The First Love Of Alipang Havens
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Copperfox
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Chapter 103: Captain Lacrosse in the Field
Because Alipang Havens had enough to worry about with his dental patients and his near-to-term wife, Brendan Hyland did not overstay his welcome in Sussex. While riding the train down to Casper, he linked his dataphone to the Indian satellite network, and called his family in Nigeria at what was a late-evening hour for them. His son John-Paul was the first to answer; the teenager had not been on hand when Brendan had last called home.
"Hey, Dad, the Darts won again, just an hour ago!" The boy was referring to a co-ed youth basketball team in Onitsha to which he belonged. There were Nigerian girls on the team taller than he was, but John-Paul had made his niche with long shots, and precise passing to his teammates.
"Ha! I knew you would! Final score?"
"Darts 82, Hunters 81. Alice made the winning basket off a pass by me; Coach says I've beaten the team record for assists!"
"That's my boy!" the proud father crowed. "Just like John Stockton! Saints bless us, I wish _American_ kids were learning what you're learning."
"Are you thinking about their non-competitive sports?"
His call being strongly encrypted, the dataphone having sensed no electronic surveillance devices in the train car, and the conversation being in the Igbo language that was used in Onitsha, Brendan made free with his reply. "Right. Their Party teaches them that if there's _any_ competition, a sport becomes 'hate.' Whereas _you_ are learning what solid friendships can arise from a team facing wins and losses together, without it having to mean that you 'hate' the rival teams."
"Have you _seen_ them play their no-scoring sports yet?"
"No, but I will before the day's out. There's going to be an Equalityball game in Casper this afternoon. By now, the schools outside the Enclave have already moved along to Aquatic Oneness for official purposes; but Equalityball was slow to catch on in the Enclave, so Daffy Ford resolved not to bother with the synchronized swimming-- the more so since we're in a relatively arid part of America, and there _aren't_ more than five or six swimming pools in the whole reservation."
At this point, Jennifer Hyland took over from her firstborn, also speaking in Igbo. "Hello, darling. Do you still feel us praying for you every day?"
"I sure do, sweetheart. Is everyone healthy at your end?"
"Outrageously fit. And we have more healthcare workers in our circle of friends than ever before. I've had two video conversations with Melody Redfern in just the time since I spoke to you last. She's a dear woman; if possible, she misses Josiah _even_ more terribly than I miss you."
"He does keep in touch with her and their kids, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does. But Melody wonders if you and he and the Professor are _actually_ having as easy a time as you say you are. I guess you know that she had some hardships in her past; they seem to have left her with a tendency to be extra anxious for her loved ones."
"I can only give you and her my word that all's well with us here so far." Brendan was aware that Melody Redfern was aware that Daffodil Ford was really the offspring of sperm stolen from Josiah, aware that Josiah wanted to see what was becoming of the son long hidden from his knowledge; but even _with_ all his privacy measures, Brendan would not say anything about that subject here. It must not become known that the secret army had planted tracking chips inside numerous diplomats of the Diversity States and other nations, and this was the way it had become possible to find out about young Mr. Ford's parentage.
For the rest of the satellite call, Brendan spoke with his wife and children about safe subjects, including anecdotes he had picked up about the adventures of the Enclave's Grange volunteers -- especially Alipang, with whom Jennifer had been pals back in Virginia before she had first met Brendan.
In Casper, then, Brendan was met by Dan Salisbury, Doctor Reuben Torvill, and Texas Ranger Dave Swims-In-Flood. All three of Dan's children were going to be taking part in today's Equalityball game-- since of course all of them had been taught the game ad nauseam in their schools. The four men would be watching, and trying to look interested.
At their initial meeting, Swims-In-Flood made a casual remark about the weather... which was really telling Brendan what frequency band and encryption modes to select on his dataphone. For at the same time as the Equalityball game, Lieutenant Vasquez would be meeting privately with Inspector Eileen O'Hennessy of the Rocky Mountain District Police, for the same purposes as the previous meeting with Leroy Lincoln. Brendan, being a go-between for the secret army with the Texas Rangers, would receive a low-power transmission which would enable him to record, for future reference, everything that would be said in Emilio's office at Natrona Airport.
Because Alipang Havens had enough to worry about with his dental patients and his near-to-term wife, Brendan Hyland did not overstay his welcome in Sussex. While riding the train down to Casper, he linked his dataphone to the Indian satellite network, and called his family in Nigeria at what was a late-evening hour for them. His son John-Paul was the first to answer; the teenager had not been on hand when Brendan had last called home.
"Hey, Dad, the Darts won again, just an hour ago!" The boy was referring to a co-ed youth basketball team in Onitsha to which he belonged. There were Nigerian girls on the team taller than he was, but John-Paul had made his niche with long shots, and precise passing to his teammates.
"Ha! I knew you would! Final score?"
"Darts 82, Hunters 81. Alice made the winning basket off a pass by me; Coach says I've beaten the team record for assists!"
"That's my boy!" the proud father crowed. "Just like John Stockton! Saints bless us, I wish _American_ kids were learning what you're learning."
"Are you thinking about their non-competitive sports?"
His call being strongly encrypted, the dataphone having sensed no electronic surveillance devices in the train car, and the conversation being in the Igbo language that was used in Onitsha, Brendan made free with his reply. "Right. Their Party teaches them that if there's _any_ competition, a sport becomes 'hate.' Whereas _you_ are learning what solid friendships can arise from a team facing wins and losses together, without it having to mean that you 'hate' the rival teams."
"Have you _seen_ them play their no-scoring sports yet?"
"No, but I will before the day's out. There's going to be an Equalityball game in Casper this afternoon. By now, the schools outside the Enclave have already moved along to Aquatic Oneness for official purposes; but Equalityball was slow to catch on in the Enclave, so Daffy Ford resolved not to bother with the synchronized swimming-- the more so since we're in a relatively arid part of America, and there _aren't_ more than five or six swimming pools in the whole reservation."
At this point, Jennifer Hyland took over from her firstborn, also speaking in Igbo. "Hello, darling. Do you still feel us praying for you every day?"
"I sure do, sweetheart. Is everyone healthy at your end?"
"Outrageously fit. And we have more healthcare workers in our circle of friends than ever before. I've had two video conversations with Melody Redfern in just the time since I spoke to you last. She's a dear woman; if possible, she misses Josiah _even_ more terribly than I miss you."
"He does keep in touch with her and their kids, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does. But Melody wonders if you and he and the Professor are _actually_ having as easy a time as you say you are. I guess you know that she had some hardships in her past; they seem to have left her with a tendency to be extra anxious for her loved ones."
"I can only give you and her my word that all's well with us here so far." Brendan was aware that Melody Redfern was aware that Daffodil Ford was really the offspring of sperm stolen from Josiah, aware that Josiah wanted to see what was becoming of the son long hidden from his knowledge; but even _with_ all his privacy measures, Brendan would not say anything about that subject here. It must not become known that the secret army had planted tracking chips inside numerous diplomats of the Diversity States and other nations, and this was the way it had become possible to find out about young Mr. Ford's parentage.
For the rest of the satellite call, Brendan spoke with his wife and children about safe subjects, including anecdotes he had picked up about the adventures of the Enclave's Grange volunteers -- especially Alipang, with whom Jennifer had been pals back in Virginia before she had first met Brendan.
In Casper, then, Brendan was met by Dan Salisbury, Doctor Reuben Torvill, and Texas Ranger Dave Swims-In-Flood. All three of Dan's children were going to be taking part in today's Equalityball game-- since of course all of them had been taught the game ad nauseam in their schools. The four men would be watching, and trying to look interested.
At their initial meeting, Swims-In-Flood made a casual remark about the weather... which was really telling Brendan what frequency band and encryption modes to select on his dataphone. For at the same time as the Equalityball game, Lieutenant Vasquez would be meeting privately with Inspector Eileen O'Hennessy of the Rocky Mountain District Police, for the same purposes as the previous meeting with Leroy Lincoln. Brendan, being a go-between for the secret army with the Texas Rangers, would receive a low-power transmission which would enable him to record, for future reference, everything that would be said in Emilio's office at Natrona Airport.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Brendan and his companions claimed seats over at one end of the bleachers. Despite many adults having to work during the day, the stands were by no means empty. As nearly as possible, all government employees in Casper had been mustered at the old athletic field where the game was to take place. Of games played thus far inside the Enclave, this would be one of only five to date which had included more than twenty ball-kickers at once; and of games that large, it would be the _very_ first one staged _without_ Coach Daffodil Ford being present. This was being seen as a confirmation that the boy had made good progress, gaining enough acceptance for Equalityball that it _could_ maintain momentum without his constant personal nudging. The event of course was going on holovideo; it would soon be shown nationwide on the Oneness Channel.
"Are there any kind of teams here?" Brendan asked Dan, since Dan through his children was familiar with the sport. (His secret recording was already in progress, with no further need of action on his part.)
"Yes, two teams--though you'll notice that they're lining up simply by height, with tall ones at the center and the shortest ones on both ends, regardless of the teams. After all, the only point is to look neat while all doing the same thing-- like Chinese streamer-dancing, all coordinated and with no individuality."
"One team's called the Exponents," Ranger Swims-in-Flood informed Brendan. "They're coached by Moonrose Quickpace, who hit on using the word as a suggestion of NOT being 'opponents' to anyone. Bailey Melville calls her team the Conciliators. This tall-at-the-center lineup is going to be interesting, since Ms. Quickpace and Ms. Melville are playing too, and this will put them shoulder to shoulder."
"What of it?" asked Brendan, failing to see the Cherokee's point.
"Right, you're new here. Those ladies are both, you know, 'non-breeders.' The lipstick variety rather than the toolbelt variety. They were close until recently, when they suddenly had a nasty falling out. So now it's _they,_ not the children on the field, who have to make an effort to be all mutual and collective with no rivalries."
As the two male-phobic women met at the center of the forming line, Bailey said to Moonrose, "Just you watch: the Conciliators will be _totally_ identical and interchangeable with your Exponents today!"
"Oh, really?" Moonrose replied. "Well, the Exponents will be even _more_ exactly the same as you, than you are as us!"
For four seconds of silence, the two women's eyes drilled into each other: the amount of time it took for them both to realize _what_ an absurd exchange they had just made. Then they both had to struggle not to break into howls of laughter. In order to think of something else, they turned their attention to leading the children in a unison cheer. This deliberately included the word "oneness," in view of which government media outlet would be streamcasting the game...
"Oneness, oneness, that's what's true!
Each one does as others do!
No one any different,
Each one fits the measurement!
Yaaaaaaayyy EVERYBODY!!!"
The line began to advance--very slowly, as every participant of whatever age strove to be kicking the soccer balls at the same time with the same force. There were just six fumbles in the very first transit of the field, and two fumbles coming back; none of these were made by Young Cecilia, Tommy or Irene. After this, the Conciliators, the Exponents, the two coaches, and the extra players from the Salisbury family, all seemed to have it mastered. They moved with a really impressive sameness, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again....
After this had gone on for at least half of eternity with no sign of stopping, Dr. Torvill whispered in Brendan's ear: "I think we've sufficiently paid respects to the big trend in sports. What say we go see Miguel now?"
For Brendan's plans in Casper included meeting the cancer-stricken Miguel De Soto and his faithful wife Tilly.
"Yeah, let's go, before I die of excitement. Dan, Ranger Swims-In-Flood, if you'll excuse us?"
Thus Brendan was not there when, after the endless ritual finally ended, Coaches Quickpace and Melville went from congratulating their players to having an emotional making-up scene.
"Are there any kind of teams here?" Brendan asked Dan, since Dan through his children was familiar with the sport. (His secret recording was already in progress, with no further need of action on his part.)
"Yes, two teams--though you'll notice that they're lining up simply by height, with tall ones at the center and the shortest ones on both ends, regardless of the teams. After all, the only point is to look neat while all doing the same thing-- like Chinese streamer-dancing, all coordinated and with no individuality."
"One team's called the Exponents," Ranger Swims-in-Flood informed Brendan. "They're coached by Moonrose Quickpace, who hit on using the word as a suggestion of NOT being 'opponents' to anyone. Bailey Melville calls her team the Conciliators. This tall-at-the-center lineup is going to be interesting, since Ms. Quickpace and Ms. Melville are playing too, and this will put them shoulder to shoulder."
"What of it?" asked Brendan, failing to see the Cherokee's point.
"Right, you're new here. Those ladies are both, you know, 'non-breeders.' The lipstick variety rather than the toolbelt variety. They were close until recently, when they suddenly had a nasty falling out. So now it's _they,_ not the children on the field, who have to make an effort to be all mutual and collective with no rivalries."
As the two male-phobic women met at the center of the forming line, Bailey said to Moonrose, "Just you watch: the Conciliators will be _totally_ identical and interchangeable with your Exponents today!"
"Oh, really?" Moonrose replied. "Well, the Exponents will be even _more_ exactly the same as you, than you are as us!"
For four seconds of silence, the two women's eyes drilled into each other: the amount of time it took for them both to realize _what_ an absurd exchange they had just made. Then they both had to struggle not to break into howls of laughter. In order to think of something else, they turned their attention to leading the children in a unison cheer. This deliberately included the word "oneness," in view of which government media outlet would be streamcasting the game...
"Oneness, oneness, that's what's true!
Each one does as others do!
No one any different,
Each one fits the measurement!
Yaaaaaaayyy EVERYBODY!!!"
The line began to advance--very slowly, as every participant of whatever age strove to be kicking the soccer balls at the same time with the same force. There were just six fumbles in the very first transit of the field, and two fumbles coming back; none of these were made by Young Cecilia, Tommy or Irene. After this, the Conciliators, the Exponents, the two coaches, and the extra players from the Salisbury family, all seemed to have it mastered. They moved with a really impressive sameness, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again, up the field and down again....
After this had gone on for at least half of eternity with no sign of stopping, Dr. Torvill whispered in Brendan's ear: "I think we've sufficiently paid respects to the big trend in sports. What say we go see Miguel now?"
For Brendan's plans in Casper included meeting the cancer-stricken Miguel De Soto and his faithful wife Tilly.
"Yeah, let's go, before I die of excitement. Dan, Ranger Swims-In-Flood, if you'll excuse us?"
Thus Brendan was not there when, after the endless ritual finally ended, Coaches Quickpace and Melville went from congratulating their players to having an emotional making-up scene.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
"I scarcely dared to let him go outdoors all winter; I was afraid that the water in his gill implants would freeze, and then he'd suffocate. For his birthday, some of the young people from church went to elaborate lengths to enable him to be outdoors: they walked close to him, not only helping him stand upright, but carrying firepots full of live coals, and _fanning_ the warm air from these directly at both sides of his neck, so the water _couldn't_ freeze. Of course, they also had to bring some extra water along, in case their fanning might _evaporate_ his gill water. Now, at last, the weather's nice... but now, Miguel is too weak to get much enjoyment of it."
Tilly De Soto clearly had plenty of stress to vent; but in doing so, she was not about to let the visiting Marine Corps veteran infer that she _resented_ having to take care of an ailing husband for so long. "So far, the implants have bought Miguel another eight months or so of life that he wouldn't have had otherwise. But the Adenoid-Cystic Carcinoma hasn't quit. It can't asphyxiate him, but now it's compressing his stomach. See that soup he's drinking? It's a _banquet_ for him these days. The poor darling hasn't got stomach space left to _digest_ very much solid food at one time; so even with not burning up many calories, he has to take very small meals six or seven times a day. But thank God, we do have help." She gestured toward her kitchen, where at this moment two girl volunteers from Pastor Zondei's congregation were doing whatever jobs needed doing. "With my helpers here daily, I can have time to BE WITH my dashing Cuban lover; and I can tell you, if you have true love, it shines _brighter_ under the shadow of death." Tears were trying to leak out of her eyes, but she went on speaking.
"I wouldn't trade these extra months with Miguel for anything. We've imagined all the places we would go if we could-- imagined them so vividly, that it's almost as if we HAD gotten outside the fence and done all the things we thought of. And in real life, even when confined to writing notes, Miguel's been able to coach so many of the young folks in writing and journalism-- in _real_ journalism, just in case that is ever given a chance to exist again."
During his wife's narrative, Miguel had contrived to write a note, which he now passed to Brendan. It read: Not one man in a thousand ever gets the privilege of being loved by such a brave, true-hearted woman as God has given me. Reading this, thinking of how his own father had never appreciated his mother the way Miguel appreciated Tilly, Brendan was near to weeping himself.
Showing Miguel's note to Tilly, he remarked, "The love between you two not _only_ will be honored by God in Heaven; I'll see to it that _mortals_ know about it. Your story is a model of something most of the world has lost."
Reuben Torvill, in common with most conscientious physicians, had seen enough of suffering, death and grief, that no single instance could overwhelm him emotionally. He cared as genuinely as anyone could ask him to, but he cared with a certain necessary detachment. The last time he had come close to weeping for a patient was when he had first had to tell Miguel about the cancer diagnosis. It was Reuben who now interrupted the sorrowful mood. "Miguel, Tilly: I know that you know what a cruel agony it is to feel hope, and then have it yanked away. But if you two can _allow_ yourselves to indulge a new hope.... I believe there IS a new chance for you. That is the _real_ reason why I arranged for Mr. Hyland to visit you. Brendan?"
Brendan knew that the De Sotos had been told at least part of what was going on with Professor Siermaala's new advanced-analog ultrasound scanner; but he had not dared to be himself the one who would offer a tantalizing hope that might only be dashed. Now, he had permission to speak.
"Mr. and Mrs. De Soto, you know that, not counting the taxane chemotherapy which his body couldn't endure, there are three ways in which Mr. De Soto's cancer could be effectively treated, if only D.S. authorities would _allow_ it to be treated. His own stem cells could be modified to combat the cancer; nanobots could be injected that would perform a similar function; or narrow-beam sound waves could be shot into his body, each single beam too faint to damage his tissues, but with two or three beams _intersecting_ to apply greater force in one place at a time, destroying cancer cells a few at a time.
"May Our Lady intercede for you in this, that I'm not offering a false hope; but Matti Siermaala's ultrasound arrays _are_ capable of generating those intersecting lines of sonic vibration. While admittedly not changing the biochemical conditions which created the carcinoma in the first place, they _could_ destroy so many cancer cells as to push the disease back substantially. We could possibly turn the clock back to when only a few of your glands were affected..."
"Which is good, for sure," Tilly interrupted, "but the damage and atrophy of his various tissues and organs would still be there."
"True; but in the reprieve gained by the sonic treatment, modern regeneration techniques could in some degree restore normal tissue."
"If regeneration _would_ be authorized by the rulers," Doctor Torvill put in. "Last year, to obtain _even_ so much as the gill implants for Miguel, we had to have support from influential foreigners; one of those, in fact, was that Chinese gentleman Yang who's in the Enclave again. Can Professor Siermaala exert any benign influence?"
"I believe he can, Doctor, since the Trevette administration is interested in his invention. The use of the scanner doesn't consume terrible amounts of power..."
During this, Miguel had been writing another note. Now he gave it to Brendan.
I believe God sent you. Have Tilly tell you sometime about flashlights in the dark. Even if you're NOT able to get this new help for me, I want you to have something I've worked on for years: my memoirs. You can get them outside, make them count for something.
Had Miguel known it, Brendan had already suspected that the veteran editor-publisher might have written an autobiography. Everyone of high rank in the secret army knew and admired the way Miguel De Soto had fought his uphill fight against the lying demagoguery of the Fairness Party. And yes, the record of that fight for truth could inspire millions of new souls to rejoin the war against tyranny.
Brendan looked from the note to its writer, saying only, "Yes, Mister De Soto, I will be _honored_ to do as you ask."
Tilly De Soto clearly had plenty of stress to vent; but in doing so, she was not about to let the visiting Marine Corps veteran infer that she _resented_ having to take care of an ailing husband for so long. "So far, the implants have bought Miguel another eight months or so of life that he wouldn't have had otherwise. But the Adenoid-Cystic Carcinoma hasn't quit. It can't asphyxiate him, but now it's compressing his stomach. See that soup he's drinking? It's a _banquet_ for him these days. The poor darling hasn't got stomach space left to _digest_ very much solid food at one time; so even with not burning up many calories, he has to take very small meals six or seven times a day. But thank God, we do have help." She gestured toward her kitchen, where at this moment two girl volunteers from Pastor Zondei's congregation were doing whatever jobs needed doing. "With my helpers here daily, I can have time to BE WITH my dashing Cuban lover; and I can tell you, if you have true love, it shines _brighter_ under the shadow of death." Tears were trying to leak out of her eyes, but she went on speaking.
"I wouldn't trade these extra months with Miguel for anything. We've imagined all the places we would go if we could-- imagined them so vividly, that it's almost as if we HAD gotten outside the fence and done all the things we thought of. And in real life, even when confined to writing notes, Miguel's been able to coach so many of the young folks in writing and journalism-- in _real_ journalism, just in case that is ever given a chance to exist again."
During his wife's narrative, Miguel had contrived to write a note, which he now passed to Brendan. It read: Not one man in a thousand ever gets the privilege of being loved by such a brave, true-hearted woman as God has given me. Reading this, thinking of how his own father had never appreciated his mother the way Miguel appreciated Tilly, Brendan was near to weeping himself.
Showing Miguel's note to Tilly, he remarked, "The love between you two not _only_ will be honored by God in Heaven; I'll see to it that _mortals_ know about it. Your story is a model of something most of the world has lost."
Reuben Torvill, in common with most conscientious physicians, had seen enough of suffering, death and grief, that no single instance could overwhelm him emotionally. He cared as genuinely as anyone could ask him to, but he cared with a certain necessary detachment. The last time he had come close to weeping for a patient was when he had first had to tell Miguel about the cancer diagnosis. It was Reuben who now interrupted the sorrowful mood. "Miguel, Tilly: I know that you know what a cruel agony it is to feel hope, and then have it yanked away. But if you two can _allow_ yourselves to indulge a new hope.... I believe there IS a new chance for you. That is the _real_ reason why I arranged for Mr. Hyland to visit you. Brendan?"
Brendan knew that the De Sotos had been told at least part of what was going on with Professor Siermaala's new advanced-analog ultrasound scanner; but he had not dared to be himself the one who would offer a tantalizing hope that might only be dashed. Now, he had permission to speak.
"Mr. and Mrs. De Soto, you know that, not counting the taxane chemotherapy which his body couldn't endure, there are three ways in which Mr. De Soto's cancer could be effectively treated, if only D.S. authorities would _allow_ it to be treated. His own stem cells could be modified to combat the cancer; nanobots could be injected that would perform a similar function; or narrow-beam sound waves could be shot into his body, each single beam too faint to damage his tissues, but with two or three beams _intersecting_ to apply greater force in one place at a time, destroying cancer cells a few at a time.
"May Our Lady intercede for you in this, that I'm not offering a false hope; but Matti Siermaala's ultrasound arrays _are_ capable of generating those intersecting lines of sonic vibration. While admittedly not changing the biochemical conditions which created the carcinoma in the first place, they _could_ destroy so many cancer cells as to push the disease back substantially. We could possibly turn the clock back to when only a few of your glands were affected..."
"Which is good, for sure," Tilly interrupted, "but the damage and atrophy of his various tissues and organs would still be there."
"True; but in the reprieve gained by the sonic treatment, modern regeneration techniques could in some degree restore normal tissue."
"If regeneration _would_ be authorized by the rulers," Doctor Torvill put in. "Last year, to obtain _even_ so much as the gill implants for Miguel, we had to have support from influential foreigners; one of those, in fact, was that Chinese gentleman Yang who's in the Enclave again. Can Professor Siermaala exert any benign influence?"
"I believe he can, Doctor, since the Trevette administration is interested in his invention. The use of the scanner doesn't consume terrible amounts of power..."
During this, Miguel had been writing another note. Now he gave it to Brendan.
I believe God sent you. Have Tilly tell you sometime about flashlights in the dark. Even if you're NOT able to get this new help for me, I want you to have something I've worked on for years: my memoirs. You can get them outside, make them count for something.
Had Miguel known it, Brendan had already suspected that the veteran editor-publisher might have written an autobiography. Everyone of high rank in the secret army knew and admired the way Miguel De Soto had fought his uphill fight against the lying demagoguery of the Fairness Party. And yes, the record of that fight for truth could inspire millions of new souls to rejoin the war against tyranny.
Brendan looked from the note to its writer, saying only, "Yes, Mister De Soto, I will be _honored_ to do as you ask."
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Brendan had a backpack, and a sort of diplomatic immunity making it unlikely that his pack would be scanned. Inside that pack now rode the handwritten autobiography of a man Brendan considered a hero. He and Reuben hoofed it over to the understaffed hospital which was administered by the Energy Undersecretary's niece. She wasn't there, nor did a phone call from the lobby desk get an answer at her house. Reuben then suggested that they go to the Federal Merchandise Center and see if Sarbar Pitafi knew anything.
"She might be at Fairness Party Animals," the store manager told them.
"That," Reuben explained to Brendan, "is a little exclusive club, or pub, only for government personnel. She does go there pretty frequently; they serve a reinforced Joy Nectar." He turned toward the Asian man. "Will your phone reach the club?"
"Yes, it will. And since I work for the Department of Distribution, whch now owns the hospital, I should make the call."
Brendan glanced back and forth between the other two. "What, isn't Dr. Torvill also a Distribution employee?"
"No, I'm an independent contractor. More to the point, I'm an internal exile, which Sarbar and his wife Dalbir technically are not. Sarbar, please call the pub."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The administrator met Brendan and Reuben on the sidewalk outside Fairness Party Animals. Another woman, unsteady on her feet, was hanging on to her arm, and intermittently whispering something into her right ear. Brendan hadn't thought to inquire about what regulations the local administration had regarding intoxicated workers; but the Undersecretary's niece _appeared_ more lucid than her drinking buddy, so Brendan proceeded:
"Citizen Administrator, I'm Brendan Hyland, a member of the team from Africa that brought over the new ultrasound scanner. I know you've heard about it."
The second woman then uttered what was to be her only out-loud interruption of the conversation, gurgling out, "Sonic, sonic, sonic shtuff? Izzat ulcer-sonic? Makes, makes white noise, duzzat mean white su-privacy, I mean supremacy?"
The administrator gently hushed her, then answered Brendan. "Yes, I know about it; I found out that you were coming the same day Dr. Torvill found out. And I assume you want to make Citizen De Soto the next patient you use to demonstrate your imaging quality. No need to raise your eyebrows, Mr. Hyland. We don't have any full-time surveillance _inside_ the De Soto living quarters, but outdoor cameras revealed that you did visit there; and Miguel De Soto has of course attracted outside attention before now."
"We want to do more than take images," Reuben Torvill explained. "Professor Siermaala's scanner actually has a therapeutic application against cancer cells."
The Undersecretary's niece frowned. "Citizen De Soto has already caused special expense to the collective, when the triumvirate generously allowed him to receive his pulmonary prosthetics last year."
"Correction," said Brendan, disliking this woman; "the expenses incurred for Mr. De Soto were covered by a prosperous Australian citizen, Bert Randall of the University of Sydney. If you're in any doubt of that fact, the Chinese researcher who was with Mr. Randall is back in the Enclave, and can verify what happened."
Reuben did not give the administrator an instant to grow huffy. "Besides, Administrator, the Deputy Commander of the Campaign Against Hate was the triumvirate member most hostile to helping Mr. De Soto last year; and the Deputy Commander subsequently was retired by your own aunt. I am quite confident that the new triumvirate member, your boss, will approve of our proposal to help Miguel De Soto further, provided we can reimburse the costs _this_ time."
"And I'm sure we can," Brendan declared.
As the admininstrator was looking thoughtful, her girlfriend spoke something into her ear, at which the administrator brightened. "Thanks, I'd forgotten that! Gentlemen, Malvina here just reminded me of something: the fact that you technologists just lately helped a _woman_ out of a bad situation."
"You mean the one in Detroit?"
"Citizen Salwa Jalalu, formerly of the Great Lakes Cantonment. The same woman whose relocation you men requested. I've seen the report that she arrived in Rapid City just this morning. She'll be given employment in her skill area, cooking for one of the Workplace Food Service facilities in the Gas Hills uranium mining region."
"I didn't realize that our service to womankind was attracting so much interest."
"To be truthful, I _didn't_ know anything about her case until this morning. But the online report credits you males with caring what happened to Salwa Jalalu, especially the Redfern fellow. That's worth something to me."
"So you'll cooperate with our plans to help Mr. De Soto?" asked Reuben.
"Sure, why not? Only, Malvina and I've got some drinking to finish. Write up your proposal, with an estimate of probable expenditure of electric power, and come to my office tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you, Administrator," said Brendan, sincerely if not gushingly.
"She might be at Fairness Party Animals," the store manager told them.
"That," Reuben explained to Brendan, "is a little exclusive club, or pub, only for government personnel. She does go there pretty frequently; they serve a reinforced Joy Nectar." He turned toward the Asian man. "Will your phone reach the club?"
"Yes, it will. And since I work for the Department of Distribution, whch now owns the hospital, I should make the call."
Brendan glanced back and forth between the other two. "What, isn't Dr. Torvill also a Distribution employee?"
"No, I'm an independent contractor. More to the point, I'm an internal exile, which Sarbar and his wife Dalbir technically are not. Sarbar, please call the pub."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
The administrator met Brendan and Reuben on the sidewalk outside Fairness Party Animals. Another woman, unsteady on her feet, was hanging on to her arm, and intermittently whispering something into her right ear. Brendan hadn't thought to inquire about what regulations the local administration had regarding intoxicated workers; but the Undersecretary's niece _appeared_ more lucid than her drinking buddy, so Brendan proceeded:
"Citizen Administrator, I'm Brendan Hyland, a member of the team from Africa that brought over the new ultrasound scanner. I know you've heard about it."
The second woman then uttered what was to be her only out-loud interruption of the conversation, gurgling out, "Sonic, sonic, sonic shtuff? Izzat ulcer-sonic? Makes, makes white noise, duzzat mean white su-privacy, I mean supremacy?"
The administrator gently hushed her, then answered Brendan. "Yes, I know about it; I found out that you were coming the same day Dr. Torvill found out. And I assume you want to make Citizen De Soto the next patient you use to demonstrate your imaging quality. No need to raise your eyebrows, Mr. Hyland. We don't have any full-time surveillance _inside_ the De Soto living quarters, but outdoor cameras revealed that you did visit there; and Miguel De Soto has of course attracted outside attention before now."
"We want to do more than take images," Reuben Torvill explained. "Professor Siermaala's scanner actually has a therapeutic application against cancer cells."
The Undersecretary's niece frowned. "Citizen De Soto has already caused special expense to the collective, when the triumvirate generously allowed him to receive his pulmonary prosthetics last year."
"Correction," said Brendan, disliking this woman; "the expenses incurred for Mr. De Soto were covered by a prosperous Australian citizen, Bert Randall of the University of Sydney. If you're in any doubt of that fact, the Chinese researcher who was with Mr. Randall is back in the Enclave, and can verify what happened."
Reuben did not give the administrator an instant to grow huffy. "Besides, Administrator, the Deputy Commander of the Campaign Against Hate was the triumvirate member most hostile to helping Mr. De Soto last year; and the Deputy Commander subsequently was retired by your own aunt. I am quite confident that the new triumvirate member, your boss, will approve of our proposal to help Miguel De Soto further, provided we can reimburse the costs _this_ time."
"And I'm sure we can," Brendan declared.
As the admininstrator was looking thoughtful, her girlfriend spoke something into her ear, at which the administrator brightened. "Thanks, I'd forgotten that! Gentlemen, Malvina here just reminded me of something: the fact that you technologists just lately helped a _woman_ out of a bad situation."
"You mean the one in Detroit?"
"Citizen Salwa Jalalu, formerly of the Great Lakes Cantonment. The same woman whose relocation you men requested. I've seen the report that she arrived in Rapid City just this morning. She'll be given employment in her skill area, cooking for one of the Workplace Food Service facilities in the Gas Hills uranium mining region."
"I didn't realize that our service to womankind was attracting so much interest."
"To be truthful, I _didn't_ know anything about her case until this morning. But the online report credits you males with caring what happened to Salwa Jalalu, especially the Redfern fellow. That's worth something to me."
"So you'll cooperate with our plans to help Mr. De Soto?" asked Reuben.
"Sure, why not? Only, Malvina and I've got some drinking to finish. Write up your proposal, with an estimate of probable expenditure of electric power, and come to my office tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you, Administrator," said Brendan, sincerely if not gushingly.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Brendan with his dataphone was able to obtain a number in the Enclave's landline phone system to reach Sioux San Hospital. Getting Matti Siermaala on the line, Brendan was able by keeping his own skin in contact with his phone to let Reuben get on and speak. (The only stipulation the triumvirate had placed on the African team's dataphones was that they be set for owner-DNA recognition.) Thus Matti was informed about the meeting with Casper's hospital administrator, and was brought into the process of estimating how much energy it would take to do Miguel De Soto some good with sonic cancer-cell disruption. "When we compose our cost estimate," Reuben advised, "we'll need to figure not only the electricity, but the drugs to stimulate Miguel's lymphatic and excretory systems, so his body can efficiently eliminate the large number of cancer cells that you'll be destroying."
Word was also passed to Josiah about Salwa's safe arrival in Rapid City-- for his being in Rapid City was no guarantee of his knowing what new exiles had been flown in on any given day. The more so since Josiah had never seen Salwa's face.
After parting company with Dr. Torvill, Brendan went to visit for awhile with Eric and Cecilia Havens. This was both for enjoyment, and to pass time until Eileen O'Hennessy would be enroute back to North Dakota Sector. Once the coast was clear, Brendan headed over to Natrona Airport with its Texas Ranger detachment. Melody Vasquez and Baby Douglas were there with Emilio, making it more plausible that Brendan simply was visiting people he knew personally.
Once admitted to the "Sky Rangers" headquarters, Brendan was a little surprised that Melody, holding her baby son, was allowed into Emilio's spy-proof private office. "Don't forget," said Emilio, "that my Yellow Rose has already been exposed to Mexico's covert invitation to Texas to secede from the D.S.A.; that's enough to hang her anyway, but having her join us in the room still makes this look _less_ like a secret conference."
"Melody," remarked Brendan, "Jennifer would envy you terribly if she knew that _your_ husband feels he can let you in on classified operations."
Melody replied, "I sometimes envy wives who _don't_ know scary things about their husbands' careers. The same goes, of course, for men with wives in the black-ops universe. But it helps matters that while I was in Mexico to give birth to Douglas, the Mexicans treated me with medications to give me resistance to mind-control drugs. Anyway, don't mind me, just have your huddle. Afterwards, I'll make some fajitas for you. It's nice to be able to make them with meat again."
Brendan got comfortable in his seat and addressed Emilio: "Tell me about Inspector O'Hennessy. Is she an us, or a them?"
"I'm afraid she's a them, though not a particularly malicious them. You already know that when she assumed her Enclave duties, she brought along a Oneness Priestess -- which, for Enclave purposes, is like bringing a water-skiing coach to a camel ranch in the Sahara Desert."
Brendan shook his head. "Yeah, I met one of those women once. She expected me to be _pleased_ when she told me that the Blessed Virgin is the same thing as pagan fertility goddesses."
"I know why she thought you'd like it; I've got plenty of Catholic relatives in Mexico. Some DO take veneration of the Virgin to crazy lengths, but I don't think the Roman church originally _intended_ to make a pagan goddess out of Our Lord's mother."
"No, they didn't. Too bad about O'Hennessy, though."
"Almost all police leadership in America now is like her, or worse. Leroy Lincoln was a rare find, a man positioned 'for such a time,' like a male Esther with a badge and a gun. When police forces were being redefined and reorganized in 2021, most Christian cops of all ranks either got the boot, or quit of their own accord. But Leroy was low enough in rank-- held back from promotions _because_ he was a Christian-- that not much of the purging frenzy came to affect him. Being black helped him; they couldn't call him a white supremacist! The Party mechanism in what used to be Kansas realized how _many_ of the best law-enforcement people they had lost or discarded, so they _had_ to give responsibility to whoever was left with talent.
"Leroy was quickly moved up to Inspector's rank; he could do the job with a fairly clear conscience, because the specific duty of suppressing dissent was the turf of the Pinkshirts. He was allowed to arrest _real_ criminals. Over the next two years, as the Texas Rangers cautiously probed for fellow police officers who _weren't_ fully sold out to the new system, they latched onto Leroy, and he's been our friend ever since."
"Unlike Inspector O'Hennessy. I haven't had a safe chance yet to play back your talk with her; did you limit the information you gave her because of her Fairness Party loyalty?"
"Not really, since the subject _wasn't_ anything that would compromise the good guys. It was more a case of bad guys against other bad guys. Whether it was the Campaign Against Hate which installed the mysterious trapdoors found by Alipang and those two kids, or some other faction like the D.S. Marshals, I don't believe that the investigation will do any harm to the exiles. Let the federal departments fight their feuds; my detachment, and the other honest cops inside the fence, will play whatever part our duties call for, and hope that some positive good comes from unmasking whoever still is doing sneaky stuff with Enclave infrastructure. Now, Brendan, it's my turn for a question. Does _your_ network have any clues to whether _Aztlan_ is involved in any plots touching the Enclave?"
"I do know that they're trying to improve their aerial reconnaissance in your direction. Los Flechadores, you know, their gang that flies many of the planes Aztlan owns, has been increasing high flights near D.S. airspace, to photograph the energy installations. But none of those aircraft has been carrying any armaments. We don't _believe_ that they contemplate any attacks on this reservation, since it already supplies nearly half of their electricity, and they don't want to cut their own throats by wrecking that. Still, now that your Great Condor is fully operational, it wouldn't hurt for you to let it be seen close to the border, _with_ its weaponry. Let them know that you're watching them. This, of course, without causing the Party to say that you're being paranoid and xenophobic."
They talked on for almost another hour; and Melody really did wish that she didn't have to know what a minefield her husband was dancing in.
Word was also passed to Josiah about Salwa's safe arrival in Rapid City-- for his being in Rapid City was no guarantee of his knowing what new exiles had been flown in on any given day. The more so since Josiah had never seen Salwa's face.
After parting company with Dr. Torvill, Brendan went to visit for awhile with Eric and Cecilia Havens. This was both for enjoyment, and to pass time until Eileen O'Hennessy would be enroute back to North Dakota Sector. Once the coast was clear, Brendan headed over to Natrona Airport with its Texas Ranger detachment. Melody Vasquez and Baby Douglas were there with Emilio, making it more plausible that Brendan simply was visiting people he knew personally.
Once admitted to the "Sky Rangers" headquarters, Brendan was a little surprised that Melody, holding her baby son, was allowed into Emilio's spy-proof private office. "Don't forget," said Emilio, "that my Yellow Rose has already been exposed to Mexico's covert invitation to Texas to secede from the D.S.A.; that's enough to hang her anyway, but having her join us in the room still makes this look _less_ like a secret conference."
"Melody," remarked Brendan, "Jennifer would envy you terribly if she knew that _your_ husband feels he can let you in on classified operations."
Melody replied, "I sometimes envy wives who _don't_ know scary things about their husbands' careers. The same goes, of course, for men with wives in the black-ops universe. But it helps matters that while I was in Mexico to give birth to Douglas, the Mexicans treated me with medications to give me resistance to mind-control drugs. Anyway, don't mind me, just have your huddle. Afterwards, I'll make some fajitas for you. It's nice to be able to make them with meat again."
Brendan got comfortable in his seat and addressed Emilio: "Tell me about Inspector O'Hennessy. Is she an us, or a them?"
"I'm afraid she's a them, though not a particularly malicious them. You already know that when she assumed her Enclave duties, she brought along a Oneness Priestess -- which, for Enclave purposes, is like bringing a water-skiing coach to a camel ranch in the Sahara Desert."
Brendan shook his head. "Yeah, I met one of those women once. She expected me to be _pleased_ when she told me that the Blessed Virgin is the same thing as pagan fertility goddesses."
"I know why she thought you'd like it; I've got plenty of Catholic relatives in Mexico. Some DO take veneration of the Virgin to crazy lengths, but I don't think the Roman church originally _intended_ to make a pagan goddess out of Our Lord's mother."
"No, they didn't. Too bad about O'Hennessy, though."
"Almost all police leadership in America now is like her, or worse. Leroy Lincoln was a rare find, a man positioned 'for such a time,' like a male Esther with a badge and a gun. When police forces were being redefined and reorganized in 2021, most Christian cops of all ranks either got the boot, or quit of their own accord. But Leroy was low enough in rank-- held back from promotions _because_ he was a Christian-- that not much of the purging frenzy came to affect him. Being black helped him; they couldn't call him a white supremacist! The Party mechanism in what used to be Kansas realized how _many_ of the best law-enforcement people they had lost or discarded, so they _had_ to give responsibility to whoever was left with talent.
"Leroy was quickly moved up to Inspector's rank; he could do the job with a fairly clear conscience, because the specific duty of suppressing dissent was the turf of the Pinkshirts. He was allowed to arrest _real_ criminals. Over the next two years, as the Texas Rangers cautiously probed for fellow police officers who _weren't_ fully sold out to the new system, they latched onto Leroy, and he's been our friend ever since."
"Unlike Inspector O'Hennessy. I haven't had a safe chance yet to play back your talk with her; did you limit the information you gave her because of her Fairness Party loyalty?"
"Not really, since the subject _wasn't_ anything that would compromise the good guys. It was more a case of bad guys against other bad guys. Whether it was the Campaign Against Hate which installed the mysterious trapdoors found by Alipang and those two kids, or some other faction like the D.S. Marshals, I don't believe that the investigation will do any harm to the exiles. Let the federal departments fight their feuds; my detachment, and the other honest cops inside the fence, will play whatever part our duties call for, and hope that some positive good comes from unmasking whoever still is doing sneaky stuff with Enclave infrastructure. Now, Brendan, it's my turn for a question. Does _your_ network have any clues to whether _Aztlan_ is involved in any plots touching the Enclave?"
"I do know that they're trying to improve their aerial reconnaissance in your direction. Los Flechadores, you know, their gang that flies many of the planes Aztlan owns, has been increasing high flights near D.S. airspace, to photograph the energy installations. But none of those aircraft has been carrying any armaments. We don't _believe_ that they contemplate any attacks on this reservation, since it already supplies nearly half of their electricity, and they don't want to cut their own throats by wrecking that. Still, now that your Great Condor is fully operational, it wouldn't hurt for you to let it be seen close to the border, _with_ its weaponry. Let them know that you're watching them. This, of course, without causing the Party to say that you're being paranoid and xenophobic."
They talked on for almost another hour; and Melody really did wish that she didn't have to know what a minefield her husband was dancing in.
Last edited:
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 104: Being the Adult
Daffodil Ford had not yet registered the fact that the medical technologist Josiah Redfern looked like him. Although they had conversed again since the Blue Moon Concert, it had been about the introduction of the reverse-engineered ultrasound scanner. Mister Redfern was not making any obvious attempt to spend more time with the teenager; Daffodil had his own reasons for lingering in the Enclave capital. If nothing else had been going on for him, Daffodil would have been glad to hurry back to Wyoming Sector and the Havens family.
One reason for being in Rapid City was talking with triumvirate members, whichever one he could get hold of at any time, about pressing for approval of a medical university being started in the Enclave. All three Undersecretaries were giving at least lukewarm approval to the idea, but none were indicating any clear sign of approval from their superiors. It was the Energy Undersecretary who hinted to Daffodil, just once, that the top level of the Party Presidium was distracted by other problems: "--things you'd probably rather not know about."
Another reason was talking with Fidel North about the possibility of his new stun-jazz ensemble being allowed to give more concerts. Daffodil reminded Mr. North about the multiple presentations of the Churchbusters show, pointing out that the Blue Moon Concert had evoked a far more positive response from exiles than the adventures of Commodore Shang and Captain Turgenev had ever done. Video viewings of it in government-owned auditoriums had already begun, always with good attendance. The Pinkshirt manager seemed to like the idea of additional concerts, but he also had to defer to his own chain of command; and this went all the slower for Mr. North, due to the fact that his own Cabinet department was no longer seated on the triumvirate.
Then there was the matter of Daffodil's nominal mother, the "adult" movie star Samantha Ford. He wanted to corner her into saying outright whether she intended _ever_ to do any more work for the internal-diplomacy mission. But lately she was not returning calls or messages; and the boy shuddered at the very thought of trying to surprise her anyplace in person. He dreaded walking in on her someplace, and finding her in the middle of doing something that would be unspeakably disgusting to him.
On the evening of the day when Brendan Hyland visited Miguel De Soto, a union physician at Sioux San was courteous enough to call Daffodil and tell him that there was new talk of doing something more to prolong the life of the founder of the Wyoming Observer. "You've been in on that kind of thing already," the woman said; "and you might want to be again." Thanking her, Daffodil caught a pedicab from his lodgings and rode for the hospital.
On the way, he received another call, this from Dan Salisbury. Dan had witnessed the theatrical reconciliation between Daffodil's other two dubious helpers, and had used his movie-star status to disarm their normal dislike of talking to men, so that he could casually ask them how things stood. Thus he now could report to Daffodil: "They're bound to be calling you in the morning, saying that they want to live and work with each other again."
"Thank you, Mr. Salisbury. I think I have an idea for managing this." And Daffodil did have an idea. But first there was the De Soto case to look into.
Arriving at the hospital and finding the laboratory section, he came upon Matti Siermaala and Josiah Redfern talking with some uniformed female Commerce Inspectors, who seemed to be acting for the Distribution Undersecretary. Matti was in the midst of saying: "...can be provided in any of several ways. The Energy Department will work with us. Now, assuming that adequate power is paid for, does your Department have any substantive objections to the procedure itself? Surely you know that sonic cancer-cell disruption has been a reality for years; the only thing new here is the _kind_ of sound-emitter array that would be doing the job."
"We'll need to have electrical safety inspections," one Commerce Inspector told the Finnish researcher. "By our own personnel, and by representatives of two labor unions."
Matti drew himself up with dignity. "My invention will pass any inspection."
"Don't you have access to the results of our demonstration at Harun Fuad Hospital?" Josiah demanded. "Those data would include verification of the scanner's electrical integrity."
Another of the officers answered Josiah: "Information from the Muslim Cantonment is not provided to persons at our paygrade; but the Undersecretary would have it."
The discussion wound down as one of the Commerce Inspectors promised to have the Distribution Undersecretary call the Professor first thing in the morning. Matti then turned and saw Daffodil, who had not felt qualified to step into the conversation he was listening to. "Ah, it's Mr. Ford! Heuva-paiva?"
"If that's Finnish for how am I doing, I'm well, thank you."
Matti turned to Josiah with exaggerated casualness. "Did you hear that? The young man is like you, Josiah: he catches on to things very fast!"
Josiah sent a look Matti's way whose meaning was unclear to the boy, then said, "You're just in time, Daffy. Business has delayed supper for the Professor and me, and one of these Commerce ladies suggested that we could all go have something to eat at the Rushmore Inn." Standing closer to Daffodil, he added quietly, "I want at least two witnesses to the fact that it was _only_ to get something to eat, since I'm a married man."
The uniformed women had moved away from the men to do something at computer terminals. One woman was talking to another, almost as quietly as Josiah's latest words to Daffodil. The boy's ears barely caught a hint of what seemed like the words: "--look so much alike."
Daffodil Ford had not yet registered the fact that the medical technologist Josiah Redfern looked like him. Although they had conversed again since the Blue Moon Concert, it had been about the introduction of the reverse-engineered ultrasound scanner. Mister Redfern was not making any obvious attempt to spend more time with the teenager; Daffodil had his own reasons for lingering in the Enclave capital. If nothing else had been going on for him, Daffodil would have been glad to hurry back to Wyoming Sector and the Havens family.
One reason for being in Rapid City was talking with triumvirate members, whichever one he could get hold of at any time, about pressing for approval of a medical university being started in the Enclave. All three Undersecretaries were giving at least lukewarm approval to the idea, but none were indicating any clear sign of approval from their superiors. It was the Energy Undersecretary who hinted to Daffodil, just once, that the top level of the Party Presidium was distracted by other problems: "--things you'd probably rather not know about."
Another reason was talking with Fidel North about the possibility of his new stun-jazz ensemble being allowed to give more concerts. Daffodil reminded Mr. North about the multiple presentations of the Churchbusters show, pointing out that the Blue Moon Concert had evoked a far more positive response from exiles than the adventures of Commodore Shang and Captain Turgenev had ever done. Video viewings of it in government-owned auditoriums had already begun, always with good attendance. The Pinkshirt manager seemed to like the idea of additional concerts, but he also had to defer to his own chain of command; and this went all the slower for Mr. North, due to the fact that his own Cabinet department was no longer seated on the triumvirate.
Then there was the matter of Daffodil's nominal mother, the "adult" movie star Samantha Ford. He wanted to corner her into saying outright whether she intended _ever_ to do any more work for the internal-diplomacy mission. But lately she was not returning calls or messages; and the boy shuddered at the very thought of trying to surprise her anyplace in person. He dreaded walking in on her someplace, and finding her in the middle of doing something that would be unspeakably disgusting to him.
On the evening of the day when Brendan Hyland visited Miguel De Soto, a union physician at Sioux San was courteous enough to call Daffodil and tell him that there was new talk of doing something more to prolong the life of the founder of the Wyoming Observer. "You've been in on that kind of thing already," the woman said; "and you might want to be again." Thanking her, Daffodil caught a pedicab from his lodgings and rode for the hospital.
On the way, he received another call, this from Dan Salisbury. Dan had witnessed the theatrical reconciliation between Daffodil's other two dubious helpers, and had used his movie-star status to disarm their normal dislike of talking to men, so that he could casually ask them how things stood. Thus he now could report to Daffodil: "They're bound to be calling you in the morning, saying that they want to live and work with each other again."
"Thank you, Mr. Salisbury. I think I have an idea for managing this." And Daffodil did have an idea. But first there was the De Soto case to look into.
Arriving at the hospital and finding the laboratory section, he came upon Matti Siermaala and Josiah Redfern talking with some uniformed female Commerce Inspectors, who seemed to be acting for the Distribution Undersecretary. Matti was in the midst of saying: "...can be provided in any of several ways. The Energy Department will work with us. Now, assuming that adequate power is paid for, does your Department have any substantive objections to the procedure itself? Surely you know that sonic cancer-cell disruption has been a reality for years; the only thing new here is the _kind_ of sound-emitter array that would be doing the job."
"We'll need to have electrical safety inspections," one Commerce Inspector told the Finnish researcher. "By our own personnel, and by representatives of two labor unions."
Matti drew himself up with dignity. "My invention will pass any inspection."
"Don't you have access to the results of our demonstration at Harun Fuad Hospital?" Josiah demanded. "Those data would include verification of the scanner's electrical integrity."
Another of the officers answered Josiah: "Information from the Muslim Cantonment is not provided to persons at our paygrade; but the Undersecretary would have it."
The discussion wound down as one of the Commerce Inspectors promised to have the Distribution Undersecretary call the Professor first thing in the morning. Matti then turned and saw Daffodil, who had not felt qualified to step into the conversation he was listening to. "Ah, it's Mr. Ford! Heuva-paiva?"
"If that's Finnish for how am I doing, I'm well, thank you."
Matti turned to Josiah with exaggerated casualness. "Did you hear that? The young man is like you, Josiah: he catches on to things very fast!"
Josiah sent a look Matti's way whose meaning was unclear to the boy, then said, "You're just in time, Daffy. Business has delayed supper for the Professor and me, and one of these Commerce ladies suggested that we could all go have something to eat at the Rushmore Inn." Standing closer to Daffodil, he added quietly, "I want at least two witnesses to the fact that it was _only_ to get something to eat, since I'm a married man."
The uniformed women had moved away from the men to do something at computer terminals. One woman was talking to another, almost as quietly as Josiah's latest words to Daffodil. The boy's ears barely caught a hint of what seemed like the words: "--look so much alike."
Copperfox
Well-known member
The group went by pedicab to the restaurant in Rapid City's old shopping mall--the mall where Bert Randall had first met Ma'at and her children. From time to time one of the Commerce Inspectors would look at Daffodil, then look at Josiah, and seem about to say something, but never quite say it.
Josiah, still trying not to seem overly interested in anything about the boy, took a restaurant seat that was neither next to, nor directly opposite to, his unacknowledged son. Matti, for his part, sat one woman away from Daffodil on the same side as the boy, leaving one chair so far still vacant on Daffodil's left.
To make conversation, the uniformed woman on Daffodil's right asked him, "Has Mr. Yang talked with you yet about the Equalityball teams? He's supposed to be studying our education in America, and Equalityball is an education in collective thinking. Should be a natural for a Chinese."
"Some folks are saying that China is growing _less_ collective," replied the boy.
"Say what? The Chinese are supposed to be wiser than that. You know, yin and yang, economic justice, karma and all that stuff."
As if to rescue Daffodil from conversation with an idiot, a more familiar female voice leaped at him from the other side: "Wow, it's the famous concert promoter! Can I have your autograph?"
As Daffodil reflexively turned to look, a most shapely form, clad in purple, orange and green, dropped itself onto the unclaimed chair, flung two firmly-muscled yet feminine arms around his neck, and kissed him wantonly on the mouth. It was none other than his former co-star, Osmawani Jalil.
"Er, um, hello to you too," the boy stammered.
"You're welcome," said the Malaysian beauty. "I just did you a favor: made sure these other ladies realize that you DO like girls. Never know _what_ people will think if you leave them to their own devices. And yes, this is my Churchbuster costume; I wear it now and then when I'm not wearing my pink blouse. How's the diplomacy?"
"Not bad. I take it you know about the Blue Moon Concert?"
"How could I _not_ have known, working for Fidel North? I was actually there, near the back. Stun jazz was never my taste in music, but I had to admit, your musicians played very well. I purposely didn't go up onstage to see you afterwards, because I was hoping for your sake that some girls your own age would start orbiting you, and I didn't want to create any awkwardness."
"If any girls were interested, I failed to notice. I was busy being happy that the concert was a success."
"And you've got bragging rights, kid. Your chromosome-source doesn't appreciate what she missed... though I've told her."
Those words prodded a reaction out of Josiah: "Excuse me, miss, but do you mean you _know_ Daffy's mother?"
"In a manner of speaking. Pardon my not introducing myself, I'm Osmawani Jalil. Aren't you gentlemen over from Africa?"
"Yes, I'm Josiah Redfern." "Matti Siermaala."
Daffodil explained briefly to the two grown men that he and Osmawani had been the lead players in Trip Conklin's ill-conceived science-fiction play. Then he turned to Osmawani and said, "Back to my mother. When and where did you see her?"
"Day and a half ago. Before I was detailed to meet the same Cantonment woman whose relocation those two gentlemen had requested. Somebody seemed to have the idea that because my last name was similar to hers, Salwa Jalalu and I would get along fine. She was horrified that I wasn't wearing a burka; but when I asked would she rather go back to getting beaten up for no reason, she decided that I wasn't so bad. So I got her processed through, and she's bound for her new career."
"I'm glad for her," Josiah interjected. "But I believe you were going to say where you saw Samantha Ford. It seems to me like a shame, that young Daffodil here should be accomplishing so much, and not have _either_ of his parents around to congratulate him for it."
Osmawani became one more person who looked at both Daffodil and Josiah as if wondering about the resemblance. "From what I hear, Daffy's father isn't to blame for being absent; his chromosomes were borrowed without his knowledge, to make this fine young man. He was never given the chance to help raise Daffy."
"Yes, that's what I've heard, too," said Matti softly.
Now, suddenly, one _more_ person was beginning to wake up to the physical resemblance of two masculine faces beneath two heads of yellow hair.
It was Daffodil... unable to voice his belated suspicion.
Josiah, still trying not to seem overly interested in anything about the boy, took a restaurant seat that was neither next to, nor directly opposite to, his unacknowledged son. Matti, for his part, sat one woman away from Daffodil on the same side as the boy, leaving one chair so far still vacant on Daffodil's left.
To make conversation, the uniformed woman on Daffodil's right asked him, "Has Mr. Yang talked with you yet about the Equalityball teams? He's supposed to be studying our education in America, and Equalityball is an education in collective thinking. Should be a natural for a Chinese."
"Some folks are saying that China is growing _less_ collective," replied the boy.
"Say what? The Chinese are supposed to be wiser than that. You know, yin and yang, economic justice, karma and all that stuff."
As if to rescue Daffodil from conversation with an idiot, a more familiar female voice leaped at him from the other side: "Wow, it's the famous concert promoter! Can I have your autograph?"
As Daffodil reflexively turned to look, a most shapely form, clad in purple, orange and green, dropped itself onto the unclaimed chair, flung two firmly-muscled yet feminine arms around his neck, and kissed him wantonly on the mouth. It was none other than his former co-star, Osmawani Jalil.
"Er, um, hello to you too," the boy stammered.
"You're welcome," said the Malaysian beauty. "I just did you a favor: made sure these other ladies realize that you DO like girls. Never know _what_ people will think if you leave them to their own devices. And yes, this is my Churchbuster costume; I wear it now and then when I'm not wearing my pink blouse. How's the diplomacy?"
"Not bad. I take it you know about the Blue Moon Concert?"
"How could I _not_ have known, working for Fidel North? I was actually there, near the back. Stun jazz was never my taste in music, but I had to admit, your musicians played very well. I purposely didn't go up onstage to see you afterwards, because I was hoping for your sake that some girls your own age would start orbiting you, and I didn't want to create any awkwardness."
"If any girls were interested, I failed to notice. I was busy being happy that the concert was a success."
"And you've got bragging rights, kid. Your chromosome-source doesn't appreciate what she missed... though I've told her."
Those words prodded a reaction out of Josiah: "Excuse me, miss, but do you mean you _know_ Daffy's mother?"
"In a manner of speaking. Pardon my not introducing myself, I'm Osmawani Jalil. Aren't you gentlemen over from Africa?"
"Yes, I'm Josiah Redfern." "Matti Siermaala."
Daffodil explained briefly to the two grown men that he and Osmawani had been the lead players in Trip Conklin's ill-conceived science-fiction play. Then he turned to Osmawani and said, "Back to my mother. When and where did you see her?"
"Day and a half ago. Before I was detailed to meet the same Cantonment woman whose relocation those two gentlemen had requested. Somebody seemed to have the idea that because my last name was similar to hers, Salwa Jalalu and I would get along fine. She was horrified that I wasn't wearing a burka; but when I asked would she rather go back to getting beaten up for no reason, she decided that I wasn't so bad. So I got her processed through, and she's bound for her new career."
"I'm glad for her," Josiah interjected. "But I believe you were going to say where you saw Samantha Ford. It seems to me like a shame, that young Daffodil here should be accomplishing so much, and not have _either_ of his parents around to congratulate him for it."
Osmawani became one more person who looked at both Daffodil and Josiah as if wondering about the resemblance. "From what I hear, Daffy's father isn't to blame for being absent; his chromosomes were borrowed without his knowledge, to make this fine young man. He was never given the chance to help raise Daffy."
"Yes, that's what I've heard, too," said Matti softly.
Now, suddenly, one _more_ person was beginning to wake up to the physical resemblance of two masculine faces beneath two heads of yellow hair.
It was Daffodil... unable to voice his belated suspicion.
Copperfox
Well-known member
"Now, my father," volunteered Osmawani, "was as much of an abusive tyrant as Ms. Jalalu's appears to be. Between a father like him, and a so-called lover like Nash, ptooey! Dockerty, it's a miracle that I can still feel attracted to men."
"A miracle that any woman ever can," remarked one of the Commerce Inspectors, the one sitting farthest removed from Josiah and Matti. Since the married Josiah and the widowed Matti were not looking to score any social points with these policewomen, they made no argument against the last remark.
Osmawani continued: "But if a father who's there can be so rotten... maybe a father who isn't around might not be such a flukeface as his absence could suggest. Certainly, if he was used as a donor without his consent, you couldn't expect him even to know he had a bioproduct."
"I guess that's true," conceded the non-breeder at the far end.
"Good thinking," Daffodil said, now purposely not looking at Josiah. "And if the biological father in a situation like that finally discovered that he had this bioproduct, he might have some legitimate reason to keep quiet about the fact, at least temporarily. Especially if, by the time the father found out, the bioproduct was already a legal adult by some reckonings."
Osmawani was also averting her eyes from Josiah. "Then I gather you wouldn't assume the worst about your father."
"No, I wouldn't. I would give him time, to see if whatever cause was inhibiting him from identifying himself could be neutralized." At this point, Daffodil produced his dataphone. "And if I were near a man who I suspected might be my male parent, I wouldn't run a DNA scan on him; I wouldn't put him on the spot. I would hope that he would be able to tell me later."
Matti extended a hand to tap Daffodil's shoulder. "Daffy, weren't you asking this nice young woman where your mother was?"
"Right. So again, Osmawani, where is my female parent?"
Osmawani sighed; one could almost suppose that she was thinking about wistful subjects like the loss of innocence. "Your mother's at the holovideo production studio that Isadora Cruller set up in town while she was working on Sectors of the Heart. Less prestigious talents are using the space now, to produce entertainments which I suspect are of no appeal to you, or to Mister Redfern or Professor Siermaala. You already know that your mother is one of these mediocre talents in flashy packaging; well... I'm another one."
Another of the Commerce Inspectors cluelessly burst out: "What? Then you're the new co-star in--?"
"Yes, in Zimmo Garland's latest cheap-thrill feature for the high-IQ proletariat," Osmawani cut her off. Looking back at the wide-eyed boy, she murmured, "I'm truly sorry that you should find it more surprising for me to be squirming around in that kind of movie, than for your own mother to be doing it."
"I believe you mean that," said Daffodil, almost as quietly--while everyone else at the table was keeping quiet by either eating or staring. "And I believe that your motive in doing that kind of acting is just a wish to get ahead in life some way-- rather than a consuming narcissism that can never get enough of being glamorous. I don't know if I should exactly wish you luck in what you're doing; but I don't wish you any ill."
Osmawani glanced at Josiah, then faced Daffodil once more. "Thank you, Daffy. I think you're a better man than you yourself realize; and if your mysterious father could be sitting here now, I'll bet he would feel that you've turned out mighty well. But since I'll be... with your mother again tomorrow, is there anything you'd like me to tell her?"
"Yes, please. Tell her first that Bailey and Moonrose are back together again, and so cannot be simultaneously covering two separate sectors anymore. I'm going to direct them to work North Dakota Sector for now, at least while we have warm weather. Wyoming is mine. South Dakota probably needs the least mutualizing, since it has the most government workers; therefore a juvenile volunteer can probably keep Equalityball moving here. I'm going to ask my local friend Pinwheel Matfeyev to do it. And I'll find someone to work Nebraska. Finally, tell my mother that I no longer give a flogging flip what she does with her life. Well, no, don't put it that way; but do tell her that I said someone has to be the adult, and I seem to be drafted for it."
Josiah now spoke: "Daffy, I think you actually volunteered to be an adult. Welcome to the ranks."
"A miracle that any woman ever can," remarked one of the Commerce Inspectors, the one sitting farthest removed from Josiah and Matti. Since the married Josiah and the widowed Matti were not looking to score any social points with these policewomen, they made no argument against the last remark.
Osmawani continued: "But if a father who's there can be so rotten... maybe a father who isn't around might not be such a flukeface as his absence could suggest. Certainly, if he was used as a donor without his consent, you couldn't expect him even to know he had a bioproduct."
"I guess that's true," conceded the non-breeder at the far end.
"Good thinking," Daffodil said, now purposely not looking at Josiah. "And if the biological father in a situation like that finally discovered that he had this bioproduct, he might have some legitimate reason to keep quiet about the fact, at least temporarily. Especially if, by the time the father found out, the bioproduct was already a legal adult by some reckonings."
Osmawani was also averting her eyes from Josiah. "Then I gather you wouldn't assume the worst about your father."
"No, I wouldn't. I would give him time, to see if whatever cause was inhibiting him from identifying himself could be neutralized." At this point, Daffodil produced his dataphone. "And if I were near a man who I suspected might be my male parent, I wouldn't run a DNA scan on him; I wouldn't put him on the spot. I would hope that he would be able to tell me later."
Matti extended a hand to tap Daffodil's shoulder. "Daffy, weren't you asking this nice young woman where your mother was?"
"Right. So again, Osmawani, where is my female parent?"
Osmawani sighed; one could almost suppose that she was thinking about wistful subjects like the loss of innocence. "Your mother's at the holovideo production studio that Isadora Cruller set up in town while she was working on Sectors of the Heart. Less prestigious talents are using the space now, to produce entertainments which I suspect are of no appeal to you, or to Mister Redfern or Professor Siermaala. You already know that your mother is one of these mediocre talents in flashy packaging; well... I'm another one."
Another of the Commerce Inspectors cluelessly burst out: "What? Then you're the new co-star in--?"
"Yes, in Zimmo Garland's latest cheap-thrill feature for the high-IQ proletariat," Osmawani cut her off. Looking back at the wide-eyed boy, she murmured, "I'm truly sorry that you should find it more surprising for me to be squirming around in that kind of movie, than for your own mother to be doing it."
"I believe you mean that," said Daffodil, almost as quietly--while everyone else at the table was keeping quiet by either eating or staring. "And I believe that your motive in doing that kind of acting is just a wish to get ahead in life some way-- rather than a consuming narcissism that can never get enough of being glamorous. I don't know if I should exactly wish you luck in what you're doing; but I don't wish you any ill."
Osmawani glanced at Josiah, then faced Daffodil once more. "Thank you, Daffy. I think you're a better man than you yourself realize; and if your mysterious father could be sitting here now, I'll bet he would feel that you've turned out mighty well. But since I'll be... with your mother again tomorrow, is there anything you'd like me to tell her?"
"Yes, please. Tell her first that Bailey and Moonrose are back together again, and so cannot be simultaneously covering two separate sectors anymore. I'm going to direct them to work North Dakota Sector for now, at least while we have warm weather. Wyoming is mine. South Dakota probably needs the least mutualizing, since it has the most government workers; therefore a juvenile volunteer can probably keep Equalityball moving here. I'm going to ask my local friend Pinwheel Matfeyev to do it. And I'll find someone to work Nebraska. Finally, tell my mother that I no longer give a flogging flip what she does with her life. Well, no, don't put it that way; but do tell her that I said someone has to be the adult, and I seem to be drafted for it."
Josiah now spoke: "Daffy, I think you actually volunteered to be an adult. Welcome to the ranks."
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Before I ever met Karoliina (Carol), I already intended that there should be some such character as the ultrasound researcher; and having created an abundance of Asian, African and Latin American characters, I wanted this one to be European. Finland came to mind as his place of origin, because that country--though I've never visited it--has long held a fascination for me. The music of Jean Sibelius, naturally, was part of the fascination; but still more, there was the courage and fortitude with which the Finnish people resisted Soviet conquest. Also, as one who was an outsider in my teenage years, I could see the Finns as fellow outsiders of a sort; they live next door to the Danes, Norwegians and Swedes, yet are ethnically and linguistically quite distinct from those people as well as from the Slavic nations.
When I first met Karoliina, and found out she was a Finnish-American, it was a handy conversation-maker to ask her about Finnish names. You may have noticed that I try to be authentic about names in different cultures. Karoliina was able to suggest some, and I selected a first name and last name that sounded good together. The scientist character would still have been created in some form if I had never met Karoliina; and I would still have been attracted to Karoliina if I had not had the excuse of wanting to learn Finnish names and Finnish trivia.
But as things have turned out, you could say that Professor Matti Siermaala was a matchmaker.
When I first met Karoliina, and found out she was a Finnish-American, it was a handy conversation-maker to ask her about Finnish names. You may have noticed that I try to be authentic about names in different cultures. Karoliina was able to suggest some, and I selected a first name and last name that sounded good together. The scientist character would still have been created in some form if I had never met Karoliina; and I would still have been attracted to Karoliina if I had not had the excuse of wanting to learn Finnish names and Finnish trivia.
But as things have turned out, you could say that Professor Matti Siermaala was a matchmaker.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Early Wednesday morning, Daffodil began making calls within the tiny infraculture of persons who lived in the Enclave without _being_ exiles. He got hold of Pinwheel Matfeyev, who was more than willing to assume leadership of Equalityball activities in South Dakota Sector; this, after all, would earn him something of the same "adjunct faculty" status as Daffodil had earned at the Boston Tolerance House. The next call was to Winnie Drucker of Aero-Aquatics, the general manager of Earth's Treasures a.k.a. Gaia's Guts. Pleased to be consulted about something of political significance, Winnie gave Daffodil a recommendation of someone who could run Equalityball for Nebraska Sector. This was a girl named Omnipotence Cortez, the fatherless daughter of a woman working for the Agriculture Department; Omnipotence had her claim to fame in a perfect attendance record with the Diversity Pioneers at her former middle school. Having no doubt that the selection would please the Party, Daffodil thanked Ms. Drucker with more outward enthusiasm than he felt inwardly.
The next call was to roust Bailey and Moonrose out of bed, notifying them that henceforth both of them would be working North Dakota Sector. This done, Daffodil phoned Fidel North's Pinkshirt office, to say: "I'm going to be heading back for Wyoming Sector. Would you please keep in touch with me about any prospects for more concerts by my stun-jazz ensemble?" Then he used his dataphone to access a Transport Police database which would let him know what were the soonest ways he could travel to other locations inside the Enclave.
With his commuting plans made, the boy jogged on foot to Sioux San Hospital, having in mind to speak with hospital personnel face to face and ask if there was progress in getting approval to give Miguel De Soto the sonic anti-cancer treatment.
He was unprepared for whom he would meet when he was barely inside the front door.
Samantha Ford was casually dressed-- meaning the calculatedly sensual kind of casual dress she had favored since high school. She came into her neglected son's field of sight as she entered the lobby from within the hospital's interior. When she noticed him, she projected a startlingly ordinary smile, as if she had NOT been both ignoring him and ignoring the duties for which the State Department had sent her to the Enclave. "Why, hello, Daffodil! Is the collective still all?"
As he stood rooted to one spot, she swished up to him and gave him a sort of air-hug... which, indeed, he privately preferred over any more demonstrative gesture of insincere affection. Then she stepped back, rotating her shoulders a bit and tossing her light-brown hair, as if she were still in the afterglow of some pleasant experience. But since they were not in Zimmo Garland's holo-movie studio right now, Daffodil couldn't have said what pleasant experience his mother might have had here. So he simply spoke in a way that was logical for an encounter at a hospital:
"My own part of the collective is okay. But what brings you here? Did you get sick somehow?"
She reached up to muss his hair. "No, not at all. I just needed a dose of Wonderflexin before I begin the next three days of shooting."
Daffodil blinked. He had heard of Wonderflexin before, though it had never been of any importance to him personally. It was a sort of combined stimulant and muscle relaxant, which temporarily made people physically more limber. It had first been invented, so Daffodil understood, as a means to help restore some degree of mobility to elderly people; but with so many elderly Americans being euthanized instead, the drug had became a resource for....
Certain athletic activities....
And certain specialties in the performing arts.
Daffodil didn't want to think about what he knew to be his mother's reason for taking Wonderflexin. For her part, Samantha was feeling so euphoric from the treatment, that she appeared ready to film one of her "adult" movie scenes right there in the lobby. But she herself provided the digression that spared her son from having to think about her new preoccupation:
"I've been meaning to congratulate you, Daffodil. Come on, let's sit down... I've seen the video of your Blue Moon Concert; it was awesome! And it IS going to get wide exposure outside the Enclave. Makes me feel justified for all the thought and effort I put into getting you started on the path to success."
Until Samantha said those last sixteen words, Daffodil had never in his life conceived of the idea of wishing actually to do bodily violence to her; but now his mind flickered with a vision, still not of seriously injuring her, but maybe of tossing her into a very large mud puddle face first. Maintaining a bland smile, he replied obliquely: "It seems you're on a successful path of your own. But tell me, what am I supposed to say to the State Department if they ask me what you're contributing to the internal-diplomacy mission?"
Samantha blinked. "What...? Oh, pardon me, that's right, I didn't tell you. I already spoke with Meg about my acting." (She was referring to Secretary of State Megavolt Atkinson.) "Meg was thrilled; she said that with you breaking the ground by your music promotions, it shouldn't be long before a significant number of exiles are willing to watch the movies we're making with Timmo. Some exiles might even ACT IN the movies; isn't that kinky?"
Daffodil's jaw sagged, then firmed up again. "Mother, I'm not so sure that their willingly listening to stun jazz means they'll be equally receptive to ALL other areas of the popular arts." He didn't bother pointing out to his mother that HE was supposed to be HER supervisor, so she ought not to have gone over his head.
Samantha leaned in to kiss him --indeed a rare action on her part-- and said, "Maybe not. But listen, we need to think about _your_ progress and success. Have you taken any steps to earn your eligibility for unrestricted Party advancement?"
He knew exactly what she had in mind. Going back to its earliest beginnings as a product of W.A.L.N.U.T. community organizers, the Fairness Party had _always_ had a policy which was recommended for women, but absolutely compulsory for men--since of course it was men who had to atone for the ickiness of being male. No man could _ever_ be promoted to a senior position in the Fairness Party.... until, in the presence of witnesses or with video proof, he had performed some physical action to prove his acceptance and approval of "alternate lifestyles." A refusal to do this could be construed as a "hate crime."
"No, Mother, I _haven't_ taken any steps in that direction. I've been busy doing the actual job I was sent here to do."
Anything in Daffodil's words that could signify a rebuke to her, went sailing over Samantha's vacuous head. She went on: "Well, it would be a shame if you let yourself get stalled when you're showing so much promise. Don't forget, relational diversity is _called_ relational diversity because --it's diverse! There's more than one way for you to meet the requirement. I'll be glad to help you review the options; I just want you to be successful."
Feeling as if by his response he could spit a bad taste out of his mouth, Daffodil said, "I'll make my own decisions, Mother, in that and in other things. Universe knows, the Party says often enough that parents mustn't impose their paradigms on their bioproducts. And speaking of parents: will you please _tell_ me, here and now, _who_ is my male chromosome source?"
Samantha ran fingers down her son's arm. "Why does it matter? There's no way you would ever meet him. But you're right that I can't make your choices for you. Maybe I should head back to the studio now."
"Sure, you do that, Mother." Daffodil just wanted her to go away.
The next call was to roust Bailey and Moonrose out of bed, notifying them that henceforth both of them would be working North Dakota Sector. This done, Daffodil phoned Fidel North's Pinkshirt office, to say: "I'm going to be heading back for Wyoming Sector. Would you please keep in touch with me about any prospects for more concerts by my stun-jazz ensemble?" Then he used his dataphone to access a Transport Police database which would let him know what were the soonest ways he could travel to other locations inside the Enclave.
With his commuting plans made, the boy jogged on foot to Sioux San Hospital, having in mind to speak with hospital personnel face to face and ask if there was progress in getting approval to give Miguel De Soto the sonic anti-cancer treatment.
He was unprepared for whom he would meet when he was barely inside the front door.
Samantha Ford was casually dressed-- meaning the calculatedly sensual kind of casual dress she had favored since high school. She came into her neglected son's field of sight as she entered the lobby from within the hospital's interior. When she noticed him, she projected a startlingly ordinary smile, as if she had NOT been both ignoring him and ignoring the duties for which the State Department had sent her to the Enclave. "Why, hello, Daffodil! Is the collective still all?"
As he stood rooted to one spot, she swished up to him and gave him a sort of air-hug... which, indeed, he privately preferred over any more demonstrative gesture of insincere affection. Then she stepped back, rotating her shoulders a bit and tossing her light-brown hair, as if she were still in the afterglow of some pleasant experience. But since they were not in Zimmo Garland's holo-movie studio right now, Daffodil couldn't have said what pleasant experience his mother might have had here. So he simply spoke in a way that was logical for an encounter at a hospital:
"My own part of the collective is okay. But what brings you here? Did you get sick somehow?"
She reached up to muss his hair. "No, not at all. I just needed a dose of Wonderflexin before I begin the next three days of shooting."
Daffodil blinked. He had heard of Wonderflexin before, though it had never been of any importance to him personally. It was a sort of combined stimulant and muscle relaxant, which temporarily made people physically more limber. It had first been invented, so Daffodil understood, as a means to help restore some degree of mobility to elderly people; but with so many elderly Americans being euthanized instead, the drug had became a resource for....
Certain athletic activities....
And certain specialties in the performing arts.
Daffodil didn't want to think about what he knew to be his mother's reason for taking Wonderflexin. For her part, Samantha was feeling so euphoric from the treatment, that she appeared ready to film one of her "adult" movie scenes right there in the lobby. But she herself provided the digression that spared her son from having to think about her new preoccupation:
"I've been meaning to congratulate you, Daffodil. Come on, let's sit down... I've seen the video of your Blue Moon Concert; it was awesome! And it IS going to get wide exposure outside the Enclave. Makes me feel justified for all the thought and effort I put into getting you started on the path to success."
Until Samantha said those last sixteen words, Daffodil had never in his life conceived of the idea of wishing actually to do bodily violence to her; but now his mind flickered with a vision, still not of seriously injuring her, but maybe of tossing her into a very large mud puddle face first. Maintaining a bland smile, he replied obliquely: "It seems you're on a successful path of your own. But tell me, what am I supposed to say to the State Department if they ask me what you're contributing to the internal-diplomacy mission?"
Samantha blinked. "What...? Oh, pardon me, that's right, I didn't tell you. I already spoke with Meg about my acting." (She was referring to Secretary of State Megavolt Atkinson.) "Meg was thrilled; she said that with you breaking the ground by your music promotions, it shouldn't be long before a significant number of exiles are willing to watch the movies we're making with Timmo. Some exiles might even ACT IN the movies; isn't that kinky?"
Daffodil's jaw sagged, then firmed up again. "Mother, I'm not so sure that their willingly listening to stun jazz means they'll be equally receptive to ALL other areas of the popular arts." He didn't bother pointing out to his mother that HE was supposed to be HER supervisor, so she ought not to have gone over his head.
Samantha leaned in to kiss him --indeed a rare action on her part-- and said, "Maybe not. But listen, we need to think about _your_ progress and success. Have you taken any steps to earn your eligibility for unrestricted Party advancement?"
He knew exactly what she had in mind. Going back to its earliest beginnings as a product of W.A.L.N.U.T. community organizers, the Fairness Party had _always_ had a policy which was recommended for women, but absolutely compulsory for men--since of course it was men who had to atone for the ickiness of being male. No man could _ever_ be promoted to a senior position in the Fairness Party.... until, in the presence of witnesses or with video proof, he had performed some physical action to prove his acceptance and approval of "alternate lifestyles." A refusal to do this could be construed as a "hate crime."
"No, Mother, I _haven't_ taken any steps in that direction. I've been busy doing the actual job I was sent here to do."
Anything in Daffodil's words that could signify a rebuke to her, went sailing over Samantha's vacuous head. She went on: "Well, it would be a shame if you let yourself get stalled when you're showing so much promise. Don't forget, relational diversity is _called_ relational diversity because --it's diverse! There's more than one way for you to meet the requirement. I'll be glad to help you review the options; I just want you to be successful."
Feeling as if by his response he could spit a bad taste out of his mouth, Daffodil said, "I'll make my own decisions, Mother, in that and in other things. Universe knows, the Party says often enough that parents mustn't impose their paradigms on their bioproducts. And speaking of parents: will you please _tell_ me, here and now, _who_ is my male chromosome source?"
Samantha ran fingers down her son's arm. "Why does it matter? There's no way you would ever meet him. But you're right that I can't make your choices for you. Maybe I should head back to the studio now."
"Sure, you do that, Mother." Daffodil just wanted her to go away.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Daffodil had his talk with hospital management, learning that the question of Mr. De Soto remained undecided, though the Energy Undersecretary was said to be in favor of allowing the new cancer therapy. From there, the boy made his way to hitch a ride with government worker Ernestine Clawson, who was going to drive an honest-to-goodness automobile along what was left of Interstate 90, running an errand to the government offices in the lately-rebuilt town of Kaycee, Wyoming Sector. It would be easy for her to let him off at Sussex.
As they drove with the sun at their backs, Daffodil intently watched every move Ernestine made, until, as they passed the abandoned town of Spearfish, she said to him, "Are my hands that fascinating?"
Fortunately for Daffodil, he had by now spent enough time among normal people, that he _didn't_ go into a panic at the very first hint that a female _might_ be displeased by something he had done. He simply replied, "What's fascinating is the procedure of driving a vehicle. I've just been thinking, as I've watched you, that it must have complications which a non-driver wouldn't think of at first."
"That's true. And some people never did get it right; that's why there used to be so _many_ fatal collisions. One more reason why it's better to keep the proletariat in mass transit."
"Well, of course, that's what I was always taught. My mother never drove a car, at least not that I ever heard of. And yet.... What if there were some kind of situation in which the mass transit system itself was disabled, but people still _needed_ to be able to get to places, and they _couldn't_ get there because they didn't even _have_ the knowledge of how to drive themselves?"
"They'd ride their bicycles, what else?"
"But I mean if they needed to travel a distance that wasn't practical for bicycles."
"Proletarians _don't_ need to travel that far; this country's well enough organized that they can serve the Party in their own districts."
Daffodil fell silent, reflecting on the fact that this daughter of the bureaucracy seemed unable even to _conceive_ of the notion that people could have a moral _right_ to be allowed to travel where _they_ wanted to.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Far to the southwest of Daffodil and Ernestine, at the Gas Hills uranium mining and refining complex west of Casper, the liberated Salwa Jalalu was to encounter someone who would almost make her wish to be back in the Great Lakes Cantonment. Almost, not quite.
Aretha Shabazz, the professional complainer and grievance-inflater, had by this time succeeded in alienating _everybody_ at four successive power-station assignments, including fellow females and fellow African-Americans. Energy Ombudsman Bill Shao had found a new position for her, doing office work at the uranium complex. The workers there all agreed that, if they must have Aretha in their midst, it was better for her job to be _elsewhere_ than close to radioactive materials.
Salwa, assigned to the kitchen which served both miners and refinery personnel, found her direct co-workers to be welcoming and patient, _even_ the male ones. Back in Detroit, Hassan Tamir had been almost the only local male ever to behave kindly toward her; now, _everyone_ was being astonishingly gentle and helpful as she learned the workings of the large cafeteria.
As people started coming in for lunch, the woman in charge of the kitchen brought Salwa out into the dining area to meet some of them. Salwa had been forewarned that almost all the internal exiles were some form of Christians or Jews, but nobody showed signs of hostility toward her although she still wore a hijab. The only person to behave rudely toward Salwa, ironically, was one who had lived among Muslims until just last year. On being introduced to Salwa, Aretha asked her, "Can you make halal pork chops?"
Baffled, Salwa told her truthfully that there was no such thing as halal pork, any more than there could be kosher pork. That was when she learned how Aretha Shabazz took to being corrected on any subject ever. Fortunately, as Aretha launched her irrational temper tantrum, Salwa soon also learned that this was not typical of the place, as a dozen other persons told Aretha to calm down and leave the new cook alone.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Back in Rapid City, meanwhile, Samantha Ford had not yet even arrived at the studio to start the day's filming with Osmawani and other actors, when she had another dramatic encounter. Coming along the sidewalk toward her, one hand carrying a cloth shopping bag, was a fair-haired man only a few centimeters taller than herself, though far stronger by the look of him; and his face _was_ the very face of her son Daffodil, if Daffodil had been over forty years of age.
The man halted, looked at Samantha, and did not at first say anything. Samantha halted, looked at the man, and exclaimed, "What in Gaia's name are YOU doing here?" Her voice was not so strident and hostile as it might have been if not for the Wonderflexin coursing through her bloodstream; but it still was clear that she had not been expecting to meet Josiah Redfern.
As they drove with the sun at their backs, Daffodil intently watched every move Ernestine made, until, as they passed the abandoned town of Spearfish, she said to him, "Are my hands that fascinating?"
Fortunately for Daffodil, he had by now spent enough time among normal people, that he _didn't_ go into a panic at the very first hint that a female _might_ be displeased by something he had done. He simply replied, "What's fascinating is the procedure of driving a vehicle. I've just been thinking, as I've watched you, that it must have complications which a non-driver wouldn't think of at first."
"That's true. And some people never did get it right; that's why there used to be so _many_ fatal collisions. One more reason why it's better to keep the proletariat in mass transit."
"Well, of course, that's what I was always taught. My mother never drove a car, at least not that I ever heard of. And yet.... What if there were some kind of situation in which the mass transit system itself was disabled, but people still _needed_ to be able to get to places, and they _couldn't_ get there because they didn't even _have_ the knowledge of how to drive themselves?"
"They'd ride their bicycles, what else?"
"But I mean if they needed to travel a distance that wasn't practical for bicycles."
"Proletarians _don't_ need to travel that far; this country's well enough organized that they can serve the Party in their own districts."
Daffodil fell silent, reflecting on the fact that this daughter of the bureaucracy seemed unable even to _conceive_ of the notion that people could have a moral _right_ to be allowed to travel where _they_ wanted to.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Far to the southwest of Daffodil and Ernestine, at the Gas Hills uranium mining and refining complex west of Casper, the liberated Salwa Jalalu was to encounter someone who would almost make her wish to be back in the Great Lakes Cantonment. Almost, not quite.
Aretha Shabazz, the professional complainer and grievance-inflater, had by this time succeeded in alienating _everybody_ at four successive power-station assignments, including fellow females and fellow African-Americans. Energy Ombudsman Bill Shao had found a new position for her, doing office work at the uranium complex. The workers there all agreed that, if they must have Aretha in their midst, it was better for her job to be _elsewhere_ than close to radioactive materials.
Salwa, assigned to the kitchen which served both miners and refinery personnel, found her direct co-workers to be welcoming and patient, _even_ the male ones. Back in Detroit, Hassan Tamir had been almost the only local male ever to behave kindly toward her; now, _everyone_ was being astonishingly gentle and helpful as she learned the workings of the large cafeteria.
As people started coming in for lunch, the woman in charge of the kitchen brought Salwa out into the dining area to meet some of them. Salwa had been forewarned that almost all the internal exiles were some form of Christians or Jews, but nobody showed signs of hostility toward her although she still wore a hijab. The only person to behave rudely toward Salwa, ironically, was one who had lived among Muslims until just last year. On being introduced to Salwa, Aretha asked her, "Can you make halal pork chops?"
Baffled, Salwa told her truthfully that there was no such thing as halal pork, any more than there could be kosher pork. That was when she learned how Aretha Shabazz took to being corrected on any subject ever. Fortunately, as Aretha launched her irrational temper tantrum, Salwa soon also learned that this was not typical of the place, as a dozen other persons told Aretha to calm down and leave the new cook alone.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Back in Rapid City, meanwhile, Samantha Ford had not yet even arrived at the studio to start the day's filming with Osmawani and other actors, when she had another dramatic encounter. Coming along the sidewalk toward her, one hand carrying a cloth shopping bag, was a fair-haired man only a few centimeters taller than herself, though far stronger by the look of him; and his face _was_ the very face of her son Daffodil, if Daffodil had been over forty years of age.
The man halted, looked at Samantha, and did not at first say anything. Samantha halted, looked at the man, and exclaimed, "What in Gaia's name are YOU doing here?" Her voice was not so strident and hostile as it might have been if not for the Wonderflexin coursing through her bloodstream; but it still was clear that she had not been expecting to meet Josiah Redfern.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
"Most recently, Miss Ford, I've been buying ecologically-sound men's toiletries," Josiah declared, lifting the bag in front of him. "Later today, Barney and Ursula Jamison, the second married couple of doctors I've met in the past week or so, will be coming down from North Dakota Sector, bringing along every other healthcare professional from there who was free to join them; Professor Siermaala and I will be demonstrating the new ultrasound scanner to them. Anything else you want to know?"
In an inside-out sort of way, Samantha was at once startled to meet the man whose male gamete had been the only one ever to enter her body, and surprised at herself for not being _more_ startled. For she had not even heard that Josiah Redfern was on the North American continent, being too absorbed in her own pleasures; but the Wonderflexin was preventing her from feeling alarmed. Occasionally in the past, she had suffered nightmares about this fierce, cruel barbarian (for so he had to be, according to the dogma she followed) taking violent revenge on her for the theft of his genes; but now that he was in front of her, he just did not seem at all threatening.
Still, she did have another question for him: "How do you know who I am?" He _should_ not know, after all, that he ever _had_ been made a reproductive donor. DID HE KNOW?
"We have news media in Uganda," Josiah answered matter-of-factly, "and unlike yours, ours mostly tell the truth. You're Samantha Ford. You used to be the Diversity States Ambassador-At-Large. I'm Josiah Redfern, United States Army veteran, but your folks can't arrest me because now I'm a citizen of the African Union."
At this, the failed ambassador found a bit of harrumph she could muster up. "Are you so paranoid that you think we arrest _everyone_ who served the old corporate-fascist regime?"
"No, only the ones who still wish their lives _weren't_ micro-managed by a one-party system. But I know you've grown accustomed to belonging to a pampered aristocracy that no one's allowed to contradict; so be my guest, have the last word, so you _won't_ die of a stroke from _not_ having it." He gave her a gentlemanly nod, then cocked his head in expectation.
The Wonderflexin still would not allow Samantha to be very angry, but she could feel a desire to mock, to act superior--and along those lines, she felt no inhibition or need for caution. Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, "If I didn't _know_ that my son had your genes, I'd never believe--!" Then, so comically that Josiah almost laughed, she broke off the sentence and clamped both hands over her own mouth.
This was exactly what Josiah had prayed for: some circumstance which would permit him to appear to be discovering the truth about his son for the first time, while preserving the secrecy of the way he had _actually_ learned it already. When Denise Heathcock had startled him in the auditorium and he had thought for an instant that _she_ was Samantha, such a good outcome was the hope his brain had felt for one quarter of a second. This time it was the right woman, and he was almost home free... but now he needed to act stupefied with amazement, as _would_ be the case for him right now had it not been for the secret army's intelligence collection against the D.S.A.'s foreign service.
He bent his knees, letting himself sink down as he dropped his cloth bag to the pavement. "Miss Ford, are you sure you don't mean some other man?" He straightened up again. "I've only ever slept with one woman in my life, and she's back in Uganda with our children." He said this AS IF it had not occurred to him that what Samantha was talking about could be artificial fertilization.
But she said nothing more. Instead, the street having no traffic that would endanger her life, she sprinted into the street, bypassing him obliquely, eager to put him out of her sight, eager to get back to her own kind of people.
Josiah watched Samantha running away. He could have overtaken her easily, but it would look bad for him to be pursuing her. And there was no need. What _was_ needful was for him to get with some of the better sort of authorities hereabouts, the Texas Rangers maybe--and have them immediately perform brainwave lie-detection on him. He would say for their databases that Samantha Ford had declared him to be the father of her son, and it would be a matter of record that the brain-scan showed him to be telling the truth to the best of his knowledge.
The heterophobic bimbo was too far off to hear Josiah, but he said in her direction: "That's pretty good flying for not having your broomstick. Thanks for letting the cat out. Even if you say later that I didn't hear you correctly, I can still act now in the sincere _belief_ that I've been told I'm Daffodil's genetic father. And so I shall."
In an inside-out sort of way, Samantha was at once startled to meet the man whose male gamete had been the only one ever to enter her body, and surprised at herself for not being _more_ startled. For she had not even heard that Josiah Redfern was on the North American continent, being too absorbed in her own pleasures; but the Wonderflexin was preventing her from feeling alarmed. Occasionally in the past, she had suffered nightmares about this fierce, cruel barbarian (for so he had to be, according to the dogma she followed) taking violent revenge on her for the theft of his genes; but now that he was in front of her, he just did not seem at all threatening.
Still, she did have another question for him: "How do you know who I am?" He _should_ not know, after all, that he ever _had_ been made a reproductive donor. DID HE KNOW?
"We have news media in Uganda," Josiah answered matter-of-factly, "and unlike yours, ours mostly tell the truth. You're Samantha Ford. You used to be the Diversity States Ambassador-At-Large. I'm Josiah Redfern, United States Army veteran, but your folks can't arrest me because now I'm a citizen of the African Union."
At this, the failed ambassador found a bit of harrumph she could muster up. "Are you so paranoid that you think we arrest _everyone_ who served the old corporate-fascist regime?"
"No, only the ones who still wish their lives _weren't_ micro-managed by a one-party system. But I know you've grown accustomed to belonging to a pampered aristocracy that no one's allowed to contradict; so be my guest, have the last word, so you _won't_ die of a stroke from _not_ having it." He gave her a gentlemanly nod, then cocked his head in expectation.
The Wonderflexin still would not allow Samantha to be very angry, but she could feel a desire to mock, to act superior--and along those lines, she felt no inhibition or need for caution. Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, "If I didn't _know_ that my son had your genes, I'd never believe--!" Then, so comically that Josiah almost laughed, she broke off the sentence and clamped both hands over her own mouth.
This was exactly what Josiah had prayed for: some circumstance which would permit him to appear to be discovering the truth about his son for the first time, while preserving the secrecy of the way he had _actually_ learned it already. When Denise Heathcock had startled him in the auditorium and he had thought for an instant that _she_ was Samantha, such a good outcome was the hope his brain had felt for one quarter of a second. This time it was the right woman, and he was almost home free... but now he needed to act stupefied with amazement, as _would_ be the case for him right now had it not been for the secret army's intelligence collection against the D.S.A.'s foreign service.
He bent his knees, letting himself sink down as he dropped his cloth bag to the pavement. "Miss Ford, are you sure you don't mean some other man?" He straightened up again. "I've only ever slept with one woman in my life, and she's back in Uganda with our children." He said this AS IF it had not occurred to him that what Samantha was talking about could be artificial fertilization.
But she said nothing more. Instead, the street having no traffic that would endanger her life, she sprinted into the street, bypassing him obliquely, eager to put him out of her sight, eager to get back to her own kind of people.
Josiah watched Samantha running away. He could have overtaken her easily, but it would look bad for him to be pursuing her. And there was no need. What _was_ needful was for him to get with some of the better sort of authorities hereabouts, the Texas Rangers maybe--and have them immediately perform brainwave lie-detection on him. He would say for their databases that Samantha Ford had declared him to be the father of her son, and it would be a matter of record that the brain-scan showed him to be telling the truth to the best of his knowledge.
The heterophobic bimbo was too far off to hear Josiah, but he said in her direction: "That's pretty good flying for not having your broomstick. Thanks for letting the cat out. Even if you say later that I didn't hear you correctly, I can still act now in the sincere _belief_ that I've been told I'm Daffodil's genetic father. And so I shall."
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So Daffy's mother knows who the genes were taken from? I guess I assumed that she wouldn't have been told; or at least that she wouldn't have assumed kinship just because Josiah and Daffy look alike. Especially with her, er, drug-induced state of mind. Anyway, I'm glad to see Josiah making progress. 
Copperfox
Well-known member
Yes, very early in this novel I wrote something to indicate that Samantha had formed a definite opinion about her son's father as an individual, though she never spoke to him before this chapter. She has known from the start what Josiah's name is, along with some of his biography; the neo-communist conspirators who stole Josiah's you-know-what provided Samantha with information on him.
For months, I've been wondering how MUCH interaction to have between these two "co-parents." There's got to be some, but I'm still pondering in what circumstances. Of this you may be sure: Josiah WON'T leave Melody Redfern to run away with Samantha and be in dirty movies with her.
For months, I've been wondering how MUCH interaction to have between these two "co-parents." There's got to be some, but I'm still pondering in what circumstances. Of this you may be sure: Josiah WON'T leave Melody Redfern to run away with Samantha and be in dirty movies with her.