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Post by texican on Jan 9, 2020 22:05:42 GMT -6
I doubt strongly if people here in the states would or could be bothered enough to rebel. Things are much worse here now than before the revolutionary war and people just whine and complain then hold their hand out. K, There are still Americans that believe in the Constitution, Bill of Rights and freedom that will not accept such type of life.... Texican....
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Post by texican on Jan 9, 2020 22:07:50 GMT -6
Y'all talk about okra all y'all want to, just PLEASE don't bring up okra boiled in its own snot! That's the only way my daddy liked it, and so we all had to eat boiled okra and for me, well, I guess it liked my goozle so much it just had to make 3-4 trips before it'd stay down! Even thinking about it now has me off any desire to eat something. Other than that, enjoying this tale very much! Thanks! rg, Boiled and fried okra are just delicious.... Now okra in tomatoes is not.... Texican....
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Post by texican on Jan 9, 2020 22:09:29 GMT -6
Okra makes people itch? When did this happen? I love fried okra. I've never been able to recreate my grandmother's version of it, but I keep trying. The fine hairs on the pods when they're picked. Bothers some people but not others. pp2, My maternal grandmother could cut and pick okra without any problems.... I need gloves and long sleeve shirt, but love okra especially if fried.... Texican....
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 10, 2020 7:59:33 GMT -6
I doubt strongly if people here in the states would or could be bothered enough to rebel. Things are much worse here now than before the revolutionary war and people just whine and complain then hold their hand out. K, There are still Americans that believe in the Constitution, Bill of Rights and freedom that will not accept such type of life.... Texican.... Yes indeed. But are there enough?
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Post by kaijafon on Jan 10, 2020 8:01:59 GMT -6
And here I thought I was alone in my ... dislike... of okra, but so glad I'm not.
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 10, 2020 10:08:39 GMT -6
The fine hairs on the pods when they're picked. Bothers some people but not others. pp2, My maternal grandmother could cut and pick okra without any problems.... I need gloves and long sleeve shirt, but love okra especially if fried.... Texican.... There seems to be an art to getting it fried crispy but not greasy ;-) I'm not an artist with okra :-(
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Post by texican on Jan 10, 2020 15:04:17 GMT -6
K, There are still Americans that believe in the Constitution, Bill of Rights and freedom that will not accept such type of life.... Texican.... Yes indeed. But are there enough? K, It only took 3% to defeat the British.... Texican....
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Post by texican on Jan 10, 2020 15:05:27 GMT -6
pp2, My maternal grandmother could cut and pick okra without any problems.... I need gloves and long sleeve shirt, but love okra especially if fried.... Texican.... There seems to be an art to getting it fried crispy but not greasy ;-) I'm not an artist with okra :-( pp2, With all of your talents and knowledge, you can not fry okra.... Amazing.... Remember, practice makes perfect.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 11, 2020 19:35:56 GMT -6
Chapter 15 – The Diggers (part 1)
A bump in the road shook Ford awake. He pulled his blanket tighter around his ears and shoulders to shut out the brisk wind. The sky had brightened such that only a few stars remained. The landscape felt immense. Low rises and shallow swales undulated all the way to the hazy horizon like ocean swells. At least, like the images that Ford had seen of the ocean. Until this crazy turn of events, he had never left The City.
Here and there, the dark silhouette of a tree or a row of trees interrupted the sea of grass. The low areas collected a shallow fog.
“Morning?” muttered Bozeman. “So soon?”
“Yeah.” Ford studied the land all around them. “Everything looks the same out here, as far as the eye can see. So much nothing!”
“Good thing we’re just passing through,” said Bozeman.
Ford’s eye was caught by a lone, upright shape atop a distant swell. At first, it looked like a tree trunk without any branches. He glanced to either side to see if there were other branchless trees. When he looked back at the low hill, the tree trunk was gone. He scanned back and forth a little, thinking he had looked in the wrong direction. There was no branchless trunk. Was twilight too weak for practical viewing?
“I wonder when these things stop for the day,” Ford mused. “Before dawn? After sunrise?”
“Don’t know, but I suppose we should get our stuff packed up in our bags.”
“That’s a good idea. We don’t know when it…” Ford was distracted by another branchless trunk. This one stood closer to the road. He squinted at it, but the hazy air permitted little detail. "There's another one."
“Another what?” asked Bozeman.
“Over there,” Ford pointed. “There’s a…wait. It was there. Where did it go?”
“What was there? All I see are a million low grassy hills with fog between them.”
“It looked like a tree without any branches. It was right there.”
“I don’t see any trees without branches. Just fog. I think you’re still sleepy.”
Ford frowned. He was still sleepy, but he also saw something.
“Oh, there’s another one. Look on that side. See it? It’s right… No. wait. It’s gone too.”
“You didn’t hit your head during that fight last night, did you?”
“No. I did not hit my head. I saw something.”
"Okay, okay, don't get all defensive. Whatever it was, it's not there now. It looks like the sun will break the horizon in a little while. Zeke said these things will stop and put out their solar sheets to charge up all day. What are we supposed to do all day while they charge?"
Ford shrugged and shook his head, but his eyes kept scanning the grasslands to find another of his phantom tree trunks.
The sun edged over the horizon, spilling warm yellow light onto Ford's face. The midday heat would drain his energy, but for the moment, the glow of dawn felt marvelous. The whine of the trucks' tires began to drop in pitch.
“I think we’re slowing down,” said Bozeman.
“I’m looking forward to getting off to go pee,” said Ford. "We'll have to be careful to wrap up good, so we don't get zapped. That looked like it hurt – a lot!”
“Or maybe killed. I sure don’t want to find out,” added Bozeman.
The trucks slowed to a walking pace, steered into the shallow left-side ditch then angled back toward the road. When they stopped, solar sheets unrolled from beneath the outer rim of the truck bed, extended by little metal arms.
"Looks like they position themselves to catch the best sun," said Ford. "Well, now that they've stopped, I'm ready to go unload."
“Why are you putting on your backpack?” asked Bozeman. “You’re just going out to pee.”
"That, and maybe look for some more water. I drank half of my leather flask thing last night. And I want to eat half a corn cake. If I'm taking that much, I might as well take it all."
Bozeman conceded the point with a little head toss. “Probably smart to keep our gear with us anyhow. What if the trucks powered up and left us?”
“You think they might?”
“You worry too much. I just said ‘if.’ I have no idea how these things work.”
Both men wrapped up in their mylar sheets, scaled down the ladder, and shuffled away from the truck in penguin-like steps to keep even their ankles covered.
“Far enough?”
“I think so,” said Ford. He unwound from his mylar cocoon, letting it all fall to the pavement. “I don’t see any water sources, so this is as good a spot as any to….” A little moan of relief preempted the rest of his sentence.
“Maybe you were seeing things because you were hungry,” offered Bozeman as he finished and buttoned up his pants. “I know I’m starved.”
“Heh, maybe. It’s been a long time since…No. Look there!” Ford pointed over Bozeman’s shoulder.
"What?" Bozeman spun around, scanning the landscape. "I don't see anything. What was it?"
“It wasn’t a tree. This was a woman, a young woman. I could only see half of her above the grass. As soon as I said anything, she disappeared.”
"A woman?" Bozeman turned with a weary tilt to his head. "I think that Cassie and Ivy have messed up your head. You’ve got women on the brain.”
“No. It’s not that,” protested Ford. He continued to point to where he saw her. "She was there. And I'm going to go see.” He strode into the tall grass, eyes fixed on the gentle rise where he saw his vision.
Had he been so overwhelmed with exposure to women that he was seeing female phantoms? No. I saw her. She was there.
When he reached the top of the rise, he saw nothing. Had he misjudged the spot? He walked in a circle looking, half-hoping to find the woman lying down in the grass – hopefully not dead, or something.
“Well?” called Bozeman.
“She was here…or somewhere around here. I tell you, I saw her. Long dark hair. She was wearing a dark brown…something…with no sleeves. She had bare arms. Why would I hallucinate about details like that?”
“You’re asking me why you’re fixated on women?” Bozeman chuckled.
"No. Never mind. You could come to help me look, you know, instead of standing there all skeptical and smirking.”
“I suppose.” Bozeman trudged toward Ford. “But can we have some breakfast after you prove to yourself that she’s not here? Promise me that?”
“Whatever, just look,” said Ford.
“Look for what?”
"I don't know. Footprints in the dirt or a strand of brown hair on the grass or something."
“You want me to look for hairs on grass? Ford, you’re starting to talk crazy now.”
“Don’t argue. Look.” Ford stooped over and walked in little zigzags as he studied the ground.”
Maybe he's right. Cassie and Ivy might have driven me crazy with their radiation.
“Uh, oh,” said Bozeman. “Now I’m seeing things too.”
“What? What did you find? Why are you looking out there? The clues will be…”
Bozeman pointed to the southern horizon. A dark speck hung in the gray band between land and sky.
Ford’s heart sank. “Blackshirts?”
"And I think they're coming toward us," said Bozeman. "That dot isn't moving left or right, and it isn't getting smaller."
Ford glanced all around. “There aren’t any trees near enough to run to.”
“We could hide under the trucks,” offered Bozeman.
“But, what if they’re coming to inspect those trucks? Remember the light and the zapper posts? I’ll bet there was a human operator controlling those. They saw us all fighting on the trucks. They might have sent the blackshirts to make sure no one was aboard them."
“Well, if we can’t hide in trees, or under the trucks, there's nothing else out here," complained Bozeman.
"What about this grass? It's pretty tall. Maybe we can hunker down really flat, and they won't see us."
“That’s your plan? Lay on the ground and hope?”
“You have a better plan?” Ford challenged.
Bozeman paused to think. “Nope. No better plan. I’ll go get our bags and mylar. Can’t leave them beside the road.”
“Maybe we can cover up with our mylar too, in case they use scanners,” said Ford.
Bozeman ran to the road. Ford searched the low hill for particularly tall stands of grass. He found a patch of tall grass dotted with a few spindly sunflowers. It was not big enough to hide in. The grasses behind the tall green stems were shorter.
We can hide behind this tall bunch as long as the blackshirts stay over by the trucks.
“Here’s our stuff.” Bozeman handed Ford his bag and mylar.
"I found a spot. Over here. We lay as flat as we can behind this patch of big stuff."
As the two lay down and propped their mylar in front of them as a shield, they could feel the low throbbing tone of the approaching lifter’s fans. They peeked through the stems.
The black craft hovered twenty meters above the parked trucks.
“Maybe they’ll just inspect them from the air,” whispered Bozeman.
“I just hope they don’t fly over here.”
The big ship rotated slowly as its legs unfurled. Dust and straw flew up in a loose cloud as the lifter settled onto its legs.
“They going to get out and check,” whispered Ford. He tried to lay flatter still, hoping to sink into the soft prairie sod. His elbows nestled in well, but his feet found unusually hard ground. It did not feel like a rock. Ford turned to see what was preventing him from digging in.
The hard area was more linear than round, like a rock. Ford squinted and moved closer. His fingers carefully felt around in the soil.
“We need to lie still,” whispered Bozeman. “What are you doing over there?”
“Checking something,” whispered Ford. “What’s going on?”
“Four men got out. They’re climbing all over the first truck.”
Ford noticed there was a line, a gap, that split the hard linear areas. Some grass stems rose out of the soil, but bent down, pinned into the gap. Ford traced the gap with his fingers. It began to form a circle, roughly a meter across.
This must be a door of some kind. I bet she was standing in it and just ducked down.
Ford felt in the soil around the sod door. He found another hard area about the size of his fist. It had a horizontal edge. He pulled up. The circular patch of sod fell away. Ford tumbled into the hole, his fall stopped by his left hand holding the edge.
“What the?...” gasped Bozeman. “Ford! Hold on. I’ll get you out.” He began pulling at Ford’s arm.
“No, no, no.” Ford’s feet found rungs on the side of the hole. “You come down here. Get our stuff.”
Ford took his bag and slung it over one shoulder as Bozeman backed down the hole.
“Help me push this door thing back up there,” said Ford. With this closed, there’s nothing for the blackshirts to see.”
The two of them strained at awkward angles to get the hinged plug back up into the circular opening of the sky above them. Braced against the rungs, they pushed until they heard a dull thud. The door was latched.
They held their breath in the total darkness. There was no sound beyond the throbbing of their own pulse in their ears. Being hidden from view felt great, but not knowing what was going on outside worried Ford.
He looked down and noticed a faint blue glow on the wall of the hole.
“What’s that light?” Ford asked. “You’re closer. Check that out.”
Bozeman grunted softly as he reached with his foot to find a lower rung. "It's a little blue light. Oh, and it moves a little. No, wait. This is a viewer!"
Ford could see Bozeman’s face softly lit in the blue glow from the viewer. “A viewer of what?”
Bozeman pressed his eye up to the light. “Out there. Oh, and it moves. I can see the road.” He turned the viewer. “Now I can see the trucks. The other end of this thing must have been in one of those sunflowers. This is great! I can see four, no, five blackshirts. They’re checking out the second truck now: climbing on top, looking underneath. There’s even a guy with a big bar pushing the concrete chunks around.”
“I’m glad we’re down here,” said Ford.
“What do you think they’ll do when they see the leftovers of our fire?” asked Bozeman. It won’t look like a torch that just burned out. It will look like someone had a campfire. They’ll wonder who kept it going and might start looking around out here. That could mean trouble.”
“You’ve already got trouble,” said a deep voice in the darkness below them.
(end 15, part 1)
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Post by nancy1340 on Jan 11, 2020 23:02:25 GMT -6
Rut-Row! Trouble with a capital "T".
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 12, 2020 13:07:21 GMT -6
There seems to be an art to getting it fried crispy but not greasy ;-) I'm not an artist with okra :-( pp2, With all of your talents and knowledge, you can not fry okra.... Amazing.... Remember, practice makes perfect.... Texican.... I can't fry okra to match what I remember my grandmother creating. Perhaps better in hindsight than it was in reality?
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Post by texican on Jan 12, 2020 19:15:00 GMT -6
Rut-Row! Trouble with a capital "T". “You’ve already got trouble,” said a deep voice in the darkness below them.Yep, the boys do bring in problems like magnets drawing metal.... And a new group to contend with.... Thanks mic for the chapter.... Just what else could go wrong?.?.?.? Will another chapter reveal?.?.?.? Hint mic.... Texican....
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Post by texican on Jan 12, 2020 19:16:17 GMT -6
pp2, With all of your talents and knowledge, you can not fry okra.... Amazing.... Remember, practice makes perfect.... Texican.... I can't fry okra to match what I remember my grandmother creating. Perhaps better in hindsight than it was in reality?pp2, Time does seem to do that to us.... Probably why they are called the "good old days".... Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 15, 2020 6:53:19 GMT -6
(chapter 15, part 2)
Ford felt a chill cascade through his body.
A blue-green light below them grew in brightness. It came from a triangle-shaped thing carried by a man holding a long knife.
“Come down from there,” the man demanded. “Come down slowly.”
Ford and Bozeman exchanged glances, but there was little else they could do but comply. The light revealed a series of irregular tubular rungs in the wall of the pit. After half-dozen rungs, they reached a level dirt floor.
“Drop your knives on the floor,” commanded the man with the light. When the two hesitated, he added, “Only a fool would think he could fight his way out of a pit.”
Something about the man’s demeanor seemed more protective than hostile. He was also correct that trying to fight him at the bottom of a deep hole, in the dark, was stupid. Ford slid his knife out of its sheath and laid it on the earthen floor. Bozeman did the same, reluctantly.
“Glad to see you’re reasonable,” said the man. “Now, push your knives toward me with your feet. Go slow.”
Ford slid his knife forward. Bozeman did too.
"Now, who are you, and why are you in my hole?" demanded the man. His glowing triangle was noticeably dimmer than before. The man waved it back and forth rapidly a few times to make it brighter. In the light, Ford could see that they were in a chamber with an arched ceiling not too much taller than the man. Clay pots and bags cluttered the top of a narrow table along one wall. Clothes hung from a half-dozen pegs in the smooth dirt wall. Two piles of dark brown blankets sat along the other wall. Behind the man hung more of the dark brown fabric like a curtain.
“You’re not Digger or BigSky.” The man squinted as he held his light closer to Ford. “You’re dressed like River People. What are a couple River People doing way out here in Platte country?”
“We’re hiding from the blackshirts,” said Ford.
“That’s obvious. We saw them coming,” said the man. “That doesn’t explain what River People are doing way out here.”
“We were…just passing through,” said Bozeman.
“He’s not telling the truth,” said a young voice. A slender girl, perhaps fourteen years old, with dark hair and a sleeveless shirt emerged from behind the hanging blanket.
“That’s her!” exclaimed Ford. “See, Bozeman? I told you I saw someone. It wasn’t the radiation. She must have been standing at the edge of this tunnel and ducked down when she saw me.”
“She didn’t see you,” said the man. “My daughter is blind.”
“Blind?” Ford blinked in confusion. He had never heard of a blind person. Malfunctioning cameras were called blind. Sometimes the autonomous trucks were called blind when they ran into something. People were never blind. The Department of Health and Productivity made sure that never happened.
The man’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not River People. You’re from The City!" He leaped forward, grabbed Bozeman around the neck, and held his long knife to Bozeman's throat.
“Blackshirts!” he growled. “Now they’re sending spies disguised and River People.”
“No, no. Wait!” said Ford. “Don’t hurt him. We are from The City, but we’re not blackshirts.”
“Yeah, right,” growled the man.
"Blackshirts don't talk to Diggers," said the girl.
“Maybe now they’re training them to,” argued the man, “as spies. They showed up about the same time as the blackshirts.”
“We’re not spies,” said Ford. “Of course, I realize that real spies would probably say the same thing, but listen to me for a minute – just a minute, that’s all I ask.”
“Talk fast.”
“Okay. We are not blackshirts. Until a couple weeks ago, we were just ordinary labor-class men sentenced to work on a salvage crew working somewhere up in Wisconsin. On our way back, our lifter crashed, and we've been trying to get back to The City. We rode on one of those concrete carriers as a way to get back until we saw the blackshirts coming. We hid in the tall grass, and I found your…door…thing.”
“Wisconsin?” The man continued to hold his knife against Bozeman’s throat but looked up at Ford. “You must have gotten to know some River People. Average citians don’t know the name Wisconsin. I don’t think even blackshirts know it.”
The man looked at his daughter. “What do you think, Jenny?”
“This one speaks the truth,” she said, pointing to Ford.
The man’s eyes narrowed again. “Trying to go back? That makes no sense.”
Ford hesitated. He needed to justify why they were there, but how much should he tell these total strangers? How secret was their mission to steal a transmitter? Would telling them about Ada sound plausible or absurd?
Bozeman twisted his head a bit to be able to speak. “We’re trying to sneak back into The City so we can strike a blow for freedom!”
“What?” The man eased his pressure but did not release his chokehold.
Ford was startled that Bozeman blurted out that they were on a mission. That seemed reckless. The man’s look of anger and disbelief shifted to that of curiosity, so Ford decided to run with it – at least a little farther.
“Yeah,” added Ford. “Freedom. We’re not trying to get back in to live there again. Just get in, get what we need, and get out and…live free.”
The man looked at the girl. "Jenny?"
“Truth, but there’s more he’s not saying.”
The man released Bozeman but pointed with his knife as he spoke. “Get what you need, huh? You two stay right here. We’ll be back in a minute.” The man stuck his glowing triangle in a wooden ring set into the wall then both he and girl ducked under the wall blanket. They were gone.
Bozeman rubbed his neck and twisted his head as if to resettle his vertebrae. “Man. I thought I was dead – again. Thanks for the smooth-talking. Looks like we're even on the saved lives score."
“I’m not so sure I said anything special,” said Ford. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “I saw him perk up at your ‘blow for freedom’ phrase. That’s way overblown for stealing a transmitter for the River People.”
“Oh?” Bozeman glanced to one side for a moment. "I mean if getting the new transmitter can keep the River People free from The City’s blackshirts, isn’t that a blow for freedom? They get to live free.” He nodded in self-approval. “And, and, if we set Ada free, isn’t that a blow for freedom?”
“I guess…”
The man stepped back out from behind the blanket. “Let me see your bags.”
Ford and Bozeman took off their backpacks and held them out. Jenny reached out, reasonably accurately, found the straps and took them. Her father rummaged through each but seemed satisfied that they posed no danger.
“I’ll carry these,” he said. “Follow Jenny.”
The blanket on the wall covered the mouth of a round tunnel barely big enough to walk in if stooped over.
Jenny led the way into the darkness, followed by Ford and Bozeman. Her father followed behind them.
The man took his glowing triangle from the wall to light his way. Ford and Bozeman had to pick their steps with the faint stripes of light leftover between their own leg shadows. The air felt cooler and slightly moist.
The tunnel led down steeply and curved to the right. After a few dozen meters, the tunnel leveled out, and the ceiling taller. A blue-green glow streamed in ahead of them. They entered a chamber perhaps ten meters around and tall enough to stand up in comfortably. Several glowing triangles were set into wall rings around the room. Jenny’s father gestured for them to sit on stools beside a large round table in the center of the room. Several other tunnel entrances pierced the curving dirt walls. Where did they all lead to? Ford was careful to note which tunnel they had just come from. It led back to the surface.
“Wait here,” said the man as he disappeared into one of the other tunnels. He left Jenny standing at the entrance. She stood silently, facing just to one side of Ford and Bozeman.
The silence underground had a peculiar thickness to it. Little sounds, such as an elbow scraped across a table, or the rustling of clothing seemed to get absorbed into the earth. Even so, Ford could hear faint voices – dozens of voices – coming from one of the tunnel entrances. From another tunnel, he could hear dull clicking and clacking. The noise was far too sustained and regular to be created by hands.
This is bigger than just one family’s hiding hole. There are a whole bunch of them living underground here. It’s like a village underground.
Bozeman caught Ford’s eye. They could not speak directly about their actual mission, even in a whisper, with Jenny in the room. With subtle and silent gestures, he asked Ford what he thought they should do. Ford could only shrug and shake his head. What could they do? They had to deal with these underground people or the blackshirts above.
“What do you think they want?” Ford asked out loud. It seemed a safe question.
“I don’t know, but we’re better off down here,” said Bozeman. “We’re farther from the blackshirts.”
“Is your neck okay?” Ford asked.
"A little rub-rash, but okay." Bozeman glanced at Jenny. "He must have really thought I was a blackshirt spy or something. Do you think that actually happens out here?"
“How would I know,” said Ford, also with an eye on Jenny. She stood impassive.
Voices grew louder from the one tunnel. Ford could hear here footsteps too. A dozen men and women entered the room and gathered behind the table. Another man scurried around the perimeter of the chamber, replacing the triangles with brighter ones. All of the new people were older. The men had close-cropped beards. A couple of them had gray hair. The women wore loose sack-like clothing, but Ford could tell that they had shapes more like Rachel’s than Cassie’s. A couple of them had gray hair too.
One of the gray-haired men took a stool opposite Ford and Bozeman. The rest of them remained standing in two lines behind the gray man.
“Kenneth told me your story. You were hiding in his hole from the blackshirts?”
“That’s right,” said Ford.
“Where did you get onto the carriers?” the gray-haired man asked.
“Near Dubuque,” said Ford.
“I see. You live up around Dubuque?”
"No, not really. We were living with the River People farther up the river, although I could not tell you exactly where. Three of them brought us downriver in a canoe to the bridge at Dubuque, so we could catch a ride on some transports."
“Jenny?” the gray-haired man looked aside at the girl.
“Truth, Mr. Rafin,” said Jenny without turning her head.
“You’re doing good so far, boys,” said Mr. Rafin. "I hope you keep being honest with us. We cannot afford any troublesome complications. Jenny, here, was born blind, but she's got a gift for being able to see men’s souls. She can hear it in their voices. You might think you can pull some tricky words on the rest of us, but no one has fooled Jenny.”
“We’re not trying to fool anyone,” said Ford.
"That's good because you won't," said Mr. Rafin. “Kenneth told me you are trying to get back to the city to strike a blow for freedom?”
“That’s right,” Bozeman said with a bit too much enthusiasm. Ford felt he was overselling it.
“And just what do you plan to do to strike this blow?” The man leaned back slightly and turned his head as if his right eye needed a better view.
Ford and Bozeman looked at each other. Ford decided he should offer his personal goal. It had the least to do with anyone else.
“There is a woman in The City that I like…a lot. I want to get her out.”
Ford summarized his prior city life, meeting Ada online and becoming friends. He recounted his transgression and expulsion, the crew, the crash, and the River People. And, despite it all, his unwavering intention to get Ada out.
The people behind Mr. Rafin stared at Ford without showing any expression.
“Jenny?”
“Truth.”
Mr. Rafin shook his head. “Going back for a woman is noble, but it is a fool’s errand.” He paused, looking at the table. “But, I also know a woman can make a man do foolish things." He turned to face Bozeman. "Your friend is a fool, but no man risks his life so another man can save his woman." His eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?"
Bozeman glanced back and forth at the various people behind the table. He tried to conceal taking a hard swallow.
“Let’s just be honest with them, Bozeman," said Ford. "This is also for the River People. Why should these folks want to interfere?”
Bozeman licked his dry lips slowly. “Okay. They wanted me to go along to sneak into a blackshirt air node and steal an uplink transmitter.”
Mr. Rafin turned his right eye to face Bozeman. “Why?”
“One of them, named Zeke, has some electronic thing that could detect city aircraft while they were far away. He knew in advance when the blackshirts were coming. Everyone could get hidden, except The City seems to have updated their equipment to where his detector didn't work anymore.”
Jenny?”
“This man does not tell all on his mind.”
“Okay, okay,” said Bozeman, waving both arms. “To do this, I have to wear the clothes and visor of a man who…died in our crash. That bothers me.”
“None of this sounds like a blow for freedom,” said Mr. Rafin.
“Well,” offered Ford. “Ada would be free.”
“One woman freed is a blow for freedom?” Rafin raised one skeptical eyebrow.
“Not just that,” added Bozeman. “It’s that the River People could live free of fear. That’s what I meant.”
Mr. Rafin rose and consulted with the people along the wall. The acoustics of the room prevented Ford from overhearing much. The little man hurried around the perimeter of the room again, shaking the triangles one by one to make them glow brighter again.
“Let me then ask you,” said Rafin. “How did you plan to do all of this, just the two of you with only a pair of backpacks?”
“Oh, well, we…um…” Bozeman looked at Ford as he spoke. “We figured we’d get into The City by riding in on one of the transports. We planned to put concrete dust over our clothes and mylar and just look like more rubble…in case anyone was watching. We’ll put on our city clothes and make our way to the blackshirt node and get the transmitter…”
“And then,” added Ford, “we’ll go to Ada’s apartment block…”
“You planned to ride a concrete transport through a city gate?” asked Rafin.
“Um. Yes?” Ford could read the skepticism on Rafin’s face.
“Ha! You'd be dead," said a man in the back.
(end 15, part 2)
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remembergoliad
Member
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Posts: 158
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Post by remembergoliad on Jan 15, 2020 7:05:27 GMT -6
Sounds like it's a good thing they wound up in that gopher hole. More refinements to the plan coming up. Thanks for the story, Mic!
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Post by workhorse on Jan 15, 2020 10:49:38 GMT -6
Thanks so much for more of your excellent story!
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jan 15, 2020 14:12:56 GMT -6
You are still an exceptional story teller, Mic. Thank you for sharing with us.
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Post by texican on Jan 15, 2020 18:44:24 GMT -6
“You planned to ride a concrete transport through a city gate?” asked Rafin.
“Um. Yes?” Ford could read the skepticism on Rafin’s face.
“Ha! You'd be dead," said a man in the back.
Seems like happenstance does have some positives....
Wonder if the diggers have a way into the City?.?.?.?
Thanks mic for the chapter....
Texican....
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Post by 9idrr on Jan 15, 2020 21:12:46 GMT -6
Mic- thanks for posting another one. Maybe I missed it before, but the implication seems to be that the City culls those who're blind, or substandard in some other way.
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Post by mic on Jan 16, 2020 7:04:36 GMT -6
Mic- thanks for posting another one. Maybe I missed it before, but the implication seems to be that the City culls those who're blind, or substandard in some other way. 9ldrr, Exactly! I'm glad you caught my implication. I've been trying to let it leak out how The City operates, rather than just plop it out there in a paragraph of narrator exposition. Back when Ford was wondering where babies come from, he mused about how The City produced "replacement people" -- not mothers and father. That, implied too, in that he did not know the words for family members. The City took over custody of producing children. (in vitro, with surrogate "mothers" in the Carrier Class of women -- to The City, they are only walking wombs, incubators for The City's produce.) Such state ownership of all children isn't actually that far fetched. Check out the lawsuit in California, with school systems suing a vaping company (Juul). The schools (state) are trying assert that their dominion over the children is not limited to in loco parentis, but as actually primary. They (the state) think they are the true and legal guardians of the children. Parents are a bothersome B-team to be dismissed as desired.
Even many parents, nowadays, seem to regard having children as roughly equivalent to getting a dog -- something that looks like it might be fun -- but (like many a dog discovers) when it gets tedious, they willingly abandon the project. How many parents do you hear saying things like "I am SOOO glad Christmas break is over and the kids are back in school. They were driving me nuts! Now I can get back to what I want to do." The State is all too willing to take up the role of parent. Anyhow, you caught my other hint about The City's control over population size/quality. If The City produces the babies, they retain sole authority to decide its fate. The physically flawed would be a burden on the state healthcare system, so those would eliminated. Hence Ford not having ever heard of a blind person. You might recall, too, the old man in chapter 1. Ford commented that he had never seen an old person. The infirm would be similarly disposed of to the compost pile. The City uses utility as the measure of a person's worth (to the state). and on that cheery note, I hope you have a great day! :-)
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 16, 2020 11:45:13 GMT -6
That process may produce useful robots for the City but the Nazis discovered that infants die without regular human contact and physical nurturing as well physical nutrition. Infants don't respond to ideologies.
How much of the public crap do the ruling elite apply to their own families?
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Post by texican on Jan 16, 2020 14:18:18 GMT -6
That process may produce useful robots for the City but the Nazis discovered that infants die without regular human contact and physical nurturing as well physical nutrition. Infants don't respond to ideologies. How much of the public crap do the ruling elite apply to their own families? pp2, The ruling elite have what ever they want and keep the masses placated with drugs in the water and boxed meals with sauce and mundane repetitive work.... Sounds like what is happening around the world today.... Love has to be nurtured to wholly fulfill what each person should be, but with today's society we see rampant criminal activity and murders and illegal drugs especially where there is no father in the household.... Was this the plan from LBJ and the leftist socialist liberals? Texican....
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Post by papaof2 on Jan 16, 2020 14:49:24 GMT -6
That process may produce useful robots for the City but the Nazis discovered that infants die without regular human contact and physical nurturing as well physical nutrition. Infants don't respond to ideologies. How much of the public crap do the ruling elite apply to their own families? pp2, The ruling elite have what ever they want and keep the masses placated with drugs in the water and boxed meals with sauce and mundane repetitive work.... Sounds like what is happening around the world today.... Love has to be nurtured to wholly fulfill what each person should be, but with today's society we see rampant criminal activity and murders and illegal drugs especially where there is no father in the household.... Was this the plan from LBJ and the leftist socialist liberals? Texican.... Perhaps the plan is to allow things get so bad that any promise of 'fixing' it will be acceptable, even the regimentation and dehumanization of socialism. Or perhaps the time of The Second American Revolution is near?
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Post by texican on Jan 16, 2020 15:17:25 GMT -6
pp2, The ruling elite have what ever they want and keep the masses placated with drugs in the water and boxed meals with sauce and mundane repetitive work.... Sounds like what is happening around the world today.... Love has to be nurtured to wholly fulfill what each person should be, but with today's society we see rampant criminal activity and murders and illegal drugs especially where there is no father in the household.... Was this the plan from LBJ and the leftist socialist liberals? Texican.... Perhaps the plan is to allow things get so bad that any promise of 'fixing' it will be acceptable, even the regimentation and dehumanization of socialism. Or perhaps the time of The Second American Revolution is near? pp2 Time will tell and it appears to be drawing closer.... Texican....
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Post by mic on Jan 16, 2020 17:35:06 GMT -6
That process may produce useful robots for the City but the Nazis discovered that infants die without regular human contact and physical nurturing as well physical nutrition. Infants don't respond to ideologies. Quite right. Babies need nurturing. That's why, in The City, the elites have the Tender class of women. Their job is to, raise, cuddle, nurture and 'tend to' the city's babies. They change diapers, play peek-a-boo, etc. and teach them to talk. Tenders function like state-sponsored nannies at massive daycares. Once the child is school age (5-ish), they're off to indoctrination and specialization. Ada is a Tender, btw. That's a story element I had not thought to include, but yeah. The ruling elites could certainly browse the nurseries looking for a child they'd like to adopt (rather in the manner someone might visit a pet shop). Once adopted by an elite, the child gets raised by private nannies and taught by private teachers. The end goal being training in the ways of the elites. That way, the ruling class (the Matri) ensures "proper" succession. Being adopted would be more akin to belonging to this or that lineage of elite, more along the lines of going to Harvard or Yale, Oxford or Cambridge, rather than anything familial. The elites can't be bothered with actual parental duties. Too much stress and bother. Thanks for the plot bit. Not sure where it will go, though.
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