Onward, Thomas's transport sails the great Pacific. It's very big, and takes a long time to cross. It takes even longer in bad weather. Thomas can't say he misses home...even if he should.
When Thomas isn't needed to crew the ship, he plucks a lute in his quarters. And he chants:
I am a Grant; a son of many mighty Grants
Ulysses is not in my patriline that I'm aware of
But still, they insist on calling me President Grant II
To keep our great grandchildren from confusing me with the bearded Civil War hero
Many men in my patriline have risen
All have fallen; some more violently than others
We've always stood tall for the heffalump,
Including those of us who did so before we could've known
How the heffalump would be incorporated into our glorious lore
We haven't all been leaders, but I have
My father was a pathetic excuse for one, and yet
Somehow he didn't mangle me beyond recognition
Before I could run for the Grey House on the rightists' ticket
I probably looked mangled beyond recognition when I was born
And yet, somehow, my mother didn't mistake me for twins...
In college, I majored in beer and girls
Just as my predecessors always had
I would've looked like a weirdo for pretending I didn't care for hooters
I never once regarded the Seventh Commandment
Although it's still pathetic to me that many of my Christian kin can't even remember which one that is,
Or let alone look up the word "commandment" in the dictionary
Red necks, white socks, and blue ribbon beer
Are the pride of my patriline...if not my family
They'd probably hate me that I'm hopelessly in love with a black girl
I have no idea why black people vote for rightists these days
Now that the end of the slavery issue is as old as Appomattox
I have sex fantasies of Liv being my slave,
And in revealing white lingerie, if she was capable of such humility
But I can't do a damn thing about that, even if she approved
Because then my voters would know I don't love my wife anymore...
"Grant?" Thomas's bunkmate peers down at him, confused. "What are you singing about?! Who's Liv?"
Thomas shrugs. "It feels right. So, I'm singing it."
He lies back down. "I have Noah Clue what you're singing... But it sounds like it'd make a great dime novel."
"I doubt it," Thomas admits. "But it might..."
At long last, someone topside shouts "land ho!" Even better, there's a naval base on the shore. It flies the flag of the NAU.
Soon, Thomas re-packs his bags, and disembarks. He's in Samoa now. And as small as these islands are, he's pretty sure he's still a VERY long way from his station.
There are lots of jungles on this island, as Thomas soon finds out. He's sent up a trail, with a long escort, to his new station.
As the escort marches, they whistle, and improvise the Colonel Bogey March...without even trying to. If they're trying to make Thomas feel like he's being marched to a prison camp, it's working. With the vampire-imposed price on his life, it's hard for Thomas to feel safe, out in the open...or even surrounded by shadowy-looking folk...
Where Thomas is going, they're even more shadowy. Before them, a wooden gate is drawn open, once the escort makes their IDs known.
Beyond, a plantation lies; the Pope Plantation, to be exact. Thomas is surrounded by Afroasian slaves, working their asses off to keep their accommodations from falling apart. (Little good that often does them.)
The female ones stand, and acknowledge Thomas, as he's brought in. Thomas can't quite tell if it's because they think he's cute, or because they think he's a military criminal who's being sent here to be isolated.
Atop a terraced hill, the main house sits. It looks a lot like the Swan House, in Atlanta. For that, out here, it's often called the Bird of Paradise House. (It's...not a very convenient name, is it?)
In the sitting room, Thomas sits, and meets his new hosts. They'll be quartering him, of course. While he's here, he'll be in charge of security. He'll help the other protectors where and when he can, and he'll apply medical attention to those who need it when they need it.
On the upside, this isn't a prison. On the downside, it still feels like it, a bit. Thomas is on a jungle island, and he can't even explore it without putting a target on his back. Sad; he's no Teddy Roosevelt, and nor does he even know who that is yet, but he'd love to explore this island...and neighboring islands, if he can swim the straits to them.
And so, Thomas soon climbs a tower, raises a flag, and stands watch. He's going to be here for a while, so he unpacks his lute...
He scours the grounds, with his eyes. All around him, the slaves work. The females try not to notice the cute new Californian warrior, up in the nest. They tremble, as they exert their staying power...
The one who trembles the most, perhaps, is a black female slave they call Carolyn. From behind, Thomas stares at her ass. She looks fabulous and cut, in her loose low-cut slave attire. Her slave attire is white; which Thomas finds unusual. And yet, that's probably why he ogles her ass as if it's that of an angel...
Thomas didn't know angels could be African, until now...
