Chapter 2 - Gathering

Brad Fitchley waited at Concourse F of the Lindbergh Terminal for the Mondale party's flight from Seattle. After collecting them and hustling them off to the car rental and the airport Hilton to settle in, he had 90 minutes to race back to Concourse E for the American Eagle flight from Chicago-O'Hare and pick up Henry O'Neil and his family. Immediately on their heels and in the same concourse a Continental Express flight was to arrive bearing Chuck Yassateague 'and friends'. And he'd have an hour to deal with both of them simultaneously before he'd have to hoof it from Lindbergh Terminal to Concourse H in the Humphrey Terminal to catch Robert Collins' AirTran Airways flight from Atlanta. He was getting exhausted just thinking about it.

He knew from seeing pick-ups posted on the Internet that the Confederacy had a transportation beam that could send you seemingly wherever you wanted to go whenever you wanted to go there. As he watched the Alaska Airlines Boeing 737 pull up to the gate, he fervently wished that he had access to that system now.

It took an uncomfortably long time for the flight to disgorge its passengers, but eventually Robert and Carla Mondale, their two boys and Rita Morales and her two daughters walked off. Each daughter was clutching a stuffed animal and had their hair in too-cute-for-words pigtails.

Richard, the older Mondale lad, stopped his dad and whispered in his ear.

"So do I, Son. Ah, Brad! Good timing!"

"Good flight? I'm glad it arrived on time. We've got 90 minutes before I have to be back for Henry's flight."

"Excellent flight, if a touch lined up at the lavatories as Dick just reminded me."

"Well, the Larry Craig Memorial Bathroom is right this way."

"I didn't think he had died," responded Robert with some concern.

"As far as I know he hasn't, but his political career certainly has."

As the two of them chortled, they collected their bags and headed off for much-needed relief. Robert noted that there was a noticeable difference between the women of his entourage compared to the standard dress code around them. His were far more conservatively dressed.

Just before he entered the notorious comfort station, he turned to his concubines. "We're standing out. I think the Earth First may figure we're a pre-pack and target us. For the sake of the kids, while you're in the can get something see-through on those tops, or at least ditch the bras."

"I'd ditch the tops entirely if I thought we wouldn't get arrested for it," responded Carla with a resigned air.

Just then, four female cabin crewmembers from Continental Airlines passed them. The uniform: miniskirt, heels, matching handbags and body paint. Their ID's were clipped to their neckerchiefs.

Carla and Rita looked at each other. Finally Rita advised, "I've got enough body paint in my luggage for us both. We can do that."

"That works. Let's go."

Robert grabbed Brad's upper arm. "There is a god," he averred.

"Goddesses, actually, you've got two and I've got two. Life is good." The two marched happily into the lavatory, preceded by the two boys.

At Concourse E now, Brad and Robert were waiting for the American Eagle Bombardier CRJ700 to offload its precious cargo. Robert's family pack was settling in at the Hilton, stretched between two connected rooms. Brad had decided that putting up at the Hilton was a damned good idea too, and his brood was one floor below them in identical adjoining rooms.

"How's business?" Robert asked the gunsmith.

"Going great guns, if you'll pardon the pun. Everyone wants a heavy weapon in their hot little hands before the Swarm hits, they want lots of ammo, and they desperately want to know how to use it all. I've got three extra staff at the store, two more at the outdoor gun range, climbing sales for everything from handguns to long guns, and night courses in safe gun handling. I've also bought a half interest in a paintball gallery, and we've expanded it twice and are looking for a second spot. How about you?"

"Not so great. We had been doing lots of custom home designs, but instead now we're reduced to doing the occasional war job: bunkers and other prepared defensive works. That, thanks to my time in the military, is my forte, but that's not something the senior partners or even the senior staff have much experience in. I'm getting the work, but it's more engineering than architecture, so we're going to have to let some of the architects go, those not used to such commissions. There isn't enough work for everybody because nobody gives a shit about their shack anymore."

"That sucks."

Just then Henry O'Neil emerged, followed closely by four scantily-clad women, two his age and two somewhat younger. Three children accompanied them.

"Henry!" Robert called.

"Bob! Brad! Are you two a sight for sore eyes!"

"How was your flight?"

"Too damned long, with too few washrooms. Where's the damned head?"

Brad pointed toward the Larry Craig Memorial Bathroom.

"Ah, first, where are my manners? You remember my wife Fiona? These are three of her co-workers, Mary, Judy and Sylvia. These are Sylvia's little curtain climbers, Mark, he's 10, Marlene, she's 8, and Missy, who is proud to let everyone know that she has just turned six."

Missy gave the two men a beaming smile, showing a couple of missing teeth.

As Brad welcomed the younger children Robert whispered to Henry, "All schoolteachers?"

"Two. Sylvia's the school's nurse. If we get extracted there's a Clark County elementary school with a serious staffing issue."

Just then, the announcement for Chuck's flight came over the public address system. Brad looked at the small mob they had right now and turned to Henry and Robert. "Look, we're a small mob already and Chuck's family will only make it worse," he whispered. "We'd stick out like a sore thumb, a perfect target for the Echo Foxtrots. You guys hoof it to the Hilton. Bob, can you meet Chuck in the hotel lobby? I'll come over myself with RC and his family as soon as his flight gets in."

Both could see the wisdom of Brad's words and hastened to depart - somewhat propelled by the need to pee.

Brad wandered in a more relaxed fashion to the gate where the Continental Express Embraer 145 was arriving with Chuck and his crew. Once again, there was the familiar pause as everyone deplaned, and finally the balding head of Chuck Yassateague popped out of the commuter craft. He preceded two undeniably decorative early-middle-aged women, each escorting a young girl under ten years of age.

"Brad!" Chuck yelled. "How the HELL are ya!"

Brad winced. So much for blending into the woodwork! "Doin' well, my friend, doin' well. Who have you brought with you this trip?" They had reached each other by this point, so Brad dropped his voice to a whisper. "Keep your voice down, for God's sake. You're your own PA system, and we're trying to hide in plain sight."

"Earth First?" Chuck growled back, almost quietly.

"They love public places. Now, these are?"

"Ah, Christine and her ten-year-old daughter Debbie, and Monica and her nine-year-old anklebiter Brittany."

"Flight OK? Great, then, let's get you to your car and shoot you over to the hotel. Robert should be waiting for you in the lobby."

As Robert ushered the Yassateague family away to the car rental booth, a sinister figure in the shadows flipped open his cellphone. Before he could dial a single number, however, he collapsed bonelessly onto the hard floor of Lindbergh Terminal. Unnoticed by Robert or any of the Yassateagues, a medical drama unfolded behind them. For some reason, the man had had a seizure, the paramedics concluded, and they evacuated the patient to the nearest hospital.

In the confusion, the cellphone was lost.

Brad was now sitting in a rather uncomfortable seat in the arrivals section of Humphrey Terminal's Concourse H. An AirTran Boeing 737-700 was pulling up to the gate, completing yet another routine flight from Atlanta. Trying to hide his eagerness, he counted heads until finally Robert Collins, RC to his friends, finally stepped onto Terra Firma. Behind him strode his wife Mira and three women Brad didn't recognize. One of the three held a baby in her arms and the other two had a pair of youngsters with them, neither older than six.

"How was the flight?"

"Long and boring," RC related, "and Ronnie had an embarrassment." He pointed to the twenty-something lady he was escorting. "She had to breast feed little Victoria, and some decrepit old biddy objected, wanted her to take it into the washroom. The flight crew told the crone that it was natural, normal and, I quote, 'the kid's lunch', and would SHE like to eat HER lunch in the shitter." RC chuckled at the memory.

"And Mrs. Collins, how are you?" Brad asked, desperate to change the topic from public breastfeeding. He had no objection himself, but RC's volume was again climbing.

"Please, it's 'Mira'. 'Mrs. Collins' makes me sound ancient." Mira reddened. "I don't think you've met our companions. These are neighbours of ours, who came along at RC's hour of grief to provide support. Ronnie you just met, and next to her are sisters Rachel and Rebekah. Jessica is Rachel's six-year-old and Alexandra is Rebekah's. She's five."

"RC, either you've been an unusually spry old dog or there's a story here...."

RC waved at the women. Ronnie started first.

"Some mobsters popped him for his CAP card. Didn't get them far." She shrugged. "Yes, it did, I guess. They got to orbit. They got to see vacuum from real close up."

Rebekah was almost in tears. "The four of us were in a restaurant when the interdiction field went up. Before the Marines could even announce their presence, three Earth Firsters started blasting at anything that moved. That included our husbands, neither of whom had enough of a CAP score to leave anyway. The Earth Firsters got killed, the extraction took place, but neither of us was in any shape to compete, what with our husbands' dead bodies beside us. We couldn't go."

"So, screw those Earth First bastards," added her sister Rachel. "We're getting our daughters off this rock come hell or high water."

Glancing nervously around him, Brad managed to get this latest menagerie out of the airport in record time.