Backscatter

"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 in 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 while and then asked, "I'm curious. You said an integrated Congress? What does that mean?"

"Well, there are thirteen districts, ranging in size of 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 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. Total land area of the archipelago is 797 sq km."

"And where do you live?"

He paused, and with the flat of her 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 Ft. 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 and 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 day dreaming 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! Got'cha! 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. 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 AM 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 second, and then the long ethnic friendship between them finally touched and softened his eyes. "Lass," he whispered in a Scottish accent, "yee'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 AM."

"10:50 AM?!"

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 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?"