Chapter 1: Chance Meeting

Time: Friday, May 10, 2047, 6:16 p.m. CDT, Ft. Hood, Bell County, Texas

Megan O’Connor walked into her civilian barracks with a careful gait, her poncho soaked from the blowing rain. It was still two hours before sunset, but the dark clouds outside the distant hall window and the usual lack of power in the building made the interior corridor feel like late evening.

She had just had a very successful stop at the base commissary. Bundled and protected in her arms and backpack were two small kegs of lamp oil and numerous bags of foodstuffs: two 5-kilo bags of rye and barley flour, six kilos of rice, a three-liter bottle of vitamin-A enriched cooking oil, new yeast, a month’s supply of dried herbs and simple spices, and her prize finds: dried fruits from southern California, a half-dozen fresh eggs, and 500 grams of sausage. She had more than enough ration coupons to make the purchases legal. The trick lately had been arriving at the commissary at the right time to use them.

Megan walked slowly across the slick puddles of oily water on the old linoleum. As she reached her ground-floor apartment, she heard the main entrance door open and close behind her down the hall. Not wanting to spoil her precious cargo with the grime on the floor, she pressed up against her apartment’s steel door and kept her packages in her arms. She fumbled for a moment, trying to work her door-key loose from an inner pocket. She suddenly felt the presence of another person in the darkness near her. As Megan turned to see, the lamp-oil kegs in her backpack shifted. She started to topple over, her feet sliding on the slippery floor. She gave a small cry and grimaced as she thought of her eggs.

A strong pair of arms caught her just in time. “Hello! So sorry to startle you. I should have announced my presence.”

“That’s okay. Thanks for the catch!” Megan straightened out and tried to see the face of the man beside her in the dim light. She shifted her packages to the outside of her wet poncho. “Would you mind holding these for a moment?”

A minute later, she was out of her poncho and lighting a lantern in her common area. “My name’s Megan, by the way. Megan O’Connor.”

“Alvaro Lopes. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Megan nodded back and got her first clear look at her visitor. He looked fit, definitely not as thin as most of the people Megan was used to. He was also dressed as a civilian, and the complexity of the security badge near his shoulder puzzled her. It identified him as a U.S. citizen, but also had the blue and gold cross, giving him the high-level rights of a foreign diplomat, something Megan thought would be impossible for a U.S. citizen to have. There was something else out of place too, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She unslung her backpack and headed for the kitchen area. Alvaro followed with the bundles and placed them on the worn counter. He gestured at the cots in the sleeping area nearby. “So, you share this small space with three other people?”

“Sure. This is a standard quad,” Megan replied, waving her arm around her home. “Are you going to live here at the complex too?”

He nodded. “Just for a few days. I’m being housed in one of the apartments on the third floor.”

“Oh, the high-rent district. It’s nice up there.”

Alvaro flashed her a brief grin and raised his eyebrows. Megan took it as a sign that he thought she was being sarcastic. “I was being serious! You must be new to the area!”

“Yes, a long way from home. My plane arrived at Houston early this morning.” He returned her smile and started to help her unpack.

Megan looked at him, her eyes for the first time giving a brief expression of sympathy. “Hell, with all the detours, that’s a 300-kilometer trip from here. And I know how bad the roads are.” She stood on tiptoe to reach a high cabinet and put away the two bags of flour he handed her.

As Megan stretched high, the front of her wet shirt clearly defined her feminine shape. Alvaro gave a soft sigh of appreciation. “Need any help with that?” he asked.

“No, I got it, thanks.” Standing next to her visitor, Megan judged his height to be about twelve centimeters above her own height of 175 cm. She took a closer look at his face. “Wow, what a handsome guy,” she thought. “Boyish grin, wavy black hair, and those eyes! So alert and cheerful ... When was the last time I saw a guy this cute?” She smiled at him and said, “Houston, huh? You must be exhausted. And where’s home?”

He handed her the rice and cooking oil. “Oh, I’m okay. My party and I were flown here by the military a few hours ago. And home is Madeira.”

Megan raised her eyebrows at the mention of the second air trip. More groceries went into the lower cabinets, and then she remembered something. “Wow, what a coincidence. One of my roommates grew up in Madeira.”

Alvaro looked at her quizzically.

Megan stared back. “You mean Madeira, Ohio, don’t you?”

“No, the country of Madeira. It’s about 700 km off the coast of Africa.”

“Oh wow, really?! I was wondering about your diplomatic immunity. But your badge says you’re a U.S. citizen?”

“That’s right, dual citizenship. In the early 2040s, I was a graduate student at Princeton. The reforms of 2041 required that I swear allegiance as a U.S. citizen before I could get my doctorate.”

Megan laughed. “It sounds as if you got your doctorate about the same time I got mine! Veterinary school at U.C. Davis, Class of 2045.”

Alvaro bowed respectfully as he handed her the last of the dried fruit. “Doctor...”

Megan playfully curtsied. “Doctor...”

“So, a long way from California, Doctor.”

“But not as far as from New Jersey, Doctor.” She squatted to store the kegs of lamp oil under the sink and thought for a moment. “Actually, I take that back. Davis and Princeton are probably about the same distance from here. Or did you say you live in Madeira now?”

He nodded. “The islands are my home. I haven’t been back to New Jersey since graduation.” All the groceries were now unpacked and stored away. He nodded at her politely and excused himself. As Megan walked him to her door, a bright flash of lightning lit the room, followed immediately by a clap of thunder so loud they both felt the vibrations. Sheets of dark rain lashed at the windows.

An impulse of generosity came over Megan. “Would you like to stay for dinner? My roommates will be here shortly. Our bread was just baked yesterday, and we have garden vegetables and fresh eggs and sausage! There’s enough for five.”

“You’re very kind, but I have a meeting starting shortly on the other side of the base.” Alvaro studied her expression of disappointment for a moment. “But tomorrow evening I’ll be free. Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner? Our briefing said there would be some safe restaurants just outside the base.”

Megan sighed and shook her head. “Oh, they’re safe enough. But it’s nothing I can afford.”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to pick up the tab. Seriously.”

“Are you sure? You’re very kind, but I hardly know you, and a dinner there is a week’s wage for me.”

“Very sure. Please?”

“Well...” With the current scarcity of food, a man offering an unknown woman a meal would normally expect a sexual payment in return. But Megan didn’t think Alvaro was soliciting her for sex and thus his offer was not impolite. Accepting such a courtesy offer on the other hand would be almost shockingly rude. The social norm was for Megan to politely decline. But Megan realized she had actually been hoping Alvaro would have accepted her offer tonight. She decided to trust her instincts about the sincerity of his request. “Okay! What time would you like to go?”

Alvaro stood by the door and gave her a kind smile. “Seven be okay?”

“I’ll be ready. Thank you!”

They gave each other brief nods and then he departed. It was Megan’s turn to make dinner for her roommates, and she whistled happily by the light of the small lantern as she worked.

---

The next evening...

The restaurant was worn but clean and cozy, with comfortable leather seats and real electric lights and even a working ceiling fan for circulation. It was also less than a quarter full. The waitress had told Megan and Alvaro that business had been drying up over the last year, and this was now a typical crowd even for a Saturday night. Megan recognized the few people dining. They were high-level officers and their wives from the base, and they had given her brief nods of recognition when she and Alvaro had arrived. The base commander had even given a respectful nod to Alvaro. Megan was rather glad the place was not crowded. It made it easier to talk, and the lack of people around them made her date seem more intimate.

Megan’s eyes went wide as the waitress delivered her dish. It was a large breast of chicken, artistically served on a bed of imported bell peppers and mushrooms and brown rice, with a generous portion of steaming broccoli on the side. And this after shrimp cocktails?! She hadn’t eaten this well in ... Actually, it was so long ago, she couldn’t remember when, certainly not since coming to Texas.

She was wearing her one good dress, white with a flowery print. It had short sleeves and a hem just below the knees. It was somewhat out of style for women to show bare calves and arms in public, and Megan would never have worn such a dress in the larger cities. Women had been known to attract suicide bombers in such garb by affronting their standards of religious decency. But the Fort Hood area was much more laid back, and Megan decided to chance it. She was glad she did. The dress showed off her figure, and several times as they walked to dinner she had noticed Alvaro glancing at her in open admiration.

They had agreed not to discuss Alvaro’s mission while at the restaurant, so the conversation focused mainly on Megan. Megan wound up describing most of her life’s history as they ate. By the time dessert arrived, she had walked him through Oregon, Washington, California, and was finishing up with Texas. Megan gave a big smile as a small dish of homemade vanilla ice cream was laid before her, a perfect ending to a fine meal. It was genuine homemade ice cream, rich and creamy, and with small embedded ice chips from the churn.

Alvaro joined her for a few bites with his own dish, and then realized his date was enjoying her dessert so much that he waited until coffee was served before starting up the conversation again. “So, you care for the horses of the Texas Rangers?”

Megan savored her first sip of coffee in two years. “That’s right. I’m the principal equestrian doctor for a full troop, over two hundred mounts. Plus, I’m on call tonight with the army stables, in case of emergencies.” Earlier, she had shown him the military cell phone in her purse, a coveted possession. “The army runs joint policing now with the Rangers. In the two years I’ve been here, they’ve become very integrated.”

“How’s it working out?”

“Very well. We had only two attacks in all of Bell County last year, and nothing this year except for one rogue bomber in January.” Megan sighed. “That was a really bad one. Last year’s attacks were against the power grid. The January bomber targeted the children’s hospital. The police estimate over forty kilos of high-tech explosive. It collapsed the building.”

Alvaro grimaced. “It’s a common target in Europe too. Such brutality, and it’s so hard to decentralize such critical care facilities.”

“Yes, I know ... and the extremists know too ... We’ve tried to compensate, but ... Tell me Alvaro, do you have horses in ... where you come from?”

“We do. We built extensive stables in the first half of the 2030s, just before the plague years. They came in very handy when we lost our shipments of oil.”

“Yes, I’m sure they did.” Megan thought for a moment as she sipped her coffee and shuddered. “The plague years ... I lost so many classmates in 2036. It was my last year in junior high.”

Alvaro looked at her sympathetically. “The Satan Bug?”

Megan shook her head. “No. Our school was attacked by extremists with automatic weapons. It happened during our graduation ceremony. The primary targets were our teachers, but almost half the senior students were killed too.” She took a long sip, staring into her coffee cup for a moment. “You’re right though. I lost classmates to the Satan Bug earlier in the term, so many friends, and my grandfather too. The anthrax attacks of 2037 were nothing in comparison.” She paused for another sip and then added, “Portland now has laser detectors for the spores. If I remember correctly, the technology for that was invented at your Alma Mater about forty years ago.”

Alvaro nodded and sighed.

Megan asked quietly, “Alvaro, did you lose many classmates to the Satan Bug?”

He was silent for a long moment and then whispered back, “The strain that attacked us was much more lethal with the adults. Relatively few children were taken by the Bug, less than 3%... 2036, hell, what a year. Satan was the perfect name for the disease.”

Megan grimaced. “Oh my gosh, I remember. You’re talking about the A-strain, aren’t you?”

His face was like stone. “We suffered 70% fatalities in the adult population.”

“My God,” Megan hissed. “In a single year?!”

“In a single month!” he hissed back, and then sighed at his outburst. “Forgive me. I was a senior in high school at the time ... I lost both my parents.”

Megan shook her head to dismiss his apology, and then reached over and held his hand. It was a gentle human contact, and then she squeezed firmly. Alvaro acknowledged her compassion with his eyes and squeezed back. They finished their coffee in silence, Alvaro occasionally caressing the back of Megan’s hand with his thumb.

Megan felt a brief pang of embarrassment when the bill arrived, but Alvaro calmly paid with the new script and left a tip so generous that the waitress blinked before she took it. As they got up to walk out of the restaurant, Megan offered Alvaro her hand again, and he readily accepted.

She took a deep breath as they came out into the street and into the evening air. It was delightfully cool after the day’s heat. “Alvaro, you and I are about the same age. It’s a great puzzle to me.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell you more when we’re back on the base.” They walked in silence for a while. There was no moon, and as they left the lighted commercial district and the hum of the private generators, the streets became dark and silent, bordered by rows of empty and looted buildings. On impulse, Megan let go of Alvaro’s hand and shyly pressed her hand against the small of his back. She was rewarded with his arm hugging her and his hand resting on her opposite side, in the curve of her hip.

It was what Megan was hoping for. Holding each other closely, they walked until they reached the main gate and back to the security of the base. Megan decided to walk along the inside of the fence and take the long route home.

“So,” said Alvaro, gently holding her hip with one arm and gesturing to the base with the other. “This has been your home for the last two years?”

“Just about. I got to Texas in early July of 2045, about a month after getting my doctorate. So much of the world was different back then, just two years ago. I rode the trains, and the trips were completely uneventful, no bombing delays at all. People weren’t even that concerned about hidden bombs. It seems so hard to imagine now...”

Alvaro switched to Spanish. “Pick up any Spanish?”

Megan answered slowly in Spanish. “A little, enough to understand ... I have to guess sometimes ... Speaking is even more difficult ... I know I should know more. Mexico is so close. There is so little time to ... learn? No, study. Study is the word I want. I studied ... In school I studied...” Megan paused and switched back to English. “I don’t know the Spanish word for Latin. That’s what I studied in high school. Knowing the Latin roots was very useful for premed.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” He smiled and then almost laughed. “Latin is the same word in both English and Spanish.” He gave her a joking smile. “Ever think of being a priest? The church in Rome did open up the option for women a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know! So you think I’d be good at giving Latin Masses, huh?” She laughed good-naturedly. “I’m also fluent in Hebrew, both modern and liturgical.”

“Ah. That’s interesting.”

Megan nodded. “The language was spoken by part of my family. My mother’s mother is Jewish. I spent a lot of time in Portland studying the Hebrew Bible with her. It was fun! A lot of weekends my grandmother would take me to the main city library, and we would study ancient Semitic languages and how people guessed they were pronounced. We practiced with each other.”

“Ah, then you must know about the Sidon dictionary scrolls of the ancient Canaanites.”

“Know about them?! That’s what we were studying! The scrolls were incredible, clear proof that the Canaanites were the inventors of our alphabet. I remember when the news broke in the summer of 2030. I had just turned six. Our library got complete copies by the fall. What a find! Extensive cross-reference tables between the Hebrews and the Canaanites. People knew they had writing and books, but before the scrolls, their language was almost completely lost, just a few inscriptions on tombs.”

Alvaro nodded thoughtfully. “Is it similar to Hebrew?”

“Well, it’s a Semitic language, somewhat similar to liturgical Hebrew, and some say even closer to Aramaic. The grammar is almost the same, and many words are either identical or have the same roots. You could almost guess the Hebrews and the Canaanites could half understand each other. And then there are lots of words that seem to have completely different roots and pronunciations.” She paused and sighed. “Just a hobby. It’s been so long since I’ve had time for a hobby.”

“But you know how to speak it?!”

“Well, there’s a lot of guesswork involved, but yeah. There were pronunciation guides in the scrolls, phonetic cross-references into the Hebrew.”

“Say something in the language of the Canaanites.”

“Okay!” Megan paused for a moment and looked at the stars. And then the dead language came to life. “The sky is clear, and a young woman’s heart sings in happiness.”

“Wow, that does sound a bit like Hebrew.”

“Well, not too much like modern Hebrew. Do you speak it?”

“Hebrew? No, not at all. What did you say?”

Megan paused for a moment and then told him. They walked for a long while in silence, and then Megan asked, “Alvaro, is Portuguese much different than Spanish?”

Alvaro smiled. “The difference perhaps is similar to the one between Hebrew and Canaan. There are many words that are greatly different, and also so much similarity that you can almost get by in one language by knowing the other. I’m okay in Spanish, speak it about as well as English, but I’m much more comfortable in Portuguese. I’m really impressed with your language skills, Megan.”

“Enough of me!” she replied, giving her date an affectionate hug. “We’re back inside the base now. You promised to tell me about Madeira!”

“Okay. What would you like to know?”

“Everything! Start with the most important.”

Alvaro paused for a second and then said, “Das ilhas, as mais belas e livres.”

Megan was silent for a moment. “What a beautiful language. So that’s Portuguese.”

Alvaro nodded, “And the motto of Madeira: Of all islands, the most beautiful and free.”

“Ah. You love your home very much, don’t you?”

Alvaro laughed. “The islands are impossible not to love. They form the top of a massive shield volcano, ancient, five million years old. The ocean floor is 6 km below us, and the highest point is Pico Ruivo, 1862 meters above sea level. That’s...” He paused for a second, “ ... just over 6100 feet.”

“Oh, the U.S. has been on the metric system for years now. I know what meters are.”

“Yes, of course. Apologies.”

Megan gave his waist a brief squeeze. “Alvaro, I was just kidding!” She held him for a while and then commented, “I looked up Madeira in a political atlas yesterday. It mentioned the country was created only twenty years ago.”

“Yes. We became independent on the fiftieth anniversary of our autonomy from Portugal. The first step happened on July 1, 1976.”

Megan nodded. “Was it a good decision?”

Alvaro thought for a moment. “I think so. We managed to avoid the religious wars on the Iberian Peninsula. Such horror! To destroy all beliefs that are not your own, to spread such death and misery, and then claim you are the only solution to the misery you yourself created!”

“Yes, I know. It’s amazing such insanity is so effective ... So, what kind of government did Madeira pick?”

Alvaro gave Megan a small squeeze on her waist and a smile of gratitude. He realized she was nudging him to get off the topic of terrorism and be more cheerful. “Our government is a modified version of the U.S. system. There’s a single integrated House of Congress, a hundred-member legislature elected by thirteen districts. The executive branch is elected at-large, as are all the judges.”

Megan took a moment to consider. She hadn’t expected such a wealth of detailed information. “You have at-large elections for all your judges? That’s interesting.”

Alvaro nodded. “The idea was to have a uniform judiciary across the districts.” He sighed and took a deep breath, giving Megan another friendly hug on her waist.

Megan thought for a while and then asked, “I’m curious. You said an integrated Congress? What does that mean?”

“Well, there are thirteen districts, ranging in size from thirty-nine Representatives for Funchal to one for Porto Santo. When Congress votes on a bill or a budget, the votes are counted two ways: by individual Congressperson and by the number of districts in favor of the proposal. If there is majority approval from both views, the proposal passes, and the decision is final. If there is affirmation from just one view, the president decides the issue.”

“Oh, I get it. Neat! It’s a modified version of a U.S. Presidential veto.”

“Well, somewhat. Your President’s veto can only be overridden by a two-thirds vote in both your Houses. Our President’s veto is much more limited. It’s not really a veto at all. He or she has political cover. Either a majority of districts or a majority of Congressional votes will be in support of the President, no matter what the decision.”

Megan nodded. “I like it! And how do you deal with ties?”

“It’s very simple. Any ties again allow the President to decide the issue.” Alvaro looked up at the night sky and took a deep breath. “The thought was to combine the benefit of a Two-House Congress with the efficiency of One House. Your Senate and House of Representatives have to negotiate different versions of the same bill. With our system, the integration of the district perspective and the per-capita perspective is automatic. It’s the same group of people.”

“Thanks for telling me all this. My political atlas had none of this kind of detail. And do you have a Supreme Court?”

“Not in the U.S. sense. We do have a Superior Appellate Court for judicial review.”

Megan shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. How do you resolve Constitutional issues?”

“We don’t have a Constitution.”

“Oh wow, really? So your liberties aren’t protected?”

Alvaro was quiet for a number of steps, and then finally spoke. “We look at the matter a little differently. We believe it is the responsibility of the people who write the law to interpret the law. The judiciary’s job is to administer the law, definitely not to come up with novel ways of interpreting it.”

“But your liberties aren’t protected.”

“Well, not in the U.S. sense. If two laws are found to be in possible conflict, the matter is referred to the legislature for resolution. It’s their job to make the law consistent. And there’s supposed to be a slight bias against precedent with the judiciary. In cases of conflict, the more recent law is considered to have more standing.”

“What? Really?”

“Well ... I guess judges are allowed some discretion before Congress acts. Megan?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re quite right. Privacy in Madeira isn’t as protected as it used to be in the U.S. But you’ve had martial law in the U.S. for what, three years now?”

She nodded. “Yeah, just about.” She gave a deep sigh. “I see your point. We had our rights to privacy protected by a Constitution that was almost impossible to change, and the extremists used the rights as a cloak and we couldn’t adapt.” She leaned her body closer to him. “Tell me more about what your home is like. And all I could see on the map were two dots on an ocean. How large are the islands? What are they like?”

Alvaro smiled at her interest. “Well, Madeira is the main island with 741 sq km. It has a mountainous interior with radial ravines running to the coast. Porto Santo is the other inhabited island, much smaller, 42 sq km, about 40 km to the northeast of the main island at the closest tip to tip. Slightly closer to the southeast are some small rocky islands, Die Ilhas Desertas, in a line about a dozen km long and very thin. The total land area of the archipelago is 797 sq km.”

“And where do you live?”

He paused, and with the flat of his hand, Megan felt a slight tension in the muscles near the small of his back. She began to wonder why her simple question would cause such a reaction, and then he said, “I grew up on Porto Santo. Now I have a home in Funchal, the capital.”

“Oh yes, you mentioned that name before. Funchal?”

“From the Roman times, for fennel. It grows there profusely. The Romans called the archipelago the Purple Islands in honor of a very pretty flower, Geranium Maderense.”

Megan nodded. “It must be difficult, living on such small islands, so isolated.”

He shook his head. “It’s been a blessing, Megan, these last thirty years. The isolation has saved us.”

“Ah. Are you self-sufficient?”

Alvaro shrugged. “Not quite. Almost. We’re working very hard now to become so. The current population for both islands is about 120,000. Tourism used to be a prime industry. Now there’s much more farming.”

“Yes, of course. And what do you grow?”

“Commercially? Sicilian beets, wheat, and corn, grapes for wine, bananas, spices. We produce an amber-colored dessert wine.” He smiled proudly and boasted, “It’s very famous and deserves to be.” He paused for a moment. “We trade extensively with the West African Union. And almost every family has a personal vegetable garden, like here. Most of our protein comes from fishing. We raise chickens too, and goats and sheep for milk and cheese. Much of the milk is reserved for the children.”

Megan felt a brief shiver as she remembered eating the rich ice cream for dessert. “Yes, it’s the same here. The milk is for the children. Thank God for calcium tablets.”

They walked quietly for a while. Megan thought silently, “Very little milk left, a perfect match for the lack of children. When was the last time I saw an infant? My gosh, not since California...” But that thought seemed too bitter to voice. She said out loud, “And where do you get your metals?”

He blinked and then grinned. “We do a lot of trading, but mostly from recycling. You wouldn’t believe the amount of rubbish that was left over from the twentieth century, landfills packed with broken cars! The islands are more pristine now than they have been in centuries!” He paused and added quietly but proudly, “And we have a first-class health system. There were seventeen hundred healthy children born last year.”

Megan gasped. “Are you at breakeven?”

He shrugged. “The population has grown over 10% since the plague, but that’s because of our very young age profile. If the current birth rates hold steady, we’ll expand a bit more and then drop back to about where we are now. But as for what the real future will be, who knows?”

“Yes, of course. But you’re still doing so much better than here. If you looked around, you’d see there are almost no young children in Bell County at all.” Megan paused for a moment, trying to think of a more pleasant topic. “And where are your horses?”

“On both islands. Most of the stables on the main island to the east and north of Funchal, in the farm areas.”

“My gosh, this sounds so idyllic. What would ever induce you to leave, especially for a place like Fort Hood, Texas?”

“Well...” He paused for a moment and chuckled. “It was never our intention to come here. These meetings were scheduled for Houston...” Another pause, and then very quietly, “There was a threat. I can’t be more specific. Your government suggested we move the negotiations here.”

“And what are you negotiating?”

Megan felt Alvaro struggling for how to respond. “Commerce...” he said vaguely.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’d be curious too.”

“You’re such a puzzle to me, Alvaro! How can someone so young hold such an important government office?” She hugged him. “Can you tell me anything about what your position is, without getting into specifics?”

“Ah, on this trip, I guess I’m sort of a science advisor, to help with the bargaining.”

“Oh. So you work for your government’s Commerce Department?”

“The Energy Department, actually.”

In the white light from the guard towers, Megan saw Alvaro frown, as though he thought he had said too much. She couldn’t understand why. His comment seemed innocent enough. She tried to change subjects. “And you use the horses for farming?”

“Well, they’re there as a backup, certainly. But except for Porto Santo, they’re mostly used for recreation. Riding in the mountains or along the coast, it’s so beautiful...”

Megan leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. “My heart longs to see your home.”

“Want to come back with me?”

A giggle. “Right! Alvaro, my government owns me.” Megan nestled her head against him.

“Hmmm?” Alvaro accepted her offer and leaned his head against hers, breathing in her fragrance and sighing at the clean smell of her hair, enjoying its softness against his cheek. He leaned in closer, and the hair tickled his ear. It felt delightful.

Megan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The close contact with her date almost made her lose her train of thought, but then she remembered. “My education costs were huge, over $80,000 in student loans. And we’ve had rampant deflation for the last several years. Everything is falling apart, and it would take me 200 years to earn my debt now.”

“Two hundred years?” Alvaro whispered. “Truly?”

“Uh-huh. My debt carried over one-for-one into the new script. I’m paid $8 a week plus basic housing, and I have to eat! My dinner tonight was a week’s salary. I wasn’t joking.”

Alvaro pulled his head away and stared at her. “My gosh, Megan. Are you a slave?”

“Oh, where would I go? I have security here, subsidized food and friends, a safe place to live, and a job that I love. I really can’t complain.”

Alvaro was silent in words but was speaking with his body. He leaned close and lightly kissed her near the top of her head. His arm remained around her waist, holding her, his hand gently caressing her hip.

They returned to their living quarters. Surprisingly, the hall lights had power. Alvaro walked Megan to her door. She turned and smiled at him. She had thought this last moment might be awkward, thought with current conventions he might expect to sleep with her as payment for the meal. But his eyes were without lust, filled only with admiration and tender affection. Megan gulped as she realized no one had offered her such emotions in many years.

She whispered, “Thank you for a truly enchanting evening, Alvaro.”

He tried to speak. The words wouldn’t come, and then words became unnecessary. Before either of them realized it, they were in each other’s arms, sharing a kiss that seemed to bridge the great gulf between their two lives. And then nothing in Megan’s universe existed except the arms enfolding her, the hand caressing her hair and the back of her neck, and the lips touching hers. Her heart cried out in sorrow as the kiss ended.

“Good night, sweet Megan,” he whispered. “God be by your side.”

Her lips quivered. “Will I ever see you again?”

“I hope so.” He sighed and looked as if he wanted to say more but then stopped himself. They shared one last brief hug and smile, and then Megan retired to her home.

Chapter 2: Bon Voyage

Three days later.

Time: Tuesday, May 14, 2047, 8:44 AM twelve km north of Ft. Hood, Texas

Megan stood quietly watching Little Thunder from an adjacent stall. The mare was the finest Morgan horse Megan had ever seen and was about to produce her first foal. The birthing so far had gone without a hitch, and Megan was very pleased with the performance of her assistant, Private Collins. Megan had dropped into a role of quiet observer almost an hour ago.

Her mind drifted back to the weekend. While she was at work on Sunday, Alvaro’s party had apparently left the base, and there was no indication they were ever coming back. Megan had spent the last two days working to convince herself that Saturday night was exactly what she had called it, one enchanting evening, nothing less and nothing more. “But this was different,” a small voice inside her head insisted. Megan shook her head and took a deep breath. The voice was quieter now than yesterday, and soon it would be silent.

“Did I do something wrong, Ma’am?”

“Huh?” Megan looked at the Private. “No, not at all. You’re doing a fantastic job, Derrick. Flawless. I’m very proud of you.” She paused for a moment. “I was just daydreaming about something else.”

Derrick nodded and got back to the mare. “Won’t be long now, a half-hour maybe.”

Megan studied the mare and nodded. “I think you’re right.” She took another deep breath and looked around the barn. They had ample light. The large barn doors faced due east, and the morning sun was streaming directly in now. Megan would have wished it to be a few degrees cooler for the mare, given how humid the air was, but conditions weren’t bad. She wondered if she should trust Derrick with the birthing and get back to her rounds.

“But it was different, and you know it was!” the soft internal voice persisted. “Love is so rare...”

“Shut up!” Megan’s mind snapped at the voice. “Just shut up! You want to know something? He’s probably married!”

“No!”

“Then why didn’t he want to bed me?! He probably had some lingering guilt about his wife!”

“Search your memories, woman! You know that’s not true!”

“I probably should have asked him if he had children!”

“Megan, that’s not what the evening was like! You are deceiving yourself!”

“Shut up! If it were love, he would have at least left a message! He would have found a way!”

The inner voice was silent.

“Aha! Gotcha! Now shut up!”

A military trooper came out of the communications room at the other end of the barn and ran up to her stall. “Dr. O’Connor, ma’am, the commander wants to see you immediately!”

Megan shook her head and wiped her wet eyes as she forced her mind to switch gears. “At his office?”

“Yes, ma’am, and he told me to stress the word immediately!”

Megan was a civilian, and her official employers were the Mounted State Rangers, not the military. Still, to refuse the order was unthinkable. She turned to her assistant. “You’ll be okay, Derrick?”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine, ma’am, thank you.”

“I think so too. If you run into any trouble, page Dr. Campbell.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

Megan stared at the man for a moment. He was not just her assistant. He was also a good friend. Megan snapped her body to attention and gave him a crisp salute. Derrick blinked and then stood and did the same. Megan then ran out of the barn. She unhitched her horse and galloped back to base.

It was usually a long wait for anyone to see the commander, but Megan was escorted into his office seconds after she arrived. His expression to her was very unexpected, and it took Megan a few seconds to decipher it. She finally decided it looked like incredulous laughter.

“Don’t bother to sit!” he ordered as his aide closed the door.

Megan stood obediently, still panting a bit from her gallop and her race into the building.

“Miss O’Connor...” He paused for a moment. “Megan, you’ve got a big decision to make and no time to make it. There’s a jet at Houston taking off for Madeira at 11 a.m. today. Do you want to be on it?”

“Sir?!”

“I’m fueling the Cessna to take you there. But I need an answer now!”

Megan sputtered. “I did some reading, sir, early on Sunday. I thought only Madeira nationals were allowed on the islands.”

He nodded and then surprised Megan by laughing. “Girl, just a few minutes ago, our State Department requested that I get you down to Houston to catch that plane, and they put the word request in quotes. You catch my meaning? I can’t order you to leave, and I realize you deserve time to think about this, but...” He looked at her silently for a second, and then the long ethnic friendship between them finally touched and softened his eyes. “Lass,” he whispered in a Scottish accent, “ye’d be daft not to go.”

A resounding cheer of affirmation echoed from Megan’s inner voice. She cried out loud, “Agreed! Do I have time to collect my things?”

“No! Sorry. You’ll have to say your goodbyes with e-mails from Madeira. I’ve taken the liberty of packing the bags from your quarters. You might want to use the time on the Cessna to prioritize your possessions. I have no idea what your weight allowance might be.” He glanced at the clock. “Megan, to make that flight, you should be already in the air. You know where the runway is. Dismissed!”

Megan nodded and took a deep breath. She blinked away the tears in her eyes. “Goodbye, Brian!” she half shouted as she turned and ran from the office to her horse. She galloped directly to the plane, her mount bucking a bit at the end from the startup sound of the loud engine. A maintenance man nearby was securing the hose from the fuel truck. Her flight was a single-engine propeller plane, and it wasn’t until two minutes later as her plane was lifting off that she realized she had forgotten to leave behind her leather riding chaps.

Megan didn’t recognize the man next to her, but he treated her with courtesy and seemed a very professional pilot. “This is a Cessna Skyhawk, ma’am. Forty-some years old but very well maintained. We’ll be cruising at 2500 meters at a speed of 225 kph, about as fast as this plane wants to go. Estimated time for touchdown in Houston is... 10:50 a.m.”

“10:50 a.m.?!”

He held up a finger to ask her to wait and then spoke into his microphone. “Roger, Houston Control. I copy.” He then turned to her. “Yes, ma’am. In another hour, we could have had something faster, but...” He finished with a shrug.

Megan nodded and bit her lip. They were not at an Air Force base, and the cost of aviation fuel was so astronomical, she still couldn’t quite believe she had her own private flight to Houston. And whether she made the connecting flight to Madeira or not was totally out of her control. She decided she was not going to worry about it.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“The commander asked me to tell you something. He figured he might not get the chance himself.”

Megan nodded expectantly.

“The commander hosted some talks between these foreign diplomats and our State and Defense Departments.”

Megan nodded again.

“The commander didn’t attend the talks himself, but he said he noticed one curious thing. I take it you had dinner with a guy named Alvaro Lopes?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“The commander said he held the most junior diplomatic rank of the group, some sort of science advisor. But he also thought it might be this Alvaro guy who was running the show from their end, just by watching how they interacted with each other. You know what I mean?”

Megan was silent for a moment and then replied, “Yes, I do.”

The pilot nodded and got back to his flying.

Megan settled back into her co-pilot chair and tried to relax, her mind in deep thought. The engine was loud, but once they reached their cruising altitude, the sound became more bearable as the pilot reduced throttle to 80%. The plane leveled off and began to fly at its top cruising speed. Megan read their heading on the dashboard as a few degrees east of southeast. They were flying directly to the Gulf Coast. For a while, it seemed they were also flying directly into the sun, but then some dark clouds blotted out the glare. A few minutes after 10 a.m., Megan stretched and unsnapped her harness and turned to the empty seats behind her. Across the seats lay two traveling bags that had been taken from under her cot at her quarters.

It was everything in the world that she owned. Almost all the items were clothes. There was one shoebox for everything else: pictures of a family she hadn’t seen in years, a thousand dollars of useless bills in various denominations she was keeping as souvenirs, a small purse with $73.48 in the new script that represented her life savings, her birth certificate, citizen papers, and diplomas. Under the papers, her eyes caught the letter her older brother had written her as he lay dying during the Portland water poisoning attack of 2043. It occurred to her she had not read his letter since coming to Texas. How had she allowed that to happen?

The pilot was talking quietly to Houston Control, in a voice that seemed infinitely calm. After he signed off, he turned to Megan. “Ma’am, you see those dark clouds ahead? Houston tells us we have a bit of turbulence coming up. You might want to put your harness back on.”

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant.” Megan closed her bags and settled down. “Turbulence indeed,” she thought to herself as she clicked herself back in and gazed at the swiftly approaching blackness. “But nothing like what’s in my stomach.” She stared through the windshield at the churning thunderstorm and tried not to shiver.

The George Bush Intercontinental Airport at Houston was a ghost of its former glory. Megan guessed it had no more than a few civilian flights a week. Commercial air travel was in its death throes due to the price of oil, and there was continuous debate in Congress whether to phase out the massive subsidies and let the civilian aviation industry collapse completely. It was no surprise then when Houston Control gave the Cessna immediate clearance to land.

They were buffeted by rain squalls and fierce crosswinds all the way down, and then the pilot made a landing so gentle that Megan didn’t even realize they were on the ground. They taxied for a few moments after braking, and then the pilot let out a loud whoop. Megan thought at first he was celebrating his perfect landing, but then he said hoarsely, “Oh Lordy, look! Now there is one piece of sweetness!” Up ahead through the rain, a large and very sleek-looking jet was appearing.

“What is it?” asked Megan. She stared in wonder at the sharply tipped wings.

“A Bombardier Global Merchant! Looks like their last model too, from the 2030s. This side of Mach-One, Ma’am, this is as good as it gets. Forgive me if I drool for a while.” He gazed at the jet. “Look at the size of those engines!” he whispered in awe. “Combined thrust of seventy-six kilo-Newtons. That sweetness can lift!”

Megan gave him a quick smile. “Permission to drool granted, Lieutenant. So that’s my plane, huh?”

The pilot nodded slowly as he followed a ground crew’s signals that were guiding his Cessna. He finally taxied into position about forty meters from the port wingtip of the jet, and then the person outside in the yellow slicker raised his two red-glowing wands into an overhead X. The pilot cut his power, and the Cessna’s engine became silent. “A pleasure flying with you, Ma’am.”

A group of people were running up to their plane. Megan turned to thank the pilot, but then her door opened, and she was hustled out into the drenching rain. She barely remembered to grab her two bags. They made a mad dash across the tarmac, and then her escort left her as she completed her final run up a slippery stair ramp to a portal just behind the pilot cabin. The jet door closed and sealed behind her seconds after she entered. Megan felt a gentle shift in both the cabin pressure and the plane as they began to move. She shivered for a moment in the cool, dry air, a marked contrast to the swampy air outside.

“Welcome to Madeira, Dr. O’Connor. My name is Cintia.” A young Spanish-looking woman in a crisp uniform said to her in greeting. She appeared to be about Megan’s age.

Megan stared at her without comprehension. She decided to try humor. “Oh? Did we land already?”

Cintia smiled. “This jet has diplomatic rights. You entered Madeira sovereign territory when you walked through the door.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Cintia gave her a brief shrug and then a kind smile as she looked at Megan’s soaked clothes and riding chaps. “You’ll be able to shower shortly after take-off. But for now, you’ll have to strap in. We should be getting our final clearance as soon as we taxi into take-off position.”

Megan stared at her. “Shower on the plane?”

“Uh-huh. This way, please.” Cintia led her to the ultra-plush nine-passenger cabin area. Megan was in awe of the spaciousness. There was over two meters of headroom where she stood, and the seats were arranged 3 x 3 with a single center aisle. There were two men and two women sitting in the front that Megan did not recognize. They gave her brief nods to acknowledge her presence. Then Megan’s eyes lit on Alvaro. She flashed him a timid smile.

He gave her a quick smile back and then made a complex hand gesture with the phone he was using. Megan nodded her understanding.

“Aisle seat be okay for now, Dr. O’Connor?” Cintia had magically procured a large white towel, and Megan realized she wanted to protect the plush leather seats from Megan’s wet and dirty horse-smelling clothes.

“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Megan looked around the cabin as Cintia laid out the towel. She finally noticed that her guide was wearing some sort of uniform. She asked politely, “Are you the stewardess?”

Cintia smiled and nodded. “A little of everything. Mostly I’m the navigator and backup copilot, but I’ll come back and assist you with anything you need.” Cintia waited until Megan belted in, and then gave her a quick briefing on how to leave the plane in an emergency. A double-chime sounded, and with a last nod, Cintia turned and went quickly forward into the pilot cabin.

The lift-off was swift and very powerful, and the jet rose from the ground at a very steep angle, Megan guessed far more quickly than would ever be possible for the Cessna. As the plane neared its cruising altitude, Cintia returned from the pilot cabin and escorted Megan to the cargo area in the rear of the plane. There were numerous large crates securely strapped to the floor and walls. There was also a door leading to a plush bathroom. Cintia entered with Megan and described the operation of a small but ultra-high-tech-looking shower stall. “Once you lock the stall from the inside, nozzles will spray you in three directions with six liters a minute. It might not sound like much, but it does a fantastic job. The normal cycle is for two minutes, but if you need more, the override is right here...”

After finishing a short lesson on how to use the flush-less toilet, Cintia gave her a kind smile and left. Megan looked around and gaped at the small bathroom. It was well-lit, and everything seemed to be in sparkling mint condition. The richness seemed to glow with an aura of wealth and power. The only thing out of place seemed to be the reflection of the person Megan saw in the mirror. She nodded at herself with a shrug, and then disrobed and stepped into the shower.

She paused for a moment before locking the stall and starting the cycle. “Am I really on a jet? It’s so incredibly quiet in here, almost no noise, almost no vibration. It feels as if I’m in a building! How is this possible?” She faced the door, her eyes away from the nozzles as Cintia had instructed her, and locked the door.

Megan was used to taking quick showers and she found this one super luxuriant. The super-fast needle mists were remarkable in their quick cleaning and rinsing power. She soaped and washed everything, including her hair, in the first hundred seconds. Then she just relaxed for the last twenty, feeling her skin tingle from the hot sprays. There was an automatic hot-air drying cycle, and afterwards, she got out and changed into some clean clothes from her bag, simple pants and a shirt. Feeling completely clean and refreshed, she headed back to the passenger cabin.

She paused to look at the crates on her way through the well-lit cargo area. Most of them bore NASA labels, and from the stenciling, she guessed some sort of positioning control equipment. Then a transparent cargo box caught her attention. It was very securely strapped to the floor. The thin case was almost empty, but a few small rectangles were visible, and they had a very pretty golden shine. Megan knelt to examine them just to satisfy her curiosity and then blinked when she realized they were gold ingots. Stamped on each one was the inscription, “Bank of Madeira, 500 grams gold, 99.9999% pure,” and then a serial number. Megan shook her head in wonder.

She finally returned to the passenger cabin and was happy to see Alvaro was off his phone. She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him, fighting an urge to laugh. They were sitting together a moment later.

“Megan, the way this was handled must seem so ridiculous to you, but there was no other way.”

“I’ve got a million questions!”

Alvaro’s mind flashed back to their Saturday dinner. “Start with the most important.”

“Alvaro, what will I be when we land in Madeira?”

He understood the deep meaning of her question and fear. “Not a concubine! God knows there is too much of that in the world already. What will you become? Beautiful and free, like the islands. We truly need an experienced horse doctor. I’ve arranged a position for you. Everything else is up to you.”