Anglic Union

The woman moaned in pain. “Yes, sir,” she managed.  “Apologies!”  She staggered back, clutching her hand, her face white, when De Witt’s rescuer let go. 

DeWitt found herself surrounded by a half-dozen  members of her party.  They were large, healthy members, each wearing his Ground Combat Service (Civilian Form) medal.  “You need a few friends with you, all the time,” the oldest of them said.  He, De Witt, recognized, was Senator Grigsby from the remote Otago district of New Zealand.  “Our friends in the Seldon Legion are being notified.”

“I’ll leave via the Capital Stairs,” she announced.  “The Independent Union ExComm is meeting for lunch at the Tipsy Tortoise.”  And since I did not warn them in any detail, she thought, it will be interesting to see what they think of this contretemps.  At worst someone else becomes Acting Party Leader.

 The Tipsy Tortoise — Independent Union Party ExComm

The facade of the Tipsy Tortoise was an imprecise reproduction of an English Pub of a much earlier century, complete with faux Tudor timber and stucco, and a hanging sign showing a turtle in top hat, three-piece suit, and fancy cane, preparing to keel  over in a drunken stupor.  The interior, despite being dark wood lit by diamond-paned windows, was much larger than any Englishman would have expected.  The rear private hall permanently hired by the Independent Union Party was entirely modern.

DeWitt marched through the side of the Public Room.  She’d made it to the half-way mark when someone shouted  “Three cheers for Senator De Witt.” The three cheers were interrupted by loud applause.

About George Phillies

science fiction author -- researcher in polymer dynamics -- collector of board wargames -- President, National Fantasy Fan Federation
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