The First Love Of Alipang Havens

If I didn't have medical AND computer-failure issues, I might by now have begun writing a further Alipang story.

All these years later: ANOTHER Easter egg hidden WITHIN Dancing Lawn! Long ago, I wrote a stand-alone story titled "THE FIRST POPE OF MARS." This is supposed to happen some years before the birth of Eliot "Grey Eagle" Granholm, and offers a look at how some humans made ready to reject the God-hating "Citizoic League."
 
Last edited:
Long ago, while I was a submarine sailor, I began writing a near-future sci-novel; in fact, its action took place close to the time period of "Possible Future." Titled "Upon the Narrow Pacific," it was to depict how naval warfare would be more "cramped" as all forms of travel and reconnaissance were made quicker by advancing technology.

Some hint of the military aspect got recycled into "Possible Future," as Bert Randall was called to naval service for the Pacific Federation. And if I manage to continue the Alipang saga, several _characters_ from the older project will be revived and placed in the Alipang universe. Among these will be another adventurous brother-sister team: Armenian fighters Vartan and Vartui Yenovkian.
 
Last edited:
And before he passes away, Alipang will get to meet the founder of the farther-future tyranny that Grey Eagle will have to contend with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NEXT post, done over in 2025, will fit SOMEPLACE in the "corrected" continuity. I'll help the reader with exposition.

(I do wonder what became of my OLD flash drives for Grey Eagle. Fooey.)
 
Last edited:
THE LATEST 2025 GAP-FILLER, SET IN JAMAICA:

The city of Bluefield had weathered the turmoil of the Fairness Revolution without severe damage. In the last four years, their cultural community had set up a new entertainment complex...... whose live-theater company gave priority to staging shows from the Revised Shakespeare Company. This, inevitably, meant that women in the plays were super-extra-unbeatable, no matter what, no matter what, nyaaah nyaaah nyaaah. Any male character presuming to defy any woman would barely get to take a step or lift a hand before being flattened.

Naturally, the actors chosen to portray these human punching bags devoted many hours to studying performance videos of Dan Salisbury, the man widely famed as "the Douglas Fairbanks of being humiliated."

On a fine evening in Bluefield, a married-in-church couple (relational diversity had not progressed as far here as on the combined American landmass), with added relatives, were emerging from the downtown theater after a staging of "The Self-Esteem of the Shrew." Carlton York, a brother of the wife in the married couple, addressed his sister: "Don't worry, Maria, the rest of us will keep finding more entertainment for your children while you and the plastics expert are out fishing for bottles."

Norris Guthrie, Maria's husband, replied to Carlton: "Before the global flip-flop struck, I never guessed that working with recyclables would become an art form on a par with new-model Shakespeare."

"You'll meet interesting people besides," remarked Simone York, mother of Carlton and Maria. "Like people from Armenia who traveled all the way to Brazil to join in decontaminating the Pacific. Not the most monotonous of diversions."
 
Last edited:
The following thoughts will help any reader to understand why it is important to me that the Alipang Havens saga should not be lost and forgotten.


I’m so tired of simplistic stories about pure goodness fighting against incurable wickedness! I’m so tired of reading about heroes and heroines who have no faults! I’ve got an absolutely _brilliant_ idea: As a daring innovation, something that’s _never_ been done before, I’ll make up a story about a hero who _isn’t_ perfect! My hero-- no, wait a minute, I think I’ll call him an ANTI-hero! My anti-hero will be a trickster: not a weakling, but a man who prefers outwitting his enemies instead of slugging it out with them toe-to-toe. He’ll even be capable of pretending to make peace with his enemies, in order to pull off a treacherous nighttime sneak attack.

Oh, I’m loving this, it’s so different and refreshing! I’m surprised that no one thought of anti-heroes before. My pattern-setting anti-hero will also be capable of disastrous failure; in fact, I’ll say that _everyone_ who goes with him on his journey will be killed! People are going to admire me so much for my stroke of genius in creating the anti-hero, because _they’re_ also tired of perfect heroes and heroines! I can start a franchise, and…

Wait a minute, my cellphone’s buzzing. What? Say what? (PAUSE)

Er, um, well, folks, that call was from the Greek bard Homer, who lived centuries before the birth of Christ. I’ll have to cancel my claims of a fabulous, unprecedented franchise about the daring concept of an anti-hero. Homer tells me that everything I just was describing has _already_ been used, in _his_ epic about some guy called Odysseus.

Anti-heroes predate Deadpool. Anti-heroes predate James Bond. Anti-heroes predate Billy the Kid. Anti-heroes predate the English language, predate Christian civilization, and probably predate written language. All the whooping fanfare claiming originality for “characters who _aren’t_ perfect” is a fraud. But cynics who prefer and promote anti-heroes _need_ to continue hyping that fraud-- because, under the cover of the deceitful understatement “not perfect,” they offer characters who are far _less_ good than even the most average, un-spectacular man or woman chosen at random from a shopping-mall crowd.

That’s what was happening back in 1970, when Webber and Rice boasted that their “daring” rock opera was treating Jesus Christ “as a MAAAAAAAAN.” They knew all along that they _weren’t_ merely recognizing Jesus’ humanity; they were intentionally making Him out to be an _inferior_ man, with all the whining they had Him doing. In any city or any farming region on Earth, you could easily find plain mortal men who are _better_ in every way than the wimp whom Webber and Rice presented as Jesus.

Anti-heroes will be admired by effete souls who aren’t in any danger from evil predators at present. Anti-heroes will also be admired by many who are _themselves_ the evil predators. But in “The Screwtape Letters,” Mister Lewis observed that in times of great peril, it becomes a lot harder for people to go on refusing to see how precious and vital the unselfish valor of _actual_ heroes is.

It was no accident that novelist Leslie Charteris decided that his action hero Simon Templar would carry the nickname of The Saint. In his introduction to a re-release of the first “Saint” novel, Charteris spoke his mind about cynical fiction; and this was in 1980, proving again that “not perfect” protagonists are SO NOT refreshing or new or bold. Charteris wrote:

“The fiction world today needs a Saint more than it ever did. For too many years now, that scene has been dominated by the anti-heroes: those grim gray operators in a sunless sub-culture…It made morbidly fascinating narrative, but it never gave anyone a lift until it climaxed in the hyper-gadgeted parodies of 007 extravaganzas. I was always sure that there was a solid place in escape literature for a rambunctious adventurer such as I dreamed up in my own youth, who really believed in the old-fashioned romantic ideals and was prepared to lay everything on the line to bring them to life. A joyous exuberance that could not find its fulfillment in pinball machines and pot…. I still cling to that belief. That there will always be a public for the old-style hero, who had a clear idea of justice, and a more than technical approach to love…”

Let no cynic attempt a “Gotcha” on Charteris’ reference to “the OLD-style hero.” I never said that the anti-hero concept was literally _older_ than heroic idealism; but anti-heroism ceased to be any sort of novelty before there were printing presses. Anti-heroes (well, apart from Odysseus) are junk food, their lack of nutrition disguised by heavy application of spices like pornographic sex scenes.

If I were in deadly peril, I would greatly prefer to have The Saint, or Captain America, within range of my cry for help, rather than a whole army of self-serving, amoral anti-heroes who would as soon throw me under the bus as pull me out of its way.

Therefore, I _will_ write stories with heroes who, although of _course_ they have human shortcomings, are never SO degraded that I have to start using the words “not perfect” as an evasive euphemism for “worthless.”
 
Last edited:
JUMPING ELSEWHERE in the action, here in 2025!!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __

" " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " " "
In the Manchurian city of Harbin, two ethnic Chinese middle-school girls emerged from their school building at schoolday's end, conversing about recent events in China proper.

"It worries me," said Yan-Hao, "that the leaders in Beijing are so indulgent of this Yang Sung-Kuo. He is not worthy."

"Because he took a Thai wife?" asked Choi-Tung.


"That's the least of it. What's horrid is that he so publicly favors the CHRISTIANS who hate everyone, and who always acted as front men for outside colonizers."

"Ummm.... don't you think the Imperial Japanese were a little bit worse?" Choi-Tung had read a biography of the Scottish missionary Eric Liddell, who had genuinely loved the Chinese people.


"Once, briefly; but the Japanese changed their ways, while Christians only grew ever more cruel!"

Yan-Hao had her fixation, and wasn't going to give up on relishing it. Holding this view in youth, she would later try hard to pass it on to her daughter Pang Biao-Tu, the future founder of the Citizoic League.
 
Last edited:
Yesterday, I attended a meeting of Project Purpose, an urban-youth outreach ministry in the Denver area. On a previous occasion, I had spoken to group founder Donald Murphy about the Alipang Havens novels. At yesterday's meeting, then, the value of homeschooling was affirmed, and Mister Murphy cited "The First Love of Alipang Havens" as an illustration. Maybe before I go to Aslan's Country, I can publish Alipang's adventures by alternate underground means, like the Soviet-era "SAMIZDAT."
 
Last edited:
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Anybody here know what "samizdat" means? It means underground publishing. I may have to publish Alipang by off-grid methods.
 
Last edited:
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

I'm finally bumping this thread forward, because a new acquaintance (not yet a T.D.L. member) has shown interest. There may after all be valid cause to ATTEMPT COMPLETION, running on up to the threshold of Grey Eagle's era.
 
"It's good luck having _you_ at the wheel when we drive in Virginia," Alipang told Kim; "even if we're in a silly electric car this time. Especially good now, since Blake Matthews isn't here now to protect us against new gangsters."

"I'm just glad that Mister Matthews got his family out safely to Africa when the 'Fairness' hammer came down," Kim replied. "I hope it's true that he was able to take Larry Mannering's family along."

Shilohsville appeared first. The big mall, plus every church and school, had been transformed into government buildings. Almost all private houses had been demolished; in their place now stood collective dormitories in the Diversity States fashion. But absent the Fairness Party's infrastructure, the remaining residents had needed a new foundation all the way down the line.


_"You_ are Alipang Havens!" exclaimed a middle-aged woman. "Everybody here with relatives west of the Missouri River knows the part you played in beating the Aztec-Maoists! Are you aware that some of your Quaker, Amish and Mennonite friends, now that they're free to travel again have been scattering everywhere, helping us disillusioned proletarians? The new management of the _former_ Aztlan, with Texas, Mexico and the African Vatican, are sending us practical assistance. You see that wide garden over there? Some Arapahoe Indians, ferried here by a Texas Ranger airplane, put it together for us, all planted and growing. Also taught us their skills, and left us with farm tools and some reserve seed."

"What about Smoky Lake?" asked Alipang.

{Good place for a whiz-pan scene-change in a movie.}

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


"All....gone. Like....the surface of the Moon." Alipang's hard shoulders slumped.

The now-abolished regime, before it got abolished, had done a Rome-destroys-Carthage routine on Smoky Lake. All flat, all barren, all roughly paved over. And this horizontal area had been painted as a giant mural. Someone flying overhead would see-- a montage of colorful scenes which would not bear describing in a family-friendly online community.

"We never heard about this while were in the Enclave," said Kim, "even though we always had loved ones and friends on the outside, who must have known what happened to the old hometown. They probably figured the news would hurt us to no good purpose. Ready for a platitude? We'll always carry Smoky Lake inside us."

"Will it make us cough?" Alipang quipped.
 
Last edited:
At least Richmond, Virginia still was recognizable. Some people the Havenses remembered were still there; even a few who had taken part in the rally to support Wilson Kramer. After a few conversations here and there, Alipang and Kim caught a northbound train for New York City-- where, in fact, they had never been. This trip had a better outcome than the Virginia trip; in particular, they were glad to learn that some people whom they had heard of but never met, were still alive. This included Lowell and Lolita Sanders, who had children; and the ladies at the Rooftop Gondola, who had both finally found good husbands. The small college which Josiah and Melody Redfern had attended was gone: small loss.

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

Back in the former Enclave, it was predawn while it was full morning where Alipang and Kimberly were lodged. Juanita Altamonte, one of the workers at the second metal-recycling plant, entered the workforce dormitory where Terrance and Harmony lived. Remembering that Terrance had been on midnight shift lately, Juanita went to Harmony's room.

"Juanita? What's up?"

"Remember the ocean-sweeping project? The folks they signed on from Jamaica have joined them. Now they're getting ready fast, and they want to know pronto where Al is."

"I can reach him," Harmony assured her friend. "It is, after all, _good_ to have internet again."

Harmony was able to get hold of Kimberly. {Kim is supposed to have borne a fourth baby, named Peggy. At the moment I write this, I don't recall if I already had Peggy get born in a previous chapter; so if she was, just assume that Peggy is in the care of Dan and Chilena right now.} After telling Kim what was up, Harmony went to Terrance's room, kissed him awake, and repeated what she knew. Once he rubbed his eyes and sat up, they clasped hands and prayed together, for the safety of their big brother and all of the pollution-fighters.

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

At the waterfront within sight of their ship, Vartan and Vartui Yenovkian were conferring with their new Jamaican crewmembers: Norris and Maria Guthrie, the earlier-mentioned couple who had experience processing recyclables. The Guthries' shared career differed from the work done by Harmony Havens and her younger brother in that the Guthries were accustomed to plucking waste items directly out of the environment, rather than letting the material come to them at an inland reclamation facility. Alipang had exchanged messages with persons he knew through the secret army, encouraging them to keep an eye on the progress of the "Queen Scavenger."
 
Last edited:
Must have some idea of how long Alipang's offspring live. Brendan Havens is as likely as anyone to be the ancestor of the adventurous twin brothers on Mercury in Grey Eagle's lifetime.

Terrance and Harmony, being younger than most of their generation, definitely must have a good lifespan.
 
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

THIS JUGGLING MAKES FOR >LATE< NIGHTS! BUT HAVING FIGURED OUT WHERE I CAN WORK IN A >LONG< -IMAGINED SPOTLIGHT MOMENT FOR VARTUI YENOVKIAN, I CAN >FINALLY< EMPLOY AS A MAJOR-SECTION TITLE THE TITLE I LONG AGO CONCEIVED AS A STAND-ALONE >BOOK< TITLE {LONG PREDATING "GREY EAGLE"}. THUS, AT LAST, WE CAN COMMENCE:

"UPON THE NARROW PACIFIC!"

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
AND, GOLDANG IT, MY LITHUANIAN CHARACTER IS DOMINYKAS BAGDON!!!!


/////// ANOTHER INSERT NOTE: Yirimyahu Kohen is one character who will far outlive Alipang, because he is a cyborg designed for longevity. He'll be a regular character in the Grey Eagle saga, if I can ever GET ANYWHERE with that.
 
Last edited:
Seeking order in chaos, here's a good-enough title for Chapter 144:

WOMEN ON A SHIP: NOT BAD LUCK
`

A transit crew, specializing in Panama Canal transits, assumed control of the Queen Scavenger for a shuttle run from her Brazilian launch-port to a Peruvian port. The operational crew caught a civilian airline flight (they weren't on a combat mission, after all) to their ship's destination. In the Pacific-facing harbor city, briefings with Hemispheric Union officials were followed by entertainment. A few dignitaries of the post-Aztlano Latin America were part of the crowd.

During the outdoor dinner, and for some digestion time afterward, Andes Mountain music alternated with contemporary Peruvian singers. When the dancing phase began, local and visiting couples were ready. The warrior Vartan Yenovkian took the floor with engineer Adelma Oliveira; the other warrior George Preston joined fellow engineer Vartui Yenovkian. Of these four, the quiet Vartui was the most fancied up, in a red cocktail dress with jewelry, her hair impressively styled. Two details contrasted with her outfit: she wore well -fitted athletic shoes instead of high heels, and kept her large purse with her. Adelma also retained her purse.

After the first dance concluded, Vartan murmured to Adelma: "Are the heavy purses because of the whispering you and my sister were doing over supper? Did she have a premonition?"

The Brazilian lady whispered back, "I guess that's a sibling thing. Yeah, Vartui told me something felt off. She already told the on-duty security guards; they took her seriously enough that they've alerted the club's owner. He and the staff are watching now for anything ominous, while the police reconnoiter outside the property. In case Vartui's instinct is on target, the second pistol in her purse is for George, just as my second pistol is for you. Spare magazine for each, armor- piercing. The club is hardened enough to shelter the patrons inside if this isn't a false alarm."

The musicians were playing quietly now, even on the livelier tunes. This, of course, would facilitate shouting orders if that became necessary.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...


The leader of one of the strike teams was a former member of the Malignos gang in the former Aztec-Maoist Republic. His line-of-sight encrypted earbud-radio was low-powered enough that it was unlikely the defenders would realize there _was_ any threat.

The veteran killers had one other high-tech resource: four of them, selected for being especially athletic, wore smuggled gravity-reducing harnesses. Leaping atop the courtyard wall should give them an excellent field of fire against all these disloyal fellow Latinos who had forsaken The Race.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There will now be a movie reference which doesn't clash with my story continuity, because it refers to film released long before the time when I imagine the Fairness Revolution occurring. In the later years under the Rainbow House regime, Keanu Reeves would not be allowed to make his John Wick movies, because they depict a male protagonist who doesn't collapse in weakness if a woman frowns.

In childhood, Vartui had seen an Armenian-captioned edition of the Star Trek movie "Wrath of Khan." She remembered exactly how James Kirk defeated Noonan Singh Khan in a space battle. Not experienced with space warships, Khan didn't think to consider that a vessel in outer space could move vertically relative to ownship's position. Kirk had thus been able to drop "under" the ship Khan hijacked, and hit him by surprise. That memory had left Vartan's little sister with a permanent realization that situational awareness was three-dimensional.

Her gain of alertness was now a loss for the levitated gunmen. Their feet had barely touched shingles before each one was double-tapped. Vartui had scarcely needed to think. Levitation gear not shut off, the corpses of the Malignos floated away above the neighborhood. Their souls, meanwhile, were dropping into The Bad Place. On the pavement, George Preston, without failing to play his own part in the successful defense of the threatened social center, couldn't help thinking of the song "Ghost Riders in the Sky."

When the battle was over, and the few surviving aggressors were being questioned not at all gently, George impulsively told Vartui, "You are MY kind of woman!"

Vartan, meanwhile was busy in a mutual are-you-okay with Adelma. Vartui smiled at George. "By a remarkable coincidence, my brother believes that you would be an excellent man to coax me out of my shyness where non-violent relationships are concerned. If you're willing to give me time, we could figure out together if we fit well in situations other than slaying evildoers."

"You remind me of another song." George forgot to consider that this Armenian spitfire had no way of realizing that he had thought of an old country-western song. He simply went on to say, "Baby, let me take you on a sea cruise. That's early rock-and-roll: the kind of music that soothes my soul."
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

{Obviously, not every character in my story actually talks in English. But what comes next requires one illustration of what one character phonetically says.}

"Not even one kuffur slain, and our team wiped out!" Omar bin-Hussein lamented. "Perhaps our kismet is good in one way: since ALI BIN-HAFFEN was not present at the unclean caravanserai, we may find him later when we have competent assassins available, and he thinks he's safe." This conversation was occurring in a remote safe house on the island of Madagascar.


Ali bin-Aziz nodded. "The strike was premature, and failed pathetically. Those Aztlano idiots thought that their jump harnesses made them indestructible efreets. But at least they are no loss. Meanwhile, I'm puzzled about the Filipino. I tracked down the fact that he had a Moro father. So he is not merely a kuffur; he had a father able to teach him the ways of the Prophet, yet he forsook this legacy in favor of unrighteous Americans. And even when the United States collapsed, he did not recognize Allah's hand in it."

"All true," said Omar. "But Ali Bin-Heffen's joining an oceanic project is a fluke. He only has any connections outside of America because that Catholic friend of his joined the Nigerian Crusaders' community, and because an Australian busybody and a Chinese curiosity-hunter visited the Western Enclave."

Usman bin-Imran, the youngest man present, spoke up: "And we have little presence inside the western Diversity States. The weaklings in the Great Lakes Cantonment are no help anymore."

Aziz shrugged. "The situation is fluid. But there's also the matter of those Armenians on the 'Queen Scavenger.' The brother was so presumptuous as to think that his immorally-dressing sister didn't deserve to be chastised by the righteous. Too bad the Ottomans weren't more thorough about erasing them in Turkey a century ago."
 
Last edited:
"That should hold you for the duration of your ship's first mission," said the Bolivian dentist. He was showing ultrasound imagery TO project boss Dominykas Bagdon, OF the Lithuanian gentleman's newly-filled teeth.

"Thank you," replied the pollution-control expert. "If I don't get there soon, Amelda and the rest will be afraid that I'M afraid to put out to sea after the attack they survived."

"Even though that Randall fellow has persuaded the Australian government to provide them a naval escort, and the Chinese have seconded the offer?"

"No disrespect to anyone's navy, but they're pretty much, you know, on the water. The men who want to kill us don't have a navy, as witness the nightclub attack. For the duration of the plastic-sweep deployment, we'll be at risk only when we pull into ports where there are processing facilities waiting to recycle our take. So we'll need our backers to furnish serious armaments, including non-lethal disabling gas. Both to save bystanders' lives, and to take live prisoners who can be brain-scanned."
..............................................................

At a stopover on his trip to meet up with Queen Scavenger's crew, courtesy of the secret army's network, Alipang enjoyed a call to Kim. She had been busy catching up with friends who hadn't been killed under the Fairness Party regime.

"I finally reached Holly Brighton from college! She got beaten up once, but recovered, and she still can teach dance....."

The final subject before goodbye was the well-being of Peggy Havens, Al and Kim's final child. In a separate call, Eric and Cecilia shared news of their own, including the proceedings of Western Enclave Medical University.
..............................................................


HERE, THE AUTHOR MAKES HIS BEST HURRIED ESTIMATE OF CHRONOLOGY, PARTICULARLY WITH AGES OF CHILDREN. ADULT CHARACTERS, AFTER ALL, HAVE BEEN RUNNING AROUND AND DOING STUFF.

"....so she and her friend rode on horseback up to the Crazy Woman Creek area."

"It still is odd, Mama, to think that Kimberly is my half-sister, but she's almost old enough to be my mother."

Elizabeth-- now often addressed as Isabella Zapata y Tisdale-- patted both of Javier's shoulders. "But you're not old enough to be the father of my granddaughter Peggy. All of the competing dictatorships-- and your father has his own family stories of those rivalries here in South America-- have dealt with ordinary lives like a bull-fighter in a china shop."
.............................................................


The last two crew members reporting on board Queen Scavenger were Alipang, and Adelma's new assistant engineer, a Paraguayan named Manuel Domingas. He knew who Alipang was, and......

"Good to meet you, Senor Dentista! You have attracted a lot of attention in recent years: out of an oversized concentration camp, and onto the world stage. Saving lives, killing enemies, and making friends in high places almost without even trying. I know enough about you, that I'm certain you'll have use for the gift I brought you. It's a pulley-drawn hunting bow, complete with assorted arrows for different uses. There are even some arrow-grenades, just like that old television show about something Hazzard. The series where everybody was cousins, with no two persons having the same parents."


Alipang's eyes lit up, and he grasped Manuel's hand with both of his. "You're psychic! What with our crew having been attacked on shore, I realize that someone might try to board us at sea. Once a man who was a bow hunter saved me and my wife Kim from gangsters who wanted to kill us, and the gangsters were doomed because they never thought about the threat of silent shooting."

"I'm glad you see it that way, compadre, because it IS possible that enemies will try to board us at sea. If for no other reason, to steal our machines for black market sale."
.............................................................


Queen Scavenger's warmup mission was a cooldown. An Argentinian research station in Tierra del Fuego had some floatable junk to get rid of, and it would cost the researchers hardly anything to get their waste plastic around Cape Horn and release it where Scavenger's crew could easily get at it.

The ship which had brought the material also carried a television journalist team to record the exercise. Dominykas Bagdon oversaw each step; the ship gathered in the hundreds of buoyant plastic objects like a baleen whale feeding. The procedure went smoothly enough that no one begrudged the opportunity for a minor player to try something.

From the starboard rail, Alipang shot a barbed arrow on a tether cord at an empty plastic barrel: the kind which would sit on a truck to spray liquid fertilizer on a farm field in early spring. The arrow took hold, and Alipang reeled the barrel in. Imagery of this harmless epilogue would eventually reach nearly everyone who cared about the warrior-dentist, especially Terrance and Harmony.
 
Last edited:
"Did you ever hear of old-time routing books for ships?"

"Hmmm, I think they're mentioned in James Clavell's historical fiction," Alipang replied. He and George Preston were standing night watch, as the ship cruised on a course to the north-by-northwest. (YES, I KNOW THERE'S A CLASSIC ALFRED HITCHCOCK MOVIE WHOSE TITLE >IS< THAT DIRECTION PHRASE. I CAN'T HELP IT IF A PHRASE I NEEDED IN THIS DIALOGUE HAS ALSO BEEN USED FOR AN OLD MOVIE.)

"Yes, in 'Shogun.' Back then, crossing the Pacific was like space travel: going between worlds, not just between countries. Now, someone can call us from time zones away and from way-different latitudes. I don't wish to BE back in pre-Shakespeare times-- yes, I know you're a Shakespeare fan-- but there was a different vibe. Never mind."

Alipang nodded. "Are you thinking about Mister Tomisaburo?" To remind the reader: Peter Tomisaburo is an ethnic Japanese but a Chinese citizen, a colleague of Alipang's not-very-Communist friend Yang Sung-Kuo.

"Yeah. Even with satellite assistance, it's good to hear from somebody who's actually looking at the area we're bound for."

It still was night when Queen Scavenger heard from Tomisaburo. It was a report on the location and width of a particular large mass of buoyant plastic. That was where they would be going.

The take from that sweep was more than satisfactory, and a Japanese facility would be purchasing it. Norris and Maria Guthrie were walking on air over the favorable news coverage it promised.
...............................................................


At a covert satellite- tapping station, Usman bin-Imran received, not routine comms traffic by unclean infidels, but a message intended for his own terrorist cell. He was quick to call in his elders.

"The Aztlano holdouts have just gotten back to us! They have salvaged and repaired a rail gun, and are willing to lend it to us, with instructions on how to build another one like it."

Ali bin-Aziz asked, "Does that mean they'll want the original weapon back?"

"They say, only if we don't need it after our planned strike. They have the means to build more for themselves, though it's a time-consuming process. And they reckon that the 'enemy of my enemy' principle applies. While we hate the Christians as idolaters, the Aztlanos hate Christians for believing in any deity."

Omar bin-Hussein smiled. "The world is big enough, and both of our forces small enough, that even if kismet shifts in our favor, it will be some years before either we or the Aztlanos recover enough strength to see any reason for sneak-attacking the other. Meanwhile .....those two Armenians on their industrial ship are still waiting for us to chastise them."
 
Last edited:
Back in the western United States (and this reinstated country-name was gradually pushing "Diversity States" out of usage and memory), recycling worker Juanita Altamonte got together with Harmony Havens in the dayshift dormitory of "Gaia's Gizzard." The two friends having adequate privacy to talk, Juanita began with a question:
.
"Just what IS your relationship with Terrance?"

Harmony smiled. "That relates to the far wider subject of what has happened to love, marriage and families, in the interval since I was a little girl in Virginia, Melody was a bit older, and Terrance was a baby. What happened to the world after that, also happened to the marriage market. Our big siblings were able to choose Dan Salisbury, Kimberly Tisdale and Emilio Vasquez from a huge pool of prospective mates, because the Fairness Party had not yet poisoned the well. Now, believers in God have been retconned back to ancient society, where single girls and boys had far fewer suitable matches available. That was why first and second cousins in olden times got married so frequently; sometimes even half-siblings, or uncles to their nieces.


"That last one was practiced by royal houses in the Renaissance; also happened among the Herodian family, back in Bible times. God actually regarded those marriages as legitimate, allowing for the limits of people's understanding. This was why John the Baptist rebuked Herodias for leaving her original uncle-husband to take a new uncle-husband, and rebuked the second uncle for offending against the first uncle."

Juanita shook her head. "That makes you and Terrance absolutely vanilla-bland by comparison, since you and he are not related by blood at all. Only-- are you and he both in love with each other?"

"Neither of us has ever said that flat-out to the other. But romantic love can become unhealthy if it's isolated from things like respect, honesty and empathy. If a surviving copy of C.S. Lewis' book The Four Loves ever surfaces, I urge you to read it carefully. Meanwhile, I can tell you that I enjoy being with Terrance better than with anyone else in the world, I never tire of being around him, and he never acts as if he prefers anyone else's company over mine."

"All. Right. Then. Assume that all will go smoothly: proposal, engagement, wedding, honeymoon, first child, second child, thumb your noses at population-reduction fanatics.... how best to start the happy dominoes falling?"


((( AUTHOR SPEAKS: THIS WORK OF MY FICTION DIFFERS GREATLY FROM "SPACEBULLIES" WHERE THE AUTHOR'S VOICE IS CONCERNED. WHEN LAMPOONING DOZENS OF ENTERTAINMENT FRANCHISES, IT'S NATURAL TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL OFTEN. IT FEELS DIFFERENT WHEN WRITING A FAR MORE LINEAR STORY SET ON THE EARTH.

I NEED TO ADDRESS THE ALIPANG HAVENS READERSHIP NOW. I AM AN ADOPTIVE FATHER IN REALITY, SO I KNOW HOW IT IS TO WONDER ABOUT BIRTH-RELATIVES YOU NEVER GOT TO KNOW. I AM ALSO A CHRISTIAN MAN WHO HAS EXPERIENCED REMARKABLY DISTINCT SIGNS FROM GOD. WHAT I'M ABOUT TO IMAGINE FOR THE BENEFIT OF MY CHARACTER HARMONY HAVENS IS ACTUALLY SIMILAR TO EPIPHANIES I'VE EXPERIENCED.

Kimberly Havens brought her daughter Peggy for a visit to Aunt Harmony and Uncle Terrance. She also brought two adult female companions, who brought news. Of these, Terrance and Harmony recognized the one wearing Texas Ranger uniform: Perlita Ramirez, who was familiar with the Enclave. The other woman was older, Chinese, but no one Harmony recognized.

"This is Kam Yu-Po," said Perlita. "Your acquaintance Yang Sung-Kuo paid for her expenses to come here, because he had learned about the adoptive nature of the Havens family. Yu-Po performs the same applicant-vetting function as Ms. Corazon Obispo performed when she was clearing Cecilia and Eric Havens to adopt Alipang."

Eyes wide, Harmony approached Yu-Po, clasped her hands, and summoned a Mandarin Chinese phrase she remembered: "Honorable Mistress Kam, do you know any English?"


"Little. Remember show you to white man and woman. Other Chinese girl with. White mother had red hair, like that one"-- indicating Terrance, who had inherited Cecilia's pigmentation. "But have to tell. Find out." Turning her eyes back to Harmony: "Find out name of woman, body make you. She in sky now, but I can tell. Name Jing Chu-Tam. Beijing say one baby. Chu-Tam already boy, then you born. Chu-Tam know, best way for you living, get baby house take you, baby house where white people come look.

"Chu-Tam put you road, but not run. Chu-Tam feed you when not people watch. Wait for one see you, take. Worker see you, take to baby house. Later come red hair woman with family. Want you, so to America. I know she see you from sky, happy red-hair woman love. Now you also have Chinese name."


Eyes streaming, Harmony embraced the old woman. "Oh, thank you, God bless you! Now I am Harmony Jing-Havens!" Turning to face Terrance, who had moved closer: "And under the shorter name of Harmony Jing, I can walk the aisle with Mister Terrance Havens, just reminding people that he and I are not--"

"Not awkward!" Terrance delicately hugged the elderly matron, then turned toward his nope-not-a-sister.


"I'm not going to kneel, I think that's stupid. You know I love you without my having to grovel. Will you marry me, and take back the Havens surname in a different sense?"

"Do fish swim?" Three seconds later, she and Terrance were embracing hard and kissing harder.

To enhance the happy outcome, Abraham Zondei was able to perform the wedding himself, uniting Harmony Jing with Terrance Havens. Alipang served as his brother's best man, Cecilia was Harmony's matron of honor, and everybody else who deserved a role in the nuptials and could physically get there, was included some way or another.

Less than a month would then elapse before Harmony conceived a baby boy who was genetically flawless. The couple decided to give him a fresh-start first name, Bruce, in order not to prefer one American relative over the others. But for a middle name, since Chinese names have no male-female distinction, they chose Chu-Tam, in honor of the woman who had made the best she could of a dilemma imposed by tyranny.

And Bruce Chu-Tam Havens was destined to sire a line of descendants who would also make the best of hard circumstances, even if no earthly chronicler was available to honor them in earthly data files.
 
Last edited:
Back
Top