The First Love Of Alipang Havens

Not long after the original Jessica Trevette, by Emilio Formentera's invitation, had spied on Aztlan's new President meeting with Swapnil Vamsa, two other men who were considerably more on the side of good met in a spy-proof room in Buenos Aires. Personal meetings in secure spaces had the great merit of NOT exposing communications to electronic intercept. And as an agent for the government of Argentina, a member state of the Mexican Alliance, researcher Santiago Sanchez was mightily interested in what he could learn from Vibol Ritisak, the Cambodian-American man who was the Diversity States Ambassador to the Western Hemisphere Union.

Santiago knew that Vibol was in the habit of never setting foot on Diversity States soil if he could avoid it -- since anytime he returned home, there was the risk that the female-dominated State Department would change its mind about letting a mere male hold so important a diplomatic post. The Fairness Party would never have accredited him for it in the first place if he had been a white man. But since he was always in the thick of diplomatic interactions, Vibol was always picking up hints of interesting events; and the Fairness Party had never given him so much cause to love it that he could not be persuaded to tell some things to friends like Santiago _before_ telling them to his own govenment.

Santiago and other Mexican Alliance operatives had helped Vibol to sneak into Argentina today unsuspected by the D.S. government, while his aide Vonetta Ashford covered for him at his office in Caracas. Now Santiago beheld a particularly agitated look on his Asian friend's face.

"All safeguards are active. What have you got for me today, Vibol?"

"Plenty. By my personal encounters, and by means of my informants, I've picked up clues to events affecting Europe AND Asia AND Africa AND the Americas AND the Pacific Basin."

"Whew, an embarrassment of riches. Let's begin with the Americas."

"All right. You know that one of my clerks goes periodically to Bolivia to pleasure himself with one of their fertility-goddess priestesses." (Bolivia had become the principal home of neo-paganism in the Venezuelan Alliance.) "When he was last with her, she spoke to him about another of her clients who held a media job for the Venezuelan government. That man told her that Caracas would soon start raising indignant cries about the death of Carlos Anselmo, claiming to have discovered that it was a planned assassination motivated by bigotry against Hispanics."

"That's a corroboration. One of my own agents caught a rumor that President Formentera, the new one, was planning to make similar allegations on the Libertad de Aztlan network. As if there would never have been any trouble between Aztlan and the D.S.A. if Anselmo had been in charge at the Rainbow House instead of the 'white supremacist' Jessica Trevette. Easy to condemn Trevette, of course, now that she's dead and can't defend herself."

(Neither Santiago nor Vibol had access to the information that Wilson Kramer had learned up in Heaven, so they had no way of knowing that Jessica Trevette was not yet in Hell.)

"Such an accusation," Vibol continued, "would provide the Venezuelan Alliance with an excuse for some saber-rattling, _without_ provoking China or other major powers, since any military demonstrations Caracas orders would _seem_ to be only aimed at the usual punching bag. Yet force movements under this pretext might still serve as preparation for some kind of aggression against, say, Canada or Alchatka. Of course I have data nanobots to give you for the details; they'll transfer to you through a good handshake when we're done talking."

"Good. What about the Pacific Federation?"

"A Brazilian lady I see now and then has heard a rumor that, in eagerness to mollify China after Hawaii's former High Chietain was found to be working with both Venezuela and the Triads, the new High Chieftain has thrown his support openly to those Hawaiian citizens who think that Hawaii should pull out of the Hemispheric Union and join the Pacific Federation instead."

Santiago grinned. "That should brighten Bert Randall's day when he hears about it -- if, indeed, he hasn't already heard about it through his own informants."

"For sure. But of course, the biggest news is related to Greater China, as most big news is anymore."

"I suppose you mean the ongoing repercussions of the attempts that were made to capture the Lunar Orchard. I'll bet when Beijing founded its Moon colony, they never guessed it would become such an appealing target for covert ops."

"Yeah. Anyway, the Triads are sufficiently smashed by now, and Aztlan sufficiently reminded of its place on the food chain, that China's attention is mostly on the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates."

Santiago nodded. "They won't soon forget the massive damages that the United Nations forced them to pay to China."

"No, they won't," Vibol agreed. "And like the Venezuelan Alliance, those two Caliphates are looking for easier prey than China, in the hopes of restoring their fortunes."

"Does that bring us to the African Union? --because I already know that _someone's_ lately begun supplying the Neo-Marxists in Africa with improved armaments."

"Both someones, that is both the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates. My evidence is that they've speculatively divided all of Africa south of Sudan between them, intending to eliminate the Neo-Marxists as soon as those guerrillas help them bring down the legitimate governments."

"Of course, they would have to move slowly."

"One more thing. Since practically every kind of information on Earth passes through Greater China at some point, one tidbit came to my own colleague, Benito Salazar."

"Salazar? Isn't he running the American consulate in Tibet now?"

"He is. But with so few actual Tibetans remaining, you can meet ethnic Han Chinese as easily there as in Hunan or Guangdong. Benito was at a party with a drunken Chinese cargo-shipping executive, and that man talked about some business he had done IN the Diversity States, something which neither Benito nor I ever heard about otherwise. It would seem a small transaction: buying a quantity of recycled aluminum from Aero-Aquatics, metal reclaimed at the recycling plant inside the Western Enclave."

"Yes, that _would_ seem small," said Santiago. "What makes it big?"

"The fact that, according to the Chinese businessman, the whole shipment of aluminum was formed into slugs of just the right size for _small_ railguns. Not railguns of the caliber that the Triads were hoping to set up in Aztlan and Hawaii; the rounds were only barely larger than a man-portable rail-rifle would use. But that would be perfectly adequate ammunition for a more modest campaign of aggression. Unfortunately, Benito wasn't in a position to verify anything the man said, nor even to be sure what company he was with; and those pieces of aluminum still _could_ be meant for other uses."

"But it needs to be followed up. If it's railgun ammunition, there are _several_ theaters of action where it might be put to use."

Vibol and Santiago could both imagine alternatives, but fresh violence in African nations appeared most immediately likely. One person to whom Santiago intended to give the new information for investigation was Major Helmut Karlen, who would be visiting him soon on behalf of that nameless army of justice which received much of its support from Nigeria and Uganda.
 
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If Winnie Drucker was in fact using her facility's recycled-aluminum output to produce railgun ammunition, the rank-and-file workers at "Earth's Treasures" were not in a position to know it.

One thing that Harmony Havens and her brother Terrance did know was that the general workload at their Nebraska Sector workplace was increasing, and for more than one kind of material. Several of the new exiles processed at Saint Labre had been transferred to the plant, to work mainly on plastic reclamation for various uses in the geothermal-plant buildings. Some of these were able to report having received dental care from Alipang Havens, which gave Alipang's younger siblings something to chat about with Ingrid Plesser and Frodo Von Spock. But with the heightened productivity demands, it would be many days now before they could actually visit other family members again. Consequently, Harmony and Terrance passed as much of their free time with each other as was reasonably possible.

At lunch break on the first Monday in July of 2026, Harmony came into her brother's view brandishing a letter which a Grange rider had brought to her. "It's from Dad!" she exclaimed.

Seeing that the envelope was not yet opened, Terrance told her, "I'm halfway done eating. You get started on your food, and I'll read this out to you."

Harmony accepted the suggestion, and tucked into her venison stew as Terrance read the letter to her. Their father had five things to report: that their mother was in good health, that Miguel De Soto was recovering strength marvellously, that Alipang was going to spend a few days at the actual geothermal-project site, that movie director Isadora Cruller had the okay to start making the sequel to Sectors of the Heart, and that the former Daffodil Ford was going to stage a new concert on Bastille Day.

" 'I suspect that David would have liked to do it on July Fourth, if only to please his father and Brendan; but of course the French Revolution enjoys more official popularity nowadays. And it does give his musicians a bit more time to rehearse. Mom will write the next letter. Love to you both, Dad.' Doesn't look as if either of us will be free to attend that concert." Terrance was looking at his sister more pointedly than he himself was aware of doing; but Harmony noticed.

"Since you're obviously thinking about how much I'm thinking about Daffy, let me inform you that I actually _dreamed_ about him last night. But don't get excited."

"Am I allowed to be curious?"

"Yes, but you won't need to be curious for long. It was anything but mushy. I dreamed I was in some kind of rocky, craggy place, where there were lots of gaps I needed to step over carefully. And I was _carrying_ Daffy under my arm, as if he weighed hardly anything. Only, he was rigid as a plank. So I would set him down as a bridge over each space I had to cross, then pick him up again to use again at the next crevice or whatever. And he never said a word the whole time."

Terrance assumed a more thoughtful expression. "So, are you going to offer your own interpretation for this dream?" As soon as he had asked this question, he hastened to eat the remainder of his own lunch while she answered.

"My best guess, anyway," said Harmony. "I think this dream is telling me that by encouraging Daffy's feelings _even_ a little bit, I've really been selfishly _using_ him. Using him as a device to support my own self-confidence. Knowing that our age difference, plus his gentle nature, would protect me from harassment on his part, I've been basking in his admiration -- enjoying the feeling that _somebody_ male finds me desirable. But looking myself in the eye now, I _don't_ believe that I ever had any intention of marrying him _even_ if I were still single at such a time as he was old enough to get married."

Terrance kept eating, so Harmony was left to speak further: "I wish I had understood this sooner. I hate to hurt him; he deserves better than to be treated with condescension, let alone be led on in an infatuation. Maybe it's a mercy from God that I _won't_ be free to see him again anytime soon."

Terrance took his last swallow of food and his final swig of herbal tea, then replied, "Another mercy is that he's found his father. That happiness ought to blunt the pain of his not having you as his own."

"I sure hope so. The last thing I ever set out to be in life was a heartbreaker."

"But the very fact that you _don't_ ever want to be cruel or two-faced only makes you more charming."

 
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Five days after Alipang Havens with his wife and their newest child had arrived on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation, the time came for the two physicians assigned full-time to the growing Yellowstone labor force to trade places. Gastroenterologist Onita Paniagua had finished treating digestive ailments among workers at the construction site, and would be resuming the intake-center physician job. Nephrologist Felicia Robles was accordingly to be flown to the volcanic caldera zone, to render general medical services -- despite it still being true that the whole Enclave had no other doctor in her specialty for exiles. While a light airplane belonging to the Energy Department carried Dr. Paniagua east to the St. Labre School, Cassie Magruder with her airship turned out to be the first handy transportation to take Dr. Robles west to the former Yellowstone National Park.

Forest Ranger Demophilos, overseeing law and order in the project area, made a last-minute call to St. Labre, asking that Alipang come along with Dr. Robles, because a woman at the current job site had suffered injury to her teeth in a quirky, unforeseeable accident. Kostas didn't elaborate; but Alipang had just managed to work his way through all the serious dental cases among the subjects of in-processing, so he could be spared from St. Labre. Since the infirmary at the construction camp was supplied with anaesthetics, Kim would not be needed for acupunctural pain-blockage, and so Kim and Baby Peggy could be allowed to continue their visit with the Rand family.

Hopping the flight with Cassie, Alipang asked whether she knew anything more about the dental emergency than what the Greek-American Forest Ranger had said. She replied, "All I can add is that the victim was observing a secondary building job, not close to any of the volcanic vents. A sonic blaster was being used to break up some rock in a hillside, and a piece of rock went flying and hit the observer in the face."

Hearing this exchange, Felicia Robles remarked, "I thought those sonic blasters were supposed to break up rock layers in a more controlled way than explosives."

Cassie shrugged. "Probably there was an undetected weak spot in the rock they were blasting, causing that particular spot to break up more violently than expected."

When they landed at the construction zone -- from which Dr. Paniagua had already departed by now -- Alipang soon learned from Kostas that Cassie's guess about the cause of injury had been correct. "The infirmary's this way. One of my Commerce Inspectors, who is paramedic-trained, is with the patient, and has already administered a local anaesthetic." Felicia, trusting Alipang to handle this with no need of help from her, went to the construction office, where she could review records of her colleague's ministrations to the workers here.

Just short of entering the room where his patient waited, Alipang asked Kostas, "Just what kind of 'observing' was this person doing?"

A grin broke out on the older man's face. "I see you _haven't_ heard. You're going to love this. One of the top reporters for the old Oneness Channel, as part of the big media shakeup since the Indoctrination Department closed shop, was transferred to the Enclave to do government-approved reports on the geothermal project."

"Someone more important than Dynamo Earthquake?"

"Not more important; but of special interest to you." Kostas' face grew impish. "See if you recognize her. I'll give you a hint: she looks a lot older in person than in a revised holograph image."

They entered the room, where a female Commerce Inspector stood over a middle-aged woman who reclined in an examination chair. The patient's face was not familiar to Alipang at the first glance; but he was not put to the test of closer visual study, for the young uniformed woman supplied the answer by speaking to the patient:

"Here we go, Citizen Gardner, the dentist is here now."

Alipang glanced at Kostas, who seemed to be holding back a storm of laughter. So, Kostas must have already known how propaganda-journalist Rhoda Gardner, back in Virginia, had persecuted Alipang's father with spitefully-fabricated accusations of racism. And now this professional slander artist was about to be on the receiving end of dental instruments wielded by the son of her former target.

Being human, Alipang did experience a flickering temptation to identify himself pointedly, so he could see and relish the sudden fear in Rhoda Gardner's eyes. But that would be an unprofessional thing to do.

So he simply got to work assessing the damage to the woman's teeth.
 
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"None of you youngsters has had the chance to get to know the ocean as we Hawaiians know it," said Ralph Kono; "but you're at a good place to start. This rocky point is called Ke'alaikahiki. My ancient ancestors used it as a place to teach their children to navigate by the stars, because you get a great view of the sky from here, with important guides like what you call the Southern Cross. We call it Hānaiakamalama. This was also the traditional starting place for voyages to Tahiti."

The tourist guide who had once shared a hair-raising adventure with Yang Sung-Kuo and Bert Randall was now addressing Bert's adopted children Meretseger and Montu, along with their cousin Colin Kerang. Not far off were Colin's parents: Native Australian Prentice Kerang and his wife, Bert's sister Emma. Emma was carrying her baby nephew, Allen Randall. The group was exploring the island of Kaho'olawe, smallest of Hawaii's major islands, which had no permanent human inhabitants. Bert and Ma'at, trusting Ralph and the Kerangs to keep the children safe, were over on Maui right now. Bert was meeting with officials of the new Hawaiian government, facilitating Hawaii's probable change of affiliation; and Ma'at, under the protection of certain Hawaiian plainclothes policemen whose friendship the rugged Australian had cultivated for years, was shopping. (She was still getting used to the idea that she had a husband who had plenty of money, AND who didn't mind letting her spend a good share of it.)

When Ralph had finished summarizing the historical glories of this location, and rhapsodizing over the joys of open-ocean boating, Colin spoke up: "I've taken Monty and Rita canoeing a few times, back in Australia. They did pretty well." It was Colin who had finally come up with "Rita" as a Western-type nickname which could be remotely thought of as derived from his girl cousin's Egyptian name.

"But I don't think Mom will let us try an ocean canoe anytime soon," remarked Meretseger.

"Well, Aunt Ma'at wasn't scared to let us all be on this island," said Colin; "and wasn't it a U.S. Navy bombing range in the past, covered with unexploded bombs?"

"Yes, but the last of that ordnance is gone by now," Ralph told him, "thanks to advances in sonic probing. Believe me, if there were still ANY hazard of our stepping on an old bomb, Mr. Randall would never have left you here to play while he performed his mission."

"Okay, since we won't get blown up, let's go look at some of those hibiscus bushes my sister wanted to see," suggested Montu.

The day continued to pass pleasantly, and without mishap. They ate their picnic lunch near the giant rain-collection tank which ensured a fresh-water supply for the plant life of Kaho'olawe, and later had a look at the desalinization plant which provided drinking water for people visiting the island. In the late afternoon, Ralph's dataphone -- the latest model, a gift to him from Bert -- received a message that the hovercraft which had brought them to Kaho'olawe was coming to fetch them, with Bert and Ma'at on board, a little earlier than expected.

When the tourist party met the hovercraft at its landing ramp, Meretseger and Montu greeted their birth mother and adoptive father with as much tender affection as usual, and received as much in return. Only Bert's sister picked up hints that Bert had something distressing on his mind. What the scholar-adventurer spoke about openly was the excellent progress being made toward incorporating Hawaii in the Pacific Federation; this was of course good news, and Emma resigned herself to her brother not being at liberty to discuss whatever it was that he was less happy about.

Even Ma'at was unaware of the encrypted message which had come to Bert's own dataphone.

This message had informed Bert of a resurgence in guerrilla activity by the Neo-Marxists in Africa. Even with advance intelligence of the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates intending to support such aggression, it had still been surprising that they got things in motion so rapidly.

An attack had been made on the New Vatican in Nigeria, using lasers and compact missiles. Among the dead were sixteen civilians... and three persons connected with the secret army of liberty: Father Dunak Okigbo, former police detective Todd Carpenter, and former banker Etienne LaClede.

As Bert Randall beheld with grateful eyes that his loved ones were all safe, he remembered the day when he, Ralph, and Yang Sung-Kuo had defended themselves against would-be assassins. Those tribal-fanatic types had had no link to Africa's Neo-Marxists; but murderous thugs were murderous thugs wherever you went.
 
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Chapter 115: Josiah Waxes Philosophical

With Alipang having the dental work in hand at the geothermal construction site, Kostas Demophilos decided he could squeeze himself in for a dental checkup. An old trailer had been allotted for Alipang's use, reminding him of his own setup in Sussex. Once Kostas was inside for his appointment and the door was closed, he said to Alipang, "According to my best information, they're NOT listening in on you here; someone finally decided you're not a menacing seditionist." The Forest Ranger sat down in the examination chair. "Which leads nicely into something you'll be pleased to hear: something I picked up from the police grapevine."

Alipang placed his light above Kostas' face. "And what would that be?"

"It's about your very dear friend, Rhoda Gardner. After you treated her mouth injuries the other day, she began bragging that you had _wanted_ to hurt her while you had her in this chair, but her magnificent force of personality intimidated you into just doing your job right."

Alipang smiled sourly, realizing that Kostas knew Ms. Gardner was a shameless liar. "No good deed goes unpunished."

"Wait, it gets better. She made this boast to the Energy Undersecretary, and -- I don't know the verbatim words, but I'm told that Energy chewed her out to the bone marrow! Told her _never_ to make up slanders against you again, and even _specified_ that she knew Gardner's past accusations against your Dad's clinic in Virginia were fake!"

The Filipino's swarthy face brightened. "Well, how about that? The Indoctrination Department must have _really_ been well crushed, for even a sympathetic bureaucrat to be _able_ to say that much now in my family's favor. Dad and Mom will be tickled to hear about this!" On this happier note, he commenced the dental examination.

He had administered one of the evaporating mouth-cleanser capsules, which had been furnished for his use here, and was flossing Kostas' teeth for good measure, when the sound of a descending helicopter was heard outside. Refusing to be distracted from his patient until his work was finished, he found he didn't have to take any trouble to learn what was up. The trailer door opened, and in stepped the tall, handsome Brendan Hyland.

"What's up, jarhead?" said Alipang. "I've still got a few teeth left to floss."

"I wish it were good news," replied Brendan. "But it isn't. The Neo-Marxists have gotten reinforced and re-equipped, and have started hitting the best-governed African countries. They started in Nigeria, in Onitsha."

Alipang's head snapped up. "Did anything happen to your family?"

"No, thank God. But our priest, Father Dunak, was killed by the terrorists -- blown apart by a laser. In Heaven before he knew what had hit him. So I have to get back." Brendan could not let himself say anything to Alipang about the deaths of Todd Carpenter and Etiennne LaClede, since unlike the case of Dunak Okigbo, they were men he knew _only_ through covert operations.

"I'm sorry to hear about Father Dunak. What about Josiah and Professor Siermaala?"

"Josiah will be flying out with me; we'll take the Atmosfleet putt-putt up to Winnepeg, then catch a Canadian hypersonic liner for Africa. But Matti will be staying in America, and for at least some of the time in the Enclave. The Texas Rangers will watch out for his safety, and soon those businessmen from India will be in this country to meet with him."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Alipang, while finishing with the last few teeth in Kostas' lower jaw.

"Yes, there is, Filipino Fireball: pray hard. Your prayer-gun shoots heavy-caliber ammo."

The very instant he could step away from Kostas, Alipang flung himself at the man who had served in the place of an older brother for him in Smoky Lake. They embraced with feeling, and Alipang gulped, "Go with God, jarhead."

 
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Josiah Redfern, meanwhile, was in Atmosfleet's terminal at the former Ellsworth Air Force Base, finalizing his and Brendan's reservations for the first-stage flight up to Canada. An incoming plane was just now discharging passengers; and among the few persons waiting for someone was an elderly man Josiah had met a few times in Rapid City: Avery Glass, the man chosen to head the dentistry faculty at the exiles' new university. With the aging dentist was a woman whom Josiah assumed to be Avery's daughter Lenore; she looked as if she were simultaneously tired from long activity, and buoyed up by some good news. When he had finished his business at the desk, Josiah walked over to greet them.

"Doctor Glass? And Miss Glass?"

Lenore nodded, reaching out to shake hands with Josiah while still half-watching the door through which travellers were beginning to enter. "Yes. My brother's coming! My brother Larry! They've allowed him entry!"

"What, for the Yellowstone project?" asked Josiah. As far as he knew, all new personnel for that project were coming in through the Northern Cheyenne Reservation.

"No, he's going to have a record-keeping job at the new university!" exclaimed Avery, looking more lively and hopeful than Josiah had yet seen him in their brief acquaintance.

"And what about your son?" asked Lenore, who had heard about Josiah being revealed as the father of David alias Daffodil. "Is he going to go to Uganda with you?"

"Not at this time," sighed the Army veteran. "But seeing _anyone_ else having a family reunion is a good sign for me. Maybe in a--"

He was interrupted by Avery pointing -- and shouting at the top of his lungs for the first time in Josiah's experience. "LARRY!" Out of the incoming crowd emerged a man taller than Brendan but visibly thinner; Avery and Lenore pounced lovingly upon him.

Josiah left them to their moment of joy. His own errand being completed, he caught the light-rail train to the civic center, where David was putting his musicians through a rehearsal for the Bastille Day Stun Jazz Concert. There were several more performers now than the first time, including a man with a set of harmonicas in all different keys. The busy young concert producer had not yet heard the grim news from Africa, the news which was compelling Josiah and Brendan to head for home.

When Josiah entered the auditorium, the ensemble was playing a tune he didn't recognize, but one which made him imagine what the smoke-fogged jazz clubs of the nineteen-fifties must have been like. Featured in this number was an added vocalist: the non-exile girl Omnipotence Cortez, who was the Equalityball coordinator for Nebraska Sector. The sample of her singing that Josiah heard proved that she was being included in the ensemble entirely on the basis of her political connections. He waited for the song, halts and resumptions included, to be finished before he made his presence known.

"Son, by all indications, you and your orchestra are going to outdo yourselves!" He did not add his thought: In spite of being saddled with this no-talent singer.

David beamed at him. "Dad! I'm glad you're here; but you look as if something's wrong."

Josiah drew a long breath. "Something is. It's called the sinful world. The same enemies Brendan Hyland had to fight last year in Nigeria, are attacking the cities there again. Innocent people have died, and not enough _guilty_ ones have died... YET. Brendan has to get back to Nigeria, and I have to get back to Uganda."

David's face fell. "Has Uganda also been attacked?"

"No, but you can bet pesos to centavos that it _will_ be."
 
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"So when will I see you again?" asked David.

"I don't know, because I don't know how much of a workload will be piled onto my hospital because of the new hostilities."

"At least you won't be in the fighting," the boy observed softly.

"It's true that I'm not likely to be." Saying this, Josiah unconsciously laid his hand on the butt of his flechette pistol.

"I know you used to be a soldier. Do you feel now as if being OUT of the fighting makes you a failure somehow?"

"Maybe a little bit like that." He looked at his sidearm. "In the whole time since this weapon was issued to me back in Kampala, I've used it in earnest only once; and that was just to force information out of a thug whom you and Wilson Havens had already defeated."

"You don't actually miss fighting, do you?"

"Not for its own sake. But when an enemy brings the war to us...."

"By all accounts, Dad, you've already done your share in battle. You did it before your sperm was even stolen to make me. Now you're a healer -- on the technological side of it, but still part of the business of healing people. Isn't that what you promised to your friend Pablo the medic?"

"So it is." He patted his gun as if it were an old dog. "We each have a role God gives us to play, and the roles differ at different times. I'll keep on praying that you find the role He plans for you."

David managed a smile. "And I'll ask Him to let His plan for me include at least a visit with you in Kampala."

Hugging his boy, Josiah said quietly, "You stay in touch with that Doctor Havens while we're apart. I couldn't ask for a better man to act in my place as your wise man and role model."

"Yes, he is a good man. So is his father Eric. What I've seen of _their_ relationship, helped me to understand how good _having_ a father could be, which made it that much happier getting to meet you." The boy squeezed his father hard, then tried not to weep while saying goodbye.

Less than three hours later, Brendan joined Josiah in Rapid City. They said goodbye to Matti Siermaala, and to friends they had made at Sioux San Hospital, particularly Zamoria the helpful nurse. Then it was onto the propeller-driven passenger plane to fly to Winnipeg. Their connecting suborbital flight would land them in Angola, which so far had not been hit by the Neo-Marxists. There the two war veterans would separate: Brendan taking a plane to Nigeria in the expectation of combat, and Josiah flying to Uganda in the expectation of wondering how men younger than himself were doing in combat.
 
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Brendan and Josiah were met in Winnipeg by Major Helmut Karlen, from the European branch of the secret army. "During the flight," he told them, "we'll use our secure-speech masks, so I can brief you on the state of events in Africa. Also, I'll provide both of you with blood-refresher capsules, to help your bodies change their sleep-cycles rapidly, so you'll be ready for action as soon as you land at home. It'll be barely dawn for Brendan when he lands in Nigeria, but almost mid-morning for Josiah when he lands in Uganda."

The spaceplane the three men boarded was Canadian; but the Canadian government understood something of the security needs of the beleaguered nation of Poland, in whose forces the German-born Helmut Karlen served. So no one in the hypersonic liner's crew said anything about Helmut, Brendan and Josiah donning the devices that would let them speak to each other in complete secrecy; the masks used a frequency selected not to interfere with any frequency used these days in air travel, besides being extremely low-powered. Once they had made takeoff and were climbing through the stratosphere, Brendan opened the conference with a question:

"I know that we lost Father Dunak, Todd and Etienne. Is there any evidence that they were deliberately targetted?"

Brendan did not mention the Zurich mission in which he and Etienne LaClede had both taken part; that mission was known to Helmut, but did not fall within Josiah's need-to-know. Helmut's answer left the need-to-know boundaries intact:

"Going by the intel we have so far, no, none of your three friends was purposely singled out; they just happened to be in the line of fire. Which means that our enemies possibly still _don't_ know the particulars of those men's careers. What you _weren't_ told in the initial report was that someone _was_ targetted purposely: the Pope." Seeing Brendan stiffen at this, Helmut hastily added: "But his bodyguards saved him; some of _them_ died, but he got away with only minor injuries."

While Brendan was exhaling, Josiah followed up: "Either Neo-Marxists or hardcore Islamists would be happy to kill the Pope. Now, I understand that the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates are both supporting the Neo-Marxists, but all the boots on the ground for the enemy side are still the Neo-Marxists themselves. Which leads to the question: do the Neo-Marxists retain target discretion? Would it have been _their_ idea to attack the New Vatican, or would one of the Caliphates have _directed_ them to strike there?"

"Our analysts are _very_ busy on that one," replied Helmut. "But the inclination is to believe that the Neo-Marxists were left to select their own victims, because both Caliphates have other fish to fry at the same time: putting pressure on moderate Muslim nations. The Egyptian Caliphate is supporting local Islamist rebels in Morocco, while the Babylonian Caliphate is doing the same in the Parthian Republic. Both regimes count on Greater China to stay out of the situation, since Chinese interests are not being directly threatened, and the Chinese are still busy making sure they've got the Triads mopped up."

"Are we doing anything to help Morocco and Parthia?" asked Brendan.

"Yes. Yirimyahu Kohen is heading a team of Mossad veterans which will assist the Moroccan government against the terrorists there. And India's Dacoits, in coordination with us, will render similar aid to the Parthians. Just as with their commercial ventures in America, India is grabbing opportunities to enlarge its own importance in ways which don't antagonize Beijing."

"Speaking of nations helping other nations, is China meeting the enemy expectation of their not helping us? I realize that Beijing, even with liberalization, can't be overly enthusiastic about fighting _against_ any kind of Marxists; but they surely know that our Neo-Marxists are now backed by the two Caliphates which recently offended China."

"Funny you should mention that. As I was flying to Canada to meet you, a message reached me that a Chinese delegation came to see Miranda Bhekisisa." Helmut was referring to the Zulu woman who had recently succeeded to the post of Chairperson of the African Union Commission. "All of us will probably hear more about that soon after you two gentlemen arrive in your home countries."

"Is there anything you haven't mentioned yet that affects Uganda?" Josiah demanded.

"The enemy doesn't seem to have started any new ops there so far. But it is a swiftly-developing situation; so both of you men will be made ready for anything you might encounter. At our stop in Angola, both of you will be issued with body armor; updated on your immunization against all known poisons; and provided with hand-thrown versions of the overhead-blast sonic-stunner grenades that police forces use."

"And here I had just gotten resigned to _not_ being any part of the actual fighting."

Helmut patted Josiah's shoulder. "Hopefully, you won't be. Just consider this a gram of prevention. I'm sure Todd, Etienne and Father Dunak are in no hurry to have you join them in Heaven."
 
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HERE'S A PEEK INTO THE WRITER'S EXPERIENCE. ESPECIALLY THE EXPERIENCE OF AN AUTHOR WHOSE CREATIVE STREAM KEEPS GETTING DIVERTED BY THOSE PESKY OLD REAL-WORLD CONCERNS.

In summer of 2012, right here, I was in a quandary. Should Josiah Redfern fade out of onstage action and get back to his African hospital job, or should I concoct some shoot-'em-up action for him in Uganda? I opted for shoot-'em-up, and gave my hero who's supposed to look like Kiefer Sutherland one more combat scene. Oddest thing is, when I looked for this now in 2025, it seemed to have dropped down a rabbit hole. I say, "seemed." So I figured I would use available "rewriteable" space on this very page to reconstruct the missing action sequence. Perhaps you've guessed it: >after< I wrote an episode similar to what I remembered writing, then I saw that the "lost" sequence existed after all-- farther down on >this< very page!!!!!!!

Josiah's friend appears in this post now instead of Josiah, in a somewhat low-tech engagement, weeks after the battle beside Lake Nalubaale. Where Josiah was on the ground in the older (and still retained) scene, Raleigh Akello is the nose gunner aboard a ground-attack plane, supporting Nigerian militiamen who are defending an exposed town. This town sits astride one of the roads leading to the Nigerian Vatican (where Brendan Hyland can sometimes be found). My quick retcon works with older narration, because I've established that "The Possible Future" includes >plenty< of strife, especially on the continents of North America and Africa. So, lights, camera, action!

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Tactics inside out, but seem to be working!" shouted Bitalo, Raleigh Akello's pilot, not expecting his friend to say anything in reply.

Raleigh possessed enough knowledge of propeller-driven aircraft to be useful here. He had been fascinated to learn about the Texas Rangers giving those obsolete Tu-95's a new lease on life. Where he and Josiah Redfern had previously been up against Neo-Marxists, the opposition here consisted of hidebound, unbending, beat-women-up- if-they-let-their- hair-be-seen Sharia warriors.

The defense plan, facing refurbished MiG-21 fighters (antiques, but still jets) with refurbished American A-26 light bombers (even more antique, >but< with far more sophisticated upgrades) was "inside out" because the defenders on the ground were doing more damage to the MiG-21's than the A-26's could, while the A-26's were inflicting more casualties on the enemy ground force than the friendly infantry plus armed civilians were able to inflict.

If this were not paradoxical enough, dorsally-mounted blur-projectors on the light bombers were confusing the targeting systems of the jets, which did at least as much to save the lives of friendlies on the ground as to save the bomber crews. Only one A-26 had been shot down so far by an enemy jet, and none by the attacking motorized infantry; in return, three of the MiG-21's had been destroyed by shoulder-launched anti-aircraft missiles, while the defenders' air-to-air score so far was only damage to several jets, no kills. All in all, the defenders' present chances of a complete victory were better than fifty-fifty. As far as Raleigh, Bitalo and their crewmates could tell, the Islamists had committed all their available forces to the assault, no reserves to be seen.

Well, not quite >no< reserves.

"Unidentified encrypted signal, azimuth two-five-two!" called the lead A-26.... five seconds before what seemed like pom-pom-style anti-aircraft fire shattered its left wing. There still was a chance for that aircrew to survive their fall (as part of the first shot-down crew had), because of impact foam being released inside the plane. Bitalo threw his plane into a turning climb, and soon shouted, "Technicals!" This referred to something seen in many African countries: ordinary trucks remade into infantry fighting vehicles by mounting heavy weapons on the truck bed and-or atop the cab.

One more A-26, banking away from the new gunfire threat, banked far enough that its blur- projector no longer obscured it from the jets. This plane became the first one completely blown into falling scrap metal by a MiG-21; but the friendlies on the ground fired enough S.A.M.'s at the fighters to make them scatter evasively in turn.

The technicals enjoyed one extra survival boost. Lacking holographic disguise, they spewed smoke like old-fashioned naval ships The attack bombers, lacking sophisticated ground- contour radar, wasted ordnance trying to hit the enemy vehicles. By the time the targets were taken out, some or all of the crewmen had scattered for cover on foot. The A-26 crews, assured that their groundside friends knew about the technicals, and realizing that their gun mounts could still strafe the main enemy ground force, turned their attention to finding any opposing troops who >weren't< close to friendlies.

Then one rocket-- either from the aggressors, or as accidental friendly fire-- took off a piece of the right wing. This, at an altitude far below bailout for men without anti-gravity harnesses. Feeling the controls failing, Bitalo put everything into setting the plane down where it >wouldn't< squash noncombatants or be finished off by the terrorists.

On the ground, the crew egressed the plane. Raleigh had taken a step for which he had drilled, detaching two of the machine guns; their mounts had been designed to enable this. He and Bitalo meant to cover their escaping crewmates, but shooting from here would inevitably hit some of the friendlies in the surging ground battle. So they fired into the ground nearby, settling for keeping enemies at a distance. When the other airmen had gotten to where they could contribute to the town's defense, which pretty much coincided with exhausting their ammo, the two men drew their sidearms, regular 9mm semi-automatics.

They and the town held out until Vatican-subordinated attack helicopters-- from a squadron calling itself The Third Air Templars-- arrived to settle the enemy's hash.
 
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First of all--THANK YOU for giving Daffy a new name. "David" makes a world of difference.

In response to your question, I'm not sure. Maybe it would be better to keep Josiah's involvement in action more closely tied to what David is doing. Or let us find out about Josiah's involvement in the fighting through David--a letter or something.
 
Remember: in story-chronology _this_ post occurs not long before the newly-written scene above, but with _enough_ time separation so that Raleigh Akello will be adequately recovered from getting hurt in the scene where Josiah is present.

Back in 2012,I didn't see Glenburne's remark in time, so I let Carol decide.

When Brendan parted company with Josiah at an Angolan airport, he hitched a ride on a lighter-than-air ship which was bound for Onitsha. A team of Angolan volunteers, doctors and nurses, was making the airship flight in order to help care for Nigerian casualties from the recent Neo-Marxist attack. As it turned out, they made their trip without mishap, and Brendan was soon reunited with Jennifer, John-Paul, Bridget, George, Claire and Virgil. Very soon, he would be resuming his old functions (never officially discontinued) with New Vatican security. In view of the new threat level in Africa, the secret army agreed that Brendan would now be most useful in this theater of operations, guarding what had become his home turf.

As for Josiah, his ride was a passenger jump-jet belonging to the Ugandan Civil Air Authority; it had brought Ugandan officials to Angola for a meeting about coordinating trans-African air-transport policies. The African Union did have holographic virtual conferencing, but some contacts were still made in person; since member nations were still entirely sovereign, it was considered good form to have personal meetings between officials from different nations -- a human closeness to offset their NOT being excessively tied together governmentally. The Ugandan delegation was now due to return to Entebbe Airport, and already had instructions from Kampala to bring Medical Technologist Redfern with them. The staff at Mulago National Referral Hospital would be mighty glad to have Josiah back. There was time for him to phone home before he took off, telling his wife Melody how his parting with David had gone.

The jump-jet was about halfway across Congo, when authorities of that country passed a warning for Uganda-bound air traffic to detour into Tanzanian airspace. Neo-Marxists had opened a new offensive, a sudden flurry of small but lethal raids on locations along a line between the Congolese cities of Isiro and Bukavu; and at least one raid had featured a sonic-blast weapon, which could be a threat to aircraft. The Ugandan C.A.A. flight accordingly became one of many to change course, placing itself under Tanzanian guidance.

The increased burden on Tanzania's air-traffic controllers created some delay for everyone. It was mid-afternoon before the plane carrying Josiah received its clearance to overfly Lake Nalubaale, also known as Lake Victoria, on approach to Uganda's Entebbe Airport. Josiah had been able to get word of the delay to Melody, telling her simply to stay home, he would get his own ground transportation for the approximately sixty kilometers from the airport to their house. Now, with the northern shore of the broad lake in sight, he allowed himself to glance casually down at the water on which he and his family had often gone boating.

But at that moment, something other than a family pleasure craft was breaking the surface. The jump-jet was still too high up for Josiah to see details; but he could tell that he was seeing vessels of a type which neither Uganda nor Tanzania normally used in the lake they shared.

Instinct unbuckled his seat belt and shot him toward the cockpit. "Pilot!" he shouted. "Submersible hovercraft surfacing right below us -- possible hostiles!"

The pilot was an Ugandan military veteran, who had been part of past U.N. peacekeeping missions. His own intuition sensed that Josiah's intuition should be heeded. His radar and g.p.s. confirming for him that he had room to maneuver, he skillfully cut in vectored thrust to dodge sideways.

Because he did this, the E.M.R.G. projectile which would have shattered one of his engines, only clipped his vertical stabilizer, leaving the jump-jet still flyable.

As the co-pilot sent out a warning call on all frequencies, the pilot made a snap decision. There was a clear lane of space leading north-by-northeast, which he could safely take if he poured on the speed right now. Neo-Marxists opening fire from the lake were sure to cause a panic among the numerous incoming passenger planes; many would try to crowd in for a landing before they were hit, adding collision danger to the menace posed by railgun fire.

"Back in your seat!" he told Josiah. "Tell the others I'm running for the highway!" The pilot was referring to the major highway which ran from Entebbe up to Kampala; a vertical-landing aircraft could easily touch down on or near that road.

Scrambling back into the passenger compartment, Josiah shouted in one of the languages of Uganda: "Enemies shooting up at us from the lake! Pilot avoiding the airport approach! HANG ON!"

Somewhere ahead of them, not clearly visible from the passenger seats but frightfully audible, a larger passenger plane took one railgun projectile right through the fuel tanks and another through the cockpit. Evading that mid-air explosion, the Ugandan C.A.A. plane dashed for safety... and somehow made it to the highway, landing directly on the pavement about two kilometers north of the airport. No one on board was injured.

"Everyone out!" yelled the pilot. "This is about to become a battlefield!"
 
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:eek: Sounds like things are getting hot...I'll look forward to reading more whenever I next get to a computer.
 
The southern outskirts of Kampala had once been severely crime-ridden; but in Uganda as in other host countries, the influx of law-abiding American emigrants following the Fairness Revolution had provided a strong force for social -- not socialist -- improvement. The area between Entebbe and central Kampala was now a peaceful and flourishing region; but this made it all the more shocking for local citizens to see an airplane making a forced landing beside the highway, while what sounded like a battle was occurring around the airport and the lakeshore.

The civil-aviation officials, conscientious public servants all, spread out to tell the bewildered civilians that there was an attack on Entebbe, so they should avoid that vicinity. "Is it like when the Israelis attacked there?" asked a not very intelligent-looking man.

"Not like that at all!" the leading official replied brusquely. "When the Israelis came, it was only to fight terrorists; the people hitting the airport now ARE terrorists! Now, clear the way for the army!"

"Didn't they just send the army over to Congo to help against the attacks THERE?" said an elderly woman.

"Not all of them! There'll be forces on the way any minute now!"

During this, the co-pilot of the C.A.A. plane had been keeping in communication with the capital. Now he beckoned to his pilot and Josiah, and announced, "They say the airport security guards have set up a perimeter. The hovercraft are just now coming ashore, at least five of them. No blur-projector camouflage, but all mounting small railguns, just above man-portable size."

"That's bad enough," growled Josiah. Then he turned to the chief pilot, whom he remembered as giving the name of Raleigh Akello. "Akello, are you armed?"

"Ten-millimeter semi-automatic pistol." Akello drew it forth. "Ten rounds to the magazine, one spare magazine."

Josiah nodded, while drawing his own flechette pistol. "I've got more ammo for this. If those Neo-Marxists operate like the Al-Qaeda terrorists I fought in Iraq, they like to mingle with crowds. Look there." He pointed toward the airport property. "Anytime now, a swarm of panicky civilians is going to come running our way. But I'll bet you a thousand shillings--" (referring to Uganda's currency) "--that some of them _won't_ be civilians. They'll be on-the-scene buddies of the guys in the hover-subs."

"Planted ahead of time?"

"Yes. And the hovercraft _themselves_ had to have been planted in the lake ahead of time, before the strike against Nigeria. They couldn't have been sneaked there _since_ that attack, with all our people on the alert. This is a _very_ coordinated campaign. Listen, you and I won't do any good rushing TO the airport, the guards there wouldn't be sure we weren't more terrorists. But we can hold a position here, and watch for hostiles. Have your co-pilot lead the officials to some safer place, and we'll tell the police we're standing by here." Without even thinking about it, Josiah was reverting to the corporal who had led patrols in Iraq; but Raleigh Akello didn't argue.

Soon the C.A.A. delegation was being led to relative safety, and the police in Kampala were aware -- and would notify the army -- that two friendlies were forting up in a downed airplane just north of the besieged airport.

The first response out of Kampala did not take a flesh-and-blood form; instead, three modest-sized helicopter drones came flying southward at a low altitude. Each was carrying two packets of lightweight rockets, which had no internal guidance, but which could be accurately aimed by the controllers. The drones paid no attention to the fleeing crowd which was now streaming northward from Entebbe Airport; but one paused and hovered, optical sensors trained on the downed jump-jet. A radio call from Kampala ordered Josiah and Raleigh to show their faces for the drone to see. Soon the two men's identities were confirmed, and the drone rejoined its companions enroute to combat the hover-subs.

A fierce desire to phone Melody now filled Josiah. But it would just feel TOO strange to tell her, "I'll be a bit late for supper, darling, I've gotten into the war after all."
 
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There were seven of the armed submersible hovercraft in all: similar to what the secret army had used in the "music raid" on Wismar, but less sophisticated. They had indeed been planted long before; in fact, agents of the Neo-Marxist movement, with technical help from the Egyptian Caliphate, had _assembled_ them underwater over a period of months, in the course of pretended scuba-diving classes.

Two military helicopters stationed at the airport were destroyed on the ground by railgun fire before their crews could even board them. Fortunately for Entebbe Airport, though, the land security force possessed more than small arms; it also had two grenade launchers, and one particle beam weapon comparable to the ones formerly used by the Overseers in the Diversity States. With these armaments, they damaged three of the attacking hovercraft before their own particle beam was knocked out. The still-living terrorists in the immobilized vehicles carried on a firefight with the airport guards, while the others decided to detour around the airport on the west side.

The United Nations still maintained a small military base near Entebbe; but the personnel currently there were only lightly armed, and all were from the Venezuelan Alliance. They accordingly hunkered down where they were, making no attempt to help the Ugandans.

The four detouring hover-subs were confronted by the helicopter drones, leading to a lively exchange of fire. All three drones were shot down, but not without getting their own rockets away; two of the hovercraft were destroyed outright, leaving just two still headed for Kampala. These were now on an evasive course, dodging between trees and buildings; no longer on a line following the highway where Joshua and Raleigh waited.

But the fleeing civilians _were_ coming along the highway: by foot, by car and by motorcycle. Josiah, pulling the hood of his flexible body armor up over his head, emerged from the jump-jet to get a closer look at people passing by. He was back in Iraq, trying to sort out the innocents from the threats....

THERE! Four men in an approaching propane-fuelled automobile just looked _wrong;_ they looked happy and confident, rather than terrified. Besides which, having lived in Africa for years now, Josiah knew that all black Africans _didn't_ look alike; and these men didn't quite look Ugandan.

To think was to act. Josiah had been given three of the sonic-stun grenades. They were shaped like frisbees, and when thrown in the air they would release their downward-aimed burst of infrasonic waves as soon as they passed over any detectable human or moving object that was farther away than six meters from the user. Their greatest merit was that since they did not kill, innocent bystanders caught in the effect radius would not die. Josiah wished that they had had these during Operation Iraqi Freedom. He hurled his frisbee-grenades toward the oncoming car in rapid succession, before the occupants of that vehicle realized they had been spotted.

The infrasonic blasts stunned the four suspects; the car went out of control and rolled over in a ditch not far from the plane. Some fleeing civilians were also stunned, but happily none of these were hit by motor vehicles. "Cover me!" Josiah called to Raleigh, then dashed through the stream of refugees to the overturned car as fast as he safely could.

All four men in the car were unconscious; all four possessed automatic weapons of a model not used by Ugandan police or soldiers; and with them in the back seat was a highly ominous-looking satchel. Backing away from the car, he used his dataphone to tap into the secondary tactical frequency of Kampala's police. "Calling capital police and all military units! This is Josiah Redfern, at site of previously reported landing of C.A.A. Flight 9031. Probable terrorists sighted carrying unknown device, possibly chemical or biological. Please respond."

"This is Central Police Command," a female voice replied. "Armored units are now enroute to your--"

This was as much as Josiah heard before the shots hit him. What seemed to be flechette ammo like that of his own pistol struck his head, ribcage and left hip. His flex-armor absorbed most of the force of the shots; but it was slightly penetrated at many points, inflicting numerous minor wounds, and the kinetic impact hurled him some four meters through the air.
 
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Not allowing himself the luxury of lying dazed, Josiah scrambled to get on the far side of the overturned automobile from his assailants. Meanwhile, the innocent civilians in the fleeing crowd obligingly distinguished themselves from the enemy -- by stampeding left and right away from the three men who had fired at Josiah.

These men were indeed carrying flechette pistols similar to his. Of course, as pedestrians in the crowd, they would want to carry smaller, more concealable weapons than what the men in the car had. Josiah would have liked to take one of those automatic weapons now; but his foes were already spreading out to finish him, and he couldn't afford even the few seconds it would take to reach inside the car. The terrorists' original plan to be inconspicuous worked in Josiah's favor: they doubtless had torso armor, but armor extending to heads and limbs would have made them too obvious. Thus Josiah, shooting from down on the ground with his gun set for minimum dispersal of its darts, could easily put shots into both legs of the first enemy who came into view, then a third shot into the head as the man fell. One additional enemy with a rifle rushed around a corner, unwisely shouting an Allah Akbar which invited Josiah's next shot into his throat.

Raleigh was not idle during this. Taking the risk of emerging from the jump-jet so he could get a line of fire without hitting civilians, he opened fire on the other two of the first three hostiles before they realized he was a threat. Getting off seven shots from his semi-automatic in two seconds, he felled both of them, then ran to see if Josiah was all right.

Pulling his friend into the best cover available to them, Josiah said, "Thanks! But you're not armored -- should have kept hidden."

Grinning, Raleigh replied, "What, and let an American brag that he did everything alone? But here, let's take those rifles from the car." He began to reach in through a car window.

"Wait! I just thought: those weapons might be set for DNA recognition, and boobytrapped against any non-terrorist touching them. Let's just sit tight and keep a lookout; our troops _should_ be showing up any--"

But of the two men Raleigh had shot, only one had been killed, by a head shot. The other, having merely gotten the wind knocked out of him by bullet impacts on his back armor, now suddenly leaped up on top of the overturned vehicle, with a lightness which suggested biotechnical strength-enhancement, and swung his flechette gun down to bear on Josiah and Raleigh -- presumably set for wide dispersal.

Josiah threw himself over his friend, again suffering minor wounds but not fatal ones. Raleigh, thus shielded, amended his recent error by firing the last three bullets in his magazine into the terrorist's head. A moment later, three army tanks arrived, accompanied by lighter armored police vehicles.

= = = = = = = = = = =

That night, after Josiah was released from the emergency room of Mulago Hospital, Raleigh Akello was an honored supper guest at the Redfern household. Elijah Roy, Isaiah Nick, Holly Rose and Alyssa Maria attended to all matters of cooking and serving -- so that their mother could remain uninterruptedly fastened onto her husband, thanking God for his survival. Also thankful were Josiah's sister Tiffany, and her husband Zach Johnson who was Melody's cousin; they made a video call to make sure the Redferns were all safe as soon as they learned about the raid.

Over supper, Josiah focused his share of the conversation on his times with David _before_ he had left America to return home; but Raleigh was glad to give such answers as he could to questions about today's events.

"Did they really think that just seven hovercraft could occupy or destroy Entebbe Airport, let alone the capital city?" asked Holly.

"Surely not," replied the aviator. "No one's told me, but I expect that the crews of those hovercraft were drugged up for a suicide attack -- their true mission being to _prevent_ our side from expecting a concurrent strike by terrorist footsoldiers. But your Dad wasn't fooled."

"And did you find out what was in that satchel carried by the men Josiah captured?" said Melody, from her perch on her husband's lap.

"In that case, we do have definite knowledge. The satchel was carrying tubes with a mutated pathogen. Josiah was right not to want to tamper with it -- and praise God that his infrasonic-wave grenades didn't break the tubes open! The army brought a biohazard team to investigate it. And I hear that brainscan-enhanced interrogation of the prisoners indicates they intended to release the disease -- being themselves immunized against it -- on the campus of Makarere University."

"Where Elijah and I are going to be students soon!" exclaimed Isaiah. "Why would they want to start their plague there?"

"Well, I wager that they also intended a plain bombing of Makarere's research facilities. We've seen how terrorists are increasing their own scientific sophistication; they probably want to weaken _our_ science capabilities. I know the university's well protected from data-cloud attacks, so the enemy would resort to physical destruction."

Josiah managed to make the rest of the evening more casual. An added peace-of-mind point for him was the fact that scanning had shown he was not carrying any nanobots acquired in the Western Enclave. As for the latest events, he would _never_ mention to Melody or the kids another thing he had learned at the emergency room, a fact he had persuaded the staff not to tell his family: the flechettes that had slightly pierced his flesh had been saturated with a potent neurotoxin. He would have died if not for the updated poison-immunization he had received just hours before in Angola, as Raleigh would have died if even one flechette had punctured his skin.

Even without knowing this detail, Melody Redfern had more than enough cause to be emphatic in what she told her husband that night. Lying in Josiah's arms, covering him with kisses, imagining that she smelled fresh blood on him, she said, "That was enough. You proved you still have what it takes. Be satisfied, for God's sake -- for MY sake! Go back to being a healer, like your buddy Pablo. Let _younger_ men do the fighting from now on!"

"I will, sweetheart," Josiah promised... and proceeded to prove to her that he still had what it took in other areas besides mortal combat. Later, in the loving afterglow, he reflected that his last action in today's emergency, shielding Raleigh from the darts, had been just like the action of a battlefield medic, just like what Specialist Pablo Alvarez would have done.

With that thought, Josiah was _truly_ satisfied.
 
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Here's a review of some of the recent story-events:

Daffodil Ford officially changed his name to David Redfern, and is interested in seeking a diplomatic post in Uganda, so he can meet his father's family even if he doesn't renounce his Diversity States citizenship.

Vitaly Khloponin, the second-ranking person in the Department of Indoctrination, was exposed as being behind the attempt to murder newspaperman Miguel De Soto. This was the last straw, causing the Fairness Party to abolish the Indoctrination Department altogether, which in turn required a reshuffling of the national media establishment. But an even greater shakeup occurred: Vice-President Carlos Anselmo acquired proof that President Jessica Trevette had personally killed sacrificial victims in Aztlan. His revelation of this led to a shoot-out right in the Party Presidium, in which Anselmo died, and it _seemed_ that Trevette also died. Secretary of State Megavolt Atkinson became the new President.

But Jessica Trevette had secretly maintained a clone of herself, who stood in for her at times. Knowing that she was going to be exposed for her crimes, she arranged for her clone to die in her place. She then escaped to Aztlan, to be welcomed by El Presidente Emilio Formentera. The new Aztlano ruler is expanding his business relationships with the Indian mafia, since the Chinese mafia has been severely weakened.

Chinese gangsters didn't go down without striking a few more blows. They attempted to assassinate Yang Sung-Kuo by means of a poison-dart-shooting mini-drone, and within China they caused some deaths with biological weapons. Meanwhile, the Egyptian and Babylonian Caliphates, on the outs with China because of their actions against the Lunar Orchard, began trying to gain more power in a way that did not confront the Chinese directly: by teaming up with the Neo-Marxist terrorists in Africa. Among the ensuing good-guy casualties in Africa was Etienne LaClede, the former Swiss banker who had been part of the secret army's covert raid in Zurich.

Inside the Western Enclave, dentist Avery Glass was awarded an administrative position in the medical university being formed for exiles. He was even allowed to have his non-exiled son Larry come into the Enclave to work with him. The Texas Rangers received reinforcements for their Enclave operations; and Ranger Zella Greenlee received from Brendan Hyland the book Miguel De Soto had written, to smuggle it out of the Enclave. David Redfern got the go-ahead to produce another concert by exile musicians.

Alipang and Kim, with their baby daughter Peggy, took a trip up to the new Yellowstone Sector. One of the concerns regarding new laborers for Yellowstone is that many of them are weak and malnourished because of being fed nutritionally inferior genetically-modified foods. At the worker-inprocessing center on former Indian reservation property, Alipang and Kim enjoyed a reunion with their friends Summer and Evan Rand. Propagandist Rhoda Gardner, visiting the construction site for geothermal power plants, had her teeth injured in an accident... and showed no gratitude to Alipang when he performed dental repairs.
 
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Chapter 116: Another Crack in the Actual Wall

Megavolt Atkinson, the new President of the Diversity States, was fortunate that she was a black woman, or else she could have had _both_ sides in the latest wave of rioting angry at her.

Because Jessica Trevette, a white woman, and Carlos Anselmo, a Hispanic man, had become deadly enemies and (as far as people in the D.S.A. knew) had both died, a population long trained in group-identity thinking had drawn up sides for more idiotic brawls. Sympathizers with Anselmo claimed there was a conspiracy by whites against all Hispanics, and were attacking whites at random. Sympathizers with Trevette claimed there was a conspiracy by males against all women, and were attacking males at random. It was thus a dangerously confusing time for Hispanic women, who couldn't be sure which side they were supposed to be on.

Georgetown, in what had formerly been the state of Delaware, was enduring yet another outbreak of mob-against-mob fighting, despite the number of casualties already suffered in the regional unrest which had claimed the life of Dobie Marsalis. But with no Supreme Court Justices making money off the riots anymore, and with labor-union precedence not being the basis of conflict, the Fairness Party had faced no opposition when it came to strengthening riot-control measures. The battling factions were still being allowed to fight in _some_ locations; but the amount of space they were allowed to fight in was considerably less than in past "kinetic negotiations" between labor unions. And Federal District Police, here in Mid-Atlantic District and elsewhere, had a great deal more freedom of action.

In fact, officers were allowed to kill _any_ rioter whom _they_ judged to be threatening violence to anyone or anything _other_ than riot opponents.

Hispanic women in many communities, owing to the mutually-exclusive loyalties competing for their allegiance, were being watched protectively by law-enforcement personnel generally. This afternoon, several such recipients of protection in Georgetown were being transported by a protected light-rail train to attend a showing of the movie Sectors of the Heart, in which the whole Salisbury household could be seen on-image. One of these citizens was Juanita Porres, principal of Leon Trotsky Middle School which Cecilia Salisbury had attended before the Salisburys had moved indefinitely into the Western Enclave.

Also on the train were a number of professionals in assorted fields from other countries. These, by the invitation of the teachers' union, had all been touring American schools lately to give lectures. Not lectures about their careers, or about anything useful to the schoolchildren, but lectures belonging to a series titled "Why the United States Was Oppressive, Sexist, Racist, Environmentally Unsound and Un-Mutual." The countries of origin of the speakers included Canada, China, Venezuela, Aztlan, Saudi Arabia, and the Babylonian Caliphate. Juanita's middle school had been their latest platform, and she felt honored to have had them there. She was further pleased that they were all interested in seeing the movie with her. It had her speculating on whether she might be able to move up to a job in the State Department.

None of the new friendships, however, offered any romance for the principal. That was all right, because she was dating someone. She was dating a male, and a white male -- which meant that he could be a target for either side in the new riots. The entertainment-support union had accordingly switched him to a job where he could mostly keep out of sight.

Thus, Riff Gamble, friend of Dan Salisbury, was acting as the chief holo-projectionist at the theater. He knew that Juanita would be at the late-afternoon showing of Sectors of the Heart. She would stay for the evening showing as well, after which they would get something to eat together, then spend the night at her place. Juanita had her own apartment, albeit a small one, whereas Riff was required by his union to live in a union dormitory. But Juanita didn't feel that her boyfriend was taking advantage of her more comfortable quarters; he had, after all, paid for all restaurant meals they had eaten so far, and Juanita had refrained from telling him that this made him a disgusting patriarchal caveman.

The urban-transit train was less than a quarter-kilometer away from where the movie crowd would get off, when a chunk of pavement struck the side of the car in which Juanita sat. Almost before she could register the fact, police officers on the train's roof opened up with automatic rifles and the shotgun-like flame-projectors.

Juanita and her international friends could not tell how many proletarians were killed, nor which side they had been on; but of course that was a concern for the defenders of the collective. For the train passengers, what mattered was that they were not going to be late for the movie.

 
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This showing of Sectors of the Heart was preceded by a trailer, also holographic, for the latest "edgy" production by Zimmo Garland. Quadruple-actual-size images of Samantha Ford, Osmawani Jalil, and other actors were seen performing remarkable erotic feats for a minute and a half. Then the feature presentation began. Juanita sat between a South African woman and a Bolivian man, both of whom had lately delivered redundant speeches at her school about the evils of private enterprise. Juanita succeeded in irritating these neighbors all through the show by her boastful chattering about her close personal acquaintance with Dan, Chilena and their children.

The only times she fell quiet were during the few violent scenes. She was completely aware of the mass murders of Christians, Jews and patriots which her beloved Fairness Party had committed as it came to power; but those _real_ murders, having occurred out of her sight, were far less upsetting to her than imaginary killings that _were_ visible to her. To be sure, in holographic imagery, the movie deaths were highly graphic and convincing. She was glad that in the climax, the noble Commerce Inspectors used only non-lethal weapons to defeat the minions of DeathstructionCorp. Then came Tommy Salisbury's "Collective Coming" song over the ending credits, performed by Dan Salisbury with Enclave musicians; Juanita, to whom the song had been leaked by Isadora Cruller before the movie's release, enthusiastically sang along at the top of her voice.

Her companions in the theater were not heartbroken when she said goodbye to them. She found her way to Riff Gamble's control room... and she was in such an exuberant mood, that the two of them _immediately_ commenced certain pleasing activities right there in that room. Afterwards, they ate the soy-artichoke-mushroom squares he had provided; sat around conversing while they digested their food; and then did still more of what they had spontaneously done just before eating. Juanita's lover of the moment was prompted to remark, "You can brainwave-check me on this: you're _better_ than Citizen Ford and Citizen Jalil combined!"

It was late in the evening when Riff led her along a service tunnel under the theater building, explaining that a one-way door at the end of this tunnel would put them on the street at a spot which police had recently cleared. From there, they should be able to catch a bus to her apartment without mishap.

This plan should have worked; it was just their bad luck that opposing groups in the current strife _happened_ to filter back onto this particular block very soon after the police moved elsewhere. As the self-locking door cut off their retreat, Riff and Juanita beheld on one side of them a crowd of women, equally mixing whites, blacks and Asians. A number of these, by the look of them, had artificial muscle-growth enhancement: part of the Fairness Party's policy of artificially "proving" that women were _naturally_ stronger than men. On the other side, they saw a crowd of Hispanics, together with what might have been a few Native Americans. This crowd was nearly all male; just a handful of Hispanic women stood with them, choosing racial group identity over gender-based group identity.

A woman in the first group shouted to Juanita: "Hey, sister! You belong with us!" A man in the second group shouted to her: "Hey, hermana, you belong with us!" Another woman in the first group seemed to be speaking to her companions as she said: "That sister's with a dirty male!" Another man in the second group similarly said: "She's with a dirty gringo!"

"Wait, wait!" cried Juanita. "Some of you know me! I facilitate the Diversity Pioneers! We teach peace and oneness! There's no reason for--!"

This was as far as she got before still another woman in the first gang interrupted: "But the Party also teaches _justice_ for women!" Stepping on that woman's words, another of the Hispanic men yelled: "But the Party also teaches _liberation_ for brown people!"

Riff had seen instantly that he and Juanita had no escape route open to them, and he had pressed the distress-call key on his dataphone even before the first shout. Now he sought to buy more time for the police to trace his signal and return, by exclaiming, "This isn't about sex or color! It's the corporate interests trying to divide us! We have to uncover the corporate interests behind the deaths in Washington! That's the--"

Normally, the all-purpose catch-phrase "corporate interests" should have carried some weight with both groups. Most members of both crowds had, in their time, protested furiously against "corporate interests" without having the slightest clue about what a corporation really was. Unfortunately, it was a more pressing fact that on _this_ day, most members of both crowds had already spent hours physically fighting members of the opposite faction. They wanted revenge on each other now, _even_ more than they wanted to defeat the boogeyman of "corporate interests."

When both crowds lost patience and charged, it was much more for the purpose of battling each other than of singling out Riff and Juanita for mayhem. Nonetheless, Riff and Juanita _were_ caught between them. Riff did the one thing he could: he pulled Juanita down to the pavement and shielded her with his body, as the sudden combat raged all around them. It seemed to Juanita that the uproar went on for ages; from time to time, she felt the impact of something striking Riff's back or head, weakening his arms' grasp on her; but he went on breathing and went on holding his position to cover her.

However many minutes it really was, whooping sirens at last announced the reappearance of the Mid-Atlantic Federal District Police. An amplified voice from behind the blinding spotlights commanded the rioters to surrender... but only gave them a totally inadequate three seconds to respond before the police opened fire. Now it was a new chaos of gunshots and screams, until the surviving brawlers had found corners to dodge around.

When the shooting had ceased, Riff Gamble, with several cuts and serious bruises, heaved himself to his feet, waving at the police. "I'm the one who called you!" he shouted. "This woman is the Principal of Leon--"

Once again, Riff was interrupted: this time by an automatic rifle and two flechette pistols, which demolished his body beyond recognition before he knew what hit him. With her lover's blood splattered all over her, Juanita shrieked in a hysteria that combined grief, horror and incredulity. From somewhere behind the lights, now that the guns had fallen silent, she could hear a self-satisfied voice declaring: "Hostage taker neutralized."
 
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The career educator now received a belated education.

Having chosen to believe that the late Riff Gamble was one more legitimate target for deadly force, the police refused to listen to anything Juanita said to the contrary. After all, the authorities established by the Fairness Party _couldn't_ be wrong; and since Riff had not only been a white male, but also a known friend of Biblicals, he _must_ have been up to something un-mutual or capitalistic or something like that.

When Juanita fell silent, the police assumed that she was assenting to their convenient version of reality. None of them guessed just how _well_ they had enlightened her.

It was for the students and faculty of Leon Trotsky Middle School (who no longer had any substantial summer vacation) to discover this.

Insisting that she was perfectly capable of going back to work, Principal Porres clocked in at her school the next morning... and immediately ordered an unscheduled assembly, to be attended by _everyone_ on the premises. Just before the assembly, she persuaded all the adult employees to drink some Joy Nectar with her -- supposedly in celebration of her survival, but actually to tranquilize the others in advance, blunting their reactions to what was coming.

"Good morning, citizens," Juanita began; and already in those three words, the more alert persons in the auditorium could hear her tension. But they assumed that what followed would be the standard script about male-chauvinist military-religious business executives causing what had happened the night before. They assumed wrongly. The first thing to correct them was her _failure_ to say "The collective is all" next.

"Last night, my significant other was killed, after protecting me from harm during the latest urban disharmony. I am reminded of the stories I myself have told you, in this very auditorium, about my days as a teenager in the Occupy Wall Street movement. I have told you about police officers in the service of the old fascist corporate system, who callously shot and killed hundreds of my heroic friends, just because we tried to promote economic justice, marriage equality and media democracy. All of you remember my telling those stories, don't you?"

Some of the children in the seats inferred that applause was desired at this point, so they applauded their citizen principal.

"Thank you. I have something more to say along that line, and I have arranged for my words to be streamcast to schools all over this federal district. Depending on how other principals handle online input, a _great_ many people should be hearing what I'm about to say.

"I've told you before that the bourgeois racist fanatics in those days were determined to allow no view but their own to be heard, and that they would never admit to any guilt when they murdered persons like my friends in the movement. Now, I need you all to listen _very_ carefully to what I say next:

"Every time I told you those stories, I was lying to you on purpose. My friends were NOT wantonly shot down the way I described. Because the Fairness Party was born from the social movement I was part of as a girl, I gave it my loyalty, based on the _emotions_ it stirred in me; and I made up my police-brutality stories in order to convince you that anyone who was _against_ the Party must be evil. In my mind, the goal of advancing the Party's aims justified my lying to you. But last night, I learned that I myself have been lied to, by the very Party to which I sold my conscience. My boyfriend, Riff Gamble, was shot dead by OUR police, just because they didn't _care_ enough about human life to _bother_ finding out what he was really doing. Everything I _falsely_ said about police in the old system, is actually true about police in the _present_ system!"

Juanita's hearers were stupefied with disbelief. Still, she knew she probably had less than another minute left to speak freely; although the Pinkshirts were disbanded, someone else would be bursting in to arrest her shortly. So she used her momentum while she could.

"I hope that someday, all of you children will forgive me for teaching you lies. If there is a God, I hope He can forgive me. All of us in the teachers' union have been _required_ to lie to you, feeding you propaganda that would _seem_ true because it seemed simple. We trained your emotions to make you better servants of the Party, but we never taught you the _complexity_ of actual facts. The whole routine about business corporations, for example: in reality, there were many corporations which _supported_ the creation of the Fairness Party! I won't have time to explain this to you; but try to understand that truth is more complicated than we led you to believe. One thing that IS simple enough for me to tell you in a hurry is this: it is the PARTY, not God-fascists or white supremacists, that is now controlling people's lives and silencing dissent by force! It won't be easy for you young people to get at the _real_ truth, and I'm sorry with all my heart that things are this way; but I tell you with _inside_ knowledge that the Fairness Party has been _lying_ to you for as long as it has existed!"

Sirens were audible outside now; but Juanita hurried on:

"If any of you can see the truth of what I'm saying, DO NOT say that you do! Protect yourselves for now! Do what you're told, for now! Go ahead and agree when they say to you that I have Oppositional Defiant Disorder, or whatever they'll say to dismiss my words from your minds. I won't blame you for denouncing me; but _remember_ what I've told you!"

Heavily-armed officers of the regime were now breaking in the main entrance of the school, which Juanita had secretly locked to delay them; but they were too late to prevent the unarmed Juanita Porres from getting off one more shot of truth before they reached the auditorium and silenced her with trank darts:

"The Fairness Party does NOT love you! The people running it may not positively _hate_ you either, because hate is not the _only_ element of evil; that was another lie we taught you. But they don't mind _using_ you for their own advantage, because they _enjoy_ having power over you! It's fun for them to be able to decide who lives, and who gets a celebration of the completion of their life! I don't know how this can be changed; but if any of you can remember me kindly, then honor me by trying to _find_ a better way! And if later you see a video of me saying that what I said this morning was wrong, that 'confession' will either be the result of torture or drugs, or electronically faked in some way....Ah, hello, officers! Guess what? Your scragging, gutflakking collective is NOT all!"

Eventually it was ascertained that web-monitoring technicians had been slow enough on the job, that at least a portion of Juanita's speech did get through to other schools. The bureaucrats who soon consigned her to a Self-Esteem Center carefully denied her the satisfaction of knowing how grandly she had rocked the boat; but _they_ knew she had rocked it.
 
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