N
narnia56
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This is an awesome story CopperFox...***
The First Love Of Alipang Havens
- Thread starter Copperfox
- Start date
Copperfox
Well-known member
The next morning, after a breakfast of smoked cougar meat and hard biscuits, Henry and Gabe escorted Bert to the place where the train would halt for him: a siding west of the old trunk line from Cheyenne, and east of the more recently-built line that came up to Frontier Plaza from the south. "Nice to be a V.I.P.," chuckled Gabe. Once Bert had made a call on his dataphone to confirm that the train was on its way, he relinquished his borrowed horse, patted Clementine, and said goodbye to the Grange men.
Then it was waiting.
Bert had experience of such quiet places as remained in the modern world--mainly the Australian outback, of course, but also other places as diverse as Antarctica and the Kalahari Desert. Wyoming could be very quiet as well; the more so if one had just said goodbye to enjoyable companions, and was waiting for a train to come.
A flock of migrating birds passed overhead, from the north; it was autumn, after all. A minute later, from the south, came the first faint sounds of what might be the sheep flock his friends had spoken of last night.
The contemplative silence of the high plains, plus the thought of sheep and shepherds which bore natural Biblical implications, prompted Bert to ponder on everything he had been hearing from Christians on this visit to the Christian reservation. Bert had never been consciously hostile to the Christian faith, only immersed since childhood in the concerns of the here and now. For as long as he could remember, his people, the rugged Aussies of the legendary Down Under, had lived under threats of subjugation: from Communist China on one side, and Islamic fascists on the other side. So much so, that getting together with a former enemy, Japan, had made sense. But making the Pacific Federation work required persons of all skill types, and demanded plenty of attention FROM those persons.
Bert continued to have high hopes for the Pacific Federation. And yet...Australians had formerly thought of the United States as an ally to be relied on for all the foreseeable future, but now there WASN'T any more United States. Bert Randall was standing in the storage lot which housed little remnants of the old America, while outside its fence were useless weaklings ruled by heartless utilitarians.
All earthly realms perish. What was that verse Gabe had quoted, when using some prairie grass as tinder? Something like, "The grass withers, but the word of the Lord remains forever." From Isaiah--a man who had lived to see the ambitions of earthly rulers thwarted.
So, at what point did a man give up on pursuing earthly hopes and concentrate on pursuing eternal ones? Or could he do both at once?
The voices of sheep were becoming more audible from the south.
Then it was waiting.
Bert had experience of such quiet places as remained in the modern world--mainly the Australian outback, of course, but also other places as diverse as Antarctica and the Kalahari Desert. Wyoming could be very quiet as well; the more so if one had just said goodbye to enjoyable companions, and was waiting for a train to come.
A flock of migrating birds passed overhead, from the north; it was autumn, after all. A minute later, from the south, came the first faint sounds of what might be the sheep flock his friends had spoken of last night.
The contemplative silence of the high plains, plus the thought of sheep and shepherds which bore natural Biblical implications, prompted Bert to ponder on everything he had been hearing from Christians on this visit to the Christian reservation. Bert had never been consciously hostile to the Christian faith, only immersed since childhood in the concerns of the here and now. For as long as he could remember, his people, the rugged Aussies of the legendary Down Under, had lived under threats of subjugation: from Communist China on one side, and Islamic fascists on the other side. So much so, that getting together with a former enemy, Japan, had made sense. But making the Pacific Federation work required persons of all skill types, and demanded plenty of attention FROM those persons.
Bert continued to have high hopes for the Pacific Federation. And yet...Australians had formerly thought of the United States as an ally to be relied on for all the foreseeable future, but now there WASN'T any more United States. Bert Randall was standing in the storage lot which housed little remnants of the old America, while outside its fence were useless weaklings ruled by heartless utilitarians.
All earthly realms perish. What was that verse Gabe had quoted, when using some prairie grass as tinder? Something like, "The grass withers, but the word of the Lord remains forever." From Isaiah--a man who had lived to see the ambitions of earthly rulers thwarted.
So, at what point did a man give up on pursuing earthly hopes and concentrate on pursuing eternal ones? Or could he do both at once?
The voices of sheep were becoming more audible from the south.
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Zella
New member
That's a difficult balance even for people who have grown up trying to do it.
Copperfox
Well-known member
The passenger train Bert was waiting for was not originating in the town he had quitted the evening before; it had started up from south of that town, from the westernmost mining and gas-extraction areas. So even the laziest sheep would, and did, reach Bert's location on the track siding well before the train did. This place being in the transition zone between pure prairie and the foothills of the Rockies, the sheep came into view most cinematically, topping a rise of ground like an ancient army in a historical movie.
Flocks of sheep were a familiar sight to the Australian. This flock had at least two hundred sheep, and it looked to Bert as if they were spread out much too thin and wide for good control when covering distance. From the exasperated tone of the human voice which now became audible, the owner of the sheep was aware of the problem, but not able so far to overcome it. The ragged male voice was calling orders probably to sheepdogs in English, and alternately spouting the colorful non-obscenities of Jewish tradition in a language that Bert recognized as modern Hebrew. Yes, there he was now, complete with hat and beard; but instead of a crooked staff, he was wielding an Australian-style whip, with much more length of rigid handle than whips familiar to Americans. And like most Australian users of this tool, Yitzhak Rosenbaum--for this had to be he--did not actually strike his animals with the lash, merely used the cracking noise as a cue to the animals to move one way or another.
Across a distance of over a hundred meters, Bert hailed the expatriate shepherd--in Arabic: "Excuse me, this is the closest I can come to your language with any fluency! Can I help you with your sheep?"
Mr. Rosenbaum was just opening his mouth to reply when another cinematic effect, as it were, occurred. A _female_ voice (in English) was heard at that instant, as if dubbed in for comical effect: "Who's that, Papa?" The real owner of this voice was just coming over the hill with the hindmost sheep; she also had and was using a whip like her father's. It occurred to Bert to be surprised that the cowardly Overseers would allow exiles to possess whips, when oppressed subjects were supposed to be _targets_ for whips. But of course, there were always the particle beams.... The young woman, possibly only a teenager, had the dusky attractiveness you might expect in the character of Sir Walter Scott's beloved literary heroine Rebecca of York, though her blue jeans and hoodie clashed with any medieval perceptions.
"If you want to help, then don't scare my sheep with Arabic!" the elder shepherd shouted back; but Bert could tell that his tone conveyed only joking anger. "Come around the outside, don't scatter them further, and we'll have introductions."
Bert moved far to his own right as he faced the flock, thus going some tens of meters to the west, before walking south past the farthest-flung sheep on that side. He successfully shooed three of these animals back toward the body of the flock as he went. One of the English Sheepdogs Gabe had mentioned last night waddled up to him, seeming far more age-slowed than Mr. Rosenbaum, and placidly sniffed at him, probably taking note of the scent of Gabe's Irish setter. Then Mr. Rosenbaum came up, while his daughter was veering off the opposite way, accompanied by another sheepdog, presumably in order to prevent still worse scattering on the flock's right flank.
The erstwhile Israeli shook Bert's hand. "Yitzhak Rosenbaum. I haven't seen you before. Just arrived?"
"Bert Randall. I'm new here, all right, but less permanent. I'm a researcher from the Pacific Federation." He briefly displayed an identification card which spoke his name and birthdate in his own recorded voice.
"And from sheep in Wyoming, what does your Federation expect to learn?"
"It's more a matter of learning about Americans who _aren't_ sheep. I'm just passing through here. A train's going to stop for me on that siding."
Mr. Rosenbaum's eyebrows rose. "For an Australian, they stop trains? The rest of us have to count ourselves lucky that they don't purposely _jump_ their trains right off the track to kill us."
"Sir, shouldn't we talk about that later? The direction your sheep are moving--most of them, anyway--there could be a lot of them standing right ON the track when my train gets here. If your plan's to move them across the tracks and continue north, you need to decide quick either to halt them here till the train comes and goes, or else hurry them to the other side."
Rosenbaum cocked an ear while standing, then crouched to listen to the ground also. "Not close is that train yet, I don't hear it coming. We'll get them across ahead of it. If we halted, too much risk of some wandering onto the tracks anyway. Since you kindly offered, you can just go back to the center rear. Shout a bit, wave your arms a bit. Then Huldah and I can work at pushing in the wings of the flock on either side. I'll thank you better when we're safe on the other side."
Flocks of sheep were a familiar sight to the Australian. This flock had at least two hundred sheep, and it looked to Bert as if they were spread out much too thin and wide for good control when covering distance. From the exasperated tone of the human voice which now became audible, the owner of the sheep was aware of the problem, but not able so far to overcome it. The ragged male voice was calling orders probably to sheepdogs in English, and alternately spouting the colorful non-obscenities of Jewish tradition in a language that Bert recognized as modern Hebrew. Yes, there he was now, complete with hat and beard; but instead of a crooked staff, he was wielding an Australian-style whip, with much more length of rigid handle than whips familiar to Americans. And like most Australian users of this tool, Yitzhak Rosenbaum--for this had to be he--did not actually strike his animals with the lash, merely used the cracking noise as a cue to the animals to move one way or another.
Across a distance of over a hundred meters, Bert hailed the expatriate shepherd--in Arabic: "Excuse me, this is the closest I can come to your language with any fluency! Can I help you with your sheep?"
Mr. Rosenbaum was just opening his mouth to reply when another cinematic effect, as it were, occurred. A _female_ voice (in English) was heard at that instant, as if dubbed in for comical effect: "Who's that, Papa?" The real owner of this voice was just coming over the hill with the hindmost sheep; she also had and was using a whip like her father's. It occurred to Bert to be surprised that the cowardly Overseers would allow exiles to possess whips, when oppressed subjects were supposed to be _targets_ for whips. But of course, there were always the particle beams.... The young woman, possibly only a teenager, had the dusky attractiveness you might expect in the character of Sir Walter Scott's beloved literary heroine Rebecca of York, though her blue jeans and hoodie clashed with any medieval perceptions.
"If you want to help, then don't scare my sheep with Arabic!" the elder shepherd shouted back; but Bert could tell that his tone conveyed only joking anger. "Come around the outside, don't scatter them further, and we'll have introductions."
Bert moved far to his own right as he faced the flock, thus going some tens of meters to the west, before walking south past the farthest-flung sheep on that side. He successfully shooed three of these animals back toward the body of the flock as he went. One of the English Sheepdogs Gabe had mentioned last night waddled up to him, seeming far more age-slowed than Mr. Rosenbaum, and placidly sniffed at him, probably taking note of the scent of Gabe's Irish setter. Then Mr. Rosenbaum came up, while his daughter was veering off the opposite way, accompanied by another sheepdog, presumably in order to prevent still worse scattering on the flock's right flank.
The erstwhile Israeli shook Bert's hand. "Yitzhak Rosenbaum. I haven't seen you before. Just arrived?"
"Bert Randall. I'm new here, all right, but less permanent. I'm a researcher from the Pacific Federation." He briefly displayed an identification card which spoke his name and birthdate in his own recorded voice.
"And from sheep in Wyoming, what does your Federation expect to learn?"
"It's more a matter of learning about Americans who _aren't_ sheep. I'm just passing through here. A train's going to stop for me on that siding."
Mr. Rosenbaum's eyebrows rose. "For an Australian, they stop trains? The rest of us have to count ourselves lucky that they don't purposely _jump_ their trains right off the track to kill us."
"Sir, shouldn't we talk about that later? The direction your sheep are moving--most of them, anyway--there could be a lot of them standing right ON the track when my train gets here. If your plan's to move them across the tracks and continue north, you need to decide quick either to halt them here till the train comes and goes, or else hurry them to the other side."
Rosenbaum cocked an ear while standing, then crouched to listen to the ground also. "Not close is that train yet, I don't hear it coming. We'll get them across ahead of it. If we halted, too much risk of some wandering onto the tracks anyway. Since you kindly offered, you can just go back to the center rear. Shout a bit, wave your arms a bit. Then Huldah and I can work at pushing in the wings of the flock on either side. I'll thank you better when we're safe on the other side."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Yitzhak was continuing his animal-control efforts, as the original Isaac in Genesis must have done routinely; but this new Isaac obviously needed the offered assistance in the current situation. Despite being encumbered with a backpack and bedroll, Bert had the strength to jog briskly to his post and help keep the sheep moving. There was much lateral movement involved, as they tried to crowd the animals close enough together so that Yitzhak and his daughter could begin to count them; thus, their _forward_ progress had not yet been enough to get all of the flock past the siding and the main track before a distant train horn was heard.
"That means the train from the south has completed its stop at Frontier Plaza, and is underway again on the stretch that leads here," Yitzhak shouted to Bert. "Hurry them up!"
Huldah, who had with her the younger and more energetic of the two sheepdogs, completed the herding of all the animals at her end over the track and onto the pasture land north of the railroad. Leaving her dog to prevent any of these from reversing back into danger, the girl closed in on the center, thus nearer to Bert. Seeing the vigor with which the Australian was dashing back and forth to intercept movements in the wrong direction, she laughed, "Usually it's an insult to compare a man to a dog, but right now I'm _glad_ we met a man with some doggy talents!"
Bert acknowledged the unusual compliment with a nod and wave, then resumed his herding. As the central mob of sheep got past the siding and was mostly past the main track, Huldah came once more within easy earshot of the helpful Gentile, to say, "Maybe Papa will forgive God today, if he gives Him credit for sending you."
"What? Forgive God?" Bert marvelled. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"
"Not for a big Harold Kushner fan like my Papa. But I shouldn't distract you."
Soon the center of the woolly army had joined the right flank on the desired side of the tracks. But Huldah's father was having difficulties on the left: partly because his dog was not as fast as it once had been, and partly because, for tens of meters west of the split between main track and siding (thus very much IN the oncoming train's path), there somehow happened to be some vegetation growing between and alongside the rails which was highly appetizing to the sheep. There were at least thirty adult sheep, accompanied by some lambs, which were determined not to leave the track until they had eaten every leaf and stalk. And their very presence there induced a few more stupid beasts who had made it to safety to turn back and join them in harm's way.
The next horn-call was obviously much closer.
"Keep trying to move them!" Bert shouted. "I'll try to flag down the train!"
Yitzhak had no time to comment on this; he was physically tackling a ram, like a cowboy bulldogging a steer, and forcing him to move off the rails--only to see two additional ewes amble _onto_ the rails from the main group.
Bert shed his pack and sleeping bag as he started running, after which he could _really_ run. In Australia, he had never bothered with NON-competitive sports, and had always done well in track-and-field events. Now he ran for all he was worth; and if not for the prospect of the Rosenbaums losing valuable hoofstock and maybe getting in trouble with the railway authorities, it would have felt mighty good. As it was, he ran until he estimated that the distance between him and the flock behind him was great enough so he could get the engineer's attention while there still was time for the train to hit the brakes.
The train was visible now. Bert stood ON the tracks, waving wildly, for just as long a moment as ought to suffice for the engineer to see him, then stepped clear though continuing to gesticulate; he was not about to die for literal sheep as Christ the Good Shepherd had reportedly done for His figurative sheep.
The train was decelerating. Bert couldn't be certain, but it looked as if it might have begun slowing even before he stepped onto the track. Perhaps the crew had a satellite-imagery monitor, and through a satellite's eyes they had actually _seen_ the sheep standing between them and the beginning of the siding. Bert began jogging back in the direction he had just come from, trying to end up even with the leading engine when the train had come to complete stop.
He found he had estimated very closely, having to correct no more than seven paces once the train was stationary--with the cowcatcher of the leading engine scarcely four meters away from the nearest ewe. Bert felt a short-lived relief; the good feeling perished when a Department of Transportation train guard, and one of the more familiar Overseers, hopped off the train carrying weapons.
"That means the train from the south has completed its stop at Frontier Plaza, and is underway again on the stretch that leads here," Yitzhak shouted to Bert. "Hurry them up!"
Huldah, who had with her the younger and more energetic of the two sheepdogs, completed the herding of all the animals at her end over the track and onto the pasture land north of the railroad. Leaving her dog to prevent any of these from reversing back into danger, the girl closed in on the center, thus nearer to Bert. Seeing the vigor with which the Australian was dashing back and forth to intercept movements in the wrong direction, she laughed, "Usually it's an insult to compare a man to a dog, but right now I'm _glad_ we met a man with some doggy talents!"
Bert acknowledged the unusual compliment with a nod and wave, then resumed his herding. As the central mob of sheep got past the siding and was mostly past the main track, Huldah came once more within easy earshot of the helpful Gentile, to say, "Maybe Papa will forgive God today, if he gives Him credit for sending you."
"What? Forgive God?" Bert marvelled. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"
"Not for a big Harold Kushner fan like my Papa. But I shouldn't distract you."
Soon the center of the woolly army had joined the right flank on the desired side of the tracks. But Huldah's father was having difficulties on the left: partly because his dog was not as fast as it once had been, and partly because, for tens of meters west of the split between main track and siding (thus very much IN the oncoming train's path), there somehow happened to be some vegetation growing between and alongside the rails which was highly appetizing to the sheep. There were at least thirty adult sheep, accompanied by some lambs, which were determined not to leave the track until they had eaten every leaf and stalk. And their very presence there induced a few more stupid beasts who had made it to safety to turn back and join them in harm's way.
The next horn-call was obviously much closer.
"Keep trying to move them!" Bert shouted. "I'll try to flag down the train!"
Yitzhak had no time to comment on this; he was physically tackling a ram, like a cowboy bulldogging a steer, and forcing him to move off the rails--only to see two additional ewes amble _onto_ the rails from the main group.
Bert shed his pack and sleeping bag as he started running, after which he could _really_ run. In Australia, he had never bothered with NON-competitive sports, and had always done well in track-and-field events. Now he ran for all he was worth; and if not for the prospect of the Rosenbaums losing valuable hoofstock and maybe getting in trouble with the railway authorities, it would have felt mighty good. As it was, he ran until he estimated that the distance between him and the flock behind him was great enough so he could get the engineer's attention while there still was time for the train to hit the brakes.
The train was visible now. Bert stood ON the tracks, waving wildly, for just as long a moment as ought to suffice for the engineer to see him, then stepped clear though continuing to gesticulate; he was not about to die for literal sheep as Christ the Good Shepherd had reportedly done for His figurative sheep.
The train was decelerating. Bert couldn't be certain, but it looked as if it might have begun slowing even before he stepped onto the track. Perhaps the crew had a satellite-imagery monitor, and through a satellite's eyes they had actually _seen_ the sheep standing between them and the beginning of the siding. Bert began jogging back in the direction he had just come from, trying to end up even with the leading engine when the train had come to complete stop.
He found he had estimated very closely, having to correct no more than seven paces once the train was stationary--with the cowcatcher of the leading engine scarcely four meters away from the nearest ewe. Bert felt a short-lived relief; the good feeling perished when a Department of Transportation train guard, and one of the more familiar Overseers, hopped off the train carrying weapons.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
The train guard, a woman, wore a more ordinary type of body armor than the reflective suits of Overseers. The weapon she bore looked like a double-barrelled sawed-off shotgun, but Bert recognized it as an incendiary launcher, in effect a compact flamethrower. The Overseer, a man, had the usual wrist-mounted tasers; and since this assignment left him without his motorcycle-borne particle beam, he also had a hip-holstered pistol identical to the one in Bert's shoulder holster, plus a traditional tonfa-style police baton.
Since even the Campaign Against Hate could not make up a reason to accuse sheep of racism, the Overseer left the talking to the train guard. She asked Bert, "Are you the Australian researcher we were told to pick up here?"
"Yes, I'm Bert Randall; I flew into Rapid City the other day with Yang Sung-Kuo."
"What the entropy are these animals doing on the track?"
"Being stupid animals. You never know what sheep'll be scared of. These must have heard lots of trains before, since your train didn't frighten them."
Now the Overseer did speak up, glancing around him at the same time, and even taking a few paces ahead to where he could look on the other side of the halted train: "Or maybe they were _purposely_ positioned here. These un-mutual Biblicals are always up to something, natural-born saboteurs."
"You could be right," the armed woman said to the mirror-man. Turning to the worried-looking Yitzhak Rosenbaum, she levelled her weapon at him and snapped, "You! If you're up to something, you'd better spill it NOW, or you'll be lamb chops sooner than your livestock will be!"
"Honest, I was only moving my flock to a different pasturing area; I was trying to get them past the tracks before you came, but--"
Bert cut him off: "--but I'm afraid I interfered. I'm sorry, this is my fault. At home I'm an academician, but here I turned into a dumb tourist. I wanted to play at being a farmer for awhile, and Citizen Rosenbaum was afraid to refuse, in case I might complain to the authorities about him. All I accomplished was to slow down his flock, spoiling Citizen Rosenbaum's plans which would otherwise have avoided your being inconvenienced."
The Transport Police officer and the Overseer exchanged a glance and a shrug, and the latter climbed up to say something to the train's chief engineer. The guard, lowering her flame-gun, told Bert, "Very well, no real harm done. Are you ready to get on board?"
"As soon as I pick up the things I dropped as I ran to flag you down."
"All right. While you get those, I'll clear the track;" and the woman took aim at the nearby sheep. When Yitzhak exclaimed, "Please, don't kill them," she retorted, "Would you rather I killed you?"
"Wait!" called Bert. "No need to expend your flame cartridges. Your files will show that I was issued a sidearm; its noise will do the trick." Moving nearer to the animals, he drew his pistol and fired it into the air. This noise being far less familiar than the sounds of trains, it spooked the sheep into running in the desired direction. Striding farther east along the track, Bert fired three more times, and in very short order the railway was entirely clear of sheep. This also brought him closer to Huldah, who uttered a hasty "Thank you." The train guard, for her part, seemed to be satisfied.
Yitzhak, also grateful, joined Bert as he went to scoop up his pack and bedroll. Thus Bert could ask the old shepherd, "What do you mean about forgiving God?"
Yitzhak shot a glance toward his daughter. "So Huldah mentioned that, did she? She doesn't approve of the idea, but then she's an optimist. I've seen enough evil, and my parents and grandparents saw enough evil, and I miss my Eudora so much, that I can't see how God can make any excuse for it all. At least our forgiving Him is a way we can be better than He is. But obviously, Mr. Randall, you're not part of the evil; maybe you would make a better God than the one we're stuck with."
Bert blew out a flabbergasted breath. "I wish we had more time for this, Mr. Rosenbaum, but I feel as if there has to be a better explanation of the universe than what you've arrived at. I hope we both find the true answer."
Yitzhak's grouchy tone vanished. "I tell you what, if the world becomes free enough that I can marry my daughter off to you, maybe I'll start believing God is good."
Bert clasped the old man's leathery hand. "Huldah seems like a fine girl, but I'm a bit old for her to marry. So I hope you'll allow for alternate ways that God can clear His name with you."
Since even the Campaign Against Hate could not make up a reason to accuse sheep of racism, the Overseer left the talking to the train guard. She asked Bert, "Are you the Australian researcher we were told to pick up here?"
"Yes, I'm Bert Randall; I flew into Rapid City the other day with Yang Sung-Kuo."
"What the entropy are these animals doing on the track?"
"Being stupid animals. You never know what sheep'll be scared of. These must have heard lots of trains before, since your train didn't frighten them."
Now the Overseer did speak up, glancing around him at the same time, and even taking a few paces ahead to where he could look on the other side of the halted train: "Or maybe they were _purposely_ positioned here. These un-mutual Biblicals are always up to something, natural-born saboteurs."
"You could be right," the armed woman said to the mirror-man. Turning to the worried-looking Yitzhak Rosenbaum, she levelled her weapon at him and snapped, "You! If you're up to something, you'd better spill it NOW, or you'll be lamb chops sooner than your livestock will be!"
"Honest, I was only moving my flock to a different pasturing area; I was trying to get them past the tracks before you came, but--"
Bert cut him off: "--but I'm afraid I interfered. I'm sorry, this is my fault. At home I'm an academician, but here I turned into a dumb tourist. I wanted to play at being a farmer for awhile, and Citizen Rosenbaum was afraid to refuse, in case I might complain to the authorities about him. All I accomplished was to slow down his flock, spoiling Citizen Rosenbaum's plans which would otherwise have avoided your being inconvenienced."
The Transport Police officer and the Overseer exchanged a glance and a shrug, and the latter climbed up to say something to the train's chief engineer. The guard, lowering her flame-gun, told Bert, "Very well, no real harm done. Are you ready to get on board?"
"As soon as I pick up the things I dropped as I ran to flag you down."
"All right. While you get those, I'll clear the track;" and the woman took aim at the nearby sheep. When Yitzhak exclaimed, "Please, don't kill them," she retorted, "Would you rather I killed you?"
"Wait!" called Bert. "No need to expend your flame cartridges. Your files will show that I was issued a sidearm; its noise will do the trick." Moving nearer to the animals, he drew his pistol and fired it into the air. This noise being far less familiar than the sounds of trains, it spooked the sheep into running in the desired direction. Striding farther east along the track, Bert fired three more times, and in very short order the railway was entirely clear of sheep. This also brought him closer to Huldah, who uttered a hasty "Thank you." The train guard, for her part, seemed to be satisfied.
Yitzhak, also grateful, joined Bert as he went to scoop up his pack and bedroll. Thus Bert could ask the old shepherd, "What do you mean about forgiving God?"
Yitzhak shot a glance toward his daughter. "So Huldah mentioned that, did she? She doesn't approve of the idea, but then she's an optimist. I've seen enough evil, and my parents and grandparents saw enough evil, and I miss my Eudora so much, that I can't see how God can make any excuse for it all. At least our forgiving Him is a way we can be better than He is. But obviously, Mr. Randall, you're not part of the evil; maybe you would make a better God than the one we're stuck with."
Bert blew out a flabbergasted breath. "I wish we had more time for this, Mr. Rosenbaum, but I feel as if there has to be a better explanation of the universe than what you've arrived at. I hope we both find the true answer."
Yitzhak's grouchy tone vanished. "I tell you what, if the world becomes free enough that I can marry my daughter off to you, maybe I'll start believing God is good."
Bert clasped the old man's leathery hand. "Huldah seems like a fine girl, but I'm a bit old for her to marry. So I hope you'll allow for alternate ways that God can clear His name with you."
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Now to summarize what's been going on since the last time I summarized!
In keeping with their planned social research, Yang and Bert enjoyed interesting meetings with homeschooled children, including Alipang and Kim's children, and those of the Sussex handyman Raoul Rochefort. Lorraine contrived to _prevent_ her Taiwanese-born fiance Bill from encountering the Chinese officer. Sylvia Lathrop from Sussex Gospel Church, opening her house to the visitors, impressed them both with her highly intelligent Christian witness. When Bert went off to areas farther west, Yang remained with Sylvia and held interviews with farming families around Sussex. On one of these outings, Yang was compelled to shoot and kill a pack of wolves which were about to attack him.
John Wisebadger, in his Agriculture liaison role, met with a woman bureaucrat named Okokeso Vekeseha (a Cheyenne Indian), to request permission for exiles to have more means of defending themselves and their farms against wild animals. Alipang's other Native American friend, Henry Spafford, was doing a Grange patrol and mail run with a fellow volunteer named Gabe Ellison, when he met Bert in the home of a man who worked at a natural-gas well. Spending time with Henry and Gabe as a way of _avoiding_ the pesky Odette Galloway, Bert ended up telling Henry about the phenomenon of "chemtrails" being used to keep an oppressed population unresisting: told him just enough so that Henry could connect the dots, and at least not be driven crazy anymore by having no clue to what had happened at the plane-wreck scene in July. Bert went from there to his just-related encounter with shepherds, and he will next be seen back in Sussex.
In the outside world, in Delaware, Summer and Evan Rand have the youngest two of their children back now: the six-year-old fraternal twins Grace and Grant. That leaves nine-year-old Anne-Marie and twelve-year-old Michael still to be freed. Over in Ohio, an incident happened which caused Chief Justice Sherman Lake of the Diversity States Supreme Court to be seen "onstage" for the first time in this novel. Two labor unions, in conflict over jurisdiction where their interests overlapped, sent their workers into an ugly street battle against each other; and Chief Justice Lake, who has the say-so in most law-enforcement issues which _aren't_ matters of supposed racism and hate speech, manipulated the handling of this crisis by marshals in ways promoting his own advantage. I have not, however, told my readers yet whether the report of Lake plotting to overthrow the government is true.
Samantha Ford finally got around to acting like a mother, visiting her son Daffodil who is hospitalized again. And in Nigeria, a woman reporter named Reltseotu Smith is on an assignment for the American TV news celebrity Neutron Invincible. She wants Reltseotu to find ways to make American emigrants like Brendan Hyland look like villains for still believing in the ideals of the old United States.
Up to now, I had scarcely given Alipang's youngest sister Harmony a chance to do anything; so I made her the one who had an inspiration concerning the cancer-stricken Miguel De Soto. The medical science of this time is capable of providing Miguel with "gills" which would feed oxygen into his blood even though his lungs collapse under the spread of his cancer; and Harmony realizes that this could be done _without_ bringing any exiles into contact with modern computer technology, thus bypassing the justification the authorities give for prohibiting the other possible cures for Miguel. So Harmony has come from Casper to Sussex, to plead with Major Yang to use his influence to persuade the Enclave administration in Rapid City to allow gill implantation for the suffering newspaperman.
The next chapter _will_ reveal what Yang wants for himself in return for doing as Harmony asks him to do.
In keeping with their planned social research, Yang and Bert enjoyed interesting meetings with homeschooled children, including Alipang and Kim's children, and those of the Sussex handyman Raoul Rochefort. Lorraine contrived to _prevent_ her Taiwanese-born fiance Bill from encountering the Chinese officer. Sylvia Lathrop from Sussex Gospel Church, opening her house to the visitors, impressed them both with her highly intelligent Christian witness. When Bert went off to areas farther west, Yang remained with Sylvia and held interviews with farming families around Sussex. On one of these outings, Yang was compelled to shoot and kill a pack of wolves which were about to attack him.
John Wisebadger, in his Agriculture liaison role, met with a woman bureaucrat named Okokeso Vekeseha (a Cheyenne Indian), to request permission for exiles to have more means of defending themselves and their farms against wild animals. Alipang's other Native American friend, Henry Spafford, was doing a Grange patrol and mail run with a fellow volunteer named Gabe Ellison, when he met Bert in the home of a man who worked at a natural-gas well. Spending time with Henry and Gabe as a way of _avoiding_ the pesky Odette Galloway, Bert ended up telling Henry about the phenomenon of "chemtrails" being used to keep an oppressed population unresisting: told him just enough so that Henry could connect the dots, and at least not be driven crazy anymore by having no clue to what had happened at the plane-wreck scene in July. Bert went from there to his just-related encounter with shepherds, and he will next be seen back in Sussex.
In the outside world, in Delaware, Summer and Evan Rand have the youngest two of their children back now: the six-year-old fraternal twins Grace and Grant. That leaves nine-year-old Anne-Marie and twelve-year-old Michael still to be freed. Over in Ohio, an incident happened which caused Chief Justice Sherman Lake of the Diversity States Supreme Court to be seen "onstage" for the first time in this novel. Two labor unions, in conflict over jurisdiction where their interests overlapped, sent their workers into an ugly street battle against each other; and Chief Justice Lake, who has the say-so in most law-enforcement issues which _aren't_ matters of supposed racism and hate speech, manipulated the handling of this crisis by marshals in ways promoting his own advantage. I have not, however, told my readers yet whether the report of Lake plotting to overthrow the government is true.
Samantha Ford finally got around to acting like a mother, visiting her son Daffodil who is hospitalized again. And in Nigeria, a woman reporter named Reltseotu Smith is on an assignment for the American TV news celebrity Neutron Invincible. She wants Reltseotu to find ways to make American emigrants like Brendan Hyland look like villains for still believing in the ideals of the old United States.
Up to now, I had scarcely given Alipang's youngest sister Harmony a chance to do anything; so I made her the one who had an inspiration concerning the cancer-stricken Miguel De Soto. The medical science of this time is capable of providing Miguel with "gills" which would feed oxygen into his blood even though his lungs collapse under the spread of his cancer; and Harmony realizes that this could be done _without_ bringing any exiles into contact with modern computer technology, thus bypassing the justification the authorities give for prohibiting the other possible cures for Miguel. So Harmony has come from Casper to Sussex, to plead with Major Yang to use his influence to persuade the Enclave administration in Rapid City to allow gill implantation for the suffering newspaperman.
The next chapter _will_ reveal what Yang wants for himself in return for doing as Harmony asks him to do.
Copperfox
Well-known member
Chapter 35: Fists Without Fury
Decades of demagoguery and artificial panic over "man-caused global warming" had not yet made Wyoming immune to experiencing chilly days in early autumn. But Major Yang Sung-Kuo, a resident of northern China, was no stranger to cold breezes. Performing a warmup out of doors on Sunday afternoon, he was wearing only athletic gear, with shorts instead of long sweatpants--because he anticipated having exertions to keep him warm very soon.
A resident of Sussex had volunteered to assist the Chinese visitor in the warmup. Sitting feet to feet with Yang, both men's legs widely spread, Peter Tomisaburo was grasping Yang's wrists to pull him into a deeper forward stretch for the benefit of the hamstrings. A bit of small talk suddenly gave way to something which startled Yang: in flawless Mandarin Chinese, the Japanese-American half whispered, half chanted:
"This day makes me think of the legendary star-spirits climbing the slopes of Liang Shan Po: first two of them, then three, then another three, then another two." Stopping there (not stopping the stretch), Tomisaburo gazed expectantly at the incognito officer.
Yang needed only a few seconds to absorb the surprise--of learning that this American internal exile was in fact a deep-cover agent planted here by Beijing. It was not something that Yang, as an internal-affairs officer, would normally have any need to know; but the numerical recognition signal just offered by Tomisaburo fell within his knowledge. So he disciplined himself NOT to look around as if they had anything to hide. Then he said in Japanese, "That reminds me; not long ago, I got the chance to see a Hong Kong movie from half a century ago, a movie about the Water Margin heroes. It was mighty colorful." That much was throw-away talk, but its mention of color led up to his acknowledgment signal-- "One group of fighters wore white, another group wore yellow, and the leading character of Yen Ching dressed in black." White, yellow and black were what mattered here, as the numerals had mattered in Tomisaburo's signal.
Tomisaburo made his next statement without any words: letting go of Yang's wrists, he clamped his hands on the back of his own head, leaned backwards, and let out a lengthy and exaggerated sigh. This was a sign that he had information to pass, but had long been without the means to transmit it. Yang could readily understand how that could be. Though it was outside his usual duties to know the identities and assignments of his country's overseas agents, he did know that many of them carried passive solid-state radio receivers built into the actual bone layers of their skulls, virtually impossible to detect, so they could receive messages--but apart from simplistic replies, like walking past a certain spot at a certain time so that Chinese satellites would see the action, an agent in Tomisaburo's position would have no means of talking TO his superiors.
Yang improvised something, counting on the agent to catch the intent: "It's interesting how Yen Ching, in his efforts to save his master from trouble, was not at first one of the mountain brethren, yet his actions also served their interests. Thus, a time came when Yen Ching was glad to do something explicitly for the heroes on Liang Shan Po; he was glad that fortune had brought him all the way from the Imperial capital to meet them." Yang was trying to say that, if Tomisaburo felt confident of being able to tell his information without exposing his identity, he would carry that information back to Beijing.
Tomisaburo nodded, seeming to understand, and continued with the warmup. Only now did it come to Yang's mind that Tomisaburo's superiors in the foreign-intelligence service could have let the deep-cover agent know through the receiver in his head that Yang would be coming to the Enclave.
And that must be the REAL reason why General Shuei had been all for Yang going on the research tour with Bert Randall. The gathering of information about American schooling was not fake, it was a genuine project; and with no knowledge of any other purpose, Yang's brain had been "clean" when subjected to brainwave-scan lie detection before entering the Enclave. Being known by American authorities to be simply a high-ranking cop in China, Yang was thus a perfect courier to retrieve Tomisaburo's information and bring it home.
He knew Tomisaburo's wife to be a white American; he wondered whether she knew anything about her husband's true line of work. Probably not.
They would speak more later--several times, if this were necessary to let all the facts be passed to Yang. But right now, Yang must not behave as if anything had come up of more interest to him than what he was going to be doing in a matter of minutes. It would be far too suspicious if he allowed himself to be distracted now from an activity which he himself had requested.
Less than half a kilometer away, Alipang Havens was waiting to give Yang Sung-Kuo what Yang had requested: the comparing of their skills in a friendly fight.
Decades of demagoguery and artificial panic over "man-caused global warming" had not yet made Wyoming immune to experiencing chilly days in early autumn. But Major Yang Sung-Kuo, a resident of northern China, was no stranger to cold breezes. Performing a warmup out of doors on Sunday afternoon, he was wearing only athletic gear, with shorts instead of long sweatpants--because he anticipated having exertions to keep him warm very soon.
A resident of Sussex had volunteered to assist the Chinese visitor in the warmup. Sitting feet to feet with Yang, both men's legs widely spread, Peter Tomisaburo was grasping Yang's wrists to pull him into a deeper forward stretch for the benefit of the hamstrings. A bit of small talk suddenly gave way to something which startled Yang: in flawless Mandarin Chinese, the Japanese-American half whispered, half chanted:
"This day makes me think of the legendary star-spirits climbing the slopes of Liang Shan Po: first two of them, then three, then another three, then another two." Stopping there (not stopping the stretch), Tomisaburo gazed expectantly at the incognito officer.
Yang needed only a few seconds to absorb the surprise--of learning that this American internal exile was in fact a deep-cover agent planted here by Beijing. It was not something that Yang, as an internal-affairs officer, would normally have any need to know; but the numerical recognition signal just offered by Tomisaburo fell within his knowledge. So he disciplined himself NOT to look around as if they had anything to hide. Then he said in Japanese, "That reminds me; not long ago, I got the chance to see a Hong Kong movie from half a century ago, a movie about the Water Margin heroes. It was mighty colorful." That much was throw-away talk, but its mention of color led up to his acknowledgment signal-- "One group of fighters wore white, another group wore yellow, and the leading character of Yen Ching dressed in black." White, yellow and black were what mattered here, as the numerals had mattered in Tomisaburo's signal.
Tomisaburo made his next statement without any words: letting go of Yang's wrists, he clamped his hands on the back of his own head, leaned backwards, and let out a lengthy and exaggerated sigh. This was a sign that he had information to pass, but had long been without the means to transmit it. Yang could readily understand how that could be. Though it was outside his usual duties to know the identities and assignments of his country's overseas agents, he did know that many of them carried passive solid-state radio receivers built into the actual bone layers of their skulls, virtually impossible to detect, so they could receive messages--but apart from simplistic replies, like walking past a certain spot at a certain time so that Chinese satellites would see the action, an agent in Tomisaburo's position would have no means of talking TO his superiors.
Yang improvised something, counting on the agent to catch the intent: "It's interesting how Yen Ching, in his efforts to save his master from trouble, was not at first one of the mountain brethren, yet his actions also served their interests. Thus, a time came when Yen Ching was glad to do something explicitly for the heroes on Liang Shan Po; he was glad that fortune had brought him all the way from the Imperial capital to meet them." Yang was trying to say that, if Tomisaburo felt confident of being able to tell his information without exposing his identity, he would carry that information back to Beijing.
Tomisaburo nodded, seeming to understand, and continued with the warmup. Only now did it come to Yang's mind that Tomisaburo's superiors in the foreign-intelligence service could have let the deep-cover agent know through the receiver in his head that Yang would be coming to the Enclave.
And that must be the REAL reason why General Shuei had been all for Yang going on the research tour with Bert Randall. The gathering of information about American schooling was not fake, it was a genuine project; and with no knowledge of any other purpose, Yang's brain had been "clean" when subjected to brainwave-scan lie detection before entering the Enclave. Being known by American authorities to be simply a high-ranking cop in China, Yang was thus a perfect courier to retrieve Tomisaburo's information and bring it home.
He knew Tomisaburo's wife to be a white American; he wondered whether she knew anything about her husband's true line of work. Probably not.
They would speak more later--several times, if this were necessary to let all the facts be passed to Yang. But right now, Yang must not behave as if anything had come up of more interest to him than what he was going to be doing in a matter of minutes. It would be far too suspicious if he allowed himself to be distracted now from an activity which he himself had requested.
Less than half a kilometer away, Alipang Havens was waiting to give Yang Sung-Kuo what Yang had requested: the comparing of their skills in a friendly fight.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
Overseer Captain Maria Butello, having been advised by dataphone that Major Yang had asked an exile to have a martial-arts match with him, could not resist flying down from the outpost in person to watch. Besides finding the unique event interesting in its own right, she reckoned that her presence would help to preclude any nonsense talk among the more hot-headed law officers that Dr. Havens had picked a fight by his own belligerent nature.
She knew that Vargas and Huddleston, the pair specializing in terminations, had come over from Nebraska, where they had carried out their job of murdering an exile and making it appear there had been an escape attempt. She definitely didn't want _them_ inventing an excuse to put bullets into one of the Wyoming sector's few dentists.
Alipang Havens had noticed two male Overseers looking at him with evident interest, and then going to talk with Phosphorus Andrews; but he did not know Vargas and Huddleston by sight, and he had other things to think about this afternoon. He did not even take any notice when the Overseer helicopter from the local base landed on the out-of-town side of his property. He continued his own warmup; and assisting him was the Australian, Bert Randall.
"Since this is a recreational bout, limited-force contact with no dirty blows allowed, I'm not injuring my friend Mister Yang if I tell you something crucial about him. Yang is a counter-puncher. He's tight enough on defense that he can afford to let you come to him, let you show him what you've got to offer. So come in at him fast from the start, try to score on him _before_ he has you all figured out; but keep some energy in reserve, and above all, _don't_ give him a predictable pattern to anticipate."
Meanwhile, Kim Havens was explaining the situation--or part of it--to some area farmers who had been in town for church and then stayed for the fun once they heard what was up.
"Yang Sung-Kuo, the Chinese researcher, is interested to see how physically fit we Christian exiles can be. So my husband is giving him a match, _with_ rules, like no crotch-kicking or eye-gouging. Mister Yang briefed the Overseers fully about his private arrangement with Al, so no one will be able to say that Al _assaulted_ a V.I.P. Everyone understands that Yang _requested_ this match." Kim was not telling them or anyone that this event was happening to repay the Chinese man for urging the triumvirate to allow gill implantation for Miguel De Soto.
But Miguel and his wife Tilly knew; and, down in Casper, they were doing something new to them: praying. They were of course praying that the request for the gills would indeed be granted; but more, they were praying that Alipang would come out of this unhurt. There was no cause to believe that Yang Sung-Kuo intended any serious harm to Alipang--but accidents could happen.
Miguel added a prayer that somehow, the _honor_ of the exiles would be upheld; that after today it would be harder for the mirror-men and the Pinkshirts to look down their noses at persons of morality and faith.
She knew that Vargas and Huddleston, the pair specializing in terminations, had come over from Nebraska, where they had carried out their job of murdering an exile and making it appear there had been an escape attempt. She definitely didn't want _them_ inventing an excuse to put bullets into one of the Wyoming sector's few dentists.
Alipang Havens had noticed two male Overseers looking at him with evident interest, and then going to talk with Phosphorus Andrews; but he did not know Vargas and Huddleston by sight, and he had other things to think about this afternoon. He did not even take any notice when the Overseer helicopter from the local base landed on the out-of-town side of his property. He continued his own warmup; and assisting him was the Australian, Bert Randall.
"Since this is a recreational bout, limited-force contact with no dirty blows allowed, I'm not injuring my friend Mister Yang if I tell you something crucial about him. Yang is a counter-puncher. He's tight enough on defense that he can afford to let you come to him, let you show him what you've got to offer. So come in at him fast from the start, try to score on him _before_ he has you all figured out; but keep some energy in reserve, and above all, _don't_ give him a predictable pattern to anticipate."
Meanwhile, Kim Havens was explaining the situation--or part of it--to some area farmers who had been in town for church and then stayed for the fun once they heard what was up.
"Yang Sung-Kuo, the Chinese researcher, is interested to see how physically fit we Christian exiles can be. So my husband is giving him a match, _with_ rules, like no crotch-kicking or eye-gouging. Mister Yang briefed the Overseers fully about his private arrangement with Al, so no one will be able to say that Al _assaulted_ a V.I.P. Everyone understands that Yang _requested_ this match." Kim was not telling them or anyone that this event was happening to repay the Chinese man for urging the triumvirate to allow gill implantation for Miguel De Soto.
But Miguel and his wife Tilly knew; and, down in Casper, they were doing something new to them: praying. They were of course praying that the request for the gills would indeed be granted; but more, they were praying that Alipang would come out of this unhurt. There was no cause to believe that Yang Sung-Kuo intended any serious harm to Alipang--but accidents could happen.
Miguel added a prayer that somehow, the _honor_ of the exiles would be upheld; that after today it would be harder for the mirror-men and the Pinkshirts to look down their noses at persons of morality and faith.
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Copperfox
Well-known member
When Yang Sung-Kuo felt himself ready, he and Tomisaburo walked toward the Havens residence. On the way, the secret agent casually remarked to his contact, "I need to get some pencils sharpened soon; I'll want to write down how this fight went." Yang took this as actually meaning that Tomisaburo was planning to give him information that was physically written down. This did have the advantage that no listening device could _hear_ words written on paper; and it was highly unlikely that Yang's person would be searched on the way out of the Enclave, so all should be well if he just kept the papers folded in his pockets.
Plunging into the mixed crowd of prisoners and prison guards, Yang found Overseer Tuck Faraday and asked to be allowed to speak through the public-address apparatus on Faraday's electric motorcycle. Given the go-ahead, Yang spoke to everyone:
"Good afternoon, diverse Americans, and my one Australian friend wherever he's gotten himself to. For any who do not already know this, my name is Yang Sung-Kuo; I come from Beijing, and I have been engaged here in a sociological study of you Enclave residents. But as a Chinese, I believe in a sound body as well as an educated mind. There has been little opportunity to keep my kung-fu up to standard lately, since your government personnel have been most anxious to keep from damaging me in any workout, while exiles with combat skills would have cause to fear being punished if they hurt me in any match that might have been arranged, so they would feel a need to lose.
"At last, however, I have identified a man in your exile community who by all accounts is worthy to fight me, and who knows and accepts the conditions under which I asked him for this bout. Your Doctor Alipang Havens knows that he does not HAVE TO win this match, and neither does he HAVE TO lose. All I ask is a good fight, a test of skill with agreed-upon rules to limit pain to either of us. You Overseers, please take note especially of this: as the match was entirely my own idea, I hold Dr. Havens blameless for anything that may happen to me, up to and including any tragic accident resulting in my death. Is that clear?--Good.
"Now, does someone have a coin to toss? Because Dr. Havens' martial style is primarily for weapons use and only secondarily for unarmed fighting, he and I have agreed that he will be given a chance to show his specialty. The two of us will fight a two-minute round unarmed, and a two-minute round with wooden batons which Dr. Havens is providing. The winner of a coin toss will decide which form of combat will occur first."
A female worker from the federal offices came forth with a Hemispheric ten-peso coin that bore the image of Karl Marx. Alipang was invited to call the toss. He predicted tails, and he was right.
"We fight unarmed first," he declared. He, too, had thoughts of studying his opponent's moves, and believed that the unarmed round would show a truer picture, allowing him to be at his best for the armed round. Although Yang would be giving the same support for Miguel De Soto's need regardless of who won the two encounters, Alipang was determined to make this good: what Indian braves once called "a remembered fight."
Plunging into the mixed crowd of prisoners and prison guards, Yang found Overseer Tuck Faraday and asked to be allowed to speak through the public-address apparatus on Faraday's electric motorcycle. Given the go-ahead, Yang spoke to everyone:
"Good afternoon, diverse Americans, and my one Australian friend wherever he's gotten himself to. For any who do not already know this, my name is Yang Sung-Kuo; I come from Beijing, and I have been engaged here in a sociological study of you Enclave residents. But as a Chinese, I believe in a sound body as well as an educated mind. There has been little opportunity to keep my kung-fu up to standard lately, since your government personnel have been most anxious to keep from damaging me in any workout, while exiles with combat skills would have cause to fear being punished if they hurt me in any match that might have been arranged, so they would feel a need to lose.
"At last, however, I have identified a man in your exile community who by all accounts is worthy to fight me, and who knows and accepts the conditions under which I asked him for this bout. Your Doctor Alipang Havens knows that he does not HAVE TO win this match, and neither does he HAVE TO lose. All I ask is a good fight, a test of skill with agreed-upon rules to limit pain to either of us. You Overseers, please take note especially of this: as the match was entirely my own idea, I hold Dr. Havens blameless for anything that may happen to me, up to and including any tragic accident resulting in my death. Is that clear?--Good.
"Now, does someone have a coin to toss? Because Dr. Havens' martial style is primarily for weapons use and only secondarily for unarmed fighting, he and I have agreed that he will be given a chance to show his specialty. The two of us will fight a two-minute round unarmed, and a two-minute round with wooden batons which Dr. Havens is providing. The winner of a coin toss will decide which form of combat will occur first."
A female worker from the federal offices came forth with a Hemispheric ten-peso coin that bore the image of Karl Marx. Alipang was invited to call the toss. He predicted tails, and he was right.
"We fight unarmed first," he declared. He, too, had thoughts of studying his opponent's moves, and believed that the unarmed round would show a truer picture, allowing him to be at his best for the armed round. Although Yang would be giving the same support for Miguel De Soto's need regardless of who won the two encounters, Alipang was determined to make this good: what Indian braves once called "a remembered fight."
Copperfox
Well-known member
Pastor Ionesco brought Yang a drink of water; Kim did as much for her husband, and kissed him for inspiration, whispering, "Don't beat him too badly." Lorraine, and many other onlookers, were silently praying; they all felt confident that Yang himself bore no ill-will toward Alipang, but there was no telling what villainy the Overseers might come up with after a display of Alipang's prowess which would have to be alarming to them.
Nine-year-old Esperanza clung to her mother and hid her face, afraid to see her Daddy get hurt. Her brothers, and Ransom, fixed their eyes unwaveringly on their champion, as if their eyes could shoot out rays that would help him win.
Yang offered his opponent a fist-into-palm salute, so Alipang imitated it. The two men were separated by as much distance as either could cross in seven running strides. They wore no protective gear; there was only their agreed level of sportsmanship, and their precision in control, to limit the damage they might inflict on each other.
Phosphorus Andrews, chosen as timekeeper, shouted, "Fight!" Yang did not at first move from where he stood. Alipang charged--but not all the way to close quarters. Just over a meter short of Yang, his right foot came down in a step; and betting that Yang would expect him to push off from the right foot and break left, he instead spun on his right foot to shift to the right--and in the spin, shot first a left-foot instep kick, then as he came around added a right-foot crescent kick. Escrimadors did not rely heavily on kicking, not wanting to compromise their mobility on their feet; but Alipang was using this opening gambit as his own test of Yang's defenses, and to leave the kung-fu man unsure for the rest of the bout whether more kicks might be forthcoming.
Yang had indeed expected, for a split second, that the Filipino was going to break left; but even the successful deception did not translate into success for Alipang at hitting his target. Yang leaned away only just enough so that the kicks missed him, then went for a leg-sweep as Alipang was regaining his stance. Now it was Alipang's turn to foil an attack; turning with the sweep like one gear wheel turned by another, he was able to hop into a steady stance again without losing his footing. Nor did he lose momentum; a machinegun-flurry of punches from both his fists forced Yang to make a dive and roll to get clear.
Then Yang was up again. Less than ten seconds of the bout had passed.
Alipang rushed in...blocked a rising knee-jab with one hand, parried a punch with his other hand...shifted laterally, and barraged Yang with punches at close range. The blows were landing, but at only half strength as agreed. Still, that was half strength by their standards; the amount of impact Alipang was delivering would have flattened most men, just as Yang's knee-jab and high punch would have broken through the best defenses most men could have offered. Now Yang's right arm lunged in a Snake-style movement, hooking and entrapping Alipang's right arm in such a way that Alipang's left fist could not easily come across to do anything worthwhile. Alipang startled Yang with a head-butt and broke free, but Yang came right back at him with a leg-trip followed by a forearm across the back of Alipang's neck. Alipang scrambled back to his feet, putting a little distance between them, and calmly told Yang, "At full force, that would have put me out of action if not killed me."
"Freeze the time!" Yang shouted to Overseer Andrews; then, to Alipang: "But by the same token, I might not have been able to make that last attack if your own blows had hit me full force. I call it even so far. Do you feel all right about finishing the two minutes?"
"Thank you, yes, I do." He had not even thought of stopping and restarting the two minutes till now, but he went along with it by being the one himself to tell the timekeeper: "Resume counting!"
With considerably more than a minute remaining, Yang once more waited for Alipang to attack. From this point, the fight grew more like a boxing match. Alipang faked lunges twice, drawing a near-miss kick the second time, then waded in again to close range with fists and elbows. Yang slowly retreated, and Alipang noticed that he was using open-and-close steps which kept his left hand and left foot always closer to Alipang. He guessed that Yang was looking to surprise him with a sudden change of lead; and that was what the Chinese finally did, coming back at him with right fist and right foot at the same time.
Alipang got outside both of those attacks and landed a punch to Yang's head; but Yang's left arm, seeming suddenly to have no bones or joints limiting its motion range, impossibly found its way to strike Alipang's head in return. Staggering back from that, Alipang made a rather ordinary side kick to hold Yang back while he tried to clear his head; but Yang caught his foot and threw him. Dropping into a crouch, Yang went for a simulated finishing throat strike; this would not contact at all, but would show what he could do. Alipang, however, was not finished. He caught the extended-knuckle fist before it could come close enough to his throat to count as simulating the deadly blow, and with a twisting roll he brought one knee over and down onto the captured arm, throwing Yang off balance and face down.
But Yang's astonishing flexibility saved him again. With only his knees to propel him into it, he made a flip over Alipang there on the ground, relieving the pressure on his trapped arm and jerking it free again. He had not even finished this low-level somersault before his other fist darted back behind his head and struck Alipang hard on the left shoulder. And he was a hair quicker than Alipang in rising, which enabled him to deliver a controlled kick to Alipang's head.
Most men, with neither hatred nor duty nor money nor fear to motivate them, would have called that enough; but most men were not descended from the Moros. There still was time for Alipang to improve the showing he was making, and he would make the most of it.
So it was right back in, fierce and hard with punches again--but only for a moment. Remembering Bert's advice about not being predictable, he suddenly eased back and began using Tai Chi evasions (remembered from the old days at Doverwood Community College) to elude a series of counterattacks by his adversary. This, only long enough to get the benefit of changing tactics without the new style itself becoming predictable. Then it was back on offense. For the final sixteen seconds of the bout, he kept Yang constantly on the retreat, landing several good punches while not even feeling Yang's own blows. And he could tell that the kung-fu man was not merely letting him advance, but really was on the defensive. Though "on the defensive" is not at all the same as "defeated."
"Stop!" cried Phosphorus Andrews. Both men immediately stepped back from each other and exchanged salutes again. Neither fighter appeared exhausted, though Alipang's breath was coming a little hard. He felt no pain at all; the Moro legacy was doing that much for him.
Captain Butello drew near. "No formal arrangement was made for judging the bouts, but it seems to me that Mr. Yang came out ahead on technique."
"It is only fair to mention," Yang remarked modestly, "that Dr. Havens in the last two years has not had anything like the opportunities that have been available to me to keep in top shape. Dr. Havens, you have nothing at all to be ashamed of; you fought magnificently."
"Thank you, Mr. Yang. Does fifteen minutes' rest before the second bout sound reasonable to you?"
Nine-year-old Esperanza clung to her mother and hid her face, afraid to see her Daddy get hurt. Her brothers, and Ransom, fixed their eyes unwaveringly on their champion, as if their eyes could shoot out rays that would help him win.
Yang offered his opponent a fist-into-palm salute, so Alipang imitated it. The two men were separated by as much distance as either could cross in seven running strides. They wore no protective gear; there was only their agreed level of sportsmanship, and their precision in control, to limit the damage they might inflict on each other.
Phosphorus Andrews, chosen as timekeeper, shouted, "Fight!" Yang did not at first move from where he stood. Alipang charged--but not all the way to close quarters. Just over a meter short of Yang, his right foot came down in a step; and betting that Yang would expect him to push off from the right foot and break left, he instead spun on his right foot to shift to the right--and in the spin, shot first a left-foot instep kick, then as he came around added a right-foot crescent kick. Escrimadors did not rely heavily on kicking, not wanting to compromise their mobility on their feet; but Alipang was using this opening gambit as his own test of Yang's defenses, and to leave the kung-fu man unsure for the rest of the bout whether more kicks might be forthcoming.
Yang had indeed expected, for a split second, that the Filipino was going to break left; but even the successful deception did not translate into success for Alipang at hitting his target. Yang leaned away only just enough so that the kicks missed him, then went for a leg-sweep as Alipang was regaining his stance. Now it was Alipang's turn to foil an attack; turning with the sweep like one gear wheel turned by another, he was able to hop into a steady stance again without losing his footing. Nor did he lose momentum; a machinegun-flurry of punches from both his fists forced Yang to make a dive and roll to get clear.
Then Yang was up again. Less than ten seconds of the bout had passed.
Alipang rushed in...blocked a rising knee-jab with one hand, parried a punch with his other hand...shifted laterally, and barraged Yang with punches at close range. The blows were landing, but at only half strength as agreed. Still, that was half strength by their standards; the amount of impact Alipang was delivering would have flattened most men, just as Yang's knee-jab and high punch would have broken through the best defenses most men could have offered. Now Yang's right arm lunged in a Snake-style movement, hooking and entrapping Alipang's right arm in such a way that Alipang's left fist could not easily come across to do anything worthwhile. Alipang startled Yang with a head-butt and broke free, but Yang came right back at him with a leg-trip followed by a forearm across the back of Alipang's neck. Alipang scrambled back to his feet, putting a little distance between them, and calmly told Yang, "At full force, that would have put me out of action if not killed me."
"Freeze the time!" Yang shouted to Overseer Andrews; then, to Alipang: "But by the same token, I might not have been able to make that last attack if your own blows had hit me full force. I call it even so far. Do you feel all right about finishing the two minutes?"
"Thank you, yes, I do." He had not even thought of stopping and restarting the two minutes till now, but he went along with it by being the one himself to tell the timekeeper: "Resume counting!"
With considerably more than a minute remaining, Yang once more waited for Alipang to attack. From this point, the fight grew more like a boxing match. Alipang faked lunges twice, drawing a near-miss kick the second time, then waded in again to close range with fists and elbows. Yang slowly retreated, and Alipang noticed that he was using open-and-close steps which kept his left hand and left foot always closer to Alipang. He guessed that Yang was looking to surprise him with a sudden change of lead; and that was what the Chinese finally did, coming back at him with right fist and right foot at the same time.
Alipang got outside both of those attacks and landed a punch to Yang's head; but Yang's left arm, seeming suddenly to have no bones or joints limiting its motion range, impossibly found its way to strike Alipang's head in return. Staggering back from that, Alipang made a rather ordinary side kick to hold Yang back while he tried to clear his head; but Yang caught his foot and threw him. Dropping into a crouch, Yang went for a simulated finishing throat strike; this would not contact at all, but would show what he could do. Alipang, however, was not finished. He caught the extended-knuckle fist before it could come close enough to his throat to count as simulating the deadly blow, and with a twisting roll he brought one knee over and down onto the captured arm, throwing Yang off balance and face down.
But Yang's astonishing flexibility saved him again. With only his knees to propel him into it, he made a flip over Alipang there on the ground, relieving the pressure on his trapped arm and jerking it free again. He had not even finished this low-level somersault before his other fist darted back behind his head and struck Alipang hard on the left shoulder. And he was a hair quicker than Alipang in rising, which enabled him to deliver a controlled kick to Alipang's head.
Most men, with neither hatred nor duty nor money nor fear to motivate them, would have called that enough; but most men were not descended from the Moros. There still was time for Alipang to improve the showing he was making, and he would make the most of it.
So it was right back in, fierce and hard with punches again--but only for a moment. Remembering Bert's advice about not being predictable, he suddenly eased back and began using Tai Chi evasions (remembered from the old days at Doverwood Community College) to elude a series of counterattacks by his adversary. This, only long enough to get the benefit of changing tactics without the new style itself becoming predictable. Then it was back on offense. For the final sixteen seconds of the bout, he kept Yang constantly on the retreat, landing several good punches while not even feeling Yang's own blows. And he could tell that the kung-fu man was not merely letting him advance, but really was on the defensive. Though "on the defensive" is not at all the same as "defeated."
"Stop!" cried Phosphorus Andrews. Both men immediately stepped back from each other and exchanged salutes again. Neither fighter appeared exhausted, though Alipang's breath was coming a little hard. He felt no pain at all; the Moro legacy was doing that much for him.
Captain Butello drew near. "No formal arrangement was made for judging the bouts, but it seems to me that Mr. Yang came out ahead on technique."
"It is only fair to mention," Yang remarked modestly, "that Dr. Havens in the last two years has not had anything like the opportunities that have been available to me to keep in top shape. Dr. Havens, you have nothing at all to be ashamed of; you fought magnificently."
"Thank you, Mr. Yang. Does fifteen minutes' rest before the second bout sound reasonable to you?"
Copperfox
Well-known member
Yes, that's the idea. Did you ever see Clint Eastwood's movie "Any Which Way You Can"? In it, Eastwood's character and another guy had a stupendous fight in which both inflicted damage on each other; but when it was over, they were friendly to each other, because they had no cause for deadly quarrel and they respected each other. Major Yang here has no ill-will toward Alipang, but in fact likes him a lot. Yang had just been itching for an opponent who would give him a good contest.
Copperfox
Well-known member
"Yes, that sounds right. Begging your pardon, but could I use your bathroom during that time?"
"Of course." Alipang accompanied his friendly foe into the house, followed by Kim and the children. As soon as they were out of the crowd's view, Yang paused near Alipang and said with quiet urgency:
"Please listen. I expect you to be at least my equal with batons, maybe better; but I ask you to consider one thing. My impression of your Enclave is that the rulers here are _more_ contemptuous of human rights than is currently the case in my own country. And since you have more warrior qualities than any five of those Overseers, are you sure you _want_ to put them still more on guard against you by displaying the full extent of your powers?"
"He has a point, Al," murmured Kim, "if it's not already too late to think about that."
"Thank you for the thought," said Alipang to Yang. "But I believe the Overseers are more afraid of _secrecy_ than of Escrima. They trust in their tasers and particle beams to keep me from being a physical threat to their precious lives; but being devious creatures themselves, they worry about being tricked in some way. So if anything, my showing my martial skills _openly_ should make me seem _less_ like a problem to them."
"If you say so; you've been here longer than I've been. I may want to talk to you again later." Yang could hardly blurt out to these exiles his knowledge that one of their neighbors was a Chinese agent; but once he knew what Tomisaburo intended to report, there was just a possibility that Yang might be able to say _something_ useful to the Havens family based on that knowledge, without being derelict in his duty. Time would tell.
Kim now pointed. "The main-floor bathroom is over that way..."
"Thank you, Mrs. Havens, but I don't really need it yet. My words to your husband were the real reason to come in here. I could use a cup of tea, though, if that would not be too much trouble."
"If cold sun-tea will do, we have that." Kim went to the kitchen to pour some for both fighters.
"I wish my wife and children could meet your wife and children," Yang sighed.
"Which is to say that you wish the world were different," said Alipang. "I wish the same as you--with a proviso that the Philippine Republic would not be under Chinese domination."
"Understandable. At least it wasn't actually annexed into Greater China."
"Of course." Alipang accompanied his friendly foe into the house, followed by Kim and the children. As soon as they were out of the crowd's view, Yang paused near Alipang and said with quiet urgency:
"Please listen. I expect you to be at least my equal with batons, maybe better; but I ask you to consider one thing. My impression of your Enclave is that the rulers here are _more_ contemptuous of human rights than is currently the case in my own country. And since you have more warrior qualities than any five of those Overseers, are you sure you _want_ to put them still more on guard against you by displaying the full extent of your powers?"
"He has a point, Al," murmured Kim, "if it's not already too late to think about that."
"Thank you for the thought," said Alipang to Yang. "But I believe the Overseers are more afraid of _secrecy_ than of Escrima. They trust in their tasers and particle beams to keep me from being a physical threat to their precious lives; but being devious creatures themselves, they worry about being tricked in some way. So if anything, my showing my martial skills _openly_ should make me seem _less_ like a problem to them."
"If you say so; you've been here longer than I've been. I may want to talk to you again later." Yang could hardly blurt out to these exiles his knowledge that one of their neighbors was a Chinese agent; but once he knew what Tomisaburo intended to report, there was just a possibility that Yang might be able to say _something_ useful to the Havens family based on that knowledge, without being derelict in his duty. Time would tell.
Kim now pointed. "The main-floor bathroom is over that way..."
"Thank you, Mrs. Havens, but I don't really need it yet. My words to your husband were the real reason to come in here. I could use a cup of tea, though, if that would not be too much trouble."
"If cold sun-tea will do, we have that." Kim went to the kitchen to pour some for both fighters.
"I wish my wife and children could meet your wife and children," Yang sighed.
"Which is to say that you wish the world were different," said Alipang. "I wish the same as you--with a proviso that the Philippine Republic would not be under Chinese domination."
"Understandable. At least it wasn't actually annexed into Greater China."
Zella
New member
No, I've never seen it. Sounds interesting, though.
I hope Alipang's right about the overseers.