you back due to your perceived
station.”
It was
the strongest he had sounded in days, and they were to be his last words. He
collapsed into his pillow, and immediately his hand went limp in Mei’s. She
cried out, and the room immediately filled with those who had been banished to
the hall.
Wails of
grief filled the room, and Mei looked at Zedong across the body of his father.
He met her gaze, with eyes never more focused or determined in their resolve.
He
looked like his father did, the day he left to exact revenge.
Delta 173, Crossing the International Date Line
Yesterday
“I’m telling you, Jimmy, never get married.”
Burt
Dawson turned his head slightly, looking forward to hearing Niner’s advice for
his friend.
“Why
not?” asked Jimmy, taking the bait.
“My
brother got married and divorced in the same year.”
“Really?”
“Yup. I
asked him about it, and you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“He
said, ‘Girls are like a brochure. They let you run your fingers over their
words, drool over the pictures, and when you finally take the plunge and sign
up for that cruise to marriage-land, the brochure is snapped shut, never to be
spread again.’”
Dawson
shook his head, stifling a groan. Jimmy didn’t, his plain and aloud. Dawson
glanced at Spock who sat next to him, his eyebrow halfway up his forehead, a
smile on his face.
“Look
out, Dr. Phil.”
Dawson
grinned then climbed out of his seat, heading forward toward the first class
cabin. He stepped around a flight attendant coming his way, then entered the
bathroom, peering out the door, waiting for the lady collecting drinks to pass
by his position. She finally did and he exited, walking with purpose into first
class. He pulled his phone from his pocket, then dropped it on the floor, the
slight push he gave it sending it between the feet of one of the passengers. He
bent down, then looked up at a surprised Professor Acton.
“Sorry,
I’m all thumbs at thirty thousand feet.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” said the Professor, bending down and picking up the phone.
Dawson took it, and palmed a piece of paper into the man’s hand, shaking it.
“Thanks
for the help.”
He
turned around and walked past a flight attendant, returning to coach. He sat
down beside Spock, and fastened his lap belt.
“Problem?”
Dawson
shook his head.
“I hope
not.”
Shaoshan, Hunan Province, China
November 14, 1934
Li Mei sat on her porch as column after column of soldiers marched
by the family farm, soldiers of the Kuomintang, or Chinese Nationalist Party,
who she prayed would simply walk on by, without realizing whose farm they
actually crossed.
For they
were the enemy. Yes, they were the army of the official government in this
area, but not of her grandson, Mao Zedong. He, the founder of the local
communist chapter, who had quickly risen to prominence, and for a short time,
successfully established the Hunan Soviet after leading the Autumn Harvest
Uprising in 1927. He who dared to defy the official leadership of the Chinese
Communist effort, his peasant army frowned upon by the urban leadership, some
brought in from the Soviet Union itself.
She knew
from his letters that Zedong opposed this. Though he valued the assistance of
the Soviet Union, he never wanted their leadership. The entire point of the
revolution was to remove foreign control of China, not to hand it over to
another. Mei knew the time of the emperors was over, but Zedong’s newfound
determination after his father’s death, and after learning the truth of his
heritage, had been remarkable. Within two years of learning the truth, he was
the leader of the local communist party, and now led an army numbering in the
thousands.
But
things weren’t going well, and she knew the army that marched past her farm was
in pursuit of a desperately retreating Red Army, which would include her
grandson.
She
didn’t worry, however, as she knew
station.”
It was
the strongest he had sounded in days, and they were to be his last words. He
collapsed into his pillow, and immediately his hand went limp in Mei’s. She
cried out, and the room immediately filled with those who had been banished to
the hall.
Wails of
grief filled the room, and Mei looked at Zedong across the body of his father.
He met her gaze, with eyes never more focused or determined in their resolve.
He
looked like his father did, the day he left to exact revenge.
Delta 173, Crossing the International Date Line
Yesterday
“I’m telling you, Jimmy, never get married.”
Burt
Dawson turned his head slightly, looking forward to hearing Niner’s advice for
his friend.
“Why
not?” asked Jimmy, taking the bait.
“My
brother got married and divorced in the same year.”
“Really?”
“Yup. I
asked him about it, and you know what he told me?”
“What?”
“He
said, ‘Girls are like a brochure. They let you run your fingers over their
words, drool over the pictures, and when you finally take the plunge and sign
up for that cruise to marriage-land, the brochure is snapped shut, never to be
spread again.’”
Dawson
shook his head, stifling a groan. Jimmy didn’t, his plain and aloud. Dawson
glanced at Spock who sat next to him, his eyebrow halfway up his forehead, a
smile on his face.
“Look
out, Dr. Phil.”
Dawson
grinned then climbed out of his seat, heading forward toward the first class
cabin. He stepped around a flight attendant coming his way, then entered the
bathroom, peering out the door, waiting for the lady collecting drinks to pass
by his position. She finally did and he exited, walking with purpose into first
class. He pulled his phone from his pocket, then dropped it on the floor, the
slight push he gave it sending it between the feet of one of the passengers. He
bent down, then looked up at a surprised Professor Acton.
“Sorry,
I’m all thumbs at thirty thousand feet.”
“Don’t
worry about it,” said the Professor, bending down and picking up the phone.
Dawson took it, and palmed a piece of paper into the man’s hand, shaking it.
“Thanks
for the help.”
He
turned around and walked past a flight attendant, returning to coach. He sat
down beside Spock, and fastened his lap belt.
“Problem?”
Dawson
shook his head.
“I hope
not.”
Shaoshan, Hunan Province, China
November 14, 1934
Li Mei sat on her porch as column after column of soldiers marched
by the family farm, soldiers of the Kuomintang, or Chinese Nationalist Party,
who she prayed would simply walk on by, without realizing whose farm they
actually crossed.
For they
were the enemy. Yes, they were the army of the official government in this
area, but not of her grandson, Mao Zedong. He, the founder of the local
communist chapter, who had quickly risen to prominence, and for a short time,
successfully established the Hunan Soviet after leading the Autumn Harvest
Uprising in 1927. He who dared to defy the official leadership of the Chinese
Communist effort, his peasant army frowned upon by the urban leadership, some
brought in from the Soviet Union itself.
She knew
from his letters that Zedong opposed this. Though he valued the assistance of
the Soviet Union, he never wanted their leadership. The entire point of the
revolution was to remove foreign control of China, not to hand it over to
another. Mei knew the time of the emperors was over, but Zedong’s newfound
determination after his father’s death, and after learning the truth of his
heritage, had been remarkable. Within two years of learning the truth, he was
the leader of the local communist party, and now led an army numbering in the
thousands.
But
things weren’t going well, and she knew the army that marched past her farm was
in pursuit of a desperately retreating Red Army, which would include her
grandson.
She
didn’t worry, however, as she knew
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