"Socrates?"
Oriana blinked at the sight of people gathered around her like children. "Surprised to see us?"
She furrowed and unfurrowed her brow. Re-looked at the typed "The reasons we apologize." Shook her head no. Said, "No." People looked at each other. Bruises with salve; stitched cuts; head bandages; knee braces; ankle boots..."We learned to doctor ourselves too," Throw-Up Girl smiled bright whitely. "Mostly." She took a hand out of her pocket and the arm dangled badly at the elbow. People giggled and made shocked sounds. One woman said, Gross.
Oriana put her hands like she was still a nun on her lap on top of our papers regarding how much we'd learned as people learning interdisciplinary.
"I'm sorry." Her invisible tears got caught in her throat. "But none of us can go."
A military surplus truck's horn honked.
"MARIE!!!!!" Someone said the name of the first.
One of our first tasks was to let people know: We're a Republic. Even us American International Journalists. And as such we respect you. But, this Country's rule (that's law and order) is not "consensus".
This was sometimes explained as people were reaching for shotguns to let us know: They'd decided differently.
Then local jurisdiction people worked with National Guard to pocket a "property". Deeds had to be checked. Minors had to choose. Taxes paid needed to be confirmed. Outstanding warrants? Locked briefcases handcuffed to arms had to be exchanged.
Ayup, we were back to being peacekeepers, Academics, and Regulars. As had happened to the Philippines in World War II, flashpoints and mergers, had friends: strangers; interesting: boring; and every situation life or death in the choices us Americans make.
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