Message-ID: <27520asstr$974729406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Al Steiner <steiner_al@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: Aftermath by Al Steiner-Chapter 5 part 1(Fm, preg)
Date: Mon, 20 Nov 2000 09:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

And here is the next installment.  I hope everyone is enjoying the
direction that I am taking this tale.  Please send any comments,
suggestions, etc, to steiner_al@hotmail.com


AFTERMATH
By Al Steiner
CHAPTER 5 - PART 1/5
Send comments to steiner_al@hotmail.com
Missing parts can be found at www.storiesonline.net


"Right here is perfect," Brett told Paul as they stood atop of the
hill.  "I could not have placed this high ground in a better place.
Just look at the view!"

"It is very impressive," Paul agreed, looking out towards town.

The hill was on the northeast side of the town, about a half mile from
the corner of the concrete wall and about a quarter mile from the
eastbound lanes of Interstate 80 to the north.  The summit of the
rocky, sparsely vegetated rise stood approximately 400 feet above the
surrounding terrain.  This offered a panoramic view of the entire wall
as it stretched away to the south, and most of it as it stretched away
to the west.  The roofs of Garden Hill, clumped together in geometric
patterns, a few of the chimneys spouting smoke, could nearly all be
seen from this vantage point.

It was four days after the town vote that had accepted the trio into
Garden Hill and made Brett the new head of security.  As had been
predicted in advance, the only nays that had been shouted out had come
from Jessica and Dale.  Now, on his third day at his new job, Brett was
scouting out new guard post locations.  The hill they were on was one
that he had pegged as a likely candidate on his first trip around the
area.

"It's more than impressive," Brett said excitedly.  "It's perfect.  It
slopes gently on our side, making it easy to get guards up and down,
but it is very steep on the I-80 side, making it hard for outsiders to
climb from that angle.  To the west we can see the most likely avenue
of approach from this side - namely, crossing the freeway and moving
over those low hills.  To the east," he pointed that way, "we can see
the only chokepoint people can move through to approach us from that
side."

"You mean the freeway surface?" Paul asked.

"Right," Brett nodded.  "The Interstate starts to climb up this
mountain towards Donner Summit right there.  They blasted a cut right
between those steep cliffs."  He pointed to that spot, which was just
over a mile away.  "There is no way in hell that anyone could come at
us from the east without either rappelling down those cliffs or coming
through that sixty-foot gap where the roadway goes through.  From this
vantage point, we can keep a constant lookout on that chokepoint, at
least during the daylight hours.  This will not only secure us from the
north but from the east as well since it won't be possible for anyone
to slip along the east side of the wall without being seen.  Since our
southern flank is secured by the canyon, there is no need to keep a
guard post on the east anymore as long as this hill and the bridge
approach is covered."

Paul nodded slowly, starting to see what he was talking about.  As
strange of an idea as it was to leave an entire side of the subdivision
unguarded, it made sense.  Nobody would be able to get over to that
side unless they first passed in view of this post or came across the
bridge.  "It's kind of rocky up here," he said.  "What would it take to
build a bunker?"

"About ten people with shovels," he answered.  "It would take maybe two
days worth of work.  Dig down about four feet and put up some sandbags
over here behind these rocks.  Cover it up with some kind of canvas or
plastic material and put mud and dirt on top of that for camouflage.
I'd have two guards in here during the day, both with scoped rifles and
one of the M-16s.  They'd have at least a hundred rounds of .30 caliber
ammo and four hundred of 5.56 mm.  That way, if we're attacked in force
from this side or if someone tries to take their hill, they'll be able
to fight them off either until they surrender or we can get
reinforcements up to them.  Maybe we can even rig some sort of rope and
bucket system to get more ammo up to them if they need it."

"Very ambitious," Paul said, reaching under his rain slicker and
pulling out a cigarette.  He spent a moment fiddling with a lighter
beneath his hood before he finally got it going.  "I wish I could tell
you that you have a chance of getting Jessica and Dale to approve a
work detail like that, or a major change in the deployment plan."

Brett sighed, knowing that his companion was right.  In only three days
he had had nearly every change, nearly every improvement, nearly every
policy that he wished implemented, voted down by the alliance of
Jessica and Dale.  It had been stipulated that any changes he wished to
make would need to be discussed with the committee first and then voted
on.  This, in effect, made him almost useless at his job.  No matter
how carefully he explained the need for something, no matter how
concisely he presented his case, they both voted no on whatever his
proposal was.  Dismantling the catwalk on the bridge had been shot
down.  Moving the guard positions backwards to at least cover the
catwalk exit better had been shitcanned as well.  Putting up signs on
likely approaches to the wall that warned outsiders not to approach or
they would be shot; that had been voted down too, despite his
conservative estimate that it would cut their ammunition usage by more
than two-thirds.

It had been that vote that had really infuriated him.  "Why?" he had
demanded of them as they sat smirking in their chairs.  "What possible
reason do you have for not allowing warning signs along the wall?"

"It puts us in a position where we appear weak," Jessica had said.  "I
think the cost of a few extra rounds fired is more than worth the image
we portray to those scavengers out there."

"That make absolutely no sense," he'd cried.  "Where in the hell did
you come up with that?"

"I am not required to discuss my rationale with you Mr. Adams," she'd
replied.  "The matter has been voted upon.  Do you have anything else
you'd like to discuss?"

The only exception to this blackballing was his proposal that coed
guard teams would no longer be allowed.  That one had been approved
only because Jessica knew that it would be an unpopular rule which
would serve to diminish his popularity which, in those first two days,
had been very much like celebrity status.  That measure was passed
unanimously the first day and implemented the next.  It had had very
much the effect that Jessica had guessed it would.  The first thing to
happen was that volunteers for guard duty almost completely dried up,
forcing Paul to take the drastic step of assigning people to the job
against their will.  Several of these recruits had to be threatened
with kitchen duty or house arrest before they agreed to the task.  In
less than twenty-four hours Brett went from most popular citizen to
unpleasant, slave-driving boss.  He was considered a spoilsport by the
many couples who were using guard duty to carry out their affairs.
Though he was still the object of intense flirtation by the unattached
females of town, the males now regarded him with open hostility.  One,
Jeff the Mormon, the kid he had smoked a joint with the first night,
actually told him to his face: "I wish I wouldn't of voted for you now,
dude.  You're such a Bogart!"

"I'm not here to be liked," he had replied.  "I'm here to keep you
alive."

"Well you're doin' a good job of not being liked," was the sour
response.

His slave driver reputation was made even worse by the fact that he
insisted upon visiting each guard position several times a day, always
at random, unpredictable times.  Always he found two grumpy men keeping
a listless watch or two grumpy women doing the same.  The women would
at least perk up a bit at his presence, assuming that they were
unattached, which most of them were, and the flirtations would begin.
He had been offered every conceivable sex act, up to and including a
threesome, at the female-manned posts.  But at the male-manned posts he
sometimes felt himself in danger of being assaulted or even shot.  The
resentment at his presence would radiate off of them in waves.

"How long you gonna keep coming out here?" he was asked once by Hector,
the man who had slipped away that first night, leaving him alone with
Mitsy.

"Until I don't feel that I have to anymore," he'd answered simply.
"And the way that's looking, it's gonna be a long time."

Fortunately, Brett's experience as a cop had long-since made him
accustomed to being the authority figure that no one wanted to see or
deal with.  The efforts of the Garden Hill men to get under his skin
with snide comments, the silent treatment, or glaring looks, were
strictly small-time compared to the way the residents of Stockton had
tried it.  With everyone he kept his voice even and monotone, his
commands clear and concise, his criticisms constructive and non-
insulting.  If he responded to a jibe at all it was with gentle
sarcasm.  If open hostility was displayed for him, as it had been a few
times, locking eyes with the person and maintaining the contact always
defused it rather quickly.  Brett, like most cops, had long since
learned how to project a strong vibe towards such people that warned
them that attempting a physical confrontation would be a bad mistake.
Though this vibe had not always worked in Stockton (sometimes it was
taken as a challenge) it never failed to work its magic in Garden
Hill.  Brett was feared, that was easy enough for him to see.  He did
not mind being feared as long as he was feared AND respected.  As of
yet, that second factor had not come into play and he knew of no easy
way that he would be able to earn it.

"Look on the bright side," Paul told him now as he smoked his cigarette
atop the hill.

"What's the bright side?" he asked, shifting the AK-47 that he'd lugged
up the hill to a more comfortable position.

"At least the women still like you.  I heard earlier today that Cindy
Groton is going to be your squeeze.  They seem to be really sure about
that one."

Brett smiled a little.  Among the women, whether they feared him or
not, the main topic of conversation was who he was going to pick as his
"official" companion, as if doing so was a town ordinance or
something.  He had so far shunned all of the advances that had been
thrown at him.  Chrissie was keeping him well satisfied in the bedroom
department and, at least at this point in his relationship with the
townspeople, he felt it important to keep himself out of the games that
were played, to seem as aloof as possible to those he was trying to
teach to protect themselves.  This did not stop the rumors from flying
however.  On the contrary, it only seemed to encourage them.  Whenever
he was seen talking to a woman for more than a minute or so the word
was passed around that he was "interested" in someone.  Before an hour
would go by the word would be inflated to "she's the one."

"Which one is she?" he asked Paul.

"She's the brunette with the big bolt-on titties that you were talking
to this morning at breakfast."

"The one that asked me to show her how I used to pat women down?"

"That's the one," he agreed, taking a deep drag.  "She used to be a
part-time massage therapist."  He grinned.  "Word has it that she has a
real special massage she'll show you if you play your cards right."

"I'm sure she does," he said sourly.  "But my experience with Mitsy was
eye-opening enough.  I'll just let it ride at that for now."

"You must have the willpower of a priest," Paul said.  "How do you turn
down as much sex as you've been offered these last four days?  Even I,
who is getting it regularly, find it hard to say no to a lot of them."

"It IS hard," he said honestly.  "I mean, I have the same urges
everyone else does.  But it is my belief that sex is going to be the
undoing of this place if it is not brought under some kind of control.
These people are obsessed with it.  They will happily keep screwing
each other until the hoards out there come walking through the gates
and then they'll ask themselves how it happened.  If I'm gonna help
prevent that from occurring, then I cannot allow myself to become a
part of it.  If I start going on the same sort of sex binge that
everyone else seems to be wrapped up in, pretty soon I'll convince
myself that we really don't need to post guards up on the hills or keep
them alert.  I don't want that to happen."

"I'm with you there," he sighed.  "When we first started to organize
things here, nobody wanted to do guard duty at all.  They convinced
themselves that it wasn't necessary.  It was only when the first
groupings of males and females started to fall apart, when the men
started to realize that they could have virtually all of the sex they
wanted, that it began to be a popular thing to do."

"So they could screw each other," Brett said bitterly.

"Correct."

He shook his head.  "The problem we have here is that nobody has been
out there.  Nobody has seen how desperate things really are.  I mean,
they can intellectually grasp that most of the world is dead and there
isn't any more food to feed anyone and that there are starving people
out there, but they can't mentally grasp it.  Until you've seen two men
with guns stalking you, trying to kill you so that they could have the
backpacks you're carrying, you just can't appreciate how real the
danger is."

"Especially not these people," Paul added.   "None of our women have
even been on the wrong side of the tracks before.  And our men, they're
too locked up in the glory of the sex game.  They're like kids at a
candy store.  Remember that I've been in charge of them longer than you
have.  I've gone through this same shit."

"I know," he sighed.  "And you've done a good job of it too, don't let
me give you the idea that you haven't.  It's just that this town is
going to get a rude awakening at some point if things don't change.
It's as inevitable as the tides."

+++++


"Now let me get this straight," Jessica said later that afternoon, back
in the main office.  She was sitting behind her desk, Dale next to her,
chewing a wad of gum and looking at Brett and Paul with her patented
smirk upon her face.  "You want to move the northern and eastern guard
positions from their current location and place them on a hill more
than a half a mile from town?"

"That is correct," Brett said, keeping his voice as monotone as
possible, allowing no emotion to show upon his face.

"And you would like a work detail of ten people to work on this project
for the next two days?"

"Or until such time as it is completed," he put in.

She shook her head in bewilderment.  "That is the most ridiculous thing
that I've heard you suggest so far," she said.  "Move the guard posts
outside of the wall?  Leave the eastern side of town completely
undefended?  Have you been dipping into the marijuana supply or
something?"

"Yeah," Dale said, giving his own version of the smirk.  "Some military
expert YOU are."  He looked at Paul.  "Didn't I tell you from the start
that he was scamming us?  Isn't that the most idiotic thing you've ever
heard?"

Paul, taking Brett's lead, kept his face neutral and his voice even as
well.  "If you went and stood on that hill," he said, "I think you
would see where Brett is coming from.  From the top of it you can guard
the entire north side and prevent anyone from accessing the east side
since there's only one way in there.  He's convinced me.  His plan is
sound and I think we should do it."

"Yes," Jessica said, "you seem to agree with most of what he says,
don't you?  Well, I don't know how Dale feels on this matter, but I
certainly cannot vote to approve such a gross downgrade in our
defenses.  Our guards belong inside of the wall, where they can do us
some good, not a half a mile away on top of a hill."

"Your bridge guard position is almost a mile away," Brett said.  "It is
well outside of the wall and yet it prevents anybody from entering from
the south, doesn't it?"

"That's different," Dale said.  "That's a bridge.  If people can't get
across the bridge, they can't get in from the south."

"And if people can't get through the gap in the cliffs to the east of
town, a gap that that hill I'm talking about has a view of, then they
can't get in from the east.  And they can't approach us from the north
because that hill can see them before they even cross the Interstate.
The most basic military tactic is to occupy high ground surrounding
your position.  That is common sense."

"I don't think that tactic applies here," Jessica said.  "My vote is
no."

"My vote is no as well," Dale added.  "The guards need to stay inside
of the wall."

Brett took a few deep breaths, wanting to give a seething lecture on
how their stupidity and pettiness was going to get everyone killed but
knowing that such a thing was just what Jessica wanted.  Instead, he
calmed himself and went on to his next proposal.  "I'd like to ask for
volunteers to be permanently assigned to the guard force," he said.

"Volunteers?" Jessica said.  "Permanently assigned?  What for?"

"With a permanent group I can concentrate on training them for specific
duties and actions.  In a way, they will be professionals at the job.
That will increase the overall effectiveness of the force."

"I see," she said thoughtfully.  "And just how many of these volunteers
do you think you're going to get?"

"Probably not very many at this point in time," he admitted.  "But that
will change in the future I think.  I'd like authorization for thirty
such volunteers."

"Thirty?" Jessica barked, laughing.

"As I said, I know I'm not going to get that many at first.  But that
is how many I would eventually like to have.  With thirty I can keep
all of the posts manned 24 hours a day using the same people all of the
time.  This would keep Paul from having to assign people the job every
day and night.  To get these volunteers I will place sign-up sheets on
the bulletin board in the gym."

Jessica and Dale looked at each other, clearly amused by his
suggestion.  "I'll vote yes on this one," Jessica said, shaking her
head a little.  "You go ahead and ask for your volunteers.  Of
course..." she snickered, "you'll have to come to us for approval if
you want more than thirty."

Dale was snickering as well.  "You can have a yes from me too.  Hope
you don't get overwhelmed with volunteers now."

While they laughed about this Paul added his yes vote to the tally and
it became official.  Brett Adams, security leader, was now authorized
to raise a group of volunteers to help guard the town of Garden Hill.
Though Jessica and Dale thought it quite a funny joke - Brett thinking
people were going to sign up to be permanently assigned to guard detail
- they had no idea that they had just impulsively voted to establish a
professional armed forces for their town.  In other words, Garden Hill
had just added the ability to create an army to its constitution.


+++++


One small victory that Brett had managed to win over the last four days
had been the inclusion of Jason and Chrissie on guard details.  As he
had predicted, Paul had been able to convince Jessica in a private
meeting that packing guns and watching over the safety of the town were
where the two kids' talents were best utilized.  As such, both of them
were Brett's prime volunteers.  Each post was manned with two guards
that worked six-hour watches, which meant that there were four crew
changes each day.  Chrissie and Jason typically worked double shifts in
order to keep themselves busy and to reduce the number of people that
Paul had to actually assign.  Jason preferred the night watches since
it allowed him to sleep most of the daylight hours away.  Chrissie, on
the other hand, preferred the day watches since it allowed her to sleep
with Brett every night.

At dinner that night, when Brett gave a short, impassioned plea for
volunteers (a plea that was received somewhat listlessly by the
audience) Chrissie was working her second straight shift on the east
side, awaiting her relief.  By the time she made it to the dining hall
and ate the plate of stroganoff that had been set aside for her, Brett
had already gone off to take care of other duties.  When she made her
way to the small house that they shared, well after darkness had
covered the land, he was still out.  She lit the two oil lamps that
they had been provided (Paul had rigged them so they burn gasoline by
adding a small amount of motor oil to the fuel) and waited for him
alone.

He came in about an hour later, stomping mud out of his boots and
shaking excess water from his rain slicker before removing them in the
entryway.  He had had a long day that had involved much tromping around
from one part of town to another and his muscles ached dully.

"Hi Chris," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the lips.  She
allowed the contact but did not contribute to the display of affection
in any way.  She had a determined expression on her face.  He looked at
her, puzzled.  "What's the matter?"

"Where have you been?" she asked, a clear note of accusation in her
voice.

He looked at her carefully, already sensing that something was in the
air.  "I was out at the bridge," he told her, quite honestly.  "I
rigged up some trip-wires on the catwalk exit so that if someone comes
up that way like I did, it'll at least make some noise.  I also checked
on the western position on my way back."

"You weren't out VISITING someone?" she asked, crossing her arms over
her chest.

"Visiting someone?"

"One of the women maybe?" she said.  "One of those sluts who are trying
to get you into bed with them?"

He sighed a little.  He had known that at some point this conversation
was going to occur.  This was, after all, a small town with a small
town mentality.  "No Chris," he said, sitting next to her on the
couch.  "I wasn't out visiting anyone.  I was out trying to take care
of a few things.  I wouldn't lie to you."

"Who was at the guard posts?" she asked, her voice on the verge of
hysteria.  "Was Cindy Groton out there?  I heard that you and she are
fucking each other!"

"Jesus," he said, turning towards her.  "Chris, I don't even KNOW Cindy
Groton other than the fact that I talked to her for a few minutes at
breakfast this morning.  She's not even ON the guard detail."

"Everyone says you're fucking her," she said.  "They say that she's
going to be the one you pick to be your woman."

"They're just rumors," he said.  "I've already got my woman."

"A woman that you won't tell anyone about!"

"We've been over this Chris," he said, trying to calm her.  "We need to
give it a little more time before we let people know about us.  They're
still locked up in pre-comet morality here.  You know that as well as I
do."

"Pre-comet morality?" she nearly shrieked.  "Every time I leave this
house I get women coming up to me and asking questions about you.  Is
it true he's doing this girl?  Is it true he's thinking about hooking
up with that girl?  Out on watch it's all my partner will talk about!
I've been asked a hundred times to put in a good word to you about
someone.  I've been told a hundred times how good of a big sister
someone would make for me!  I've seen them get into fights over you
Brett!  They hit each other and pull each other's hair while they're
arguing about who has a chance with you and who doesn't!  And it's not
just you, they do that over every man in town, even that dweeb Jeff.
These women fight over a nineteen-year-old!  Does that sound like pre-
comet morality to you?  Did they used to do shit like that before?"

"No," he said.  "I'm sure they didn't.  Their morality does tend to be
ruled by self-interest and abandoned for the same thing."

"So if they can give up the morality when it comes to keeping their
hands off of other people's men, why can't they give it up about you
sleeping with me?"

"Because it's not in their self-interest to do that," he told her.
"Chrissie, I am not sleeping with any of these women, okay?  I'm not
meeting up with them in secret and I'm not looking for someone to
replace you with."

"What about Mitsy?" she said, glaring at him.  "I heard you fucked her
your first night here.  Everyone seems to be real sure about that
rumor."

His hesitation gave him away.

"You DID, didn't you?" she said.

"Yes," he said slowly.  "She caught me off guard that first night.  It
just kind of happened."

The look of pain on her face was almost more than he could bear.  Her
lips started to quiver and a tear rolled down her face.

"Chrissie," he said, sliding closer to her, intending to put his arms
around her.

"Get away from me," she told him.  "Don't touch me.  Don't ever touch
me again!"

"Chris, listen..."

"I said stay AWAY from me!"

He stayed away from her.  She refused to talk to him any more that
evening.  That night, at bedtime, she slept in the bed that had been
placed in her bedroom for the first time.


+++++


23 miles to the south, in Foresthill, the convicts were still in
occupation of the church building they had taken from the townspeople
there.  The food supply that they had captured was rapidly dwindling to
nothing thanks to the fact that they had made no real effort to ration
it in any way.  All of the booze and most of the cigarettes were gone
as well, again due to the lack of a rationing plan.  The fact that they
had had a drunken, weeklong party after they took the town did not help
much.

Even the women they had captured and amused themselves with, they were
all gone as well, every last one of them dead.  Most had found ways to
commit suicide.  The most common method of this had been by goading the
men that were raping them into beating or shooting them to death (the
first woman to try this began laughing and making fun of Harley's
admittedly small penis until, humiliated, he had bashed in her skull).
Two of them had tried an escape attempt that had not had a prayer of
allowing them to get away but that did succeed in getting them shot to
death with M-16s.  One had actually chewed a hole through the skin of
her inner elbow, ripping open the vein that runs there and bleeding to
death while everyone slept.  Yet another managed to strangle herself by
wrapping the sleeve of her shirt around her neck and pulling it tight.
The non-suicidal deaths had all been caused by injuries sustained
during the party itself.  After becoming bored with the more
conventional methods of rape, some of the bikers had experimented with
the insertion of foreign objects into vaginas or rectums, namely rifle
barrels or booze bottles.  Two of the women subjected to this had died
of internal bleeding from perforated uteruses.  Another had died of a
particularly nasty case of peritonitis after her colon was torn to
shreds by the raised sight of an M-16.

Even the women that they had had before taking Foresthill, some of them
prisoners captured from other raids, a few of them pre-comet wives and
girlfriends, they were all gone as well.  These women, appalled by what
they saw going on around them, had fled into the woods.  Their fate was
unknown but it was thought that they wouldn't last long.  They had
taken no weapons or food with them when they'd gone.

Now that all of the booze and women were gone and the food and
cigarettes were in short supply, order among the convicts had broken
down a little.  Though Stu and Mark were still firmly in command of
them the grumblings and the fights were becoming more vocal and more
frequent.  Stu knew that it was about time to move on and find another
place to crash for a while.

On this morning, while most of the crew were still sleeping on the
floor wrapped in their filthy sleeping bags, Stu and Mark were sitting
in what had once been the pastor's office going over some gas station
maps of the area.

"Foresthill is the only sizable town on this side of the canyon," Stu
was saying, tapping the features with a pencil.  "At least until you
work your way back to Placerville.  And we know there ain't much left
there.  We're gonna have to cross the canyon somehow if we're gonna
find more supplies."

"Right," Mark said.  "But how do we get across?  Do you think that
either of these bridges are still there?"

"Maybe," Stu said thoughtfully.  "The only way to find out is to go
there.  The question is, which one should we try first?"

They discussed the matter for a few minutes, each tossing ideas back
and forth.  On the one hand the Auburn bridge was located in an area
that was more populated, which meant that there would be more targets
to scope out and possibly attack.  On that same note however, the
Auburn bridge was also much more likely to be guarded by a force that
they would not be able to overwhelm.  The Garden Hill bridge, on the
other hand, led to a very small town where there may or may not be
anyone left.

"I think that bridge is a lot less likely to be guarded," Stu said.
"And if it is, whoever is guarding it would probably not be anything we
couldn't overcome.  And if the bridge is out or is too heavily guarded
to cross, we can always come back down and try Auburn."

"That make sense Stu," Mark said.  "But what about..."

His thought was interrupted by the sound of two pistol shots from
outside.  Two seconds later, there was a third.  It was the pre-
arranged danger signal from their guard post.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+