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He secured a final strap to her hair and a ‘D‘ ring on the back of the sheath. When all chance of slippage was eliminated, the strap was shortened until Taylor’s head craned back, no longer touching the wall of the crate. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead, her nose positioned in front of the main circulation vent.The only sign that the poor, bundled soul within was a human being, was the rapid, shallow whistling coming from the nose of a featureless head. And yet still Taylor struggled. She tensed and lurched, trying anything she could think of to break free. She tried even after the lid of the crate had been closed and locked, for robbed of her senses, she had not known that had taken place. She had to struggle. For if she didn’t, it would mean that she had surrendered that last spark of hope. Hope, was the only ally she had left.The crate was secured and locked, proper labeling and information already affixed. Special diplomatic wire seals were applied to inform. He was especially concerned about two factors which weighed heavily in favor of the invaders: disease and the lack of political unity among the natives. He could not do anything about the diseases, beyond teaching his people about hygiene and sanitation, neither practiced very well by the Europeans. The political unity he thought that he could achieve, if he could do a good enough job educating the children in the advantages of cooperation among groups. Trade was the route to this cooperation, and that was what he wanted to work on for the rest of his life. He wanted his ideas to be welcomed by the natives, not forced onto them by conquest—the latter was only a last resort out of desperation.When they got home, Doug found that the trade in copper was going well, so that was not something he needed to micromanage. The leader of the group that had been left at the copper mines had taken on the new name of Copper Man and was pushing to trade for as much copper as he could get. Doug.
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