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."