The First Love Of Alipang Havens

"Wilson! Quinn! You're up here too? What about Lorraine and Ransom?"

Wilson Kramer, former Navy SEAL and former sheriff's deputy, emitted a burst of happiness-energy straight at Amy as a greeting. Like the Apostle's laugh, this wave of joy was recognizable as an extension of the love and bliss being dispensed to everyone by the Lord Jesus. "That, sister, was to make it clear that Quinn and I are consoled for our untimely death, and for Lorraine and Ransom having to walk the mortal road without us, by the knowledge that Lorraine and Ransom _will_ come through their ordeal with faith intact, and they _will_ eventually join us here and be rewarded for their endurance."

"I had wondered what would become of you," said Amy. "Once the Campaign Against Hate established online censorship under the label of 'media democracy,' it was hard to get any news of what was happening to fellow believers."

The Apostle Paul, still standing nearby, remarked, "What happened to the Kramer family, and many of our fellow believers in recent Earth-time, was like what happened to me in Acts 21. My enemies in Jerusalem physically assaulted me, based on an entirely false and made-up accusation; and then the Romans, while not punishing my assailants in ANY way for injuring me, literally arrested me for BEING attacked."

"The Apostle's right," said Quinn. "Amy, no one knows better than you how the regime pretended that any Christian merely saying _words_ they didn't like was the same as a terrorist killing people. So the Campaign Against Hate started sending the Pinkshirts to break into Christians' homes without warning, and the excuse was always 'putting a stop to dangerous hate speech.' When they got around to us, they _would_ have murdered Mom and Ransom, right inside our house; but Dad and I slew them first. They found out the hard way just how creative Dad was with improvised weapons."

Wilson smiled at his firstborn. "Quinn had set up unauthorized cameras inside our house; when the assault came, clear video of it was transmitted to other underground comms points. You, Amy, obviously didn't get to see it; but enough people did see it that the Pinkshirts were embarrassed. So, although they still had Quinn and me arrested, and arranged our fatal 'accident' in prison, they couldn't quite get away with punishing Lorraine and Ransom for the crime of being victims. Instead, Lorraine and Ransom have been relocated to the Western Enclave."

Amy knew what Wilson meant. The Enclave was a larger counterpart of the Warsaw Ghetto. As Jews had been herded together in Warsaw, so "troublesome" Christians were now being herded together in a reservation which comprised most of the former state of Wyoming, with parts of North Dakota, South Dakota and Nebraska. Former states, because they had been superseded by federal districts.

"I haven't tried looking back down at Earth yet. Have you actually seen Lorraine and Ransom?"

"We have," Quinn assured her. "They miss us, but they know that we'll be together again someday."

"And they have spiritual support for what they still have to face," added Wilson. "They're living with the Havens family in Wyoming."

"You'll have a look down there yourself, soon enough," the Apostle Paul told Amy. "After all, you're in the place where we know as we are known. But right now, Grant and Joan are finished with their meditation; let's go talk with them."
 
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What I'm imagining is like what Mr. Lewis imagined in That Hideous Strength: a power grab by enemies of God, not yet THE end-time Antichrist regime, but similar in spirit. Remember that the particular events I'm imagining are a conjecture, not a claimed prediction; but the general TYPE of tyranny I will be depicting IS based on real trends we can see today.


"You know how the winters arrive and depart;
Each one leaves a bit more old age in my heart.
But rise from your bed, and we'll dance all the same;
The tree of remembrance will tell me your name."​
 
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Chapter One: New Versions of the Old Evils


Closer to the Earth....

The Moon was filling the passengers' video screen; landing approach was expected within the next six hours. "Can you see the colony?" asked Israeli-born Yael Meyerling, one of the only two non-Chinese persons on board this Beijing Spaceways flight. Much of the spaceship's interior was carrying necessities of life that Moon pioneers were not yet able to produce for themselves.

"No, I can't make it out; most of it's below the surface anyway," replied the other non-Chinese person -- Lori Purdue, formerly of Smoky Lake, Virginia. "But they keep telling us it's roomy enough; that they're keeping the population level sustainable, but they already feel able to permit some childbirths."

The Lunar Orchard, mankind's first permanent colony on another world, was entirely the achievement of the People's Republic of Greater China, if one didn't count the technology China had stolen from the United States back when the United States had still been producing technology worth stealing. It had begun two years ago with a starting population of all Asian persons, twelve men and ten women; all of these were either from China proper, or from Taiwan and Vietnam which had been annexed by China. The twenty-two founders, helped by temporary workers who came and went, had made enough progress that now the colony could accept a few more full-time residents; and if all went well, additions would soon start to be made at a faster pace. Operations were getting started to mine Helium-3, which would soon render the colony completely self-sufficient as far as energy was concerned; they just had to get the rest of the infrastructure in good shape, and then growth might accelerate _very_ quickly.

Wanting genetic diversity in that small "sustainable" population, Beijing had issued an invitation for non-Asian volunteers to go live on the Moon. The emphasis had been on women, and competition had been fierce. Lori and Yael were the first new recruits to have been accepted--Yael for being a well-known microbiologist yet still young enough to bear children, Lori for being a popular fashion model known to come from an athletically-inclined family, and also still young enough to bear children.

"It still feels a bit odd, going to live in what is effectively part of China," mused Yael. "It wasn't that long ago that China was giving assistance to Israel's enemies. But the terrorists got too cocky, thought they could get away with helping the separatist movements in western China, and provoked the Chinese into changing sides and helping us instead. So there still IS an Israel, even though I won't be in it anymore."

Yael was also thinking about another point that she would not bother mentioning to her shallower companion. Spacecraft were customarily launched from Earth in an eastward direction, so as to move with planetary rotation rather than against it. This meant that spaceships launched from China had to pass over the Pacific Ocean as they ascended. And during the past ten years, Japan and Australia had joined forces to draw other Pacific Rim nations into an alliance to deter Chinese aggression against them. The Pacific Federation was far from being strong enough ever to threaten China greatly on its own soil... but _every_ Beijing Spaceways ship that lifted off from China had to pass within reach of the state-of-the-art EMRG's, electromagnetic rail guns, possessed in good quantity by Japan and Australia. China already held enough territory now to be strong and prosperous; an attempt at complete Pacific Ocean hegemony was not worth the risk of being interdicted from space flight--especially since India would probably come in on the side of the Pacific Federation, and possibly also Mexico.

Lori had never cared about geopolitics unless they were undeniably threatening her with immediate death; and it had never crossed her mind, back in the first stage of this journey, that someone could have shot them down with a large aluminum bullet flying at more than six times the speed of sound. "Well, where you're _going_ to be is a comfortable place to start a family. The low gravity will help us keep our health, and our figures, for a long time."

Lori's own mention of starting a family caused her to remember someone she had not thought about for many months: Daniel Salisbury, the young man she had tried to catch back in highschool days. Because he had made it as an actor and so had come under media scrutiny, Lori knew that Dan still was (old-fashioned crud!) _married_ to Chilena, the girl with the streetfighting brother. Lori prided herself on having racked up three divorces before her 29th birthday; but perhaps one of those Chinese colonists would fall for her hard enough that he would be worth keeping permanently.

So it was that two very different young women undertook to live the rest of their days on the Moon. It had not occurred to either one of them that, 60 or 70 years from now, when their bodies had used up even the benefits of modern medicine and low gravity, someone might decide that their continued consumption of oxygen was no longer necessary in a "sustainable" population....
 
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Back on Earth itself....

The Diversity States of America, which was the old United States minus the southwestern states given up to the new People's Aztec-Maoist Republic of Aztlan, had no space exploration program, but it still had television programs. With all media now under government control subject to oversight by the Hemispheric Union, there were not many news-anchor positions available.

But Rhoda Gardner had paid her dues as an ultra-partisan journalist, and had been rewarded with an on-camera talking-head position. Since image modification of every broadcast made her appear the way she had looked twenty years ago, she felt no discomfort in the change from radio to television.

Tonight Rhoda was finishing a report about the first non-Asian recruits for China's Lunar Orchard colony. Both by her own inclination, and by the encouragement of her supervisors, she ended with editorializing:

"We wish our Chinese friends every success in their venture. If they can continue keeping their Moon colony free from the plague of religious hate, it will be a society worthy of China's rich cultural heritage. Our viewers all know just what a threat Beijing still copes with every day." By this, she was referring to the fact that Greater China now had more freedom of religion than America had. Chinese Christians had by now grown so numerous that, although not able to undo the still-Communist-based system of governance in their country, they were able to exert a moderating influence. But if there were any Chinese Christians in Lunar Orchard, Rhoda Gardner was not about to admit it to her audience.

"Here at home," she continued, "we must never let our vigilance relax. Just this week, two unregistered Bibles were discovered in the New England Federal District, and police broke up an outdoor baptism in the Gulf Coast Federal District. Even here in the Mid-Atlantic District where our studios are based, there are always rumors of Christian songs being sung outdoors. Remember, if you hear someone in a public area singing or speaking phrases like 'I've been redeemed' or 'Worthy is the Lamb,' the Campaign Against Hate wants to know about it. You can contact us here by text or voice; we have operators on duty at all times to receive your information."

When the broadcast was ended, Rhoda sat at her desk for a minute longer, basking in the warmth of self-approval. For her whole career, from day one, she had always known herself to be lying when she claimed that America was under the dreadful threat of a racist Christian theocracy; but over the years, her willful self-deception on that score had worked cumulatively, even as real-world conditions had continued proving her "warning" ever more absurd. By now, she almost, ALMOST really believed her own lies, and so could end each workday flattering herself that she was a hero.
 
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In a facility underground....

One of the men hovering over Isobel Stetzer wore a white lab coat; he doubtless had the lethal needle, in addition to the psychotropic drugs they had used to disorient her while still telling themselves they were not torturers. The other three men wore pink shirts, which identified them as enforcers for the Campaign Against Hate. She wondered, not for the first time, if these were the same individuals who had sent her husband Tom to Heaven ahead of her.

She would be able to ask Tom soon enough.

"Why are you making it so hard on yourself?" said one of the Pinkshirts, almost pleadingly; he was the assigned actor for false compassion. Tom would not have been fooled by him any more than Isobel was now. "It's pointless! We've already generated a computer simulation of you renouncing your narrow, primitive opinions; it's already been broadcast on the Oneness Channel. So you can't score any points; as far as the universe knows, you're NOT on the Christian side anymore. Just say it to us, one little harmless time. Say that Jesus is dead."

"God still knows the difference," Isobel rasped in a gritty voice; they hadn't bothered to let her have any water for the past three hours.

"Difference!" echoed the man in the white coat, mockingly. "That's what put you in this room, you know: your intolerant insistence on things being different from each other, when it's unity that brings peace!"

"Actually," Isobel countered, "the truth is what brings peace. No matter how many simulations--"

"Shut up, you ________ !! The time for your hate speech is OVER!!" The furious man in the white coat looked to the Pinkshirts for agreement. "She's an incurable nonconformist; I say it's time to celebrate the fulfillment of her life."

The Pinkshirts agreed. As the needle for termination was applied, Isobel Stetzer, once First Lady of Redemption Free Church of Smoky Lake, rallied a smile and told her persecutors, "Jesus Christ is Lord."

Moments later, she was embracing her husband, and both of them were young again. Soon they were talking with Amy Gordon, the Kramers and the Perrys.
 
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In Virginia, southeast of Smoky Lake....

Rick Pelham, once a football jock, was now the head groundskeeper at the Virginia Beach Federal Wind Farm. There were a great many of these generating sites now in 2025; what was left of America had to get electrical power somehow. The Chinese, mostly just because they could, had extracted and carried away all remaining major petroleum deposits in what had been the contiguous United States, though leaving the Americans their coal, natural gas, uranium, and alternative energies--the last being officially the most acceptable to the Fairness Party. Each of these windmills among which Rick moved generated power at a one-kilowatt level, maximum. One of Rick's duties was to make sure that the corpses of all the birds killed by flying into the giant windmill blades were cleared away and recycled in a soil-enrichment facility; it would not do for the public to start wondering whether the Gaia-friendly wind-power system was as gentle to nature as it was advertised.

On a pleasant spring morning, Rick was running a solar-powered (and not very powerful) dethatcher over the grassy ground between the tall white windmill towers, when one of his Department of Sustainable Energy coworkers emerged from the access door at the base of one windmill, having climbed down from the interior equipment chamber at the top.

"That finishes it: night shift and career," came the voice of Bill Shao in Rick's headset. Everyone working in and around the windmills had to wear the sound-shielded headsets, because of the continuous noise of the giant revolving blades. The Taiwanese-born technician came up close to shake hands, but it was by radio that they could hear each other.

"I'm gonna miss you on the farm," said the man once nicknamed Brickpile. "Just like I miss Alipang. I know you and he will get along." Rick said nothing about why he expected Bill Shao and Alipang Havens to become friends in the Western Enclave... because he knew that all conversations on these workplace headsets were monitored. It was not that the Pinkshirts didn't know Bill and Alipang were both Christians; Christianity was not technically illegal, just ruthlessly gagged in all public settings. Official eavesdroppers would have thought something amiss if Rick had NOT at some time spoken about his old Asian friend to his new Asian friend when on the channel; so Rick had to say something, just not say too much.

"You know, I wish I could have seen Virginia the way it was when you were in high school in your old hometown," Bill sighed. This was his cryptic way of referring to a well-known fact: that this D.S.E. wind farm stood on what had once been the property of a major evangelistic ministry, property forcibly confiscated without recompense by the Campaign Against Hate, more than three years ago. "But I hear Wyoming has beautiful scenery too."

"And your skills will be more than welcome there, to keep the Enclave's power grid running. You'll be respected."

"Big frog in a small pond, eh?"

"Something like that. Hey, are they going to let you have one more medical exam before you go to the Enclave?" Rick spoke in the knowledge that, for the Christians and other non-conformists in the Enclave, all forms of health care were on a lower level technologically than they were in the Diversity States, almost as low as in Aztlan.

"No, they're not. After all, I don't have any known ailments; and by all accounts, average health in the Enclave is better than anyone expected it to be when that territory was marked off and fenced in. So I'm not worried about that. And maybe I'll meet some woman in Wyoming who's interested in a longer-than-minimum pairing." Bill knew that Rick knew that Bill really meant marriage--one of the things which one had to be careful about discussing when the Campaign Against Hate was listening.

"Good luck, then"--by which Rick really meant God go with you. "I'll see if I can get a postal clearance to write to you." Residents of the Enclave were not allowed any telephone service reaching outside their territory, nor internet use of ANY kind; but handwritten letters were still permitted, subject to censorship.

Rick and Bill, in the weeks since Bill had gotten word that another senior powerplant technician would be needed in the Wyoming portion of the Enclave, had worked out some code phrases they could use in correspondence. As long as they didn't overdo it, the Pinkshirts would not realize that Bill was passing to Rick some of the actual facts about life in the new oversized ghetto.

And in this way, Rick might eventually be able to give Chilena Salisbury more certainty about the circumstances of her Filipino brother and the younger of her two Chinese sisters.
 
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~ ~ Note that, unlike the town of Smoky Lake in the original Alipang story, the locale for the following scene is a real place.


In Anambra State of southern Nigeria....

Father Dunak Okigbo was surprised that his white American friend looked surprised. Brendan Hyland, formerly of the United States Marine Corps, had turned his one eye upward to stare at a jet airliner passing overhead.

"It's just a routine passenger flight," said the Nigerian priest. "It's not as if you didn't see jets regularly back in Virginia, before they were banned in America."

"That is, banned from internal use within the former United States," replied Brendan. He was a little embarrassed at having been distracted from his vigilance as one of Dunak's bodyguards. "Now that there are hybrid-engine propellor-driven aircraft which can run partly on solar energy, there IS a somewhat legitimate environmental argument for changing domestic air travel back to propellor-driven. But the _real_ purpose was always the other part of the Aviation Reform Order: denying America the use of _military_ jets, in order to keep us permanently powerless militarily."

Father Dunak laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Nigeria is where you and Jennifer are raising your children now; and here, we do have at least a few fighter jets, and even some UAV's."

"I hope all the drones are on guard now; the terrorists would like nothing better than to blow up the cargo flight bringing in the ceiling segments."

"The biggest threat was at their departure from Italy; I believe their arrival will be safe."

Brendan was referring to the additional sections that were enroute this afternoon, for the massive construction site which the two men were in the midst of inspecting. Here in the city of Onitsha, the Sistine Chapel from Rome was being reassembled, piece by authentic piece. This lively city, though by no means reverting to white colonial rule, was now becoming more European than Europe would ever be again.

The administration of the new Islamic Republic of Italy had averted probable bloodshed by consenting to let the Vatican be transferred peacefully, piecemeal out of Rome, even providing some of the funding for the colossal undertaking. The new capital of the Roman Catholic Church would be here in Onitsha, where a strong Catholic presence had been established back in 1885. Creation of the Nigerian Vatican had energized African Christians of every kind, contributing greatly to Africa's new role as the undisputed chief stronghold of what remained of Christianity on Earth.

The orderly and benign immigration motivated by the relocation of the Church of Rome had boosted the Nigerian economy, and had ended up helping this nation to overcome its historical problems of election fraud. But there were still troublemakers, both of the fanatical variety and of the plain-criminal variety. In the fifteen months since he and Jennifer had moved their family here, Brendan had foiled two assassination attempts on Father Dunak.

Dunak pointed skyward. "Here it comes!" Sure enough, a dot in the northeast was growing into the massive cargo aircraft which was bringing in more of Michaelangelo's historic artwork.

"This one has the creation of Adam, right?" asked Brendan.

"Yes. Let us regard it as a sign that new life and hope still are possible."

"Amen." Brendan thought about his Marine Corps brothers and sisters who had fought so hard to preserve civilization and freedom, only to see their own country fall under the tyranny they had opposed with their blood. Hopefully, he would be seeing more of them here in Onitsha; and hopefully, it would be granted to them to make a successful stand for freedom here.
 
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Remember that this is a science fiction story; but consider that in the Middle Ages, the Papal seat was moved for a time to Avignon, France. As for my story scenario, I am projecting forward from the catastrophic population decline of ethnic Italians in present-day real-world Italy. In Italy as in some other European countries, this vacuum is being filled from the Middle East. At the time of my story, I am imagining that the Vatican has been presented with an ultimatum: see every living thing in Vatican City killed, or move out of Italy.
 
In a television studio in Brazil...

Dan Salisbury was doing some warmup stretches off to the side, while watching his wife Chilena and the Brazilian actress Astrud Ferreira go through their motion-capture choreography. When the imaging system had enough of the two women's movements, it would redesign them as two nearly-omnipotent ultra-Amazon warriors, battling each other with swords two meters long, making treetop leaps and shattering stone walls, in a dominant-female fantasy that would make Xena the Warrior Princess look like Shirley Temple. The director, Jessamina Pinder, was still undecided about whether to have both rival superwomen conjure their own pet dragons to join the fight, or merely have them shoot death-rays out of their eyes at each other. Computer graphics and post-production moved so fast these days, that a director could get away with delaying some artistic decisions up to literally an hour before broadcasting time.

One of the few things not subject to sudden change was that Chilena's character was called Katerina, and Astrud's character was called Bianca. After all, there had to be some token vestige of what Shakespeare had written.

Dan's character had likewise retained the name of Petrucchio, but not the Shakespearean outcome. Original Shakespearean outcomes were not to be expected in the Revised Shakespeare Series, of which this play, The Self-Esteem of the Shrew, was just one installment.

Dan's turn came to don the motion-capture suit. Chilena and Astrud didn't leave the set; on the contrary, they were joined by the actresses who had the other speaking roles in the play. All of them. Starting with Chilena and working down to the most minor female character, Dan went through the same sequence of actions with each one: (1) Petrucchio faces woman, gesturing grandly as if beginning a speech; (2) woman hits Petrucchio, knocking him sprawling--with Dan giving clownlike exaggeration to each fall; (3) woman kicks or stomps or clubs Petrucchio while he's down; (4) Petrucchio crawls to woman's feet, begging for mercy; and (5) woman leans over the humiliated Petrucchio to lecture him.

It remained to be seen what special effects would accompany the leading man being put in his place over and over and over and over.

Apart from performing a lot of good falls, this was one of the easiest leading roles Dan had ever played, live or for cameras--for he didn't have to memorize a very great amount of dialogue. Jessamina Pinder's Petrucchio didn't get to do nearly as much talking as William Shakespeare's Petrucchio had done.

When shooting was finished for the day, Chilena was impatient to get out of there. Riding the mag-lev train to their hotel, she cuddled up close to Dan, who tenderly returned her attention. Once in their suite--a privileged celebrity suite, which actually wasn't bugged by security--she embraced her husband afresh, barraging him with kisses as he stroked her golden hair.

"Darling, sweetheart, I'm so sorry that you have to go through all this. You deserve better...."

"And I have better, Chilena: I have you." He drew her into a long kiss before adding: "I'd rather have you do the main pounding on me, not wanting to do it, and making it up to me at night, than have it done by a real shrew who enjoys humiliating men."

Chilena was breathing hard, in the excitement of genuine love, a love that Jessamina and Astrud were incapable even of imagining. "Yes...I want to make it up to you, NOW."

Much later, as they lay happily in each other's arms, Dan whispered in the ear of his beloved: "Remember, honey, it's because I submit to so much of this treatment, that the regime is pleased with me, and they don't demand that I publicly renounce my faith in Jesus. Playing their game in some ways is buying us freedom of action in other ways; and God willing, sooner or later this will even extend to our being able to do something for our loved ones inside the Enclave."

Chilena kissed him, then whispered in reply: "I always remember that, sweetheart. And if you ever start feeling those old feelings again, like you're not as brave as Alipang, I'll remind you that you're a hero to me...by enduring."

Chilena was completely sincere. Years of marriage had given Dan the chance to prove that he had his own kind of courage, and that it was the right kind of courage for the particular trials God had called him to face. Almost two years had gone by since she had last seen her brother or heard his voice; but she had no doubt that if Alipang could be here, he would agree with her assessment of Dan.


~ ~ Here ends the first chapter; and yes, the
very next character you see WILL be Alipang! ​
 
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Alright...you have me hooked! This is great already. That part with Mrs. Stetzer's death made my eyes misty. I love this whole looking into the future thing. You're doing very well with it.
 
Chapter Two: Apache, Arapahoe, Amish, and Alipang


Three sets of horse-hooves can make a respectable thunder at full gallop on a smooth road; but over a spring-wheat field with April stalks just getting started, the sound is more muffled. The three riders were not concerned about their theatrical effect; they were concerned about getting to the farmhouse of their Amish friends in time. Horses were what was available to them, since (unless one counted the trains, and the trucks used around the mines) no motor vehicles were allowed for the residents of the Western Enclave. But since the forcibly-transplanted Amish community had decided to allow themselves the use of the landline telephones permitted to exiles, the Reinhart family had at least been able to make a call for help to the Grange Hall near Crazy Woman Creek. The Grange Hall in turn had phoned another household near to where three volunteers on predator-patrol duty had camped last night, and that family had alerted the Grange men. These volunteers were on their way now, cutting across the fields of what had formerly been Wyoming's Mayoworth-Barnum ranching region.

Not every Grange Hall in the Western Enclave was continually manned. With this territory not quite three years old in its new form, many things were still barely taking shape. The Wyoming part of the Enclave, however, was more exposed than the rest to a particular problem. The same government which had penned up the most dedicated Christians, had chosen also to exercise its environmental sensitivity....by turning numerous carnivorous animals loose in the same region.

Alipang Havens, now over thirty and the father of three children by his wife Kimberly, had adapted to horseback travel easily when his family was shipped to the Wyoming Sector of the Enclave. This, thanks to Kim having taught him to ride long ago. It had been _walking_ that was difficult for Alipang in his first three months here, because he had never in his life lived at such a high land elevation. One of his first new friends, John Wisebadger of the Arapahoe, had spent time helping the Filipino adjust to the thinner air. John was riding the horse just in front of Alipang's.

The leading horse of the trio carried a man relatively new to the Enclave, and in age the youngest of the three, but a Christian like the other two: Henry Spafford, who had a white surname but was nearly-as-no-matter a full-blooded White Mountain Apache. Henry's parents had brought him and his siblings up out of the People's Aztec-Maoist Republic of Aztlan, which was as hostile to Christians as the Diversity States of America was (and which, moreover, had refused to recognize the autonomy of the Apache Nation). The Spaffords had gotten permission to settle in the Enclave, becoming the first persons from outside the D.S.A. ever to _request_ admission to the Christians' place of internal exile. Learning how the old historic Grange Assocation was helping to organize things in this new kind of reservation, Henry had been quick to take interest in their safety patrols. Today was his fourth call of this kind.

Alipang knew the Amish families hereabouts; he had performed dental procedures for many of them. But at the moment, he and his comrades were carrying equipment larger than dental picks--powerful composite hunting bows. No one exiled to the Enclave was allowed to possess any firearm; but if the regime had left them absolutely NO kind of defense against grizzly bears and cougars, even the current morally-deadened general population might have objected. And, of more concern to the ruling party, the Chinese might have rebuked them for excessive cruelty.

All three Grange men were aware of the irony that the two Native Americans had had to be taught by the Filipino how to shoot arrows--though they could ride well already, and their past use of rifles had helped form their archery instincts. Alipang had learned archery from the late Blake Matthews, who had once defended Alipang and his wife with arrows against gang assassins.

It was not human opposition against which the Grange volunteers rode now. A rampaging grizzly bear had invaded the Reinhart farm; Ulrich Reinhart, a respected elder among the Amish hereabouts, had last been seen out in the fields, and his wife Greta feared he would come back and walk right into the giant predator. In the time they had needed to get here....

It had happened.

The two-story farmhouse was in view. Its door was shut: a very sturdy door, installed precisely with wild beasts in mind. Greta Reinhart had spotted the horsemen coming, and now she leaned out the window and yelled, "Help Ulrich! It attacked him!"

The Reinhart children had probably made it safely home from their school two kilometers away before the emergency struck; if they had been in danger, Greta Reinhart would have been out there trying to save them, even if there had been ten grizzlies.
 
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The grizzly was there, all right, in the open space between the house, the barn, the chicken pen and the toolshed. It seemed to have killed a heifer on its way in; the volunteers had sighted that carcass a moment earlier. A farm dog lay dead in the yard, but a bite wound on the grizzly's right hind leg suggested that the dog had done some damage of its own before dying. Terrified plowhorses were fleeing in the distance, as the grizzly demolished the traditional Amish buggy it found nearby.

The rescuers were coming in from downwind, giving the bear less warning. Alipang, John and Henry could all smell a trace of pepper spray; probably Ulrich had tried to drive the furry intruder away with it, to no avail. The direction of the wind also meant that the Grange horses could smell the grizzly...

But unlike the Amish plowhorses, these were former Canadian Mounted Police horses, trained to face danger. Not long after the Enclave had been formed in the former U.S.A., the Hemispheric Union had pressured Canada into disbanding the Mounties; and someone in Washington comparatively sympathetic to the internal exiles had arranged to purchase many of the now-unemployed police horses for the Grange service of the Enclave. So the steeds of the volunteers did not panic.

Henry was the first to spot Ulrich, by seeing where the grizzly repeatedly glanced. The farmer had had enough strength and sense left to drag himself (blood streaks could be seen) into a crawlspace under his toolshed when his dog had given her life gaining that chance for him. He doubtless would die anyway if he didn't get first aid soon; but the three Grange volunteers could do nothing about that until they had done something about the grizzly.

What they did, thanking God for their disciplined R.C.M.P. horses, was to stop thirty meters short of the beast, all with arrows nocked. When the grizzly noticed them and began to advance upon them, all three archers loosed for the heart. All three arrows plunged deeply into the correct area of the grizzly's chest; but none of the men counted on it falling dead just like that. The bear's deafening roar seemed to be assuring them that it was nowhere near finished. John broke off left, Alipang took his horse straight back the way they had come, and Henry veered right.

When the grizzly pursued Alipang, it was unwittingly putting itself in the center of a triangle. From the three corners of this triangle, the Grange volunteers could all shoot again without risk of hitting each other. And shoot again they all did; in Alipang's case, it was a Parthian-style shot to the rear, for he and his horse would have been overtaken by the grizzly's rush if they had wasted any time turning around again. Indeed, without the head start they had, they would have been overtaken anyway; grizzlies have a fearsome short-sprint speed. But Alipang's Parthian shot hit--only in a shoulder, but that was some more damage.

Henry and John loosed their shots a split-second later than Alipang, because bears have an instinct to turn toward the latest thing which has caused them any pain. Their arrows went in below the shoulderblades, John's ever so slightly after Henry's. As the enraged top predator of the Old West ecosystem swung toward the already-retreating John, Alipang now did wheel his horse back, to make _extra_ sure he could see where his friends were before he shot again.

With the animal facing them at the time of the first shot, none of the volunteers had tried for the throat, owing to the way an angry bear often keeps its head low. But now, from the side, Alipang could try for the side of the neck--try to sever a major blood vessel, and make the killer grizzly die faster.

They never were sure if Alipang's neck shot did all that he hoped; but with Henry's third arrow finding an ursine lung from behind while John was keeping their adversary chasing him, the total damage finally brought it down. The grizzly fell forward, breaking the first three arrows to have struck it, as a paw-swipe had broken the one stuck in its neck. Coming close again, John dismounted and put one more arrow right through the ear of the convulsing body, piercing the merciless brain. The grizzly was now deader than dead.

Alipang and Henry were already going to Ulrich Reinhart's aid, and Mrs. Reinhart was not slow in dashing out the door to join them. They carefully slid him out into plain view.

Ulrich still lived, but had lost consciousness. His wounds were frightful, and all the worse for his own torn clothing being embedded in them. Yanking compresses out of the first-aid kits at their belts, Alipang and Henry slowed down the bleeding from the worst wounds. Checking Ulrich's pulse, Alipang found it speeding up, consistent with a heart trying to keep the body alive with less blood to circulate; but it seemed to him that the speeding up was not _very_ severe. There still was a chance for the Amish farmer, or so they mentally prayed and anxiously hoped.

"Greta! Is there plasma?" asked Alipang, as the farmer's wife was just beginning to add her efforts to the staunching of her husband's bleeding. The Amish having adopted limited use of electricity also, most of their homes now had refrigerators; and due to hospitals and regular blood banks not being quickly accessible everywhere, some homes kept units of plasma chilled against emergencies. In this respect, for the Enclave's rural population, medical care was at about the level it had been seventy-five years ago. Plasma was not, of course, as good for a bleeding casualty as whole blood; but it was easier to store, under the technological conditions of the Enclave, and would at least give some benefit to a bleeding patient.

Esther, the Reinharts' eldest child, soon fetched out the plasma pack for her father. Trained as paramedics, Alipang and Henry soon had the plasma feeding into the farmer's veins.

"I already called for Doctor Stepanova," Greta told them, forcing herself to stay calm, though she had yanked her traditional cap off her head to use as another compress. "Esther, you keep your brothers inside, and call Ephraim to let him know the doctor will be able to approach safely now." The Russian-American physician, one of only six M.D.'s currently serving the whole Wyoming Sector of the Enclave, would have to get here by train from over twenty-five kilometers away. Getting off at the nearest station to here, she would mount a horse which the neighbor Ephraim would bring there for her, and would ride from there to here like her Cossack ancestors.

It was at least a good thing that the physician _could_ ride a train from her home farther north, on a railway running down the east side of the Big Horn Range. When the Enclave had been created, new tracks had been laid in areas which had never had them before the fall of the United States. This was a partial compensation to the residents for being deprived of automobiles; and (in a peculiar echo of past railroad history) the new tracks had been laid by Chinese workers, in partial compensation for China taking for itself all the recoverable petroleum in the Diversity States.

If God willed it, Ulrich Reinhart would still be alive when Irina Stepanova arrived, with a cooler containing a unit of whole blood compatible with Ulrich's blood type. Then, if God willed it, that one unit which was all that was available would be enough to keep him alive, while Irina Stepanova determined if there were suitable donors nearby in case the patient needed still more blood.

Such a donor search was the kind of thing that would have been far easier if exiles had not been restricted in the use of modern technology. These days, any off-the-shelf dataphone could perform bioscans on anyone who was placed close to the device, determining blood type and other factors immediately.

The unfortunate Amish man was a real mess. Alipang didn't say so to Greta, but he was certain that Ulrich _would_ need more blood. He didn't feel the least bit sorry for the grizzly.
 
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Cutting away the farmer's ripped clothing with a fish-gutting knife, Alipang fleetingly missed his dear old balisong knife--one of the great many things which the new tyrants had robbed him of, essentially because they could. But whenever he got to thinking this way, he would turn to thanking God that he and Kim still had their children Wilson Matthew, Esperanza Elizabeth, and Brendan Eric with them. Other Christian couples they knew had had their children confiscated by the Campaign Against Hate, and placed behind high guarded walls in the new Tolerance Houses.

Ulrich was still with them as they made his bandaging more complete. He couldn't speak, but he still was breathing. Greta, having done her job helping to stop the bleeding, discarded the Amish tradition of all prayer being silent, and pleaded audibly for God not to take away her husband.

Dr. Stepanova had not arrived yet; but neighbors were arriving--including Ulrich's brother Hezekiah, coming on a bicycle from his own farm three kilometers away. Looking around and seeing that the doctor wasn't here, he recognized John Wisebadger and spoke to him: "Here, I have the same blood type as Ulrich! If you have a transfusion kit, you can take my blood for him now!"

They did have the kit, of course; and soon Ulrich was being given just enough of Hezekiah's blood to get him out of immediate peril. They were still hoping to "top off" with what Irina Stepanova would be bringing.

Ulrich, like most Amish farmers, was a strong and sturdy man; the modest restoration of blood was enough to enable him to regain consciousness. His first painful words were to ask if his wife and children were safe. Greta was there to reassure him on that score; she would wait till later to tell him how their dog Duchess had perished in the act of diverting the grizzly from him.

John glanced at the slain dog, and muttered softly, "Just try to tell me that _this_ dog won't be in Heaven!"

When Alipang could safely step away from his patient, he moved apart from the tableau--and looked straight up into the afternoon sky. While he firmly believed in God, he was not addressing God just now; he was addressing the surveillance satellites which he knew were always observing the Enclave.

"Hello up there, you empty husks of ruined humanity. Yes, I know you have good enough image resolution that you can read my lips, if you happen to decide to zoom in on me. That's why you settled us on the plains, and why you cut away so much of the timber from those mountainous areas that fell within our territory: so you could easily watch our movements.

"I don't know your names, but I know exactly _what_ you are. Some of you used to protest against much _lesser_ degrees of surveillance than what you yourselves now practice; you hated the technology _then,_ because it was being used against real evil, and you wanted it to be used in the _service_ of evil. Well, now you have your wish; but what you _don't_ have is a meaning for your programmed, lifeless lives. In denying the God Who made you, you have disconnected yourselves from the source of all beauty, love and wisdom. So, in winning, you have lost. Even if you kill us all, WE are happier than YOU have any hope of being."

Dr. Stepanova, fortyish but still fit, came cantering up on Ephraim's horse. She would leave it here, and the Reinharts would see that it was returned to their neighbor. Since Ulrich had been saved from exsanguination, the doctor would save the blood she had brought for the improvised operating theater which was about to be created in the house. She would perform battlefield-level surgery on the mauled man, with the Grange volunteers as her assistants; she would stay overnight in the Reinhart house, borrowing Esther's bed; in the morning, she would hold sick call for any ailing Amish persons nearby; and arrangements would be made for payment to her in foodstuffs. The Amish neighbors would make their own arrangements to work Ulrich's fields for him while he was unable to work.

The barter system, and the voluntary exchange of labor, were filling in many of the gaps in the still-coalescing social structure of the Enclave. The exiles were allowed free enterprise, but it still was undecided whether they would have their own separate currency established, or continue to use Hemispheric Pesos.

Alipang found one more free moment to use the Reinharts' telephone. His call was to Tessie, a 92-year-old black woman who operated the telephone switchboard back at the Grange Hall. She, and some others like her, had been given this work because they _remembered_ how telephone switchboards had worked before everything was computerized...and for the Enclave, the government had retrogressed the telephone system back to pre-automation days.

"Al? Didja make it in time?"

"Yes, Tessie, and you'll be having a bear-meat cookout back at the Grange on the weekend. Ulrich is hurt, but he's going to live."

"Thank You, Jesus! Are Henry and John okay?"

"They're in better shape than the grizzly is."

"I s'pose you need me to get word to Kim that you might not be home as soon as planned?"

"That's right. At least one full day beyond my volunteer shift. She can reschedule my dental patients. The guys and I will be needed here to make sure Ulrich's recovering, since we and the doctor and Mrs. Reinhart make up all the hospital staff he's going to see. At least Kim will know that I'm _actually_ doing what I say I'm doing, when I'm out of her sight."

Tessie laughed. "You said it, Al. The cheating and sneaking and playing around is for those folks _outside_ the Enclave."
 
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