bob's stuff

Review of J. A. Konrath's novel, "Origin"

2012-01-27T11:21:00.004Z

One author who has become famous for being self-published, and yet best-selling (thus, giving hope to humble(?) authors like me), is J.A.Konrath. I found one of his books available as a freebee the other day, read it, and then reviewed it. Here is my review:

a technothriller cum horror, January 25, 2012
By robby charters
This review is from: Origin (Kindle Edition)
I found it a good read. The prologue was intriguing -- a bit of history that brought to mind the beginning of the film "My Science Project", also involving a president. This wasn't a copy of that, though. The first chapter -- the one where you're wrenched into the present -- was well done, with the presidents men knocking at the door at 3 a.m. Then, the setting opens up to us bit by bit through the eyes of Andy the linguist, before moving on to other narrative points of view.
He and eight others are the only ones, outside of the President, and possibly a few others who were sworn to secrecy (like ex-presidents, presumably), who know about the creature, allegedly the devil himself. At least he looks like the classical depiction of the devil. Through Andy's expertise, they get the creature talking. He's ancient. He knows Latin, Hebrew and Mayan, but he quickly learns English. His actual history is illusive, as we never know whether to believe the creature or not.
The other characters are a mixture. Sun, the vet, has recently been called in to check the creature's health. There's a priest and a rabbi. As one who has had exposure to both religions, I can say they're believably portrayed. Joe Konrath has also done enough reading up on things like ancient languages and DNA to at least sound believable. The narrative is spiced up by the banter between the rabbi and priest, chemistry between Andy and Sun, the secret desires of the doctor, and the hidden histories of each one (enabling the President to blackmail them into staying put), in an underground world equipped with everything only the army would think sufficient for the good life. He takes us from what seems like a science fiction techno-thriller, to what could pass as a horror story.
The story kept me glued til the "uh-oh" ending.
Robby Charters
author of Pepe

Author, in a shameless act of self promotion, review his own book

2012-01-27T11:16:00.004Z

Here's a review I did of my own book, Pepe, which I just had to take down from its Amazon page because an author isn't supposed to review his/her own book:

Author, in a shameless act of self promotion, review his own book,
June 10, 2011

By
robby charters
This review is from: Pepe (Kindle Edition)
Okay, I'm the author. I understand it's probably not fair for the author to review his own book, but the Amazon environment appears to be letting me do so -- so I'll just ramble on a bit...
So, as the author, am I really an authority on whether YOU'll like it? I'll only say this. I have about about eight novels, novellas, shorts -- whatever -- available on Amazon, and in my opinion, PEPE is my best one. It's certainly better than THE WRONG TIME, which appears to be getting the most downloads right now.
It's a cyberpunk novel -- perhaps a bit of crossover to fantasy -- set in 2020. Pepe is a homeless street boy who doesn't know his true identity. In the course of the story, he lives in places you'd typically find them: before the fire, in a vast slum community named the Dockyards (which is one of the central locations); later, an abandoned multi-story construction site with other homeless kids; and then, a shelter for homeless children, Mercy House, which I've based on Mercy Centre, Bangkok, where I worked for a year. Everywhere he lives, he has his sister, Po, with him. She's two years younger, she's not his biological sister, but he knows he's gotta take care of her. I've described the life of street kids as closely as I can without making the story dreary and dismal. There's every type: Pepe's and Po's "grandma" died when their home was burnt in a slum fire; there's Jose, the drug addict, who ran away from an abusive dad; and Raquel and her six-year-old twin brothers, Pierre and Michele (don't worry -- no tiresome comedies-of-errors). Their mother abandoned them after their dad went to prison. They are French/African. Raquel is a colourful character. I loved doing her.
The story is set in the fictional Southern European nation of Cardovia, with a history that goes back thousands of years. Cardo, the founder and first king of the dynasty, once paid a visit to King Solomon and received a special gift from him. This, and the character of Atsuko, the aged Japanese mystic, give the story its fantasy edge.
...And it's Cyberpunk: The blurb above said that the General's brain had been wired to a network of computers and robots. You'll see that that can definitely have its disadvantages. Unbeknownst to his dad, Raul is a hacker. His dad is an army colonel, one of the General's top commanders. Their family is typical upper-crust -- the opposite end of the spectrum from Pepe and Po. Things get precarious when Raul hacks into the Generals computer system and realises what kind of person he really is.
Rich kid meets poor kid: We see the typical attitude of rich kids towards "low-lifers", but things happen. A relationship slowly develops until Raul, Pepe and Po are the closest of friends. He enters their world as one of them. At the same time, in front of his computer terminal and VR set, sometimes accompanied by Pepe, he makes discovery after amazing discovery. Puzzle pieces begin to fit together, until suddenly he realises the danger Pepe is in. In fact, it might be too late...I'll stop here. I'm giving too much away.
There are no superheroes. Everyone's thoroughly human. Perhaps the closest thing to a superhero is Atsuko, but even he has his limitations. But, everyone does what it takes to give the story an ending that should be thoroughly satisfying.
I think you'll like it.
Well -- (as Mr. Bean says about his videos) -- I like it anyway...
Robby Charters, author of The Zondon

The Eurasian, 7th installment: Chapters 13 & 14

2011-12-07T20:56:00.002Z

This is the last installment I'll be posting for a while. It's as far as I've got so far.

For those of you who haven't looked at it yet, it's a "dystopia" (the opposite of utopia). It probably should come with a warning label: those with nationalistic feelings about the future of certain North American and Asian countries might might be offended. Or, it could be taken as a warning. Other than that, there is a lot of action and adventure.

If you haven't begun reading from the beginning, you still can. All the chapters are posted in this blog.

Chapter 13

Annie ol' Iron


'So long, Pipsqueak, I'll really miss you!' said Albert as he gave him a hug.
'I miss you too, you Hulk!'
'Just don't give away all your clothes.'
'Don't worry la!'
The rest shook hands and hugged, as the old bus revved it's diesel engine and Philip, Mickey, Yorba Linda, Yakov and the rabbi finally boarded. They took seats near the back.
Most of the windows didn't have any glass. The door that once worked on a hydraulic pump, now just sat in open position so the ticket collector could run and jump on as the bus started moving. The seats had one time been luxurious recliners, but the buttons no longer worked. They were covered with so many patches it was hard to tell their original colour.
Soon, they were travelling through mountainous wilderness. Every time they went uphill, the diesel engine's transmission made a very loud noise, as though complaining of the hard work.

* * *

The bus stopped at every small town. In some places, it made several stops. The people's baggage consisted of baskets of produce, or chickens as often as it did backpacks or suitcases.
About one hour into their journey, they came to a bigger road, and turned left.
More up and downhill grades -- more complaints by the transmission.

* * *

After repeated warnings that it had had quite enough of this up and downhill nonsense, the engine finally made good on its threat, and stopped.
The passengers got off, stretched their legs, or stood, or sat beneath the shade of a large tree that conveniently grew by that stretch of highway while the driver, with the help of the ticket collector, tinkered with the engine.
'It happens,' said Rabbi Solomon.
About an hour later, they were back on the road again.

* * *

They made a lunch stop at a village along the highway. Most of the passengers got something from a small shop that sold fry bread and things to go with it. However, Mrs. Kanter had packed something kosher for their lunch, so they had that.

* * *

The bus broke down a second time about an hour's walk from Globe. However, it took one hour to realise that it was going to take longer to fix this time, and to realise that had they walked, they'd be there by now. So, the second hour was spent in walking.
It was mid afternoon, but too late to think of travelling onward that day, so they found lodging at a bed and breakfast.
The rabbi bought a large bag of eggs, and the landlady was kind enough to hard-boil them. They would be a good source of protein during the journey when kosher food would be hard to find.
Over a supper of boiled eggs and toast, the rabbi said, 'There are two ways to go from here. The way South leads near Tuscan, which is in the Multinational Zone. Because of the garbage recycling industry, there are two or three Mafia families vying for control, so there are risks. I suggest taking the way through Safford.'
'There are Mafia controlled areas there as well,' said Yakov.
'They are easier to avoid.'

* * *

There wasn't even standing room on the bus, not so much as to get a toe hold while clinging to the door.
That didn't matter, as there were other forms of transport, mostly consisting of converted pick-up trucks. They each had two wooden benches running down both sides of the covered bed, so that the passengers sat facing one another, with the baggage stacked in between. The drivers ranged from old men to grannies to people who would have been considered too young to drive in any civilised part of the world. Some of them sported outlandish paint jobs, often a spray painted mural, or fancy graffiti, such as used to adorn the back sides of public buildings and underpasses of the cities of yesteryear.
The first few to pass were quickly filled by those who had failed to gain a toe-hold on the bus. Finally, there was a car with room for five more. The rabbi had a few words with the driver, a girl who couldn't have been a day older than twelve. Two younger boys sat with her in the front. The spray painted lettering on the side read, 'annie ol' iron'. Underneath were the subtitles: 'scattered shower', and 'light breeze'.
Mickey thought he remembered his Grandpa Abe singing a song with a title like that. He couldn't imagine what the weather conditions had to do with it.
There was, indeed, room for five, but not by standards back at home. Philip had to sit on top of Yorba Linda, Yakov, on the tail gate, while Mickey sat on some of the luggage in the middle. The rest of the passengers found hardly enough room to put their feet on the floor.
Besides the three children up front, there was one grown up passenger occupying the window seat.
Once everyone was securely on, the truck took off.
'Damn kid driver,' muttered a man with a few days growth on his chin.
As soon as Mickey took notice of him, he went on, 'What do ya think of this place? Weird huh? Let kids like that drive for a living! And who in hell would name their kid Annie ol' Iron?'
Before Mickey could ask for clarification, he had broken out into the song:

Any ol' iron, any ol' iron
Any, any any ol' iron
You look neat, talk about a treat
You look so dapper from your napper to your feet
Dressed in style, brand new tile
And your dad's old green tie on
But I wouldn't give you tuppence for your ol' watch and chain
Ol' iron, ol' iron
Nya ny-ny-nya nya nya, nya ny-ny-nya nya nya,
Nya ny-ny-nya nya nya, ol' iron!

'Where are you from?' asked the rabbi.
'Albuquerque,' said the man.
'New Mexico Albuquerque?'
'Only one there is!'
'Okay, maybe you're from there. Where do you live now?'
'I live in Albuquerque! I'm on my way home right now!'
'How do you propose to get in?'
'Same way I came out! A little known secret. I could tell ya, but then, I'd have to kill you! Ha ha!'
The rabbi responded with uplifted eyebrows and a slight nod, but had no more questions. The other passengers kept to themselves. Some acted like they didn't understand English.
They were speeding through dry wilderness, not slowing down for the bumps.
The strange young man kept muttering, 'Damn kid driver!'
At one point, the man grabbed a bar that ran along the ceiling. His sleeve slipped down, and Mickey noticed, pushed as far up his arm as it would go, an ID bracelet.
About an hour into the journey, they passed a small town. Two people got off, including the one sitting in the front. Annie ol' Iron came around to collect the fare from the one who got out from the back and invited the rabbi to sit in the front. Mickey sat down next to Yorba Linda and Philip, where the rabbi had sat, and Yakov took the seat vacated by the other passenger.
Yorba Linda said, 'Philip, could you move over onto Mickey? My legs are getting numb.'
He moved over.
After they got going again, the strange man grabbed the ceiling bar again.
Mickey whispered just loud enough for Yorba Linda and Philip to hear, 'Take a look at the man's wrist.'
Yorba Linda whispered, 'Oh my god! He was right!'

* * *

Now that Mickey wasn't blocking his view of the passengers across from him, the man seemed to take in interest in Philip.
'Where you from, kid?'
'Huh?'
'Where are you from?'
'Er -- Dinetah.'
Good answer, though Mickey.
'Dinetah? Where's that?'
'Across the desert.'
'Oh. Where you going?'
'A visit.' Mickey could tell Philip was trying to put him off with clipped answers.
'A visit? To who?'
'Er -- uncle.'
Philip looked outside at the passing scenery, at an angle that was as far off from the strangers face as he could.
'Can we be friends?'
Philip turned to Mickey and said in Thai, 'Kit yang ngai khon ni?' ('What do you think of this man?')
'Plaek.' ('Strange,') answered Mickey.
They kept up a conversation, alternating between Thai and Chinese until the man lost interest.

* * *

About noon, the car pulled off the road by a stream. There was enough flat ground to drive just a little bit upstream. There they parked the car, and everyone got out and sat down with whatever food they had brought.
The five chose a spot just slightly upstream from the car, away from the road, overlooking the stream. The car blocked the view from the highway. Not far from them, but closer to the bank of the stream, the driver and her two young brothers also settled down. Not far from them, again, was the man from Albuquerque.
Rabbi Solomon had the bag of eggs, another of fruit and a loaf of bread. He passed everyone an egg and let them help themselves to the bread. They ate them as sandwiches.
'Normally they go only to Silver City, but I've persuaded our young driver to take us all the way to Las Cruces.'
'She's willing to go there?' said Yakov.
'She knows how to get around. Look at that fire-arm the boy has.'
They looked. The older boy, probably about nine, had a revolver sitting next to him.
'He sits next to his sister in the cab, and holds that thing between his legs the whole way, with both hands, like he knows how to use it.'
'How did you persuade them?' asked Yakov.
'I offered them my old radio phone. Also, she'd rather be plying the road between Las Cruces and Albuquerque anyway. More lucrative. She just needed the excuse to make the break.'
'What about their home?'
'That car is their home. Their father, a man named Joe Iron, was bumped off by the Mafia. Their mother was forced to work in a whore house. These three got away in their dad's car and learned about life the hard way.'
'So her name really is, Annie ol' Iron?'
'That's right. Her two brothers are and Scattered Shower and Light Breeze.'
'Certainly had an imagination,' said Yakov.
The man from Albuquerque looked like he was taking an interest in the three siblings.
'Nice place, hun?' they could hear him say.
The three ignored him.
'And our friend here,' said Yakov. 'Do you think he's really from Albuquerque?'
'Of course he is,' said the rabbi. 'He's not from the Free Zone. He makes himself stick out like a sore thumb.'
'And, he's got an ID bracelet,' said Mickey.
'How does he get in or out?' asked Yakov.
'That's what I'd like to know,' said the rabbi.
The older boy had handed the gun to his sister, and was now getting undressed, keeping his sister and younger brother between him and the man -- who couldn't seem to keep his eyes off him. He got into the water and swam about for a while. And then got out.
He dressed himself, and then took the gun back from his sister.
She began undressing the younger boy. Then she undressed herself, and they went in. She began bathing her brother.
The Albuquerque man couldn't contain himself. He got up, and immediately the boy did as well, holding the gun in both hands, pointing it down with his legs spread apart -- not at all like a kid playing at cowboys.
'Is it okay if I join you?' asked the man.
'Don't you go near my sister!' ordered the boy.
Mickey started to get up.
'Relax,' said the rabbi. 'The boy has a gun.'
The girl in the water was standing up, and had grabbed hold of a switch-blade that hung around her neck. She had the look of a big sister facing up to a school yard bully.
'Hey! That's a big toy you have there!'
The boy was pointing the gun at him with both hands, arms stiff, one leg behind the other to brace himself.
'Wa-a-a,' whimpered Philip.
'Just sit still,' whispered the rabbi.
'C'mon, kid,' the man began moving towards the boy, 'you're not really going to ...'
Blam!
The smoke cleared. The boy brought the gun back down to eye level. The man lay sprawled on the ground with a hole in his chest.
The girl quickly dressed herself and her youngest brother. The older one maintained his poise, feet spread apart, gun in both hands pointed down.
The other passengers, after a brief glance, went back to their lunch.
Philip sprinted a few yards away behind some bushes, and vomited. The rabbi put the food away, including the half eaten sandwiches, for later. No one had the stomach for it now.
The older boy picked up the Albuquerque man's backpack and lay it among their own things, while Annie and the youngest went through the man's pockets.
Mickey took note that Annie found the bracelet, and worked it until it came off the man's wrist.

* * *

On the way back to the car, Philip lingered by the body. He just stood, gazing at the frozen facial expression. That moment seemed like an eternity.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and the rabbi's gentle voice.
'It is tragic when it happens like this. Indeed, a world has come to an end. But, this is the path he chose. Come.'
He walked back to the car in the embrace of the rabbi.

* * *

Now, there was room on the bench for Philip, though the thought of what it cost took away the joy.
As they drew near to Silver City, more seats became available at far less cost. Yakov took his turn sitting in the cab with the three children, while the rabbi sat in the back.
Besides the last of the passengers getting off, and Mickey taking a turn in the front, nothing memorable happened in Silver City.
From Silver City, the rabbi had said, they'd be taking mountain roads for safety, even if the straight roads through the valleys would be quicker. The latter went through more check points.

* * *

Mickey found the three not very communicative, not even among themselves. What little talk that went on revealed that the older one -- nine years old by Mickey's judgement -- was name Scattered Shower, though they called him 'Scat', and the five year old, 'Breeze'.
They were in a mountainous area, with a few curves in the road. Annie seemed to be taking extra care, not driving as fast as before, slowing down, Mickey thought, more than was necessary at each curve. Scat continued to sit very stiffly, next to Mickey, with both hands holding the gun hidden between his knees. Breeze was softly singing some local popular tune.
Being that they were moving along slowly, instead of taking the curves at a dangerous speed, Mickey took the time to admire the view.
'Scat! Hand grenade!' Annie shouted suddenly.
Before Mickey could comprehend what was happening, the car had come to a screeching halt. Scat had thrown Annie a hand grenade from the glove compartment, and had clamoured onto Mickey's lap, thrust his upper trunk out the window, and was firing the revolver, crushing Mickey's chest with his behind with every shot. Meanwhile, Annie had thrown the gear-stick into reverse, and was likewise thrusting her upper body out her window as she virtually stood on the accelerator, propelling the car backwards.
Mickey barely caught a glimpse of a large tree branch blocking the road ahead with some men standing around it. Then, that scene was obscured by the explosion of Annie's hand grenade, which cleared out both the branch and the men. Annie and Scat pulled themselves back in again, the gear was thrust into first and Annie roared on full speed ahead. All the while the five year old was bouncing up and down on the seat, shouting something unintelligible.
When Mickey finally gathered his wits, they were racing full speed down the road beyond the danger.
'Scat! Why you only fire four shots?' Annie said.
'No more bullets.'
'How many times I tell you - load it again each time you use it! Load it right now, dammit!' She was almost screaming the words out.
Scat sullenly opened the carriage, removed the empty cartridges, threw them abruptly past Mickey's face out the open window, and took six more cartridges out of the glove compartment.
'Huh! Scattered Shower -- should'a called you Scatter Brain!' Annie muttered.
Mickey began to realise that some of the bumps were not from the road but from a very flat tire on the left front side.
'Curse it! Shrapnel in the tire!' said Annie.
But she didn't so much as slow down. Probably still too dangerous to stop, Mickey presumed.
They slowed down near a wrecked pick-up similar to theirs, that had rolled off the highway. On a second look, Mickey could see the unconscious driver still in it.
'Scat, quick, help me,' said Annie.
Scat was still pouting.
Annie looked at Mickey and said, 'You and your friends help. Come Breeze. Scat, you stand guard.' She took a tire iron and some tools from under the seat.
Mickey met the others getting out the back.
'Wow!' said Yorba Linda.
'Good moves!' said Yakov.
'I told you, they know their way around,' said the rabbi.
Philip was just wide eyed and speechless.
Both the rim and the shrapnel ridden tire looked beyond repair. But Annie was already at work cranking away at the lug nuts of one that was sticking up in the air. Breeze was going through the pockets of the unconscious driver.
As each tire was removed from the axle Mickey and Yakov took them back to the car. The rabbi checked the driver for vital signs.
While Yakov helped change the tire, and Annie and Breeze, with Philip began removing other usable parts, the rabbi, Yorba Linda and Mickey moved the unconscious driver carefully out of the cab, and to a place where he could lie more comfortably.
'He won't live long, but at least he can die with dignity,' said the rabbi. He placed a bottle of drinking water in his hand.
Before leaving, he checked for vital signs once more, but there weren't any. However, he left the water where it was.
With everything that wasn't too heavy to carry now loaded in the back with the passengers, they were off again. This time, it was Yorba Linda's turn in the front.

* * *

Philip was finally encouraged to take a turn in the front. At least he was confident of not being shot himself, having observed their survival instincts at work.
He sat in the middle, with Scat sitting by the window on his right, and Breeze on his left. Scat was still in a bad mood, ever since being scolded for not fully loading the gun, and from subsequent browbeatings by his sister.
However, Philip being more their size, Annie was surprisingly conversant. They knew nothing of the world beyond a few of the neighbouring republics, and just a little bit about the MCZ. It was like a different planet.
Philip thought it was probably okay to think of the MCZ as a different planet, as he was almost of that opinion himself. However, Annie and Breeze seemed eager to hear about China and other parts of the world, so Philip had been giving them a geography lesson. It was hard to tell whether Scat was taking any of it in or not, as he just sat sullenly at his post.
It was evening. The traffic had been becoming heaver the closer they came to Caballo Lake. Now they were almost at a stand still.
Annie had seemed to lose interest in the geography lesson, as her attention appeared to be on whatever was ahead. They were approaching a bend.
'Oh my god! Mafia check point!'
Not many cars ahead, just around the bend, were steel oil drums set up. Men with automatic weapons were standing guard, and were stopping cars, one by one, as they passed.
'Scat, look in the man's bag and see if there's anything they might take.'
Scat didn't move. Neither did the traffic.
Suddenly, Scat said, 'That's Ito! He killed Papa!'
Philip had never heard a kid's voice exude so much hate.
'He'll kill us too if you don't hide the gun!'
'I kill him first,' shouted Scat.
'No!' Screamed Annie. 'You can only shoot six times! His friends got Kalashnikovs -- they'll kill us all!'
The screaming attracted the attention of an important looking man with a pistol in his holster. He began walking slowly towards them.
'Give me the gun Scat!' Annie made a lung for Scat.
'You're not tell'n me what to do! I've got the gun now! I'll kill Ito!'
At that he lunged his body out the window and held the gun up.
'Die Ito!'
Bang!
Now everything happened at once. Ito fell against a car with a hole in his chest. People with machine guns took positions behind other cars and oil drums. Annie dragged Breeze out the driver's door. Philip followed.
He saw his backpack and thought he'd better take it.
Annie and Breeze went straight across several rows of traffic to the other side. Philip went around to the back to meet the others.
His back pack was heavier than he expected.
He met the others, and they ran up the road in the direction they had come.
Mickey said, 'Don't worry, I got your back pack right here, Philip.'
'Huh?'
They could hear Scat's revolver fire and that of the bigger guns.
Up ahead, more men with guns got off a covered lorry.
'This way!' shouted Yakov, signalling them towards the ditch at the side of the road.
The men with guns ran past them and began shooting at those at the checkpoint.
The five got down into the ditch, and began moving back towards the checkpoint.
Philip took a peep above the top.
'For goodness sake, get down!' said Yakov.
It was too late. Philip had seen it -- the limp body of Scat draped through the open window of the cab, riddled with bullets holes, a big man dragging Annie and Breeze, both kicking and screaming, and throwing them into a van.
The moment he brought his head down, the sky above filled with a bright yellow cloud, and the ground below hit him in the face. The bang was so loud he couldn't hear much else for a while.

* * *

Yakov judged it safe to emerge. They did, and sure enough, the battle seemed to be over. The blast had eliminated most of the resistance.
'Annie's in that van,' shouted Philip. There were two vans parked together.
The van seemed in tac but the big man that Philip had seen lay sprawled near the driver door.
Annie and breeze were inside, safe and sound.
The men from the lorry seemed to have taken control of the checkpoint, but were ignoring them.
Philip approached Annie. 'Really sorry about Scat,' he said.
Annie was close to tears, but she kept a stoic face. 'Yeah -- he was so stupid!' Then she broke down as Philip embraced her.
'So, what to do now?' said Yorba Linda.
'These vans seem to be vacant,' said Yakov.
'Good idea,' said the rabbi.
After some consultation, the five took one van, while Annie and Breeze took the other.

* * *

Yakov drove, the rabbi sat beside him, and the others sat in seats near the front, as the rear had no windows.
'Here's your backpack,' Mickey said to Philip.
'But I have my backpack -- wait -- this isn't mine.'
'Where did you get it?'
'From the front of Annie's pickup.'
They looked inside.
'This is that man's backpack. Here's his ID bracelet!' said Mickey.
'Oh my God!' exclaimed Philip.
'And a My Own World headset, and look, an e-tablet!'
'Oh good,' said Yorba Linda. 'We could use an extra e-tablet.'

* * *

The van was petrol powered. Before they left town, Yakov drove into a filling station and got a full tank, but only after enquiring where the local oil was refined, and sniffing a sample of it that the attendant had on hand. Likewise, the attendant weighed the coins Yakov gave him to make sure that they had the proper amount of gold embedded in the centre.
It was getting late. The rabbi knew of a park where people could safely park their motor homes for a small fee. They decided to make for that.
Even though he had checked all the fluid levels, after driving a while, Yakov began having doubts about the state of the motor.

* * *

Mickey had copied the Bible from one e-tablet to the other, so both he and Yorba Linda were reading.
Philip slipped into the seat behind the rabbi.
'Rabbi, did you see what happened to Scat?'
'Indeed, I did. Another tragedy -- two the same day.'
After a pause, Philip asked, 'Was that the path he chose?'
The rabbi thought a while.
'Some have more liberty to choose their path than others. I'd say the man this morning had more paths to choose from. Scattered Shower had only a few, if any. Each one will be rewarded in the world to come by what choices they had, and which path they chose. The Holy One, blessed be He, shines the light of His Shechinah down the path that leads to Himself. The one who glimpses that light however faintly it filters down to him, if he follows, has taken the right path -- however far that path will take him. He or she will be rewarded in the world to come. If it leads him all the way to the Shechinah in the person of His Messiah, then blessed is that person both in this life and in the world to come.'

* * *

They reached the caravan park, paid the fee for one night, and parked. The rabbi and Yorba Linda occupied the two front seats, which reclined all the way for sleeping. The others laid out their bedding on the carpeted back end of the van. They were off again at morning light.

Chapter 14

Uncle Rodrigo


A few hours into the journey, Yakov's doubts concerning the state of the motor were confirmed. It had stopped for the second time, and this time, it wouldn't start, no matter what they did.
'Even if I manage to fix it, it won't go far,' said Yakov. 'There's a fundamental problem inside the engine.'
They gathered their backpacks and were off. Mickey carried the two, one in front and one in back.
Fortunately, they weren't far from sources of water. A river ran not far from the highway.
They walked on for three hours.

* * *

On the other side of the wire fence running along the highway, was an old air strip. A small two engine transport plane sat next to a hanger.
'See if that plane is available,' suggested the rabbi. 'If he could take us all the way, it would save us untold hassle with border crossings and Mafia checkpoints.'
'Hmmm,' responded Yakov. 'Not to mention, time.'
They looked for a way in.
The gate was further down, but it was locked. The place looked deserted. Further on, they found a gully that left a gap under the fence. There were bits of barbed wire hanging down, intended for discouraging intruders, but they were easily pulled out of the way. They all crawled under and made for the hanger and control tower.
They found a man sleeping in a hammock strung between a landing gear and a hatch under the fuselage.
'Sir,' shouted Yakov. 'Are you the owner of this plane?'
'Yeah,' said the man, sleepily. 'What of it?'
'Can you take us to Texas?'
'No fuel,' he said. 'No delivery until next week.'
'Nothing at all?'
'I could get you up in the air, and maybe a ten minute joyride, if that's all you want.'
Yakov threw his hands in the air.
They turned around to leave.
'Hang on,' said Yakov. 'Could you land this on a straight stretch of road like that out there?'
'Yeah, but then we'd be stuck. It's no place to leave a plane.'
'Where you'd be stuck would be next to a van, filled to the brim with gasoline.'
'Hmmm!'
'Then, we take off again and head for Republic of Mexas.'
'Okay...'
They settled on a price and filed on to the aeroplane. The rabbi joined them, although he had originally planned to go only as far as Las Cruces.
It was a transport plane, with just enough seats near the front for the group The rest was cargo space. They taxied, took off and banked around to follow the highway in the direction they came from.
They saw the van by the side of the road far ahead, and landed. Yakov and the pilot made several trips back and forth, siphoning fuel into a tank and returning to pour it into the aeroplane's fuel reserve. Then, they took a cue from Annie ol' Iron and removed everything else from the van that could possibly be useful, including the tires and seats.
Then, they took off again. Later, they made one more refuelling stop.

* * *

They were flying at a very low altitude.
'Are we approaching Milfred already?' asked Mickey.
'No,' said the pilot. 'That fence you see over there is the boundary line between the Free Zone and the MCZ. It's not that we're in danger, or anything, but we pilots feel that it's a good idea not to show up too brilliantly on their radar screens -- in case they get any ideas. Also, it's to avoid accidentally flying over.'
'Why?' asked Yorba Linda.
'For us, they're a no-fly zone. When we navigate near places like this, we have to know when to change course, so we don't even look like we're about to fly over. Otherwise they shoot us down before we get to their border. The rule we follow is, never go in a straight line towards MCZ territory when within fifty miles.'
"Wa!' cried Philip.
Mickey looked. Philip had on the stranger's head set, and he had managed to slip his hand into the ID bracelet.
'What is it?'
'I see lots of lines, and writing over there!' he pointed towards where the fence was visible.
'That's the MCZ, isn't it?' said Yorba Linda.
'Hondo, Texas,' said Philip.
'How did you know?' asked the pilot.
'The letters on the ground. This head set turns it into a map! Over there, Surveillance Headquarters, sector five, level three, and over there -- wait! The more I look at something, more info -- people in that house, named Smith, Alan and Hellen, children's names are ...'
'You see all that in the VR head set?' asked Yakov.
'That's more than mine ever showed me,' said Yorba Linda.
'Let me see,' said Yakov.
'Fading out now,' said Philip.
They had gone on, past the fenced in area.
'But the man this ID bracelet belong to, his name, Morton Carson.'
'Carson did you say?' said Yorba Linda.

* * *

They could see the town of Milfred before them. At Yakov's request, the pilot flew around until they spotted the communications tower. Then he made preparations to land at the small airport.
'How long will you stay around?' the rabbi asked the pilot.
'Until I can get another payload.'
'I just might have something for you, so don't go anywhere in a hurry.'
'Right.'
They landed. The five disembarked, and went off in search of the communications tower. They could see the top of it over the roofs.

* * *

The town seemed a lot like those they had been seeing -- simple tarmac road, no footpath other than hard dirt packed down by constant foot traffic, shop fronts of family run business, but here, a lot more more green in the landscape, and the houses of wood rather than adobe.
Like Cactus Head and Whiteriver, most of the people they saw were brown skinned. But the general chatter had a more familiar sound to Yorba Linda's ears. It was Spanish.
She'd never been here in her life, but the sounds, the smells, even the way people carried themselves, were somehow a part of her. It all reminded her of home -- of the way her relatives were when they were among themselves, the way she was rebuked for being when she let her guard down in public -- but here no one was ashamed of it.
She had never really been ashamed of it. She had even helped to mentor Monterey Jack into that mould, and it thrilled her when he fit in. She had appended 'Monterey' to his name as a reward. But she had been away from it too long. The sights and sounds of Milfred told her so.
They took a wrong turn somewhere. They realised it when they again glimpsed the top of the communications too far to their left, but the road was veering right.
Yorba Linda asked for directions in Spanish. She wasn't sure how they referred to the communications tower, but when she dropped the name, Rodrigo Sanchez, that brought an immediate response.
'Go back that way, and turn right, and then left.'
They followed as far as they could with that, and asked someone for the rest. Everyone knew Rodrigo Sanchez.
Yorba Linda had arrived home.

* * *

From the outside, the compound looked no different than Hambone's tower in Cactus Head. The gate was locked, there was no bell, but a helpful neighbour yelled Rodrigo's name a few times, and hurled a small pebble at a glass pane.
The door opened, and out came Uncle Rodrigo -- much older looking than Yorba Linda remembered.
'Tio Rodrigo!' called Yorba Linda.
He stopped short, a glow of recognition transformed his face, and he ran to the gate. Suddenly irritated at the wire fencing for preventing an immediate embrace, he fumbled with the key and they were in. Then, they embraced.
'How did you come here?' he asked when they got inside.
'It's a long story, Tio,' she began.
The inside was similar to Hambone's tower, but it was in a much better state of upkeep, not unlike his earlier home in San Jose.
'And who are your friends?'
Yorba Linda introduced all of them. Explaining who each one was, of course, meant telling the long story beginning with her involvement as tour guide to a group of Chinese students, the hijacking, the stay at Francis Baguette's ranch, finding out about Monterey Jack's involvement...
'Ai! That Monterey Jack! Such a handfull isn't he! He even hacks calls into my communication system. But I knew this time he was into something away out of his depth -- not his usual cocky self -- but he wouldn't tell me what. Though he told me you might be coming.'
...then explaining Yakov's presence. It was Yakov's turn:
'Your nephew, Monterey Jack, has more than made up for his mischief. Our organisation has been tracking the same group that hijacked the hovercar. Through him, we've been able to get on an inside track in monitoring their activities inside the MCZ, just in time to uncover a major plot in the making.'
'What organisation are you with?'
'Jewish Defence Association, headquarters in Springdale, New Michigan. The group we've been watching is the American Nazi Republic, which is group consisting of all the Nazi nations. Their plan is to gain access to a MCZ missile base which would give them control over the whole Free Zone -- if not the MCZ.'
'Wow!'
'Now, here's where we feel you might be able to help us...'
After a long discussion and some deep thought, Uncle Rodrigo was willing.

* * *

Yakov had put in a call to David and Joe. The rabbi wanted to be a part of the conversation.
'Has the community been able to purchase grain for Stanley Town?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Joe. 'They're still not sure how to get it there. Because it's expensive to store, they've had it shipped here to Whiteriver.'
'Very good. We have an aeroplane. We can airlift it to them,' said the rabbi.
'And after the airlift,' Yakov continued, 'we'll fly all of you here to Mexas.'

* * *

Joe, David, along with Albert and U Ta boarded the plane along with the sacks of grain. Albert and U Ta were joyfully reunited with Philip, Mickey and the rabbi.
On their first pass over Stanley Town, they dropped leaflets instructing them to clear the main highway. Some of the leaflets fell in the church compound, some in Mr. Stanley's and the rest, along the highway that needed clearing.
On the second and third passes, they flew low and dropped the sacks out the back, just close enough to the ground that most of them didn't burst open.
Then, one more pass to observe the happy residents
Then, they flew straight back to Mexas.

The Eurasian -- sixth installment: chapters 11 & 12

2011-12-02T20:37:00.001Z

Chapter 11

Stanley Town


Someone had taken a lorry chassis with the driver's seat and steering wheel still attached to the front, fitted it with steel tractor wheels and built a platform around the rest of it for holding goods. The design was neither for speed nor comfort -- only for plodding along steadily with a heavy load until it reached its destination -- the hotter the sun, the better.
The passengers made themselves as comfortable as they could atop sacks of corn and dried beans under a canopy of solar panels. Because those were made to absorb as much heat as they could, that left it relatively cool underneath.
The group consisted of eight, plus Paco the driver, and his helper, Little Tree. Both Riu and Seymour had opted to stay on at the ranch, deciding that the prospect of a fulfilling life there outweighed the risk of never getting home. They were both well on their way to acquiring the Dineh language. That left the four remaining students, their tour guide and their three protectors.
Yakov had managed to find a place to mount the satellite dish on top of the canopy of solar panels, and was monitoring transmissions from Monterey Jack's IP address. The dish was programmed to fix on the signal, and automatically adjust to compensate for any tilts or changes in direction of the wagon.

* * *

They continued to follow the dirt road over the desert. They had been passing through some striking landscape earlier, including parts of what used to be the Petrified Forest National Park, and the Painted Desert. Here, it had ceased to look interesting, or even "painted". It was all flat, dry yellow ground, with just enough variation to make the riding uncomfortable -- not that iron wheels made for a smooth ride anyway.
In some places, the road was so un-discernible, Paco had to use a compass to navigate.
The passengers napped as they could, chatted when they could think of something to chat about, read from Mickey's e-tablet, napped some more. Sometimes one or another would hop off and walk briskly alongside the wagon, but they could never keep it up for very long because the sun was so hot, and climbed back in.
Little Tree distributed the ingredients for a meal, and they ate.
They travelled on.

* * *

The two sat, facing the rear.
'Hot, ah?' commented Albert.
'Yeah, very hot,' said Philip. 'And nothing to see, all same-same.'
'Yeah la, like the ocean, only brown.'
'I like blue better.'
'Yeah,' said Albert. 'Ocean also cooler.'
'Also, see the ocean means going home.'
'Yeah la! Home! China!'
'But I'm still glad we come here,' said Philip.
'Really?'
'Yeah. So much change. Not happy before, now very happy.'
'Yeah, you're right. Me too.'
'And I don't mind you call me "Pipsqueak"! Before...'
'Really? Ha ha! You pipsqueak!' said Albert, jostling Philip.
He jostled him back. 'You Hulk!'
The two broke into laughter.

* * *

They stopped for the night.
Little Tree started a fire and prepared supper.
They ate, and then spread out their sleeping bags under one of the starriest skies they'd ever seen.
This far out in the desert, even the scorpions found life intolerable, but there was enough sustenance for the human sojourners in the wagon.
They slept.

* * *

They had breakfast before sun up.
As soon as there was enough sun for the solar panels, they were off again.

* * *

They took their lunch astride the sacks of dried goods.
They made small talk. They napped.

* * *

Again, they stopped for the night.

* * *

They had breakfast and were off again.

* * *

etc.

* * *

The changes in the landscape was so subtle that they hadn't noticed. Suddenly, they came to some cultivated land. At first, they were plots where someone had started to prepare the soil, but had given up. Further on, there were a few rows of corn that had managed to break through the soil.
Further, again, they came on someone watering a plot from a mule cart with a water tank. It was hard to tell if he were an Indian, or a white man whose skin was darkened by the sun. He wore only a very worn out pair of cut-off jeans.
Paco asked directions to the nearest path, which he had lost, and the man answered in a Mid-West accent. He couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the sacks of grain.
They followed until they came to the road, and followed that past more fields and gardens. There were others out irrigating and weeding. As they went, the fields became more thick and lush. More people working, along with some children. All the clothes looked tattered. Some of the children wore nothing. Most of the people's faces lit up when they saw them coming.
One woman had a small radio, and said she'd phone ahead to tell Mr. Stanley and Father Ryan they were coming.
Further still, there were houses between some of the fields with families about. They were built of adobe, stone, stubble and just about anything else people could get their hands on, including a few old rusted caravans, motor homes and freight containers. Mickey noticed very few clothes lines, and even then, very few clothes hanging out. He suspected that people were wearing all the clothes they had, often with holes worn through in awkward places. Some children wore next to nothing, if anything at all. At least one girl wore woven grass. Others wore old sacks.
All of their skin was brown from the sun, leaving only the hair and the shape of the nose to show if they were, in fact, black, white, Indian or Hispanic. Another thing their skin showed in common was very little meat between that and the bones -- not an overweight person among them.
Soon, the houses began to outnumber the garden plots, further on, they found themselves in what could only be described as a vast shanty town, a jungle of people and houses of every description. Some were two and three stories, depending on the building material.
Here, people were breaking out in cheers as they saw them coming. Children were dancing in the street, some clamouring to get on, others running along ahead, beside and behind the wagon. The passengers responded in like spirit and began to give a few of the younger ones a hand getting up, until the extra weight began to slow them down.
From further ahead came a more official looking procession. The centre of it was a better dress man that could have passed for a rancher in cowboy times, surrounded by bodyguards. Though better dressed, his clothes were far from new.
As soon as they were within earshot, the man in the middle raised his hands and called out, 'Welcome, Amigos Paco and Little Tree! Welcome, your friends as well!'
Paco stopped the wagon, got down and went to the man and they embraced. The others also dismounted and went forward to be introduced. He introduced the man as Mr. Stanley.
Yorba Linda was carrying a small child. Joe, and Yakov each had two. Even Albert picked up one with long hair, wearing threadbare shorts. He wasn't sure of the gender.
'Hi, what's your name?' he asked.
'Johnny.'
'You very light! How old are you?'
'Ten.'
'Ten! But you so...'
'Where you from?'
'China.'
'Is that far from here?'
Now the group of them was walking further towards the centre of the town. Little Tree got into the wagon and drove slowly after -- with a fresh crew of kids.
Not far up the street was a walled compound. They went in, but the crowd apparently all knew they weren't allowed.
'Wait a minute,' said Albert, just as he had sat his new friend down.
He opened his back pack and pulled out a shirt. 'Take this,' he said.
'Wow! You mean it?'
'Yes la. Take it.'
'I never had one of these before, Thanks!'
'Now why didn't I think of that?' said Yorba Linda. The little girl she had been carrying was completely naked. She found a tee shirt that fitted her like a dress.
Philip found that because of his size, several of his trousers fit some of the children.
They all went into the compound with lighter backpacks. It was fortunate that they were right at the gate, so they were able to escape being mobbed.

* * *

In the compound was an assortment of vehicles. A couple looked like armoured troop carriers, the armour consisting of steel plates welded on to a chassis with gun slots. There were also a couple of lorries with a bit of steel plates added on as well, one army tank, and one 16 wheel lorry with a flat-bed rig holding some large object covered in tarpaulin.
Around the periphery were a number of storage sheds and garages, and in the middle of the compound, the nicest two story house they had seen since arriving.
Inside the house was a rather nice living room suite, and a coffee table laden with tea and cookies.
The lack of seating space on the settees was made up by a few wooden chairs. Even then, Philip and Albert sat on the floor.
'This all used to be national park land,' Mr. Stanley was continuing the conversation he began with David and Joe, 'all except the resort town along the highway, San Pablo Mission. When the system collapsed, people who had lost everything because of the great recession, all flocked in and began grabbing land and turning it into farms. My dad got this piece, between the town and the desert, that we're sitting on right here. Now, a lot of people weren't quick enough, and had no place to go. My dad was kind hearted, and let them set up camp. Maybe he was stupid, like the other farmers say he was, but a lot of people would have had no place to go. Now, my dad already had a business in the town, a gun shop. He did pretty well, in spite of the recession, and even bought a few of the business as other people went bankrupt. Because he was already doing well, it didn't matter that much to him that so many people were settling on his land that he couldn't run a farm the normal way. Instead, he took over the town, merged it with the squatter community, and called it Stanley Town.
'At first, things went okay. The farmers in the other places came to Stanley Town to buy their supplies, which Dad had sources for, such as the army base. We'd buy their produce. When the currency collapsed, they traded their produce for supplies. Then, Dad's sources began to run dry, and the population of Stanley Town got too big. When the Multinationals started to take over, and a lot of the towns and counties declared independence. The farmers that had settled in this area formed the Republic of Arizona, but they decided that Stanley Town was too much of a burden for them. In fact, they tried a couple of times to wipe out our whole population. But we're just too many for that. My dad had the gun selling business, and he'd seen that coming. We fought back.
'Now, since being excluded from the republic, getting food has been a problem.'
'Clothes too, I notice,' said Joe.
'Yeah. That's one of the sources that dried up. We're just too far away from any sources of textiles. In the old days, there were charities that distributed used clothes. Your folks across the desert send us cotton and wool sometimes, but it's just not enough to clothe everyone. Especially when they have to make up space for food.'
'How long will this food last, that we brought?' asked David.
'If we take small bites and chew it every carefully, it might last a month.'
'I notice you grow some, as well.'
'With what we grow, plus what you folks from over the desert send us, and some of our other methods, we might make it through the year, although sometimes, we'll be down to one meal every two days.'
There was a pause. Mickey wondered where the biscuits and tea came from.
'Can you tell us the best way to get to White River?' asked Yakov.
Mr. Stanley though a while. 'I tell you what. In about three days, we'll be making an expedition to a place not far from there. We'll drop you off within walking distance. You'll also get a chance to see how we feed ourselves.'

* * *

They went out through the gate on the way to the San Pablo Mission compound, where they would spend the next few nights and where the food would be stored.
Albert saw Johnny running up, again shirtless, but with another small boy wearing his old shirt.
'Hi! This is my brother, Geoffrey! I let him wear the shirt today, and tomorrow I'll wear the shirt, he wears the pants.'
As Geoffrey leaped extra high with his hands extended, Albert noticed that the shirt was all he had on. Albert picked him up, whereupon he hugged his neck and kissed him.
The two boys were so light, he found it no trouble at all carrying both at the same time.
Not far down the street they came to what was probably once the highway. There were traces of tarmac here and there, as well as parts of a cement foot path running down both sides. Ahead of them was a two story concrete building that had a part of an old sign that said 'Savings and Loan', but it looked like several families were living in it. Joined to that were more buildings that looked like were once a row of shops, with big windows that used to have plate glass. People simply stepped through them without bothering to use the door. One of them still had a very old sign, Men's Clothes, with no trace, whatsoever, of the said clothes. In fact, a young man could be seen inside wearing no clothes.
The group, followed by the electric wagon, turned and went down what was once obviously a prosperous commercial centre, until they came to a walled compound. The sign over the gate said, 'San Pablo Mission'.
Inside, was what looked like an old chapel from the cowboy movies, an adobe structure with a bell set into the top of the front façade. Around the courtyard were other buildings, one of which looked like a school. Here, the crowd obviously felt more welcome, and followed them inside.
There were already a number of people there, including children. Standing in middle was a man wearing a long robe down to his ankles. He reminded Mickey of pictures he'd seen of St. Francis of Assissi.
As a group of people inside immediately set to unloading the wagon, the robed man welcomed them.
'Welcome to the San Pablo Mission!'
'You must be Father Ryan?' said Joe.
'Indeed I am. Come on into the rectory and make yourselves at home.'

* * *

Mickey felt a lot better about drinking cool water than tea and biscuits in the presence of so many thin people.
The only furniture in the room was the long table, with a bench on either side. The rest of the space in the room would be their sleeping quarters, using their own bed rolls that Francis Baguette had given them on the hard floor. They were happy enough with that.
After a cool drink, they chose their spots to put down their bed rolls and their back packs.
Father Ryan was still outside directing some activity. Mickey went out to see what was going on.
He, with a couple of nuns, seemed to be organising a number of children while Paco looked on.
'What's happening?' Mickey asked Little Tree.
'Tomorrow we will take some children from Father Ryan's orphanage to live in Dinetah. There are families who can take an extra child each.'
Soon, he had a row of about twenty children of various ages and degrees of dress or undress. Some looked like brothers and sisters. Fr. Ryan was writing down their names.
'They'll look nice dressed in regular clothes,' said Mickey.
'And a little bit fatter,' replied Little Tree. 'Just don't tell them that yet, or all the children will be crying to go.'

* * *

Supper consisted of pinto beans that were boiled and then fried, rolled up in corn tortillas -- exactly the ingredients they had brought from Dinetah.
'Yes,' continued Fr. Ryan, answering a query by David, 'some children think of a meal as something that happens every other day.'
'Mr. Stanley mentioned some other ways of getting food,' said Joe.
Fr. Ryan laughed, 'He has his ways. You've heard of Robin Hood, haven't you?'
'I get the picture.'
'It sounds like you don't agree with his techniques,' said David.
'I believe if we trusted the Lord more often, rather than resorting to force, we'd see more miracles, such as we have seen.'
'Tell us.'
'One year, a few years ago, we were on the brink of mass starvation, but we cried out to the Lord, and one tortilla, about this size, fed a thousand.'
'Wa!' said Albert, U Ta at once.'
'No!' said Yakov.
'In this very neighbourhood. Ask anyone here, they'll tell you. Another time, about 1000 or so egg laying hens flew over the fence and landed in the poorest area of our town. I never knew hens could fly, but these ones did. Without these and other miracles, our population would be much less than you see it today. And I sincerely believe that if we trusted God, instead of bullets and ammunition, we would see more miracles. I've said so to Mr. Stanley many times.'
U Ta spoke up. 'I see all the people's teeth are very nice and white, but no one has toothpaste, ha?'
'That, my friend, is not a miracle, but just one of the benefits of extreme poverty,' answered Fr. Ryan. 'No one here has ever eaten anything containing sugar.'
'Can't buy sweets?' said Albert.
'No money to buy anything with, and nothing to buy if they did have any money.'
'So,where does Mr. Stanley get his supply of ammunition, then?' asked Joe, 'Even if he did once run a gun shop, I understand his suppliers are no longer in business.'
'Yes,' added David, 'and I think he did have a bit of sugar on hand for our tea this afternoon.'
'Apart from the foundry, he does seem to have a source. I'm afraid I can't tell you much about it, nor how he pays for it.'

* * *

The wagon was loaded, and all the others were in the courtyard to see them off. Paco switched on the electric motor, and the contraption began to move slowly forward.
The remaining children and the two nuns cheered, waved and wept. As the wagon moved down the main street, one of the older children in the wagon led off in a song, and the travellers joined in.
As it disappeared down the other road towards Dinetah, Mickey felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Fr. Ryan.
'I understand you're the one who brought the Bible in electronic format'
'Er -- I guess I did.'
'Thank you very much. It's a most prized commodity.'
'You didn't have a Bible before?'
'Only a very tattered portion of the New Testament that was becoming hard to read.'

* * *

Mickey, Yorba Linda and Yakov were walking down the the main street.
Every now and then, someone greeted them, or a group of children came running.
Yakov asked one man, 'Do you know of an incident where one tortilla feed the whole neighbourhood?'
'Yes sir. I remember that quite well.'
Later, he asked another one.
'Yep. I never ate so much as I did that day.'
Another response farther on: 'I sure do. That was one feast I'll never forget!'
Yakov asked about the hens.
'That's her, right over there. Lays two a day!'
Yakov sighed and shook his head.
When they got past where the original town ended, there were more adobe and other makeshift dwellings, with garden plots along side. Further off, again, there were more fields and vegetable gardens then houses.
Then, in the distance, they saw it: a fence, stretching as far as they could see in both directions.
The closer they came, the more they saw; the barbed wire on both sides, the electric wire running along the top, and, as they got even closer, the men with guns on both sides.
The fence went right over the road without even a hint of a gate. There was a road on the other side that joined the highway and ran alongside the fence. An armoured vehicle sat near the intersection, and another could be seen much further up the ring road.
'Is this a prison camp, or what?' said Yorba Linda.

* * *

Every meal except breakfast was the same; one tortilla with beans rolled up inside, sometimes with a bit of salsa, or a few garden vegetables to spice it up. Breakfast was a small bowl of cornmeal porridge.
It never filled them up, but after a few days, their stomachs stopped complaining. When one was inclined to complain, one only had to look at the people walking about the town.
To Johnny and Geoffrey, who came every day to visit Albert, and usually stayed for lunch, it was a feast.
Just as Johnny said they would, they alternated between the shirt and their original pair of ragged jeans. Then, on laundry day, they showed up wearing nothing. Albert found one more polo shirt, and Philip parted with another pair of shorts.
Now, Philip was down to one pair of trousers, and Albert, one shirt.

* * *

The only light that shone anywhere was what flooded Mr. Stanley's compound, as a rag-tag army was preparing for action. The eight fellow travellers arrived, as appointed, and Mr. Stanley himself directed them to a van near the rear of the convoy. Behind it was something that looked like a home made tank, with guns pointing out on every side.
As they walked towards their conveyance, they could see a flank of armed but un-uniformed men do a right-face at their sergeant's command, and begin marching towards a troop carrier.
Their van was behind the flatbed rig that had the thing covered with a tarpaulin.
Mr. Stanley got into the driver's seat of the van. He got on his radio. 'Are we ready?'
'Car one, ready, Sir!' came an immediate reply.
'Car two, ready, Sir!' came another, on its tail.
'Car three, ready, Sir!'
etc. etc.
'Onward!' said Mr. Stanley, finally.
The convoy began to move slowly forward. It continued slowly down the dirt road through the shanty town, on past some fields and garden plots, and turned right at a four way intersection.
As soon as they went beyond the last garden, Mr. Stanley spoke into the radio. 'Infra-red on, lights off, full speed ahead. Maintain radio silence.'
Everything went black, except for a panel in front of the driver that showed an image of the vehicle ahead of them via the infra-red sensors. They began moving at breakneck speed.
'Where are we going?' asked Yorba Linda.
'On a harvesting expedition,' said Mr. Stanley. 'We plan these very carefully, pick a different place every time, and hit where and when they least expect it.'
After a while, Joe asked, 'How do you managed to keep up your supply of ammunition?'
'I have friends in the right places. That's all I'll say.'
'Can you tell us anything about an incident where Fr. Ryan fed a whole neighbourhood with one tortilla?' asked Yakov.
'Whoah! All I can say is, that's not my department. I wasn't there when it happened. I don't know what happened, or how. The same with Mildred Harper's pot of stew, the flying hens, Juan Verdugo's sack of beans -- all I know is that something happens now and then in this neighbourhood or that to make people there stop complaining, and the babies stop dying for a while. Fr. Ryan thinks they're a sign from God that I should stop doing my job.'
After a pause, he added, 'And tonight, you'll see the sort of miracle I do, the kind that keeps us all alive year in and year out.'
Just a bit further, he said, 'Here we are.'
They could see by the infra-red panel that a car up ahead had turned right.
They all turned, but came to a stop. The screen now showed an elevated view from a high mounted camera. Zooming in, they could see a couple of gun cars advancing towards a fence, shooting some sort of lightning bolts at the ground ahead. Occasionally, an explosion would erupt from the ground.
'Land mines?' said Joe.
'Yep,' said Stanley.
After a while, the whole convoy began to advance slowly.
Up ahead, the gunners were blasting a hole in the fence.
Soon, they were all through to the other side, and they began speeding down a paved road, past grain fields.
'We managed to surprise them again,' said Mr. Stanley. 'No resistance.'
The convoy turned down this way and that, travelling for about an hour down one stretch. It was pitch dark, but they could tell by the curves and slopes that the terrain was hilly. Finally, they came to a stop beside a large wheat field.
Gun cars and troops took up positions along the highway beside the field, and the smaller roads around it.
One group of men went to the lorry with the tarpaulin, and began removing it. Underneath was a harvester, with a trailer. They set up a ramp, someone got into the harvester and drove it down, dragging the trailer. It went straight into the wheat field and began moving up the length of the field at a high speed. In a surprisingly short time, it was all the way to the other end, and making its way back.
'We've been spotted,' came a voice over the radio.
'How many?' asked Mr. Stanley.
'Not a big group. Our men are standing ready. I think they don't dare come closer.'
'Good. Maybe we'll get this field finished and be off before anyone else arrives.'
The harvester finished its job very quickly, and was soon being packed into the back of the lorry, this time, with a trailer full of grain behind it.
Everyone got back into their vehicles, and they were off.
'We always come out a different way from where we went in. We might make one more stop, maybe for some cattle, or sheep. That depends on what our scout came up with. But there's a place just ahead that would be ideal to begin your walk to Whiteriver.'
'We certainly appreciate the lift,' said David.
'And the education,' said Yakov.
'Nothing's too big a favour for my friend, Francis Baguette.
The whole convoy turned to the right, onto another road. Then, at Mr. Stanley's order, they came to a stop.
'This is your stop,' said Mr. Stanley.
They made their good byes, and set off in the direction Mr. Stanley had pointed them to, while the convoy sped off in darkness the other way.

Chapter 12

Whiteriver


Because they had taken a long nap the afternoon before, they were better prepared for the walk. It was mountainous, but fortunately it was more down hill than up. They could hear a stream somewhere to their left.
When it began to get light, they could see they were in a mountain pass. They stopped, had a bit of breakfast of beans and tortillas that one of the nuns had packed for them, enjoyed the view of brown and yellow hills dotted with shrubs, and trudged on.
A sixteen wheel lorry overtook them -- the second one they had seen.
'What would that be carrying?' asked Yorba Linda.
'Wheat, oats, corn,' said Joe.
'They grow enough to ship out?'
'Oh yes. Those fields in Republic of Arizona grow cash crops. They're not subsistence farmers.'
Yakov added, 'All the Stanley Town army did tonight was to bite into their profit margin a little bit. Nobody will go hungry.'
'In fact, they way Mr. Stanley plans the raids, no one gets hit twice,' said Joe.
'For that, they should be thankful,' added David.
'Where do they ship to?' said Yorba Linda.
'Globe, Pleasant Valley, places beyond,' said Joe.
'Anywhere but Stanley Town,' said David.
'Pah! Bunch of greedy pigs la,' said Albert. 'Got lots of food to sell, don't give to starving neighbours!'
'And they try to wipe them out,' added U Ta.
By the time it was full daylight, they had reached the outskirts of Whiteriver. There was a checkpoint along the highway, and an official looking Native American asked them for any ID, and asked them to explain their presence. The students showed their Chinese passports, and explained that Yorba Linda was their tour guide from the MCZ, and their dilemma. The three operatives also showed some identification, and said they knew someone named Thomas Glasser.
The official knew Thomas Glasser and was moved by the story, so allowed them to pass. However, he explained that Whiteriver, while it was a part of San Carlos Apache Republic, was the only part that outsiders were allowed to visit. They could take the road leading Westward into Globe. Joe asked the directions to Thomas Glasser's place, and he explained it to them.
They were off again, into the town. It looked as Native American as Cactus Head. The main road was nicer. There was a lot of space, so even the shops didn't seem to feel constrained to stick close together. Each house had either a garden plot or a shade tree, or both. Some people were out, working in the gardens. Some were minding their shops. Kids were on their way to school. All of them were brown skinned.
'You say there's a Jewish community in this town?' said Yorba Linda.
'In any town that isn't close to a Nazi or a militant Christian republic, look for a Jewish community,' said David.
They turned down the street that the man had told them, and turned again down another. More people, more brown skin.
Another turn. Now, there were a few with whiter faces. There was one old man walking slowly towards them who had a long white beard and wore a black hat and a long coat. He turned in to an adobe building with a Star of David painted on the front.
'This is it,' said Joe.
They caught up with the old man before he reached the door.
'Shalom, Rabbi,' said Yakov. 'Could we come in and rest?'
'From out of town, are you?' said the man.
'Yes, we've come rather a long way. Do you know of anyone named Thomas Glasser?'
'Yes, our president. I expect Tom should be joining us for prayers. I'm Sam Solomon. Will you join us? Perhaps we'll complete a minyan,' he eyed the group, 'though perhaps...'
'Three of us could help make up the minyan,' said Yakov.
'What's a minyan?' asked Albert.
'A minyan is when there are ten Jewish men present, making up a full congregation. Only then, can we begin a religious service,' explained David.
'Well, come in anyway and rest yourselves. So you've come a long way, have you? On foot?'
'Yes. We walked from Republic of Arizona,' said Yakov.
'You need to sit down, then. Do you have a place to spend the night?'
'Not yet.'
'We'll make sure you do before the morning's finished. Come in.'
It was relatively dark and cool inside. The coolness, they realised by now, was a characteristic of adobe brick buildings, as the porous clay retains moisture and releases it just fast enough to cool the air around about. There were seats set up in a semicircle around a raised podium. Four men were already seated. On the walls were numerous plaques in Hebrew. Some looked like diagrams, one with the Hebrew letters shaped so that they resembled a seven tiered candlestick. Directly behind the podium was a tall wooden cupboard with the outline of the two tablets of the Ten Commandments carved, one on each upper door.
Rabbi Solomon turned to the Asians. 'This is, perhaps, your first time in a synagogue? We want you to feel welcome. Take a seat right over here, where you can observe the service.' He indicated a row of chairs along the back. Then, he handed each of them a skull cap. 'Please wear this on your head while you're in here. Afterwards, you can join us for some refreshment.'
Joe followed them to their seats, and said to them, 'Just a couple of things. Remember to always wear a kippa, that's the skull cap he gave you to wear, when you're in a synagogue. Also, when you see someone wearing one of these,' he showed them a tangle of thin leather straps with a small box attached, 'don't try to speak to them. They're praying. Oh -- and one more thing,' he looked at Philip, 'even though he was Jewish, and all that, it's better not to mention Jesus to Jewish people. Some could be a bit sensitive about that.'
'Okay la,' said Philip.
They watched from where they sat. Four more people, including Thomas Glasser arrived -- they heard their three guides greet him as such. Now that they had the minyan they needed, the men tied the thin straps to their heads and their arm, and put a white and blue shawl around their shoulders and head.
'Right -- no talking then, ah?' whispered Albert.
Everything was in Hebrew. A leader said and sometimes sang some prayers, and the others responded, often with a song or a chant. Sometimes they stood silently, mumbling a prayer from a book, bowing every now and then, and often punctuating their prayers with 'Omain'.
Finally, they were finished. The men took off their straps, folded their shawls and began making small talk. They could see the rabbi going around to various ones, introducing them to David or Yakov, or Joe, whichever was closest at hand.
Then, he signalled for the five to come closer. 'We're having breakfast at the home of Mr. Rosenberg, and then you'll be divided up between three families for the night. I'm sure you'll want to take a rest if you've been walking all night.'
He led them outside, and the eight of them, with the rabbi and a couple of others, walked down the road.

* * *

Breakfast consisted of bagels and scrambled eggs.
The three operatives were relating to their hosts the horrific condition in which they found the residents of Stanley Town, while the four Asians and their tour guide revelled in the abundance of food on their plates.
The rabbi sighed, 'Such are the times we live in, in these Divided States of America.'
'These bagels, very nice,' said Albert. 'Had in Singapore, with cream cheese and fish.'
'Smoked salmon?' asked the rabbi.
'I think. Almost like sushi, but -- yeah, smoked.'
'Ah -- lox on bagels with cream cheese,' reminisced Mr. Solomon. 'Used to have them all the time before the Union broke up.'
'Mr. Slessinger sometimes makes cream cheese,' said Mr. Glasser.
'Don't have salmon now?' queried U Ta.
'Too far from the ocean!' said the rabbi.
Mr. Rosenberg added, 'Even if we could ship seafood over such a distance, we're hemmed in by the Multinationals. Won't let us anywhere near the sea.'
'Like a giant prison?' said Mickey.
'A prison big enough for turfs,' said Joe.
'Stanley Town was really a prison within a prison then,' commented Yorba Linda.
'So we understand,' said Mr. Rosenberg. 'I wonder if there's anything we can do for them?'
'We'll have to see,' said Mr. Glasser.
'We did hear some pretty unusual stories there,' said Yakov. 'They claim that with one tortilla, they were able to feed a whole neighbourhood that would have otherwise starved.'
'Indeed?' said Mr. Rosenberg.
'You mean, like in the Christian story of the feeding of the 5000?' asked Mr. Glasser.
'They also claim that a very large flock of egg laying hens flew into town and landed in the poorest homes.'
'A bit of a tall one, that,' commented Mr. Rosenberg.
'The thing is, I went into the neighbourhood myself and asked various of the residents, and they all give the same story,' said Yakov. 'Even Mr. Stanley won't deny it outright.'
'He even alluded to other unexplainable events,' said Joe.
'I've heard of such things happening,' said the rabbi. 'The whole truth, if it were known, would catch us all off our guard.'
'I know where this is leading,' sighed Mr. Rosenberg, 'so let's quit while we're ahead, shall we, Reb Solomon?'
'Very well,' agreed the rabbi. 'But I do agree with you gentlemen that Stanley Town's next miracle should be one of our making.'

* * *

Mickey, Philip and Yorba Linda were taken to stay with the Kanter family, where Reb Solomon also lodged. Albert and U Ta, along with Joe, stayed at Mr. Rosenberg's, while Yakov and David went to stay with Mr. Glasser.
Most of the houses were single storey, but sprawling. The Kanter house had a courtyard in the middle. It was cool under the eves of the courtyard patio, and the three lounged in deck chairs and fell asleep before they had a chance to be shown to their rooms.
They woke up in time for a lunch of cheese sandwiches and salad. Then, Mrs. Kanter showed them to their rooms, one for Yorba Linda, and the other for Philip and Mickey. Mickey and Philip's room actually belong to the two sons of the household, who would be sleeping on the sofas for the night. Yorba Linda would be sharing a room with their teen age daughter.

* * *

The rabbi had arrived at the house in the company of the two boys and the girl. They all gathered for coffee and snacks in the patio, Philip in his sarong, as his trousers were hanging to dry.
'Do you fetch the kids from school?' Mickey asked the rabbi.
'No, they come to the shul every afternoon for Hebrew School, then we come home together,' he answered.
Yosef was Philip's age, Yehuda a few years younger, and Naomi was the oldest of the lot -- better company for Yorba Linda.
'Why you wear'n a skirt?' Yehuda asked Philip.
'Yehuda! Don't be so rude!' chided Mrs. Kanter.
'It's okay la. This, a sarong, we wear around the house in Asia, like pyjamas. I washed my only trousers, so I wear for today.'
'He gave away all his clothes in Stanley Town,' added Yorba Linda.
'Yeah!' Mickey began, 'He would have walked into this town naked himself if we hadn't...'
'Hoi!' exclaimed Philip, as he broke out laughing.
'Oh! Bless your heart!' said Mrs. Kanter. 'Yosef, you have some clothes that don't fit you any more, why don't you fetch them?'
'Sure.' Yosef was just slightly larger than Philip.
'But, for goodness sake, not those tattered jeans. Oh! Get that pair that Aunt Silvia gave you that was too small...'
'Yeah, and you didn't have the guts to tell her. I'll get them.' He got up and went out.
'So, you see?' commented the rabbi. 'Give and it shall be given to you, said the great sage.'
'Do kids in Stanley Town really run around in the nude?' asked Yehuda.
'Some of them,' said Philip. 'Others just with big holes in the back where you see their bum.'
'Ai! Philip!' grimaced Yorba Linda.
'We're starting to talk about what we, as a community can do for the people of Stanley Town,' said Reb Solomon. 'Perhaps we should add clothes to the list of things to take.'
'Oh! We certainly should!' said Mrs. Kanter.
Yosef came back with a small pile of clothes which he plopped onto a chair beside Philip.

* * *

Evening meal for the whole group was served at Thomas Glasser's home. It consisted of roast chicken and potatoes.
'The community council met today, and we came up with a plan,' said Mr. Glasser.
'Tell us,' said Joe.
'We'll do as the middlemen do. We'll approach a farmer in Republic of Arizona, agree on a price for his entire crop, and then have it shipped to Stanley Town. Everyone has pledged enough to offer a good price.'
'How will you get it in?' said Yakov. 'There's not so much as a gate, locked or otherwise. Only a straight fence over the highway in either direction.'
'There must be some way,' said Mr. Rosenberg. 'If we cant get it in directly, perhaps ask them to meet us somewhere up along the border to the desert. Did you say they blew a hole in the fence?'
'They could certainly do it again, if it came to that,' said Joe.
'Anyway, will discuss a few ideas for that when we come to it,' said Mr. Glasser. 'Tomorrow, I and a few of the committee members will go to visit a farm or two.'
'And the next day, our group should move on, perhaps by way of Globe,' said Yakov.
'The bus leaves from the town centre every morning, does it not?' said Joe.
'I'll join you, at least part way,' said the rabbi. 'I can show you where to go.'
'Leaving us so soon?' asked Mr. Rosenberg.
'Ah, yes,' said the rabbi. 'With young Naomi Kanter, I'm leaving your young people in good hands. Her Hebrew and her knowledge of Torah are second to none. Most importantly, she sets a good example for them.'
'You're leaving a woman in charge?'
'As good a Torah teacher as any man!'
'If you know the way, it would be good to have you along,' said Joe.
'Travel between here to Globe, and on past the old New Mexico state line should be quite straight forward,' said the rabbi. 'Beyond that, we must be carefull.'

* * *

The more of Naomi's questions Yorba Linda answered, the stranger the MCZ began to appear, even to herself. It was as though she were explaining it to herself. The picture of the world that the MCZ media painted was, in fact, a fairy tale. Now that she thought about it, such a world was impossible.
'But you sort of knew that, right?' Naomi was already in her night gown, leaning back against her headboard.
'I can't say I really knew it. I had a lot of questions.' Yorba Linda was rubbing on her night cream. 'My Uncle Rodrigo might have known it, and he planted a lot of questions in my mind. And I was a part of a group that refused to keep our VR head sets on all the time, except when we needed information from the Virtual Environment, like how to get to a certain place, and important announcements. Sometimes we just had them on, but programmed to tune out the artificial world. But I still had no idea of the Outer Zone. And Stanley Town! They said that places like that existed only in the Free States.'
'Wow! And everyone just lives in a world they paint for themselves? No one even wonders what it's really like?'
'No one is taught to wonder.' She pulled back the cover of the bed and got in. 'Some of us did ask questions, but there was always an easy answer. And anything that gives rise to questions that can't be answered so easily, the environment just blocks it out -- or they try to, or they make it seem unimportant. Like, the Christian Bible. I didn't know Christianity was Jewish. The Bible we had in MCZ was so -- what shall I say -- sterilised! After landing in Dinetah, I think I read the whole Bible through on Mickey's e-tablet, and it left me in shock! It just didn't fit in with my perception. I couldn't accept it, but I kept reading anyway, telling myself, "It's real. You'd better accept it, or stop calling yourself a Christian." God and the world were all out of shape!
'Then, we had the sweat lodge, and suddenly I saw things differently. God was simply big -- not something that would fit neatly into a package, but bigger than the universe, and bigger than my mind can find easy answers for. I suddenly had the faith to accept that. Since then, I read the Bible through again, and it makes much more sense, like the words of an infinitely big God telling me about things that are really much bigger than my understanding, but only showing me the parts that mean something to me.'
'Wow! That's neat!' responded Naomi. 'Rabbi Solomon talks about that a lot too. Like -- you guys aren't the only ones that live in a sort-of Matrix. I think we all do. We all look for easy answers. But the rabbi teaches that the more we get into the Torah and the Prophets, and do meditation, the bigger the universe gets for us. I mean, there are things there that point in directions -- like -- what you say about Christianity being Jewish and all -- like the rabbi also says, it's more Jewish than Christians think, but it's also more Jewish than we Jews think as well. But -- well -- we have to watch what we say, because not everyone here agrees with the rabbi...'
Mrs. Kanter stuck her head in the door. 'Naiomi, I'm sure Yorba Linda is very tired. Perhaps you should let her get her rest.'
They switched off the light and left themselves alone with their thoughts.
Christianity is also more Native American than I thought, Yorba Linda mused, as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Because they were already in over their eyeballs, the three operatives chose to include Mickey, Yorba Linda and Philip in their consultation with their local contact agent, Thomas Glasser -- Yorba Linda and Philip, in particular, because of their relationship to Monterey Jack. Mr. Glasser recommended that the rabbi also join them.
They told Thomas and Reb Solomon the whole story of the hijacking, and their communication with Monterey Jack.
'I think I can safely say now,' continued Yakov, 'that the Central West Aryan people are systematically hacking their way into the MCZ defence network, particularly targeting a group of precision missile silos located somewhere outside Albuquerque. My understanding is that this particular system is capable of hitting just about any target in North America.'
'Oi!' exclaimed Mr. Glasser. 'That will give them ultimate power!'
'What sort of missiles?' asked Mickey.
'Neutron "clean" bombs,' said Yakov. 'They just consume anything soft and biological within a quarter kilometre radius, leaving everything else in tac.
'They leave no fallout,' said David. 'That's why they're called "clean".'
'So, if they nuke a place, they can simply move in and take over?'
'That's the size of it.'
Mr. Glasser, Mickey, Yorba Linda and Philip all looked like they were staring at death. Only the rabbi looked unperturbed.
'But,' continued Yakov, 'this should cheer you up a bit: thanks to Monterey Jack, we've been following their every transmission as they've been hacking. Every access code they have, we now have, including their main headquarters.'
'You mean, American Nazi Republic?' asked Thomas.
'That's right.'
'That gives us an advantage then. Let's use it!'
'We've only got the one transmitter, but two or three different satellites to access. We have to keep glued to what they're doing from Monterey Jack's bedroom. What we really need is to pass all this information to JDL headquarters in Springdale, but right now, that's too risky. We have reason to believe the encryption code we were given has been compromised. The other option is to high tale it to Mexas, where Yorba Linda's uncle runs a communications tower for the MCZ, and talk him into letting us borrow it for a spell.'
'I have a satellite transmitter here,' said Thomas. 'If one or two of you want to stay here and keep the ear open on one area of interest while the other transmitter listens to the other, you could create your own encryption code just to use among yourselves.'
They thought a while.
'Yakov,' began Joe, 'you're the one who would know how to hack the comms tower, if you went on to Mexas while David and I stay here, one of us keeping an ear on Monterey Jack, and the other on the American Nazi Republic, you get it set up and listening, then we follow.'
That sounded like a great suggestion.
'Okay,' said Yakov, 'I go, I'll need Yorba Linda to go along, because it's her uncle we're looking for, and Philip, as I'll need an extra hand with the comms, Rabbi Solomon because you know the way, and Mickey. Albert and U Ta can come with you two.'
So it was settled.

* * *

At dinner, again at Thomas Glasser's home, they informed Albert and U Ta of the arrangement. The two were okay with staying, especially as the food was good and plentiful.
As for the prospects for where food wasn't so abundant, Mr. Rosenberg gave his report:
'We almost clinched a deal. We began to ask about how to ship it to Stanley Town, and they flatly said "The deal is off". They just won't have it. We went on to another farm, and this time, we decided we'd have it shipped here, to Whiteriver -- you know, find some other way to get it there. Apparently the first man had started calling around. We almost had the deal clinched with the second farmer, and he got a phone call. He came back and said, "No way". The third place, the same story.'
'It's not like they don't have enough food themselves,' said Mr. Kanter. 'Their grain trucks run through here every day on their way to Pleasant Valley.'
'I had a talk with Mr. Mojo, up at the check point on our way back. He's with us all the way. He says he's going to talk to the chief's council about stopping their shipments from passing through Whiteriver.'
The rabbi spoke up. 'Do we not have friends and contacts in Pleasant Valley? Could we not try to order a shipment to be sent there? I understand their airport still has a few functioning aeroplanes. Perhaps we could airlift it from there to Stanley Town.'
'That's an idea,' responded Mr. Kanter. 'Let's certainly keep this issue on the table until we find some way through.'

Te Eurasian, fifth installment: chapters 9 & 10

2011-11-25T16:43:00.001Z

Chapter 9
The Sweat Lodge

Mickey sat in the shade of an overhanging rock, holding a bone. He was contemplating the bone, the dryness of it, the deadness of it. It was from some animal that had died a long time ago deep in the dessert. It was far beyond smelling bad. It was just dry and hollow.
Francis had given each of them a bone just before assigning them to their spots.
Mickey's spot overlooked the canyon with the waterfall where they had the camp-fire two nights ago. He could see Francis and Paco building a shelter which was to be the sweat lodge, not far from the fire pit. The location near the fire and the pool of cold water was an important part.
The other important part was what Mickey, his classmates and tour guide were doing right now, fasting in preparation, contemplating their dry bones. It was the preliminary part of the cleansing, that would be continued during the sweat lodge itself.
Francis had told them that it was a time of searching ones heart. It would be to them what Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement is to the Jewish people, a day of fasting and admitting to God all the wrong things that come to the surface. Like the Jewish people in their synagogues on Yom Kippur, they had hiked out to their spots barefoot.
Regarding confessing of ones sins, Mickey was familiar. Some of the others, notably, Albert Fong, weren't.
When he objected to the idea of admitting his faults, Francis had said, 'You need a miracle from the Great Spirit to get you home. If you want His help, you must go to Him on His terms, not your own. He is open to you when you admit your faults. And He knows them already, so he won't be surprised by anything you say.'
'He know already, why I say then?' Albert had responded.
'You say them to clear your soul. Say everything you know. When you think you have no more to confess, look at the bone again. What is the difference between you and that bone? Whatever you find, offer that also to the Great Spirit. Do that until you, yourself, are no more than a dry bone, because it is He who said, "These dry bones shall live again."
'I advise you to do that, because without the help of the Great Spirit, you, Albert Fong, may be trapped in the wilderness like the animal these bones belonged to.'
Put that way, Albert was willing. Francis seemed to have that way about him.
* * *
For the whole day of fasting, they had worn the loose fitting cotton garments that had been provided, and then slept in them, wrapped in a warm blanket, under the stars. The next morning, they rolled up the blanket and carried it and the water bottle to the end of the canyon where the sweat lodge was to be held.
They all took their own time in arriving, so Francis bid them sit around the fire pit outside until they all arrived. The fire was kept burning, and would continue to burn throughout the session, so as to supply the hot rocks for the sweat chamber.
'There will be four rounds inside the sweat lodge, about 40 minutes each,' Francis said, 'each one followed by immersion in this pool next to us. Some of the immersions will have a special meaning, which I will tell you as we are about to come out.' He repeated this every time more of the group arrived and took their seats.
When everyone had arrived, Francis took out a long stemmed pipe and filled it with something from a pouch and lit it using a coal from the fire which he picked up with a pair of tongs.
'This is what we call chanunpa, what you know of as a Native American "peace pipe". It serves as an alter of incense, like what they used in the Temple in Jerusalem, by which our prayers ascend to the Great Spirit. I will pass it around. Say a prayer in your heart, and simply puff -- no need to inhale. It has tobacco, along with wood chips and herbs that give an aroma.'
They passed it around. Mickey suspected that everyone else's prayer was the same as his, Please get us home!
'Now,' said Francis, 'it is time to reverently enter the sweat lodge. Go in, turn to the left and go, clockwise around the fire pit in the middle so that all are seated around in a circle.'
They went in, as instructed, and sat in silence for a short time.
Francis called for Paco, who came in bringing a pan containing red hot stones from the fire outside. The door was closed so that the only light in the room was from the stones. Frances began to place them, one by one in the fire pit.
'These first four stones I place here are the four directions: North, East, South and West. The Great Spirit is in every place at once, filling all four directions. Now I place this one, representing the Great Spirit, as the Father of all. Now, this one, representing the Word of the Great Spirit, the Messiah, His Son. And last, I place this one, which represents the Breath of the Great Spirit, the living Breath who gave utterance to the Prophets, and who enables His servants to this day.'
Then, using a long handled dipper, he took some water from a clay jar at his side, and began pouring it slowly over the stones, making steam arise and fill the room. He poured dipper after dipper until they began to feel the effects of the steam, and sweat began to pour from their bodies.
Francis took his drum and began beating it lightly, making a steady distinct rhythm. After a while, he began singing a prayer asking for cleansing to come from the Breath of the Great Spirit. The words of the prayer also invited the group to think on all the things they had confessed during the fast.
Then, there was silence.
After a while, Francis said, 'It is written in the Golden Book, "Confess your faults to one another, that you may be cleansed." I will pass this "talking stick" around. As you hold it, tell us about yourself, and about what you have confessed. A part of your cleansing is sharing. When you've finished, pass the talking stick to the one next to you.'
He passed ornately carved piece of wood to Seymour, who was sitting on his left, who shared some of what he had struggled through the previous day. He passed it on to Philip, who did the same. He confessed his anger, especially towards Albert, and passed the stick on. When it got to Albert, he also apologised to Philip for cruel taunting words he had spoken.
The stick went all the way around and back to Francis. He confessed a few things himself.
'The Golden Book says, "If you confess your sins, he is faithful and just, and will forgive you, and will cleanse you from all the bad." Now, since we have confessed our sins, we will go and immerse ourselves in the water. It is the immersion of repentance, the same as John the Baptist commanded. Immerse yourselves, and receive forgiveness from the Great Spirit. Leave slowly, following the one on your left to the door.'
The water was cold, but refreshing after all the sweating.
There followed two more rounds, which followed much the same pattern. Yorba Linda, on receiving the talking stick, confessed the anger she had towards her step brother. Philip confessed the same.
Then came the fourth round, which followed a different pattern.
After they had sat in silence, Francis began beating on his drum, softly at first, and then steadily louder. Then, he began to sing:

The Great White Spirit made the sky
The water, The fire, and the land
His Wisdom brought all things to balance
And He looked down and was glad

From the sky he poured life
With help from water, the land made it grow
But the fire stood by to serve in its time
In Wisdom it was to be so
And He looked down and was glad

He made birds to fly in the sky
Fish in the water, and beasts on land
But to the fire, he said wait, it's not your time
Listen to Wisdom, it bids you wait
And he looked down and was glad

He made the first man, and a woman to wife
He taught them the secrets of life from the land
To them he gave the birds in the sky
The fish in the water and the beasts on the land
And to this he added one more -- the power of fire
And Wisdom said, guard it carefully
And he looked down on his people and was glad

But the snake loved that fire,
It grew jealous of the power, it wanted the fire
Through the wife, it said to the man
I'll show you more secrets if you yield to me
You can do so much more, just yield to me
You will see the power it has over the sky, the water and land
But you must bow to me

The voice of Wisdom was ignored

The Great Spirit looked down and was sad

Through the hands of the man, the snake built a wall
It rose to the sky, it surrounded the land
Its depth was to the waters below -- the waters of death

Though the hand of the man had built it, he could not tear it down
It became his prison, it kept him inside
While the snake made use of the power of fire
To further the ruin of all life
Wisdom looked on and waited
The Great Spirit looked down and was sad

The man could do nothing, but the woman had a seed
The Great Spirit consulted His Wisdom, and sent it
He germinated the seed, and as a man, Wisdom was born
The man, the seed of the woman, wife of the first man
Of many generations, Wisdom was born

The wall was built so high, it hid man from the sky
The foundation was so deep, it reached to the waters of death
The Snake was confident that his prize was secure
His prize won through deceit and seduction
But he didn't consider that the Wisdom of the Great Spirit runs deeper still

So the man, Wisdom, the seed of the first woman of many generations
He dug a hole at the base of the wall
Though the wall had been built deep, Wisdom dug deeper still
He dug to the waters of death, and did what the snake failed to foresee
He dug to the waters of death and entered therein.
He was consumed by the waters of death, but death could not hold him
He found the fire that the snake had there hidden
He took the fire, and it burned a path upward and beyond the wall
The Great Spirit looked down and was again glad

So hear Wisdom, you generations of the man, and the woman, his wife
The path to life was opened by Wisdom
Though the wall extends deep, Wisdom dug deeper still
The way passes through the waters of death
To have life, you must die, says Wisdom
To die, to pass through the waters of death, is the way to reclaim the fire

So hear Wisdom, you generations of the man, and the woman, his wife
To have life, you must die, and pass through the waters of death
Then you'll have life, then you'll reclaim the fire

The drumming slowly died down, but continued at a steady beat.
'I will sing that one more time. This time, as you listen, consider that it is not only about our first father and mother, but about you and me. When the song says that he built the wall that became his prison, consider the faults that you have thought about during your fast, and have confessed, and understand what they cost to the Man, Wisdom, who is Yeshua.'
He sang it through again.
At the end of that round, Francis said, 'We will again immerse ourselves. This time, the immersion is in the waters of death. Some of you have done that already, some haven't. Do you wish to follow Wisdom through the water of death through immersion?'
Philip, Albert and Riu all indicated they would. Seymour and U Ta, though they had been baptised in the traditions of their respective churches, decided to do it as a conscious choice to follow Wisdom into life.
'Remember what I said about your dry bone, that the Great Spirit said, "These dry bones will yet live." As you have shed everything that distinguishes you from your dry dead bones, you are ready to be made alive. Go now and be immersed in the Name of the Great Spirit the Father of all, His Son the Word, and His Holy Breath.'
They went out and immersed themselves.
At the end of the day, all of them reported to one another that they felt at peace with themselves in a way they never had before.

Chapter 10
The Operatives

Albert, Riu, Seymour and U Ta, as promised, were off earning their keep on horseback. They each paired up with an experienced hand, and were off, deep into the wilderness beyond the mouth of the canyon, looking for stray cattle with their ranch's brand on them, and driving them back to the corral.
Mickey, Philip and Yorba Linda were giving the main room and the kitchen area a good cleaning.
Mickey was running the squeegee over the big window next to the front door, when he saw a vintage four wheel drive approaching. Four men got out and walked to the house. One of them was Chief Red Eagle. The other three appeared to be white people, though quite tan, and two had beards.
Mickey went to the door.
'Ah, still here, I see. I need to speak with Francis Baguette. And when you've brought him, you, too, stick around. These men have some questions to ask you and your companions.'
'Right,' responded Mickey.
Philip was washing another window, while Yorba Linda was mopping the patio.
'Chief Red Eagle,' said Mickey, on his way to the study.
A minute later, Francis, along with Mickey, Yorba Linda and Philip were at the front door.
'Perhaps you could give these men lodging for a few day? They are on an assignment from their nation, which should be of benefit to us all. Also, they need to gather what information your guests from the MCZ can give them, regarding the hijacking.'
Francis looked the three men over, and nodded.
'So, your guests, have they adjusted well? Do they still entertain hopes of returning to MCZ?'
'Yesterday, they attended the sweat lodge and that has helped them adjust.'
'Ah -- with your unique twist to it, of course.'
'Perhaps. But as for returning, only one of them, the young lady, is from MCZ. The rest are from China. They do wish to return there, but I've assured them that it will be a long hard journey.'
'But at least possible,' said one of the newcomers. 'Not like MCZ.'
'Unless they can hijack another hover car,' said another.
'Not likely,' said the third.
Francis invited them all into the dining area and asked one of the women there to fix some coffee. The three guests brought backpacks with them. They all sat down at the end of the long table, while Chief Red Eagle took his leave.
'Which nation are you from?' asked Francis.
'Free People's Union. It's a long way East of here,' said the one with the dark beard. 'My name's David, this is Yakov,' pointing to the one with a red beard, 'and that's Joe,' indicating the other one with dark hair but with only two days growth on his face.
'Where, exactly, is the Free People's Union?' asked Yorba Linda.
'We'd prefer not to be so specific,' said Yakov, 'at least not until we've got to know each other a bit better. But perhaps you could tell us, what do you know of the -- er -- republic to the north of Dinetah?'
'Not much at all, except that they're Nazis,' said Yorba Linda.
'I could not tell you any more than Chief Red Eagle could,' said Francis. 'He has had direct dealings with them.'
'Yes,' said Yakov. 'And he's been very helpful. But I understand you folks were pulled off a hover car as it passed over Dineh lands. Did they say anything that gave any hint of what their intentions were once they got to their destination?'
'Only to throw a wrench into the works of the Zionist something-or-other,' said Mickey.
'They stole your identities, didn't they?' asked Joe.
'Yes,' said Yakov. 'We can assume that, right now, there are seven Nazis moving about the MCZ using your identities. Perhaps it would be helpful if you told us your names, and any information that would be contained on the central database under your names.'
'You MCZ police?' asked Philip.
'No, we're not from the MCZ,' said Yakov.
'Not from MCZ,' repeated David.
'Perhaps, if we told you just a little bit more about ourselves, you would understand our interest,' said Joe. 'You see, we're Jewish.'
'Ah -- like Jesus?' said Philip.
'Er -- ' Joe cleared his through, 'yes, I suppose he was Jewish.'
'People in MCZ don't know he's Jewish,' said Philip, oblivious to the subtle reactions he had aroused.
'Yeah, I suppose they don't. But being that we are Jewish --'
'You want to keep track of the Nazis,' said Mickey.
'That's right,' said Yakov. 'We have it on good authority that they would like to take over and unite America again, but under their banner ...'
'But there, we have to be careful,' said Joe, 'because there are many people, and not just Nazis, who think we want to take over the whole show.'
'Yeah, not just the Nazis,' affirmed David.
'Let's just say we're an ethnic group, like the Native Americans, like the Chinese and Indians, who are interested in surviving. Now, there's been so much dirt flung around already, that many people find that hard to believe.'
'What does Chief Red Eagle believe?' asked Francis.
'I'm not sure,' said David. 'Perhaps he just wants to help maintain a balance of power...'
'...which would be fine with us,' said Joe.
'Or, perhaps he thinks we're the lesser of the two evils,' suggested Yakov.
'Yes,' said Francis. 'Native American ways have a lot in common with Judaism. I, for one, consider you far less evil than the Nazis.'
'Thank you,' said Yakov.
The other two also murmured a thank you.
The other workers had begun to arrive for their lunch, including the remaining four Asians.
After being introduced, they all gave their names and details, while Joe took them down in an e-tablet.
* * *
The food had been brought to their table, fry bread and a squash dish with some salad.
'I hope I'm not rude in asking,' said Joe, 'but what kind of oil was the bread fried in?'
'Oil from our peanuts,' said Francis.
The three newcomers looked relieved.
'Ah, you were afraid it might be un-kosher animal fat,' said Francis. 'There is no meat in this meal, but we plan to have roast lamb tonight. It will be slaughtered this afternoon. Perhaps you would like to see how we do it?'
'David here was trained as a shocket, he could slaughter it for you.'
'Very good,' said Francis. 'Also, I will ask them not to add milk to the fry bread dough for this evening.'
'What's a "shocket"?' asked Seymour.
'That's a butcher who slaughters animals in a way that is acceptable for Jewish people,' answered Francis.
'You were saying earlier that Native American ways shared common traits with Judaism,' said Joe.
'Yes,' said Francis. 'An example is your prohibition against eating the blood of an animal.'
'But don't young Indians on their first hunt drink the blood of their first kill?'
'Yes, in some communities they do, but that's for the same reason that you do not drink the blood. It is the belief we hold in common that the spirit of the animal is in the blood. Also, you have a commandment forbidding one to take a mother bird from the wild along with its young -- only take the young without the mother. That reflects our common belief that we must only take what we need from nature, and leave nature the means to replenish herself.'
'How does taking the young birds away without the mother help?' asked Yorba Linda.
'Because, the next time the mother lays eggs, it will lay twice as many, to compensate for the loss, so nothing is lost from nature. But if you take the mother as well, that is a loss.'
'It's interesting to find one so knowledgeable about Judaism way out here,' said David.
'I do a lot of study. I have talked to Jewish people in the past, when the rest of the world was more accessible. Now, these people dropped out of the sky a few days ago, bringing me the Golden Book, along with parts of the Talmud, the Mishna and a midrash so I can now continue my study.'
'I'm impressed!'
'Speaking of falling out of the sky,' began Yakov, looking at his two friends, 'I'd say we can let them in on a bit more of what we're doing? They seem to me to be quite safe. '
The other two murmured assent.
'We have a few people hacking into MCZ cyberspace doing routine surveillance. They've come up with evidence that some of the Nazi nations have been doing the same. In fact, we learned of their plan to penetrate the MCZ by hijacking a hover shuttle, which they've now succeeded in doing. That's why we wanted to find out as much as we could from all of you. For one thing, we believe they had help from inside.'
'My step brother,' said Yorba Linda.
'Who?' said David.
'Your step brother?' said Joe. 'You were aware of this?'
'We only found that out when we managed to hack in and talk to him. He was shocked that his friend, Philip, here, and I were on the hover bus that was taken down. There were two buses assigned to our group, for whom I was the tour guide. Philip and I were supposed to be on the other bus. He seemed very upset, but then, we got cut off.'
'How did get through?' asked Yakov.
'Philip did that.'
Philip smiled shyly at them.
'You did it? How?'
'I can show you, but I can't hack any more. Can't get through.'
'Okay, I think I know what happened. You found a weak link in the addressing system, but they caught you in the act and patched it up so it's no longer available.'
'But I do it many times from China!'
'That probably didn't concern them as much as communication to the Free Zone. We've brought equipment that enables us to hack in on a more fundamental level. Perhaps it might be good if we called him. We could learn a few things.'
'Can we call to China?' asked Riu.
'We could try.'
* * *
The three newcomers, along with Francis, Yorba Linda, Mickey, Philip and Riu were in the study. Joe was setting up their system, connecting it to Francis' router which they had linked to their own satellite dish outside via a wireless connection.
'The key to broadcasting into the MCZ is linking to the right satellite,' Yakov was explaining. 'Then, it's simply a matter of using the right protocol. When the Multinationals took over, they didn't bother to study the whole inventory. They were only interested in the more powerful satellites that could most efficiently connect all their systems. They left a lot of the smaller ones unused, some with open links into strategic points in the system. Old Jack King used to work for a company that maintained several satellite links. He kept the coordinates and encryption keys on his own computer at home. Suddenly, one of the big Multinationals bought out his company and he was out of a job, but he held on to the data. Later, he went to work for us.'
'But apparently, the Nazis have access to a few of them as well,' said Joe, 'which is how they've gotten in.'
'But if they can link in, why did they need my brother?' asked Yorba Linda.
'Because they've firewalled the infrastructures,' said Yakov. 'While we can communicate into the MCZ, we can't access the other systems, like transportation. They needed an inside man for that.'
David said, 'Now, what we're afraid is happening, is that they're in there, trying to install links between all the systems, bypassing the firewalls. That would give them a lot of control.'
'A lot,' affirmed Joe.
'Okay, I think we're through,' said Yakov. 'Let's give it a try.'
Philip gave them the IP address.
As soon as Monterey Jack's face shone on the other side, he suddenly looked flustered, and then said, 'Hey, I can't talk now. I'm, like real busy, okay? Like -- er -- ' he seemed distracted, as though doing two things at once. 'Er -- I'd love to talk to you and all, but I'm -- like -- real busy -- and ...well -- later, okay?'
He held up a piece of paper with a hand written IP address on it. Apparently, he had been writing it while talking.
Yakov saved a screen shot of the written message, and Jack went off line.
'What's that all about?' said Yorba Linda.
'Let's try the IP address he showed us,' said Joe.
'Right,'
Yakov entered it, and soon Jack's face came up again, a bit more relaxed. It looked like he was in the toilet.
'Linda, there's a woman been come'n around using a virtual image that look just like you, call'n herself Yorba Linda Sanchez and all, but her real self is white. I think she's got your ID bracelet or something. Anyway, she and a guy comes when the folks are all out, and like, she'll kill me and our whole family if I don't cooperate, and they've taken over my old net address. And they've got my room and my computer bugged so I can't call anyone, so I have to use this other one they don't know about.'
'What are they trying to do?' asked Yorba Linda.
'I don't know. They make me go out of the room when they're do'n it.'
'Are they there now?' asked Yakov from behind.
'Jack,' said Yorba Linda. 'These are some people that are trying to help us. They need you to give them as much information about this group as you know.'
Yakov took the tablet. 'You must be Monterey Jack,' he said.
'Yeah. Who are you?'
'You can call me Jake. We can try to help. But first, what do you know about the people you've been in contact with?'
'I don't know. They seemed like nice guys at first, and were all friendly, and they got me into all sorts of cool stuff ...'
'... like planning hijacks?' said Yorba Linda.
'Well -- they promised me they'd send the car back for you -- really, they did! They didn't say anything about take'n anyone's ID bracelets, honest!'
'But what do you know about them?' repeated Yakov.
'Not much. Like I said, they were real cool at first, but close up they're like real hard core evil, like, threatening to kill me and all.'
'What are they trying to do?'
'They won't tell me. But the man has got a swastika tattooed to his eyelid.'
'Jack,' said Yakov. 'Can you do something for me?'
'Maybe, if it's not dangerous.'
'Do you know how to hack back into your own system in stealth mode?'
'I probably could.'
'Don't try this directly from your main system or they'll probably detect it. If you know all your hidden settings, you can hack into it from this IP address that you're using now, and access the security control box. In that, first, change the PQ setting to 106. After that, disable the streaming shield. Then, set the PQ setting to 105.'
'Got it. Anything else?'
'That's it. The rest is up to us.'
'You guys doin' okay?'
Philip answered, 'We okay. No worries. We pray the Great Spirit for you.'
They went off line.
'What will you do now?' asked Francis.
'I'll give him time to change the settings, then we'll eaves drop on them,' said Yakov. 'Meanwhile, you wanted to contact your people in China?'
* * *
They were through to Mr. Singh.
'Mercy, you're alive! They told us you were all killed in a fatal accident!'
'Yes, we're all okay,' said Yorba Linda. 'So they sent you straight back to China?'
'Yes. When you failed to turn up, they sent us back immediately after giving us the news.'
'You didn't see our car arrive?'
'There was one I thought should have been yours, but a group of strangers got out -- rather odd looking ones at that.'
'That was probably the group that stole our IDs. They're Nazis from what they call the Free Zone.'
'The what zone?'
Yorba Linda explained that to him. Mr. Singh looked perplexed.
'I think I did see a Nazi sign on one of them, a swastika tattoo.'
Then, Yorba Linda asked him, 'Is there any word from the parents of the students?'
'We informed them about the fatal crash,' replied Mr. Singh. 'I'm sure they'll be happy to know otherwise -- all except for, -- hmm -- Riu's grandmother. I'm sorry to say, she passed away.'
Everyone in the room looked at Riu. He looked surprisingly calm.
'Also,' continued Mr. Singh, 'her home was sold to pay off debts, so, I'm afraid other arrangements will have to be made for Riu once he returns.'
'That's okay,' said Riu. 'I was ready for that. I think I'll live here and work on the ranch, okay, Francis?'
Francis put his hand on his shoulder. 'Yes. We will be glad to have you among us.'
* * *
'My grandmother told me this would happen,' said Riu, at dinner. 'She wanted me to go on this trip. She even said I would find a new life. I told her, "No", but she insisted, saying that there would be nothing left for me in Chantaburi. In fact, during our time in the sweat lodge, I knew she had died, and that this is the place for me.'
* * *
'Do you have any plans of where to go from here?' asked Joe.
'The only idea so far is to try to find my uncle, Rodrigo Sanchez,' said Yorba Linda. 'We believe he runs a communications tower in some town called Milfred in South Texas. Again, Monterey Jack conveniently had that information for us.'
'Quite a kid!' commented David.
'How did your uncle come to get a job in a place like that?'
'I have no idea. He disappeared off our radar screen a few years ago. We were told he had been offered a job with a research firm and had to move, and that he'd keep in touch. He didn't.'
'Do you think he knew anything he shouldn't have?'
'He had all these ideas that -- well -- in retrospect, were probably more than just ideas.'
'Dangerous,' said Joe. 'Had to be sent into exile.'
'And now, he maintains a communications tower for the MCZ intercity transport system?' said David.
'That's what we've been told,' said Yorba Linda.
Just then, Yakov walked into the front room where his two friends were sitting with Yorba Linda, Mickey and Philip.
'I think we've hit a goldmine!' he said.
'What's the story?' asked Joe.
'They're using all sorts of codes and passwords. I believe some of them are to their own command centre in Central West Aryan State, and a few others as well. I'm sure one's for American Nazi Republic Central HQ.'
'Woah!' exclaimed David.
'And, I think I can confirm that they are setting up hard links like we suspected. I've got a few access codes for some of them as well. If we keep listening, more are on the way.'
'So, that means the Nazis nations are all in on this together?' said Joe.
'I guess it does,' said David. 'What about the hard links to -- you know ...'
'You mean the big one? I don't know yet. We'll have to keep listening.'
'With this info, we can start listening in to a few more places, can't we?' said Joe.
'Unfortunately, with what we have here, we can only listen to one place at a time. And to forward this to Bruno would be too risky,' said Yakov.
'Now, what about using a MCZ communications tower?' said David.
'If we had one of those, that would be perfect. Know of one for sale?'
'Yorba Linda's uncle. South Texas. What's the town again?' said David.
'Milfred,' replied Yorba Linda.
'I know that place,' said Yakov. 'It's in the Republic of Mexas. They're a more friendly nation that keeps Nazis and other radicals at arms length.'
'What do you say we help these people get there?' said David.
'Would he be likely to want to help us?' asked Yakov.
'From the way he used to be,' said Yorba Linda, 'I think there's a good chance he would.'
'Yeah, you told us. That's why they put him there,' said Joe.
'Using a communications tower, we could do all we need and more,' said Yakov.
'But the man at the communications tower near here said he could only call to the central transport communications office,' said Mickey.
'First off,' said Yakov, 'he probably doesn't know how to hack his system. Secondly, they're not entirely on their own. They get visits from time to time. Unless he were an expert, like us, they would either detect his tampering from the main office, or by inspecting the safety seals on the equipment when they visit. They'd have him out of there in two seconds, and he'd be stuck hoeing cotton along side the local farm labourers.'
'We will, of course, warn your uncle of the risks,' said David.
'Would there be a way to get back to China from there?' asked Mickey.
'The MCZ controls the entire coastline,' said Joe. 'As far as the rest of the world is concerned, they claim sovereignty over the whole continent. Their lack of control over the interior is a very well kept secret. To keep it that way, they restrict access to the borders by anyone without ID, they jam any radio communications, they block internet traffic, and of course, travel. But there are ways around that.'
'Can't fly over?' suggested Mickey.
'Not unless you use a stealth aircraft, flying very low. They'll shoot you down,' said David. 'No one we know has that sort of a plane.'
'Submarine from up river is one of the more available options. That's also difficult,' said Yakov.
'How then?' said Philip.
'We've never done it. All I know is, it's possible,' said Joe.
'And easier than actually getting into the MCZ from here,' said Yakov.
* * *
The old map sat, unrolled, on the desk. Yakov was penciling in national borders for places further off, and their names.
'We came through "USA", but it might be difficult to return that way,' said Joe. 'They didn't take to us very well.'
'Stanley Town will take you in,' said Francis, tapping on the place on the map. 'To get there, you cross this desert.'
'That one in your back yard? I don't think we'd make it,' said David.
'You go in our electric wagon. Paco will take you. I just had three solar panels replaced, so it's ready to go.'
The three operatives thought a moment.
'That would be helpful,' said Joe. 'It won't put you out?'
'We have been planning this trip to take gifts to the people there, as our harvest has been very good this year.'
'Now, White River is a friendly place,' said Yakov, pointing at a place beyond, but not bordering Stanley Town. 'They have a big Jewish community. We should be able to find our way there.'
'What about this place in between -- er -- "Republic of Arizona"?' asked David.
'They are very protective,' answered Francis. 'All the land is held by farmers, who fight very hard to keep what they have. Stanley Town is also very well armed, but they will welcome you with open arms if you bring groceries.'
'Stanley Town people aren't farmers then?'
'They farm what little land they have. It is not sufficient to feed such a big population.'
'How do they survive then?'
'They have ways, which accounts for them being well armed, and the Republic of Arizona people being very protective. I hope that by sending food whenever we have some to spare, we can generate peace. Father Ryan hopes that as well. My only concern is finding a way to cross the Republic of Arizona.'
'I'm sure we can find a way,' said Yakov. 'What do you say, Joe? David?'
'We've done as much before,' said David. 'Perhaps not with such a large group.'
'I'm for it,' said Joe.
'I will send an email to Father Ryan,' said Francis. 'If he turns on his server, he should have word of your arrival before you get there.'

The Eurasian -- fourth installment

2011-11-15T20:51:00.002Z

Here are chapters 7 and 8. As you will see, I've now added chapter titles.

Chapter 7

Francis Baguette


The way to Francis Baguette's farm went through a community of adobe huts at the mouth of a canyon, and then up the canyon itself. Local women were washing clothes and small children were swimming naked in the stream that ran along their path.
Albert commented, 'Jimmy Khoo like to see Indians, ah? Why he not come with us?'
Inside the canyon, the houses were farther apart, some were farms, others, Mickey suspected, mines or quarries.
It was cooler now that the sun was beginning to set. This would have been enjoyable, if not for the prospect of never finding their way home again.
As usual, Philip was staying very close to Mickey as though he were the only one he had.
The path began to go up the side of the cliff, and then through a passage between two cliffs, and then down again into another canyon. Here, there was a lot of flat land at the bottom, with a small stream running through it. In the middle, was a two storey, part wooden, part stone and part adobe house with a courtyard. It looked like it had been extended several times. Solar panels lined the roof. There was also a barn, a shed and what looked like a corral with about a dozen cows. Other, smaller houses were scattered about the area. Some of the land was planted with corn and other crops, while sheep grazed in some of the fields nearer by, and cattle in the more distant ones.
They drew close to the house. The front door was set into a corner, where the wooden section joined the stone, via a section of the courtyard.
Ham-bone yelled, 'Hey, Frank!'
The door opened, and out walked a tall, thin man; old, except his hair was jet black, grew down his back with the corner locks braided on both sides, topped with a cowboy hat. His scowl was typical of the Native Americans they'd seen so far.
'Visitors,' said Ham-bone. 'They were en rout from San Francisco to Dallas, but some militiamen from Central West Aryan State brought them down and hijacked their hover car. This one says he's heard of you.'
Mickey passed him the small envelope from inside the one his aunt had given him.
'What the...' muttered Albert.
Francis opened it and read it without showing any reaction.
The others also gave Mickey strange looks. He smiled back weakly and shrugged his shoulders.
'Come on in then,' said Francis. His scowl remained fixed, but the monotone voice had a slight welcoming ring.
He showed them in through the door built of oak beams, which led into the wooden portion of the house. It was a large room with a rough terracotta tile floor, and a big stone fireplace on one side. Opposite the fireplace were wooden and glass doors leading into a courtyard. In the room itself, there were several very old sofas arranged around the fireplace.
'Rest yourselves here. There's water on the side table. Bathroom down the end of that hall. I will go and make sure they prepare enough food.'
'I'll be off then,' said Ham-bone.
Francis grunted in reply, and Ham-bone was off.
'What's the story with the envelope?' whispered Yorba Linda.
'Yeah, la!' said Philip, 'and how you know him?'
'It's a bit complicated,' replied Mickey. 'I'm rather muddled about it myself.'
Suddenly, there was the whirr of an electric motor, and a cool breeze began blowing across the room with the same fragrant scent as they had noticed in the tavern. Whatever it was, it made the room all the more welcoming.
The others were too tired to question Mickey any more, so after a refreshing drink from a long handled dipper, the seven slunk down in the sofas. For the first time, they could rest. Ham-bone's transmitter tower wasn't conducive to relaxation. Micky sat in the middle of the three-seater, with Philip's head resting on his shoulder, and Riu snoring on the other side of him. Seymour and U Ta shared a two seater sofa, Yorba Linda sank into an overstuffed armchair and Albert took off his shoes and stretched out on a three seater. The others were either snoring or breathing heavily, as Mickey wondered again how they had managed to find the home of someone who previously existed only as a name on an envelope his aunt had given him in Bangkok, and living in an area completely unknown to anyone he knew -- including Yorba Linda.

* * *

They were awakened by a short stubby man wearing a dirty apron.
'This way, if you want dinner.'
They wanted dinner, so they followed the man out to the covered patio next to the courtyard, where a few people were lounging. The middle of the court yard had a stone lined pond partially surrounded by a cactus garden. A couple of young boys were wading, floating a toy boat in the pond. The door on the left led into the stone section of the house. It was a big room, with a long table running almost the whole length of it, with kitchen facilities an the far end.
Francis Baguette stood next to the near end, which was set for eight. He thanked the man in the apron, calling him Paco.
'The others have eaten already. We saw you sleeping, so we understand you had a difficult day and needed your rest. Come, I will join you.'
They sat down. Francis directed Mickey to sit across from him.
The pot in the middle of the table contained something called chile verde. There were two stacks of a sort of flat wheat bread, like nan, one on each side of the pot. Francis called it 'fry bread'. They followed his' example in spooning the chili on to the hollow side of the fry bread, and eating them with their hands.
'So,' began Francis, 'you are the nephew of Rosemary O'Brien?'
'Yes,' replied Mickey.
He was silent for a while.
'You all dropped out of the sky, by accident, just outside of Cactus Head?'
'We had a little help,' said Yorba Linda.
'Yes, with help from the Nazis.' He was silent for a few more moments.
'So, how did your aunt know to send me a message through you, if you arrived by accident?'
Mickey couldn't find any words.
'You are more mystified than I am,' said Francis. 'Now, what about the memory chip I am supposed to copy?'
'Er -- the only chip I have is this one,' Mickey pulled out the envelope from his pocket, 'but someone gave it to me long after I got the envelope from my aunt -- who doesn't even know her.'
Philip said, 'Your aunt we meet in the toilet when we get on the bus?'
'Yeah. That's when she gave me the envelope. She said, "Don't open until you get to Cactus Head". I didn't know any "Cactus Head" until we landed here. It doesn't make any sense!'
'Nothing about your aunt has ever made sense,' replied Francis, 'except she is always right.'
'How did you meet her?'
'That is another long story, even harder to believe than this one. I will copy this and give it back. In return, I will give you a spare e-tablet so you can use it yourself.'
He went on, 'All of you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. However, after three days, you work to earn your keep.'
Mickey heard a few suppressed gasps, but only Albert said anything out loud:
'Ayo! Work ah?'
'Most visitors that stop through here get one day of free hospitality. I'm giving you three. This land will only support so many people without help to make things grow faster. I think you can enjoy what I give you to do. How many can ride a horse?'
No one responded.
'How many would like to learn?'
Albert, Seymour and U Ta indicated interest.
If you get good at it in three days, that will be your job.
Yorba Linda spoke up: 'We do appreciate your hospitality. I think we owe it to you to help in any way we can. But my question is, do you have any idea how we can get home again?'
'I know of no way into the Multinational Corporate Zone. They build their walls very high and secure so no one can get in or out.'
'The what what zone again?' asked Seymour.
'Multinational Corporate Zone. Run by multinational corporations.'
'Ah,' said Philip, 'The Matrix!'
'A good description. They very carefully carry on the illusion that they control all of America. Those within what was once USA think they are under US government, those in Canada think it is Canada, and likewise Mexico. Really, it is all one system, which also covers parts of Australia, New Zealand, and some parts of Europe. There are no borders in the MCZ, only virtual ones. Even the classical democratic system with the executive and legislature in Washington DC is computer generated.'
'My Uncle Rodrigo used to say that,' said Yorba Linda.
'But I think most of you are not from MCZ.'
'China!' said Albert.
'Yes. I think Rosemary was from there, and Bangkok. It would be far easier to go there from here than into the MCZ.'
'So, what's this Matrix?' asked Yorba Linda.
'You don't see The Matrix?' began Albert. 'There's a computer whiz one, Neo, ah? And he meet Morpheus on Internet, ah? Like he cool black dude, like sat sat bo chia one, ah? And he tell him, like, everything he see all fake fake, but have prophecy, la ...'
'I have the video,' interrupted Francis. 'I will play if for you this evening.'
'Do you have Internet?' asked Philip.
'There is an Internet in the Free Zone. But there is a strong firewall protecting the MCZ from all outside signals.'
'I can hack,' said Philip. 'I call Monterey Jack.'
That gave Yorba Linda a start. 'Wow! Do you think you can?'
'I will turn on my satellite dish and router tomorrow for you to try,' said Francis. 'Right now, I get out the video player.'
By the end of the evening, Yorba Linda thought she knew why she had never seen The Matrix.

* * *

Most of the group were given rooms in the upper floor of the wooden section of the house, approachable via the stairs ascending through the inside of a square tower joined to the adobe built section of the house. This feature gave the whole house the appearance of a castle.
There was a large bathroom at the back, consisting of several semi-private bathing areas surrounding a well with a hand pump. The choice was to take a bath by the pump or to fill up a bucket and take it to a bathing area behind a wall, hoping those who walked past a certain point would be polite enough not to look. Since there was no privacy at all by the pump, Mickey and most of the others did the latter. Albert was a bit more daring, but no one else was about anyway.
Mickey shared a room with two sets of bunk beds with Philip and Riu. That part of the house was kept cool by what Mickey now knew was an evaporator fan, a large contraption with a rotating cylinder fan pulling air through a fabric network that had water constantly dripping through it. This sort of fan was only effective in an arid climate, which is why he had never seen one in Asia.
They settled down in their bunks. Philip was in the one above Mickey.
'Mickey,' he whispered down. 'Do you think we ever go home again?'
'I'm sure they'll find some way.'
Though Mickey was far from sure himself, that seemed comfort Philip.
Much later, Mickey was awakened by the shaking of the bunk, as Philip tossed about, talking in his sleep. Later again, he heard Riu calling in Thai to his grandmother.

Chapter 8

Life in the Outer Zone


Breakfast was cornmeal porridge. Again, they were on their own, as the others in the house had eaten early.
So had Francis, but he joined them for his second cup of coffee. 'I have the computer in my study set up with the router,' he told Philip. 'See what you can do. Internet in the Free Zone is intermittent. Websites and connections only work when their host server happens to be on. Electrical supply is never enough to keep servers on permanently. Also, all connection to anywhere outside the Free Zone is routed through Silicone Valley, in the heart of the Western MCZ. Any communication beyond that hub, whether to the MCZ or the world beyond, must be hacked.'
'I know how,' said Philip.
'You can begin as soon as you're ready. And Mickey,' he went on.
'Yes?'
'I have an e-tablet for you, also in the study. I've copied the memory chip to it. But I would like to know, how did your contact in MCZ obtain such a complete Bible?'
'He said they backwards hacked into the server that they use to scan for illegal copies.'
'They are very resourceful. The memory chip includes almost every translation I know of, and also contains the Apocrypha, some Pseudopigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls and even some Jewish Midrash, and portions of the Talmud. I feel as though I have been given a vast treasure trove -- worth far more than the e-tablet your aunt asked me to give you.'
'Are you a Christian?' asked U Ta.
'You might say that, but here, we do not call ourselves "Christian".'
'Why?'
'To many of our people, "Christian" is the white man's religion, and has become the symbol of hundreds of years of cultural imperialism. We have found that if you ignore all of white man's cultural ways, what's left is not very different from Native American tradition, which is rooted in the belief in a supreme Great Spirit, who is the origin of all things. Here, we believe that Yeshua came to be our Messiah as well as the Messiah to the Jews. His Spirit breaths new life into many of our tribal customs, so that our people can approach the Great Spirit in a community setting through Yeshua, and feel right at home. However, some of the old ways, we have stopped because they are forbidden in the Bible and were not essential to Dineh culture anyway.'
'Does Chief Red Eagle believe that way?'
'No. Most of the people of Dinetah do it with peyote. Chief Red Eagle at least tolerates us, because we follow indigenous tribal ways, and also, we live on the very edge of Dinetah lands. But he does not approve of belief in Yeshua as the physical manifestation of the Great Spirit. Also, they are very militaristic. While we don't approve of their warlike spirit, at least they protect us from any attack by the Nazis and other red neck cowboys to the North.'
'What about the South?' asked Albert.
'Only a vast mountainous desert -- a no-man's-land. Not worthwhile crossing if the object is to attack someone.'

* * *

Francis had shown them to his study, and now, Philip was trying the same hack he had used to communicate with Monterey Jack from Siam Province. Yorba Linda and Riu looked over his shoulder, and Mickey sat exploring the features of his new e-tablet and its contents. Riu was anxious for any news on the state of his grandmother's health.
'After this, I try Mr. Singh. I think, maybe in Hong Kong already,' said Philip.

* * *

Albert, Seymour and U Ta were following Francis out to the stable. He had found them each a wide brim hat to protect them from the sun, and gave them each a bottle of water with a strap to hang from their shoulder.
U Ta, walking next to Francis, said, 'I also belong to a tribe.'
'Which one?'
'The Karen. We occupy area between Siam and Burma. Our people also have legends about the Great Spirit who created the world and made a man and woman. Just like the Bible. Also we have story of the flood, and a man who took two of every animal in a boat.'
'Hmm. Many tribes have that story.'
'We also have a legend: three brothers each received a book. Eldest brother, the father of the Karen, had a book of leather, containing the wisdom. But he didn't take care of it, and lost it, so the Karen have been a backward people, living in the hills. Their brother, the Burmese, wouldn't share their book with the Karen, but took advantage of them and forced them to live in the mountains. But there is a prophecy, the white brother will bring his copy, the golden book, and share it with the Karen people. When the first missionary, Adoniram Judson first went to the Karen people, translating the Bible into our language, my fathers regarded that as the answer to the prophecy, and many many villages of Karen people converted to Christianity.'
'You, in turn, have brought me the golden book.'
'You didn't have a Bible?'
'Only a very old copy of the Gospel of Mark. About ten years ago, the Dinetah people, very militant then, destroyed all other copies of the Bible they could find. Any Internet server that has a Bible is viciously hacked. No one dares to post a Bible on-line any more, so I could not get another copy until now.'
They had reached the stable and the first horse riding lesson began.

* * *

The face of Monterey Jack, that Philip had become familiar with, shone on the e-tablet.
'Jack,' Yorba Linda called, 'you might as well show him your true face. He's only the same age as you.'
'Oh!' he said. The cartoon styled face on the screen morphed into that of a pudgy, brown-haired boy with glasses. 'Guess you all must be in Dallas by now, huh?' he said in his own pre-adolescent voice.
'No,' said Philip. 'A bunch of Nazis throw us out and go off with hover car and ID bracelets.'
'What!!' the face showed extreme shock. 'Can't be! How the hell...! What car were you in, number one or number two?'
'What do you mean, "what car"?' demanded Yorba Linda.
'I mean -- oh my god! -- Were you in the car with -- er Mr. Mir Singh and ... oh my god! This can't have happened!'
'What you talking about?' said Philip.
'Car number one, with Mr. Singh, had left already when I got to the station. Philip had been moved to car number two,' said Yorba Linda.
'Godammit! You were clearly told not to change the seating arrangement. I put that note on the reservation! Now -- oh my god! What am I gonna do?' Monterey Jack looked close to tears.
'So!' said Yorba Linda, 'it appears that their "man inside" was none other than my ...'
'God damn you Monterey Jack,' screamed Philip. 'You get us stuck here in nowhere! I hate you! I hate you!'
Yorba Linda took the e-tablet from Philip's hands, while Mickey tried to calm him down.
'The question now, Jack, is how are we going to get home?'
'That's just it!' wailed Jack. 'There aint no get'n home!'
Philip was shouting, 'Traitor! I think you're my friend and you use me for this! Screw you!'
Mickey had managed to sit him down at the far end of the room.
'Can't you hack something?' pleaded Yorba Linda.
'No, can't be done!' said Jack between sobs. 'You don't believe me, ask Uncle Rodrigo.'
'Uncle Rodrigo? Where is he?'
'He's got a permanent post with external maintenance, at communications tower number 326.'
'Where is that?'
'Here it is ...'
He read off some numbers of degrees longitude and latitude. Yorba Linda asked him to repeat it as she wrote it down.
'Hey, Linda,' sobbed Jack. 'I'm really sorry, I swear ...'
The line went dead.
Philip's wailing finally subsided, and he wiped his eyes on the front of Mickey's shirt.
He tried hacking his way through the Silicone Valley hub once more, in the direction of China, but he was unsuccessful.
'Dang! Can never hack two times in a row. Always get caught,' commented Philip.

* * *

The three had begun to get the hang of balancing on top of a horse, and were now riding along behind Francis down a dirt path.
Francis had left off giving them pointers on horsemanship, and they were just enjoying the experience.
'U Ta,' began Francis, 'how often do you commune with the Great Spirit?'
'Huh?'
'Do you pray to him? When?'
'Oh -- er -- whenever we go to church, I guess. Just sing and the minister prays.'
'Ah.'
They went some more in silence, around a few rock formations.
'Have you always been -- um -- a Christian?' Francis began again.
'I was baptised when I was twelve.'
'Did you feel Him in your soul then?'
'Er -- no. My parents just had me baptised -- the Karen Baptist way.'
'Ah, I see.'
They came to a fenced in area where the ground wasn't too rocky. There were cows grazing near the far end. He lifted the bar across the entrance and instructed the three to prod their horses into a gallop across the field and back again. Then, they started back to the homestead.
Francis asked similar questions of Seymour and Albert.
'I was baptised as a baby in the Anglican Church, and had my first communion at seven and then confirmation at ten,' said Seymour.
'My family Buddhist la,' said Albert.
About half way home, they were ambling down a straight path with a corn field on one side, and cotton growing on the other. Some of the workers were hoeing weeds in the cotton field.
Francis told the three, 'I invite all of you to join in a traditional ceremony we have. We do it to purify our soul and draw closer to the Great Spirit. We call it a sweat lodge.'
'Sweat? Like a sauna?' asked Seymour.
'Maybe like a sauna, but it is a temporary structure, made from local natural material. The purpose is not recreation like sauna, but spiritual.'
'Take all our clothes off?' said Albert.
'No, but we wear loose cotton. No synthetic, no plastic or metal jewellery. It is like a prayer meeting, with cleansing, followed by ritual bath in the stream, like Jewish immersion. It begins with one day of fasting.'
'Fasting! Ayo!' Albert exclaimed. 'Not ready for that la!'
'The way back to China will be difficult and tiring. Perhaps many days with no food. Are you ready for that?'
'Er -- well...'

* * *

Lunch time was the first chance they had to dine with the whole work crew. Besides themselves, there were about twenty five, including some small children. The older children, they were told, were away at school.
The others seemed quite friendly, though not many of them spoke English. They never-the-less greeted them, and made them feel welcome.
The seven sat at their usual place at the end of the long table. Francis stood at the end and said some things in Dineh. Some of it was apparently good news to the group, as they responded with cheers, while smiling at the newcomers. Then he said what appeared to be a prayer, while everyone looked respectful and solemn. At the end, they gave a response, and the meal began.
On the table were stacks of fry bread, dishes of a pasty bean concoction, and some roast lamb. The latter two were spooned onto the former and rolled up, just like the night before.
Francis took his seat at the head of the table.
'What did you tell then?' asked Yorba Linda.
'I told them that you brought them the golden book. And tonight, we will gather around the fire pit to roast meat for the evening meal, and the telling of ancient stories -- beginning with U Ta's story of the Golden Book.'
About half way through the meal, Francis asked, 'Did you get through to your people on the router?'
Yorba Linda spared Philip the pain: 'We got through only to my step brother. It looks like he is partly to blame for our mess. However, he did give me the location of my Uncle Rodrigo, apparently also working on the outside doing a job similar to Mr. Hamm.'
'Where is he?'
'All I got were map coordinates.'
'We can look it up on the map. I can not promise that it is possible to go there.'
'Why?' asked Mickey.
'In the Free Zone, are hundreds of sovereign nations, more often hostile to one another than not. Some are Native American tribes, some are white people, often with very strong opinions about race or religion, such as the Nazis. Some seek to build a Christian empire, some hold New Age beliefs, some are Mafia kingdoms, though a few places conduct their affairs for the benefit of all their citizens with no question of belief or race. Travel to far off places is often impossible. But, by a miracle, you came here, bringing the golden book. Perhaps, by a miracle, you can find your way back to China.'
He paused as he fixed himself another piece of fry bread, and let the information sink in.
Finally, he told the group, 'You are welcome to stay with us and share the life we have made here. However, I also think you yearn to be back in your homeland. Your minds and hearts must be clear on this before you can make a choice. I think that a sweat lodge would be a good thing...' He went on to repeat the invitation, and to share with the rest of the group what he had already explained to the three.
'The day after tomorrow will be your chance to prepare yourselves by fasting. The following day, we will hold the sweat lodge.'

* * *

Francis pulled out a faded map of the 50 states and spread it on the desk in the study, as Yorba Linda, Mickey, Riu and Philip looked on. The faded colours only depicted boundaries that were no longer relevant, namely state lines. The darker black ink showed the cities that were still in their locations, some metropolitan towers and such, that were a part of the Multinational Corporate Zone, and other cities in the Free Zone. Some of the latter had changed their names, some of which were inked over the old names on the map. The boundaries of the MCZ had been coloured in with a paint brush dipped into water colour mixed from local ingredients. Felt tip markers, Mickey realised, were hard to come by in most parts of the Free Zone.
Mickey noticed that this was a pre-earthquake map, showing California still joined to the mainland. The San Andreas Straight was painted in using blue water colour. Parts of the map, especially around Arizona, Utah, Nevada, New Mexico and the nearby parts of California, were pencilled over to indicate local sovereign nations. Republic of Dinetah was shown with the most detail, with Cactus Head marked prominently, but no Southern border. North of that was Central West Aryan State. To the East was the word, "USA" in large quotation marks.
There were a number of other Native American nations in the four state area. Other places were marked, some without clear boundary lines drawn, some with a question mark. Some borders, Francis told them, were in dispute, others didn't matter, such as the area near the ranch, which degenerated into unwanted mountainous desert. Yet others, they just didn't know enough detail, so they wrote down only the names.
'Show me the coordinates for the tower where your uncle lives,' said Francis.
Yorba Linda showed him, and he consulted the lines on the map, using a pair of callipers to measure odd number of degrees from the printed line.
'This map would show it as being here, but because of earthquakes, the true location would be here. I see there is a town called "Milfred". I don't know what sort of nation is there. It is in what used to be South Texas, far away from here, but close to the Gulf of Mexico. If there is a MCZ communications tower there, that means it is a nation that is not too hostile to the MCZ. At least, not Nazi or Christian Militia or any other redneck cowboy republic or Mafia turf. If you can get there, you might make it to the sea, and travel by boat to the South American Free States and find a Chinese Embassy.'
'But far from here, ah?' said Riu.
'Yes. Very far.'
'Just one question,' said Yorba Linda. 'Why is this one called "USA"?'
'They are a militant Christian group that claims to carry the original vision of the United States of America. Their aim is to retake all of America by force from the other nations and the MCZ.'
'Militant?' queried Mickey. 'How does that fit in with Christian?'
'They believe that the Mayflower Compact, the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights are sacred, like the Bible. To them, the right to bear arms is as important as Yeshua's command to love your enemies. They also say the Mayflower Compact, signed by the original settlers of the Massachusetts colony, gives all the lands of America to the white man to rule.'
'They have Bible, ah? Why you not get Bible from them?' asked Philip.
'They refuse to allow it because we do not follow Yeshua according to the culture of the white man. Even though we do nothing that the Bible prohibits, they still say we corrupt the Gospel with pagan ways. The other reason is, Chief Red Eagle and the elders of Dinetah do their best to prevent anyone from receiving Bibles from the outside, especially from them.'
'And they can corrupt the Gospel with their guns?' said Yorba Linda.
'I find it hard enough to keep my mind clear without passing judgement,' said Francis.

* * *

The whole community, consisting of the workers on the ranch, in addition to a number of others from neighbouring farms, were gathered around the fire pit at the end of the canyon near a waterfall. The fire was roaring, but a few hot rocks and coals had been pulled out to the edges, where an abundance of fresh lamb was roasting.
Several people, including Francis, had drums. There were also a couple of flutes, some rattles, a guitar, a mandolin and a mouth harp. Francis was leading, while everyone took their cue from his drumming. A couple of times, he broke into a song in the Dineh language, and the rest joined in.
Then, the singing subsided as people brought around some roast lamb and fry bread along with some salad to go on it.
Francis began speaking while most of the people were yet eating. The Asians had no idea what he was saying, though it appeared he was telling them a story. Even the children were listening attentively, and every so often, there was a response, such as laughter, or a cheer, or a sigh of relief. At one point, Francis was half singing and half chanting, while beating on his drum.
Eventually, he wrapped it up. Then, he called to U Ta. 'Tell us your tribe's legend of the Golden Book.'
Fortunately, they had all had exercises in public speaking -- however, doing it from behind their on-line identity. U Ta seemed a bit nervous at first, but he began to pick up as he noticed the interest of his audience. He had to get used to speaking one sentence at a time, so as to give Francis a chance to translate. He sat where he was as he spoke.
When he was finished, Frances asked Mickey to relate how he happened to come by the memory chip of the 'Golden Book' he had brought them.
Mickey began with the chance meeting of his aunt at the terminal, then told their meeting with Samuel McFadden, his delivering the chip, and finally the hijack. When talking about his aunt, Francis took an extra long time to translate, Mickey suspected, adding his own experience of her.
After that, there was more singing, and then, when everyone was finished eating, some dancing to a lot of drum music. The seven guests were, of course, invited to join.
'This the "rain dance" ah?' commented Albert.
'No la, you singing make it rain!' said Seymour.

* * *

Again, the group was down for breakfast after the rest of the household had finished. They were well into their meal when Francis joined them.
'Fasting tomorrow, ah?' asked Albert.
'I let you choose. You need the miracle from the Great Spirit.'
He poured a cup of coffee and sat down.
'Now that you have brought me the Bible, I will put our server on line for part of each day, so others can download it.'
'Won't they just hack it again?' asked Mickey.
'I will not call it the Bible. I'll say it is the Golden Book of the Great Spirit. I will pick the best version, and substitute some words in the text for different ones that mean the same, but are understood by the Indian people. It will get hacked, but by then, everyone will have downloaded a copy.'
After breakfast, Riu decided to join the others horseback riding. Philip tried again, in vane, to hack through to China.

* * *

The four followed Francis on their horses, this time, on an excursion into town. Paco took the rear, leading about five pack mules, laden with vegetables to deliver to the market. On their return, they would bring the weekly shopping for the ranch.
This was a much more pleasant journey than their first time to Cactus Head, both because they were riding, and they had their wide brim hats to keep the sun off.
As they passed the community at the head of the canyon, both Francis and Paco loudly exchanged greetings with several people. At least twice they would paused in front of a hovel to call to the residents, and converse in Dineh. Paco presented one of them, an old woman, with a bunch of turnips. She said something which was obviously a thank you, and also greeted the four Asians in Dineh.
Albert responded, 'Ha ha, same to you, la.'
Seymour answered with some words of Dineh that he had picked up.
The way into town took them past Ham-bone's communications tower. The place looked quiet.
Finally, they turned onto the main street, the opposite direction from which they had come the first day. Not far down the road, they noticed an outdoor market. Some of the stalls that lined the main road were open, but other parts of it were being set up.
Paco began leading the mules into that area, while Francis dismounted and directed the four to tie up their horses.
'The big market is tomorrow,' said Francis. 'It is for selling produce. Other sellers are open today. You may want to look around. Here, I will give you something to spend.'
He proceeded to hand them each a few coins.
He shouted something to the sellers nearby.
'I tell them you are my friends, and not to cheat you. I have business to attend to. Meet me here at noon.' He pointed to a clock embedded in the wall above a door across the street. Then, he went walking off, and the four began to look around.
The coins he had given them were old American quarters, with some Mexican and Canadian coins, that had holes punched in the middle, and a tiny bit of gold pressed in. There was some sort of seal stamped into the gold on both sides, which made the whole coin look like a coin within a coin.
The four browsed the stalls, tried a few treats, bought one or two handicrafts -- Albert got a bead band to put around his hat. Riu and Seymour both attempted what Dineh vocabulary they had picked up, and learned a few more words in doing so.
At noon, they met Francis and Paco back where the horses were tied up, and they rode in the direction from which they came, but went on past the lane that led towards the ranch. Then, they stopped and tied up the horses in front of the tavern where they had first met Ham-bone.
'Lunch,' said Paco cheerily.
They went in. The first thing they saw was the familiar white buttocks above the wide belt line -- Ham-bone.
'Mr. Hamm,' Francis addressed him.
'Yo!'
'Do you have the three solar panals I ordered?'
'Yeah man! It came this morning by robo-post. Wanna stop by this PM I can fetch it for ya.' He sounded as though he had been consuming a generous amount of what was in the bottle in front of him.
'How about if we eat, then we go while you are still able to stand up,' suggested Francis.
'Well -- alright.'
They took their seats at the bar and Francis put in an order for six bowls of chilli and corn bread.
U Ta ended up next to Ham-bone.
'You'll like the chilli here,' drawled Ham-bone, 'Not like that stuff from the cans I'm trying to get rid of -- haw haw haw,'
'How much are you trying to get rid of?' enquired Francis.
'Almost two whole crates full! Go'n cheap!'
'Cheap? How much?'
They bargained back and forth and Francis decided to buy the lot.
'I will collect it when we come for the solar panals.'
Their chilli and corn bread arrived. It was much better than the canned variety.
U Ta ventured a question. 'Why did you come to live here?'
'I'm serving a life sentence!'
'For what?'
'Fer know'n too much! Just like you!'
'How did you learn it?'
'By ask'n too many questions, and ask'n the wrong people. But one question, in particular, got it started.'
'What question?'
'Why is it that when I connect to the satellite links, when I look at certain parts of the country, I always see the same old thing -- like the same people go'n shop'n in the same places at the same time of day, every day? I asked the wrong person. The right one would have told me, "Mind yer own business and don't go spy'n on the same places at the same time every day." Instead, he gave me a code key to get my computer to look at different satellite links. Then, I started see'n what was really there. Then, I started ask'n too many more questions, and again, I asked the wrong people. If I'd asked the first one, he'd have said, 'Shut up if you know what's good fer ya,' but I didn't. Instead, they told me, 'You're so resourceful and have such an enquiring mind, we need you.' They needed me, all right. They needed me as far away as they could throw me, right here. As for the dude who gave me the code, they shut him up real good!'
'Is he at a comms tower too?'
'No way! With his knowledge, he'd hack himself back in. I don't know what they done to him, but I just know he ain't talk'n.'
They had finished, and Francis decided it was time to start back home.
Ham-bone grunted and heaved, as though removing himself from a barstool were a day's work. They walked the horses and mules as far as the communications tower. Ham-bone brought out the crates and the equipment Francis had ordered. There was enough spare room in the mules' packs for the tins, so they set off.
At the mouth of the canyon, Francis and Paco called to several people along the way, all of them looking quite poor, and distributed the cans of chilli. To the old woman, Francis gave two cans, plus a bag of something he had bought for her in town.
Then they were off for home.

* * *

Even though the younger children bathed around the pump, Albert Fong soon realised that that wasn't the place for him. Though Philip Kumar could get away with it -- he usually chose not to -- the advanced adolescent state of Albert's body marked him as someone who needed a more private area.
One of the men who had just finished his shower gestured to Albert that the room he had used was now vacant. A couple of the mothers chuckled as Albert took the hint.
To be sure, it wasn't difficult to spot a naked adult body, even in the bathing stalls. It was either trying too hard, or making it too easy, that was taboo. Albert was clearly guilty of the latter.
Perhaps it was the slingshot effect of being suddenly released from the restrictions of Singaporean society -- whatever. He was sure they were still talking about him outside.
So much for the adventures of open bathing!
He was nearly finished -- but -- his towel!
Suddenly, he felt too embarrassed to walk out to get it.
He peeked around the corner. Most of the people didn't speak English.
There was Philip. He was looking for an empty stall. They were all taken.
'Hoi! Philip! Get me my towel la!'
Philip hesitated. Then he grabbed it and walked over, letting his own drop off as he entered. There was still enough water in the bucket for his bath.
'Hey -- no hard feelings ha?'
'Okay la.'
'You're cool kid even if you're pipsqueak. We in this mess together, find a way out, ah?'
'Yeah.'
'You fast tomorrow?' Albert said.
'Maybe.'
'Don't really want to fast, but must pray to get home!'
'Pray to who?' Philip asked, after a pause.
'All, la! To Buddha, to Great Spirit, to Vishnu, to Muhammad. Fast, maybe someone answer, ah?'
'Ah. Me too.'
'What Mickey say about envelope and memory chip. You believe?'
'I go with him in Bangkok, meet auntie, give him the envelope. And the memory chip -- that man who bring the memory chip, you know? We see him at McDonalds day before, promise to get us the chip, not say where he live or where we go, but he come right to the terminal with the chip, ah? And Mickey's auntie give him letter for Francis promise him memory chip! Either it's Great Spirit, or the man and Mickey's auntie work with the Nazis!'
'No way la! I think pray only to Great Spirit better.'
'Me too. To the god Jesus, I think, but Francis call him Yeshua.'
Philip had finished scrubbing, and poured the rest of the water over himself.
'Miss your family?' asked Albert.
'Yeah.'
'Me too, la.'
They walked back together, draped in their towels.

The Eurasian -- third installment

2011-11-02T17:18:00.001Z

Chapter 5


It was their free time. Mickey and Philip were walking down a boulevard somewhere at the centre of the San Francisco Metro-Tower. It was a different world from the sprawling suburb, depending on the setting of one's My Own World.
By far, most people had their headsets over their eyes. Mickey and Philip could only notice them when they didn't have their own on. Otherwise, they only saw the projected images.
It was actually more fun not to wear the headsets. Right now, they were following a rather fat young teenager wearing only a scant pair of underpants that covered half his bum. With their head sets on, he was tall and slender and wore an ankle length black coat.
"It looks like the emperor's wearing his new clothes today," Mickey mumbled to Philip.
Philip broke out giggling -- but stopped short.
Just ahead, was Albert Fong and Derek Hong walking towards them. Philip pulled Mickey's arm and turned into McDonald's. They each had been given some vouchers to spend, so they decided to try something.
'Hiya!' A female voice resounded from one of the stalls. It was Yorba Linda, seated with their own professor.
'Get something and join us!' said Mr. Singh.
They did. Mickey ordered a Hash McBean platter, and Philip, McPig Nuggats. They took their trays and went to sit with Mr. Singh and Yorba Linda.
'How are you two enjoying the trip?' asked the latter.
'Okay, I guess,' said Philip.
'Different,' said Mickey.
'How different?' asked Yorba Linda. 'I was gaining the impression your part of the world already had the same technology.'
'Yeah, but, still different,' said Philip.
'Here, it's like, all the things you showed us, like, we have them but --'
'Like here -- must have, must have. If not have, you not cool!'
'Like, old fashion, quaint.'
'Yes,' responded Yorba Linda. 'The media does push things. My Uncle Rodrigo complained about that as well,' -- she looked at Mr. Singh as though that were the topic of their conversation -- 'which is probably why I've always noticed it myself.'
'You don't have books printed on paper here, do you,' commented Mickey.
'Actually, my Uncle Rodrigo kept a few. I'm not sure what happened to them. About twenty or so years ago they had the "anti old" campaign. At least, that's what my uncle called it. They encouraged people to discard all objects older than ten years. Antiques were said to be unhygienic, paper causes dust allergies and all that. We got rid of all wooden furniture, fixtures, ornaments -- all paper books were to be replaced by e-books, which are better on the eyes and don't create harmful dust.
'2055?' asked Mickey.
'Yes. That was the year paper books were to be replaced by e-books. You knew about that?'
'We got them,' said Philip.
'Lots of used books,' added Mickey. 'All of them with an electronic tag, "to be destroyed, 2055".'
'Well! I'm glad someone benefited from them. I heard they busted a large smuggling ring that was exporting old books.'
'But the e-books I've downloaded aren't the same as the old paper books,' said Mickey.
'My Uncle Rodrigo noticed that. He spoke out about it, wrote some articles, had a big following...'
'What happened to him?' asked Mr. Singh.
'He was offered a job with a research company. He had to move to a different city. We haven't seen him since.'
'Didn't keep in touch?'
'He said he would, but -- well -- my half brother, Monterey Jack, claims to have been in contact with him. You can't believe much of what he says, though.'
'What about his following?'
'Sort of lost interest.'
'No one talks about the differences between -- you know --' asked Mickey.
'No one seems to care. Look at them.'
Another couple walking by, just on the other side of the plate glass, wearing VR headsets. One was in his pyjamas, the other in his underwear. The emperor...
Just then, a group of about fifteen people came in and took seats in the stalls behind them. The area had been roped off, but they simply unhooked the rope and walked in.
'Oh no -- them again,' sighed Yorba Linda.
'Who?' asked Philip.
'A religious group.'
'Christian?'
'They say they are, but the respectable churches don't accept them.'
Some of the group were arriving with trays piled over with food.
'Are you a Christian, Yorba Linda?' asked Philip.
'Yes. I belong to my local Assemblies of God.'
Just now, one of the group behind them spoke above the background noise. 'Brother Ralph, will you bless the food and drink?'
'Sure. Blessed are you, our Lord and our God, King of the universe, who as provided these soyaburgers and fries, which we now partake of in remembrance of your Body, which was broken for us, and we receive this cola, as your blood, shed for the sins of many.'
There was a resounding 'Amen' from the whole group. They tucked in.
'They do Eucharist with a burger and cola?' asked Mr. Singh.
'Yes,' sighed Yorba Linda.
'I downloaded a Bible,' said Mickey. 'But it only had the New Testament. I couldn't find any Old Testament on line.'
'My Uncle had one.'
'A paper one, no doubt,' said Mr. Singh.
'Yes. The church emphasises that in all matters of faith, we rely on the New Testament. There's not been any demand for the old -- I guess.'
'And the Bible I downloaded, it doesn't even say Jesus was Jewish!'
'That he's -- what?'
'Jewish -- you know, Judaism. Like they have in Israel.'
'What does that have to do with Jesus?'
'He was from Israel, wasn't he!'
'I didn't know that!'
Mr. Singh exclaimed, 'I though everyone knew that! I know that! I'm a Sikh!'
'Yeah,' said Mickey. 'Where do they teach you Jesus was from?'
'They don't. He belongs to the whole world. But, why Israel, of all places? That's a rogue state! Not a part of the Islamic block or the Euro-American block!'
'They do associate with the African Free States,' said Mr. Singh.
Just then, the leader of the religious group was making an announcement. 'Brothers and sisters, today, we wish to welcome John Ferguson into our fellowship. He has stated that he wishes to become a disciple, so, John?'
A middle aged man approached the leader.
'John,' said the leader. 'Do you understand the commitment you are making?'
'Yes,' responded John.
'Do you, willingly renounce the worldly ways of Consumerism, the ways of the flesh, the status symbols of this world, to take on yourself the yoke of the Kingdom of God?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Our Master once said, "Whoever will be my disciple, let him take up his cross and follow me," and "Whoever will not hate his father and mother, even his own life, is not worthy to be my disciple." Do you now forsake all to follow the ways of our Master?'
'Yes...'
'That's not in the Bible, surely!' whispered Yorba Linda.
'Actually, it is,' said Mickey.
There were a couple more questions, which made Mickey wonder if the leader weren't trying to talk John out of joining their group, but John seemed determined.
Finally, the leader said, 'Andy, the water.'
Someone brought him a plastic cup.
'John, I hereby baptise you in the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit.' Then, he poured the contents of the cup on John's head. The group applauded.
'A baptism service? In McDonald's?' said Mickey.
'They're known to be radical,' said Yorba Linda.
A police man walked into the restaurant and looked about. Then, he walked over to the group.
'What are you doing here?' he asked in an intimidating tone of voice.
'Just a group of us dining out together,' said the leader. 'Are we being too noisy?'
'Samuel McFadden,' said the officer. 'This wouldn't be the first time. We've had reports of unauthorised religious activity outside of a church premises.'
'Well, like I said...'
The policeman turned to Mickey and his table. 'You're not with them, are you?'
'No,' said Mr. Singh.
'Have you observed any odd behaviour?'
'No Sir,' said Mr. Singh.
'Nothing,' said Mickey.
'Just enjoy enjoy,' said Philip.
'Well, okay. I'm warning you, Samuel, I'm watching you closely.' He began to walk slowly out.
The group slowly went back to their table conversation.
'You folks live around here?' It was Samuel, the leader of the group.
'No la,' said Philip.
'From China,' said Mr. Singh.
'Wow! What brings you here?'
'On a graduating class tour.'
'Why don't you sit down?' said Yorba Linda.
'Thank you.'
The four of them introduced themselves.
'We enjoyed your service,' said Mickey.
'Believers?' asked Samuel.
'I am,' said Mickey.
'Me too, I guess,' said Yorba Linda.
'You -- guess?'
'Well -- different church.'
'Okay. You as well?'
'Sikh,' said Mr. Singh.
'Hindu,' said Philip.
'Welcome to America,' said Samuel. Turning to Yorba Linda, 'You sound like a local.'
'I'm their tour guide.'
Mickey had an idea. 'Where can I get a full electronic Bible? You know -- Old Testament and all?'
Samuel sighed. 'Hard to get.'
'Do you have one?'
'I could get a copy of it to you, I suppose.'
'Where do you get it?'
'We have to hack.'
'Why is it so hard to get it?' asked Mr. Singh.
'The only electronic copy that officially exists is embedded in the code they use to scan for illegal copies on the Internet. We obtained our copy by backwards hacking so as to get to it, and then did a little decoding.'
'You're very trusting of us,' said Yorba Linda.
'I have a good feeling about you.'
'You know Jesus was Jewish?' piped up Philip.
'Shhh -- yes, and I know just a few Jewish people who know that too. As for your copy, I'll copy it to a memory chip and bring it to you.' He went back to his table.
They were finished, so they went back to their lodging.
Mickey suddenly remembered, he hadn't given Samuel McFadden his address to bring the memory chip to him!

* * *

They were together at the Transport Centre, ready with their back packs, all but Yorba Linda. The latter was supposed to meet them there to accompany them on their trip to Dallas.
'I have the seating list for the two hover vehicles,' said Mr. Singh. 'Why don't we go ahead and board? The one that Yorba Linda is supposed to get on can leave a bit later.'
He read off the lists for the two vehicles, and the students arranged themselves accordingly. Mickey found himself boarding car number two, along with U Ta Gladstone, Lucy Kanda, Marisa, Riu, Tammy and Seymour Williams.
There were no windows in the vehicle, so they sat with the side door open.
Philip's head appeared in the opening.
'What are you doing here?' said U Ta. 'Aren't you supposed to be in the other one?'
'Change places la. Albert Font such a scumbag!'
'Full already!'
'Someone change with me -- pleeeeease!'
Mr. Singh joined Philip at the door. 'There are two empty places in ours, why don't two of you girls join us, Philip can come here, as well as Yorba Linda, when she arrives. It's better if there's a supervisor in each car.'
The girls went off to the other car. Mr. Singh, apparently, didn't notice it was all three.
'We'll go ahead and go. You folks follow as soon as Yorba Linda joins you. The journey's been programmed already, so she'll start it with the push of the green button. See you there.'
'Bye!' they all chimed in.
Philip, with a sigh of relief, sat down next to Mickey.
Mickey heaved a quieter sigh -- the kid's hard to get rid of!
They heard the whirr of the other car departing.
Just then, Albert Fong stepped in and sat down. 'The girls -- they force me out. So I'm back with pipsqueak, ha? Think you can get away from me la!'
Philip groaned.
Another head appeared at the door -- Samuel McFadden!
'Wah! How you find us?' exclaimed Philip.
'Find you?' said Albert. 'He use microscope!'
'Hoi!'
'I've got the e-book you asked for,' said Samuel, handing it to Mickey.
'But -- '
'You'll be needing it soon, but don't load it just yet. Just put it somewhere safe -- like that envelope in your coat pocket. You'll need them both at the same time.'
'What envelope? -- Oh!' Mickey had a feeling similar to when he ran into his aunt at the transport centre in Bangkok.
'We'll meet again!' he disappeared.
The envelope in his pocket was the one his aunt gave him. There was just enough room at the end of the sealed opening to slip the chip in. What did he mean by, need them both at the same time? How did he know about the envelope anyway? It was inside his coat!
'How did he find us, anyway?'
'Dunno!' said Philip.
Yorba Linda interrupted any further pondering. 'Don't tell me the other car left already -- and ...' she consulted her electronic diary, 'I'm supposed to be in the car with Mr. Singh!'
'Gone already la!' said Albert.
'I was specifically told not to altar the seating arrangement! Oh well.'
She got in, shut the door, pressed the green button, and they were off.
'Why no windows in this one?' asked Seymour.
'I don't know why cross country flights don't have windows,' signed Yorba Linda. 'However, you can look out via your headsets.'
They pulled their headsets over their eyes and viewed the landscape in silence, the sprawling residential estates, an occasional metro tower, amusement parks ...
The vehicle slowed down and came to a stop over a picturesque picnic area. Suddenly, the scene from their headsets blurred to nothing.
'Only forty minutes!' said Yorba Linda, who hadn't been wearing her headset. 'It's suppose to be a two hour trip!'
There was a clunk, as though they had landed on something other than a hover dock.
The door opened, showing anything but what their headsets had shone -- yellow and brown rocks and sand, and the most motley group of men he'd seen since Clint Eastwood.
'Everyone out! Move it!' said a man with close cropped hair, and the scar on his face.
'Oh great! A load of freak'n chinks!' said another one.
'Don't worry, it won't show on their ID,' said a more elderly man, who looked like their leader.
'What the hell is going on?' exclaimed Yorba Linda.
They were holding weapons. One of them had a swastika tattooed to his shoulder.
They got out into the hot sun, carrying their backpacks.
'Hold it. Let's see what's in those,' said one of them.
'No way, you scumbag!' said Yorba Linda.
Someone held a gun to her. They began searching all the bags. Another one began collecting their headsets.
A man with a swastika tattooed to his cheek went through Mickey's. 'What's a nice white boy like you doing with a load of goons?' He came across Micky's e-tablet. 'This'll do.' He helped himself to it. The others' e-tablets, mobile phones and gadgets met the same fate.
No one dared resist.
'Now,' said the oldest one, 'your ID bracelets.' He had a swastika on his eyelid.
He held up a gadget, went to the one closest to him, Albert Fong, grabbed his wrist, clicked the gadget on his bracelet, which unwrapped itself. One by one, he got everyone's bracelet.
'What do you think you're going to do with those?' said Yorba Linda.
'Make our entry into Multinational Consumer Land, of course, thanks to you and our man inside!'
'To put a lug wrench or two between the wheels of your Zionist controlled machinery!' said another.
'Us, and who?' exclaimed Yorba Linda.
'Wait a minute!' said the leader. 'There's supposed to be three females. I see only one here. Melinda and Julie, you'll have to go as men -- hold on, this one's aged 13. Julie, you can pass as a 13-year old -- wait, a name like Kumar -- Margaret, you've got the deeper tan, you're Philip Kumar. We'll get you a haircut. And, "U-Ta" -- what kind of name is that? Julie, you're U-Ta. Dammit, our man inside said three girls!'
'Hey, cheif! They're closing in,' said one of them holding a scanning device.
'What man inside?' demanded Yorba Linda.
'Wouldn't you like to know! So long.'
The gang boarded, and the students and their guide stood, watching their conveyance take off and disappear into the distance.
'Oh my god -- we kena sai man!' Albert began. 'And its all you fault, Kumar. You change cars you get us into this mess! You son of a ...'
'Screw you, you freak'n bastard,' Philip screamed back at him, and then followed that by more choice words mixed with unintelligible wailing that finally subsided with, '...I just want to go home!'
So sudden was the barrage that it left Albert speechless.
Mickey put his arm around Philip's shoulder as he continued to sob at lower decibels. Seymour and U-Ta also looked close to tears.
The sun was scorching, and there was no shade.
'Where the hell are we, anyway?' said Yorba Linda.
'You don't know?' said Albert.
'It's not in any of my geography databases. The only place I've ever seen people like that is in old movies about Neo Nazis!'
'Yeah, Nazis,' said Seymour. 'I see swastikas on them.'
'But they don't even exist!' said Yorba Linda. 'Then again, neither does this place!'
'Cactus Head?' said Riu.
'What?'
'Cactus Head. That sign say "Cactus Head" on it. "Three miles".'
Mickey looked at the faded, hand painted sign standing next to the dirt road.
Cactus Head! Where had he heard that name?

Chapter 6


The landscape looked like it belonged in a cowboy film -- the rock formations, the red and yellow sand, Micky expected Indians to appear over the next hill.
And they did...
'All right, drop your weapons, we got you surrounded!'
'Wait -- those ain't no white boys!'
They were surrounded. The second voice came from behind.
'Who are you, and where did you come from?' asked the first one, a stout middle aged man who looked like he'd seen a lot of sun. The whole group comprised brown skin and black.
'And where the white boys go?' asked the second, leading the group on the other side of them.
'The Nazis?' asked Yorba Linda.
'Yeah, the Nazis. We've been tracking them since they infiltrated the Dinetah Nation territory.'
'They just took off in our hover car,' said Seymour, 'that way.'
There was a pause as the group looked in the direction Seymour pointed. There were sighs and expressions of surprise.
'So that's what ...' the leader of the group to the rear exclaimed.
Yorba Linda said, 'Where can we find the nearest police station?'
'We are the police -- or the closest thing you'll find,' said the middle aged man. 'I am Chief Red Eagle, de facto head of state for the Republic of Dinetah. You'd better come with us.'
He motioned for them to follow. They followed.
'You mean to say ...' Yorba Linda started, but didn't have the imagination to finish.
The Chief finished for her. 'You are now on the outside. You obviously came from Disneyland over yonder, and were on your way to Cowboy Land when you got dumped here in the real world.'
'Your words for Baja California and Texas, I'm sure. And which State of the Union do you mean by "Real World"?'
'This would be Arizona, if your Union of 50 States were still intact. As it is now, we are a sovereign Dineh nation.'
'Dineh, that Indian tribe, ah?' Albert broke in.
'Native American,' corrected Yorba Linda.
'All of you Native American? Some of you look like ...'
'Most of us are Dineh people. All of us follow the spirits of the land after the way of our Tribal Fathers,' responded the Chief. 'People who were disenchanted with White Man's culture, White Man's religion, White Man's slave state, they have come to us and we teach them a new way, the way of the spirits of the land.'
'We are finally emancipated!' spoke up a black skinned man.
'And the people who took down our hover car?' asked Mickey.
'Our nation shares a disputed border with one of the Nazi Nations. Your hover car rout goes over our Dinetah Nation lands, but not theirs. I don't know what they're up to, but obviously they wanted to ride into Cowboy Land on your hover car. To get to it, they had to encroach on our sovereignty. See, over there, to the South of Cactus Head, you see a communications tower, the one concession we grant to what's left of your 50 States. We allow them to man that tower, which relays the signal to guide your cars and buses across our lands, giving your passengers the illusion of a seamless coast to coast nation. If you want to know more, Ham-bone...'
'But -- Arizona...'
'Your State of Arizona consists of a few pieces of prime property dotted across this land, such as the Tuscan and Phoenix Metro Towers, Flagstaff, the Grand Canyon and parts of the Snake River, just enough to give the impression of Arizona.'
'But millions of people live on farms and reservations all over Arizona as US citizens!'
'How many of those people do you actually know? I assure you, you'll find them only in movies, sitcoms and info-mercials. What you see here is the real world. We'll take you to your man, Ham-bone, who runs the communications tower. Maybe he can help you get back to Never Land. If he can't, then you have two choices: either you can settle with us and learn the ways of the spirits of the land, or, if you insist on the White Man's religion, we can escort you to the border of our neighbouring nation to the East, a Christian nation that also thinks of itself as the true united state of America. Though we do not enjoy good relations with them, they're more amiable than the Nazis.'
They walked on, while Yorba Linda continued to protest the existence of their location, until the cheif flatly told her that Ham-bone, the tower operator would enlighten them, thereupon he refused to hear any more from her.
It was hot! But they weren't sweating. It was just scorching.
Mickey noticed quite a few cactuses and at least one yak's skull bone, and wondered if that's what gave the place the name of Cactus Head. Where had he heard the name before anyway?
After another mile of walking, he remembered. His Aunt Rosemary had said something about Cactus Head the last time he saw her. He was supposed to open the envelope.
It was still in his inside pocket of the coat he was wearing. The memory chip that Sam McFadden had given him was in it -- which he would need at the same time.
It was a good thing he hadn't put it in his e-tablet wasn't it! But how would he read it? Could he find another e-tablet?
He tried fanning himself with the envelope, but it didn't cool him down at all. It just blew hot air.
They were approaching some houses. Most of them were surrounded by vegetable gardens and corrals for farm animals. People were out tending to the weeding and other chores. One man was feeding his chickens -- free range, by the looks of it -- another was overhauling a car motor.
The farther they went, the closer the houses were to one another, and the more like a town it looked. Then there were shops, a tavern, a pharmacy, a blacksmith, a grocer's, another tavern, a foundry, a video arcade, a small factory of some sort. People were walking down the street, moving out of the way only when a vehicle, a four-wheel-drive, a hover car, a horse, needed room for more speed. Except for a few smatterings of technology unique to this century, it could have passed for cowboy town of ages gone by.
'I think we'll find Ham-bone in here,' said the chief, turning into another tavern.
The interior was also a specimen of wild west times. It was cool inside. A refreshing breeze blew from one end of the room, where there was the whirr of a fan which Mickey couldn't see. It carried the scent of fresh rain.
The only white man they'd seen so far sat on the barstool with his back to the door, his buttocks peeping at them over his belt line, where his shirt-tail failed to compensate. Ham-shanks would have seemed like a more fitting designation, or at least he looked as if he'd eaten an abundance of ham in his time.
'Ham-bone!' yelled the chief.
The man turned slowly around, with a scowl.
'Still on your extended coffee break, I see! Your amusement park ride broke down. What shall I do with your customers?'
'Huh?'
'These are yours, I think,' he said, indicating the Asians who were now standing inside. 'Fare paying passengers. Take them!'
'What are you talking about?'
The chief looked at Yorba Linda and said, 'He's been living here too long.' At that, he walked out, leaving Ham-bone staring open mouthed at the seven.
The vapours flowing from him indicated that it wasn't a coffee break he was on.
'So, what's the problem?' he asked finally.
'Our hover bus landed on the ground not far from here,' said Yorba Linda. 'We were ejected from it by a group of Nazis who said their "man inside" had hacked the system. They've gone off with our ID bracelets, and here we are.'
'Yeah, right. So what do you expect me to do?'
'Get in touch with the authorities and tell them!'
'Oh God, why me?'
'You operate the system here, don't you?'
'I don't operate the system. I just maintain the communications tower and call them if it blows over.'
'Well, call them and tell them we got grounded!'
'Well -- I suppose...' He got off the bar stool as though it were a major undertaking. 'Come this way then.'
They followed him out the door -- back into the hot sun. 'The name's George Hamm, by the way.'
Yorba Linda introduced herself and one or two of the others who weren't sulking towards the rear.
They walked further down the main road, and then turned right, down a smaller road. They could see the communications tower straight ahead.
'Looks to me like everything's working fine,' said Ham-bone, gazing at the sky.
There was a hover bus coming towards the tower from the West. It began to make a gentle curve and passed on towards the South-east.
'Our hover car did that too, after we were pushed off,' said Yorba Linda.
'You mean it landed, and then took off again?'
'Yes.'
'That's never happened before!'
'They said they had inside help,' said Seymour.
'Who? The people that pushed you off?'
'Yes. The Nazi group. They also took our computers and ID bracelets,' said Yorba Linda.
'So you've got no ID bracelets, huh?'
'We have Chinese passport, that help?' said Riu.
The dirt road was lined with small vegetable and chicken farms. Children were running in and out of some of the houses, and a few ran to their garden fences to look at the strangers.
The communications tower was surrounded by a tall wire fence with bare electric wire strung along the top. George Hamm opened the gate with a key, and led them to a concrete building that formed the base of the tower.
'Welcome to my humble abode,' he said.
The interior looked like it was built as a work area around the base of the tower with what looked like a bathroom in the far corner. Floor, walls and ceiling were bare concrete. A console with monitors and dials lined the base at the centre. At one side, near a window, was a bed and a few pieces of furniture, with clothes and belongings strewn all over. Against another window was a table with some chairs, an old fashion cooking area with a vintage refrigerator. Everything in between was dusty and littered with empty boxes, bottles and cans, except for an old motorcycle. It was rather hot and stuffy, and smelled of all the old things lying about.
'Don't often have visitors, do you?' said Mickey.
'You're the first,' said Ham-bone. 'Sit down wherever you can find a seat. There's two chairs over there, there's my bed, there's an extra chair by the console. I'll see if I can contact base.'
He flicked a switch, and immediately, an air-conditioning system began to modify the environment. It was straight forward weather control, like the inside every metro tower Mickey had ever been in -- not the nice refreshing breeze produced by whatever that was inside the tavern earlier.
Yorba Linda, Mickey and Philip went to the console where Ham-bone was seated, while the others sat where they could.
Ham-bone was talking to someone on a two dimensional monitor. 'We have a situation here. One of the hover buses came down, apparently through someone hacking the system, the passengers were pushed out, and a group of locals got in and went off again.'
'I don't understand,' said the lady on the screen. 'Your location isn't a passenger stop.'
'I know. They say it landed on the ground, in middle of nowhere.'
'I don't think that's possible.'
'It happened,' yelled Yorba Linda over Ham-bone's shoulder.
'And who are you?'
'Yorba Linda Sanchez, the tour guide for the group of Chinese visitors en rout to Dallas.'
'Can you please scan your ID?'
'They took our IDs. I can quote the number for you though.'
'No ID? How can I verify your identity?'
'Biometrics? I can scan my hand print.'
'This system isn't equipped with biometrics. Go ahead and key in your number.'
Yorba Linda used the key pad. There was a pause.
'The record shows someone with this number having arrived in Dallas ten minutes ago,' said the lady, finally.
'That's not us,' said Yorba Linda. 'The Nazi group that got in our hoverbus also took our identification bracelets.'
'The -- what?'
'Nazis!'
'I don't understand. You mean Nazis, as in Hitler's Nazis?'
'Neo Nazis, as in radical white supremacists.'
'I didn't know there was such a thing.'
'Well, there is. They've arrived in Dallas masquerading as us. If you don't believe me, contact the Dallas terminal and ask for Mr. Mir Singh, the leader of the group. He was occupying the other hover bus. They should be noticing our absence by now.'
'Okay, I'll get back to you.'
The screen went blank.
'Mr. Hamm, where do you actually live?' asked Yorba Linda.
'Right here. I'm originally from Flagstaff, but now I'm here.'
'Do you ever visit your family in Flagstaff?'
'Nope. I'm here till I die.'
'Till you die?' queried Mickey.
'I know too much to go back to living in the Multinational Corporate Zone. I'd contaminate society with knowledge of the "real world".'
'What about us?' said Philip. 'Now we know too!'
'Well, that could... --' Ham-bone seemed reluctant to complete the thought.
'But you work for the system,' said Yorba Linda. 'How do you get -- you know, paid -- supplies, essentials?'
'I have an account. They pay me, I order stuff, which they drop off by means of a robotic drone. I sell it to the locals for local currency, so I eat local. I do very well for myself, actually. Anyway, you must be hungry. How 'bout something to eat?'
They were, so they did. They had chili con carne out of cans. It was okay, Mickey thought, though he suspected that Ham-bone had an excess of it that he needed to get rid of.

* * *

It finally occurred to Mickey that he was at the place where he was supposed to open the envelope. The only thing that had kept him from it was the wonder that there was such a place as 'Cactus Head', and then doubting that his aunt could have possibly known about it -- let alone that Mickey and his group would actually end up there.
But here they were, in Cactus Head, administrative centre of the Republic of Dinetah.
Mickey slowly tore the envelope open. What new surprises could there possibly be?
There was a note, another envelope, and the memory chip. He read the note:

Mickey, please deliver the envelope to Francis Baguette, along with the memory chip. He should return it to you after he's copied it, and give you a reader so that you can use it yourself. You'll find him quite hospitable, and he'll send you on your way once you know your next destination.

Memory chip? Mickey felt the envelop, and there didn't seem to be any memory chip, apart from the one he had slipped in, from Sam McFadden. Certainly, she didn't mean that one?
What did she mean by, 'know your next destination?' Shouldn't that be Dallas?

* * *

Ham-bone was back to the communications console, with Yorba Linda and the others close by.
The lady was back on the screen. 'I'm sorry, but since you don't have any ID, and the people that you claim to be, have already entered the Texas zone, there's nothing I can do for you.'
'What about Mr. Singh and the rest of the group? They can verify that the other people with our IDs aren't us.'
'The group that you claim to be went straight to their onward destinations. Mr. Singh and company have been returned to San Francisco, and are awaiting their transport back to China.'
'But there are still three more weeks left on the itinerary!' muttered Yorba Linda. Out loud, she said, 'Please! We're stranded here! What are we to do?'
'I'm sorry, I can't help you. With no ID...'
'I have China passport!' yelled Albert.
'Me too!' rejoined U Ta.
'Yes,' said Yorba Linda. 'They have passports.'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Chinese ID!' yelled Philip.
'I'm sorry, our system only takes the standard ID that's issued to citizens and official visitors. I can't help you.'
The monitor went off line. There were gasps of dismay.
Philip began sobbing again. Some of the others looked close to tears -- especially Riu, Mickey noted. Thinking about his grandmother.
Ham-bone said, 'I didn't think you'd get much help from them. You know too much now.'
'Can we call my office on this?' asked Yorba Linda.
'I can only get through to the base. There are no lines to anywhere else. Remember, I also know too much.'
'So, what do we do now?'
'That was going to be my next question. You certainly can't live here.'
Mickey said, 'What about Francis Baguette?'
Ham-bone looked at him. 'How do you know Francis Baguette? I'm sure the chief didn't recommend him.'
'Er -- someone told me about him.' Mickey wondered how he could make the story believable. 'They said -- er -- they knew someone name Francis Baguette, and he lived in a place called Cactus Head.'
'That's weird. No one knows about this place!'
The others were looking at him strangely.
'And he doesn't exactly live in Cactus Head,' Ham-bone continued. 'He's got a ranch in the outer area -- a lot of space. We can get there if we start now. How about I'll take you?'

The Eurasian -- second installment

2011-10-26T20:42:00.002+01:00

Here is the second installment of The Eurasian, my novel in progress:

Chapter 3


Hong Kong was the ideal place from which to start such a long trip. It was the one port still open to non Chinese nationals of the buffer states, Japan, Korea, Taiwan, Philippines, India and Singapore. Occasionally, visitors from the Islamic republics, and even from the Western Block, were allowed into Hong Kong. Any excursions into other parts of China required special visas. Singapore was really a part of China, but being that it was an island wedged between the great Indochina Islamic Republic and the rebellious states (claimed by China) and rogue sultanates; Singaporeans entered the rest of China through that port for security reasons. Likewise, all outgoing travel Eastward originated from Hong Kong.
While the entire journey could have easily have been completed in one day, the plan was to spend the night in Hong Kong to make sure everyone made it. Seymour Williams, Lucy Kanda and Albert Fong arrived from Singapore the morning after the group from Bangkok, as did Saw U Ta Gladstone from Chiengmai. The five from Bangkok, and their counterparts from Northern China had spent the night in bed sized cubicles close to the terminal.
Fourteen were present in the VIP lounge. Lo Peng, Martin Woo and Miss Nerender Singh were absent. No reason was given, but Mickey suspected it was for the same that the rest of the group were acting as though they were presenting themselves for the first time in the nude.
At least it seemed as though Lucy Tan would have preferred to appear as Marilyn Monroe in the nude than to show her physical body fully clothed. Besides a little bit of acne, she really didn't look too bad. Jonny 'Astro Boy' Lim was tall and lanky to the point of being somewhat awkward, and Albert Fong, far from sporting a Jacky Chan physique, was short and fat.
The last to arrive looked like a recent university graduate, thin, with only the beginnings of a beard, and his uncut hair was tied in a ponytail. His Indian features threw everyone off.
'Who are you?'
'I know -- Philip Kumar!' said Albert Fong.
'Here already la!' shouted Philip.
'Then one of you is...'
'Class, class! Don't you know your dear professor when you see him?' said the newcomer.
'You kidding!'
'No!'
'It's me, your own Mr. Singh, in person! Alright, everyone here?'
'All but Lo Peng, Martin and Nerender,' said Marisa.
'And Philip Kumar,' added Albert Fong.
'Hoi!' started Philip.
'I've been informed those three won't be joining us. Now, did everyone do as instructed, and pack only essential clothing and toiletries? No one has any reading material apart from the travel manual on your e-tablet?'
'No books, la!'
'No books.'
'All my naked girlie magazine, delete just now la,' said Albert Fong.
Laughter.
Mr Singh continued, 'As soon as we are ready, we can board our vessel.'
'Already?'
'What departure time?'
'There are no scheduled flights to North America,' replied Mr. Singh. 'Departures are on a need-to-go basis. We need to go -- so they've provided a flight. So, does anyone have any last minute business? There will be no going to the toilet on the flight.'
After some sorting out of bags and belongings, and trips to the toilet, they were off down the corridor towards the flight terminal.
'Have any of you ever been on one of these flights before?' asked Mr. Singh, as they stood on the conveyor belt.
'Flew aeroplane from Chiengmai,' said U Ta.
'I wouldn't call this an aeroplane. You'll feel the weight below you as you ascend to above the atmosphere, then you'll feel pressure from behind as the craft accelerates to a tremendous speed, followed by weightlessness as we descend. The entire flight will take two hours, during which time, no one is to leave their seat. In fact, your seatbelts will be locked, and the backs of your seats will adjust automatically so as to give maximum support for your body. Any questions?'
'Nice view, I bet,' said Lucy.
'I don't know,' replied Mr. Singh. 'Haven't actually been on one myself. They were developed a bit late to be used as commercial aircraft -- the way the world has been divided up.'
'Not true, la,' said Philip to Mickey. 'But because China consolidated all into one part of globe, for us only, not practical. But Western Block use them -- trips from Australia to North America to Germany. Islamic Block use them, from Europe to East Indies. Also Southern Free States, flights from South America to Africa.'
'How do you know so much?'
'Monterey Jack.'
'How will you try to meet him?'
'He hack, know we coming, know details.'
At the end of the conveyor belt, the group walked to the big door. For the first time since arriving in Hong Kong, the group stepped outdoors. Ahead of them was a massive platform, or was it a deck, mounted on the side of the metro-tower. In the middle was what was apparently the craft Mr. Singh had been describing. It looked like a sawed off version of the old space shuttles NASA used to send up.
Mickey and Philip were next to the guard rail, from which they caught a glimpse of the ground. From here, they could tell that the platform, on which they stood, was, in fact mounted on one of the three legs of the metro-tower. This leg was planted in the middle of Wan Chai on Victoria Island, and rose at an angle towards the main body of the tower. Perched on the leg in step formation were towers that blended in with the ancient skyscrapers that still stood on the ground. The tops of the highest of them were at eye-level. The other two legs were planted in Tsim Sha Sui and North Point. Below the belly of the metro-tower was the Hong Kong harbour. Mickey could see ships coming and going, and even a few old fashion junks.
Quite a lot of Hong Kong was high enough in elevation to not be so badly affected by the rising sea water. However, there were many house boat communities lining the edges of the land masses.
Mickey wanted to look some more, but Mr. Singh was calling them to the craft.
They ascended steps near the front of the craft. Once inside, they were directed into two separate compartments running along either side, separated by what Mickey guessed was the rocket motor.
Despite the size of the craft, there wasn't much space inside. The compartment Mickey and Philip entered had only twelve rows of two seats with the aisle on one side and the window on the other. Across the aisle was the inner wall. Even though Mickey couldn't remember seeing the windows from the outside, they were quite large, enough for both passengers seated together to see out. There was lots of room between each pair of seats, each had its own arm rests and lower leg support.
Again, Philip made sure he sat next to Mickey, and asked for the window seat. Mickey suspected it was just as much to stay away from Albert Fong as to chat with Mickey. Albert had been tormenting him all morning.
Everyone settled in, and fastened their seatbelts as requested. These consisted of two shoulder straps as well as one that went around the waist and between the legs. Once everyone had fastened themselves in, they heard an audible 'click' as they locked. Then, a safety bar came down in front of each passenger, and the back and lower leg support automatically adjusted.
The craft lifted off vertically. They saw portions of the metro-tower, and parts of Hong Kong and the rest of China to the window on their left. They kept going until they had cleared the tower. Then, the craft tilted upward, while the seats adjusted by tipping forward slightly, so that the passengers were no longer seated behind one another next to an aisle, but above and below each other, in semi-reclining position like a very tall bunk bed.
Then, the deafening roar, the G force, the speed. The cabin pressure automatically compensated for altitude, so there was no discomfort to the ears. That couldn't be said for the rest of the body, which felt like it had become a seat for an elephant.
As the world below began to look like a TV weather map, the craft slowly began to tilt forward again, and the seats, back. The pressure on their bodies lessened, but only for so long. Now; forward thrust, but that was more bearable, more like that of an ordinary take-off down a runway, though sustained for a much longer period of time.
Finally, they were at cruising speed.
'Cool!' said Philip.
'We're in outer space!'
'Yeah.'
'Wonder what America will be like?'
'Just like Hong Kong, I bet.'
'What does your friend say?' said Mickey.
'Who? Monterey Jack?'
'Yes la.'
'Not much. Just talk about what's behind it all. He say, "Everything fake", like everything The Matrix.'
'You mean everyone is, like, attached to wires and tubes, and they only think they're walking about?'
'No la. Not that bad,' replied Philip. 'Just everything not what it looks like. And that book you send me, about no more print books, and change history, he say, "Happened already".'
'No kidding!'
'That's what he say.'
'Whole Western Block?'
'Whole North America. Maybe not Australia, Ireland, Germany -- I think they buffer zone, just like China have Japan, Korea...'
'In all North America, no print books, only e-books?' asked Mickey.
'Yeah, I guess.'
'How do they change history?'
'Dunno.'
They sat in silence, gazing at the view below. The girls in the seat ahead of them had closed their window. They could hear Albert Fong a few seats beyond, chatting with Derek Hong.
'Albert Fong, he such a scumbag,' whispered Philip.
Then, they began their descent.

Chapter 4


They had a day in which to recover from jet lag before their adventures were to begin. As usual, Philip clung to Mickey's side to ensure they shared their suite.
Mickey knew such things existed, but had never expected to experience it: the bed automatically adjusted to the size and shape of the body lying in it, and something intuitively began massaging the body right where it need it. When Philip stepped out of the bathroom dripping wet from the jacuzzi, searching for a towel, something in the floor immediately began sucking the carpet dry. He had to wipe himself with his own shirt. When Philip tried the jacuzzi, he realised that the reason no towels were provided was because, at the press of a button, the the water quickly emptied out and a burst of warm air shot out form every direction, drying him almost immediately.
They spent the rest of the day watching TV on the wall sized 3D screen. Situation comedies followed info-mercials, followed again by action adventures, and weather, news and sports. The characters of the sitcoms all lived in sprawling suburban dwellings with interiors not unlike the suite Mickey and Philip were in. The difference was the view through the French doors: a patio leading off to a swimming pool, surrounded by luxuriant gardens. The sprawling estates seemed to be the norm.
There were very few advertisements. Instead, the characters were all either pictured dining at McDonalds or KFC, trying out the latest feature of their Microsoft Personal World, eating breakfast cereal with the brand name shown full face, using the latest gadget from whatever corporation, in every case making a comment on the said product, and how wonderful life was for all.
Only occasionally did they depict a character, usually a lazy, jobless addict or a misfit, living in a two room flat high up in a metro-tower. Even they seemed to have everything they needed to survive. Their poverty was defined by their lack of this or that from Microsoft, or having to eat generic food out of a can, or worse yet, growing their own food.

* * *

Mickey browsed the list of e-books under the heading of 'Public Domain'. He already had the ones by Charles Dickens at home, but he tapped on Oliver Twist anyway -- and Little Dorrit, and Tale of Two Cities. They downloaded immediately.
Other random selections: the Bible, a few plays by Shakespeare, a history of China.
Mickey's dad had read their copy of Little Dorrit. Mickey had tried, but found it heavy with old English terms and long descriptions. He had watched the old mini-series on their home theatre. Looking at this e-book version, he could see that it had been greatly simplified. He could probably read the whole thing in two days.
He started immediately.

* * *

Meals were in the hotel café, after which they'd wander about enjoying the gaming arcade, looking at items for sale in the boutiques, or sitting about the pool on a deck high above the San Francisco Straight. No one had told them they might need any swimming gear, so they just sat looking at the water, or enjoying the view below. Albert Fong suggested jumping in with nothing on, but the girls and Mr. Singh vetoed that notion. Nor did they have any local currency to buy anything apart from what was provided. That being the state of affairs, most of them, including Mickey and Philip, opted to return to their suits to see if anything else interesting was on TV, or whatever.
Mickey tried reading Little Dorrit, but that tended to put him to sleep. He wanted to force back his jet lag.
After managing to stay awake through the daylight hours, the two went off to sleep with dreams of what a perfect world they had found themselves in. The special features of their beds kept them asleep throughout the night, so by morning, they were over the worst of their jet lag.

* * *

The twelve sat at their usual three tables. Each table had room for six. The girls sat at one table, Mickey and Philip sat with U Ta, Riu and Seymour also suite mates, while the other two sets of suite mates sat together at theirs. Breakfast was scrambled egg and sausage, which they helped themselves to from the buffet.
Seymour's ancestors were South Indian, who had migrated to Malaysia in the old days of British colonialism. U Ta was Karen, a tribal group native to the borderland between Thailand and Myanmar. Back in the days when the two were independent states, one of U Ta's forbearer was an officer in the Karen National Union, trying to create a third.
Mr. Singh arrived after the students had started in. With him was a tall dark thin woman, long wavy black hair, tight clothes, athletic build, Hispanic features. She was wearing a silver band covering her eyes and ears -- obviously see-through. The moment she arrived, she slid it upward, revealing her eyes.
'Yorba Linda, allow me to introduce you to my class.' Then he raised his voice. 'Class, this is your hostess for the next two weeks. Say hello to Yorba Linda.'
'Hello, Yorba Linda.'
'Hi Yorba Linda.'
'Good morning Ms Linda.'
etc. etc.
'Join us for Breakfast, Yorba Linda?' invited Mr. Singh.
'No thank you. I just had mine at home.'
'A cup of tea then?'
'Okay.'
The instructor and the tour guide sat at the girls' table. Everyone went on with their breakfast.
Mickey stole a glance at Yorba Linda at the next table and got a side view of her. Not bad looking.

* * *

The group entered the boardroom where the smiling gentleman in a business suit welcomed them.
Yorba Linda did the introduction. 'Mr. Jensen, the visitors from the Far East. Mr. Jensen is the CEO of San Francisco Metro-Tower.'
'Good morning,' Mr. Jensen returned. 'It's our privilege to welcome you to our city. Please take your seats around this table.' He was also wearing the silver band over his eyes and ears.
They took their seats.
'The first order of business is to distribute your ID bracelets. They serve, as electronic identification tags, and you can use them in electronic transactions. Each one as been credited with a small amount that you can use to purchase a few souvenirs during your trip to our sector. They scan in at any check out counter in retail stores as well as vending machines, and all entrances to important places and check points will automatically detect and scan your access code. You all have level-3 access, which will allow you to take the tour of our entire sector, including all public places. Ms Kirkson?'
A woman in a business suit came in with a box, which she placed on the table in front of her. She took a bracelet from the box, held it to a small electronic gadget, and said, 'Seymour Williams.'
Seymour raised his hand. She handed it to him.
'Marisa Srisomboon...' She continued until everyone had their bracelet. They consisted of a curved metallic strip, round, but leaving an opening just big enough to admit the wrist. The moment they put their hand in, the gap closed up and adjusted to the size of the wrist.
Mr. Jensen added, 'For your safety, the bracelets are designed to not come off unless removed with a special tool. Don't worry, they're water proof, so you can swim, take a bath, get dirty. Now, your VR sets.'
Ms Kirkson had just fetched a stack of boxes which she proceeded to hand out. The ornate packaging featured the headline My Own World, with a picture of a silver band, like Yorba Lind and Mr. Jensen wore. Inside each box was the band itself.
Mickey realised that this was a slightly different version of a VR headset that came with some gaming machines. His own family had one, which Robbie and Rosie always fought over.
'These are a small gift to you, from the City of San Francisco,' Mr. Jensen said. 'On your own time, you may run the demo program to explore all the features. For right now, if you put them on, we can get on with your geography lesson. We request that you keep these on during the duration of your visit. They will sync automatically with your ID bracelets.'
They put on their My Own World's, and soon found that the whole room had taken on an additional layer, a hologram map of the world shone behind him. Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Taiwan, Philippines, North America, Mexico and a few parts of Europe were highlighted.
'This, of course, is the Western Economic System, known to you as the "Western Block".
Mickey was puzzled by the inclusion of Japan, Taiwan and Philippines on their map.
The map enlarged so as to include only North America. The Southern half lit up.
'You are here,' a bright red spot appeared just off the West Coast, on the Northern tip of Baja California, 'on the Western coast of United States of America. In spite of the uniform regulations, enabling freedom to move, live and do business throughout the entire Western Economic System, each nation within the system, remains culturally distinct.'
Now, the map enlarged again so as to show only the United States.
'The United States, which you see on the map, has a history that is unlike that of Canada, to our North, or Mexico, to the South. As you travel, you'll find many interesting things to see and do. For instance, here...'
A large area, stretching from the coast of the mainland all the way to Texas, changed colour.
'You'll find typical American farming communities, cattle ranches complete with cowboys, and Native American tribal peoples living and working like their ancestors have for the last three hundred years.'
As he mentioned each aspect of American life, 3D animated holograms appeared in various parts of the room. This went on for about half an hour.
Later, when Mr. Jensen paused for questions and answers, Jimmy Khoo asked, 'When do we see cowboys and Indians?'
'That will be after your next stage of your journey, next week, when you arrive in Dallas.'
'Why you want to see Indians?' said Albert Fong in a low voice. 'Have enough right here, la, with Pipsqueak!'
'Ayo! Shut your mouth!' said Philip.
'Make me!'
'Tch tch!' chided Mr. Singh.

* * *

No tour of a metro-tower is complete without a trip to the very top to enjoy a view of the surrounding country. So began their tour of San Francisco. The group was just small enough to fill one lift, filling all the seats in the two concentric circles, with Philip reluctantly sitting on Marisa's lap. The G force reminded them of their ride in the semi-space ship.
'Which of you is Philip Kumar?' inquired Yorba Linda.
There was silence.
'How do you know about Philip?' asked Mickey.
'From someone who goes by the name, "Monterey Jack".'
Philip said, weakly, 'Er -- I'm Philip.'
Yorba Linda looked at him, and broke out in laughter.
Philip looked like he would start crying. Mickey put his hand on his shoulder.
'I'm sorry,' laughed Yorba Linda. 'Do you know the name, Monterey Jack?'
'Yes, la!'
'You know, he made me promise not to tell, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Do you know how old is?'
'No?'
'Fourteen years old, and he's no bigger than you.'
'How do you know him?'
'He's my step brother!' Oh, he's a choice one! You never know what he's going to do next, who he going to hack...'
'When will we meet him?'
'His father won't let him out of his sight. Also -- believe it or not -- he was afraid of you seeing how old he really is!'
'Really?'
'But he did hack the system, and,' she sighed, 'he's the one responsible for me being your hostess.'
'"Monterey Jack" that's a kind of cheese, isnt it?' asked Marisa.
'A type of cheddar, popular with Mexican food,' said Yorba Linda, 'and it's white, like his skin. Because he tried so hard to act like a Hispanic, we gave him that nick-name. That was before his father married my mother.'
'He still do?'
'Hah! There's no telling what he'll be into next!'
The lift slowed as they reached the top -- time to admire the view.

* * *

In the café during their free time, some of the students ran the demos for their My Own World.
The first thing that happened: a brilliant blue circle appeared in the upper right corner of the parifery vision. A voice said, 'Touch that ring with your finger.' On doing so, a menu screen came up. That was the starting point for configuring their Own World.
As various features introduced themselves, Mickey realised it was much more than a gaming device. Like it did in the boardroom, it gave the environment a new dimension. If they were lost, all they had to do was ask, through the menu, how to get to a certain location, and an arrow would appear in the air, just like in a taxi driving game Mickey had played at home.
Another feature did for them what their virtual classroom did back at home. They could project their on-line image so that anyone else wearing a My Own World headset would see them that way. Had they been given these much earlier, they could have carried on their their on-line images while physically meeting one another instead of reverting to their real world looks.
Mickey tried another feature. Suddenly, the room about them appeared like a haunted house, and all his friends looked like zombies. All his friends were recognisable as themselves, but a zombies -- except for Seymour Williams, who looked like an Elvis Presley zombie. Seymour had already chosen an image to project.
Another setting and everyone looked like aliens, and the décor of the café changed accordingly. Seymour looked like an alien version of Elvis Presley, and now, Albert Fong looked like an alien Jackie Chan. Another setting, again, turned everyone into cowboys.

* * *

Mickey, Philip and Riu walked down the street to test their various settings in the public areas of the metro tower. The default setting, generated by the metro tower itself, made them think they were outside. The sky above was blue, with a few clouds, the houses were two and three stories high, made of various materials that Mickey didn't remember seeing without his head set.
He took it off momentarily to check, and sure enough, cold steel and plastic, like before. With the head set, the place looked like a variety of brick, stone, wood, marble, just like an old fashion city would have looked, or down town Chantaburi, or Hong Kong at ground level.
The cowboy setting turned all the buildings into old time San Francisco. The signs over each shop were hand painted on wood, the style of the windows, everything was Old West.
Another thing Mickey noticed when he took off his head set momentarily was how some people were dressed -- or not dressed. Some were wearing very stylish virtual clothing but very little otherwise. At least one person had only his underwear.
He hadn't noticed this before, probably because there weren't so many people out when they left their hotel that morning, and then they had sped through the city in the hover bus, and didn't see the people very closely.
Back inside, Mickey mentioned it to Yorba Linda.
'Ha ha!' she responded. 'I know some who like to go out stark naked.'
'Naked? Cool!' said Albert Fong.
'Like in The Emperor's New Clothes?' suggested Philip.
'Exactly,' said Yorba Linda. 'But, a word of warning: some people have their head sets tuned to ignore virtual personal imaging. A group of close friends I belong to consider it uncool to depend solely on projected clothing. In fact, I often just use mine as a head band and pull it down when I need information from the city network.'
'The street doesn't look as nice that way,' said Mickey. 'No blue sky above.'
'But at least it's real.'

* * *

Late evening, back in the suite, Mickey was puzzling over one of his downloads. His dad had said that the mini-series they watched was actually quite close to the book version, but Mickey was noticing some striking differences between that and the electronic version of Little Dorrit he was reading now. In fact, it was hard to believe that the book was set in the early 1700s.
Author Clennem had arrived from China, and was describing it to Mr. Meagles as a place most un-conducive to any sort of happiness. If Mickey wasn't mistaken, he seemed to be describing classical Marxist Communism.
Did that exist in Dicken's time?
Author had begun to have some serious misgivings while talking to his ailing father on his deathbed.
Okay, that was in the video.
This copy did read a lot more easily than the original. Mickey quickly learned that the Office of Circumlocution represented the fallacy of overall government bureaucracy, which invariably held up innovation, such as Daniel Doyce had to offer, with his grand contraption. Mickey couldn't help but feel that the text drove the point home a bit more forcefully than the video mini-series. Not only that, but it was quite clear that it was bureaucracy that kept the common people from the consumer goods that would enrich their lives.
In the midst of this, was the life of William Dorrit and his misplaced hope in his aristocratic roots, which aristocracy was responsible for reserving luxuries and life enhancing pleasures to themselves instead of releasing it to the consumers, the rightful recipients. Reinforcing the state of things, until his bubble broke, was Mr. Merdle's financial empire, and assisting him, the House of Clennem, and their unholy alliance with the Chinese -- until that house fell.
In the end, Arthur Clennem's marriage with Little Dorrit, both having been liberated from their respective family's bondages, and Arthur's partnership with Daniel Doyce and his multinational company, represented the rise of global consumerism.
Funny! All that didn't seem to come across in the mini-series.

* * *

The neighbourhood reminded Mickey of an old film he had seen, Back to the Future II. Several of the houses looked exactly like the settings of one or two of the sitcoms they had watched in their hotel room. They were single storey, but took up a lot of space, and had broad lawns lined with verdant shrubbery. Robotic gardeners roamed about silently cutting grass or trimming hedges. One was on its extended telescoping legs shaping a tall evergreen. Each house had its own swimming pool.
A boy sped by on a hoverboard, followed by a robotic dog. An elderly couple was lounging on the front yard nearby, drinking something with ice.
A couple of the houses were open for tours, and Yorba Linda led them into one. After watching so much TV in the hotel room, there was really nothing new to see.
Yorba Linda pointed out some of the fixtures and explained their use. She seemed to notice the lack of interest.
'In China, well, do they have these kinds of things?'
'Yeah, la,' said Geoffrey Wong.
'Our house have that,' said Lucy Kanda, pointing to the Mr. Butler robot.
'I know someone have chair like that,' said Derek.
'Local sports club, have carpet, self cleaning one, just like here,' said Albert Fong.
'Maybe not everyone has all these things in one house,' said Mickey, 'but we're happy.'
'Hmmm!' said Yorba Linda. 'That wasn't the impression I had.'
They stepped outside again.
Mickey was sure he recognised the house down the street, but not what was behind it. Instead of a snow capped mountain range, there was a giant blue fence running along the back of several properties, hiding everything behind it.
'Did they show that house on TV yesterday?' he asked Yorba Linda.
'Yes. That's our next stop, the set of a popular TV program, Janny and Joey.'
'Ah! I see that la!' said Jimmy Khoo. 'But that one have mountains!'
'That what blue tarp for, stupid!' said Albert. 'Make it anywhere you want!'
'I must say, I've heard some of the most colourful speech from your group,' commented Yorba Linda.
'Asia English,' said Albert. 'Only way to talk! Americans have lot to learn!'
'I keep hearing the word, "la".'
'From Chinese,' said Lucy.
Mickey added, 'English words, but spoken with Asian grammar structure and syntax.'
'Wow! What big words, you sat sat bo chia one man!' said Albert.
'Ha ha! Been around my grandpa too much!'

* * *

There were two people at work on the set when the group entered, one with a small camera, another apparently doing the acting. A small monitor show what the camera was catching.
The actor was drably dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and was talking to an empty space. 'Look, Hon, we've been over this before! Do I have to tell you again?'
The disembodied voice of a woman answered, 'But that was before you brought that ludicrous -- what do you call it?'
The monitor showed something entirely different -- the same room, a leisurely dressed gentleman that looked nothing like the drably dressed actor, but going through exactly the same motions, talking to a scantily clad woman. Mickey recognised them from the TV show.
The man with the camera said, 'Great! Let's go with that. Next scene.'
The actor walked over to the window and looked out. Suddenly, the monitor showed, not the well dressed gentleman, but an old wrinkled man.
'If I had my way,' said the actor, 'I'd have done it long ago!'
The camera man answered, 'Well, if you had your way, we'd all be stuck in that rat-hole they call a rhinoceros hive!'
'Huh! A man can get no respect around here!'
'You'll get your respect when you deserve it!' said the camera man. 'Okay, good. Take the other part.'
The drably dressed actor walked over and occupied the air that he had been talking to as an old man. The old man reappeared on the monitor, this time, addressing the scantily dressed woman.
Then the disembodied voice of an old man sounded out, 'If I had my way, I'd have done it long ago!'
This time, the drably dressed actor answered, 'Well, if you had your way...'

* * *

The e-Bible only contained the New Testament. Mickey couldn't find any that included the Old Testament, apart from the Psalms, so Mickey read what he had.
The translation was refreshingly modern. It was in the same style as Little Dorrit.
Mickey's favourite part was the Christmas story, which was, conveniently, at the beginning.
It was certainly different, especially the passage, ...the mystics from the East arrived, saying, 'Where is the one born to be king of this land?'...
King of this land? That was different, to be sure. Mickey read on, intrigued by more choices of words.
After a while, he began to notice the absence of any reference to Jews. The entire narrative sounded like it could have been set in Chicago, or Norway, or Bangkok.
Well, I suppose that makes it up close and personal.
Then again, he remembered Oliver Twist. The version he skimmed neglected to mention that Fagin was a Jew. What about Shylock in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice?
So I'm a banker. But I have feelings, don't I? If you pinch me, I say, 'Ouch!'
At first, Mickey thought they were just being politically correct. Now that he couldn't find references to Jews in the New Testament, he was wondering.
He looked up 'Jews' in the on-line encyclopaedia. An adherent of Judaism, a family centred religion, dating thousands of years. Adherents attend worship services on Friday evening and Saturday morning, in a Synagogue, where they participate in prayers and chants in an ancient language called Hebrew, and readings from their holy books in the same language. Teachings include belief that a deity with a name too holy to pronounce made the universe, and issued commands (called 'Mitzvot') for adherents of Judaism to follow.
The entry on 'Christianity' read: A religion based on the belief in an afterlife, and that becoming a devotee of Jesus, the founder of Christianity, will ensure one will live in heaven after death. The teachings are found in their holy book, called the 'Bible'. Adherents attend worship services on Sunday morning.
For all his searching, Mickey could find no reference to any connection between the two religions.

* * *

Mickey wondered why the classroom was so bare, then he looked at it through his My Own World, and found it really wasn't. In fact, the room no longer had walls. Where one wall used to be, was the view of the Milky Way galaxy, with the various sectors labelled with floating signs. Another opened into a meadow where a group of 18th century farmers were fighting a regiment of red-coat Englishmen. Another showed various geometric shapes and angles. The fourth was a view of the earth similar to what they saw from the semi space ship, but with labels. The group of them, students who belonged to this classroom and those visiting, occupied the square space that appeared to be a portal between four worlds.
Mr. Singh introduced his students, and then the classroom instructor for the host class introduced his. Then, they divided them all into four groups, each with four or five of the visiting group with about six of the host students. Each group went to one of the four walls.
Mickey found himself with Jimmy Khoo, Albert Fong and U Ta Gladstone, with a number of the host students, standing by the wall that had the globe. At least he knew it was a wall, but its close proximity gave him vertigo. He kept a few feet away lest he trip and go hurtling into the earth's atmosphere -- which they were already doing.
Someone had adjusted the picture so that it was zooming in on a particular part of the earth's surface.
'What would you like to see?' asked a boy.
'Hong Kong!' suggested Jimmy Khoo.
They began to descend on the coast of China. As they got closer, Mickey could make out Victoria Island and Tsim Sha Tsui, and the other islands. But there was no metro tower.
'Very old picture,' said U Ta Gladstone.
'Old? How?' said one of the local girls. 'This is very recent!'
'Where's the metro tower?' said Jimmy Khoo. 'And the shore line -- it's from long time ago, before...'
'Metro tower? You have metro towers?'
'No way! Metro towers are an American technology!'
Now, they were coming down to street level. Motorcars on rubber tires were noisily plying Nathan Road, construction workers were fixing the façade of a 20 story building whilst perched on bamboo scaffolding, all the while a dragon dance was being performed across the street in front of an office complex.
'This is out of Jackie Chan!' said Jimmy Khoo.
'Yeah, all those cars, very old!' said Albert Fong.
'This is a satellite picture!' said another local.
'Satellite? But this is street level!' said Mickey. 'That's Hong Kong 100 years ago!'
'Our satellites can do that!'
'And the water level's way down, like before global warming,' added Jimmy.
'You're having us on!' said another local boy.
'They sent you here to spread Chinese propaganda, didn't they!'
'No way!' shouted Albert Fong. 'You brainwashed with propaganda!'
Things started to get out of hand until Mr. Singh and the local teacher came to restore order.
'They say that's modern Hongkong!' said Jimmy Khoo. 'They say it's from satellite!'
'It is,' said the local teacher.
'I think not,' said Mr. Singh. 'Right there is where one of the legs of our metro tower is planted. They had to removed that whole neighbourhood.'
'Metro tower? I didn't know you have ...'
Mickey walked over to another group. They were viewing the interior of America as they would probably be seeing it during the next leg of their journey -- to Dallas. It was a view as would be seen from a hover car, flying over lush farm land, Indian reservations, colourful wilderness, slowing down over towns so as to see the shopping centres and places of entertainment. Thus the scene swept across Arizona, New Mexico and into Texas.
Since they'd be viewing this from the hover bus anyway, Mickey wandered to another wall. Now, it looked like the two teachers were having an argument over the accuracy of their satellite image. Some of the students in the third group were drawn in -- all except for Philip, Seymour and a couple of the local students in their group. Mickey joined them.
They had gathered in a corner. One of the locals said, 'I don't care what it is. I just make my own world anyway. Here, I'll show you China in my world.'
A window opened up on the section of the wall just before them. A group of ancient warriors were engaged in fancy swordsmanship. Some had staves, which they were twirling about, others were floating through the air, performing advanced Kung Fu, and some had weapons that Mickey doubted had ever existed in China. The battle even joined by a dragon which proceeded to torch several enemy flanks.
'That's part of my report on the rise of the Mongol Dynasty,' said the student who had turned on the view.
'That's -- history?' queried Seymour.
'Yeah. That's Kublai Khan, riding on the back of the dragon.'
'Creative Writing, I think,' said Philip.
'Alternative history, maybe,' said Mickey.
'When I finish school, I'm gonna write a new history of China, and this will be in it.'
'How can it be history if it has dragons in it?' said Mickey.
'Same way everything else is. No one living today was there, right? So who's gonna say I'm wrong?'
'The other history books. The history experts,' said Seymour.
'Hah! They just spout out what they want you to hear anyway. Everyone knows that!'
'But, history is what really happened!' said Philip. 'How can that there really happen?'
'We just change it to what we want,' said one of them, 'just like we change "right now" to what we want by redoing the settings on our headsets.
Just then, Yorba Linda was getting everyone's attention. 'Everyone! It's time we went on to our next stop.'
The room quieted down. The visiting group said a rather subdued good bye, and left.
Mr. Singh didn't look happy at all.
'What do you think of all that?' he asked Yorba Linda.
She heaved a big sigh. Finally, she said, 'I can give you the official version right now. If you want my personal opinion, we might need to find some place quiet where people wouldn't hear us.'

* * *

The interior looked much the same as any church hall Mickey had seen back home. Free standing buildings on the ground would have an exterior as well as an interior, but they were mostly alike inside. This one was in the metro-tower, occupying a hexagon shaped maxi-compartment not far from their lodging.
It was evening, after a day of touring about. Mickey walked about the place, looking for any hint of an answer to his new found queries. Was the Jesus they worshipped here Jewish? Did they have the Old Testament? Where did they keep their books, anyway?
The place was empty, except for an old man who looked like he was asleep, seated in one of the pews.
He couldn't find a single book. No hymnal, no Bibles.
The meeting room had the same type of seats as those back home, all facing the front, where the pulpit and holograph screens were located.
'Is this your first time here?'
Mickey turned around and saw the pleasant faced gentleman.
'Yes. I'm with a tour group from China.'
The old man in the pew perked up.
'China! How interesting! We don't usually see many people from there. I'm Pastor Ned. And you?'
'Mickey O'Brien.'
'That doesn't sound Chinese. Nor do you look it for that matter,.'
'Both parents were half and half. On my father's side, they came from Ireland.'
'Welcome to North America, at any rate. Let me show you around.'
'I don't see any Bibles,' commented Mickey.
'They'd all be in electronic format. Do you have an e-book reader? I can let you download a copy.'
'I got an e-copy, but only the New Testament. Do you have Old?'
The old man had walked up. 'You know a lot for a Chinaman. They teach Comparitive Religions there or something?'
'Er -- we do have several copies of the whole Bible at my house.'
'Wow! I thought they didn't allow that in China!' said the Pastor.
'I'll say!' Said the old man. 'They're commies! Don't allow religion!'
Mickey responded, 'Some parts have strict rules about it, but they hardly enforce them. But your country ...'
'This is a free country, it is!' said the old man.
'...they wouldn't let us bring any books.'
''Cause we won't allow Communist propaganda. That's why!'
'I mean, my Bibles. Where can I find the Old Testiment?'****
'We only have the New Testament,' said the pastor. 'The Old Testament will soon be made available here. It's had to be thoroughly gone over and edited for the general reading public.'
'Why?'
'It's been a long time since I had the opportunity to study it myself. The original version had parts that were hard to understand like wrath and judgement. In fact, reading some sections, there are parts that would appear to condone genocide! Have you actually read it?'
'Yes la! All the time! That's why I'm looking for it. They wouldn't let us bring our own books here.'
'What do you make of it?'
'It shows God is holy! Lots of things we must take all together, and see the whole picture!'
'The New Testament does that for us. In it, are the basic truths of our salvation, how to be born again, and be assured of going to heaven...'
'What about the prophecies -- and God's demands for righteousness?'
'All that comes by faith in the New Testament. We'll have the Old Testament available to us in the near future. A team of scholars as been revising it to make it user friendly.'
'Like they did with the New Testament?'
'Yes.'
'But the electronic copy doesn't even say Jesus was Jewish!'
'Don't you know how much evil was done in the name of the church over that very issue? The Inquisition! The Holocaust! By making the Bible and other books politically correct, it reduces public consciousness of ethnic groups such as the Jews, so we can guarantee there won't be any such incidents in the future.'
'I suppose copies of the Koran don't have anything about jihad?'
'Jihad? What's that?'

The Eurasian -- serialisation of a novel in progress

2011-10-10T13:24:00.002+01:00

My current writing project is a future scenario titled The Eurasian. It's been a challenge to write because inspiration comes in spurts, and then I get none at all. I think what I have so far is pretty good, and I have enough to be able to see where it's headed. It's set in the future, probably about 60 years from now. It starts in Thailand, moves to Hong Kong, then to America. However, each place is only partially recognisable. I should warn you before you start: anyone with nationalistic feeling towards Thailand, Malaysia, or America, could be offended by the future I've painted -- or, they could take it as a warning.

The main character is my own great grandson. Some of the dialect spoken by the Asian characters is something called Singlish, a sort of Pigeon English currently spoken in Singapore and Malaysia. You could refer to the website www.Talkingcock.com, where you'll find the Coxford Singlish Dictionary.

Anyway, here are the first two chapters:

The Eurasian

by robby charters

© 2011 by Robby Charters

Chapter 1

Mr. Singh appeared right on time, out of thin cyberspace.
'Good morning class. Everyone present? Ah, I see Derek Hong has yet to join us.'
'Logging in soon I think,' said Lo Peng. 'Just talked to him -- had to water the flowers.'
'Virtual?'
'Man eating?'
'No. Have real ones la.'
The sixteen of them -- minus one -- appeared to be sitting in a semicircle facing the instructor's console.
'My friend, Kim --' whispered Philip Kumar, leaning over to Mickey, '-- he have botany design game -- makes carnivorous...'
'While we wait,' intruded Mr. Singh -- his on-line presence was a stout, majestic, grey-bearded gentleman who, apart from his turban, could have passed for Professor Dumbledore -- 'I'll just load the module for today, so we can start as soon as Derek gets here.'
Immediately, the space next to the professor began filling up with the usual script code, and an image began to materialise: a map of the North American West Coast.
'America? Wa! I thought Extension of Chinese...'
'Even did homework la!'
Mickey heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn't finished his.
'I'll explain it as soon as -- ah! He's logging in now. Good morning Derek. Glad you could join us.'
The space next to Lo Peng began materialising into the shape of Derek Hong.
'So,' began Mr. Singh, 'You're all wondering, why a map of North America? You'll remember that three months ago, we, as a class, put together a proposal for the field trip of our dreams. Well, it appears that someone in high places, in the Department of Education, in consultation with the Department of Foreign Affairs, Beijing, thought that it fit right in with their policy to enhance the West's perception of the Chinese half of the globe. In short, you will be taking your graduating class trip to North America.'
There was general cheering, both vocal and otherwise. Half of the seated images degenerated into fireworks, stars and other graphic images, the finale of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture resounded from where U Ta Gladstone sat, while Jimmy Khoo morphed to both look and sound like a collection of horns, bells, whistles and airborne confetti.
Mr. Singh brought the class to order by tapping the 'muffle' icon. Everyone reappeared in their assumed shapes.
'We'll have a lot of planning to do, special training, extra reading, you'll each receive an orientation packet that you'll be expected to view on your own. There are restrictions on what you're allowed to take with you; books, for instance. Today, we'll talk about your itinerary. Today's lesson, The Extension of Chinese Sovereignty -- Mid 21st Century, will be rolled over to tomorrow. Those who haven't completed their assignments -- I won't mention any names, as I'm sure that would embarrass Mickey -- you have one more day. Now, your itinerary...'
The city of San Francisco, and Mickey's face, lit up in red.
'You will begin your trip here, on the Northern tip of the island of Baja California, which, as you can see, is separated from the North American mainland by the San Andreas Straight...'
The professor droned on, but Mickey had lost his concentration. Dreaming about this was all very well. Apart from Riu, his closest neighbour right here in Chantaburi, he had never actually met any of his classmates face to face. What did they really look like?
He knew that Jonny Lim didn't really resemble the cartoon character Astro Boy, and Lucy Kanda probably didn't look like Marilyn Monroe, nor Albert Fong, the younger version of Jackie Chan. Mickey O'Brien was the one student everyone assumed looked like himself -- whereas in actual fact, he had carefully modified his image to get rid of all his Eurasian features, making himself look the product of the Thai Chinese side of his family.
That sort of worried him.
* * *
Lounging on the veranda of the real-world O'Brien abode, Grandpa Abe watched the monkeys swing on the bamboos just across the lake from their fruit orchard. Mickey sat on the swinging chair with his e-tablet on his lap, loaded with his delinquent homework assignment.
'Grandpa,' he started. 'You were around, weren't you, when China extended their sovereignty to all of East Asia?'
'Hah! Extended! I like the choice of words!'
'You don't sound very positive.'
'Well, I suppose change is inevitable. I was born Thai, I live the life of an Irishman, I'll die as a Chinese.'
'But our family is part Chinese, aren't we?'
'I suppose we are -- and it was just a matter of our motherland catching up with us foreign born Chinese. It's just too big. That's all. Now, Ireland, that's a nice small country. Manageable. Thailand used to be a small country once, not as small as Ireland, but now we're part of the giant super-power. Lost our uniqueness -- not that we had much of that left. I suppose we were ripe for a good take-over.'
'How?' queried Mickey.
'You got your history book there. What does that say?'
'It gives some background. I suppose the political crises in Thailand in the first quarter of the century, with the rising sea water, which flooded most of the central planes, and then the massive influx of non-Malays from the Malay Peninsula fleeing from the tide of radical Islamic repression...'
'Yes -- the entire Chinese as well as the Indian populations of the East Indies, bringing with them their English fluency, and their Chinese ways, to welcome the Southward expansion of the Beijing Empire as they "came to our rescue". The sleeping giant not only awakened, but took charge.'
'The -- what?'
'They used to call China the "sleeping giant". It woke up, just as everyone was afraid would happen, and now here we are, with Beijing central bureaucracy.'
'But it's not so bad, really.'
'Yes, the bark was worse than the bite. Thank Chinese pragmatism for that. But, of course, you grew up with all this. You've never known anything else. Me? I've been to dozens of countries in my time, all small, independent...'
'You know, our class is going on a trip to North America.'
'You're -- what?'
'Just announced today. We had this proposal that we wrote -- you know, just for the heck of doing a proposal. We didn't think anything would come of it. But, I guess, the Department of Foreign Affairs thought it went right along with their plan to expose the West to Chinese culture and politics.'
'Part of the propaganda machine, then...'
'Well, I wouldn't call it that...'
'Probably just what they need -- the Americans. They still think we all dress in green pyjamas with a wee red star on our caps, if we're not up to our knees in a paddy field somewhere. So, when do you go?'
'Twenty-eighth of next month.'
'Ah, so you'll get to help Uncle Jiu harvest the durian and rambutans first.'
'I guess...'
After a long pause, Mickey said, 'Grandpa, do you think my friends will like me when they've seen me up close?'
'Why wouldn't they?'
'I mean -- if they suddenly know I'm Eurasian.'
'Don't they already know that by your surname?'
'They know me as Mickey Mao.'
'As in -- Mickey Mouse, or Mao Tse Tung?'
'Ha ha -- both.'
'Oh! Listen to you! Why do you think they won't accept you as you are?'
'Well -- the jokes they tell, and -- well -- the virtual classroom is the only place I don't hear farang dong, farang dong, everywhere I go.'
'So you don't look like a farang dong on-line?'
'No one looks like themselves on-line.'
'So there you go. They've probably all got deep dark secrets to hide from the world.'
Just then, the whir of a hover scooter sounded from the driveway, as it died down to a stop. The two looked up in time to see Reverend Pongsak step up to the veranda.
'Good afternoon, Pastor,' said Grandpa.
'I think you not do road repair since you stop using rubber tires!' commented the clergyman.
'What brings you this way?'
'Pastoral visit.'
'Ah! Not see us in two weeks, ah?' Grandpa always reverted to the regional Pigeon English when the occasion called for it.
'Yes, ha ha, notice that too. But how are you? How your cousin, Jiu?'
Just now, the said Cousin Jiu, Abe's partner in business, was napping in the hammock strung out between two of the pillars supporting the older, traditionally built, half of the house. He was surrounded by oil cans, tools, engine parts and a pile of early ripened durian.
'We all well, la. Next week very busy. Pick durian. But this Sunday you see us.'
'Ah, well -- Your sister, Rosemary. You hear from her?'
'Yes -- the thorn in your side.'
'You know, EFT churches, government recognised. We allied with Three Self Patriotic Movement in Beijing. We must keep good relations.'
'What's that to do with Rosemary?'
'She must come under covering of EFT. Officials asking questions, la.'
'But there hasn't been a crackdown on house churches since -- when?'
'Not in long time. That's true. But we must keep peace, la. House church? No control!'
'They acknowledge Christ as head of the church.'
'Ah! Christ the head! Christ the head! Christ the head of earthquake destroy Tokyo!'
'I forward your concern when I see her. Here! Let me pick out a durian for you. Your family, they like durian, ah?'
'Oh! No no, you mustn't!'
'No, I insist.'
Grandpa Abe walked to the pile next to where his cousin Jiu rested. He began to pick up various ones by their stem, tapping them with a long stick.
Just then Uncle Jiu sprung to life and took a large durian from near him. 'Look nee sook raeo...' telling him, in Thai, this one was ready to open today, and the other one should be ripe in two days.
Reverend Pongsak drove away with two durians.
'What's he got against Aunt Rosemary?' asked Mickey, standing at Grandpa's side.
'Your Aunt Rosemary has done many times more for the church than that Pongsak ever will. She's a woman of God. Takes after her grandmother, after whom she was named. Our Grandmother Rosemary, in turn, followed the footsteps of her mother, Ma Hanna.'
'That was an awful long time ago.'
'1913, same year the Titanic sunk. She started a school for girls in Lampang. Later, she came back with her husband. My grandmother, Rosemary and her twin were born in Lampang. Later, Grandma Rosemary come out and marry Grandpa Willie in Tak province. They start new churches there. Your great grandpa, Boz born. He married Bless, Thai Chinese, so I'm the first Eurasian. The rest of us, Eurasian, down to you, Robby and Rosie.'
Mickey had heard the story hundreds of times, but Grandpa Abe seemed to enjoy telling it.
'Now you,' Grandpa went on. 'You have a great heritage. Don't be ashamed of Eurasian.'
* * *
Uncle Jiu was driving the tractor, the only conveyance on the property that still had rubber tires. Hitched to that was the hover truck. It wasn't powerful enough to both drive forward and hover with such a heavy load at the same time, so it just did the latter while hitched to the tractor.
Perched on the growing mountain of durians, padded by a thick rug, Robby and his sister Rosie, ages 10 and 9 respectively, took the durians from the pickers and arranged them into a sustainable stack. They had one glove each to shield the palm of their hands from the sharp prickles. They took each durian by its stem with their bare hand, while holding it up with their gloved hand.
Their great uncle, Jiu, told them stories.
'In the very old days,' he spoke to them in Thai over the whir of the electric motor, 'they have a special penalty for attacking someone with a durian. If you throw a durian at someone, they count the punctures on the body, and make you pay one Baht per puncture. It make ten punctures, you pay ten Baht. In those days, ten Baht, a week's wage. But, in my day, before adoption of Chinese currency, ten Baht not even pay for a Cola drink!'
'Uncle Jiu, why don't we use robots to pick durian, like people on TV?' asked Robby.
'If we use robots, how could we employ so many people? Where would these people find work? I tell you. In the early days of Chinese Communism, they can't own so much land (long before Chinese come to Thailand, of course). But they find that Communism -- I mean, pure Communism -- won't work. Must let people own businesses. Businesses puts people to work, so not burden on the State. We have large property, can earn lots of money; but our responsibility to the State: employ people so they have income. We can live on what's left.'
Mickey brought the last durian before Uncle Jiu decided they had a big enough load. Rosie took it from him. Uncle Jiu began driving through the orchard towards the house.
* * *
The sound of the hover-car coming up the driveway was unmistakeably that of Papa, returning from his office job in the nearby town of Makham. That was followed by the sound of footfalls on the gravel. But the sound was slower and more deliberate, and the taking off of his shoes on the veranda seemed to take some effort.
Mickey went out to look. Papa was struggling with a large box. Yet more books.
Over the last ten or so years, there had been a surge of used books on the market -- English language and, according to various handwritten notations, from places in California, Canada, Texas, Mexico. According to the electronic tags...
Mickey could remember first trying the scanning program one of his classmates had hacked. They revealed an intriguing history. The second to the last entry was always something like, 'Property of San Diego Archives', or 'Property of Vancouver Archives' -- always property of somewhere-or-other archives. The last entry was invariably, 'To be destroyed' and a date.
'Pity to destroy such great books,' Mickey had commented.
'Obviously, someone did the right thing in sending them here instead,' Papa had replied.
Now the family library included the complete works of Charles Dickens -- two or three of some titles, though never matching sets -- H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Arthur C. Clark, Agatha Christi, Stephen King, J.R.R. Tokein, Brian Adlis, John Grisham, William Gibson, William Shakespeare, Tobias Buckell, Peter O'Tool, Michael Crichton, J.K. Rowling, C.S. Lewis, George MacIntire, Billy Whistle, just to name a few. There were also Bible commentaries, encyclopaedias, works on ancient history, and even a few tractates of the Talmud.
Mickey took the box from Papa, brought it inside and set it on the floor. Robby and Rosie ran over and began rummaging for any children's books. As usual, Mickey had his scanner.
Again, he noted the date on the 'To Be Destroyed' label. Always 2055, give or take a few months. Some had 2056, or 2057.
'Why did they suddenly decide on that date to destroy all these books,' wondered Mickey out loud.
'What's that one there?' said Grandpa Abe, looking over his shoulder.
Mickey picked it up, a paperback, with a headline and subtitles meant to shock: The Coming Purge, by Dustin Smith. The subtitles read, 'This may be the last book you'll be allowed to read!' 'Massive brainwashing campaign', and 'Major rewrite of history!'
'I remember him,' said Grandpa. 'A prophet of doom. We thought he was a ranting crack-pot.'
The book looked brand new, as though it had never been opened. Mickey looked at the inside front cover. There were prices pencilled in, crossed out, replaced by cheaper prices, no owner's name.
Mickey scanned the destruction tag: August, 2055.
'Same year as the rest,' said Mickey.
'Hmmm -- wonder if that was his prophecy, come true?' said Papa.
'You know, they don't let me take any books along to America,' said Mickey.
'None?'
'They say I can download as many e-books as I like when I'm there, though.'
Mama piped in, 'Make sure you download a Bible, then.'
* * *
Mickey put on the head set and took his seat in the VR console and went off to visit his classmate, Philip Kumar.
He tapped on the button beside Philip's name and waited. He knew Philip wouldn't be far from his console, as they had agreed to meet -- or if he happened to be downstairs, it would page him through his mobile.
The large body of Philip appeared, and his deep voice resounded, 'Hey! Mickey Mao! What gives?'
'New books, la.'
'What kind?'
'You have one, William Gibson, Idoru? One after Virtual Light.'
'Have already. Still no have All Tomorrow's Parties. You have?'
'Don't have. Sorry. But I have this -- weird. My grandpa says written by crackpot prophet of doom. But I think he prophecy about why we get so many books.'
'Cool! Let me see!'
'Here. I put on scanner, you download.'
'Okay, la!'
'Ready for America?'
'Y-es.' There was a bit of hesitation in Philip's voice.
After a pause, he suddenly perked up and said said, 'I hope we can meet Monterey Jack.'
'Who's that?'
'Someone I talk to on-line. Live in California.'
'But California different Internet system!'
'He have to hack. He know we come. He tell us a lot!'
* * *
It was noon siesta time. The workers had finished their lunch, and the kids that had tagged along were enjoying a swim. Robby was with them.
Mickey hoped he was wearing pants. He was on a personal campaign to train his younger siblings to mind their bums in public, and not follow the lax ways of the neighbours' and workers' kids. So far he'd had no help from Papa, Mama, or the rest. Nobody seemed to care.
Now, especially, since being faced with the prospect of showing his true face to his classmates, Mickey's mind had been preoccupied with the difference between life in the fruit orchard and cosmopolitan life. What he saw on TV, their regular trips into Chantaburi City, and the few excursions to the giant Bangkok Metro-Tower had made him well aware of how sophisticated life was in the outside world. His virtual classroom experience, and cyberspace visits with his school mates in private, had only confirmed it.
So, Mickey stood on the veranda and watched. Robby jumped a few times, but not high enough to reveal any white elastic. Maybe he was wearing it low. He was tussling with Pong just now. Pong had him in a hold, with Robby's arm over his shoulder. He pulled, lifting Robby out of the water, revealing only bare white skin.
Mickey sighed.
Grandpa was standing nearby.
'We're so primitive here! Why can't we make the kids wear pants in the water, like they do everywhere else?'
'You used to skinney-dip yourself when you were younger.'
True. He did, before he discovered the rest of the world.
'Yeah, but everywhere else...'
'Hah!' snorted Grandpa. 'When your great-grandpa Boz was young, it was like this all over Thailand. By every riverbank, at bath time, naked children everywhere with nary a second thought. Occasionally, even a grown-up. Mind you, they were careful in other ways. Big boys and girls never kissed. Never even held hands. Young lady, with chaperone, peeping over her fan at the handsomely dressed boy with a hat and walking stick strutting along side their tri-shaw -- that was a date. But in my time? Behind every bush, a boy on top of a girl, pumping away -- later, traipsing off to an abortion clinic. But at bath time at the river, every young bum draped in underpants. Innocence lost -- as though God walked in the garden and said, "Who told you you were naked?" So, now we've come full circle. Which way do you find so primitive?'
Mickey sighed, but otherwise stood silently.
Grandpa added, 'You're going off as a sheep among wolves. Don't you lose your innocence!'

Chapter 2

Mickey had a window seat. Riu sat next to him. The hover-bus sped along in as straight a line as could be navigated, sometimes over the mud flats, sometimes over sea, but swerving around the islands. A line of hover-vehicles before and behind them showed that they were in the correct lane for traffic in their direction.
Ahead of them, he could see Pattaya Island. On this side, what was once Jomtien Beach, now an archipelago of ruined buildings standing in the water. Then, they saw the built up town of Pattaya Island, then beyond were similar ruins demarcating what used to be the great tourist resort of Pattaya City. Further along, was the island of Laem Chabang, then the dyked cities of Sriracha and Chonburi.
Generally the sea was to their left, in Mickey's plain view, and only where they swerved significantly inland, could he see the mudflats, generally to their right, though covered with water at high tide. These were dotted by settlements consisting of buildings on stilts and platforms, people living off their plankton extractors, taking the said produce to market by boat, buying what they could with the proceeds, but otherwise living primitively.
Both Mickey and Riu were silent. Mickey tried to break the silence.
'Wonder what they'll all look like,' he quipped.
'Donno,' answered Rui.
Mickey wondered if Riu was bothered by the same concern as he. He did look quite handsome in real life, Riu's on-line image was slightly different, making him look like some old movie star or other. He shouldn't be that concerned. Why was he so quiet?
On their next to last class session before breaking to embark on their respective journeys to the meeting point, they had discussed the suggestion of coming to their last class session looking like themselves. No one could bring themselves to do it. So now, they were on their way to meet one another with no idea what to expect.
Mickey remembered his grandfather's words, They've probably all got deep dark secrets to hide from the world. He didn't feel so bad now.
So, why was Riu bothered?
'What's the matter?' he ventured, finally.
After a pause, Riu said, 'Grandma isn't well.'
Riu lived with his grandma, Mickey remembered. She was all he had. His parents were both dead.
'Is it pretty bad?'
'Yeah. I wanted to stay with her, but she wants me to go on this trip.'
'She'll be all right when we get back, maybe?'
Riu sighed. 'I hope so.'
They could just see the Bangkok Metro-Tower in the distance, and it grew steadily as they drew near. At high tide, the mud flats were indistinguishable from the open sea making the Bangkok Metro-Tower look, from this distance, as though it were standing on its five legs in middle of the sea. The pentagon formed by the legs was about three kilometres in diameter, and the structure, itself, was about five kilometres high, consisting of millions of cellular compartments suspended in a vast network of hydrolic tubes. Some had called it an overweight version of the Eiffel Tower.
As they came closer, they could see the derelict buildings, parts of the old expressway system, the Skytrain track, and bits of everything else that once stuck up in the air. Some of the more intact buildings were used for fishing villages, some old posts, pillars, and old Skytrain stations housed plankton extractors, or had become warehouses for harvested seaweed -- communities living their primitive lives under the shadow of ultra modern technology.
As they approached the Metro-Tower, the hover-bus aligned itself with one of the thousands of portals leading into the lower levels. After entering, it zoomed on through semi darkness, past lit up areas that whizzed past too quickly to be observed, curving here, turning there, and finally coming to a stop. It was dark outside, but that wasn't the end of the line. The craft suddenly began to ascend like a lift. When it stopped, it again went on, took more turns, until they finally arrived at the hover-bus terminal.
Mickey always wondered why such a big place as a hover-bus terminal didn't have a direct rout to the outside instead of so many twists and turns. It was a big place.
The passengers disembarked on to a platform, and the two students, shouldering their backpacks, started off to the point where they were to meet Philip Kumar, Geoffrey Wong and Marisa Srisomboon. It was a café on the opposite side of the terminal from where they were -- a long walk. So they walked.
The place was crowded. Mickey walked a bit behind Riu, keeping his hand on his back pack so as not to lose him. On his right was a boy wearing thick glasses, apparently by himself. Indian, by the look of him, hardly bigger than Robby. A bit young to be by himself, thought Mickey.
They were about to meet some of the others for the first time. Mickey wondered if some of them were nearby. Philip Kumar, maybe? He glanced about for someone large sized, as he perceived Philip to be. Large, broad shouldered, with a deep voice -- even if he did show childish excitement at times. That tall man up ahead maybe? He looked a bit Indian. What about Marisa Srisomboon? Was that her over near the tall man that could be Philip? If it was, she looked good!
Mickey continued walking, his hand on Riu's backpack. However, in his mind, he was following the tall man up ahead.
There was the café -- but the tall man kept right on walking. So did the lady he hoped was Marisa. Riu and Mickey went in.
Table eleven -- there it was. There were two people sitting there already.
'Hi,' said Riu. 'I'm Riu, you must be ...?'
'Marisa,' said the long haired skinny girl that had looked a bit like Cleopatra on-line.
'Geoffrey,' said the rather fat boy with close cropped hair.
'I'm -- er -- Mickey,' said Mickey.
'Wow!' said Marisa.
'An orang pute!' said Geoffrey. 'Cool!'
'We wait for Philip, then?' said Mickey.
'I guess,' said Marisa.
They sat down.
Mickey looked towards the door, and then around the room. No sign of anyone fitting the description.
About three metres away, between two other tables, was the boy he had noticed earlier, with the thick glasses.
No way!
He was just standing there, looking at them, terrified.
Mickey called out, 'Philip Kumar?'
The boy nodded, and walked slowly towards them.
'Er -- Hi, Philip. I'm Mickey.'
'Hi,' said Philip, in a voice that sound as far from the deep manly computer generated voice as could be imagined.
'You're kidding!' said Marisa.
'Wow!' said Geoffrey.
'Yeah -- wow!' said Riu.
'You sure did a good job on your computer generated image,' said Mickey.
'Thanks, ha ha,' said Philip, smiling for the first time -- though still shyly.
'So,' said Geoffrey. 'What do we do now?'
'I think we're supposed to tell the hostess,' said Marisa. 'There's a meal ordered for us, and then we get on the shuttle to the other terminal.'
'Okay,' said Mickey. 'I'll tell the hostess.'
He did. They sat about the table, nervously, while the meal was brought -- fried noodles with seafood. They ate in silence.
After that, they walked to the inter-terminal shuttle. Philip walked close to Mickey's side, almost as though he were clinging to a big brother for security. Definitely not the image he projected in the virtual classroom.
'You don't look eighteen,' said Mickey.
'Actually, I'm thirteen,' said Philip.
'You -- er -- advanced quickly, then?'
'Yeah.'
'An exceptional child?'
'Ah.'
At least this explained his childish giddiness in class.
They boarded the shuttle and soon they were speeding, twisting and turning, lifting, etc., until they were at the Northern Terminal. Being that this one serviced journeys to more distant places, where travel permits were required, they had to go through a check-in area, where they showed their tickets and travel permits. Then, they had to wait in a transit lounge.
Philip had to use the men's room, but didn't want to go by himself. Mickey went with him.
While Philip went into one of the stalls, Mickey used the urinal, and then went to the sink to wash his hands.
'Ah, Mickey! There you are!' A woman's voice. The tone of voice sound like she was expecting him.
A glance in the mirror told Mickey it was Aunt Rosemary!
'Wow! What are you doing here?'
'I work here now.' She produced her mop as evidence. 'Here. I have something for you.' She began reaching into her apron pocket.
'But -- how did you know I was here?'
'Abe told me two weeks ago you were going, so I took a job here to give you this.' She handed him a brown envelope.
'But -- I didn't even know my travel plans then! We could have left from --'
'Never mind that! Keep this with you. Put it in the inside pocket of your blue jacket. Don't open it until you get to Cactus Head.'
How did she know I had a blue jacket? Where the heck is Cactus Head? 'You got a job here just to see me?'
'Oh, no. The pressure was getting a bit high in Sakeo, so I decided to spend some time in Bangkok. We now have a group meeting in the staff lounge of this terminal. I must go now. Have a good trip. Remember, Cactus Head. Open the envelope there, not before. I'll be praying for you.'
She rushed out the door, just as the toilet flushed. Philip emerged.
'Who was that lady you talk to?'
'My aunt Rosemary,' said Mickey, still in a daze.
'She surprise you?'
'Yes, she did.'
'We better get back. Bus leave soon I think.'
They went back into the waiting area.
Hong Kong would be cooler than Bangkok, so Mickey decided to put on the blue jacket right away. He looked again at the envelope. The handwriting on the front said, 'Open in Cactus Head.' It fit perfectly in the inside pocket.
The departure to Hong Kong was called, so the five students boarded. Philip still stuck close to Mickey and took a seat next to him.
The hover-bus took the coastal rout, around Cambodia and Vietnam. Mickey recognised all the old sights, including Chantaburi, as they passed.
About half way to Hong Kong, Mickey and Philip were once again talking about all the things they used to when Philip was deep voiced giant and Mickey was a brown-skinned Thai: simulations, classic science fiction, and prophecies of doom.

William P. Charters 3,May 1922 - 1 June 2011

2011-06-05T09:21:00.008+01:00

My dad's funeral is to be held today, at 3:00 p.m. at Emmanuel Church, Lurgan. The following history will be included in the last two pages of the order of service:

Bill Charters was born on 3, May 1922 to Robert Danford Charters and Edith Armstrong. He was the third of four children, the others being Pearly, Bobby and Edie. They grew up in East Belfast. It was the time of the great worldwide Depression. Their family certainly wasn't well off, their father died early of TB, but their mother supported the family by sewing setee covers. She took the children as often as she could to Cregagh Hall to attend their evangelistic meetings. That left a lasting impression on young Bill.

Later, after surviving the German bombing of Coventry, Bill joined the RAF, where he was a member of ground crew, maintaining radios for bombing missions. Some of his friends became pilots -- some never returned from their missions. Once, he found himself alone in the control tower when a whole squadron of American bombers was requesting permission to land. He had no option but to guide them all in, which he did successfully, even though he hadn't been trained for it. Early, during his time in the RAF, he was invited to hear an evangelist, where he made the decision to follow Jesus.

When the War was over, Bill was kept on while his friends were decommission. However, he realised that this was in answer to prayer, because he was to be sent to India. He had prayed for a chance to engage in missionary work. While in India, he, along with a few other soldiers, worked with a local missionary during their off time, making treks to various villages. Bill came away from there with the desire to be a missionary to Tibet.

Once decommissioned, Bill attended Emmanuel Bible School in Northern England. After some time back in Belfast, where he renewed his relationship with Cregagh Hall, and became acquainted with the WEC prayer network, Bill joined WEC with the intention of going to Tibet. However, Tibet suddenly got taken over by China, and was no longer an option. Someone suggested Thailand, so he went there instead.

In Thailand, Bill joined the WEC team, that then consisted of six, including Rosemary, and her mother, Hazel Hanna. Love blossomed, and after a few short months, Bill Proposed to Rosemary.

The two worked as team, making treks to distant villages via foot-path and river, passing out leaflets -- many of their adventures are documented in Rosemary's book, Cracked Earth (available on-line at www.scribd.com/doc/32454882/Cracked-Earth and in No Turning Back, by Nancy Ashcraft (www.scribd.com/doc/56941684/No-Turning-Back ).

Their son, Robby Charters, was born four years into their marriage.

Dissatisfied with the quality of the literature they were passing out, Bill launched into a career of writing, producing testimony leaflets. Bill and Rosemary began producing a regular journal patterned after two similar regional WEC publications, called Soon. Later, they added to this a journal targeted to churches to encourage them to look outward, pattered after Leslie Brierly's Look to the Fields. In addition, Bill and Rosemary translated several books into the Thai language. These ministries continued until the passing of Rosemary, who succumbed to Cancer on the Thai field in 1990.

Not long after that, Bill was invited to teach at a small Bible School in Pak Chong, in North East Thailand, Christ For Thailand Institute. He kept that up until his retirement, however, slowly phasing that out, spending half of each year (the cooler half!) in Thailand, and the warmer half in Lurgan, where he had settled.

Bill's last trip to Thailand was in 2008, when he sent one more time by Emmanuel Church. There he helped a friend, Jim Arnold by translating Bible training material for a small Bible School in Chiengmai, Northern Thailand.

In 2010, Bill's health began to deteriorate. It began with a heart attack in May, and later, developed a fast spreading form of cancer in the thyroidal. By the time it was detected, it had already lodged itself in the lungs. He went to be with the Lord on 1, June, 2012.

my novella is a run-away best seller -- ok, as a freebie, but still...

2011-05-22T10:25:00.006+01:00

Amazon Kindle did me a favour. They decided to make my novella, The Wrong Time a free download to match a promotion of it elsewhere on the internet. I wish they'd do that with a few of my other shorter ones.
The result is that, at this point, between Amazon.com (the U.S. site) and Amazon.uk there have been over 5000 downloads of that novella, and four reviews. Besides that, you'll find two more reviews at GoodReadsj.com, and one comment on one of my posts last year by Carl Bridges. Some of the reviews are useful to me in that they point out errors that I need to correct.

Once I realised what was happening, I put up a new edition, correcting some of the mistakes from the first review I received (corrected "rout" to "route") and then made sure the adverts at the end pointed to the right place, and added a graphic for Pepe. I'd be getting more exposure than I do on my websites -- so long as people are actually reading them.

I know I read only a small fraction of the free e-books that I download.

Print Books

2011-04-10T14:22:00.002+01:00

All my books (except Pepe) are now available in print at CreateSpace.com and can be ordered for a very reasonable price, as long as you use the discount code, which I've listed below for each book.
Eetoo: https://www.createspace.com/3588959, using the discount code: UTWBALYA to get it for $11.32
The Story of Saint Catrick: https://www.createspace.com/3591309, using the discount code 28WW23YK for $5.45
The Zondon: https://www.createspace.com/3591287, using the discount code MGPQ6GDC for $12.45

Pepe should be available in a few days. It already has a sales page, but you'll have to wait until it's finished.

Pepe: https://www.createspace.com/3592074, using the discount code MBPH3QYY for $7.30

Print editions coming soon

2011-04-07T13:15:00.003+01:00

The last posting said my print books were available at Lulu. That's no longer so. I've decided to have all my books available for print with Create Space. Pepe will also be available in print through them as well -- more on that later.

My novels now available in Print edition

2010-12-29T21:44:00.003Z

I've now had my three self published novels released in paperback at Lulu.com.

In my previous experiences with POD print editions, I've had two problems: I usually can't use the cover design of my own design, and the price tends to be expensive per copy. With Lulu.com, I've got around both problems. The covers are of my own work, both front and back, and the prices are fairly reasonable. Eetoo is US$12.60; Catrick is US$9.00; and The Zondon is US$13.83. The difference in cost reflects the size. They're all still US$1.99 at Smashwords.com and Amazon Kindle Store.

Anyway, mosey on over and have a look...

Author's own review of Eetoo

2010-11-12T10:40:00.002Z

About ten years ago, I decided that my writing style and subject matter was too off beat for the mainline Christian audience. Either it was too heavy on the demands of discipleship, or it made Christianity look too Jewish, or it found other ways to bypass the more popular trappings of Christendom. I started to write for the general secular audience -- bigger market share, anyway.

However, if you read any of my novels cover to cover, you will recognise kingdom principals woven throughout -- no, not a "sinner's prayer" tagged at the end, but themes that should help people understand the Kingdom of God without feeling like they're being preached to.

And, yes, some of it will preach to Christians as well. Pepe is a parable of the Kingdom that shows why the Church has operated with more power at some times than at others. The Story of Saint Catrick is about ethnic reconciliation, and The Zondon has the same sort of mix you'll find in C. S. Lewis' Paralandra series. So does Eetoo.

Actually, with Eetoo, I've come full circle. Before you reach the end, you'll realise that it is a blatantly Christian novel. I just hope that atheists and new-agers won't feel betrayed by the sudden appearance of Jesus in the last section.

But it's the "Jesus of History", which again, might be too Jewish for some, the man they called "Yeshua". But I believe I've effectively portrayed the "Jesus of History" as the one that fits with the scripture accounts, and as the One to have faith in.

So, where does it suddenly turn blatantly Christian?

Part three, in a sequence of events that might recall Ben Hur, the characters in the story arrive in Jerusalem in time to occupy a front row seat for passion week. Woven in with their other adventures, are some of the key events of Yeshua's last week, climaxing with His trial, His execution and then, His resurrected presence. In those key events are the answers that the main character, Eetoo, has come looking for. The climax of Yesuha's life thus becomes the climax of the narrative of Eetoo.

But unlike Ben Hur, Eetoo comes from outer space. No, he's not Dr. Who, nor someone who fell of the Enterprise or Voyager (Star Trek). He doesn't barge into first century society with brash 21^st century ideas, leaving half baked quasi-enlightenment in his wake. And it's definitely not Alternative History. Eetoo, himself, is from a primitive tribe, and it's already taken him a while to become accustom to cosmopolitan interstellar society with a human presence that dates back to pre-Egyptian times. He's the right person to intrude.

And he does have questions to be answered. The universe is populated by various intelligent species. Some of them, including an old wizened Utz named Neuryzh, are benevolent towards humanity. They understand that humans, though in many ways inferior to the other species, have a unique quality about them that was designed by the Creator, which, if humans would only realise their potential, would make them superior to all other species.

Others, notably the Groki, have had a bad experience with humanity in the past, particularly during the height of Nephteshi empire. The Nephteshis were as imperialistic and exploitative as any human empire ever was, but that's in the distant past by the time our narrative begins. However, it left proof of one thing: humanity is bad.

One Groki, an acquaintance of Eetoo named Blazz, makes a pointed remark:

'Good fine humans. Yes, I know. I've seen some seemingly peace-loving human communities in my time. The problem is, they invariably give birth to a generation of bad ones. A happy stable community now; in one short celestial age what have you? The happier they are, the more spoiled their brats, who will grow into the monsters of tomorrow. '

Of course, Grokis and other intelligent species live long enough to be able to make such observations. Also, their brain capacity is many times more than that of a human, so Blazz also makes the following comment:

'...But you know, it's a fact: Wherever humans have gone, rats, cockroaches and other vermin have always followed. Those three species seem to be adaptable to every sort of climate and condition... Moreover, it's a known fact that cockroaches are as much lower in intelligence than rats as rats are to humans and humans are to Groki and Sozks.'

But Eetoo also has supporters:

Fra speaks up: 'And so, Mr. Blazz, where exactly do you draw the line between what's an intelligent creature, and what's vermin -- if in fact there is to be a line drawn?'

'I should think that would be obvious!'

'Perhaps, to someone as much more intelligent than the Groki as the Groki is to the human, the answer might not be so obvious, Mr. Blazz.'

'Thus spoken by the administrator of the planet! Mr. Fra, I've heard of some of your problems resulting from the human infestation...'

Humans, rats, cockroaches... Eetoo is reminded of the comparison over and over as he encounters the degradation and squalor of various human communities he comes across in his travels, usually due to actions of other humans. The most striking example is Jerusalem and its environs, the city to which Eetoo has gone to seek answers, only to find more questions.

The following excerpt says it best:

One of the religious looking blokes glares at him and spits as he passes. The man just smirks back.

'Probably a tax collector,' says Alexander.

The man and his bodyguards turn into one of the nicer houses.

'Everyone hates them,' says Alexander. 'They work for the Romans, and get filthy rich off it. You'll never see them without their personal bodyguards, or if you do, you'll find them dead next time you turn around.'

'For good reason too!' says a man walking near us. 'You see all the beggars? You know why the countryside's so full of robbers?' He's obviously very religious, the way he's dressed.

'The Imperial taxes, I suppose,' says Nicanor.

'Yes, and if that weren't enough to break one, these traitors collect double their share of it.'

'I've heard that too,' says Alexander.

'And if that weren't enough, there's one more thing.'

'Which is...?'

He gets close to us and says in a whisper, 'Our own Temple tax! Those pagans that run our Temple send their men to collect our tithes, our first fruits -- fruit or no fruit -- redemption of our first-born -- every bit as vicious as the Romans, they are! If people can't pay up, they lose their land. Then, they have no choice but to beg. By the time they realise there isn't enough charity to support a population of beggars, (if they aren't already dying from malnutrition) they do the only sensible thing: join the robber gangs.'

Now, we're about to enter the synagogue, so we quiet down.

At this point, I should acknowledge Shalom Ache's The Nazarine, a very long but informative novel written by a Jewish author. Not only does he set Yeshua's life and ministry firmly in a Jewish setting, but he seems to know his stuff. It's good reading, but I never got through the whole thing -- only enough to populate my description of the life and topography of Jerusalem, the High Priestly family and other aspects of first century Jewish life. I've also learned a lot from my readings of scholars such as E.P. Sanders, David Flusser and other sources related to what's now called "Jesus Studies", including information on the Dead Sea Scrolls, rabbinical literature, Pseudographical literature, etc. I even attended the synagogue for a period (I was tempted to apply for the post of shavos goy), and read bits of the Talmud and Midrashim in their library. I'm fairly confident that if a rabbi or any scholar of first century history would read it, they'll find Eetoo satisfactory as to the technical details. Eetoo also contains a glossary at the back that gives information on some of the details.

In spite of being informative and historically accurate (when it comes to actual known history), it's still got suspense and intrigue.

One of the laws of the universe (in our narrative) is that every intelligent species has the right to live, so long at the planet of their birth is still habitable. Earth, the planet of humanity's birth may be destroyed by fire, unless the Supreme One extends the covenant. (Here, I expanded on an obscure rabbinical tradition that the Earth would have been destroyed a thousand years earlier had Israel not accepted the covenant at Mt. Sinai). If Earth is destroyed, humanity has no right to exist, and the galactic Groki community intends to be their executioner. No one knows the actual location of the planet, so the burden of proof that it hasn't been destroyed, rests on humanity. This is a part of Eetoo's mission.

Eetoo is, in fact, the one prophesied to find the secret door to Earth (a teleportation device, a bit like Stargate), to go to obtain the golden tablets that Noah had given to Shem, that would complete human understanding of things. On finding them, Eetoo finds they refer to events currently taking place in Jerusalem. However, things don't seem to go as they're supposed to. In fact, events take a horrible turn as the key person, who is supposed to redeem the planet, instead gets himself crucified. All is lost ...

Well ...

I also have some ideas for sequels and prequels. The next one would start at the very beginning with Adam and Eve. In our series, we call them Father Red Earth and Mother Life. My working title is The Language. Here's the prologue to the first chapter:

In the beginning was the language, and the language was one. The one language encompassed all of existence. There was nothing, no aspect of anything, nor any description, nor feeling that could not be fully communicated by means of that language.

It was the language used to create. The words, 'Let there be light', included every property of the light that was to be created. The word 'earth' contained the blueprint for earth. The word, 'oxygen', described the subatomic structure of the oxygen atom. The word 'sheep' had within it, the DNA of the sheep. This was the language of Divinity.

The language of humanity was a subset of that. In the same way that the original Language could create matter out of nothing, the language of humanity could create virtual worlds. -- from The Book of Methushalech

Suffice it to say that early humanity was more high-tech than we give them credit for. But that ended at the Tower of Babel, where they lost the Language.

In another sequel: The fiery chariot that took Elijah up was, in fact, a space ship. He became a character in my first attempt at science fiction, an unmarketable novel I entitled Space Brothers, which I may rewrite for this series.

Anyway, you can find Eetoo here...

John C. Wright's Gospel of the End Times

2010-09-10T14:08:00.005+01:00

When I read Orphans of Chaos, by John C. Wright, my first impression was that the author must be some sort of Gnostic pagan, as that sort of philosophy seemed to shine through the narrative. However, when I did my research (okay -- Google) it turned out that at the time he wrote that piece of fantasy fiction, he was an atheist, and the Gnosticism was no more than a backdrop for that particular series of novels. However, since that time, he had converted to Christianity, influenced in a large part by the writings of C.S.Lewis. He's still a fan of C.S.Lewis, and also of G.K.Chesterton. In fact, John C. Wright is now a Roman Catholic (like Chesterton was).

It's rather ironic, in one sense. C.S.Lewis, a Protestant, was converted from atheism through the influence of J.R.R.Tolkien, a Catholic. John C. Wright, a Catholic, was converted from atheism through the influence of C.S.Lewis, a Protestant. I said, ironic, but it's also intensely beautiful in another.

Lest any of my Protestant friends are of the opinion that Catholics are so tradition bound as to obscure any hope of them finding saving faith within their walls, here's a blog post by John C. Wright that will dispel that illusion. He paints his scenario through the medium of Noah, preparing for the destruction of the world. His eschatology is right on, the message is cross centred, and he even acknowledges some of the mistakes made by the Mother Church during the middle ages, insinuating that the church, under persecution, has faired better. Here's a couple of quotes:

The Orthodox Church, the Nestorians, the Copts, the Syrians, and all the Indians instructed by St. Thomas have been ground under the bootheels of pagan kings and paynim sultans for over a thousand years: they have more martyrs to their glory and more saints than earned the palm in the West. When the Church was burdened with worldly power, one thing she ended up doing was corrupting herself, and shattering via Reformation and Counter-Reformation, wars, tumults, and persecutions, into fragments large and small. It was not until the Enlightenment that the keys to the liquor cabinet where the wine of worldly power is stored were locked away from our poor, drink-besotted Mother Church.

And another one:

... So, no, Christians do not need to be in the shoes of Caesar or Pontius Pilot to save the world. That salvation was done by one whose feet were pierced by nails: as far as the world could see, a crackpot agitator who died a traitor’s grisly death. This is because the world sees things backward. The cross the world sees as an instrument of torture, humiliation, and death we Christians see as exalted, and we take it as our labarum of comfort, glory, and victory.

How's that for a Catholic? Read it yourself...

Jesus, Before He Became a Gentile

2010-09-03T11:00:00.002+01:00

A very good, concise treatise on the Jewishness of Jesus/Yeshua on Gene Shlomovich's blog -- actually an excerpt from the book, Does God Play Favourites? by Jim Gerrish, readable online.

Fundamentalists vs anti-Fundamentalists

2010-08-31T10:44:00.004+01:00

Scott McKnight, at Jesus Creed, is changing his blogging platform. Right now, he has posts up at both his old site and his new one (different posts). I'm not sure how it happened, but one of the posts, prominently visible, as though it was posted in the last few days, is this one, dated 17 Dec., 2008. Maybe the dating thing on the blogging environment isn't working properly, or what? Anyway it's a good blog post about fundamentalists, and how people who have switched to newer ideas can be just as opinionated and hard shelled about their new position as they were about their fundamentalist ideas. Anyway, go there for a good read, and while you're there, take not of their new URL.

...and now, Islamophobia

2010-08-11T15:13:00.007+01:00

I just now posted a blog about homophobia, and I read one by Brian Mclaren about Islamophobia.

Apparently, last year, he observed the fast of Ramudan. Before you quibble, what does the Bible actually say about Ramudan? Where is the command to stay away from it?

In much the same spirit, here's couple of blog posts I did a few years back: Letter to a Moslem and The Blessings of Ishmael (the latter was posted just a few days after 9-11)

There's a lot of debate, both in Christian circles and Moslem, as to what extent does the Koran support terrorism. A lot has to do with the definition of jihad. To some, it means all out war against infidels -- thus, a mandate to plant bombs on aeroplanes. To others, it simply means the struggle against sin and injustice, whether it be an inner struggle or outward activism. Since I'm not an authority on Islamic theology, I'll leave it to the experts, and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Two more sticking points would be that Islam doesn't believe that Yeshua died on the cross and rose again. They believe he came from God, and is something far beyond any other human prophet. They even call Him the Word. However, the issue of Messiah's death is a major stumbling block (as the cross often is).

The other point is that they don't believe it proper to call Yesua the son of G-d, as Allah doesn't have children. On that point, I wonder if that wasn't a reaction to some Christians during Mohamed's day treating the issue as though G-d had given birth to Yeshua like a human father, through Mary. I could see their point. However, that isn't such a major hurdle, as they still refer to Yeshua as The Word of Allah. In Christian theology, the Word is really what we mean by "begotten of the Father", so in a dialogue with Moslems, we can easily refrain from saying "Son of G-d" and use "Word of G-d" instead.

So, we're left with the stumbling block of the cross, which I'm willing to bare.

Apart from that, there are a number of things that Moslems do better than most Christians, and one of them is fasting, which is what Brian Mclaren did last Ramudan.

Good Samaritan -- retold

2010-08-11T12:01:00.012+01:00

I believe there is a difference between homophobia and simply believing that homosexuality isn't G-d's intention for human sexuality. Homophobia affects who we make friends with, how we do politics, and generally gets us tied up in knots.

I don't consider myself homophobic, but I believe that, according to the Bible, homosexuality isn't the right choice. I also don't believe being an alcoholic is the right way, nor sex outside of marriage, nor experimenting with potentially harmful drugs. In the various jobs I've held, I've been good personal friends with people in probably all these categories. I still keep in touch with some of them via Facebook and Skype. None of them calls me alcoholo-phobic, sexo-phobic or drugo-phobic. I just don't indulge in those lifestyles, myself, and my belief in Yeshua keeps me away from it. I also don't believe in bowing down to idols, but I have no trouble at all living in Thailand, where most people do -- including good friends.

I actually don't know anyone whom I'm certain is gay, but I hope they differentiate between homophobia and simply believing it's not G-d's way. However, I have heard rhetoric from that general direction that seems to leave out that option. I'd gladly discuss the subject with them over a pint down at the pub. Just one pint, mind you -- more than that, I start feeling it in the head -- but make it the pub of your choice.

Now, on the other side, here's a news story that makes me think. If Yeshua were telling his parables today, would he have told his story of the Good Samaritan in this context? This was brought to my attention by Tony Jones on Twitter (@jonestony) and it points to a blog post entitled A Modern Good Samaritan Story: Gay Couple Saves Life of Homophobic Neighbor. It's an interesting story that makes one think.

Now, the original story of the Good Samaritan: Yeshua seemed to have a lot of good things to say about individual Samaritans. However, he also agreed with the concusses of Orthodox Judaism that Samaritanism wasn't the right way (John 4:22). They only believed in the Torah, and rejected the Prophets. They refused to worship in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, and didn't believe in the Davidic lineage -- which hit at the very basis for Yeshua's claim as Messiah. But it was the Samaritan, in the story, who obeyed the great commandment.

I'm sure many would believe that Yesuah would, without any reservation, have used a Palistinian instead of a Samaritan, or had a Catholic saving a Prod near the peace line in Belfast (or vice versa), or a black saving a Ku Klux Klaner... would he have used the example as recorded in the news story?

Review of Gerald Seymour's Harry's Game

2010-07-07T08:42:00.001+01:00

Any book Gerald Seymour writes about the troubles in Northern Ireland is probably worth the read. He was one of ITN's top reporters covering the situation between 1969 and 1976. His novel, Harry's Game, has the copyright date of 1975, so that puts the timing of the narrative, probably after Bloody Sunday, but well before the Hunger Strikes.

It was made into a miniseries in 1982. So, ask me, why am I reviewing a book written so long ago, that's already made it as a miniseries?

Because it's still a good read, and I missed the miniseries (and it's not like I care how old a book is or how much footage it inspired; I may review Little Dorret next).

Because it's a good education for anyone wanting to know the background of the troubles.

Because I recently moved to an area right within walking distance of most of the action in the narrative.

We are a bit new to the area. When people comment on my accent, I tell them, "We're Irish. We've just been away too long" (but people outside Ireland think I sound Irish). My dad was an East Belfast man. My cousins on his side of the family still live there. My Uncle Bob (my namesake) passed away during the general period covered in the book.

We recently moved from Thailand back to NI, and found a nice house in North Belfast. Belfast isn't a major metropolis, but my East Belfast cousins hardly knew the lay of the streets before they came to look us up. Our area, and nearby West Belfast are the areas known for the Troubles (with a capital "T"), whereas East Belfast has always been relatively peaceful. Relocating from East Belfast to West is almost tantamount to emigration -- let alone moving from Thailand.

The other day, I decided to walk, rather than take the bus, from my home to the city centre. I took a short cut down the footpath behind the Ballysillan Leisure Centre, which ran into the top end of Ardoyne Road, the very neighbourhood where Billy Downs lived (the assassin in the story). A lot of development has taken place since those days, but one section of it, closer to Crumlin Road, looked like it was still run down with lots of Nationalist graffiti. However, some of the more prominent murals look like an attempt to put the Troubles behind them. One prominent sign, facing the roads leading in from Shankill says, "Please respect our community."

I walked straight from there into the Shankill area, which I probably couldn't have have done in the early days of the troubles, because Shankill is as hard core Prod as Ardoyne is Catholic.

While parts of Harry's Game may read like a tour guide to those who have spent time in the area, Gerald Seymour is equally knowledgeable about the people themselves, their culture, their fears, the hatred and whatever else makes them tic.

Harry, the leading character, was actually from Portadown (a town an hour's drive South of Belfast), who spent most of his life in the army away from Northern Ireland. When British Intelligence asks him to go under-cover to Belfast to seek out the assassin of a cabinet minister, he has to learn how to speak in a West Belfast accent. He has only two weeks to prepare. He also learns the style of the Falls Road residents, that bred by suspicion and fear of outsiders, and a fear of saying too much.

Within the two weeks he has to prepare, he cultures an accent that pleases his superiors, but we find that not everyone in West Belfast is fooled. His land lady wonders that he sounds authentically West Belfast for a few words, and then suddenly other sounds creep in. It doesn't seem natural. She mentions it to a neighbour over the back fence. Tight knit community that it is, word gets to the local IRA lookout who reports the fact to the Brigade intelligence officer. They decide to keep an eye on the stranger.

This isn't adventure hero fiction. Harry isn't James Bond -- nor even "Dirty Harry". This is true to life fiction. Things happen like they would in real life. People bungle, especially the Secret Service network giving support to Harry. First, they direct him to the wrong type of guest-house. He realises that and finds a more appropriate one himself, up Falls Road, the more likely place to find an IRA assassin. Because they don't know where he is, Harry's boss is dependent on the occasional phone call he makes from the city centre. This is highly unusual for an intelligence operation. Other parties, like the police and the army, have their opinion about this.

It would never happen to James Bond, but, as we said...

By a miracle, Harry happens to make friends with the right girl. Parental warning here: read it yourself first, before passing it on to your teenager. After an intimate scene, the girlfriend Josephine, lets out some information that might be a lead. Harry passes this on to his boss, and he, to the Army people in Belfast. They pick up a girl, Theresa, who happened to get intimate with the assassin Harry is looking for.

Theresa lets out only enough information to confirm that it was the the man they were looking for, no name, no description, then she kills herself.

While the powers-that-be agree that Harry did his job well, things are a mess. Riots ensue. The hit man, Billy Downs, is assigned a revenge attack on the RUC chief of interrogation, whom the IRA holds responsible for the death of the girl.

As for Harry, he's run out of leads. He gets a job in a scrap yard, and digs in for the long haul. Where James Bond would always have a card up his sleeve and keep the movie audience on the edge of their seats, our real-world spy has run out of tricks.

But don't worry. There's enough happening on the other fronts to keep the story moving. All the while, we see the way things are done behind closed doors; how more assassinations are being planned; how important people are known on a need-to-know basis; guns and other weapons are used and immediately removed so that no one actually has a gun when the army is doing a routine search; how doors are left open so that snipers flee the scene by entering by the front door, while the family is having their supper, and out the back. We find out what Mrs. Down's really thinks about her husband being an assassin -- once she guesses the truth.

Finally, Harry's girlfriend puts two and two together: her mentioning it to Harry was what led to the poor girl, Theresa, being rounded up and killing herself. Then, Harry makes a slip of the tongue that confirms that he isn't who he's saying he is. Josephine grills him, but because she isn't a die-hard fanatic for the Republican cause, she lets it go. In the process, she lets slip another small detail that leads to Billy Down's identification.

Then, things begin to build up to a climax. The IRA people are about to catch Harry. The tables turn, but not in a James Bond sort of way, and Harry is after his man. The ending is climactic, but it's the type of thing that could happen in real life -- a lesson to be learned.

It's not a story about heroes versus villains, only the people on both sides. In the end, you'll find you've not really identified 100% with either side. It will help you appreciate the facts on the ground.

I do have one word of advice. If you plan to read it, don't read the Wikipedia article first -- too many spoilers there.

Israel, What Are Christians to Think?

2010-06-23T10:38:00.002+01:00

Some good sound opinions at Derek Leman's website on the current uproar regarding Israel. On one side are the Christian Zionists, who would shout "Yeah Israel" no matter what they did, for good or for bad; on the other, those who won't ever give Israel the benefit of the doubt about anything, and even begrudge them the right to exist as a state.

Here's what Derek has to say:

Let me suggest a Jewish view, a biblical view of the situation:

1. Israel is the people elected freely and irrevocably by God, whose destiny and purpose serve as the forefront of God’s plan of world redemption.
2. Israel’s relationship with God is one of unconditional love and favor, but its temporal fortunes are tied to the covenant relationship through Torah.
3. The state of Israel is a secular government with little regard for Torah, which is obligated to follow the divine commandments and is not, and which is not guaranteed peace or success in any generation until there is renewal.

Read here for more...

William Gibson, on the "future" of Science Fiction

2010-06-18T18:35:00.003+01:00

To some, "future" is what science fiction is all about. William Gibson begs to differ. His last few books have been set in the present (as for myself, at least one of my SF books is set in the distant past, during Earth's recorded history).

The blog post I'm highlighting here is that of William Gibson, himself, and it's a transcription of a luncheon talk on the release of his latest novel, Zero History. He starts by giving some current events which, I must admit, do sound like SF:

Say it’s midway through the final year of the first decade of the 21st Century. Say that, last week, two things happened: scientists in China announced successful quantum teleportation over a distance of ten miles, while other scientists, in Maryland, announced the creation of an artificial, self-replicating genome. In this particular version of the 21st Century, which happens to be the one you’re living in, neither of these stories attracted a very great deal of attention.

It's a great talk for anyone interested in the genre of science fiction. Read the rest here...

twinkle twinkle giant star...

2010-06-15T09:49:00.004+01:00

sung to the tune of a familiar nursery rhyme:

twinkle twinkle giant star
now i understand what you are
many light-years up so high
nuclear furnace in the sky ...

do you wish upon that star?
please, oh please, stay where you are!

Jewish Prophecy

2010-06-07T13:02:00.006+01:00

For the last six or seven years, I've been on the list of a Yahoo Group called JewishClubMaoz@yahoogroups.com . I'm not sure how I got the invitation to join, but I got it and I did. Many on the list appear to be Zionist radicals of the non Messianic sort -- a few of them, militant. Now and then I've found a gem. I believe I've found one just now. It would be easy, of course, to take the following the wrong way, but I believe there's something there.

This is not the usual sort of thing that a nice Christian boy like me would post on a blog, but here goes:

Prophecy

Prof. Paul Eidelberg

Many Jews talk about the need to make Israel an authentic Jewish state, and of course they know what is an authentic Jewish state. It's a state based on the Torah, on the Sinai Covenant. It's a state whose ultimate purpose is to sanctify the Name of God by revealing His infinite Wisdom, Power and Graciousness in every domain of existence.

But if we understand what an authentic Jewish state is, why don’t we have a road map to such state? The basic reason is because we have focused our attention and energies on the “Arab problem,” more precisely the “Palestinian problem.” This is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not only is entire world is focused on the Palestinian problem, but Israel's Government is committed to the establishment of an Arab-Islamic state on Israel's own territory! Let's try to get to the bottom of this bizarre situation.

(1) Israeli governments have focused the world’s attention on the Palestinian problem because these foolish governments have failed to address Israel's most fundamental problem the Jewish problem!

(2) Stated another way, every Israeli government has been focused on the territorial-
cum-security issue. So lo and behold, Israel is losing territory and has never been more insecure!

Want more? Okay.

(3) Israel’s (paranoid) prime ministers are always preoccupied with Israel’s image in the media or among the nations. This is precisely why Israel has never had a more horrible image among the nations.

Are you getting the message? You all know that the Zionist enterprise had two basic goals: to provide for the security and restore the dignity of the Jewish people by establishing a Jewish state in Eretz Israel. Right?

But where was God in this scenario? Do you find God mentioned in Theodor Herzl’s The Jewish State—Herzl, the only name mentioned in the document now called Israel’s Declaration of Independence?

So, instead of God, what does Israel look up to—because if a people have nothing to look up to, it’s on the way to looking down on its feet. Instead of looking up to God it will look up to man. It’s called "humanism." But inasmuch as biologists such as Richard Dawkins have shown that man is descended from the apes, an awful lot of Israelis have discovered that Israel has no statesman at the helm—just apes!

Let me put it another way. What do Israel’s decision-makers and opinion-makers exalt? But of course—DEMOCRACY! Everyone knows this. Everyone knows that the paramount concern of Israel’s ruling elites—politicians and judges, academics and journalists—is to secure Israel’s reputation as a Democracy. This is what gives Israel's government Legitimacy and Israel's elites with Respectability. Right? But notice that the nations are now seeking to delegitimize Israel despite its vaunted democracy! Sort of ironic, no?

But where is the Torah in this Israeli scenario? Wasn’t it the Torah that preserved the Jewish people and endowed them with personal and national dignity?

Will someone tell me what would have happened to the Jewish people after the destruction of the Second Temple without the Torah? Why they would have become as extinct as the dodo. Which means that had Israel been led by the likes of Yitzhak Rabin (read Shimon Peres), Ehud Barak, Ariel Sharon, Ehud Olmert, and Binyamin Netanyahu—and let's add that "everything-is-justiciable" jurisprudent Aharon Barak—the Jews would have suffered the fate of the Neanderthals.

Poor Israel! Having abandoned the God of Israel and the Torah, various leaders of the so-called Jewish state are so desperate that they solicit the political support of Christians! Christians may think this is the fulfillment of prophecy.

But the Jewish sages knew that in the end of days, Israel would be ruled by paltry governments. That's where Israel is today. Like the foolish governments of Europe and the United States, they are succumbing to Allah and the Quran—to barbarians. But don't despair. The Jewish sages saw the current state of affairs as a preliminary to a renaissance of Hebraic civilization.