Following some new whim, Calico has taken to the streets as a political picketer. Clad in a navy green bikini and a matching flat cap with a red star, she has been explaining to anyone who will listen what "socialism" means, why basic freedoms include the freedom to embrace socialist forms of government, and (most importantly) what the f!@# the U.S.A. is.

Her sign reads:
"I have seen the future. Down the way of the U.S.A. fascists lies death." On the reverse side are various pictures clipped from 21st-century history texts, illustrating the brutalities of the Americans, many of which resulted directly from their provincial and hostile policies. For those who have never heard of the U.S.A., a helpful map locates it: a large nation (sometimes called "America) which lies on a continent between two other large nations, existing in certain universe-frames on the world Earth. A smaller arrow points to Calico's one-time home of Cuba, an oval island not far from the "American" mass.

The pictures on her signboard first illustrate the genocidal slaughter of the peoples native to America, when the ruling race arrived carrying diseases and gunpowder. The next shows people being brought over in chains by the thousands to fuel America's capitalist interest: Black people from Africa, and poor white bondservants. If they died, noted the caption, it was not considered murder.

The next shows explosions - rains of fire over small nations whose greatest technology was the harnessed plow. And over a more powerful rival hung a mushroom cloud: "One of two atomic bombs ever used in warfare. The other was also deployed by Americans." A related photo shows a starving Japanese man behind barbed wire, with the note, "This man was an American citizen when they did this to him. He had committed no crime but to be born to the wrong parents."

The final picture is of people being marched out of a tidy-looking office by officials, their faces hidden in shame: "The McCarthy 'witch trials', where thousands were barred from their professions for having unacceptable political sympathies. This nation calls itself free, but its officials freely and carelessly choose when to restrict free speech, free trade, or freedom from imprisonment. Even the freedom to elect their own leader is an illusory freedom for Americans (see the 2000 election, in those versions of history where George W. Bush became president despite not being elected.)"

Cally tirelessly campaigns, pleading heart-rendingly with pedestrians, "Please don't trust the Americans. That is the way of death. I was there, I saw it. Keep Rhydin free, and stop political persecution based on the policies of another universe." She explained earnestly to the children, "You must visit Cuba if you get a chance. It's my home on Earth. It's a socialist country, and it is one of the most beautiful places in that world. Even though the people have been very poor for a long time, because of American restrictions on their trade. Still, it isn't like America, where people starve in the middle of plenty."

Calico's life was politics. It had been her obsession ever since the other day, when she'd seen those disgusting U.S.A. posters. She might be new to politics, but she had the true zeal of a revolutionary. After all, she had seen it all personally, or at least had been on Earth when it all happened. More than four hundred years of intolerance, warfare, ignorance, prejudice. All from this one bully nation that considered itself better than everyone else, based on nothing more than frenetic nationalism.

For a moment, Cally was disturbed... how did she remember all of this, from slavery to the fake president, when she was only in her 20s? Perhaps she was some sort of immortal, she reflected, if only she could think clearly enough to remember what kind. If she was, her thoughts continued, then this "Commies-go-home" bastard was in a serious load of trouble. It wasn't often that someone managed to piss her off, and they rarely had a chance to do it twice.

"BETTER RED AND DEAD! VIVA LA REVOLUCION!" squawked her parrot, Mr. Macaw, who understood these things better than most. "Shut up," muttered Cally, and turned towards the Marketplace to continue her campaigning.

Anastas's right-hand man tries carefully to avert his eyes from her chest when he talks to her. After all, he's happily married.

"Ahh, excuse me, young lady. I'm Vikram Ambani, from the Social Unity Party of Rhydin's Administrative Commission. Mr. Iskandorj and I have noticed what you are doing. Care to walk with me?"

He takes a cigarette out of a golden case and lights it.

"I think you will be interested in what we have to say."

Calico beamed at the strange man. She liked talking to strangers, partly because she was in favor of all things unwise, partly because they were often interesting and sometimes tasty. It was cute, too, how he was trying not to stare at her amazing breasts. She crossed her arms innocently to give them a little jiggle before answering.

"Hello! I am Calico Bonny the Second. I assume you are a person enlightened enough to seek further information on socialism!" Her smile was blinding, her hair in the Che cap flawless. She was made to be a poster child.

She took the arm of the man and walked with him. Her parrot soon climbed over to his shoulder with beak and claws, which she took as a good sign. She leaned familiarly against his arm, and said conversationally, "By the way, do you know who my husband is?" He seemed a clever fellow, she thought - perhaps he really would know.

Though, who that knew what Cally actually was would approach her in the street to talk to her? Only her mother and Bob. So this man must be an outsider, unaware of her awesome powers. Perhaps he was a new admirer, come to beg for her affections.

"BRUJA LOCA!" screeched the parrot. "Shut up," hissed Cally. "The people are talking."

Cally frowned prettily. "Officers? Platforms? You're welcome to tell me about all that, comrade, but I doubt I'll be much help. I am an heiress, and have never been trained to do anything useful or profitable."

She amended, "Besides table-dancing. Which is definitely profitable and maybe useful." She continued, "I've never been in a position of authority or importance. I have never been encouraged to bother my pretty head about getting things done. I am a random creature, and in such spontaneity lies my charm." At the moment she had completely forgotten being Empress of Cuba; after all it was such a very long time ago, centuries.

She warmed to her subject: "Look at me... I am the flawed creation of bourgeois policies. Almost completely decorative. I can't even balance a checkbook, for God's sake. I'm very enthusiastic, that's true. But I'm afraid, dear sir, that I am not functional. Desire, desire, desire. I have always been partial to strangers. I could maybe intercede with you on behalf of my mother, it's true she runs the Bonny Corporation. But she hardly ever takes me seriously."

She smacked the parrot across the beak before it can say anything else, and replaced it on her own shoulder. It sits there sullenly and stays quiet, for now. "And now, let us make the rest of this conversation brief. There's some LSD that's been asking me to eat it, and I hate to refuse such a nice offer."