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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: All the Shit Hits Everywhere

“I am not a committed pacifist. I would not hold that it is under all imaginable circumstances wrong to use violence, even though the use of violence is in some sense unjust. I believe that one has to estimate relative justices. But the use of violence and the creation of some degree of injustice can only be justified on the basis of the claim and the assessment—which always ought to be undertaken very, very seriously and with a good deal of skepticism—that this violence is being exercised because a more just result is going to be achieved.”

― Noam Chomsky

The room lit up, the flash from outside bright enough to wake him from a deep sleep. He rolled to his feet, shielding his eyes. A deep, throaty “boom” filled his ears and he cursed in several languages:

“Jannet! Wake up! Now!” He used his Command voice, well aware that she had never before heard that tone from him.

She rolled over, muzzy with sleep, knuckling the matter from her eyes: “What? ‘Wha...”

He interrupted, still in Command mode, calm but firm: “Get dressed. Wake up Kim and Jimmy, then get upstairs. Wake up Marie and Luisa. Then put in your contacts, and grab your bag. Meet in the front yard in ten minutes.”

She stared at him, puzzled. She began to do as he’d ordered, slowly and reluctantly.

Then the ground wave from the explosion rolled through, shaking the house and bringing down some wallboard from the ceiling above her.

“Shit!” she yelled, and started throwing her clothes around, donning some, searching through the pockets of each item, looking for her phone.