One thing always leads to another and once adopted, the policy compelled a reprisal. The reprisal would be against the informant and the agent and would include a counterattack against the government for having engineered the Blevins family catastrophe.

“What kind of counterattack is appropriate for 20 years of a man’s life?” Christof voiced as the question.

“Very big.” Kicks Iron argued. “There’s a lot more to redress than that. How about his wife’s life? How about his children’s lives? How about changing the world by changing the futures for so many and everyone they know, and every life they would have touched? What would the world be like if the Cherokee had been left alone?”

How big the counterattack should be and the nature of it was a question dominating our discussions and my thoughts.

“Nothing we can do will be noticed.” I said. “We’re insignificant, hardly more than a public relations firm.”

Kicks Iron and Christof were right about one thing: Fighting NADNARA destroyed sensors, but it didn’t destroyNADNARA. The Muskets were just piddling around in that sense. I can’t say I didn’t know as much, but I still hoped. Why? Because, my upbringing was much like any other American kid’s. My world view was too timid to conceive strategic moves capable of generating genuine setbacks for the intimidating Federal dominion. Considering such operations made me feel isolated from my own heritage, vulnerable to self-condemnation. Americans are builders by nature, we’re not destroyers. Such big league intrigues seemed beyond comprehension. Surely you had to be a politician corrupted by exposure to the federal mentality to contemplate such things, things such as Waco.

Troubled by my thoughts, I decided to visit Blevins, express my . . . our . . . sorrow at his predicament, and also explore his feelings about what Kicks Iron and Christof were proposing. Although he taught economics, Blevins was a thoughtful man whose ideas and ideology ran deep and wide across many areas. His insights had tempered my anger and softened my anti-government sentiments in the past.

It was raining when I arrived at the penitentiary, cats and dogs as they say. By the time I was received, I was dripping wet and happy just to be out of the weather. I was surprised when he was escorted into the reception area wearing leg irons. I felt partly responsible for his humiliation. After all, had I not formed the Muskets, he’d still be a free man living with his family and fighting his political battles for fiscal responsibility in government. I put on my best engaging smile and tried to hide my outrage at the intimidation of his irons.