Deborah 14

As I head for my office building, a man steps in front of my path. Pleasant smile, produces an ID card proclaiming him to be Mr Jones, of the local broadsheet newspaper. "A moment of your time, Ms Ahpay?"
"I'd really prefer not."
Indulgent smile, "perhaps you'll reconsider after hearing me for a minute. You see, there are only two newspapers in this town. Now need I remind you of how the tabloid tends to treat Native issues?"
I know he's right, at least with him, it will be done in a respectable manner. And if I'm not on the record with the respectables, it means, well less said the better. I smile, "please Mr Jones, come right in. Could I get you some coffee?"
Once we're settled, he asks whether I'd prefer notebook or tape recorder interview. I opt for notebook.
"Now Ms Ahpay, let's start with the Police report. Their investigation has come back, with the 99% assertion that it is a genuine Alien abduction. Care to comment on that?"
"The Police are far more capable of carrying out any investigation than I ever would be. If they're 99% satisfied, then so am I."
"And what is the level of clientele available to Native Alcohol Services, following this loss of same?"
"Sir, we have less than thirty alcoholics left, almost everyone was in the Dragon."
"And the Provincial Government has chosen to be rather severe, with its funding cuts. They simply wiped you people out, end of this month. Clients are told they will simply have to deal with mainline services. Any comments on that?"
"To be fair, they simply had no choice. Cost per client is one of the parameters."
"That's rather sporting of you. Most in your position would have unkind remarks. So, how are your staff taking all this?"
"Of the dozen staff, eight will be moving along to Native Alcohol Services in other cities, places where the Aliens and religious revival have yet to make inroads. Four, including myself, have opted for a change of pace, change of career path."
"Totally off the record now Ms Ahpay, have you four received shall we say unpleasant social pressure?"
I laugh drily, "totally off the record Mr Jones, 'traitor' is the kindest word we've heard."
"Just plain burnt out, eh?"
I nod, "time for a change."
"Back on the record, what have you chosen to do?"
"First of the month, I will be starting in consumer electronics sales."
He whistles softly, "ah, wise you are, sky is the limit. All that Native purchasing power, suddenly being turned loose. And it's no secret they prefer dealing with Native sales reps."
"That is my understanding."
He grins, "word is, your Native sales rep is entirely more ethical when it comes to things like accessing warranty work."
"You said that, not me."
He grins, "off the record now, I need to buy goodies for my son's birthday. Tell me which store you'll be at and what shift."

Deborah 13

Just as the waiter is clearing away our main course dishes, a breathless voice sounds on the TV, "good evening, sports fans, this is your local news reporter pre-empting the game."
Someone calls out, "that's the Dragon," and a hush falls over the diner.
"I'm here at the Dragon Bar, well half a block away actually. Through the magic of telephoto, I'm bringing you live action. See, those are little green men, Aliens, and they're abducting all the drinkers. Let's zoom in for a closeup."
The camera focuses on a bleary eyed Native drunk, whose jacket bears the logo First Nations Drywall Project.
"Ah ha," the clergyman asserts, "am I right or what? We know for sure where Roger is now."
"Oh shut up, you fat self-righteous pig," his wife replies, "ever since you quit drinking, you're the most tedious windbag in this entire town."
Loudly he replies, "and you, b****, just uptight, because now you hafta behave, be a minister's wife."
The waiter approaches, says quietly, "please, patrons are watching the news. Either keep it down or step outside a moment."
"Too bloody right, sunshine," the woman says, grabbing hubby's collar, "we'll be outside."
Through the window I see them shouting at each other.
The waiter whispers to me, "how phony can they get?"
"How so?"
He laughs easily, "take a good look at that TV. Now everyone knows the Dragon owner plays poker with that crazy bunch of Jewish hackers. Obvious publicity stunt, take the boyos for a ride in the bus."
"Since when do bars need publicity stunts?'
He gasps, "sister, you been away on a trip? All that religion sweeping through, Dragon is the only bar left in town, Native bar I mean."
"You mean to say all those Aliens are just holograms?"
"Of course, but do me a favor, don't let on I said. See lotsa people in here believe all this stuff."
I put my finger over my lip and he winks conspiratorially.
A few minutes later, the happy couple returns, we order dessert.
Reverend smiles happily, "and that is the end of all the trouble in our fair city. You see, I prayed for that to happen."
I grooan inwardly and the woman rolls her eyes.

Deborah 12

I shake my head a bit, to try and clear the mist from my eyes. Directly across from me sits a Native man, at least 70 pounds overweight. Clothes scream Prod clergy. To my right, sits a Native women, who looks kind. To my left, an empty chair.
Churning with impatience, the man snorts, "we've stalled enough, waiter is throwing us dirty looks, time to order." Waves to the waiter.
A young Native man approaches, pleasant tone, "ready to order sir?"
"I'm afraid our fourth person was detained at the Dragon again. I want the 16 ounce steak, medium rare, baked potato with bacon bits sour cream and butter, French fries and garlic toast. But use unsalted butter on the potato and toast, have to watch my blood pressure."
It's all I can do not to laugh.
The waiter turns to the woman, who says cheerfully, "fish and chips please."
The waiter's eyes are now on me. "Salad plate please."
The waiter actually gasps and the clergyman roars with laughter.
Kindly the woman says, "Deb, you've forgotten the history. Only reason they put that salad on the menu, that big demonstration from the Animal Rights people. Now if you order salad, the cook'll hate you, hafta go across the street, buy lettuce in the store."
By now the waiter's laughing, "to say nothing of him threatening to run away and join the Foreign Legion, a deathly insult like that."
By now I've somewhat placed myself. Since all other faces in this diner are Native, I presumably am too. When in Rome.
I give a goofy grin, "oh come on, can't you tell a joke when you hear one? I'll have the five ounce steak sandwish - bison - medium."
"Your choice of French fries or baked potato with that."
"French fries please."
I see obvious looks of approval all around, the joke/insult forgotten.
The man sounds deathly boring, but I'd far rather anyone but me talk. I wouldn't know what to say, don't even know who I am.
He rattles on about the evils of Demon Rum and how my fiance is a total jerk, for standing me up like that, and yes for standing me up the last six times. "Undoubtedly he'll have some nonsense story of the drywall crew working overtime. We all know they never work OT on Thursday, Friday or Saturday. Whole lotta them, in the Dragon, getting stinko."
He winces, as if kicked under the table, moves along to the doings of his congregation. Membership is a way up recently; however financial resources have not kept pace, as most newcomers are somewhat poor.
The woman actually rolls her eyes. I can catch her message, nothing more tedious than a former drunk.
It's an ordinary diner, not licensed for liquor, with a big screen TV showing a hockey game. Even though I'm not a sports fan, I can still tell it's a deadly dull game.

Deborah 11

We've just stopped a Brit jeep, with Col and Maj aboard. I inform them of orders, forbidden to drive further.
Col smiles thinly, "Lt, please disperse those troops. Something only fitting for officers to see."
I send them round a bend in the road.
Col draws a card out of his tunic pocket. Carefully examining it with my flashlight, I see the half dozen features are ok, it is indeed the signature of the Brit Prime Minister.
Quietly I say, "I await your orders Sir."
"We'll be back inside of two hours. Let us through without stopping. Impress upon your troops that it's wise to keep the lip zipped over what they saw."
"Yes Sir."
He hasn't driven ten feet when the mine blows. I'm aware of blood gushing all over.
A figure appears, an Alien like in the vid. No discernible facial expression, voice sounds metallic, "are you aware you are on our protected list?"
"No."
"It is our obligation to place you in a suitable body. Not a lot of choice right now. You could have picked a better time to do this."
"No. I've had enough and then some. Take your list and stick it. I"
"Rules are rules. It'd be my head on the Emperor's platter if I failed to aid one on the list. Look on the bright side, at least the new body is the same nationality."
At that, I black out.

Deborah 10

A Pvt snorts in derision, "oh come on Lt, what line of bull **** are you feeding us? Why in ****ing hell are we only allowed foot travel and helicopter going south from XMG (Crossmaglen?) It ain't like we own any choppers, not like them rich Brits."
"Pvt, have you noticed the local transport yet? This is a poor region."
"So, big ugly deal, they got donkey carts, horse buggies and wagons. What of it?"
A Cpl interjects rudely, "use your ***ing head. Those are light in weight. Ever hear of anti-vehicle mines, bonehead?"
Pvt blushes, "sorry Lt, I'll happily walk wherever you like. After all, it ain't like we got any armor plating underneath those jeeps."
I draw a breath, "see it's like this, the Brit voter and taxpayer is watching events in Ulster closely. They don't mind the odd lone soldier picked off by a sniper. But losing a vehicle load, be they Canadian or British, sets off an uproar in Parliament."
Cpl grins wickedly, "be honest now Lt. Why on earth does the Ra (IRA) put anti-vehicle mines on that road? After all, they know we don't use it."
"The weight setting on those mines would be heavy enough, only set off by a mil vehicle. And when they smuggle by the dark of the moon from Eire, they can roll those donkey carts safely over top of everything they planted, yet interdict the road to our pursuit."
I see looks of comprehension all around.
I grin, "ok, let's roll. Remember, you're safe. No logical reason there would be any anti-personnel mines."
"Why not?" asks the thick Pvt.
Cpl groans, "use your ****ing noodle. If there were, the Ra's own donkey carts would set them off."
"Oh. But still Lt, if you believe that, you lead the way."
I laugh, "sure. But you follow or I shoot you."
Everyone roars with laughter and it clears the air.

Deborah 9

In as grim a tone as I've ever heard her use, Cindy my platoon Sgt says, "Deb, we gotta talk."
I nod, sense where she's headed.
"That was just ****ing inexcusable. How in hell did Col Anderson allow that crap to happen?"
I nod.
"Go**am Loch Rannoch Highlanders, think they could make the handover civilized? Not on your ****ing life. Those eerie wailing bagpipes all the time we inspected. Got everyone right freaked out."
I nod.
"And you, you don't seem one iota ruffled by it all. I'm starting to wonder where your head is at?"
"Recall the Londonderry tour?"
She nods.
"Due to cheap rents, it's become a haven for alternative web media and games programmers. Catholics and Prods work side by side, even drink together. Debates are largely about which motorcycle is best; which pusher to patronize."
"So cut to the ****ing chase Einstein, what are you telling me?"
"There is nothing an individual Brit could tell us. Officers, hoyty toyty, look down on Colonials and on Reservists. Enlisteds, mostly left school at age 14, not like our mostly university crowd. So, the bagpiper communciated with us, in the only fashion he could. Tell me what he was trying to convey."
I see comprehension flood over her, she blushes, "I get your point. He was saying, don't be lulled by past urban experience. Backwaters like this are centuries behind the cities. He wanted us to feel it, right in our bones. And he succeeded."
I nod.
"And you, how is it you know this stuff?"
I shrug, "that's what they pay the big bucks for."