Chonga knocked diffidently on the heavy oaken door. A muffled voice from inside said, "Enter, please."

The door, which would have done justice to a castle in a horror movie, opened easily on well-oiled hinges. Chonga (formerly known as Chongo) entered and stood before the not-overly-large desk behind which her twin sister sat.

"Chonga, I've called you in to tell you that you've been promoted. We've noticed your work (there was enough Chongo left to be dismayed by the nature of her "work") and it's gone very well. You put yourself into your work. I won't ask if you like it; that's a stupid thing to ask anyone in our line of work! Dirty, stinking, customers, drunken louts....

"But anyway, here's the offer: I'd like you to start a group of our 'franchises'. You'll be in charge -- you'll be supplied with plenty of money, the names of officials who will need to come around to thinking our way, and of course all the help you need from Headquarters here.

"Even if you fail (and I don't think you will) you'll still be my sister and I'll find something else for you here at Headquarters. Do you want to give it a try?"

"Where?" queried Chonga, interested in spite of herself.

"The towns and cities of Dutch Harbor, Dead Horse, Kotzebue, Homer, and Naknek to start. Working in from around the edges, you know, as we have found that to be the most efficient and profitable."

"Where are these towns?" Chonga asked, curious. She'd never heard of any of them.

"Alaska. Now don't get upset! We haven't been able to get much of a foothold there because it's so big and because of our company policy about firearms. You know about firearms and can deal with that aspect of it without getting your panties in a bunch, unlike Marsie, who last tried. You can talk with her, in fact I highly recommend it. Oh! You'll have the pick of the girls, worldwide pick, two planes and pilots, a townhouse/headquarters in Anchorage, the best in warm clothing (I can read your mind about the cold!), two cars -- one for off-road, pretty much anything you want. But get the job done! I know you can do it!"

Chonga stood amazed. Three months on the job and she was being asked to open up a brand new territory! She gulped and answered, "I'll give it a try, and I'll succeed. Thank you, dear sister."

Chinga made a dismissive gesture and Chonga left. You could hear her mental gears meshing. Demographics, average disposable income for each place, who in the government would be most approachable....

Her revery was broken by Chinga's secretary, Miss Poundsense. "Miss Chonga? Miss Chinga said to give you this. It's a breakdown by city of the places you discussed with her just now. You can see anyone in the organization at any time. And Miss Chinga approved a visit to Sergeant Tollbooth for you -- she said not to go overboard, no full auto yet, but she suggests a .300 WM as a minimum long gun and a simple .45 as your handgun." Miss Poundsense dimpled as she smiled and said, "Miss, I think you'll appreciate our armory and armorer!" And turned and walked back to her desk.

Chonga stood, amazed. She could build whatever and however she thought best. No micromanaging boss, but Chinga would probably come around to inspect things now and then. And she had her choice in a library of guns that was rumored to rival that of the Tower of London, but much, much newer.

She signed, and her mind reeling with figures and questions, left for her assignment.



(Yes, the denouement continues!)