I'm going to do something here and ask you, the reader, to comment, critique, pick my story apart. I have been writing and rewrting this story since 1991...

The first go took me 6 months and was over 600 pages, hammered out on a old Olivetti manual typewriter, the kind that came with a satchel to carry it around. I had learned to type as a child on my father's old Olivetti manual that came with it's own hard suitcase so hammering on the keyboard was(and still is) second nature.

I presented my hubby with 600 pages of manuscript, proud of my achievement... and was crushed when he said it read like an outline.

In the intervening decades I have, I hope, grown a little as a writer and realized a few things.

One of those things is that i was trying to tell a story in novel length that demanded a much broader scope... It had to be at least a trilogy.Technology changed, the battlefield changed... everything changed and the story had to change with it. In the early 90's drone warfare was a dream.. Now it is a fact of life.

These things and many others that I cannot share(Spoilers) have given new life and meaning to a story that is both ancient and timely...

I hope that you can enjoy this story and take it for what it is... whatever that means to you.

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“I really love this place…”

The incongruous thought ran through her mind as they left the towering bridge that dominated the harbor behind, driving carefully through the sprawling yuppie haven the shabby little beach town of her birth had become. Outward they went, moving up the coast another 20 miles before turning off onto a sand road leading toward the marshes and eventually the shoreline.

The road was heavily washboarded making their progress slow to a crawl while the ancient truck rattled, creaked and groaned alarmingly. A few hundred meters into the thick forest the man driving paused for a moment while he turned off the lights and they both pulled on light amplification glasses. Their progress resumed for what seemed like hours, pulling onto ever smaller and more poorly maintained roads until at last they could go no further.

The two sat there for a moment, lost in thought before getting out of the truck and beginning to unpack their gear. A few moments later they set off on a barely visible track into the thick jungle-like forest which occasionally thinned out into areas relatively free of ground clutter… except for the long and spiky leaves of saw palmettos which seemed to seek out any available spot to stab or scratch. They had prepared for this as well as possible, being covered head to toe and even wearing gloves but the occasional spike still got through.

Their progress was almost silent, deliberately slow and gentle to minimize the sounds they made. The effort of moving in this way together with the burdens they both carried had them both slicked with sweat inside their clothing even though it was a chilly 70 degree mid March morning. Dense fog seemed to muffle what little noise they did make as they came to the edge of a tidal creek and set about unpacking the 2 person Folbot he carried.

Once they set it up they carried it to the water then stowed the supplies they had both carried inside the kayak. Folding paddles were unlimbered before the final item was added, a small motor on a frame which clipped to the rudder mounts. A metal clad line ran to the fuel bladder she had stowed on the bow. They hugged tightly before climbing into the kayak and silently paddling toward the ocean, their progress assisted by the outflowing tide.

For hours they paddled slowly, conserving energy as they passed out of the tidal creek and into a larger sound before threading through passages between islands. The transition to ocean was discernable only by the increasing motion of the water and they upped tempo for a while to push through and into longer and gentler swells. Once through they dropped to their previous pace and continued paddling east by southeast until they were 12 miles offshore. Even though they were technically beyond the limit and in international waters this was not the time to relax.

The small motor cranked easily and they moved on into the salty night air at double the pace of their previous progress. To any observer they were nearly invisible, even their heat signature masked somewhat by the nature of their vessel and the motor. They each felt comforted by the enveloping darkness as it muffled the storm of pain and loss, giving just the slightest distance from slavering demons.

“Do you think they made it?” Her voice was just above a mutter, enough to carry back to his ears.

“I’m sure they did Lynne… they are the two toughest people I’ve ever known. They left this setup for us when it became clear there wasn’t going to be time to get another and set out on jetskis after all!” He did his best to sound positive and encouraging even though he shared her dread.

“I know that Tom but… we haven’t heard anything for almost 6 months now and things are so scary back there… if they got caught they are in a camp right now and here we are running away!” She was crying softly.

Tom tried to hold back his own tears at the thought and didn’t reply for a few minutes.

“You know we had to go… we would be headed to a camp in about 5 hours if we hadn’t. A fly can’t fight the swatter, it can only escape.”

“Asshole…” there was no venom in her voice.

Silence fell between them again and they glided almost silently on through the increasingly large swells. When dawn came they pulled a cover over them that was ocean camouflaged to match the skin of the boat and reduced speed to eliminate any visible evidence of movement. They took turns dozing throughout the day, being careful to stay properly hydrated.

Darkness closed over them and with it relief from the heat of the day, aided by the breeze their increased speed generated. They were both hungry but limited themselves to 1 MRE each, dowsing the contents liberally with hot sauce and slowly savoring each bite. They only had 6 meals and it was a 60 hour journey to Freeport if they were lucky.

As it turned out they weren’t so lucky, 50 hours into the journey the motor died and could not be nursed back to life. They both paddled in turn, one resting while the other worked for endless hours but their progress had slowed to a painful crawl and by the time they finally saw land they were exhausted and dehydrated from almost a week on the water. They expended the last of their energy paddling to shore and pulling their much lightened kayak up into the edge of the treeline before collapsing in the shade.

Tom awoke first at a gentle nudge from a sandal clad toe. He blinked his eyes in confusion then started as he saw the round mustachioed face looming over him. He looked over to Lynne who was being similarly awakened by a pleasantly round faced woman.

“Thomas Campbell?”

The man’s english was heavily accented with the speech patterns typical of the Bahama’s native inhabitants.

“Yes? I’m sorry, how do you know me?”

The man offered his hand and pulled Tom to his feet. “I am Mateo Rolle and this is my wife Epolia. You were expected to make landfall much farther north! You two are very lucky, this is the last island before you reach the open ocean and it is officially uninhabited.”

Lynne was also on her feet and dusting herself off. “Well I’m really glad we made it here, the trip was a bear! Still, how do you know who we are?”

“Your wives have become fairly well known in the underground community. Smuggling goods in and people out is a major growth industry right now and our islands are getting very wealthy from it. They have been a big part of helping to ramp up the scale of operations and have been responsible for thousands escaping. Many of us know to look for you although no one knew when you might arrive.”

“Follow us, we need to get out of sight until nightfall.” The woman was already walking into the trees until she came to a door like a storm cellar set into the sandy soil. It proved to be quite heavy, opening only with hydraulic assistance and completely sealed when closed behind them. A short flight of stairs down and they emerged into a spacious area with comfortable seating and a light, airy feel. Arched doorways led in various directions and Epolia hurried through one while Mateo got them seated and a little more comfortable. She returned with unidentifiable fluid in large glasses which proved to be a somewhat salty, sweet chocolate flavor with a slightly grainy feel on the tongue. Lynne gave her a questioning look and she chuckled.

“Its pretty nasty stuff but you can’t handle regular food yet so drink this slowly and I will have something truly delicious for you in a few hours, ok?”

Lynne nodded and watched her bustle back into the kitchen. She turned her attention to Mateo who was already engaged in conversation with Tom.

“Epolia said Quinn and Elena are well known… do you know where they are?”

“No one knows where they are. They made contact with some of the bigtime characters down in Brazil a month or so ago and we have heard nothing since. I’m sorry…”

Lynne was a little wooden as she thanked him for his concern but Tom was on the verge of tears.

They both waited while he regained control with a visible effort, sipping mindlessly at the rehydrate liquid. After a few moments he leaned forward, glass dangling between his knees from one hand.

“Is there a way to get to where they went?”

Mateo took a few moments to consider. “I can get you partway and some friends will take you the rest of the way to Manaus. We will leave tonight and be at our rendezvous before dawn.” He heaved himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen.

“Now to talk my wife into making some sort of something edible for the trip…”

“Go do something you’re good at you… Man!!!” A deliberate sounding clash of pans came through the door. “Why don’t you make sure that monstrosity you love so much is ready to go?!”

“Be quiet woman, you’ll hurt Ziggy’s feelings!” He grinned as he riposted.

“You two feel like seeing your ride?” Mateo gestured them through another doorway, still chuckling to himself.

They followed him through a short passage and a watertight hatch to another open area, this one outfitted as a berth for what looked like a very stubby winged seaplane with two small jet engines mounted high on the tail at an upward angle. Another pair was mounted high on pylons at the bow. The cockpit was clear topped and looked quite spacious although it was obviously fitted for cargo.

Lynne tried to whistle, then wet her lips and succeeded. “Ok, did you mod a CYG-11 cause that’s sure what it looks like?”

He beamed with pride while Tom chuckled. “I sure did! I had to rebuild the entire tail area to fit the two aft engines and rebuild the front pylons for a little more height and to handle the added thrust. You’re looking at 4 Price Induction DGEN-410s, any one of which can keep the craft in ground effect mode with a full load. Run in this configuration I can do 290 knots at the bottom of what these engines think of as cruising speed so they just sip fuel.”

“I’m impressed! This is one serious piece of engineering!”

“Thanks Mrs. Prioleau! Coming from you thats a real compliment!” He was smiling even more widely now. “Don’t let my wife fool you, she did all the fairings. I built the structural members and refitted the control surfaces and we printed and built the engines together. Ziggy here is just as much her baby as he is mine, if not more!”

“Ziggy? As in Marley?” Tom looked vaguely interested.

Mateo chuckled. “No, Ziggy the old comic strip. She loved it when we lived in New York.” His expression darkened and his hand stroked the sides of the craft aimlessly. “Our daughter used to love it too...”

“What happened?”

“She married a Muslim woman.” His voice was flat, sharp edged. “They were among the first to be thrown into the camps… I cannot imagine they have survived.”

“Shit… I’m sorry. We stayed and got as many out as we could…” Tom took a long shaky breath. “We would almost certainly be in the camps or just shot and left to die if an old childhood friend hadn’t tipped me off about the new sweeps.”

Mateo had just opened his mouth when Epolia came bustling into the area.

“We have to leave now. The Americans have just taken Nassau and Freeport and Tamasha says it is very bad. Attach the external fuel tank while I make something for us to eat on the way.” She rushed back out of the room, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

After a moment Mateo shook it off and went over to a strange looking housing, gesturing for assistance. Between the three of them they managed to fit it over the entire top of the cabin and get it fastened down, plugging in a quick release fuel line. Mateo pulled a hose over and began running fuel into the extra tank, carefully fitting every possible drop in both it and the internal tanks.

By the time that was done Epolia had finished packing the food, cleaning up and changing clothes. They all took a quick moment to relieve themselves and then climbed into the craft. The engines spooled up, a piercing whine in the confines of the berthing space tapering off as a large section of wall pulled inward and then slid back inside the dome.

A moment later they pulled out into the slanting sunlight of late afternoon, slewing around and heading directly east at a speed slow enough to prevent them becoming fully airborne. They were still moving quite quickly and in a little over 3 hours they were 200 miles to the east. They were all thoroughly tired of the pounding they had taken from the floats skipping over the wavetops, heaving a collective sigh of relief as Mateo eased the throttle up and they took to the air.

He carefully kept them just above stall speed so that they flew just a few feet above the water, being as stealthy as possible. They turned southeast after another hour and the engines spooled up a bit further. They rose to 20 feet or so above the water before Mateo entered a few settings on the impressively cutting edge instrument panel and unlocked his seat, swiveling around to face the others.

“We will rendezvous with a cargo ship in a few hours to take on fuel. After that we will proceed to our next rendezvous just offshore from the northern mouth of the Amazon. We will take on enough fuel to make it the rest of the way to Manaus, flying along the river. After that we will see… I hope they can tell you something.”

“What are you going to do?”

Epolia lay her hand on Lynne’s knee and leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Don’t you worry about us, smugglers always have work and we are very good smugglers. If you ever need anything… you drop a message to me, ok?” she slipped a small piece of paper to Lynne who memorized the address on it before eating it, hiding her motion by taking a sip from the bottle of water she held and wiping her lips..

“Thank you… and you, the same, Mother.” Epolia looked surprised for a bare instant before she held her features to an expressionless mask.

Lynne continued “You know who I am… and I… I know who you are… Mother.” The tone of her words was harsh and her repeated use of the title was loaded with venom.

“One day this will end. Until that day comes…” Lynne paused to calm herself and left the other woman hanging. “You and I are allies.”

“You can’t imagine how good that makes me feel…” she purred in return. “We have to put all that aside, just as you said. We have to fight the enemy we share or we will not live to fight each other.”

“Fuck you!!!!!” Lynne’s shout rang through the cabin, interrupting the conversation the men had been having.

“I’ve rescued girls from you and your people… Trans kids just like my wife… Kids you prey upon! You give them hormones and use them as drug mules… you give them a dream life until they get caught and spend the rest of their lives being raped in prison… and then you abandon them…”

Epolia was visibly agitated and after a moment of stewing she stood, crouching against the canopy. “Yes I use trans people for smuggling… I use all sorts of people for smuggling. For your information I simply give them the medical treatment they should have had. I give all of my employees full medical benefits… I have paid for over 400 trans women and 300 trans men to have their surgery because it is covered in the health plan I offer. I have paid a great deal more for transmen although I couldn’t tell you the number… health insurance standards and such so I don’t have solid numbers on either of those things.”

“The point is that I do the best I can and yes, some of them get caught… and some of those get sent to places I don’t have power. I don’t want anyone to be hurt but it is a part of the job. Why transpeople? To be blunt, I have more leverage. Many are hiding and those who aren’t are afraid… Most are poor… many are on the streets. I give them something better than what they have. For a long time that was enough… but now?”

“Now… if we do not fight we die. All of us. These people make the Nazis look like amateurs. These people make people like you and I discover that we are not so different after all.”

She took a breath a captured Lynne’s eyes with her own. “I named my first child Roger. I was wrong… I thought she was a boy because I didn’t know any better. What is a mother to think when she holds her baby and they have a penis? I realized I was wrong and that I had a daughter but it was too late… I had already abused my child and she ran away and one night a john killed her… she was hooking to get her hormones…”

She was crying, tears flowing down her face almost unnoticed. “She…. She died… a john beat her to death. I take them off the streets, they don’t have to fuck anyone they don’t want to… And yes, they smuggle for me and they make a lot of money for doing it. I am not a monster… I am a mother… I just want to help…to help kids who have no one to help.”

A pregnant silence hung between them, seemingly unnoticed by the men.