Alipang's T-shirt and shorts did not get in the way of his peeling off all the molting skin: from the two left limbs, from both of his inner thighs, and from around his neck. "For the next couple of days, only my right hand and right foot will be flameproof. Here, catch!" -- and he tossed a handful of his own hide to the boy.

"Oh, gross!" Tommy laughed. "Shall I make this into shoes for you?"

"Thanks, but I just bought a new pair the other day. What you _could_ do would be to write an immortal poem about your mutant uncle's first molting."

"How about a haiku? ...You are what you eat. / Uncle Alipang ate snakes; / Now he sheds like one."

"That'll do. Speaking of eating, let's get down to the kitchen; if we're the first ones there, we can make breakfast the way WE want it. And I still have _one_ hand that can't get burned on the woodstove..."

= = = = = = = = = = =

After loving farewells, Alipang boarded his train at mid-morning and headed north. At the train stop nearest to Teapot Creek, Rudolfo Montefiori came on board.

Alipang beckoned to his friend. "Rudolfo! What's up?"

"I'm heading up to Crazy Woman Creek," Rudolfo replied, coming to sit with Alipang. "I'll be meeting with the Spaffords and their closest neighbors, to negotiate a possible move of my sheep up to their area. If the Aztlanos do invade from Colorado, and I wait _until_ they attack, I'll probably lose the whole flock."

For the rest of the ride, Alipang and Rudolfo discussed the Aztlano situation in some detail, although there had been no new acts of overt aggression since the destruction of Cassie Magruder's airship. Just before pulling into Sussex, the two men prayed together; than Alipang said goodbye and stepped onto the platform.

He was met by Peter Tomisaburo, who greeted him while acting a little strangely. Even while shaking hands and inquiring about how Alipang was doing with his modified skin, the furnace repairman seemed to be alternately looking at Alipang, and looking into the air above his head. This caused Alipang to recall the incident in which Peter's son Victor had seemed to see lights that no one else could see. He wanted to ask Peter about it, but still restrained himself.

A moment later, Peter gave Alipang something else to think about. "You've got a visitor waiting to see you, but I don't think it's about her teeth."

"HER teeth? A woman, then? Is she anyone I know?"

"I don't think you've ever spoken to her in person, but you certainly know who she IS. She's that State Department woman, Daffodil's mother."

Alipang stared. "Samantha Ford? What can she possibly want with ME? From all we hear about her, at least I don't have to worry about her trying to seduce me! But did she say what she wants?"

"Not to me; but she might have said something to the office workers in the federal building where she's waiting for your arrival. I do know that she had taken the trouble to track your movements." Peter's emphasis on those last words sounded a lot like a hint that he somehow knew that Alipang now had an implanted microchip. "I can tell you this: she has a boy with her, younger than her son, I'd guess two years younger than your boy Wilson."

Slinging his bow and quiver in place, and hefting his luggage, Alipang soon was striding toward the local federal building, to find out what was up.
 
Alipang soon had cause to infer that the government workers had allowed Samantha to watch some people-tracking terminal; for despite his approaching the office building on a side which had no windows, the R-rated diplomat came out the door to meet him with time to spare.

She was dressed surprisingly modestly; but it was ugly-modest, not graceful-modest. Her Fifties-retro outfit included the eternally grotesque mid-calf skirt, the neither-this-nor-that style, which neither completely covered her legs nor allowed their true muscle contours to be seen. At least this was further confirmation that she was not attempting to attract him; but equally disturbing as an attempted seduction was the hunch Alipang formed, that she was making an external pretense of suddenly respecting Christian moral sensitivities, and really _expecting_ him to be fooled.

He had to give her credit: she was almost convincing with her smile. He noticed her little acting job at the same time as he noticed who had come out the door behind her -- the boy Peter had mentioned. This boy, light brown of complexion, almost looked as if he could be a fellow Filipino.

"Hello, Doctor Havens," said the former Ambassador-At-Large. "I'm Daffodil's, I mean David's mother." She extended a smooth-skinned hand to him; he clasped it politely, though mentally joking to himself that he was glad his right hand still had its protective layer.

"Good afternoon to you, Miss Ford." Having lately come away from the politically-correct nonsense concerning Salwa Jalalu, he was not going to bother calling her "Citizen." But she showed no annoyance as she urged the boy forward.

"This is Chief Justice Tim Govinda, on sabbatical from the Supreme Court."

As Alipang shook hands with Tim in turn, the boy announced, "ALL of my identities are on sabbatical, which I know is a great loss to the Court. Even my sea-slug shape."

Alipang blinked. Suddenly, the deviant Samantha had become normal in his eyes -- compared to this boy, as Alipang abruptly remembered all he had heard about Chief Justice Govinda's delusions. It was thus to Samantha that Alipang now looked for some ray of sanity. "So, Miss Ford, what function is His Honor carrying out here among us Enclave residents?"

Samantha was at least perceptive enough to detect something of what the Christian warrior was feeling, and she used her eyes to send him a yes-we're-the-sane-ones-here signal. Precisely because he knew she _wouldn't_ be trying to seduce him, he could allow himself to feel a tiny bit reassured by this friendly hint. But not _very_ reassured; not when he remembered that this woman had been a party to creating the illusion that his fellow Christian Josiah Redfern had acted in her sordid movies with her.

Samantha answered him, "His Honor is here simply to refresh himself, to clear his mind and become ready for future services to the Party."

Tim now uttered a horse-whinny, followed by intelligible words: "Speaking of refreshment, I've _only_ eaten a _human_ lunch so far. Excuse me;" and he dropped to all fours, to begin trying to pull up grass with his teeth.

Alipang, a father in both fact and spirit, instantly hunkered down beside the boy, lifting him partway up and pulling the grass away. "Son, you can't digest that."

Tim's response was an ear-splitting scream, followed by an attempt to bite Alipang's neck. Alipang intercepted the attack with his shielded right hand, and jammed the hand in far enough that the crazed boy could not easily pull back for another try. "Son, you may be a Party member, but in _this_ case I don't think you have Party authorization to hurt me."

"No, he doesn't," Samantha affirmed in a small, embarrassed voice.

Alipang glancing at the woman gave the boy an opening for a surprise move -- in fact, a move so rapid and fierce as to surprise the martial artist. Stretching forth a hand, Tim yanked Alipang's belt knife (a regular knife, not the new balisong given to Alipang by Brendan Hyland) out of its sheath, and tried to stab him with it. Alipang's armored right hand was not in a good position to defend; but fortunately, he was fast enough with his left hand to force the knife out of Tim's grasp without being hurt. Less than two seconds later, the boy's face was back down in the grass, held there by an annoyed adult who had about ten times his strength.

Looking up at the chagrined Samantha, Alipang told her, "Now I'm _really_ interested to know why you wanted me to meet His Honor."

 
Six wimpy federal civil servants, the men wimpier than the women, rushed out of the building. All were unarmed. No weapons of any kind, not even non-lethal types, were kept in their offices -- because they, and their superiors, knew perfectly well that there was no danger whatsoever of the internal exiles offering them violence. Having no weapons, and knowing what manner of man Alipang Havens was, all six of them were terrified of provoking him despite his well-attested record of law-abiding conduct. Yet with every day's events at work being entered into government data clouds, they were also afraid of not at least _appearing_ to do something roughly similar to coming to the aid of the former ambassador.

Samantha waved them back, letting them and also Alipang off the hook, as she intoned in her best United Nations voice: "Rest easy, citizens, I have this in hand. Doctor Havens, I will answer for the Chief Justice not acting out from any more slight misunderstandings. Please help him to his feet."

Alipang cupped his right hand under the boy's left armpit. His next movement combined retrieving his sheath knife with lifting Tim upright. Picking up on Samantha's pacifying manner, he said, "All's well, Your Honor. I wasn't laying hands on you; I was laying hands on that other species-identity which momentarily forgot itself."

Samantha nodded, making even the nod part of her posing for whatever cameras might be watching her at this instant. "Well spoken, Doctor Havens. No wonder my biopr-- my son enjoyed being in your company."

Alipang nodded back. "Thank you, Miss Ford. Now, I'm all ears to hear what occasioned my being graced with your--"

Though fearing now to misbehave in any physical way, Tim did interrupt vocally: first with loud meows, then with the words, "She's a bigot! She's a hater! She's against my self-actualization!"

"And what does that mean, Your Honor?"

"It means that she _refuses_ to admit that I was _born_ this way!"

"Born what way?"

"Born as the fluid incarnation of inter-zoological harmony and oneness! My melding and merging of life-forms is essential to the vibrations of Mother Universe, and she doesn't _believe_ it!"

Alipang stepped closer to Tim, looking him in the eye. "Are you saying that unless a person agrees with _your_ understanding of the universe, that person _must_ be guilty of hate?"

The boy grunted, hissed, and then resumed using words: "Yes! It's obvious, isn't it? The love of the collective requires acceptance of _every_ personal micro-reality; denying this is denying the cosmic flow of Gaia's breath. So she IS guilty of hate and prejudice and, and, and -- omnibiophobia!"

Alipang turned his gaze to Samantha. "He just made that one up, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. What I was--" But this was as far as Samantha could get before Tim snapped at her, "Stop trying to change the subject! You're just against me because I'm _different_ from you!" Here he uttered an unsteady wolf-howl, then burst into tears.

As if choreographed, Alipang and Samantha both moved closer to each other at this point. "Could we please go to your house to discuss this?" Samantha pleaded. Seeing his eyes dart past her to look at the office workers, she added, "There won't be any scandal, Doctor. There _wouldn't_ be any scandal, even if I _slept_ at your house. _Everyone_ knows my relational focus. Not even your own domest-- excuse me, not even your _wife_ would think that you and I did anything contrary to your taboos. And I need to be able to speak frankly with you. Please."

Her word "Please," and her expression when she said it, was the most believable and unforced part of her performance so far. So Alipang decided to play along. Detaching his hatchet in its covering from his belt, he handed it to a startled Samantha. "Here, please carry this for me. That's so he can't try to take it while I'm holding him on that side." As soon as the wide-eyed actress gingerly accepted the deadliest weapon she had ever held in her hands, Alipang scooped up Tim with his right arm, held the boy horizontally against his right hip, and led the way to his house.

As they went, the deposed Chief Justice made a few more sputtering protests against bigotry and hate, but did not offer any more trouble than that. Alipang, still carrying Tim, detoured by the stable to say hello to the horses, and remarked to the boy, "Now, _those_ can digest grass."

When they were inside the house, Samantha produced three small electronic devices from some pocket or other. Each one was able to stick to a wall, and Samantha attached them at three different places on the interior walls of the house. The last place was in the kitchen; and as Alipang followed her in there, she turned to face him.

"All right, Doctor Havens. I am authorized to use those jammers. There will not now be any recording made of our conversation. I'm not so stupid as not to realize that you perceive an irony in Tim accusing me of hate, when I have accused many others of hate. Although I cannot feel differently about my own ways than I do, I think I understand how you feel at seeing me charged with prejudice. I can't alter your viewpoint any more than you can alter mine; but surely we can agree that _Tim's_ viewpoint is not the most socially constructive of all possible viewpoints?"

"I'll grant you that. Here, Tim, sit down -- and I mean in the human way." Placing the boy in one of the kitchen chairs, Alipang courteously pulled out a second chair on the other side for Samantha to sit in. As she sat down, it struck him that this was like the day when Kim had explained the gospel of Christ to Dana Pickering (now Dana Terrell) over this very table. Pouring cups of sun tea for his guests and himself, he took a seat facing Samantha, with Tim in grabbing range of his armored right hand.

"All right, Miss Ford, exactly what can *I* do about this?"
 
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"What level of rehab care is in effect when the patient is virtually self-sufficient, and only very occasionally needs a little help or an explanation of something, or to have equipment put in place for her?" asked Evan Rand.

"That is called supervisory assistance," replied the thin, weary-looking fifty-five-year-old man who sat facing him.

The Saint Labre Inprocessing Center, as it was now officially called, had ceased receiving a steady flow of construction workers for the geothermal sites. But it was nowhere near shutting down. It was now receiving persons with professional skills that could be useful all over the Western Enclave. And Mr. Tadeusz Nowicki, another of those rare American Catholics who had neither sold out to the Fairness Party nor died while confined in the all-up concentration camps, had a background in rehabilitation therapy, just like Evan.

"I was taught to call it setup assistance," Evan told Tadeusz; "but the textbooks can vary, of course. What level of care is the patient under if she needs help somewhat more often, but still understands the procedures, can take some initiative in exercises, and contributes most of the physical exertion herself?"

Listening in on this exchange were Sister Arabella the administrator, and Sarah Highbranch the nurse. They were aware that Mr. Nowicki had been subjected to sadistic torture at the hands of the now-defunct Indoctrination Department, worse than anything Evan or Summer had undergone in Leavenworth and Joliet, and that now his memory of his former profession had to be coaxed back to the surface of his mind, along with his confidence.

"The patient then is under minimal assistance," he answered.

"Good. What is the level where there are some things the patient simply cannot do for herself at all, but many things that she can do with guidance, and she still is doing a significant amount of the work herself?"

"That is moderate assistance," Tadeusz replied, now smiling faintly. Gaunt though he looked, he had been in worse shape when he first checked into Saint Labre. He had been the last newcomer to enjoy the nutritional assistance of the Mormon woman Victoria Tabor, before Victoria had found a suitable Mormon man among recent arrivals, married him, and brought him back to South Dakota Sector to commence housekeeping.

"Batting a thousand so far," said Evan.

"Batting? What do you mean?" Uncertainty newly fogged the older man's eyes.

"I'm sorry, that was just a baseball reference. Not important. What is the level of care when the patient is mostly unable to take the initiative in tasks, doesn't have much strength, and is often unable to understand complex instructions, but at least is making an effort?"

"That patient is under maximal assistance."

Beholding a returned clarity in Mr. Nowicki's gaze, Evan let himself be more elaborate with the last question in the series: "And what about a patient who is extremely incapacitated in physical mobility, sensory function or comprehension of what is said to her? A patient who typically needs to be wheeled around or carried, who is a mere passive recipient of your treatment.... and who, barring the availability of nanotechnic remedies, would probably have the completion of her life celebrated by the Health Rationing Agency before you had enough time to restore her to greater capability in the old-fashioned manner?"

Tadeusz Nowicki frowned, but not at Evan. "That is known, appropriately, as total assistance. And I was told that they _don't_ 'celebrate completions of life' that way here in the Enclave."

"They don't," interjected Sister Arabella -- gesturing to the wheelchair she was sitting in.

"And the more we can bolster our infrastructure here," added Sarah, "the less likely the government is to _begin_ having such celebrations for exiles."

Evan was going through another set of rehab-care questions when Rusty the handyman entered the room. "Beg your pardon, Evan, but a phone call's been patched through for you from Wyoming Sector. You can take it in my workshop."

"Who's it from?"

"The kung-fu dentist. He said he has an interesting job for your family, or as many of your family as can get the okay to ride down to Sussex."

Evan excused himself. Sister Arabella, as one who had been a _patient_ in rehab, took over with Mr. Nowicki's refresher course.
 
In Rusty's workshop, Evan eagerly picked up the landline phone. "Al, is that you?"

"Yes, it is I, minus my recently-shed skin. But never mind that, just listen. I have an unusual pair of guests in my house -- one of whom has gotten her dataphone linked into our analog phone system. She has the okay to let me talk on her phone, because the call is within the Enclave."

"All right, and your guests are who?"

"I'm a social climber: I'm entertaining the former Diversity States Ambassador-At-Large, and the former Supreme Court Chief Justice."

Before he could restrain his reaction of surprise, Evan had blurted out: "The porn star and the insane kid?" As he belatedly fell silent, horrified at his own indiscretion, Alipang replied in a voice that sounded unworried:

"None other. Now, just listen while I tell you more. Both of them are sitting right next to me as I speak, because.... they are going to be _living_ with me for awhile."

Evan's composure failed again. "WHAT????? Does Kim know about this?"

"As a matter of fact, she does. Now will you _please_ keep quiet and just listen to me? Miss Ford obtained an extraordinary dispensation, less than half an hour ago, to allow me to speak to Kim and the kids _myself_ through the dataphone. They're still at Kim's brother-in-law's house in Winnipeg. Canada's got renewed air-travel restrictions, because of the war in Alchatka. Yes, I said 'war in Alchatka.' No, I didn't know about that either, until today. Same old same-old, with exiles not getting timely news. It seems the Russian Federation is trying to seize back not only its own portion of land that was ceded in forming Alchatka, but Alaska with it. The Venezuelan Alliance is helping Russia, and Aztlan is providing logistical support to them -- which at least raises our hopes that they _won't_ be invading us here.

"Terrorist attacks have begun to occur in member nations of the Mexican Alliance, which is impeding the Mexicans from helping Alchatka. Canada is keeping out of the fight because it's already _been_ hit by terrorism. But there are some Pacific Federation and African Union forces coming over to help the Alchatkans. Some Canadian journalists think India's going to get into it besides.

"Now, let me start on how this affects US. One of the Asian delegations to the United Nations brought up some newly-uncovered historical information about human-rights abuses committed by the Trevette administration." (Alipang was in fact referring to the contents of Miguel De Soto's manuscript which Brendan Hyland had smuggled out of Wyoming; but the little that Alipang knew about Miguel's authorship of the expose' he was not about to reveal.) "More than one speaker in the General Assembly then made remarks linking this recent history with the racial insult Chief Justice Govinda is accused of making against Aslan. Thus, there is still more global sentiment now that favors Aztlan over the Diversity States, regardless of Aztlan's own crimes.

"The Atkinson administration is doing damage control. For one thing, as a foreign-policy appeasement gesture, the latest big movie our government was planning to make, something called 'The Different Make The Difference,' will have plot changes made, bringing in Aztlano characters who are noble and wonderful. But the plan to look better in domestic policy has more substance.

"Washington is actually talking about granting us Enclave residents a meaningful degree of SELF-GOVERNMENT. As for the triumvirate in Rapid City, Energy and Agriculture both favor it, pointing to the good progress made by exiles in standing up the medical university; Distribution is against it, but she realizes she's outvoted. Bear with me now, I'm getting to the part that explains why I called you.

"Miss Ford has already completed her scenes for the latest Zimmo Garland movie; he shoots his movies really quickly. So she's available to assist in a job which has a bearing both on the improvement of America's image abroad, and on the propect of Enclave self-rule. One of the embarrassments our federal government has to deal with is the former Chief Justice, with his delusion of being--"

Alipang's voice was interrupted by what sounded like a boy whose voice had not yet changed, imitating a lion's roar. Evan heard some kind of banging and thumping, followed by a new voice, a female voice, talking to him. The woman first had to adjust her dataphone's noise filters to block out some loud boyish cries of "Hate speech! Hate speech!"

"Citizen Rand? This is Samantha Ford. I'm afraid Citizen Govinda suddenly decided to attempt a kinetic negotiation with Doctor Havens over his identity issues. Doctor Havens is now restraining him. Allow me to continue the explanation for you."
 
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"I'm listening," Evan told her. "Tell me what part I can play in rescuing the Fairness Party from embarrassment. Have they decided they're embarrassed about imprisoning my wife and me for being Biblicals? And maybe about Summer getting two fingers cut off in Leavenworth?"

"This is about the larger picture," Samantha replied soothingly. "The fact that _something_ is being done about the Chief Justice's behavior gains us points with the global community; and _including_ Enclave residents in his treatment means we simultaneously show _them_ human respect. Your friend Doctor Havens is an optimum choice to be involved, since he's had favorable media exposure before now. And his doing well with Tim Govinda could lead to.... a _substantial_ elevation in his social status. I hasten to add, an elevation which _wouldn't_ require him to satisfy the relational-diversity stipulation that attaches to Party leadership."

"That sounds like it _might_ be a good thing. But why aren't you just having the kid admitted to a mental hospital?"

"Doctor Havens asked me the same question, shortly before we called you. I reminded him of how my son first met Chief Justice Govinda, _precisely_ in a mental hospital in Boston, when my son was being treated for panic attacks. The whole psychiatric profession in the Diversity States, I was forced to admit, is so deeply integrated with the cause of defending diversity, that it is no longer fully equipped to handle someone who might be _excessively_ diverse."

Evan laughed. "So, because the mental-health community is now PART OF the problem, you have to seek help from the very sort of people you've branded as mentally defective. I'm starting to like this, at least tentatively. But I'm still waiting to hear what exactly _our_ place in events is."

"Let me tell you about our conversation with Kimberly Havens; that is part of the explanation. Citizen, that is Mrs. Havens, wanted to come back to Wyoming immediately, since she's had a good long visit with her relatives in Canada, and the Enclave now seems _not_ to be threatened with invasion. Riding by train would bypass Canada's present air-travel restrictions; but in the short while that I took the phone, I told Mrs. Havens that her staying in Wiinipeg longer could _facilitate_ the success of my plan."

Evan whooped, "Whoa! How did it sound to her to hear a glamorous movie actress tell her, 'I need you to stay far away while I'm in your house with your husband, because that will help my plan'?"

Samantha's voice turned much cooler. "That, Citizen Rand, is an example of the _benefits_ of relational diversity. Kimberly Havens knows enough about me to know for a certainty that I _don't_ have even the slightest sexual interest in her partner. She admitted as much herself, and consented to hear me out. What I then told her was that, being up in Canada, and being _known_ to be connected with Alipang Havens just as his fame is being re-energized, she could give interviews to journalists in support of what he is doing. That would help to silence anyone so shallow as to think that Doctor Havens and I are merely amusing ourselves together. I added that I was aware of how her children were enjoying access to educational resources in Winnipeg, and that extending their stay would increase this benefit to them.

"At this point, Doctor Havens got back on the phone, pointing out to her that he intends _always_ to have other people in their house while Tim and I are around, thus proving that no impropriety is occurring between me and Doctor Havens. Kimberly seemed to be set at ease by this; she then offered a suggestion of her own in the same regard. Reminding her partner of the fact that _your_ partner was once interviewed for streamcast by Dynamo Earthquake, she urged that _your_ family be allowed to come down from Yellowstone and be part of the contingent that witnesses how perfectly celibate my relationship with Doctor Havens is going to be."

"I'll concede that it might work out well," said Evan. "But if I thought you would ever have heard of Rube Goldberg cartoons -- well, suffice it to say that your plan would indeed protect Al's reputation as a faithful husband, but it's_terribly_ roundabout. Why not simply let Alipang deal with the kid WITHOUT YOU BEING THERE?"

Samantha huffed back, "Because this is MY idea. I had already gone to enormous trouble trying to help the Chief Justice, at great inconvenience to myself; Tim's presence, in fact, caused Hydrogen to move out of my apartment. Anyway, I want to have something to show for all my efforts. As long as Kimberly Havens' misgivings have been addressed, and they have, I intend to gain the career exposure and prestige I'm entitled to. So, do you or don't you want to come to Sussex and be part of this?"

"For Alipang's sake," Evan replied, "I'm willing. Summer will also be, I'm sure of that. _Provided_ that the needs of our clients here at Saint Labre are taken care of, there should be no reason for us not to come to Sussex."

"Excellent! Those needs _will_ be covered; the triumvirate will see to it that a substitute for you is assigned up there. Now, His Honor seems to have calmed down, so I'll allow Doctor Havens to finish this conversation." A moment later, Evan heard Alipang's voice once more.

"I take it you're going to come?"

"Looks that way. Have to speak with Summer, of course, but I have no doubt that she'll be for it."

"Can't wait, old buddy. Since my own children are to be delayed in coming home, it'll be nice to have _yours_ around."

 
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Chapter 130: The Cavalry from Yellowstone

For the first night that Samantha and Tim would be in the house with him, Alipang scrambled to find some temporary housemates. Jillian Forrester was willing to stay over, since helping any member of the Havens family would uphold her standing with Terrance Havens; but her father emphatically did not want Jillian under the same roof with Samantha for one minute. The Rocheforts had similar misgivings about letting their daughters come over; but precisely _because_ of Samantha's "relational orientation," they decided it was all right for their son Philippe to stay over and help keep an eye on Tim. Poc Tsan Cung and his wife Elsa lent a hand also, by bringing over some supper for Alipang's mixed group.

Samantha liked having the Haitian boy there, and used her dataphone's holographic function to videocord Philippe's arrival and introduction to Tim. "This will help with counteracting the idea of the Chief Justice being a racist," she explained.

When the oddly-assorted foursome sat down for supper (Samantha, of course, having done nothing useful), Alipang told the two non-exiles: "There is something we do in my house, which you don't have to do, but which we are _authorized_ to do. Philippe, would you care to say grace?"

Philippe and Alipang bowed their heads. Samantha found in herself the courtesy to sit still and neither say anything nor start eating until grace had been said; but Tim simply dropped his face into his food and began gobbling like a dog. Philippe's prayer was as follows:

"Merciful God, we thank You for this food, for the friends who prepared it for us, and for all the gifts You send to us. We thank you that Kim, Wilson, Esperanza, Brendan, and Peggy are safe where they are, and we ask that You would bring them safely back to Wyoming in the near future. We also ask that You would bless the time in which we are entertaining these guests from outside the fence. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen."

Philippe was also helpful in maintaining a cordial atmosphere during supper, as he came up with numerous non-confrontational questions to ask Samantha about her State Department career. Alipang decided to allow Tim to eat in his animal fashion this once, so as not to make the boy feel restricted in absolutely everything. But when supper was finished, Alipang hustled Tim into the kitchen, and used a damp towel to clean off the boy's face.

After this, followed by the other three, Alipang went to check on the horses in the truck-trailer stable. All was well here, neighbors having led the horses in from pasture for him; so he brought the mare Lacey out of her stall. He did not put a saddle or any tack on her; for his purpose, her willingness to be guided by his familiar hand and voice would be enough.

"Now, Tim, have you ever _ridden_ on a horse?" Alipang knew the probable answer, given the extermination of most domestic animals that the Fairness Party had committed once it was in power.

"No, I haven't."

"Then consider this a new step in oneness with the animal kingdom;" and Alipang lifted the boy easily with his hands, placing him on Lacey's back. The good-natured mare did not react adversely. "All right, girl, come along with me." Gently urged along by her trusted master, Lacey slowly carried the psychotic boy around the property three times. Tim said nothing, but at least didn't seem frightened. In conclusion, back at the stable, Alipang hoisted the novice rider down to the ground.

"There, Tim, you have just been carried by a horse. Now, in the spirit of equal distribution, can you pick her up and carry _her_ around the house?"

While Alipang stayed by Lacey's head to reassure her, Tim actually did attempt to lift the mare with his hands under her belly. When he had failed utterly, Alipang asked Philippe to put Lacey back in her stall. Knowing Philippe also, Lacey had no objection to his leading. Meanwhile, Alipang said to Tim:

"Son, I know that you have animal thoughts in your head when you do your changes. But you see that your animal identities were not able to work _outside_ of yourself to lift a horse. Maybe while you're at my house, we can talk over just _what_ is the nature of your animal changes."

Tim emitted some bird noises, but did not throw any violent fits. Much of this interaction was captured by Samantha as holovideo.

For the rest of the evening, Alipang and Philippe offered entertainment in the form of recitations. Everything recited sailed right over Tim's head, but Samantha made some effort to understand the poems and speeches. For bedtime, Alipang had contemplated letting Samantha use one room and Philippe another, while he would share a room with Tim, in order that Alipang himself would bear the responsibility for coping with any bizarre acting-out by the delusional boy. But at almost the last minute, it occurred to him that Tim could not be considered a reliable witness to the fact that the man of the house _never_ approached the female guest in the night, nor she him.

So a switch was made. Alipang took the chance of letting Tim sleep unsupervised in one room, while Philippe shared a room with Alipang. Philippe, not being insane, could give clear brainwave readings if ever interrogated about the chastity of relations between Alipang and Samantha.

Fortunately, Tim did not vandalize his borrowed bedroom _very_ much.
 
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